Amanda sat at her high school desk, her gaze wandering restlessly between the window and Julie, who sat across the room, absorbed in her own thoughts. The professor’s voice droned on, dissecting the algebraic expression

, but Amanda's mind was far from the cryptic symbols on the blackboard. Julie had returned from her visit to Great-aunt Lucia that morning and entered the classroom late, leaving Amanda desperate for details.

The bell finally rang, releasing the students from their academic confinement. Amanda wasted no time, grabbing Julie’s arm as they exited the building. “Now, tell me everything!” she urged, her impatience barely contained.

Julie’s expression grew serious, her eyes darting around as if to ensure they were not overheard. “Not here,” she whispered, her tone laced with mystery. “We need to go somewhere private.”

Amanda's frustration flared. “Where and when, then?”

Julie paused, contemplating. “The Boarded-Up House,” she decided. “It’s the most fitting place. We’ll go there straight after we get home.”

Amanda could only suppress her impatience, nodding in agreement. Back at the house, the girls hurried through the dimly lit rooms, their footsteps echoing on the wooden floors. They reached the Boarded-Up House and climbed through the cellar window, the eerie silence of the abandoned building surrounding them. Lighting their candles, they made their way upstairs to the library.

Julie led Amanda to a spot near the old mantelpiece, where a dusty portrait of the Lovely Lady hung. The flickering candlelight cast ghostly shadows on the walls. “I want to stand here, where I can see the portrait,” Julie said. “The story is so strange—so different from what we thought.”

Amanda watched intently as Julie began to recount her visit.

“Great-aunt Lucia is incredibly old and frail,” Julie began. “She was thrilled to see us, especially me. We spent a lot of time talking, but I didn’t bring up the Boarded-Up House until the last night we were there. My parents had gone out, and since I was feeling under the weather, they left me at home. That was my chance to speak with her alone.”

Julie’s eyes gleamed with excitement. “We talked about her past, and I told her about you and our adventures. Then I casually mentioned the old house next door, describing it to her. That’s when she revealed something extraordinary.”

Amanda leaned in closer. “What did she say?”

Julie took a deep breath. “She told me that she had been inside the house just before it was boarded up. She had met Mrs. Fairfax Collingwood through a mutual friend in New York—an introduction that had left quite an impression on her.”

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Amanda’s eyes widened. “Mrs. Collingwood? We thought she was never married!”

Julie nodded. “Exactly! We’ve made some errors in our assumptions. Great-aunt Lucia was captivated by Mrs. Collingwood. She described her as beautiful and charming. Later, Lucia learned that Mrs. Collingwood was a widow, having lost her husband years before. She was originally from South Carolina.”

Julie’s voice grew more animated. “Lucia was invited to spend a day at Mrs. Collingwood’s home, along with several other guests. They traveled by train and then by carriage, arriving at the house on a balmy April day. The house was described as a delightful old Colonial, just like we’ve seen it.”

Amanda was spellbound. “And what happened?”

Julie continued, her voice tinged with excitement. “Just as they were finishing lunch, something strange occurred. The details were vague, but Lucia said it was an unsettling experience. I’ll need to dig deeper into what really happened that day.”

A servant glided into the dining room, his presence barely a whisper against the elegant décor. He approached Mrs. Collingwood, who was seated at the head of the table, and handed her a telegram. The room was alive with the clinking of silverware and soft conversations, but Mrs. Collingwood's expression turned immediately to one of tense anticipation. She excused herself with a slight nod, her fingers trembling as she tore open the envelope.

Amanda and Julie, seated among the guests, watched with growing curiosity as Mrs. Collingwood’s face transitioned from a deep flush of anger to an ashen pallor. The once vibrant woman appeared to shrink into herself. Her hand clutched the edge of the table as she gasped, “Oh!” in a choked, almost inaudible whisper. Instantly, the room erupted into chaos.

Chairs scraped against the floor as startled guests sprang up, their faces mirroring the panic that had gripped Mrs. Collingwood. Some guests stumbled over their chairs, their voices a blend of concern and confusion. “What’s wrong?” someone demanded urgently.

Without warning, Mrs. Collingwood collapsed, her body falling limply to the polished floor. A collective cry of alarm rang out, and frantic hands rushed to her side. Two of the guests, their faces etched with worry, began rubbing her hands and face vigorously. The rest of the party scrambled to summon the servants, who darted away to fetch smelling salts and vinegar.

In the ensuing pandemonium, the room became a whirl of movement and muffled voices. Moments later, Mrs. Collingwood stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She sat up slowly, her expression one of profound distress. Despite the barrage of questions from her concerned guests, she only managed a weak smile and said, “I’ve received some very troubling news, dear friends. It’s made me quite ill, and I’m not able to discuss it right now. Please don’t think me impolite if I retire to my room for a while.”

The guests, though reluctant to leave, understood the gravity of the situation. They offered their apologies and reassurances, but Mrs. Collingwood insisted they should not delay their departure. Reluctantly, they accepted her wishes. Within fifteen minutes, the carriages waiting outside began to roll away, taking the bewildered guests with them.

Julie paused for effect, her eyes wide with the weight of the revelation. “And—” she began, her voice dropping to a dramatic whisper, “—not one of them, except Mrs. Durand, my great-aunt’s close friend, ever saw Mrs. Collingwood again.”

Amanda’s mouth hung open, her mind racing to piece together the implications. “But—what happened to her? Where did she go?”