Chapter Eight
It was on a Monday morning in mid-July that Harleigh arrived at the black walnut a little earlier than usual, but Allegra was already waiting in the tree house. Lately he’d been making the climb on his first try, but for some reason on that particular day he slipped and had to start over twice. By the time he finally scooted up onto the floor of the tree house, he’d banged an elbow and a shin and was not in a very good mood.
Allegra, sitting cross-legged with the tatters of the weird ragged dress smoothed down over her legs, looked relaxed and unruffled.
“Do you always wear that same dress?” Harleigh growled.
Allegra nodded. “Oh, yes. When I come here I do. It’s my forest dress.” She ran her hands down over the tatters, smoothing them out. “I had another one, but it wore out.”
Harleigh couldn’t help grinning, wondering what a worn-out dress would look like if this wasn’t one.
When the tattered pieces were carefully arranged, Allegra said, “I have a surprise. Look what I brought.” She reached in among the rags and pulled out a little bag that had been hanging from a string around her neck. “See this?” she asked.
“Yes, I see it. What is it?”
“It’s like a purse or a pocket. I use it when I want to bring something, so my hands will be free for climbing. This time I brought this candy and—and . . .” She fished around in her little bag again and brought out a wrinkled piece of paper. “And this,” she said.
The candy was a chocolate bar. Harleigh really liked candy, but he didn’t get it very often because Aunt Adelaide thought chocolate was habit-forming. Allegra broke the bar in two and let him pick which piece he wanted. At first that only added to his frustration, because it was broken so evenly it was hard to decide which one was biggest. And after he’d finally chosen, he was sure he’d made a mistake and picked the small one.
But the chocolate did cheer him up a little, and while they were eating she showed him the piece of paper. It was a photograph that looked like it had been cut from a magazine, and it seemed to be a picture of the front of a very old building. A building that had a grand entrance with large double doors that were decorated by elaborately carved panels.
“And that picture,” he said. “What’s that?”
“It’s some famous doors on a famous building,” Allegra said. “But I brought it because it looks so much like the front doors on your House. On Weatherby House. Don’t you think so?”
He didn’t think so. Not really. A little bit maybe, but not much. But Allegra was sure they were almost exactly alike. They argued about it for a while and then, suddenly, they were on their way to look at the front doors of Weatherby House and see who was right. Afterward Harleigh didn’t really remember agreeing to do it, but somehow there they were, on their way.
Harleigh said, “I don’t think we can get to where we can see the doors without anybody seeing us.” But Allegra was sure they could.
“Oh, I can,” she insisted. “I’ve done it before. Lots of times. First you have to go through the dead garden where all those beautiful statues are . . .”
“The Italian garden,” Harleigh said.
“Oh, is that what it is? Italian, I mean,” she said. “Good. So you go through the Italian garden, and then past some other dead flower beds and around behind that other long building at the end of the driveway.”
Harleigh nodded. “The carriage house,” he said.
“The carriage house?” She looked delighted. “That building was a carriage house? Then they kept horses there? I thought so. Where are the horses?”
He laughed. “Long gone. Now there’s just Aunt Adelaide’s old Buick, and down at the end there are some rooms where the grooms used to live. But old Ralph is the only one who lives there now.”
“Oh,” she said. “The old man with a beard? I’ve seen him. So that’s Ralph? Why does he live out there?”
“He’s a gardener, but he’s too old to do much gardening, except in the solarium. He works in the solarium every morning, and when Aunt Adelaide wants to go to town he drives the Buick.”
She nodded. “And then you can either go under the arch where the driveway comes through to the carriage house, or else all the way around that other part. The dead part of the House.”
“Dead?”
“Empty,” she said. “No one lives there. Did anyone ever live there?”
“No. Not really. You’re right about that. The east wing was just offices and things like that. It’s empty now. Most of it is closed off.”
