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groceries and supplies for us and be available any time we needed him.
    The country was rich and green and thick with trees. I saw dark, shadowy pathways beneath the boughs, leading to cool isolated forest clearings. Golden sunlight sifted through the leaves, making a hazy, golden veil. We soon entered what appeared to be a private park, the rugged wilderness giving way to a more orderly arrangement. We passed through a gateway made of old stone columns, the rusty iron door held back, and the drive beyond it was lined with elm trees. We drove for a long time before I saw the house in the distance.
    It could not properly be called a house. Castle, perhaps, would be a more suitable term. It was huge, sprawling over several acres of land, a vast pile of ugly stone adorned with turrets and wings and arches, brownish gray in color. There were hundreds of windows, and the sunlight glittered on the glass, throwing off silver reflections. It set far back from the road, but even from the distance I could see that it was in a poor state of repair. Wooden platforms had been put up outside one wing, and men were climbing over them, working on the house.
    â€œThat’s Phoenix Hall,” Billy said. “And those men you see are doing repairs. Roderick Mellory brought them all in from Devon, would not give the work to the men of Lockwood.”
    â€œDo the workmen live at the house?” I asked.
    â€œThey put up shacks in back—far away from the house. They stay there, when they’re not raising Hell in Lockwood. There is over fifty of them. Loud, crude fellows who seem to think that the maids of Lockwood were created especially for their pleasure. There’s been a lot of fights, even a knifing. The people blame Roderick Mellory for all of it, and rightly so.”
    â€œHow long will the men remain at Phoenix Hall?” Nan asked.
    â€œFor another month, at least,” Billy replied.
    â€œWhy did he bring them from Devon?” Nan inquired.
    â€œFor meanness,” Billy said, “meanness of heart and of purse. He wouldn’t pay the men of Lockwood decent wages, and they refused to do the work. So he imported these louts from Devon. They’ll work for a pittance.”
    â€œThe men of Lockwood must hate Roderick Mellory,” I said.
    â€œHe ain’t out to win their hearts, that’s for sure,” Billy said. “I think he relishes their hatred. He wants to be hated and feared. It gives him a sense of power.”
    â€œI should think he would be the one to have fear,” I said, “with all that feeling against him.”
    â€œIf he weren’t his father’s son, he might wake up some day with a knife in his stomach. But he is gentry, and he is Bradford Mellory’s son. That fact protects him when nothing else would.”
    â€œThey loved Bradford Mellory, didn’t they?”
    â€œIf ever a man was more loved by the people I don’t know who. He was like a Saint.”
    â€œAnd his other children? How do the villagers feel about them?” I asked.
    â€œMiss Laurel is exactly like her father. She does all she can for the people and would do more if her brother didn’t interfere. She takes care of the sick and poor when she can, but her brother keeps her away from the people as much as possible. He doesn’t want her to be contaminated by the peasants.”
    â€œAnd the boy, Paul? What about him?”
    â€œNo one sees much of Paul Mellory. He’s lame, you know. He stays confined to the Hall and its grounds. I don’t suppose he’s been seen in the village for five years.”
    â€œWhat an unusual family,” I remarked.
    â€œYou’d do best to keep away from them, Miss Todd,” Billy said. “A young woman like you—” He clicked the reins, failing to complete his statement. “Some mighty strange things have been happening hereabouts. I’d hate to see you get involved in any of it.”
    He