The Ghost of Black Eagle Inn

Black Eagle Inn rested precariously on the banks of a curve in the historic Pequenack River. The unpaved, rock-rutted road in front of the inn still washes out with torrential rain storms, often flooding the first floor of the structure.

In the early 1700s, the inn was owned by Robert Morris Landsdown, a colonial settler with Mayflower roots. Landsdown chose the site for its proximity to the river and the steep downward slope of the land lying adjacent to Brock Road.

From the front windows of the two-story building, Brock Road appeared to be an optical illusion. It was at the confluence of  Brock and Morris Roads. Brock Road ran downhill from the midsection of the Appalachian trail into wood-lined Robert Morris Road, named by Landsdown himself.

He called his property Black Eagle due to the numerous nests of raven-winged eagles that glided serenely along the river's edge.

The first Landsdown family lived at Black Eagle for over half a century. Then, the property passed to Robert's sons, James, Roger, Christian and his namesake, Robert the Younger.

Life at Black Eagle was as Quaker simple as would be expected of a man as religiously observant as Robert and his wife, Judith.

The land in front of Black Eagle was limited due to the imposing road fifty feet from the property line. Still, the home was conservatively adorned with a limited number of flowers beneath the windows at the front and sides of the house, owing to Judith's love of all things floral and simplistic Quaker upbringing.

That was likely a good thing, given the thick woods that surrounded Black Eagle and the greenish-blue hue of the river. With such a solid green color scheme, the expansive landscape would be depressing.

By the time the Revolutionary War began,  Black Eagle's occupants tired of the annual flooding beneath the foundation and over the slate flooring on the first floor of the home.

Robert the Younger, the present owner, simply packed up his family, abandoned the property and moved to higher ground, more inland, near Pittstown.

Washington's troops found the abandoned Black Eagle ideal for barracks during their battles with the Brits. The thick forest and treacherous curve of the river provided safe haven for river transports and a place where colonial militia plotted their next military strategy to rid their newly formed country of the oppression of King George.

It was during the stay of the militia at Black Eagle that the first of many peculiar occurrences marked the site as "haunted."

Matthew Wrenfrew, a young man of twenty-two, was sent to fetch water from the well, located on the back lawn of the property.

For no explicable reason, a sudden, massive gust of wind sent Matthew over the edge of the brick and mortar well. Some claimed he leaned too far over while pulling up the heavy water bucket.

Others were not so sure. Matthew, after all, was nearly six feet tall and weighed one hundred and seventy pounds. No lightweight he.

When his body was pulled from the well, the expression on his face shocked his fellow militia men. It was as if he'd seen a ghost. His mouth was agape and his eyes were fixed with a look of terror.

Several months before the troops vacated Black Eagle, another man claimed he saw a ghostly male figure floating past the well where Wrenfrew had fallen in.

Troop leaders tried in vain to quell the rumors to no avail. By late autumn of 1778, rains came as they always had, forcing troops out of Black Eagle to drier ground. They pitched tents up on the high ridge at the top of Brock Road.

Black Eagle was once again empty and acquired the dank odor of mold and mildew within.

Harper Ledsley, an inventor, who prized his solitude, noticed Black Eagle one afternoon in 1892, on one of his restless weekend jaunts.

The home remained unoccupied for so long that Ledsley was intrigued by it.

Judith Landsdown's flowers bloomed still. But, the trees and shrubbery were overgrown in wild tangles that obscured the full view of the front of the home.

Ledsley previously invented several successful farm implements, which he had patented. This provided the majority of his highly stable income.

Black Eagle was ideal for his need for quiet and solitude. He discovered, through his research, that the property was abandoned and the state of Pennsylvania was willing to sell it for far less than the average property rates. He never asked why. Nor, did the authorities in Broadwick County provide any additional information about Black Eagle.

Ledsley spent his first year setting up the second story of the Black Eagle as his inventor's laboratory. His retained the last one of the six bedrooms, at the end of the long hall, for personal use. The other bedrooms were used for storage of various items he needed for his inventions and laboratory.

The first floor was mostly for daily use. The single, heavy timber front door of Black Eagle opened to a large sitting room with a brick and stone fireplace. A single dividing wall and door separated the kitchen and larder from the sitting room.

The kitchen had the same style brick and stone fireplace set on a rear wall. Not that Ledsley intended much use for a fireplace in the kitchen. He had a cast iron cook stove set into the fireplace and added a wood carved sink. Water was drawn from the well for his needs.

Judith Landsdown's rough hewn table and benches remained. She once served three times meals daily for her four sons and husband on that six-foot long table.

By all appearances, Black Eagle could be described as sparsely furnished. Ledsley's only addition to the sitting room was a heavy, dark pine, Grandfather rocking chair set beside the fireplace and a small wooden end table where he placed his coffee mug and biscuits after his evening meal.

The only traffic that ever passed Black Eagle was usually a stranger who had lost his way.

This was just as Ledsley preferred it. Occasionally, a brown bear wandered out of the woods onto the property. Deer also wandered onto the property and now and again, a brown fox or two.

Ledsley was a good shot with his musket, which he kept at hand, over the sitting room fireplace. Hunting was not a sport Ledsley was particularly interested in.

He ate sparingly and mostly from the abundance of wild vegetables and abundant mushrooms, his particular favorites, found in the nearby woods. There was little time for formal gardening. His days were spent in his laboratory, often long into the late evenings.

One October evening in 1893, Ledsley retired to bed just before nine o'clock. He fell sound asleep as quickly as he always had.

Around three that morning, he was awakened by a groaning sound. He attributed it to "river noises." He often heard gurgling, slapping and churning sounds, as river water formed eddies that swirled at highest water levels.

This time, however, it sounded more like a man's voice...too much like a man's voice.

He rose from his bed and looked out the window from his second-floor bedroom. He blinked several times. There was an unmistakable form at the site of the well. He grabbed his robe and ran down the stairs to get his musket.

"Who goes there!" he yelled, from the rear door.

The only response was a chill gust of wind.

The apparition floated toward the woods.

"Drat and be damned! It just early morning fog," he said, aloud.

In daylight, Ledsley had no trouble making sense of what he'd seen. At night though, he felt uneasy.

The next time he saw the apparition was the same as the first: the figure of a ghostly column. Each time he saw it thereafter he grew more brazen about approaching it. And each time he did, the apparition faded over the river's edge and was gone.

Black Eagle was about to be unoccupied, yet again. It happened on the eve of the summer solstice of 1894. The night air was warm and liquid and there was only the barest perception of wind.

Harper Ledsley decided to enjoy the landscape and retreat from the stiflingly warm interior of his lab. He rested on the bench at the front of the house until the night sky was filled with stars. Then, he went indoors when mosquitoes began a wild biting frenzy.

Inside, he fell sound asleep in his rocking chair around nine o'clock. Once again, he was awakened by a loud, gurgling sound. He shook himself awake as hard as he could and opened the front door, grabbing for his musket. From the doorway, he saw the apparition gravitating toward the well.

This time, it seemed to beckon him with an eerie, misty arm extended forward. He walked cautiously toward the well prepared to fire, if necessary.

Just as he approached the apparition, he was startled by a loud groan coming from inside the well. Harper Ledsley was sure someone wandered onto his property and fell in the well.

Startled, he dropped his weapon, leaned over the side and peered down into the chasm. The wet ground made his footing slippery. When he tried to stand erect again, he slipped, his feet flipping constantly to try and get footing. Down into the well's shaft he went.

Black Eagle claimed its second, but not its last victim.

Rumors spread about Black Eagle's ghost. People in Pittstown referred to it as the "Militia Man's ghost."

Broadwick County councilors were hard put to explain just why the property and home known as Black Eagle was fraught with accidental deaths all related to drownings in the well at the back of the property.

