The Ghastly Gerty Swindle With the Ghosts of Hungryhouse Lane by Sam McBratney Page B

bows I sent for Lulubelle?
    At this point Bonnie nodded her head, and said “Yes.”
    I have taken a lady companion. I’m not so sure that she is suitable, but time will tell. I shall ask her to stay out of the attic for the time being. I’m sure you can all guess why. I haven’t seen Lady Cordelia or Sir James for some months. Nor little Bobbie either, of course. I can’t get up there now because of my bad hip.
    All my love,
    Amy.          
    P.S., I shall write to your parents and
make
them bring you!
    Zoe folded the letter and tucked it under Muldoon’s collar. No one spoke for some time, for that letter had brought back quite a few memories of the house in Hungryhouse Lane. Zoe remembered Lady Cordelia McIntyre floating down through the ceiling in her wonderful Cinderella dress. Charlie thought of Bobbie, the shabby little chimney-sweep ghost in bare feet. Bonnie Sweet remembered the night she threw Lulubelle at Sir James, the ghost with the sword and the wig. Lulubelle had gone right through him!
    â€œWell?” said Zoe. “Do we want to go or not? I could interview those spooks for my school project. Yes, I think we might go. What about you, Charlie?”
    Charlie thought it over. For his birthday he’d been given a hand-held tape recorder instead of the unicycle and juggling clubs he’d asked for. It might be interesting, he reckoned, to make tapes of sheep sounds and cow sounds and ghost sounds.
    Bonnie wasn’t sure. “We would like to go,” she said, referring to herself and Lulubelle, “but I don’t think she’s got a VCR.”
    â€œWhat about you, Smelly?” Zoe asked Muldoon.
    Pleased to get a mention, Muldoon performed a twirl or two and appeared to bark “Yes.”

2 …
    Gertrude “Elizabeth” Moag
    Mmm,” Gertrude Moag said to herself when she saw the ad. “Lady companion, eh? Seventeenth-century house, if you please, oh la-di-dah! Now, that sounds a bit promising, Gerty, my love.”
    But do you like the country, Gerty? she asked herself. And the answer was no. How could you like something that was so empty, wide and green? Not that she minded the odd hanging basket or even a window box with a few pansies in it; but the thought of wearing rubber boots made Gerty’s poor toes curl up in horror.
    Still, it would do no harm to take a look at the place. She set to one side the woolly sweater she was knitting for her only son and fetched some writing paper. To get the job, she needed a reference.
Gertrude Elizabeth Moag
(she wrote)
    has worked for me for many years, and I found her to be a caring, friendly person of the kindyou just can’t find nowadays no matter where you look—her sort don’t grow on trees, I can tell you.
    Children? She was marvelous with my children, and she made life so wonderful for my elderly mother with her home cooking. You cannot imagine how we all bawled and cried when she left us; it was awful. I, Lady Diana Rich, envy her next employer greatly and recommend her with all my power.
    Lady Diana Rich
    In this letter that Gerty wrote for herself, some things were not quite true. She didn’t know a Lady Diana Rich. Neither did she have a middle name, but “Elizabeth” had such a nice ring to it—it made her feel … well, Elizabethan.
    On the other hand, she
had
once been a sort of nanny to a bad little boy who wouldn’t go to bed at night. Gerty had sorted out the little monster by putting his hamster in the trash can every time he misbehaved.
That
soon had him skipping up the stairs to say his prayers. The parents found out about this, though, and fired her. (Parents were far too soft these days, Gerty often said.)
    In her next job, an antique Chinese vase had been found in her wardrobe. That was bad enough, but it had also been wrapped up in her summer petticoat. All very embarrassing. Difficult to explain. Oh well,Gerty