“Oh!” Trixie’s eyes flashed. “That’s not fair! He makes it sound as if the Bob-Whites, and especially Trixie Belden, had arranged the whole thing for publicity!”
“It could be taken that way,” her father said grimly. “Can’t we make him take it back? Can’t you talk to the editor of the Sun?” Trixie demanded.
Mr. Belden shook his head. “I’m afraid not. He’s been clever enough not to make a direct charge that any of you arranged Gaye’s,disappearance. He hinted at it, of course. But he didn’t actually say so. The best thing you and the Bob-Whites can do is to ignore that part of the story.” He frowned. “I’d advise you to avoid any comment on it to him. Just ignore it.”
“Dad’s right, dear,” Mrs. Belden assured Trixie, who was frowning rebelliously. “After all, it’s probably only his idea of teasing you.”
Mart growled, “I’d like to take a poke at him!”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind!” his father said.
There was general silence for a moment as the three Bob-Whites exchanged resigned looks and then went on eating their breakfast.
Mrs. Belden sighed as she saw their faces. She looked appealingly at their father. “You could say something to the editor about the rest of the article, though, couldn’t you? I mean where he says that Miss Martin thought she was seeing a ghost when Gaye came out of the barn dressed in the other little girl’s clothes. He makes it sound as if Miss Martin weren’t quite sane!”
“And Miss Martin was just surprised when she saw Gaye in a dress she recognized as Emily’s, that’s all,” Trixie said. “She knew it wasn’t little Emily’s ghost!”
“I don’t think anyone will take his word for it, especially anyone who has ever talked to Miss Rachel,” her father said lightly. “She was an excellent businesswoman until the highway took away the passing cars and left her high and dry out there.”
“What did she sell?” Trixie asked, surprised. “Marvelous hooked rugs that she made herself,” her mother said quickly, “and old-fashioned patchwork quilts that people came from all over the valley to buy. You children each have one of her double-wedding-ring quilts on your bed.”
“But if she doesn’t sell anything anymore, how can she live, all alone out there? Doesn’t it cost money?” Trixie was always practical.
“You wondered the same thing about Mr. Maypenny, your ‘poacher,’ who turned out to own a nice piece of land in the middle of the Wheelers’ game preserve. He raised most of the food he needed. He trapped otter and mink in the streams and sold their skins for sugar, salt, and coffee—things that he couldn’t grow. Miss Rachel gets along without those things now, I imagine, just as our pioneer ancestors did,” Mr. Belden explained.
“Yikes!” Brian said, looking at his wristwatch. “Bobby’s bus is just about due, Trix. Better move!”
For the time being, there was no more talk about either the brash young reporter or Miss Rachel Martin.
But that afternoon, as Honey, Di, and Trixie got off the bus at the Wheeler stop, one of their schoolmates-called out through the open window jokingly, “G’bye, Miss Sherlock Holmes Belden!” There were noisy giggles from several others as the bus pulled away.
“Don’t pay any attention to those dopes,” pretty, violet-eyed Diana Lynch told Trixie, glaring after the bus. “They’ll forget that silly article by tomorrow.”
“Golly, I hope so,” Trixie said unhappily. “That’s all I’ve been hearing all day—that and people making believe they’re ghosts and going ‘whoo-whoo’ at me!”
When they reached the stable, the prospect of taking a ride in the bright spring sunshine wiped out Trixie’s annoyance. Regan had saddled Lady, Strawberry, and Starlight, and the horses were standing waiting.
Mrs. Belden had sent a basket of preserves and jellies over earlier with Mr. Belden, who had -dropped it off on his way to work at the bank.
“Don’t ride off and forget the present,” Regan reminded them. “I guess the' old lady’ll be glad to get it. Give her a change of diet. ’Specially the crab apple.” Honey reminded the girls, “Let’s hurry and change to riding things so we can get started. I’m dying to get better acquainted with Miss Rachel.”
“I want to meet her, too,” Diana seconded as they started up toward the house to change.
After just a few steps, they were surprised to see Tom Delanoy, the chauffeur, backing Mrs. Wheeler’s big car away from the house, turning it on the driveway, and coming down toward them. From a distance, the car looked empty, except for Tom.
