“It’s starting to fade!” Trixie exclaimed excitedly. “What is this?” Brian’s voice came from the doorway. “You witches brewing up a love potion or something?”
“I’m saving his life—not that he deserves it,” Trixie answered, and, when Mart had finished pouring the boiling water and had jumped down off the chair, she held up the shirt for Brian to see. “just like new—if you don’t look too closely. Kind of a pale blue shadow.” She handed it to Mart. “Hang it on the service porch. If you ask me sweetly in the morning, I’ll iron it for you.”
“You’re reah-lly not a bad sort, sistah deah!” Mart held an imaginary monocle to his eyes. “Thanks awf’ly!”
“You two!” Brian chuckled.
“Anything going on over at Wheelers’ yet?” Trixie asked, perching on the end of the kitchen table and swinging her legs as she bit into an apple.
“People are starting to arrive. And I caught a glimpse of the little fairy princess watching from the window when I let Moms out at the front entrance.”
“I hope that means she’s going to perform. Honey said she was still jittery after this afternoon, according to Miss Trask.”
“I wouldn’t know. I just dropped Moms, had a little gab with Dad, and dashed on back.” Brian chose an apple for himself and leaned against the table beside Trixie as Mart came back in from the service porch.
“I hope Dad and Moms come home before I have to go to bed,” Trixie told Brian. “I’m dying to ask Dad if he knows who Emily could be.”
“Was is the word,” Brian said calmly.
“Brian! You found out! Who was she?” Trixie demanded eagerly.
“Rachel Martin’s little sister. She was drowned in the swamp the night that the Martin mansion burned down.”
“Oh, my goodness!” Trixie’s blue eyes were like saucers. “Go on!”
“It was a pretty awful thing, Dad says. Especially for Miss Rachel. They were the last of their family.”
Trixie was silent for a moment. Then she said soberly, “No wonder she hates that swamp! But I wonder why she still lives there. The fire was forty years ago.”
“Dad says that the talk around the bank is that she blames herself for the little girl’s death, and living there is a sort of way of punishing herself. Besides, she has no other place to go.”
“Why does she blame herself?” Mart asked. “Did she-start the fire or something like that?”
Brian shook his head. “No. Dad says it’s supposed to have started in the summer kitchen from grease that caught fire on the stove. The house went up so fast that there was hardly time to get some of the priceless antique furniture and family silver out. The servants did what they could, but the flames moved too fast.”
“I saw some old trunks up in the barn loft. I suppose they’re part of the stuff that was salvaged,” Trixie said, “and I saw some lovely old furniture in the cottage when I peeked in this afternoon.”
“Miss Snoop,” Mart said, and before Trixie could think of something in her own defense, he went on. “I still would like to hear why Miss Rachel thinks she’s to blame for what happened to her sister.”
“Dad was a little vague about that, but he thought it was because Miss Rachel, as Emily’s big sister, had punished her for some mischief and sent her to bed without supper. When the fire started, the servants forgot all about little Emily being up in her bedroom, and it was Rachel herself who found her there, unconscious from the smoke, and brought her down through the smoke and flames. She put the little girl safely on the lawn and then ran back inside again to get some papers of her father’s. When she came back, Emily was gone. No one had seen her in all the excitement.”
Trixie and Mart had listened intently, shocked by the old tragedy. Mart nodded somberly as his brother ended. “And when they did find her in the swamp, it was too late?” he asked.
“That’s right,” Brian agreed. “And Miss Rachel blamed herself for leaving the child for the few minutes it took her to find her father’s papers and save them. She had a nervous breakdown and was in a sanitarium for months. Then she moved into the marsh cottage that had been the servants’ quarters, and she’s lived there ever since, all alone.”
“No wonder she looked as if she’d seen a ghost today,” Trixie said with a shudder. “Gaye, with her yellow curls like Emily’s, walking out of the barn in what must have been Emily’s dress!”
“Who told you what color Emily’s hair was?” Brian asked.