There was no rationale for any of the drownings. None made any sense.

"We should have told Ledsley about that militia man's death," Councilman John Wright, said.

"If we did, he might not have taken that abandoned property off our hands. If it remains empty, the county picks up the cost of it," Council President, Charles Carrington, replied.

Black Eagle's reputation created an abundance of curiosity seekers from the big cities. Most were ghost hunters. Broadwick County allowed them to stay for a few nights in Black Eagle at their own expense and risk. Each time, one or more of these ghost hunters claimed they heard groaning or saw the Militia Man's apparition at the well.

The councilmen were aghast. Yet, they realized that a haunted house could bring in a tidy little sum that just might help fill in the gap in tax payments left by the Black Eagle being unoccupied for long periods of time.

John Wright and Charles Carrington hatched a plan to turn Black Eagle into a commercial inn. The problem was, who would maintain it?

The answer came in 1910, when a man and woman, Roan and Delia Marquardt, out of Dover, inquired as to the ownership of Black Eagle.

The council of Broadwick saw their opportunity.

"We will lease Black Eagle to you, but only as an inn for taxes on profits from "guests" who reserve rooms there on a short-term basis. Why are you interested in it?" Carrington asked.

"I was a hotelier back East for a decade. My wife is an excellent chef. That was how we first met...we worked in the same hotel," Roan Marquardt said.

Carrington glanced furtively at Wright, his bushy, brown eyebrows raised as a warning to add nothing to the conversation.

"You realize Black Eagle has had flooding problems, being so near the river?" Wright asked.

"Yes. We plan to use only the second floor of the home for guests to sleep over. We will make necessary renovations to prevent the first floor flooding out," Roan Marquardt said.

"How precisely do you plan to do that without destroying its historic integrity?" Carrington asked.

"We plan to add a small overflow pool, with a stone and mortar retention wall, seventy feet back, at the rear of the property. The stone and mortar will match the stone and mortar structure of the house," Roan said.

"I suppose that might help. Our Broadwick council must first discuss this before we can agree to leasing terms," Carrington added.

"That's fine. We are staying in Pittstown. We are looking at other sites that might suit our plans," Roan said.

Roan glanced toward Delia. She remained silent to allow Roan to broker a firm deal.

"How long do you think it will take the council to make a decision?" Roan asked.

"Not more than a day or two. You and your wife should return in two days when we will have an answer for you," Wright said.

As soon as the Marquardts left, Carrington and Wright were already discussing the terms of the lease of Black Eagle.

"Delia? You think we will be able to manage the Black Eagle as an inn and small dining hall?" Roan asked.

"I don't see why not. Keeping rooms is what you did in Massachusetts. The Black Eagle is not nearly so large. But, we will have a better look around once the council comes back to us with the leasing terms on the place," Delia said.

The Marquardts needn't have worried about the Council denying them their lease of Black Eagle. When they met again with Wright and Carrington, to their delight, they were given full approval to lease, with option to buy the place, at a price far below what they expected.

The Marquardts spent the next two months settling in to Black Eagle. Roan decided to announce the opening in the Pittstown Journal and posted the announcement in several prominent places. Their announcement alluded to great fishing and hunting in the area and "an exclusive, secluded place to enjoy nature."

Delia began to create breakfast, lunch and dinner menus. Then, she decided to use Judith Landsdown's large kitchen table to serve meals. She found, as Ledsley had, an abundance of wild mushrooms, onions and chicory.

Roan went into Pittstown, via their horse and wagon, to pick up staples like flour, sugar, yeast and dairy products.

A few weeks before the Black Eagle was set to open, Delia was in the kitchen when she heard the familiar clip clop sound. Roan returned with a dairy cow tethered to the back of the wagon loaded with goods she needed.

"Roan Marquardt! What on earth!" Delia declared.

"We cannot run into town for milk and dairy products every day," Roan said.

"And just who will milk the cow?" Delia asked, superciliously.

"I will, my dear," Roan said, giving his wife a peck on the cheek.

"Where do you plan on keeping this animal? We have no barn," Delia said.

"Sure we do. That old shed on the right side of the house is a good enough barn for a single cow, with room to spare for the wagon and horses. Who knows? We may enlarge the shed, should we buy a herd!" Roan said, laughing.

Delia knew Roan was just making light of her. She waved him off and headed back into the house. For the rest of the day, she heard Roan rattling around in the old wooden shed.

When she finished hanging curtains on the second floor bedrooms, she glanced out the side window in one of the rooms to see a pile of things lying on the ground Roan removed from the shed. She hurried outside to see what he found.

"Look wife! Here's a large wagon wheel and several saddles. My, but aren't they old? And look, here's a small plow and several garden tools," Roan said.

"I can't imagine where they would have planted a garden on Black Eagle land," Delia said.

"Why is that, my dear?" Roan asked.

"You heard the councilmen...the floods from the river surely would have made a garden impossible."

"Yet, the flowers under the front room windows continue to grow," Roan said, sheepishly.

"It's the slope of the house that protects those flowers," Delia said.

In the days ahead, Roan prepared for guests' arrival at the newly created "Black Eagle Inn."

Delia scrubbed the floors on the second floor until her knuckles were blistered. She washed all of the linens twice to insure they would be fresh and ready for guests. She found an old wooden trunk in the last bedroom down the hall. She'd seen it before and assumed it was used to store clothing, since it rested at the foot of the bed that the previous occupant, Harper Ledsley, once slept in.

She thought she might ask Roan to move it to the front room downstairs to use as a storage cabinet for linens for the kitchen. She knelt down beside it and tried to open it. The black iron hasp lock wouldn't budge. She pushed so hard, she fell backward onto the floor.

Roan, entering through the back door to the larder, heard the thud and ran upstairs to see Delia sitting on the floor.

"My dear, what in the name of heaven are you doing?"

"Ask what I was doing," Delia answered.

"What then "were" you doing?"

"I was trying to unlock this storage trunk and it pushed me back onto the floor with force," Delia said.

"Now, Delia. That trunk is just an old footlocker. It must have been here since Black Eagle was built," Roan said.

"Well, sir? Can you open it then?" she asked.

Roan walked toward the wooden trunk. He pushed hard on the hasp lock. It wouldn't budge.

"I'll see if we have a tool to pry it open. Why do you want it open?" he asked.

"I want to move it down to the front room to use for storing linens for our dining guests," Delia said.

Roan hurried down the stairs and out the door to the shed. He found an old, half rusted crowbar and brought it back upstairs.

He pushed hard on the hasp lock and pried the trunk open.

Delia and Roan stared down into the trunk in surprise. There were several journals that appeared to be quite old and other documents. There was also a smaller trunk made of pine, about ten inches long and four inches wide, set to the right of the journals. Roan opened it carefully.

Inside were several old pieces of jewelry and a man's watch with a fob.

Delia and Roan stared at each other in silence. Beneath the layer of journals and documents, was a woman's dress and man's waistcoat.

Roan continued to empty the trunk, placing the garments on the wooden floor.

"What a treasure trove of history, Delia!" he said.

He peered back into the trunk.

"Delia, there's something in the bottom."

He removed all of the clothing and felt something strangely hard against his fingers. It was a wooden slat that covered a false bottom in the trunk. Then, he pried the wooden slat with his knife until it could be lifted away.

When he saw what was hidden in the false bottom, he told Delia to fetch an oil lamp. Now, the object was clearly visible.

"Delia! Oh my Lord! It's a skeleton! Or...part of a skeleton! The upper torso mostly," Roan said.

"No, It cannot be!" Delia exclaimed.

"See for yourself..."

Delia peered down at the skeleton. It was as Roan had said. The upper torso of a skeleton with no neck bone or skull.