Allegra nodded again. “Dead,” she agreed with herself. “It’s faster to go through the arch, but it’s more dangerous. That’s when you have to start being very careful.”
“Careful?” Harleigh asked. “About what?”
“About the windows. It’s dangerous to be where you can see a window, because if you can see one, someone looking out of the window might be able to see you.”
Harleigh didn’t think it would be possible to reach the house without being in sight of any windows, and he said so, but Allegra just kept on walking and talking and he did too, planning to go just a little farther before he turned and went back. They had passed the remains of the Italian garden and the English one, too, when Allegra came to a sudden stop at the edge of the long sweep of open land: a dry, barren field that had once been a green lawn where Weatherbys and their guests ate picnics and played croquet. A lawn that, according to Aunt Adelaide, was once as lush and green as any three-hundred-year-old lawn in England.
Allegra was pointing out toward the middle of the open field. “Look,” she said. “That’s where I saw the big man looking for treasure. Right out there.”
Harleigh couldn’t believe it. “That’s where you saw Junior using a metal detector? Right out there where anyone could see him?”
She shook her head. “Not very well,” she said. “It was after dark.”
Harleigh was startled. “You don’t mean you come here after dark?”
“Not very often. But once I did when the moon was pretty full. That’s when I saw him. I saw this enormous man walking around and around out there swinging that metal thing.”
It was an uncomfortable thing to imagine—hiding in the bushes after dark and watching sinister old Junior prowling around with a metal detector only a few yards away from your hiding place. Junior, whose creepy stare and curled lip could make a person’s skin crawl even in broad daylight . . .
Frozen momentarily while he dealt with the thought of running into Junior outdoors after dark, it took Harleigh a few seconds to notice that Allegra had moved on. He hurried to catch up, to follow her as she crept along behind a hedge, and from there right through the arch that spanned the drive and connected the central part of the house with the east wing.
Once through the archway, Allegra ducked under the hanging branches of a short, bushy tree. When they crawled out from under the tree they were right against a wall, a wall in which there were no windows.
Looking up, Harleigh realized where they were—just outside the library, the windowless library. And just beyond the library was the curved bulge that was formed by the first floor of his tall central tower. Still on his hands and knees, Harleigh reached out and tapped the only part of Allegra that he could reach—the heel of her bare foot.
“Hey,” he whispered when she looked back. “See that tower? That’s where my room is. Way up on the top of that tower.”
Allegra turned and crawled back. “You mean you live at the top of that tower?” She craned her neck to stare up—way up. When she turned back, her eyes—more than her eyes, her whole face—seemed to be glowing.
He couldn’t help being pleased that she was so impressed. “Sure, that’s my room. Up on the top floor. The bottom floor right here is an alcove in the library, and on the second floor it’s part of an upstairs sitting room. On the third floor it’s just a storeroom. But then, way up two more circular flights of stairs, there’s this room with a lot of windows tha
t used to be called the Aerie. Nobody lived there. People only went up for the view. But now it’s mine. I sleep there.”
“That is so exciting.” Allegra was still glowing. “You’re so lucky. Everyone should have a tower to sleep in. I wish I had one.”
She sighed again before she turned away and crawled to where she could stick her head out between two branches and look up at the turreted tower silhouetted against the sky. She stared for a long time before she suddenly looked back and whispered, “Come on. We’re almost there.”
They rounded the base of the library alcove, and there, not far away, was the entrance to Weatherby House, the grand entrance with its elaborately carved and paneled door, a door that was similar but not really the same as the one in Allegra’s picture.
“See. They’re not the same,” Harleigh whispered.
But Allegra whispered back, “Yes, they are. Come on, I’ll show you.” Ignoring Harleigh’s objections, she went on crawling around and under bushes on her way to the front doors.