“Why, Miss Rachel was talking to me just before Gaye started pounding on the barn door, and she said something about Emily’s curls being ‘long and yellow, too.’ ”
The two boys exchanged quick looks. “Too?” Mart said quickly. “You mean she had already seen Gaye? I thought she denied that.”
“Maybe Gaye wasn’t lying when she said Miss Rachel had purposely locked her in the barn!” Brian added.
“No, no, no! She hadn't seen Gaye. I told her about Gaye’s curls being long and yellow when I went to the door to ask if she had seen Gaye!” Trixie explained.
“That’s different,” Brian said with relief. “Glad to hear it. I’d hate to think Trent had guessed right about an attempted kidnapping. You had me holding my breath!” He looked suddenly toward the open window, then held up his hand. “Listen!”
They all heard it then. Faintly, from the Wheeler mansion high on the hill beyond the Belden wood lot, the sound of violin music was clear on the night air.
Trixie dashed to the back door and flung it open so they could hear more clearly. “It’s Gaye, all right!” she said in an excited whisper. “She got over her sulks!”
At a pause in the music, Brian whispered, “Wow-ee! The kid is good, good, good!”
But Mart snickered. “I bet Miss Crandall would send us a bill if she knew we were enjoying it for free!”
All Trixie said was “Shhh!” as the music started again. She closed her eyes and imagined little Gaye, in the bright gypsy costume of yesterday, standing alone on a stage, her tiny, thin fingers moving expertly on the string of the big violin while she guided her bow across them, now slowly, now at full tempo, in the flashing gypsy music.
“Nice going,” Mart murmured, forgetting to be funny in his real admiration for the little girl’s skill.
Trixie frowned and said “Shhh!” again, but just as she said it, the music stopped abruptly in the middle of a particularly brilliant passage.
For a moment they waited in silence, looking at each other inquiringly. But there was no more of the gay gypsy music from the Wheelers’.
“What do you think happened?” Trixie broke the silence after a long moment.
“Mebbe so stling bloke,” Mart said in his best pidgin English dialect. “Find more stling; play more!”
Trixie threw a reproachful look at her almost-twin. “It isn’t funny. I just hope that’s all that’s wrong!”
Good Intentions • 13
THERE SHE GOES!” Mart told Brian, with a grin that made Trixie’s face redden. “A violin string breaks, and right away she smells a big deal. Har, har!” he teased his sister. “Relax, dearie!”
Brian saw that Trixie’s temper was rising. “Relax yourself, son,” he told his younger brother. “Trixie’s hunches usually pay off. And with that small imp Gaye around, anything could be happening over there at Wheelers' right now. Gaye could have broken the violin over her aunt’s head, for instance.”
Trixie giggled at the picture his words invoked, and Mart couldn’t help joining in.
But there was no more music from the direction of the big Wheeler mansion, and in a very few minutes, Trixie and the boys heard the Belden station wagon being driven into the barn-garage.
“Whatever happened up there, it seems to have broken up the party early,” Brian said as he hurried out to greet their parents.
Both of the elder Beldens looked serious as they came in a few seconds later.
“The poor little thing should never have been asked to play tonight, after all she went thr
ough today,” Mrs. Belden was saying as she slipped off her coat.
“Moms! What happened?” Trixie couldn’t wait.
“Gaye fainted, poor lamb. She fainted right in the middle of a piece—one of those complicated ones. One minute she was playing away, and the next she just crumpled up and fell in a heap on the floor. It was terribly sad. And that Miss Crandall—” She paused and made an angry gesture.
“Well....” Mr. Belden’s voice sounded gently but unmistakably reproachful.
“I don’t care for the woman!” Mrs. Belden was defiant. “She accused that tiny little girl of just pretending and tried to drag her to her feet. She actually shook her! But the child just went limp and had to be carried to bed. The doctor said it’s a plain, simple case of complete exhaustion, and he’s forbidden Gaye to even touch her violin for a week!”
“What’s going to be done about next Saturday night’s recital?” Mart asked curiously.
“Why, the doctor thinks that if she rests and leads a quiet life, like a normal little girl, for the next week or ten days, she should be able to appear the Saturday after that.” Mr. Belden shook his head. “Miss Crandall isn’t very happy about postponing it. It upsets their schedule for the rest of the tour. But there’s nothing she can do about it as long as Gaye isn’t feeling strong enough to appear.”