"We should report this to the council. What if this is the skeleton of someone who was murdered here at Black Eagle?" Roan said.

"Oh Roan, I am so scared of that thing. The neck and head must still be buried somewhere nearby."

"If it is, I am sure it is as well hidden as this skeleton was."

"But, why hide it in a trunk?" Delia asked

"Whoever put it there must have thought no one would ever know there was a false bottom in the trunk," Roan said.

"Oh my dear. I am so frightened. Maybe, this is the reason this place was empty for so long," Delia said.

"I'm sure vacancy had more to do with annual flooding than a skeleton," Roan replied.

"Will you go to town to report it?" Delia asked.

"I think we must. To just bury it would make it appear we knew whose skeleton this was ," Roan replied.

Roan closed the trunk and replaced the false bottom and piled the clothes on top of it. He rushed out the door to the village.

"Mornin' ma'am," he said to the clerk at the front desk.

"Mr. Marquardt, how can I help you this day?" she asked.

"I need to speak with Councilman Carrington or Wright, if you please. It's an emergency," Roan said.

"Another flood over at Black Eagle Inn?" she asked.

"No, nothing like that, knock wood," Roan said, tapping the clerk's wooden desk top.

"What kind of emergency, sir?"

"It's something...something we found on our property. I think Messrs. Carrington and Wright must see it," Roan said.

Without saying more, the clerk hurried to Carrington's office and returned with Carrington.

"Ah, Mr. Marquardt. What can we do for you this fine morning?" he asked.

"I want to report something my wife found in a bedroom of the Black Eagle," Roan said.

"Yes? And what would that be?" Carrington asked.

"A skeleton."

"Skeleton? Did I hear correctly? Did you say skeleton?"

"Yes sir, that is what I said."

"You are correct. We'd better investigate this. Let us alert James Thornton, our constable," Carrington said.

Just as they were about to exit the front door of town hall, they were met by Councilman Wright. Carrington took him aside and whispered Roan's find, glancing furtively at Roan.

All three men walked across the dirt path to Constable Thornton's office.

Thornton was a tall, stout man who looked more like a farmer than a town constable. His manner was far less reserved than Roan expected.

"You say your wife found a skeleton?" Thornton asked.

"Yes. In the upstairs bedroom...in an old trunk," Roan said.

"We'd best go out and see what this is all about," Thornton said.

Delia watched from the front room window as Roan and three men followed him. Roan led them to the upstairs bedroom and tossed aside the clothes he'd piled atop the trunk.

"I think I should investigate this," Thornton said, firmly.

"The trunk has a false bottom. That's where the skeleton is," Roan said.

Thornton pulled away the oak slat that hid the skeleton. He jolted backward at first sight of it.

"It is a human skeleton alright. From the looks of it, it was stored here long after it was buried," Thornton said.

"Yes, but whose skeleton is it?" Carrington asked.

"If I knew that, I would say. Wouldn't I?" Thornton said, brusquely.

"Mr. Marquardt, I am afraid we will need to take this trunk and its content back to town. Looks to me like we need to do some studying on how old that skeleton is," Thornton added.

Roan glanced at his wife.

"Delia, you won't want this trunk now it has a skeleton in it," Roan said.

"No, indeed I do not. We can find one at auction, if need be," Delia said.

Thornton, Wright and Carrington carted the trunk off to Thornton's wagon.

"Just one thing, Mr. Thornton," Roan said.

"Yes sir?" Thornton replied.

"That skeleton has no head. How do account for that? And...where is it?" Roan asked.

"I'm thinking that this is the body of one of the Revolutionaries who stayed during that War," Thornton said.

"But, why hide it in an old trunk?" Roan asked.

"Could be it wasn't hidden, so much as a convenient way to bury a body back in those days to hide where  the revolutionary soldiers had been," Carrington put in.

Roan and Delia watched as the three men rode off.

"How can it be that a Revolutionary militia man would be buried in a trunk like that?" Delia asked.

"I don't know. I am certain of one thing. Somewhere on this property there is a head buried. There would be only one reason to hide the torso from the head...the man, if it is a man, was a spy or there was a good reason for the body to never be identified," Roan said.

"You mean it could be a woman?" Delia asked.

"Could be. I'm sure we'll find that out when we find the head," Roan said.

Delia felt nauseated by the thought.

"Where do you suppose it might be?" she asked.

"I can't begin to imagine. It's buried somewhere on this property," Roan said.

"I don't think that would be a wise idea. Carrington and Wright both told us about the annual flooding. Burying a body part would eventually become visible, when soil washes down to the river as flood waters recede," she said.

Roan was proud of his wife. He knew she was correct about the head being buried.

For several weeks, nothing was heard from Carrington, Wright or Thornton. Roan wondered why. He and Delia were both preoccupied with getting their business ready for their first guests. It being the shank of the fishing season, Roan and Delia hurried to meet and greet the first patrons.

They'd already had several inquiries from Roan's public announcements. The first guests were a couple named Johnstone. They were traveling from northern Pennsylvania to Maryland and needed accommodations for two days. After they paid their fees, Delia led them to the first room at the top of the stairs.

"I'm sure you'll want this room being it is so close to the stairs," Delia said.

"Yes. How far is town from here?" Mr. Johnstone asked.

"About four miles. I provide meals for guests," Delia replied.

"Oh that's lovely," Mrs. Johnstone said.

"We serve breakfast at eight, lunch at one and dinner at six," Delia said.

"We just need a few things from town for our travels. We will return in time for dinner," Mr. Johnstone said.

When Roan finished his duties at noon, Delia set a plate of the fish he'd caught down by the river in front of him. She sliced the bread she'd set earlier that morning with some of her freshly churned butter. Buying a cow had been a good decision. There was plenty of milk, butter and cheese for guests.

"Well, The Black Eagle Inn has its first official guests," Roan said.

"Yes. Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone. They are on their way to Maryland. They went to town for goods they'll need for their travels. They say they'll return by dinner," Delia said.

Dinner went well for the Johnstone and the Marquardts. Mr. Johnstone joined Roan on the front porch, while Mrs. Johnstone retired to her room. Delia cleared away the table and dishes and began preparing for the next morning's breakfast meal for their guests.

"This is such a peaceful place," Mr. Johnstone said.

"Yes. We find it quite tranquil," Roan answered.

"The Mrs. and I will likely be leaving mid morning. I'll be retiring early. I'll need to get our horses ready for traveling," Mr. Johnstone said.

"I can help with that," Roan said.

"I wouldn't want to impose."

"It's no trouble really. I'll see the horses are watered and fed," Roan answered.

Mr. Johnstone stepped off the porch and looked up at the starry sky. His eyes glanced toward the river.

"Yes. As I say, very peaceful here. You are very fortunate, Mr. Marquardt."

"I'll be retiring now. I'll see you in the morning," Mr. Johnstone added.

Delia glance toward their guest as he climbed the stairs to his room.

By ten o'clock that night, the Black Eagle Inn was silent, with only the sound of the river water ambling past.

At around midnight, Mrs. Johnstone, half asleep thought she heard a voice.

"Mr. Johnstone, did you hear that?" Mrs. Johnstone said, jolting upright in her bed.

"Mrs. Johnstone, did I hear what?"

"It sounded like someone wailing."

"Just the wind, my dear. Get some rest. We have a long road ahead of us."

She tried to return to sleep, but felt impelled to go to the window of their room. The window faced the front yard of Black Eagle Inn.

When she looked out of the window, she rubbed her eyes. She saw a strange ghostly column moving across the property toward the rear of the house. The apparition seemed to settle midpoint between the Inn's front door and the right of the property.

Mr. Johnstone slept soundly. Mrs. Johnstone knew she shouldn't venture out of the house. But, she felt an overwhelming sense of urgency to see the apparition at closer range. She put on her robe and slippers and stealthily headed down the stairs.

