The Second Girl Detective Megapack: 23 Classic Mystery Novels for Girls

by Julia K. Duncan

  Betty explained that she had been on her way to the nursery, and thinking that her kind hostess should know her guest’s name, gave it, and said that she was staying at Bramble Farm.

  “Oh, yes, we’ve heard of you,” said the lady, in some surprise. “I am Mrs. Guerin, and my husband, Dr. Guerin, learns all the news, you know, on his rounds among his patients. Mrs. Keppler, I believe, was the one who told him there was a girl visiting the Peabodys.”

  Betty wondered rather uncomfortably what had been said about her and whether she was regarded with pity because of the conditions endured by any one who had the misfortune to be a member of the Peabody household. The Kepplers, she knew, were their nearest neighbors.

  Norma and Alice each took a seat on the arms of their mother’s chair, and regarded the guest curiously, but kindly.

  “Do you like the country?” asked the younger girl, feeling that something in the way of conversation was expected of her.

  Betty replied in the affirmative, adding that, aside from lonesomeness now and then, she had enjoyed the outdoor life immensely.

  “But what do you do all day long?” persisted Norma. “The Peabodys are so queer!”

  “Norma!” reproved her mother and Alice in one breath.

  “Well they are!” muttered Norma. “Miss Gordon isn’t a relation of theirs, is she? So why do I have to be polite?”

  “I’m only twelve,” said Betty, embarrassed by the “Miss Gordon,” and puzzled to know how to avoid a discussion of the Peabodys. “No one ever calls me ‘Miss.’ My Uncle Dick went to school with Mrs. Peabody, and he thought it would be pleasant for me to board with them this summer.”

  “When you get lonesome for girls, come over and see us,” suggested Mrs. Guerin cordially. “Come whenever you are in Glenside, anyway. Norma hasn’t many friends of her own age in town, and she’ll probably talk you deaf, dumb and blind.”

  “I don’t get over very often,” said Betty, thinking how fortunate Norma was to have such a lovely, tactful mother, “because I usually have to walk. But if your husband is a doctor, couldn’t he bring you over to call some afternoon? Doctors are always on the road, I know.”

  A curious expression swept over Mrs. Guerin’s face, inexplicable to Betty. She avoided a direct answer to the invitation by sending the girls out to the kitchen for lemonade and cakes and blowing out the lamp and raising the shades herself. The brief thunderstorm was about over, and the sun soon shone brightly.

  Alice wheeled the tea-wagon out on the porch, and the four spent a merry half hour together. Betty felt that she had made three real friends, and the Guerins, for their part, were agreeably delighted with the young girl who was so alone in the world and who, while they knew she must have a great deal that was unpleasant to contend with, resolutely talked only of her happy times.

  Betty had just risen to go when a runabout stopped at the curb and a gray-haired man got out and came up the path.

  “There’s father!” cried Norma, jumping up to meet him. “Father, the Rutans telephoned over an hour ago. I couldn’t get you anywhere. It was before the storm.”

  “Hal, this is Betty Gordon,” said the doctor’s wife, drawing Betty forward. “She is the girl staying with the Peabodys. Do you have to go out directly?”

  “Just want to get a few things, then I’m off,” answered the doctor cheerily. “Miss Betty, if you don’t mind waiting while I stop in at the drug store, I’m going half of your way and will be glad to give you a lift. The roads will be muddy after this rain.”

  Betty accepted the kind offer thankfully, and Mrs. Guerin and the girls went down to the car with her. They each kissed her good-bye, and Mrs. Guerin’s motherly touch as she tucked the linen robe over Betty’s knees brought thoughts of another mother to the little pink-frocked figure who waved a farewell as the car coughed its sturdy way up the street.

  At the drug store the doctor got his medicines and Betty her pictures, which she paid for and slipped into her bag without looking at. She liked Doctor Guerin instinctively, and indeed he was the type of physician whom patients immediately trusted and in whom confidence was never misplaced.

  “You look like an outdoor girl,” he told her as he turned the car toward the open country. “I don’t believe you’ve had to take much in the way of pills and powders, have you?”

  Betty smiled and admitted that her personal acquaintance with medicine was extremely limited.