“The poor little thing is just skin and bones,” Mrs. Belden said. “It seemed to me yesterday that Miss Crandall wasn’t a bit sympathetic with her.”
Trixie had her own idea about who deserved the sympathy, but she swallowed hard and held it back. She knew her mother wouldn’t like her to feel that way, after promising to do her best to like Gaye.
A few minutes later, she slipped away to the study to phone Honey.
“Do you think she really fainted?” Trixie asked skeptically. “Maybe she was just being temperamental.”
“Oh, no!” Honey sounded very sure. “The poor little thing really collapsed. Her face was as white as chalk.”
“Dad says she’ll be staying on at your house another week, at least,” Trixie said. “I suppose she’ll be in bed most of the time, and you won’t have to entertain her.”
“I hope so!” Honey said hastily and then amended it just as quickly. “Oh, I shouldn’t have said that. I don’t really mean it. I was just being selfish.”
“But she will be a little pest, I bet,” Trixie insisted sulkily. “She’ll have to go wherever you go, and it’s going to be awfully boring for you.”
“I know,” Honey admitted. “Only it won’t last very long. Miss Crandall says Gaye simply can’t ‘lay off,’ as they call it in their business, because she’s booked solid across the country until July.”
“That’s a funny expression—‘booked solid.’ What does it mean?” Trixie asked, puzzled. She never minded letting Honey know when she didn’t recognize a word or an expression. Honey never teased her about being ignorant the way Mart usually did.
“It means she’ll appear somewhere for a concert on one night and then have to travel to another city the next day to do the whole thing over again.”
Trixie said a small “Oh” and thought it over for a second. Then she said impulsively, “I’m glad I’m just plain me and not a famous somebody-or-other! Imagine all that traveling around! And being bullied by Miss Crandall! But I suppose Gaye gets a nice long vacation after the end of the tour.”
“Oh, no,” Honey said quickly. “Miss Trask says Gaye has to keep learning new concertos and stuff all the time, for the next season.”
“I feel kind of sorry for her,” Trixie admitted, “even though I know she’s a little monster.”
“I do, too, really,” Honey agreed. “I’ve decided that I’ll try to be extra nice to her while she’s here.”
Trixie sighed. “I suppose we all should. Moms says so, anyhow, and she’s usually right.”
So they agreed most solemnly to overlook any small impudence on Gaye’s part and try to make her stay at Sleepyside a happy one.
Trixie was just saying good-bye, when she heard a small sound at the doorway. She was so sure it was Mart that she said, without turning around, “I fooled you, Smarty Marty. I’m all through talking, so there’s no use in your sneaking around listening!” She hung up the receiver and whirled to face the door, a saucy grin on her face.
But it wasn’t her almost-twin who was standing there.
It was a small figure in pajamas. “I waited an’ waited,” it reproached her accusingly, “but you didn’t come. What did Gaye say? Can she go with us?”
“I wasn’t talking to Gaye, Bobby. That was Honey. Gaye’s sort of sick, and I don’t think she’ll feel very much like going out picking flowers tomorrow. We'll have to put it off till some other day.”
“But I don’t want to! You said we’d go tomorrow and take Gaye! You’re mean!” Bobby burst into sobs. “You don’t like Gaye!”
Trixie hurried to him and put her arms around him. “Now, Bobby,” she said gently, “you mustn’t say that. Gaye is sick, or I wouldn’t tell you so. I wouldn’t tell you a lie. And tomorrow I’ll put on my blue jeans and a sweater and you can put on your playclothes. Then we’ll take Gaye some of those pretty flowers that Honey and I picked yesterday. You can give them to her all by your own little self—if Miss Crandall will let you see her.” Bobby’s tears disappeared in a flash, and he gave Trixie a big hug. “I love you lots,” he confided.
And a few minutes later, after he had meekly allowed her to lead him upstairs and tumble him back into bed, he told her sleepily, “I’m gonna tell Gaye ’bout my new chickies. Do you think she’d like a yellow one?”
