The Secrets of Winterhouse

by Ben Guterson

  “Looking for books?” Elizabeth couldn’t picture Rodney Powter being interested in anything in the library other than, maybe, a magazine about computer games.

  “That’s the odd thing,” Leona said. “He wasn’t looking for books at all. He just wandered around the first floor scanning everywhere. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was looking for cracks in the walls.”

  “That’s what I saw him and his parents doing a couple days ago.” Elizabeth was thinking back to how she’d spied on Rodney and his parents and the odd things they’d said. The library walls were nearly covered with large framed paintings and old photographs and notices that had been hung years before and had remained untouched.

  “Do you think he was looking for the old doorway here in the library?” Elizabeth said.

  “But how in the world would that ruffian know about any of that?”

  Elizabeth couldn’t answer Leona’s question, but that didn’t stop her from feeling very anxious about the whole thing. “Do you know where the passageway was before it was destroyed?”

  Leona pointed to a far wall, one where dozens of bookcases stood. The wall was entirely covered with a massive shelf and, on the wall, a spread of paintings.

  “Right over there,” she said.

  “What if there’s something still there that he’s looking for?”

  “Impossible. First, that he knows anything, and, second, that something is there. That door was walled up long ago, and the passageway destroyed.”

  Elizabeth studied the wall Leona had pointed out. “But Rodney’s looking for something.”

  “We’ll deal with him in the morning, if he returns.” She checked her watch. “Closing time. But what brings you down here at this hour?” Leona locked the library doors.

  “I just wanted to say hi.”

  “Pot of tea? And then I need to get to bed.”

  * * *

  An hour later, after tea with Leona and then a quick stop in the portrait gallery, Elizabeth found Freddy in the camera obscura room and they decided to go for a swim. On their way to the pool, they stopped in the lobby, where Mr. Wellington and Mr. Rajput were working at their table.

  “How’s the puzzle going tonight?” Elizabeth said.

  “Hello!” said the chipper Mr. Wellington. “All’s well here.”

  Mr. Rajput sighed slowly without looking up. “Greetings,” he murmured. “Discouraging progress. Very discouraging. There are so many other enticements for you here at Winterhouse—things more enjoyable than working on a puzzle with two old men—but I’m certain we would be so much further along if you could spare a bit more of your time now and again. Our efforts are so plodding, and it creates so much unhappiness.”

  “Oh, come now, Mr. Rajput,” Mr. Wellington said. “The girl’s entitled to her fun.”

  “It’s all right,” Elizabeth said. “I love working on the puzzle. I’ll help tomorrow for sure. There’s just been so much to do since I got here.” She moved closer to the puzzle. “You’ve really done a lot,” she said, studying the stone temple, the rugged mountains behind it, and the deep blue sky above. “I’ll bet you’ll finish in a few more visits.”

  “If we had more help, yes,” Mr. Rajput said. “This puzzle is difficult enough with just the two of us putting in the time.” He shook his head in incomprehension and despair.

  “Mr. Rajput, enough!” Mr. Wellington said. “Chin up! Face forward! Be manly about it, goodness! Hut, two, three, four! March, march, march, march! Sin, dex! Sin, dex!”

  Mr. Wellington was teasing his friend mercilessly, and Elizabeth and Freddy couldn’t help but laugh as Mr. Wellington continued. “Sin, dex! Sin, dex!” he chanted.

  “It’s all an enormous joke to you, isn’t it, Mr. Wellington?” Mr. Rajput said.

  The other man put a hand to his bald head and laughed loudly.

  “What does ‘sin, dex’ mean?” Freddy said. “I’ve never heard that before.”

  “Old Roman marching orders,” Mr. Wellington said.

  “I take it they don’t teach Latin at your schools,” Mr. Rajput said. And before either Elizabeth or Freddy could answer, he said, “It means ‘left, right, left, right.’”

  “In abbreviation, that is,” Mr. Wellington added. “‘Sinister’ means ‘left,’ and ‘dexter’ means ‘right.’”

  Elizabeth felt herself freeze. “Can you say that again?” She looked to Freddy, who had an expression on his face that mirrored hers.

  “It’s Latin,” Mr. Wellington said. “The Latin word for ‘right’ is ‘dexter,’ and the Latin word for ‘left’ is ‘sinister.’”

  Elizabeth turned back to Mr. Wellington and, without thinking about it, put a hand to her necklace. “That’s what I thought you said.”

  Freddy looked as though he might jump out of his skin. “We better get to the pool!” he said, and he and Elizabeth began to dash off.

  “Isn’t the pool that way?” Mr. Wellington said, but the kids had already disappeared around the corner.

  * * *

  Two minutes later, Elizabeth and Freddy were examining the Winterhouse seal on the marble floor at the center of the four-way corridor.

