Free Miss Buncle Married by D. E. Stevenson Page A

prospect, of course, but it was also very perplexing. Barbara spent long hours thinking it over and wondering what she should do. I shan’t try to have period furniture, she thought, I should only do it all wrong and it would look silly. I shall just have ordinary, plain furniture—rather large, because of the rooms being so big and high—plain, comfortable furniture and not too much of it.
    This was sensible and right in theory but the details still worried her. It was easy to say “plain comfortable furniture” but when it came to choosing the actual pieces she found it extremely difficult to decide. Which of the hundred-odd suites of chesterfield sofas and easy chairs would her house like— that was the question—and how would the things look when they were removed from their neighbors and stood alone in the drawing-room of The Archway House. “I can’t decide now,” said Barbara, to the polite young man who had spent the whole afternoon showing her his stock. “I can’t possibly decide now. I shall have to think about it.” The polite young man could have slain Barbara then and there, but he controlled his desires and replied wearily, “Just as you like, Moddam.”
    Barbara spent the following day at The Archway House, harrying the electricians who had slacked off a little in her unavoidable absence. It was a warlike sort of day, but, after the electricians had gone, Peace descended and spread her gleaming wings in the empty rooms. Barbara wandered round gloating over her treasure. She tiptoed through the silent house. How still it was without the workmen, how restful and refreshing! Barbara felt herself to be part of the silence. The house welcomed her, and the welcome made her feel happy and at home. Slowly she became aware of Unseen Presences in the empty rooms—the aura of those who had lived in the house and loved it. And these Unseen Presences were friendly toward her, they welcomed her coming—she was sure of it—they would do her no harm. There was nothing ghostly about this aura, nothing supernatural, nothing frightening, it was more a sort of warm atmosphere, comfortable to the spirit as the warmth of a good fire is comfortable to the body.
    How funny it would be if I saw the ghost, Barbara thought; it’s funny, really, that I haven’t seen it before. And then she reflected that it was “funny” about the ghost in more ways than one, for the ghost was obviously unfriendly to her (in that it hindered her activities in every way it could). It was a malign ghost, and yet the atmosphere of the house was friendly—how could that be?
    She wandered into the empty drawing-room and gazed round, trying to see it furnished with the furniture she had looked at in the store. The chesterfield here, and the chairs there; the china cabinet against the bare wall, the bureau in the corner near the window—how would it look? She paced it out, and reflected, and paced it out again. She went to the window and stood there looking out. The gardens were beginning to look better now. The grass had been cut and the paths weeded. But there was still moss on the steps leading down to the terrace and the gray stone lions which stood on either side of the steps were cracked and discolored with damp. I must speak to Grimes about that, Barbara thought.
    She was just making up her mind to leave the place and go home when the front doorbell rang. It pealed loudly through the empty house, startling the echoes—Barbara nearly jumped out of her skin. Her first thought was that it must be the ghost, but that was ridiculous, of course; ghosts didn’t ring front doorbells, they drifted in through keyholes or something (Barbara was a little vague as to how they actually got in, but she was perfectly certain that they never rang front doorbells). She listened to the bell for a few moments, thinking what a frightful noise it was making, until she