  “Mrs. Peabody has headaches all the time,” she said anxiously. “I think she ought to see a doctor. And one day last week she fainted, but she insisted on getting supper.”

  Doctor Guerin bit his lip.

  “Guess you’ll have to be my ally,” he said mysteriously. “Mrs. Peabody was a patient of mine, off and on, for several years—ever since I’ve practiced in Glenside, in fact. But—well, Mr. Peabody forbade my visits finally; said he was paying out too much for drugs. I told him that his wife had a serious trouble that might prostrate her at any time, but he refused to listen. Ordered me off the place one day when Mrs. Guerin was in the car with me, and was so violent he frightened her. That was some time ago.” The doctor shook his head reminiscently. “Mrs. Peabody in the house was groaning with pain and Mrs. Guerin was imploring me to back the car before Peabody killed me. He was shouting like a mad man, and it was Bedlam let loose for sure.

  “I went, because there was nothing else to do, but I managed to get word to the poor soul, through that boy, Bob Henderson, that if she ever had a bad attack and would send me word, day or night, I’d come if I had to bring the constable to lock that miser up out of the way first. I suspect he is a coward as well as a bully, but fighting him wouldn’t better his wife’s position any; he would only take it out on her.”

  “Yes, I think he would,” agreed Betty. “I used to wonder how she stood him. But telling her what I think of him doesn’t help her, and now I don’t do that any more if I think in time.”

  “Well, you may be able to help her by sending me word if she is taken ill suddenly,” said the doctor. “I’m sure it is a comfort to her to have you with her this summer. Now here’s the boundary line. Sorry I can not take you all the way in, but it would only mean an unpleasant row.”

  Instead of half way, the doctor had taken her almost to the Peabody lane, and Betty jumped down and thanked him heartily. She was glad to have been saved the long muddy walk. She was turning away when a thought struck her.

  “How could I reach you if Mrs. Peabody were ill?” she asked. “There’s no ‘phone at Bramble Farm, you know.”

  “The Kepplers have one,” was the reply, Doctor Guerin cranking his car. “They’ll be glad to let you use it any time for any message you want to send.”

  Betty found no one in the house when she reached it, the men being still at work in the field and Mrs. Peabody out in the chicken yard. Betty took off her pretty frock and put on a blue and white gingham and her white shoes. She was determined not to allow herself to get what Mrs. Peabody called “slack,” and she scrupulously dressed every afternoon, whether she went off the farm or not.

  The pictures, she discovered when she examined them, were exceptionally good. Lieson, in particular, had proved an excellent subject, and Betty privately decided that he was more attractive in his working clothes than he could ever hope to be in the stiff black and white she knew he would assume for Sunday. She took the prints and went downstairs to await an opportunity to show them.

  Bob Henderson was in the kitchen, doing something to his hand. Betty experienced a sinking sensation when she saw a blood-stained rag floating in the basin of water on the table.

  “Bob!” she gasped. “Did you hurt yourself?”

  Bob glanced up, managing a smile, though he was rather white around the mouth.

  “I cut my finger,” he said jerkily. “The blame thing won’t stop bleeding.”

  “I have peroxide upstairs!” Betty flew to get the bottle.

  It was a nasty cut, but she set her teeth and washed it thoroughly wit
h the antiseptic and warm water before binding it up with the clean, soft handkerchief she had brought back with her. Bob had been clumsily trying to make a bandage with his dark blue bandana handkerchief, all the lad had.

  “How did you do it?” asked Betty, as she tied a neat knot and tucked the ends in out of sight. “I’ll fix you some more cloths tonight; you’ll have to wash that cut again in the morning.”

  Bob was putting away the basin and now he went off to get the pails of slop for the pigs. Betty thought he had not heard her question, but when Lieson came in for a drink of water and saw the pictures he unconsciously set her right. Lieson was greatly pleased with his picture, and looked so long at the other prints that Betty feared lest Mr. Peabody should come in and make an accusation of wasted time.

  “That’s a good picture of Bob, too,” commented Lieson. “He cut his hand this afternoon on the hoe. The old man come down where he was hoeing corn, and just as he got there Bob cut a stalk; you can’t always help it. Peabody flew into a rage and grabbed the hoe. Bob thought he was going to strike him with it and he put up his hand to save his head, and Peabody brought the sharp edge of the hoe down so it nicked his finger. Guess he won’t be able to milk tonight.”