“You can ask her tomorrow, lambkin,” Trixie told him cheerfully, but to herself she added silently, if she bothers to see you.
Honey was saddling Strawberry inside the Wheeler stable as Trixie and Bobby came trudging up the long driveway the next morning.
Their shadows stretched out across the stable floor as they stood in the doorway, and Honey turned quickly.
The first thing that Trixie noticed was that Honey’s pretty face was unusually sober.
“Hey, where are the boys and Regan? And didn’t Mart come over to ride Strawberry? What’s going on?” Trixie asked it all in one breath.
“Oh, hi!” Honey answered, summoning up a smile, but with a warning nod in Bobby’s direction as he stood in the square of sunlight in the doorway, clutching the wild flowers by their tissue-wrapped stems. “Hi, Bobby! Did you bring me the pretty flowers?”
Bobby shook his head. “No!” He put the flowers hastily behind him. “Flowers for Gaye! Where’s Gaye?”
“Gulp!” Honey’s eyes twinkled. “I guess that puts me very nicely in my place.” The twinkle faded quickly.
“Anything wrong?” Trixie asked under her breath as she took a couple of quick steps toward Honey.
“Tell you in a minute,” Honey said in a whisper. “Bobby!” She raised her voice as Bobby came in farther, looking around. “Gaye’s up at the house. She’s probably having breakfast right now, and I think if you asked Miss Crandall very nicely, she’d let you take the flowers in to Gaye. Do you want to?”
“Oh, yes!” Bobby, with a beaming smile, was out and away like a flash.
“Such devotion!” Honey laughed. Then she nodded toward Susie’s stall, where the black mare was moving restlessly. “None of them has had a workout this morning. Why don’t you saddle up Susie? Let’s take her and Strawberry for a good run.”
“Swell! Do you think it’s all right to leave Bobby? I didn’t figure on riding this morning.”
“He’ll be all right. When your mother phoned Miss Trask a few minutes ago to say you were both on your way over, I asked Miss Trask to watch out for him while you and I gave the horses a run.”
“Oh, grand! Honey, you’re positively a brain. You always think of everything!” Trixie dashed over to the tack room and brought out a saddle and the rest of her riding gear. Then she backed Susie out of her stall and brought her over close to Str
awberry. She started to saddle the mare. “Okay. Now tell me what’s going on.”
“Well, in the first place, there’s nothing exciting to tell about Regan or the boys. They’re all over at Mr. Maypenny’s. His ground dried out faster than he expected, so he decided he’d better plant his corn today instead of tomorrow. They’re all lending a hand. So you and I are stuck with exercising these two beasts.”
“That’s not hard to take,” Trixie chuckled. “But why did you want Bobby to go away while you told me? He wouldn’t have wanted to go along with us—not while little Miss Gaye is here!”
“It’s Paul Trent. He came over to see Miss Crandall a while ago and-told her that he still thought somebody had put Gaye up to hiding and pretending she had been kidnapped.”
“How silly can he get?” Trixie said scornfully. “I hope that she showed him the door!”
“Not right away. She believed him at first and called Dad in to listen. Dad really told Mr. Trent what he thought of him! The big troublemaker ducked out with his tail between his legs, as Mart would say!”
“I should think he’d be ashamed of himself, trying to start trouble that way. I hope he’s cured now.” Trixie had her doubts, but she didn’t want to say so to Honey.
“I’m sure he is!” Honey said confidently. Then she glanced at her wristwatch and looked startled. “Goodness! We’d better get started. Which way should we ride today?”
Trixie thought hard for a moment. Then she grinned. “Why don’t we ride out to Miss Rachel’s and let her offer us that hot mint tea she mentioned yesterday? If we like it, we can get the recipe for Miss Bennett. It would be nice if we could add that recipe to our bunches of swamp plants.”
“That’s a wonderful idea!” Honey agreed as she swung into Strawberry’s saddle. “And away we go!”
They rode along Glen Road at a trot and were soon at the turnoff that led to Martin’s Marsh.
The Marshland Mystery Page 10