"Roan, do you hear something?" Delia asked.

Roan was already asleep. Delia poked him in the ribs to wake him.

"I heard something on the stairs. I am sure of it," Delia said.

"Delia, it's probably Mr. or Mrs. Johnstone needing to use the outhouse," Roan said.

Delia accepted this explanation.

Outside, Mrs. Johnstone watched in awe at the vaporous column that seemed to beckon her. She followed it to the rear of the Black Eagle property. It settled near an old well.

"Who are you?" she called softly.

The apparition gave no response and remained at the well. Frightened by the thing she'd seen, she hurried back up the stairs and into bed beside her husband. She pulled the covers up to her chin and felt chilled to her bones.

The next morning, as Mr. and Mrs. Johnstone dressed and prepared for breakfast, Mrs. Johnstone told her husband what she saw the night before.

"My dear, it was a nightmare. You were fast asleep and thought what you saw was real. That's all."

"Andrew, I tell you. It was not a nightmare. There was something out there. Look, I'll prove it. See? my slippers are damp from being on the wet grass," she said.

"Perhaps, you were walking in your sleep."

She knew that to pursue the issue would only anger her husband. They ate breakfast silently at the same table where Judith Landsdown, once served her husband and sons.

"This table is quite old," Mrs. Johnstone remarked.

"Yes. I do believe it has always been here in this kitchen. Probably since before the Revolutionary War," Delia said.

She offered her guests more coffee and her freshly baked apple turnovers.

"None for me...Mrs. Marquardt? Uh...My wife, Alicia here, seems to think she saw something on the lawn last night. She felt compelled to take a terrible risk and go outside for a closer look," Mr. Johnstone said, in a reproachful tone and gaze aimed directly at his wife.

"What was it you saw Mrs. Johnstone?" Delia asked.

"It was a ghost. I'm sure it was a ghost. It was out on the front lawn at first sight. Then, it floated toward the back of the property and rested near that old well."

"I think sometimes, the river plays tricks on people. It seems to collect river vapors that look like ghosts. We've heard that the Black Eagle Inn was haunted by ghosts. But, thus far, neither I, nor my husband, have seen any signs of ghosts," Delia said, confidently.

After the Johnstones left Black Eagle Inn, the Marquardts' business seemed to blossom. Delia and Roan were pleased at their success. They'd built a stone retaining wall to keep the river waters from flooding the inn and a retention pool that served double duty as an idyllic pond where birds, deer and other animals frequented for their baths. Roan even added a large river rock that was shaped like a statue when set upright on its four foot base.

During the spring and fall seasons, fishermen and hunters were glad for accommodations so close to their favorite sports locations. In summer, the inn was always full of travelers, once horse and wagons were replaced by automobiles.

In winter, the inn was quiet enough for Delia and Roan to enjoy some privacy and prepare for the coming spring guests.

The Broadwick councilmen never again mentioned the skeleton they'd found in that trunk. Neither Delia nor Roan saw what some of their guests claimed to have seen.

"You know what I am thinking about the Ghost of Black Eagle Inn?"

"No, dear. What is that?"

"I think that many of our guests know beforehand they are staying in a place with a reputation for ghosts," Delia said.

"Perhaps, so. Still that ghost is good for our business," Roan answered.

During their twenty-five years of ownership of the Black Eagle Inn, there was only one frightening incident when the river waters rose high enough to breach the retaining wall and fill the pond.

"That river is like the devil," Delia said.

"Water takes what water wants, is all," Roan said.

The Marquardts left the Black Eagle when Roan and Delia could no longer handle the long hours required of innkeepers. They made a wise decision to sell just as the war in Europe was beginning to affect businesses all over the country.

Once again, the Black Eagle Inn was empty for fifteen years. The next owners were New York City restaurateurs, Jayce and Audrey Carrigan, who had their eye on a "retirement business" and found the Black Eagle Inn on an antique hunting trip.

This part of the state was always full of antique businesses. Anything old and unwanted was sold along the sides of rural roads in and around Broadwick County.

The couple felt drawn to the Black Eagle Inn. The now weathered sign the Marquardts placed at the front of the building still remained.

"Oh, Jayce, this is it! This is our retirement business. Can't you see it? A bed and breakfast for antique hunters just like us?" Audrey asked.

"It looks as if it's been empty for quite some time. You know getting an empty shell of a place back to where it can be occupied is going to cost us," Jayce said.

"We can sell some of our antiques we've collected at auctions. That ought to bring in enough to restore this place," Audrey said.

"Are you sure? This place looks as if it has ghosts of hundreds of years past," Jayce said, laughing.

"Good. Ghosts will be as welcome as our guests. Oh please, Jayce? Can't we just look into it?"

"And you will help do all the dirty work?" Jayce asked.

"Don't I always?" she replied.

"Can we at least check out its history at the local library first?" Jayce asked.

"What history do you think it has?"

"Don't know. But, it is always a good thing to know as much as possible about a future business site," Jayce said.

Broadwick County hadn't changed much in the years since the Marquardts left Black Eagle Inn. In fact, finding the inn was still as much hit or miss as it had been during the Revolutionary War, especially now with a major highway running through Pittstown. The towns grew in population, though not exceedingly so. Most of the towns in this part of the state had populations of under 5,000 residents.

The location of the Black Eagle Inn was nearly forgotten in the years after World War II.

The Carrigans spent several weekends studying the history of the inn.

"Look at this, Audrey. This Broadwick County history book says that the original family who owned the Black Eagle property were named Landsdown. The owner was Robert Morris Landsdown. Must be the reason that road is named Robert Morris Road," Jayce said.

"This book says that an inventor named Harper Ledsley lived there and turned the place into a laboratory. It says he accidentally fell into that old well at the back of the property. Wonder if his body is still down there?" Audrey said.

"Audrey! My goodness! How macabre! I am certain his body in not still in the well."

"Look at these old prints in this book, Audrey. The place was home to George Washington's troops. It says they left due to the river overflowing its banks and flooding the place. You think that's why it's been empty so long?"

"We can ask when we speak to a realtor," Audrey said.

"That would certainly make it a place we wouldn't want," Jayce said.

As she sat with the history book in her lap, Audrey's face went white.

"Audrey? What is it?"

"There was another death there. One of the Revolutionary militia men, Matthew Wrenfrew, fell into that well," she said.

"That's palpable. With a river overflowing its banks, anyone could easily slip while fetching water. You have to factor that's what the well was for back then...to fetch potable water for drinking and other uses," Jayce said.

"I get that. It's the idea that two men fell into that well and died that bothers me."

"So, we won't allow guests with children. That way they can't fall into the well," Jayce said.

"Maybe, we should just close that thing to avoid any liability," Audrey added.

"Let's check out the place with a real estate agent tomorrow. Then, we'll know whether to make a deposit on the place or not," Audrey said.

Marsha Carrington, a paternal granddaughter of Councilman Carrington, took notice of the couple entering her office. She wondered which property in Broadwick County they might be interested in. Given their appearance, they were obviously city people looking for property for speculation purposes. Marsha made most of her real estate commissions from people looking for business properties, since there was little in the way of new houses for sale.

"Good morning. I'm Marsha Carrington. Can I be of assistance?" she asked.

"We hope you can," Jayce answered.

"You have a piece of real estate in mind?" Marsha asked.

"Yes. We are looking for a retirement business. We formerly owned a large, busy restaurant in New York City and now we are looking for something less complex," Jayce said.

"And less hectic," Audrey added.

"I see. Do you have something in mind? Mr...?" Marsha said.

"Oh. I'm sorry. We are Jayce and Audrey Carrigan. Yes. There's a place out near Brock Road. I think it's Robert Morris Road?"