The girls stepped aside, but to their amazement, he stopped the car beside them.
“Hi!” He grinned. “Your mom says you’re to go along to Miss Martin’s with us, Honey.”
“Us?” Honey asked. She stepped to the car and looked inside. Gaye was huddled in the rear, as far in the corner as she could get. She had Mr. Poo tight in her arms as she stared unsmilingly at Honey. The delicate white dress from Miss Rachel’s barn was very carefully arranged on the driver’s seat next to Tom.
“But we were going to ride out that way, all three of us. Can’t we take the dress in a package on one of our saddles?” Honey frowned.
“Well, your mother said—” Tom looked uneasy.
Gaye leaned forward, scowling. “You don’t need to come with me! I’m not afraid of that mean old witch!” she said defiantly—but with a telltale quaver.
It was Trixie who noticed that little quaver in Gaye’s voice. She said quickly, “Maybe we can all three go in style! Let the boys exercise the horses this afternoon. We can take their turns tomorrow afternoon, as a swap. How about it, Honey?”
“Why not? They’re always asking us to take their turns for some excuse or other!” Honey agreed happily.
“I’ll break the news to them,” Regan said promptly. “But you’d better climb in and get started, before they arrive and begin making excuses about why they can’t do it!” He handed the basket of preserves to Trixie. “And don’t forget the present.”
They hurriedly swarmed into the big car, and almost at once they were on their way. Gaye had been strangely silent since her one outburst. The girls began to feel uncomfortable as she stared out the car window.
“What an adorable dog!” Di said, after a long silence. “May I pet him?”
Gaye bit her lower lip. Then she nodded.
Di stroked the fluffy white head and told Gaye what a darling he was. But Gaye looked accusingly at Trixie. “I guess you didn’t mean it when you said you liked Mr. Poo,” she said in a small, hurt voice. “You didn’t even say hello to him.”
Trixie smiled. “I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure if he liked me. Those teeth look pretty sharp.”
Gaye giggled and hugged her pet. Then she bent down and pretended to listen to something he was saying. When she lifted her head, she was smiling. “He says he wouldn’t think of biting you, because he wants you to be his friend.”
Trixie patted the little dog’s back. “I’d love to, Mr. Poo,” she told him seriously, “and I’d like to be Gaye’s friend, too.”
Gaye stared at her doubtfully, and they could all see that she wasn’t sure just what to say. Honey spoke promptly. “We’d all like to be your friends, Gaye. We think you’re just wonderful. I never heard anyone play the violin as beautifully as you do.”
“It must be super to be so gifted,” Di sighed.
But instead of seeming to enjoy the compliments, Gaye frowned and leaned back to stare out of the window steadily. A shadow seemed to come over her face.
The girls exchanged puzzled looks. It seemed to all of them a strange way of acting when they had sincerely tried to compliment her.
Di tried again. “Is it really true that you’ve played before kings and queens, Gaye?” she asked with awe.
Gaye scowled and didn’t answer for a moment. Then she shrugged impatiently. “Oh, I guess so,” she said indifferently. “Aunt Della said they were. But they’re all just audiences. I play the same pieces for them as I do for the others. We st
ay in hotels and always keep traveling. Places are all the same, and so are audiences.” She gave a weary little sigh and slumped in her corner.
Trixie felt a tug of sympathy, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. She was glad when Tom turned his head to warn them, with a grin, “Hold on, ladies! We’re about to go over the bumps!” And a moment later, they were all giggling and bouncing around in the car as it negotiated the narrow, rough road to Miss Rachel’s cottage.
Miss Rachel was working in her flower garden as they drove up. She rose with a frown as the car stopped. But the frown disappeared when she recognized Trixie getting out. And she was most gracious as she invited the girls and the chauffeur to have a cup of mint tea.
Tom refused hastily but politely. “I’ll just stay out here and wait for them, Miss Rachel. Only, don’t let them stay long and bother you.”
“I’m sure they’ll be no bother,” she assured him. “Come along, children.”
Honey, Trixie, and Di started in with her, but Gaye held back, the poodle in her arms. “I think I’ll stay here,” she said wistfully. “Mr. Poo doesn’t like me to leave him.”