  Betty stood in the doorway of the kitchen and stared away into the serene green fields.

  “It looks so peaceful,” she thought wearily. “And yet to live in such a place doesn’t seem to have the slightest effect on people’s dispositions. I wonder why?”

  CHAPTER XV

  NURSE AND PATIENT

  When the next Sunday came round the shrill song of the locusts began early, foretelling a hot day. The heat and the flies and the general uninviting appearance of the breakfast table irritated Betty more than usual, and only consideration for Mrs. Peabody, who looked wretchedly ill, kept her at the table through the meal. Lieson and Mr. Peabody bickered incessantly, and Wapley, who had taken cold, coughed noisily.

  “Guess I’ll go over and see Doc Guerin an’ get him to give me something for this cold,” Wapley mumbled, after a particularly violent paroxysm. “Never knew folks had colds in summer, but I got one for sure.”

  “You take some of that horse medicine out on the barn shelf,” advised Peabody. “The bottle’s half full, and I’ll sell it to you for a quarter. The doctor’s stuff will cost you all of a dollar, and that horse medicine will warm you up fine. That’s all you want, anyway, something to kind of heat up your pipes.”

  Betty hoped fervently that the man would not follow this remarkable prescription, and it was with actual relief that she saw him come downstairs an hour later arrayed in his best clothes ready to walk to town. She had her camera ready and stood patiently in the sun for fifteen minutes till she had taken the promised pictures. Wapley was snapped alone and with Lieson, and then a photograph of Lieson alone, and then it was Bob’s turn. That usually amiable youth was inclined to be sulky, but finally yielded to persuasion. Betty was anxious to send a full set of pictures to her uncle, and while Bob’s “Sunday best” was exactly the same as his week-day attire, still, as she pointed out, he could wear his pleasantest expression for a “close up.”

  The cause for Bob’s crossness was revealed after Lieson and Wapley had started for Glenside. His sore finger was swollen and gave him considerable pain.

  “Why didn’t you go with them and see the doctor?” scolded Betty. “Go now. I think the cut should be opened, Bob.”

  “I’m not going,” said Bob flatly. “Where’d I get any money to pay him?”

  “I have some—” Betty was beginning, but he cut her short with the curt announcement that he was not going to let her do everything for him.

  “Well, then, go over and let Doctor Guerin examine your finger and offer to work it out for him in some way,” urged Betty. “Don’t be silly about money, Bob; any doctor does his work first and then asks about his pay. Won’t you go?”

  “No, I won’t,” retorted Bob ungraciously. “I’m too dog-gone tired to walk that far, anyway. Let’s take books out to the orchard, and if you have any crackers or anything, we won’t come back for dinner. I hate that hot kitchen!”

  This was very unlike Bob, and Betty noticed that his face was flushed and his eyes heavy. She was sure he had fever, but she knew it was useless to argue with him. So, like the sensible girl she was, she tried to make him comfortable without further consulting him. She had a new parcel of magazines he had not seen, and without asking Mrs. Peabody, she took a square rug from the parlor for him to lie on and the pillow from her bed. Mrs. Peabody she knew would not object to the rug being used, but Mr. Peabody was shaving in the kitchen, and if he heard the request would instantly deny it.

  On her last trip to the town Betty had bought a dozen lemons and a package of soda fountain straws, and when Bob complained of thirst, she surprised him with a lemonade. Fortunately the water from the spring in one of the meadows was icy cold.

  Bob’s “Gee, that’s good!” more than repaid her for her trouble and the heat headache that throbbed in her temples from her hurried journeys down to the spring.

  There was a faint breeze stirring fitfully in the orchard, and it was shady. Betty read aloud to Bob until he fell asleep. After he was unconscious, she looked at him pityingly, noting the sore finger held stiffly away from its fellows and the pathetic droop of the boyish mouth.

  “His mother would be so sorry!” she thought, folding up a paper to serve as a fan and beginning to fan him gently. “I wonder how he happened to be born in the poorhouse. He has nice hands and feet, well-proportioned, that is, and mother always said that was a mark of good breeding. Besides, I know from the way he speaks and acts that he is different from these hired men.”