"You mean the Black Eagle Inn?" Marsha asked.

"Yes. That's the one," Jayce said.

"It's been unoccupied since the Marquardts bought it back in the early 1900s and left in the 30s. It has a lot of history. In fact, my great grandfather sold the place to the Marquardts. He was a councilman in Broadwick County then."

"What can you tell us about the place?" Jayce asked.

"Well, let's see now. It was built by Robert Morris Landsdown for his wife, Judith, and their four sons, James, Roger, Christian and Robert the Younger. Each of the sons lived there until floods forced them out. Part of the history of the Black Eagle Inn includes Washington's troops who stayed there during the Revolutionary War," Marsha said.

She skirted the issue of the death of Matthew Wrenfrew in the hopes that the inn's history might encourage the couple to buy.

"Then, there was this inventor, Ledsley, who thought it would be a quiet place to set up his laboratory. The Marquardts made quite a success of the place for over twenty-five years," Marsha continued.

"But what about the floods?" Audrey asked.

"Well, the river is not nearly as powerful as once it might have been. There are a couple of reasons for that. The state put in a reservoir at Langford Point, that controls the river and flooding at the Black Eagle Inn. So, flooding has not been a problem. Also, the Marquardts had a stone retaining wall and retention pond built on the rear of the property to contain floods.

The reservoir was built during the late 1930s when men needed jobs badly. So, the inn has a kind of double protection from floods now. I can assure you the place is as safe as can be. Those historic homes are built on solid stone foundations. If you want to see the place, I'll be happy to show it," Marsha said.

"I'd love that," Audrey said.

Jayce saw that Audrey was warming to the idea of buying Black Eagle Inn.

The trio drove out to the place.

"Why hasn't anyone maintained the inn?" Audrey asked.

Jayce knew his wife well enough to recognize that was a leading question.

"The last owners tried to sell it and after that, it became property of the county again," Marsha said.

"Again? You mean it was property of the county before?" Jayce asked.

"Yes. After Ledsley...I know this is going to sound somewhat eerie. That inventor had an accident on this property. He fell into the well at the rear. He wasn't found for some time after. He had no heirs to lay claim to inheriting the inn. So, it became property of the county when taxes went unpaid," Marsha said, watching the faces of the couple carefully.

"Would new owners be responsible for any back taxes owed on the inn property?" Jayce asked.

"No. Of course, not. When the Marquardts bought the place, they kept taxes paid current and always on time. When they couldn't sell it, they donated it back to the county."

"My wife and I have done a bit of reading on the history of the inn. Is it true that a Revolutionary War militia man also fell into that well?" Jayce asked.

Marsha hesitated before answering. She hated to lose the sale.

"Look, I'm going to be perfectly frank with you. There has always been talk that Black Eagle Inn is haunted. Like all ghost stories, the old folks attributed it to the death of that militia man. He was a young, strapping man who just slipped over the side. That well has not been full since the inventor owned the place. It's bone dry as near as the county can state," Marsha said.

There was a long pause in the conversation as Marsha unlocked the front door of the inn. Audrey fell in love with the old brick and stone fireplace in the front room. She meandered into the kitchen.

"Oh Jayce! Look at this! A brick and stone fireplace in the kitchen! This is so wonderful!"

"Can we have a look at the upstairs?" Jayce asked, hurrying the tour along.

"Certainly. There are six rooms upstairs. Perfect for guests. Is that what you are planning?" Marsha asked.

"Yes. We thought this would be a great place for a bed and breakfast," Audrey said.

"With six rooms on the second floor, that is certainly plenty of space for paying guests. You know that's precisely what the Marquardts used the inn for...a guest house."

"They used it for paying guests?" Jayce asked.

"Yes. Between the woods around the inn and river so well stocked with fish, their guests were sportsmen, mostly in spring, summer and fall. In winter, the Marquardts seemed to prefer to close the inn to guests to have time for themselves," Marsha said.

Audrey and Jayce Carrigan became the new owners of the Black Eagle Inn. They spent a full month restoring the inn. Audrey wanted as much authenticity as possible. She kept the kitchen cook stove and just added a sink Jayce found from an older home. Then, he had water pipes installed for the sink. He had the old "outhouse" enlarged, modernized and attached to the back wall of the house for bathroom use. The Carrigans had to constantly run into the village to review the allowable changes they could make to upgrade the inn's facilities. The Black Eagle was listed as a historic structure, which left little allowances for upgrades, additions or changes. Fortunately, the newly created Broadwick zoning board was considerate of the new owners needs for changes.

Jayce had the slate roof inspected, as well as the foundation and siding. These seemed to be in good condition according to the building contractor Jayce hired to do the inspection.

"These old homes were built to live forever," Tom Rogan, the contractor told Jayce.

When all of the work was done and the first guests began to arrive, Audrey and Jayce noticed how much easier it was to manage a B&B than their prior experiences in New York City. They had more control over the dates and times of reservations for guests. This left them with a little more personal time.

Audrey haunted nearly every auction and antique shop within a fifty mile vicinity.

Jayce decided his new found free time allowed him to pursue his other favorite hobby, writing. He loved history and often sold some of his historical articles to local papers and magazines.

The Carrigan's followed the Marquardt's plans regarding closing the inn during winter months. The roads to the inn were often snowed in, making travel for guests impossible.

With their first winter snowfall, the Carrigans explored parts of the house and old shed they hadn't time for during their busy seasons. Audrey found little in the upstairs bedrooms of particular antique value. Jayce, on the other hand, found the old colonial tools still hanging from the shed walls interesting. In an oak old sailor's trunk, he found several newspapers. One headline caught his eye:
"Black Eagle Inn Proprietors Strange Find."

Jayce plopped onto the shed floor and read the article. The light in the shed was too dark for him to read beyond a paragraph or two. He tucked his muffler around his neck and headed into the house.

"Audrey, look at what I found in that old trunk in the shed," Jayce said.

Audrey looked up from the Afghan she was knitting.

"Read the headline," Jayce said.

"You read it. My eyes are all in from knitting."

"Okay."

"The proprietors of the Black Eagle Inn, Roan and Delia Marquardt made a most peculiar find in an old trunk in one of the rooms of the inn. Hidden beneath a false trunk bottom was a skeleton without a head.

After a thorough search of the inn and property, the head was not recovered. The skeleton's body will remain in the morgue at the rear of the Constable's office. The public is asked to provide any information they may have."

"Good grief, Jayce! They found a skeleton with no head? Here in the inn? What do you make of that?"

"I am as baffled as you are."

Jayce spent the next few days reading the newspapers he'd found in the shed. Some were so old they fairly fell apart to his touch. There wasn't much else to do, given the snowy weather outside.

"Audrey, I've got a great idea for a writing project," he said.

"Oh?"

"Yes. These old newspapers are chock full of great stuff. I could write news articles and send it to the local papers," Jayce said.

"There's only one local paper in this region and most of those historic feature articles originate from that paper. Won't the paper take issue with you plagiarizing?"

"No. Not if the articles add new information. How can it be plagiarism? I'd be writing about the history of the Black Eagle Inn," he said.

"I'm sure most of the oldest residents of the local area already know the inn's history," Audrey said.

"Thanks for your vote of encouragement. I'm still going to do it. As soon as the snow stops, I'm going into town and head over to the library. I want to know more about that skeleton. There's a big story in that. I just know it," Jayce said.

The next thing Audrey heard was the clack clack clack of Jayce's typewriter. To her surprise, that old typewriter still worked.

Oh well, at least he has something to occupy his mind...while all of that snow piles up out there, she thought.

Jayce was preoccupied in a way he hadn't been for a very long time. He read each of the newspapers he found from cover to cover. There was no additional mention of the skeleton found at the inn. In fact, there was very little information about the inn, save a few ads directed at sportsmen and potential guests.