“But he’s very welcome, too, child,” Miss Rachel assured her. “We may even be able to find him a cookie.” They all trooped into the cottage, Trixie carrying the gift of preserves and Gaye holding the starched white dress. Miss Rachel gazed at the dress admiringly.
“It’s done up beautifully, dear,” she told Gaye. “I’ll hang it carefully away, in case some other young lady wants to borrow it someday.”
“It’s a very pretty dress, and I thank you,” Gaye said gravely, “and I’m sorry I was so upset yesterday.”
“That’s all right, child. Just forget it, and let’s go put the kettle on for that good hot mint tea.”
As Gaye and the poodle went cheerfully to the kitchen with Miss Rachel, the three Bob-Whites exchanged pleased looks.
“She isn’t really such a little monster when you dig down, is she?” Honey asked Trixie, and Trixie had to admit that Honey was right.
Aftereffects ● 16
WE ALMOST CAME to see you yesterday,” Trixie told Miss Rachel between sips of the hot herb tea. The small cottage living room was bright with sunlight as they sat with Honey and Di and little Gaye and chatted politely.
“I wish you had, child.” Miss Rachel smiled. “Why didn’t you?”
“Well—” Trixie paused and looked to Honey for assistance—“you see, we met Paul Trent when he left here in a hurry, 'and he looked so mean and angry that we were afraid he had upset you about something.”
“And so we just didn’t want to intrude on you,” Honey added.
Miss Rachel frowned and rocked silently in the low rocking chair that looked as if it had been made in Colonial days. “Mr. Trent is a thoughtless young man. He came here asking me some very personal questions about my family history, and when I hesitated to answer them, he made insulting remarks about my ancestors, and I ordered him to leave my property.”
“I should think you would!” Trixie said fiercely. “He’s just plain disagreeable.” Her own resentment was still simmering.
“Well, I think we’ll just forget that young man now and enjoy our visit,” Miss Rachel said. “I believe there are more cupcakes in my pantry.” She went out to see if she could find them.
“Do you think we should tell her about the story in this morning’s Sun?” Trixie whispered hastily to Honey and Di.
“Oh, no! There’s no use upsetting her again,” Honey answered softly, and Di nodded her agreement.
When Miss Rachel came back, in triumph, with a newly filled cake plate, they talked about her herb collection and the recipe for the delicious mint tea.
“I’m very proud of my herb garden,” Miss Martin told them as she led the way outside to the neat little plot. “There’s my Oswego tea. Some call it bee balm. Our pioneer families used it for reducing fever. That’s wood sorrel over there. I transplanted it from the marsh. It’s very tasty in a salad when it’s young.” She told them the names of so many that they gave up trying to remember them, and they made her promise that she’d make a list of them soon so they could come out again to get it, along with some samples of herbs for the botany class.
“And please don’t forget the recipe for this tea,” Di reminded her.
“You shall have that now,” Miss Rachel promised and went to the small rosewood desk in the corner to get pencil and paper.
“Oh, what a lovely brass box!” Trixie exclaimed. She hadn’t noticed it on top of the desk before. It was about a foot wide and six inches deep, and it was deeply embossed on all sides with the writhing forms of dragons. On top, a large, ferocious-looking dragon, with five claws on each foot, was devouring a smaller one.
“My great-grandfather brought it from China on one of his voyages,” Miss Rachel told them, pleased, as she lifted the heavy box and handed it to Trixie to examine.
“Look at those green eyes!” Trixie said admiringly and touched the big dragon’s inlaid eyes. “He’s gorgeous.”
“He should be!” Miss Rachel laughed. “He’s an imperial dragon. Only imperial dragons have five claws.” The girls studied the battle admiringly. Trixie giggled. “Looks like old five-claw is winning.”
“Imperial dragons always won, or the imperial ruler would have cut off the artist’s head in those days,” Miss Rachel said with a little laugh. “It’s a very old box.”
“I like the green eyes.” Trixie rubbed her fingers over the stones that seemed to send out green rays in the sunlight. “I guess he’s the original green-eyed monster people keep talking about.”
“You should recognize him if he is!” Honey teased, with a meaningful look toward Gaye, who was quite absorbed in trying to finish the last of the cupcakes and keep Mr. Poo from getting more than she did.