Chapter Nine
Harleigh was right about the doors when he said they were not the same as the doors in Allegra’s picture, because they weren’t. Not exactly. As they crept closer, he was able to point out a number of differences in the bas-relief images that were carved into the panels; for instance, the panel where a lion and a unicorn on the door took the place of a knight on horseback in the picture. He was triumphantly pointing out another difference when suddenly Allegra grabbed his arm and pulled him back behind one of the bushes that lined the path.
“Shh,” she said. “Get down. Someone’s coming.”
Flat on his stomach under a scratchy bush, Harleigh was beginning to hear a squeak and rattle that sounded alarmingly familiar. Aunt Adelaide’s wheelchair!
Of course that was who it had to be. No one else entered the house by way of the front entrance. All the other descendants had keys to other doors—side and back doors—ones that led from the service road to the kitchen, from the courtyard through the solarium, or even into some of the more distant ells and wings of the house. But Adelaide the Great always came and went by way of the grand front entrance.
Both of them would be in serious trouble if they were seen. At least if they were seen together. Of course, Harleigh was in no real danger, as long as he was by himself. But if Aunt Adelaide were to find out that he had someone with him, that he had allowed a stranger to come onto the premises without having permission, there was no telling what might happen. Particularly if he wasn’t able to give an explanation—not a believable one, anyway—of how she had managed to get herself onto Weatherby property.
Pushing himself back as far as he could among the prickly leaves, Harleigh glanced at Allegra and saw that she was frightened too. As frightened as he was, or maybe even more so. Her gray eyes looked enormous and her whole face, usually so alive and changeable, was stiff and still.
“Don’t worry.” Harleigh’s whisper was barely louder than a breath of air. “Just stay right there where you are.” He began to move then, wiggling backward through the bush to where he could get to his feet at a safe distance from Allegra’s hiding place, before he jumped up and burst out onto the path, calling, “Hello, Aunt Adelaide. Hi, Cousin Josephine.”
Aunt Adelaide, and Cousin Josephine as well, couldn’t have looked more surprised and startled if he’d been wearing armor and brandishing a sword. “Good heavens, child,” Josephine said. “You gave me a start. What are you doing way out here?”
Right at first Aunt Adelaide didn’t say anything except with her eyes, but what they were saying wasn’t particularly reassuring.
“I was just running around,” Harleigh said. “Getting some fresh air and sunshine, like the doctors said.”
“I see,” Aunt Adelaide said. “And do you often play way out here? I thought you were spending your free time in the old gardens in the north acreage.”
“Oh, usually I do.” Harleigh fell in behind the wheelchair in order to help Josephine push it over the graveled path, as well as to get away from Aunt Adelaide’s probing stare. “Here. Let me help,” he said, and then added, “Most of the time I stay in the old gardens. But today I decided to see how long it would take me to get all the way around the house. That’s how I happened to be out here.”
They had reached the portico by then, and Harleigh helped push the wheelchair up the ramp that led between marble pillars and on up to the huge double doors. When the wheelchair came to a stop, Aunt Adelaide held out a key ring the size of a bread plate, from which dangled at least a half dozen large, old-fashioned keys.
“Well, since you’re here you may as well make yourself useful and unlock the door for us,” she said. “It’s the largest key. The one with the silver crest.”
Harleigh knew which key it was. He’d seen it before, but he’d never held it in his hand. He liked the strong solid heft of it as he fitted it into the matching crest just below the lion’s-head doorknob. The key grated as it turned, there was a clicking sound, and one of the heavy doors swung open. Dropping the key ring into Aunt Adelaide’s outstretched hand, he moved back to help push the chair over the doorsill. Over the sill and then on down the wide entry chamber, beneath crystal chandeliers and ancient oil paintings, past narrow rosewood tables, an enormous pendulum clock, a hexagonal curio cabinet, and last but not least, a complete suit of armor. They had almost reached the pointed arch above the short entry hall that led into the drawing room, when Aunt Adelaide looked back and said, “The door. Harleigh, I don’t think you closed the door tightly. Just push it shut firmly and you will hear it lock itself.”