At the first opportunity, Jayce drove into town and went straight to the library. It was a smallish, brick and stone building. Inside, there was a reception desk and the usual rows and rows of books.

Jayce walked toward the librarian.

"Good morning, sir. Do you need help?" the librarian asked.

Jayce saw from the nameplate on the desk that her name was Adeline Wright. Jayce remembered seeing that name in one of the papers he found.

"Yes. I'm the proprietor of the Black Eagle Inn, Jayce Carrigan," he said.

"I didn't realize the Black Eagle had a new owner. It's been such a long time since it was occupied," Adeline Wright said.

"Yes. Well...it's our, my wife's and my, retirement business. It's closed for the winter," Jayce said.

"You know? My grandfather told of another couple who once owned the inn. Now let me see...my memory is vague."

"The Marquardts?" Jayce put in.

"Yes. That is they," she said.

"Does your grandfather remember them?" he asked.

"I'm afraid my grandfather is long gone. He died after the Marquardts sold the inn."

"Oh. I see. Sorry to hear," Jayce said.

"Well, that was a long time ago, wasn't it?"

"To be sure."

"How can I help you...Mr. Carrigan?"

"Well, this weather and the inn being closed, I've returned to an old hobby...writing. I found some old newspapers in the shed at the inn. There was reference to a skeleton without a head that was discovered in a trunk in a room at the inn," Jayce said.

"I recall my grandfather speaking of that incident. They were never really sure who the skeleton was or why it would have been hidden in a trunk full of old clothes. There isn't much here to add to that story. I think you'd probably do much better checking the constable's archives over at his office," she said.

"If you don't mind, may I ask what your grandfather's name was? You see, I read about a councilman with the same last name as yours."

"Well, that would likely be my great grandfather, John Wright. This was more a village than a small rural town in his day. Come to think of it, my grandfather, John Wright II, often spoke of the ghost of the Black Eagle Inn," she said.

"I'm intrigued. Do you recall what he said about the ghost?"

"Just that two men had fallen into the bedeviled well at the back of the property "for no good reason" and died. He said there were lots of rumors that the first man to die was with Washington's troops...they used the inn as their barracks until floods forced them out. Grandfather spoke of the ghost of the "militia man." I think folks around here believed that's who the Black Eagle Inn's ghost was."

"That's quite a tale," Jayce said.

"Yes. There are still a few of the original families living here. The tales, like the houses, just pass down from one generation to the next. We are a very insular community, after all," Adeline Wright said.

"Do you think the skeleton is still here in this "village?" Jayce asked.

"Can't really say. I'd check with Constable Thornton. His great grandfather, his grandfather and father have all been the only law enforcement here," Adeline said.

"Well, you've certainly given me a good start," Jayce said.

"What is it you plan to write?" she asked.

"The history of the Black Eagle Inn."

"We do have something on the first owners of the inn. It's over in the reference section. You'll find it under Landsdown."

Jayce hurried over to the reference books. He pulled out a small spiral bound notebook and began to take notes. He immediately noticed something odd about the Landsdown family. The history noted that there were four sons. Yet, only three were mentioned as having lived at the inn after they married and had families of their own. The time frame of their occupancy of the inn fit neatly into the years just prior to the dates when Revolutionary War had begun in earnest. Robert the Younger was the last owner of the inn mentioned.

He realized he needed to see tax records.

"Mrs. Wright? Who in this town would have old tax records?"

"Oh let me see. We don't really have an official tax collector's office here. Taxes are paid at the Constabulary. Mrs. Carrington would be the woman to ask. She manages the tax collection and wears other hats, if you know what I mean."

"Yes. I do. Thank you," he replied, grinning.

Jayce was impressed that the names of long ago ancestors were still very much alive in this remote place. He realized he hadn't met any of the members of the local government or the constabulary.

Since the Carrigans only contact had been Marsha Carrington, their real estate agent, it might be a good opening to introduce himself. He did wonder if the Mrs. Carrington, the tax collector, was Marsha Carrington, the real estate agent who brokered the sale of the Black Eagle.

He crossed the road to the Constable's office. He saw a man of somewhat stocky build sitting at the desk. The nameplate at the front of the desk read, "James Thornton, III, Constable."

"Good morning, Constable. I'm Jayce Carrigan...the proprietor of Black Eagle Inn?"

"Oh yes. I wondered who bought that old place. I'm Jim Thornton. How can I help?"

"I've got time on my hands. We closed the inn for the winter season. So, I am pursuing an old hobby...writing historical articles for papers and magazines...if they'll publish them. I wonder if you could tell me who owned the inn," Jayce said.

"Well, let me see now. Course, it was built by Robert Landsdown. I'm sure you knew that. Then, his sons kept the place up until the worst flood force Robert the Younger out. After that? Harper Ledsley and then...Roan and Delia Marquardt," Constable Thornton said.

"Did all of the Landsdown sons own the place together or each individually?"

Jim Thornton knew Carrigan had different question on his mind.

"How much do you really know about that old inn? the constable asked.

"If you mean about the ghosts and that well, our real estate agent, Marsha Carrington told us pretty much everything. I just wondered if all four sons lived there with their families at the same time or individually," Jayce said.

"You have to factor that they likely lived there until floods drove them out. My guess would be they lived there until they married and had families and then left whenever that river threatened," Thornton said.

"Is there any way to know for certain? Tax records?"

"You say Marsha sold that place to you? She's the daughter of Margaret Carrington, our town clerk. Margaret could help you find what you're looking for. If it can be found after all this time..." Thornton said.

"Is Mrs. Carrington in?"

"No. I'm afraid, she's up in years and has her good days and bad. She's out today. Doesn't take chances with the weather, you know."

"Oh. I see. Well I..."

"I'll tell you what. There's no reason a prominent businessman like yourself can't go and look at the old tax records. I can't see any harm in it. It's the room just behind this one. The old tax records are stored in those boxes on top of the metal filing cabinets," Thornton said.

"Why, thank you. I won't be a few minutes. I'm sure what I'm looking for is long gone from the records," Jayce said.

Jayce made his way to the area Thornton directed. There were only two boxes of records. Jayce figured it wouldn't take him long to find what he was looking for. He searched through the first box and found nothing. Then, he began to look through the second box. He saw the taxes paid by the inventor Ledsley. When he got to the last set of documents, he realized they weren't tax records. It was an old copy of a deed to the property from Robert Landsdown the Younger. Clipped to the back of this document was a list of taxes paid by each of the Landsdown brothers. Only one Landsdown brother's name was missing: Christian. Jayce knew he'd been right about only three brothers owning the inn. Why not the fourth?

He made notes as he read on. He left the Constable's office and headed back to the library and Mrs. Wright.

"Back so soon, Mr. Carrigan? Did you find the tax records you were looking for?" Mrs. Wright asked.

"Yes and no. I was able to discern that only three Landsdown brothers paid taxes on the Black Eagle."

"Strange. I always thought all four sons lived there with their families after they married," she said.

"All four sons were married?" Jayce asked.

"Well, we have a section of family Bibles at the rear of the library. These were donations of families who lived in the area. We advertised for family Bibles, as most libraries do these days. You might find something interesting in one of them. They are in alphabetical order. Do remember to wear the white gloves. Some of those Bibles are heirlooms and quite old," she replied.

Jayce realized he should have checked on the birth, death and marriage certificates for this area of the state. He didn't think a small village area like this one would have those records. He found exactly what he was looking for: The Landsdown family Bible had a listing of family members with birth, marriage, spouses, children and deaths on the back page.

He saw that Robert Morris Landsdown was born July 7, 1714. He married Judith Crayhill Landsdown in Boston, Massachusetts on May 13, 1733. They had four sons born from 1736 to 1747. Jayce took notes.

