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Famous gossip maven and professional gadabout Elsa Lemp once remarked: "I had never subscribed to that dull old adage that 'a women's place is in the home' until the day I crossed the threshold of the fabled Carter Mansion" She was, of course, referring to her overnight stay at the mansion in 1947, by invitation of Libby Carter. Not only did she sleep in this gorgeous sitting room (at her own insistance), but she managed to get quite a shock from one of the mansion's 'previous occupants'. Now everyone knows how hard it is to swing a dead cat in New England without hitting...well, the dead. Ghosts are as common as gambrel roofs and clam chowder around here. But by the way Elsa told it the next morning, she had very nearly joined her spectral host that night... "I retired a shade before midnight, making myself comfortable with the cushions that festooned the place. It was quite hot in the room, as I recall, and my head swam with the evening's libations, so naturally sleep was soon at hand. When I awoke about an hour later however, a chill so profound had gripped the room that I hurried to check that the windows were properly closed. They were. Almost immediately after that, I heard...music. It was very faint at first, but then grew slowly in volume until I was sure that there was at least a full string quartet playing in the Music Room that was adjacent to mine. When I tried the door, the music stopped-dead. The room was very dark, and I dared not enter, for the hairs on my neck were standing at full attention, and my heart had begun to pound. I closed the door, and gathered my housecoat and slippers. As I headed into the hallway through the other door, I could hear footfalls trailing off in the direction of the back of the house. I quickly gave chase, imagining that rascal Bootsy was playing one of his limp little pranks, and in no time I had ascended two flights of stairs and traversed the length of the mansion. I found myself soon very lost, and as I was about to bow to defeat and try to retrace my steps, I heard a little voice, like a child's, calling me by name. Well I had had enough of this, but no matter what direction I turned, the cries grew louder! I could not find the stairway I had used to ascend to this point, and in fact, did not recognize this section of the house at all from my earlier wanderings. The only unlocked door was a queer little irregularity that I had to pry open with both hands and then duck to fit inside. I remember feeling both frightened and ridiculous as I slouched along this dark, low passage. Finally, there appeared to be another narrow door ahead, and I pulled on it. It wouldn't budge, and in frustration I thumped it with both fists only to find that it opened outward into empty space! I still don't know how I managed to check my momentum and avoid tumbling into the darkness (which I know now to be a dumb-waiter shaft), but I avoided certain death by a hair's breadth. I made my way back to the first strange door, and upon egress, noticed that I was but two doors down from the Sitting Room where I had awakened! I resolved to knock on Bootsy's door at that point (he was staying in the Study) when the figure of a small child appeared quite out of nowhere. The look on his strange, mustard-colored little face sent me into a swoon, and the next I knew, it was morning, and good old Boot was there, peering down at me with great (and uncharacteristic) concern!" This story, naturally, would later be retold by Elsa to many of New York's social elite. She had, perhaps unnaturally, fallen in love with the mansion, and over the years pleaded with her former hostess for another invitation. None came, for Libby now considered the woman rather uncouth. As for the 'ghost'-- the obvious suspect was Alphonse, whose peculiar features never failed to startle visitors. The problem was, during that particular period he was vacationing in Tuscany! Was it a 'real' apparition ? Those who searched the records found no incident of a child dying by misadventure in or around a dumb-waiter shaft. There were plenty of nasty accidents on the varied and treacherous staircases, though. And the fact that poor Mona Carter had messily garrotted herself in the adjacent Music Room thirty years before... Come to think of it, I guess there isn't much doubt as to whether there was a ghostly manifestation that night. |
