Ralestone Luck | Page 2

course, silly. Can't you remember the wording of the old charter?
And you're Viscount--"
"Wrong there," Val corrected her. "I'm only a lord, by courtesy, unless we can bash
Rupert on the head some dark night and chuck him into the bayou."
"Lord Valerius." She rolled it upon her tongue. "Marquess, Lady, and Lord Val, out to
seek their fortunes. Pity we can't do it in the traditional family way."
"But we can't, you know," he protested laughingly. "I believe that piracy is no longer
looked upon with favor by the more solid members of any community. Though
plank-walking is an idea to keep in mind when the bill collectors start to draw in upon
us."

"Here comes Rupert at last. Rupert," she raised her voice as their elder brother opened the
door by the driver's seat, "shall we all go and be pirates? Val has some lovely gory ideas."
"Not just yet anyway--we still have a roof over our heads," he answered as he slid in
behind the wheel. "We should have taken the right turn a mile back."
"Bother!" Ricky surveyed as much of her face as she could see in the postage-stamp
mirror of her compact. "I don't think I'm going to like Louisiana."
"Maybe Louisiana won't care for you either," Val offered slyly. "After all, we
dyed-in-the-wool Yanks coming to live in the deep South--"
"Speak for yourself, Val Ralestone." She applied a puff carefully to the tip of her
upturned nose. "Since we've got this barn of a place on our hands, we might as well live
in it. Too bad you couldn't have persuaded our artist tenant to sign another lease, Rupert."
"He's gone to spend a year in Italy. The place is in fairly good condition though. LeFleur
said that as long as we don't use the left wing and close off the state bedrooms, we can
manage nicely."
"State bedrooms--" Val drew a deep breath which was meant to be one of reverence but
which turned into a sneeze as the roadster's wheels raised the dust. "How does it feel to
own such magnificence, Rupert?"
"Not so good," he replied honestly. "A house as big as Pirate's Haven is a burden if you
don't have the cash to keep it up properly. Though this artist chap did make a lot of
improvements on his own."
"But think of the Long Hall--" began Ricky, rolling her eyes heavenward.
"And just what do you know about the Long Hall?" demanded Rupert.
"Why, that's where dear Great-great-uncle Rick's ghost is supposed to walk, isn't it?" she
asked innocently. "I hope that our late tenant didn't scare him away. It gives one such a
blue-blooded feeling to think of having an active ghost on the premises. A member of
one's own family, too!"
"Sure. Teach him--or it--some parlor tricks and we'll show it--or him--off every afternoon
between three and four. We might even be able to charge admission and recoup the
family fortune," Val suggested brightly.
"Have you no reverence?" demanded his sister. "And besides, ghosts only walk at night."
"Now that's something we'll have to investigate," Val interrupted her. "Do ghosts have
union rules? I mean, I wouldn't want Great-great-uncle Rick to march up and down the
carriage drive with a sign reading, 'The Ralestones are unfair to ghosts,' or anything like
that."

"We'll have to use the Long Hall, of course," cut in Rupert, as usual ignoring their
nonsense. "And the old summer drawing-room. But we can shut up the dining-room and
the ball-room. We'll eat in the kitchen, and that and a bedroom apiece--"
"I suppose there are bathrooms, or at least a bathroom," his brother interrupted. "Because
I don't care to rush down to the bayou for a good brisk plunge every time I get my face
dirty."
"Harrison put in a bathroom at his own expense last fall."
"For which blessed be the name of Harrison. If he hadn't gone to Italy, he would have
rebuilt the house. How soon do we get there? This touring is not what I thought it might
be--"
The crease which had appeared so recently between Rupert's eyes deepened.
"Leg hurt, Val?" he asked quietly, glancing at the slim figure sharing his seat.
"No. I'm expressing curiosity this time, old man, not just a whine. But if we're going to be
this far off the main highway--"
"Oh, it's not far from the city road. We ought to be seeing the gate-posts any moment
now."
"Prophet!" Ricky leaned forward between them. "See there!"
Two gray stone posts, as firmly planted by time as the avenue of live-oaks they headed,
showed clearly in the afternoon light. And from the nearest, deep carven in the stone, a
jagged-toothed skull, crowned and grinning, stared blankly at the three in the