Then, Jayce noticed something odd. The Bible listed the names of the children of James, Roger and Robert the Younger; but, not the names of the children of Christian. He read carefully, thinking he missed the listing. He read on and saw that the last Landsdown mentioned was that of Winifred Landsdown Duff. Her marriage were listed as 1929, the year of the Great Crash. It looked as if the Landsdowns settled near Pittstown. Jayce wondered if any of Winifred's children still lived in Pittstown.

"Mrs. Wright? I see that the last Landsdown lived in Pittstown, Winifred Landsdown Duff?"

"Yes, that would likely be a granddaughter of one of the Landsdown sons. What year was she born?"

"The record only gives the year of her marriage to Thomas Duff of Pittstown," Jayce said.

"Well, that's not really surprising. Most of us heard tell that Landsdown sons had to move to find work. Pittstown in the late 1800s had work in the coal mines. This rural town was too far from the mines for travel every day to work them. When families couldn't make a go of it here, many just picked up and left," she said.

When Jayce returned home, Audrey was in the kitchen preparing supper.

"What did you find on your adventure?"

"I took a lot of notes. Audrey, what do you make of this? The tax records on the Black Eagle mentioned tax payments by all but one of the Landsdown sons," Jayce said.

"Maybe one of the sons died or moved away before he took ownership?"

"No. Mrs.Wright the librarian said that her grandfather was told by his father that the Landsdowns all had ownership at one time or another," Jayce said.

Audrey looked puzzled.

"I think you are becoming obsessed with this writing project you chose," she said.

"Obsessed or not, it could be a clue to who the Ghost of Black Eagle Inn is."

"I don't understand what you mean. You heard from several people it's the ghost of the Militia Man," Audrey said.

"I'm not so sure. I think the Militia Man may have been visited by a ghost who might have caused his death," Jayce said.

"That doesn't make sense. The Black Eagle Inn was unoccupied after the Landsdowns abandoned it and Washington's troops used it for a camp site during the war."

Jayce had to know more about Christian Landsdown. There had to be someone in the Duff family who might have some knowledge of their long past dead relative.

"Audrey, let's take a drive to Pittstown. I'm sure there are some things you'll find there to amuse yourself."

"And why Pittstown in the dead of winter?"

"I'm on a hunt for some records there," Jayce said.

Audrey knew protesting a trip to Pittstown was futile. She glanced outside the kitchen window at the bleakness of the heavy grey sky.

"It looks as if there's another snow storm brewing," she warned.

"We'll be fine. Come on, let's do something impetuous for once," Jayce said.

They ate dinner in silence that night with Jayce totally preoccupied, to Audrey's chagrin.

They rose early the next morning. Pittstown was about an hour away from the Black Eagle in good weather. But, Jayce was determined to find what he was looking for.

"Jayce, while I'm here, I'd like to window shop and pick up a few things that might be useful for our spring opening of the inn," Audrey said.

Jayce nodded absently.

"We'll meet back here at the car in...what? An hour or two?" she asked.

"Make it two hours. I'm sure you won't get all of your shopping done in less time than that," he said.

Jayce parked the car at the front of the Pittstown Municipal building.

It looks almost as old as the Black Eagle does, he thought.

He walked up the steps of the building and perused the long hall until he found the door with the sign that read, "Hall of Records."

Inside, he stopped at the clerk's desk and asked where he could find records on a family named "Duff."

"I think you'll find Duff family history in the third row of files just over there," the woman behind the desk said.

She took full inventory of the man standing in front of her. She noticed his shock of dark brown, curly hair and his excellent posture and loping gait. She was used to strangers checking histories in this part of the state. Usually, it was for research on family pedigrees. She wondered if the tall man was related to the Duffs.

Jayce found an entire file full of information on the Duff family. There was no mention of Winifred Landsdown Duff. He wondered why. He walked back to the clerk's desk.

"I'm looking for some information on Winifred Landsdown Duff. Are there records elsewhere?" he asked.

"Was she born in Pittstown?"

"I know only that she lived here in Pittstown. Is it possible Winifred Duff still lives here? She married in 1929. She would be elderly, but not in an entirely advanced age."

"If she married in 1929, she might still live here. Tell you what. Check the owners of those old Victorian homes over on Edgeworth Street. Most of them were built in the early to mid 1800s and were passed down through their wills as estates in trust for their children. There's a book over on that shelf about the Edgeworth Barons, as they were called. Most were quite well off, you see," the clerk replied.

Jayce hurried over to the shelf. It was as if he'd struck gold. There was a house nearly identical to the structure of the Black Eagle Inn. The only difference was the wrap around veranda and the brick siding on the first floor level. Otherwise, it was like a twin of the Black Eagle. He read about the owners of the house located at 97 Edgeworth Street. It was built in 1835 by J. Stephen Duff, of Duff Sheet Metal Fabrications. It passed to his son, Thomas in 1888 and his grandson, Thomas in 1928.

Jayce had a feeling that Winifred might still be living in that old house. He continued to dig for information until the two hours passed. He waited in the car until Audrey appeared with several bundles under her arm.

"What is all of this?" he asked.

"Just a few things that will make the Black Eagle look more authentic," she said.

"Audrey, I have one more stop to make. I've gotten directions to a place that is nearly identical to the Black Eagle," he said.

"Too bad we didn't bring along a camera," Audrey said.

"I think I may have found a missing link to my writing project...if she is still alive," he said.

Jayce and Audrey drove slowly, owing both to the slippery condition of the road and also to insure Jayce found 97 Edgeworth Street.

"Oh my goodness! Jayce look...! It looks almost like the Black Eagle," Audrey said.

"Yes. I saw that. But, according to the records, it was built by J. Stephen Duff in 1835. That would be long after Landsdown built the Black Eagle. I'm need to see if Winnifred Landsdown Duff still lives here," Jayce said.

"You mean to walk up to that door, you...a perfect stranger? And just what will you say is your purpose for wanting to meet with this woman?" Audrey asked.

"I'll tell her I'm a writer and where we live and that I need to verify some of the information I'm writing for a history of the Black Eagle. See? It's all true, isn't it?"

Audrey knew her husband well enough to know his persistence. Surprisingly, it had always paid off before. But, would it now? What's the worst that can happen? He'll get thrown off the front porch steps?

Jayce turned off the ignition and started up the front walk to the Duff house.

If this was once the wealthy part of Pittstown, what must the poorer side have looked like, Jayce wondered.

He rang the bell and a tall, gaunt woman opened the door.

"I'm Jayce Carrigan, a writer. I was wondering if you could tell me if Winnifred Landsdown Duff lives here?"

"Yes, Mrs. Duff does. Do you have an appointment to see her?" the woman asked.

"No. I'm afraid I don't. You see I am the owner of the Black Eagle Inn and I am in Pittstown checking on the history of the inn. Is it possible to see Mrs. Duff?"

"Come in and wait just one moment," the woman said.

Jayce was stunned at how the interior of the Duff home resembled that of the inn. The only differences was that the sitting room was built more like a parlor and was slightly larger in length. He wondered what the kitchen looked like.

"Mrs. Duff will see you. She is an invalid, remember and cannot become exhausted. Please be as brief as possible," the woman said.

She led him to the upstairs. It was like walking into the hall of the inn. For some reason, this had an eerie aura about it.

The woman pointed the way to Mrs. Duff's room.

"Will that be all madame?" the woman asked.

"Yes, Mrs. Blankhorn, that is all," the elderly woman in the overstuffed chair said.

"Who are you and what is your business with me?" Mrs. Duff asked.

"My name is Jayce Carrigan. My wife and I bought the Black Eagle Inn recently. We close it for the winter and to keep busy I am writing the history of the inn. Are you really a Landsdown?"

