“How did he die?” Todd asked her.
“Actually, no one knows, but it’s presumed that he was killed in the fighting soon after the British abandoned the city. Howe was furious with him for his brutal actions in Philadelphia. They argued before the Battle of Saratoga, and he disappeared from history,” Allison said. “A few letters that mention him have been preserved, and some suspect he might have been killed by his own men. Those letters suggest he was a brutal commander, as well. Way, way, way back, he was related to the Royal House of Hanover, and he seemed to think he was entitled to his behavior through the divine right of kings—even though he was certainly not a king and never going to be one.”
“He’s still here,” Todd whispered. “He’s still here.”
She did set an arm around his shoulders. Allison was about five-ten in her two-inch Colonial pumps, giving her a bit of height over him. “Todd, that was then, and this is now, and you need to see the rest of the house, learn about the history, and have fun with your family tonight. The historic tavern restaurants, where they serve in Colonial garb and entertain with flutes and old jokes, are really fun. You’ll enjoy that.”
He shook his head, gazing at the painting as if drawn to it.
She led him firmly from the study. “What happened to the house after the British left?” he asked.
“Angus died a year after his daughter. She had a younger sister, Sophia, who married a fine American soldier, Tobias Dandridge, and they inherited the house. It’s now owned by a private corporation called Old Philly History, and there’s still a descendent on the board of governors. The house stayed in the family until 1930, when the owner formed this corporation. That’s why so many of the original family pieces have been preserved.”
She’d managed to get Todd back into the foyer, and she smiled at him as she related the history of the house she’d just given him.
“Now, the upstairs. We’ll go up together and I’ll wait in the hall while you look in all the rooms,” Allison said cheerfully. “The master bedroom is at the far end of the house, but the one everyone finds most interesting is Lucy’s room, on the right side of the staircase. She and her sister both had grand rooms with large dressing rooms. There’s a 1700s tub in Lucy’s room, which is authentic to the house.”
She sent them off and waited, watching Todd. He ignored all the rooms except for Lucy’s.
He came back to stand by her. “I saw her picture on the wall. Lucy’s picture. You look like her.”
“I think a lot of women do when they’re dressed like her,” Allison said.
Todd nodded solemnly. “Maybe. But you mostly.” He studied her for a moment and then whispered, “Someone else died in the study, right?”
She shouldn’t have been surprised. After all, the family had gone on a ghost tour last night. Though the house itself was closed to these ghost tours, they all walked by it and embellished the tales that went along with it. Personally, she thought the truth was far more haunting than anything they could make up.
“A lieutenant who fought in the War of 1812 came here when he was wounded, and he died soon after. Another soldier on the Union side in the Civil War also died in that room. And yes, one of the Dandridge girls died there in 1890—she took poison to commit suicide.”
“And a few years ago, one of you was found dead in the room, right?” Todd asked her, wide-eyed.
“I’m going to give all this information when the tour gathers again,” she told him.
“Right?” he persisted. She felt acutely uncomfortable. Every old house had its history. Naturally some of it was sad and even distressing.
“Angela Wilson did die in that room. She had a heart attack while locking up one night.”
Todd regarded her solemnly. “She died sitting at Angus Tarleton’s desk, didn’t she?”
“Yes, Todd, she did. She sat down—she must have been winded. Like I said, she died there of a heart attack.”
“And somebody else died in the house, too,” Todd said. “A couple of years ago.”
She inhaled a deep breath. “Yes,” she admitted. “It was really a tragedy. A young college student decided to hack into the alarm system. The police believe he was pledging for a fraternity. He tried to break in and did something wrong with the alarm, and he was electrocuted. Everyone involved with the house was appalled, but—”
“And there was another guy. The woman on our ghost tour told us. One of the curators or guides or whatever you’re called.”
“That was in 1977. He fell down the steps and broke his neck,” Allison said.
“Fell? Or was pushed? I bet Beast Bradley pushed him!”
“Oh, Todd. Beast Bradley’s been gone for over two centuries. He’s not hanging around here trying to kill people.” Allison shook her head. “The house has been here for a long time, and over time, bad things happen.”
Todd frowned at her. “I think he is. I think he wanted to stay in Philadelphia, and he wanted to marry Lucy Tarleton, but she hated him. So he killed her, but he still didn’t want to leave the house. It was supposed to be his house. So he came back here when he died. And now he kills people!”
There was something about the boy’s insistence that made Allison uncomfortable. She loved the house, and she loved working here. She didn’t need this job; she’d gotten her degrees in history and was a college lecturer who also wrote articles and was currently doing research for a book. She worked at the house because she loved the people part of history, loved understanding the realities and nuances of everyday life far more than dates and figures. She’d grown up farther down on Chestnut Street and had admired this place all her life, and as a result she could answer questions that few others could. She’d respected the house, and she’d never wanted to sensationalize it by writing ghost stories. Like any historical place, it had an aura about it. She felt that same aura standing next to the Liberty Bell or when she went into Independence Hall, or any of the sites around the world where people had once lived and passionately taken part in the shaping of destiny. She couldn’t believe that Todd was suddenly making her afraid of this house.
“Like I said, bad things happen, Todd, and they happen everywhere. That’s why we go through life trying to drive properly, cross the street only when the light is green and take care of our health—because human beings are fragile.” She smiled. “I work here three days a week, and sometimes more, and nothing has ever happened to me. I usually close up by myself, too, and I’m just fine. And I’ve never seen a ghost.”
Todd looked at her oddly. “He likes you. He might not always like you, but he likes you right now. He likes women.”
The way the boy spoke was unsettling, and she told herself he was heading back toward being a raunchy preteen, acting in a manner that was natural for his age.
His mother walked up to them a moment later. “I’m Todd and Jimmy’s mom, Haley Dixon,” she said. “I’m so sorry if the boys have been bothering you. As you’ve probably heard, we did the ghost tour last night. There are all kinds of stories about this place, and they’re boys, and…” Her voice trailed off.
“Mrs. Dixon, Todd’s been asking me about the house, and he’s a good listener,” Allison said.
Haley Dixon smiled at her son. “Todd, I’m glad you’re curious, but we have to leave Ms. Leigh alone and allow her to give everyone her information at the same time.”
She seemed a pleasant woman, and a good parent, slightly at a loss as to what to do with a couple