He hadn’t heard a click. “I’ll get it,” he said, and turned back just as Cousin Josephine and the wheelchair disappeared into the drawing room. Running back down the length of the huge entryway, Harleigh was reaching out to close the door, when it suddenly began to move. When he pushed, the door pushed back, and a small hand and bare foot appeared in the crack, quickly followed by the rest of Allegra.
“Get out,” Harleigh whispered. “You can’t come in here.” Putting both hands on her shoulders he pushed—pushed her back against the door, which closed with a loud click. A click that meant there was no way to open it except by using the key on Aunt Adelaide’s ring.
“Now you’ve done it,” he hissed. “The door’s locked. You can’t get out.”
She nodded slowly. Her rolling eyes had a wild gleam that might have been fear or—something else.
“Didn’t you hear me?” he demanded. “You’ve locked yourself in.”
She turned back to stare directly at Harleigh. “I didn’t lock myself in. I just came in. You were the one who pushed and made the door lock. Anyway, I’m . . .” She looked around again and began to whisper, “I’m in. I’m in the House.”
Harleigh thought fast, or tried to. On the right side, just beyond the grandfather clock, the first door was to the library, where they just possibly might run into Uncle Edgar. And the second was to the servants’ hall that passed the pantry and kitchen where—Harleigh glanced at his watch—Matilda might be getting ready to make lunch.
On the left was the entrance to the drawing room, but that was where Aunt Adelaide and Cousin Josephine had just gone. The only other escape route was by way of the wide west corridor that led to Aunt Adelaide’s recital hall bedroom—where she would be going as soon as she finished her usual inspection detour through the drawing room.
Aunt Adelaide liked to say she always went through the drawing room because it reminded her of all the splendid events that had taken place there when she was a girl. But other people thought another reason was that Adelaide the Great wanted to check to be sure that no one—no distant descendant—had dared to take, or even touch, anything.
“She usually makes me stop and lift the sheets off the best pieces,” Harleigh had heard Cousin Josephine say, “so she can be sure nothing has been disturbed.”
So if today’s inspection took long enough, there might be time to make it down the we
st corridor and out through the solarium. He motioned for Allegra to follow him. But she didn’t, at least not right away. Instead she went on standing in the center of the entry hall, turning slowly in a circle—turning and looking and breathing deeply in long, shivery sighs.
“What are you doing?” Harleigh hissed. “Come on.” Grabbing her wrist, he pulled her on down the entryway and under the arch that led into the west corridor, but they hadn’t gone far when he heard a squeaky creak. One of the side doors that led into the drawing room was opening, which meant that the inspection tour was over and Aunt Adelaide was on her way to the recital hall. There was no time to be choosy. Pulling Allegra after him, Harleigh darted through the nearest door and into a place he had been before, but not often and not at all recently.
Chapter Ten
It was almost dark. In the dim light the wood-paneled walls gave the room an enclosed cavelike feeling, and the groups of bulky leather-covered chairs resembled clusters of squatting monsters. The dead air smelled like a dirty ashtray. Allegra pulled her arm free. “Where are we?” Her voice was low and shaky.
“We’re in one of the men’s rooms,” Harleigh said, and then, realizing what she might think, he started to explain. “I mean . . .”
“A men’s restroom?”
“No. Not a restroom. They’re just called the men’s rooms because no women were allowed.”
Allegra stopped turning in a circle and came back to face Harleigh. “Why not?” She sounded indignant. “Why couldn’t women come in here?”
“I don’t know.” Harleigh tried not to sound argumentative—it wasn’t the time or place for a quarrel. “My great-grandfather, Harleigh the First, said so, I suppose. It was only these two rooms. This one used to be called the smoking room and in there, through that door,” he said, pointing, “is the poolroom. My aunt says women and girls weren’t allowed in there, either.”
The Treasures of Weatherby Page 5