The old woman's face brightened. She'd had so few guests or for that matter, company in the last decade. It was quite refreshing to have a visitor and...one who seemed rather impressed with her family ancestry.

"Carrigan, you say? Why yes. I am probably the last of the long lost Landsdowns I know of. What is it you want to know? You want to know all about that dratted ghost at the inn? Or the bedeviled well?"

Jayce saw her mind was as sharp as her tongue could likely be.

"I am interested in knowing about the four sons of Robert Morris Landsdown."

"Oh my. Now you are going to really take me back, aren't you? Well, let's see. My great great grandfather was Robert Morris Landsdown. My great grandfather, Robert the Younger and my grandfather, Robert the Younger II. If you would like some old photos for your story, I can have Mrs. Blankhorn fetch them for you," Mrs. Duff said.

"That would be wonderful!"

"What do you recall about the Black Eagle from family members' recollections?" Jayce added.

"The Black Eagle was always under water from that river. My grandfather told me that his grandfather just up and left the place when the family was nearly drowned there. Can't tell you what year that was though. My memory isn't what is was," Mrs. Duff said.

"Mrs. Duff, your home is built nearly like the inn. Why is that?"

"Old Grandfather Landsdown said twas due to his grandfather's love of the inn. They'd had their battles, those four sons, over who was next to own it...you know the kind of family issues that go on," she said.

"Your husband, Thomas, how did he come to own a Landsdown home here in Pittstown?"

"My paternal great grandfather had some gambling debts. My husband's great grandfather saw an opportunity to buy in the "better" part of Pittstown. He was a successful businessman in his day and having an estate home in a wealthy part of town was important. When Great Grandfather Landsdown lost heavy in a poker game, he had only this place left. Seems as if all of the Landsdowns had one kind of vice or another," Mrs. Duff said.

"How did you come to marry a Duff?"

"Fell right in love with Thomas I did. I was a celebrated beauty in my day. Course, you wouldn't know that now," she said, with a slight blush.

"On the contrary. It is quite obvious that you stole men's hearts and Mr. Duff was lucky to win you," Jayce said.

He wasn't trying to flatter the elderly woman. He could see that her beautiful white hair and those amazing tourmaline eyes, set off by her high cheekbones would make her a real "catch." She still dressed like a lady even while in her boudoir. She wore a pale blue lace nightgown, topped by a similarly pale blue velvet bed jacket. Her boudoir has the slight scent of roses and the walls were done in French silk paper in silver, blue and pink. She caught Jayce's glance around the room.

"My Thomas didn't want this place to have the same look as the inn. Most of the basic structure is still there. But, we both didn't like the idea of a home that resembled one with the kind of reputation that the Black Eagle had."

"Reputation?" Jayce asked.

"You know those deaths and that awful scandal with Christian Landsdown..."

"That's what I came to ask you. Did Christian Landsdown ever take ownership of the Black Eagle?"

"My heaven's No! Not unless his ghost somehow took possession of that place."

Jayce was puzzled.

"Now, most don't know this family secret. And I wouldn't want to open up old wounds...just in case there are still any Landsdowns living near to Pittstown," Mrs. Duff began.

Jayce leaned in and listened intently. Mrs. Duff seemed pleased with the attention this young man was offering so profusely.

"Christian Landsdown died at a young age, though not a one of the brothers would admit that. It was family shame that kept him from having a proper burial like all the others. My memory is weak now. But, my grandfather liked to tell long hidden family secrets. One day, while he was visiting Thomas and me, he announced at secret as we sat in the sitting room downstairs.

He told us that his great uncle, Christian had been murdered by one of his own brothers. You look shocked my good man and you haven't heard the rest of the story yet," Mrs. Duff said.

"On the night of Christian Landsdown's murder, there had been talk of a revolt by some of the colonial settlers. Christian was a royalist who believed the colonies were just fine without independence. Old Great Uncle James and Roger argued with Christian that he was a traitor to their new country.

It seems that in those times, you had to be strictly for the independent colonies. Grandfather Landsdown said that there were those in that village who were split on the issue of independence. Some like the Thorntons were royalists, while the Carringtons and Wrights were for independence," Mrs. Duff said.

Jayce knew those names well. Just not this part of their ancestral history.

"It was likely in the autumn of 1774, Christian visited Robert the Younger at Black Eagle for a family meal. But, Christian had another secret mission---to pass information about the colonials to the Brits. Before he had the chance to do that, James and Roger caught him heading into the woods up near Brock Road. There was talk of a Brit encampment not far off.

The brother got into a heated argument with pushing and shoving...you know like siblings do when they disagree. Christian was backed near that well on the rear of the property and one push from Roger and James knocked their brother unconscious. They saw blood pouring from the back of his head and knew that their deed would cast them out of their inheritance of the Black Eagle when it was finally sold. So, they tossed their brother's body over the side of that well. They never told their brother, Robert the Younger, until he began to question his brother's disappearance.

When that terrible flood came a few years later, James and Roger were terrified their brother's dead body would surface if the well began to flood. They had a plan to remove the body and bury it somewhere on the property. James felt this wasn't a good idea if another major flood once again uncovered their crime.

So, when Robert the Younger abandoned the Black Eagle Inn, the two brothers returned and removed the body of Christian. As they carried it in an old horse blanket, the head fell to the ground. They buried the skeleton of their brother in an old trunk Robert's family left behind in an upstairs bedroom. When they got ready to leave, Roger remember the head of their brother and buried it under the outhouse, thinking no one would ever dig up the ground there. To this day, no one has ever found Christian's head. Now, you say you own the place? Will you dig up the ground by the outhouse to find the head?"

Jayce was stunned. So the ghost of the Black Eagle Inn was none other than Christian Landsdown. Jayce was silent for so long, he nearly forgot to answer Mrs. Duff's question.

"Oh sorry. We moved the outhouse and had it attached to the back wall of the inn. We never considered digging up the dirt after we moved it," Jayce said.

"Well, now you have the whole story. What will you do with it?" Mrs. Duff asked.

"Just one thing...Mrs. Duff? When Christian was murdered, didn't his wife or children ask any questions about his sudden disappearance?

"Well, if he'd had a wife or children, they might have. But, you see? Christian was the only brother who hadn't married. So, other than the siblings, no one knew about the brothers' crime. The father and mother passed on and their grandchildren were too young to make sense of a disappearing uncle."

"Mrs. Duff, you know if we find the head of Christian Landsdown, we must report it," Jayce said.

"Christian Landsdown was disembodied while in that well. Perhaps, it is as my grandfather said, Old Uncle Christian took his revenge for his gruesome death on those who got too near that well. What you do with a "sudden" find on your property, is up to you."

Jayce thanked Mrs. Duff and hurried out to Audrey.

"Jayce, what on earth took you do long?" she asked.

"You are not, not, not going to believe what I'm about to tell you," Jayce said.

After hearing the Duff family secret, Audrey went stone silent.

Jayce noticed that the temperatures dropped considerably.

"Let's get you home to a nice warm fire," Jayce said.

"Yes. Please." Audrey replied.

The drive to the Black Eagle Inn was hampered by the storm that Audrey noticed threatening earlier that morning. By the time they reached Robert Morris Road, it was a sheet of ice and their car was skidding constantly. Jayce put the car in a lower gear to prevent an accident when he turned into their now icy, snow laden driveway.

"Audrey! Look!"

Jayce was momentarily distracted and lost control of the vehicle. It began to slide across the slope of the lawn into the misty column near the well. Then, on impact, the car rotated ninety degrees and slammed hard against the gasoline tank and into the brick and stone well with uncontrollable force. The vehicle exploded in seconds with Jayce and Audrey Carrigan unconscious inside.

The Black Eagle Inn was empty once again.