Trixie wrinkled her nose at her friend and then put the box down reluctantly. “Good-bye, beautiful,” she told the dragon, with a final pat on his menacing brow. “You go ahead and enjoy your fun.”
“Goodness, it is time to leave!” Di agreed.
In a few minutes, they were on their way home in the car.
“She’s a darling,” Honey said, glancing back toward the cottage as they turned the bend in the road. “I wonder what Trent said about her family that was insulting.”
“Oh, probably that old silly about being in partnership with the pirate.” Trixie shrugged. “You remember—about the pirate gold being hidden in Martin’s Marsh.”
Gaye had been huddled, half-asleep, with Mr. Poo cuddled in her arms. She sat up suddenly, staring at Trixie. “Pirate gold? In the swamp?”
Trixie waved it aside and laughed. “There never was any there, of course. But a lot of people believed it.”
“Wasn’t any ever found there?” Gaye persisted.
“Of course not! People found snakes and quicksand and all sorts of accidents but never any sign of gold,” Honey assured her. “It’s a gruesome place. Br-r-r!”
“I wouldn’t be afraid to look,” Gaye said thoughtfully, stroking Mr. Poo’s head. “I’d take Mr. Poo along, and we’d have no trouble finding it, I’m sure.”
Tom Delanoy turned and grinned back at them. “Better not let your Aunt Della hear you, Miss Gaye. She might think you meant that.”
“I do!” Gaye said defiantly. “Mr. Poo would chew up the snakes, and I’d dig up the gold, and I’d give it to Aunt Della, and then I wouldn’t ever have to play my old violin again or go traveling all the time when I’m tired!” There was a break in her voice as she finished.
Honey and the shocked Di exchanged looks of dismay, but Trixie motioned them not to say anything. Gaye bent her head over and rested it on Mr. Poo’s soft coat. Trixie couldn’t see her face, but she felt quite sure that the little girl was in tears.
They were glad to be turning just then into the Wheeler driveway. Nobody knew what to say.
Miss Crandall was waiting for Gaye at the garage. She lost no time in ordering her up to the ho
use, and when Gaye, sullen and silent, had reluctantly gone, with the small poodle cavorting after her, her aunt turned to the girls.
“We have decided that Gaye is quite recovered from her nervous attack, and she will be giving her recital a week from Saturday,” Miss Crandall said coldly. “So I must ask you to help avoid any more excitement for her. Please don’t think I am too severe, Honey. Your mother agrees with me; Gaye’s career is too important for her to take any chances with it.”
“It wasn’t exciting at the marsh, Miss Crandall,” Trixie said quickly. “Miss Martin was sweet about the dress. And she likes Gaye. We had a nice visit.”
“Nevertheless, she is not to go out there again for any reason,” Miss Crandall said with finality and went up to the house after Gaye.
Trixie made a small grimace after her and told Honey, “It looks as if you won’t have the little prodigy on your hands to entertain the rest of this week!”
“I’m almost sorry I won’t, now that we know her better,” Honey said sincerely. “Poor little thing!”
And both Trixie and Di agreed with her.
Mr. Belden came home a couple of hours later as Trixie was telling Mart and Brian about the visit to Miss Martin.
“…so Miss Rachel practically threw old Trent out for saying mean things about her ancestors. That’s why he was so catty in this morning’s Sun about her ‘seeing ghosts,’ ” she finished. “He’s disgusting!”
“I’m inclined to agree,” their father said, coming into the room with a grim look on his face.
“Oh,” Trixie said weakly. “I bet everybody at the bank was laughing at what he said about me, weren’t they?”
“Not at all,” her father assured her gravely. “Hardly anyone mentioned it. It’s Rachel Martin whom his story has hurt.”
“Hurt?” Trixie was amazed.
Her father nodded. “You see, that little hint of Trent’s that Miss Rachel thought Gaye was her sister’s ghost has convinced people that the last of the Martins has failed mentally because of her age and being allowed to live out there alone by the swamp for so long. There’s quite a lot of indignation that she’s been neglected all this time. The hint about her having her name used as publicity for Gaye has only made it worse.”
The Marshland Mystery Page 12