  Betty continued to fan till she saw Mrs. Peabody come out of the kitchen and go to the woodshed. Then she ran in to tell her that Bob would probably sleep through dinner and that would be one less for the noon meal. Sunday dinner was never an elaborate affair in the Peabody household, and Betty insisted on helping Mrs. Peabody today, since she could not induce her to go away from the kitchen and lie down. The men had said they were going to stay in town till milking time, and only Mr. and Mrs. Peabody and Betty sat down to the sorry repast at one o’clock. There was little conversation, and Mr. Peabody was the only one who made a pretense of eating what was served.

  “Now you go upstairs, and let me do the dishes,” said Betty to Mrs. Peabody, as her husband put on his hat and went out at the conclusion of the meal. “If you’ll undress and go to bed, I’ll get supper and feed the chickens. You look so fagged out.”

  “It’s the heat,” sighed Mrs. Peabody. “Land, child, I’ve crawled through a sight of summers, and won’t give out awhile yet, I guess. You’re the one to watch out. Keep in out of the sun, and don’t run your feet off waiting on Bob. I’ll show you something, though, if you won’t let on.”

  She beckoned Betty to one corner of the kitchen where a fly-specked calendar hung.

  “Look here,” said Mrs. Peabody. “Nobody knows what these pencil marks mean but me—I made ’em. Now’s the second week in July—there’s seventeen days of July left. Thirty-one days in August. And most generally you can count on the first week of September being hot—that makes fifty-five days. Three meals a day to get, or one hundred and sixty-five meals in all.”

  “Then what?” asked the hypnotized Betty.

  “Oh, then it begins to get a little cooler,” said Mrs. Peabody listlessly. “I’ve counted this way for three summers now. Somehow it makes the summer go faster if you can see the days marked off and know so many meals are behind you.”

  Inexperienced as Betty was, it seemed infinitely pathetic to her that any one should long for the summer days to be over, and she realized dimly that the loneliness and dullness of her hostess’ daily life must be beginning to prey on her mind. She helped dry the dishes, went upstairs with Mrs. Peabody and bathed her forehead with cologne and closed the shutters of her room for her. Then, hoping she might sleep for a few hours as she resolu
tely refused to give up for the rest of the day, Betty hurried to put on her thinnest white frock and went back to the orchard. She found her patient awake and decidedly feeling aggrieved.

  “I’ve been awake for ages,” he greeted her. “Gee, isn’t it hot! You look kind of pippin’ too. Do you know, I’ve been thinking about that riding habit of yours, Betty. What are you going to do with it?”

  “Keep it till I go somewhere else where there’ll be a chance to learn to ride,” answered Betty. “Why?”

  “Oh, I was just thinking,” and Bob turned over on his back to stare up through the branches. “You’ll get away from here sooner than I shall, Betty. But, believe me, the first chance I get I’m going to streak out. Peabody’s got no claim on me, and I’ve worked out all the food and clothes he’s ever given me. The county won’t care—they’ve got more kids to look after now than they can manage, and one missing won’t create any uproar. I’d like to try to walk from here to the West. They say my mother had people out there somewhere.”

  “Tell me about her,” urged Betty impulsively. “Do you remember her, Bob?”

  “She died the night I was born,” said Bob quietly. “My father was killed in a railroad wreck they figured out. You see my mother was a little out of her head with grief and shock when they found her walking along the road, singing to herself. All she had was the clothes on her back and a little black tin box with her marriage certificate in it and some papers that no one rightly could understand. They sent her to the alms-house, and a month later I was born. The old woman who nursed her said her mind was perfectly clear the few hours she lived after that, and she said that ‘David,’ my father, had been bringing her East to a hospital when their train was wrecked. She couldn’t remember the date nor tell how long before it had happened, and after she died no one was interested enough to trace things up. I was brought up in the baby ward and went to school along with the others. Many is the boy I’ve punched for calling me ‘Pauper!’ And then, when I was ten, Peabody came over and said he wanted a boy to help him on his farm; I could go to school in the winters, and he’d see that I had clothes and everything I needed. I’ve never been to school a day since, and about all I needed, according to him, was lickings. But if I ever get away from here I mean to find out a few things for myself.”