after tomorrow to interview someone from the Princess Theater about their famous ghost. I've just checked and the return flights from Newcastle are really cheap, fifty bucks." Melissa sounded excited.
"You're kidding."
"Will you come?" Melissa's tone was pleading. "I can book you on the first flight in the morning and you can fly back that night. I'm only staying for the day. Skinny will never know."
"I don't know, Melissa. I do have a lot to do."
"Misty, you owe me." Melissa's voice was stern. "I went on those horrible ghost tours with you and got frozen. Plus I'm babysitting your cat and she insisted on sleeping on my legs all last night. I have ghastly scratches all over my legs 'cause she attacked me when I rolled over."
She had me there.
"The cat, which is a solitary beast, is single minded and goes its way alone, but the dog, like his master, is confused in his mind."
(H.G. Wells)
Chapter Nine .
The realtor was doing his best to qualify me as a buyer, and I was doing my best to be obscure.
"Are you ready to buy now? You don't need to sell your own property?"
I thought before speaking. "I won't be rushing into anything; I just want to see what's available."
The realtor did not look happy. I suppose I didn't look like a typical millionaire. I attempted to look posh.
"Thank you so much for letting me view at such short notice." I drew out my vowels and looked down my nose at him. It seemed to work.
"No problem at all. No one's in residence. It's a deceased estate. Quite sad really. It's been in the family for decades, but now old Mr. Crawley has died and his sons are just not interested in keeping the place."
My ears had pricked up at the name Crawley . "What a shame. The sons don't live here then?"
"One lives in Newcastle but the other lives in Sydney."
"How long has the property been in the one family?" I was onto something, so upped my efforts. "It's just that my father is very interested in social history. I have horses and this place looks ideal from what I've seen so far, but Daddy is the one with the money. He isn't into horses, just all the racehorses he has with Gai - Gai Waterhouse that is."
My name dropping of one of Australia's most famous racehorse trainers did the trick. The realtor looked impressed. I felt a bit guilty for telling such outrageous lies, but that soon passed. I was a journalist after all.
"It's been in the family for well over a hundred years. Surely you've heard of the Crawley family? They have the Midas touch; everything they touch turns to gold. They're a very wealthy family; they have property all over the place. This house however has been the private residence of David Crawley. It was built in 1836 by a Baxter Morgan who was a friend of Edward Close." He pointed to the number 1836 embedded over the front door. "Have you ever heard of the Jewboy Gang?"
Yes of course I had, but I thought it better not to let on. "No, who were they?"
"Bushrangers. Baxter Morgan was one of them and was executed."
"I thought all bushrangers were escaped convicts?"
"Pretty much, but the whole matter's quite a puzzle. Anyway, Baxter Morgan was a close friend of Joe Crawley and left him the property in his will. Your father would be interested in the story. Someone falsely testified against Baxter Morgan and named him as one of the Jewboy Gang."
I was astonished but hoped my surprise wasn't showing on my face. "My father loves that sort of thing. Are you sure this is all true and not just village gossip?"
The realtor shook his head and then laughed. "I can't be sure, but I grew up in Morpeth and this is the story that's always been around." He must have been reassured that I was a genuine buyer, as he progressed to the hard sell. "You would've noticed that the drive into the house is lined by old English oak trees, and the driveway down to the barn, which would covert nicely to stables for you, is lined with pepper trees. The homestead is solid sandstone. The cast iron lace work
"You're kidding."
"Will you come?" Melissa's tone was pleading. "I can book you on the first flight in the morning and you can fly back that night. I'm only staying for the day. Skinny will never know."
"I don't know, Melissa. I do have a lot to do."
"Misty, you owe me." Melissa's voice was stern. "I went on those horrible ghost tours with you and got frozen. Plus I'm babysitting your cat and she insisted on sleeping on my legs all last night. I have ghastly scratches all over my legs 'cause she attacked me when I rolled over."
She had me there.
"The cat, which is a solitary beast, is single minded and goes its way alone, but the dog, like his master, is confused in his mind."
(H.G. Wells)
Chapter Nine .
The realtor was doing his best to qualify me as a buyer, and I was doing my best to be obscure.
"Are you ready to buy now? You don't need to sell your own property?"
I thought before speaking. "I won't be rushing into anything; I just want to see what's available."
The realtor did not look happy. I suppose I didn't look like a typical millionaire. I attempted to look posh.
"Thank you so much for letting me view at such short notice." I drew out my vowels and looked down my nose at him. It seemed to work.
"No problem at all. No one's in residence. It's a deceased estate. Quite sad really. It's been in the family for decades, but now old Mr. Crawley has died and his sons are just not interested in keeping the place."
My ears had pricked up at the name Crawley . "What a shame. The sons don't live here then?"
"One lives in Newcastle but the other lives in Sydney."
"How long has the property been in the one family?" I was onto something, so upped my efforts. "It's just that my father is very interested in social history. I have horses and this place looks ideal from what I've seen so far, but Daddy is the one with the money. He isn't into horses, just all the racehorses he has with Gai - Gai Waterhouse that is."
My name dropping of one of Australia's most famous racehorse trainers did the trick. The realtor looked impressed. I felt a bit guilty for telling such outrageous lies, but that soon passed. I was a journalist after all.
"It's been in the family for well over a hundred years. Surely you've heard of the Crawley family? They have the Midas touch; everything they touch turns to gold. They're a very wealthy family; they have property all over the place. This house however has been the private residence of David Crawley. It was built in 1836 by a Baxter Morgan who was a friend of Edward Close." He pointed to the number 1836 embedded over the front door. "Have you ever heard of the Jewboy Gang?"
Yes of course I had, but I thought it better not to let on. "No, who were they?"
"Bushrangers. Baxter Morgan was one of them and was executed."
"I thought all bushrangers were escaped convicts?"
"Pretty much, but the whole matter's quite a puzzle. Anyway, Baxter Morgan was a close friend of Joe Crawley and left him the property in his will. Your father would be interested in the story. Someone falsely testified against Baxter Morgan and named him as one of the Jewboy Gang."
I was astonished but hoped my surprise wasn't showing on my face. "My father loves that sort of thing. Are you sure this is all true and not just village gossip?"
The realtor shook his head and then laughed. "I can't be sure, but I grew up in Morpeth and this is the story that's always been around." He must have been reassured that I was a genuine buyer, as he progressed to the hard sell. "You would've noticed that the drive into the house is lined by old English oak trees, and the driveway down to the barn, which would covert nicely to stables for you, is lined with pepper trees. The homestead is solid sandstone. The cast iron lace work
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