The Haunting of Hill House: Chapters 7-9

Idly Eleanor picked a wild daisy, which died in her fingers, and, lying on the grass, looked up into its dead face.

The doctor and Luke approached, murmuring, and Mrs. Montague went on, “I am to be in your most haunted room, of course. Arthur can go anywhere. That blue suitcase is mine, young man, and the small attaché case; they will go in your most haunted room.”

“The women are just as much afraid as I am,” Luke said primly.

“I deplore fear in these matters.”

“Well, dear,” Mrs. Montague said, tasting daintily of Mrs. Dudley’s caper sauce “—you have found a fair cook, have you not?—you know that Arthur has to get back to his school; Arthur is a headmaster,” she explained down the table, “and he has generously canceled his appointments for Monday."

She paused and regarded Eleanor and Theodora speculatively.

I cannot abide a slipshod job in anything.

"Planchette,” he went on after a moment, “is a device similar to the Ouija Board, or perhaps I might explain better by saying that it is a form of automatic writing; a method of communicating with—ah—intangible beings, although to my way of thinking the only intangible beings who ever get in touch through one of those things are the imaginations of the people running it."

He waved a sheaf of paper triumphantly.

“I am only trying to say, my dear, that the wraith of a nun is far and away the most common form of appearance. There has never been such a thing connected with Hill House, but in almost every—”

“It is a legend. A story. A libel circulated—”

“So?” said Theodora impudently.

Mrs. Montague was positively magnanimous.

“This”—and he gestured in the direction of the hall—“this is practically her only vice.”

Holding to the bed, buffeted and shaken, Eleanor put her head down and closed her eyes and bit her lips against the cold and felt the sickening drop as the room fell away beneath her and then right itself and then turned, slowly, swinging.

Somewhere there was a great, shaking crash as some huge thing came headlong; it must be the tower, Eleanor thought, and I supposed it would stand for years; we are lost, lost; the house is destroying itself.

She heard the laughter over all, coming thin and lunatic, rising in its little crazy tune, and thought, No; it is over for me. It is too much, she thought, I will relinquish my possession of this self of mine, abdicate, give over willingly what I never wanted at all; whatever it wants of me it can have.

The doctor sat back in another chair; his hair freshly combed, looking neat and dapper and self-possessed.

Mrs. Montague’s voice preceded her, and she swept into the dining room, tapped the doctor curtly on the shoulder by way of greeting and seated herself with a general nod to the others.

“Can’t understand you,” Arthur said to the doctor, “letting yourself get all nervy about this place. Sat there all night long with my revolver and not a mouse stirred. Except for that infernal branch tapping on the window. Nearly drove me crazy,” he confided to Theodora.

Eleanor smiled placidly.

I ask you to regard impartially the lampshade made of tiny pieces of broken glass glued together, or the great round balls of the lights upon the stairs or the fluted iridescent candy jar at Theo’s elbow.

“Mark of a fighting man,” Arthur conceded. “Firearms always in good order. ”

“No,” Mrs. Montague said, “I do not believe in throwing young people together promiscuously, Mrs. Dudley. If my husband had consulted me before arranging this fantastic house party—”
“Well, now.”

“I am Eleanor,” Theo said, “because I am wearing blue. I love my love with an E because she is ethereal. Her name is Eleanor, and she lives in expectation.”

Theodora, piqued, leaned her head against the back of her chair and closed her eyes, clearly determined not to speak.

Arthur, coming behind her sheepishly, moved past her and, almost slinking, settled in a chair by the fire.

Arthur, coming behind her sheepishly, moved past her and, almost slinking, settled in a chair by the fire.

He shook his head warily when Theodora turned to him.

“The common decency. After all, John, I did come all this way, and so did Arthur, just to help out, and I certainly must say that I never expected to meet with such cynicism and incredulity from you, of all people, and these—”

“Mocking and jeering, were you not? Skeptical, with planchette’s very words before your eyes? Those young people pert and insolent?”

Precariously, the iron stairway shaking and groaning with every step, she felt her way.

“Does anybody agree with me,” she asked with great delicacy, “in thinking that this young woman has given us quite enough trouble tonight? I, for one, would like to go back to bed, and so would Arthur.”

Mrs. Montague swept out, dragon rampant, quivering with indignation.

Mrs. Montague swept out, dragon rampant, quivering with indignation.

“Madam,” Luke said somberly, “you are no longer welcome as my guest.”

I could go on and on, leaving my clothes for Theodora; I could go wandering and homeless, errant, and I would always come back here.

Theodora’s friend, mollified and contrite, was delighted to see Theodora back so soon; Luke took himself off to Paris, where his aunt fervently hoped he would stay for a while.

Theodora’s friend, mollified and contrite, was delighted to see Theodora back so soon; Luke took himself off to Paris, where his aunt fervently hoped he would stay for a while.

Dr. Montague finally retired from active scholarly pursuits after the cool, almost contemptuous reception of his preliminary article analyzing the psychic phenomena of Hill House.