  “‘With sinister starts that end at gate,’” Elizabeth said as she studied the inscription. “This has something to do with the left side of … of what?” She glanced around, even held out her left arm because she thought it might help her discover whatever unknown thing she was seeking.

  “I don’t know,” Freddy said, just as absorbed in peering at the seal as Elizabeth was.

  They spent a few minutes examining each rectangle in turn, reading the words and numbers aloud.

  “If you ask me,” Freddy said, tilting his head even as he kept his eyes on the seal, “something starts on the left side somewhere, and then ends at a gate. But I don’t know what it all adds up to.”

  Suddenly, the slightest tremor of the familiar feeling came over Elizabeth, and then, almost as quickly as it had arisen, it vanished. She glanced around, half expecting to see someone turning a corner, though no one appeared.

  “You okay?” Freddy said.

  “I’m fine.” She allowed her momentary premonition to fade, but even as it did, she realized she had the urge to mention the feeling to Freddy. In fact, she’d been thinking for some time—throughout the year as they had emailed each other—that she might tell him about the power she’d first recognized at Winterhouse during the previous Christmas. The one piece about the fight with Gracella she’d never told Freddy was how she herself had made The Book move simply by focusing on it, and this had allowed her to rescue it from Gracella. She wondered now, as she had wondered for months, if it was maybe wrong to keep this from her friend.

  “I wish I’d spent more time with that book in Havenworth,” she said, dismissing these thoughts. “Someone named Dylan Grimes wrote it, and I have a feeling there might have been something in there that could help us out in his chapter about seals.”

  “Hey!” Freddy said. “Do you think a ‘gate’ could be the same thing as a ‘doorway’?”

  “You might be right,” Elizabeth said; it felt as though a light was flicking on so that everything could be seen clearly. “That would mean something starts on the left side and ends at each doorway. And it would also mean there definitely are four doorways.”

  “What about all the other words on this seal?” Freddy said. “And the numbers?”

  “No idea yet. But let’s keep this quiet around Elana.”

  “She and her grandmother were so interested in the passageways,” Freddy said. “And then Elana wanted to know everything about the candy kitchen.”

  “There has to be some connection,” Elizabeth said. “With Rodney, too. He definitely wasn’t just running away that night because he was scared.”

  “It would be so cool to figure out this seal and whatever else is going on,” Freddy said.

  Elizabeth laughed. “What happened to the regular, normal, not-weird-at-all Christmas at Wi
nterhouse?”

  “Weird. Wired. Wider.” Freddy pushed at his glasses and raised his arms in triumph. “The anagram king still rules!”

  All at once, the feeling descended on Elizabeth—it was like the sensation of a window opening and cold air pressing on her. She looked to the far corridor. Mrs. Vesper turned the corner and, seeing them, stopped in place.

  “Hello,” Elizabeth said, a bit too quickly.

  “Good evening,” the old lady said, without changing her expression. She nodded to them as she approached. “Have either of you seen my granddaughter?”

  “I haven’t seen her,” Freddy said, looking to Elizabeth.

  “Me neither,” Elizabeth said. She was trying to calm herself, but she felt sure she was blushing.

  Mrs. Vesper’s black eyes flickered. She inclined her head toward Elizabeth. “This seal is fascinating, isn’t it?”

  Elizabeth felt her resolve building; the last thing she wanted was for Mrs. Vesper to see that she was rattled. “Very,” she said. “There are all sorts of fascinating things at Winterhouse, that’s for sure.”

  Mrs. Vesper stared at her. “As I’ve come to learn.” She paused. “Good evening.” She gave a nod and then resumed walking.

  Freddy watched her as she moved silently away, and then he whispered to Elizabeth, “That woman freaks me out.”

  “Me too,” Elizabeth said, and as she stood watching, she replayed in her mind the conversation she and Freddy had been having before they’d been interrupted. An alarming thought came to her. “Do you think she heard what we were talking about?”

  Freddy bit his lip. “I hope not.” He looked to the corridor. “Come on, let’s get going.”

  CHAPTER 19

  THE RIPPLINGTON SILVER CORRIDOR COVER

  Elizabeth reported to the library at nine o’clock the next morning. After half an hour—with, thankfully, no sign of Rodney Powter—Elizabeth noticed a lady on the first floor looking this way and that.

  “Hi,” Elizabeth said. “May I help you find something?”

  The woman, middle-aged and wearing a brown sweater and plaid skirt, gave her an indulgent half smile. “Thank you, but I’m looking for the librarian.”

  “I’m the assistant. Maybe I can help you.”

  The woman nodded dismissively. “I need to talk to the real librarian. I’m looking for some very specific items.”

  Elizabeth felt her chest tightening but tried to keep herself calm. Don’t give offense, and don’t take offense, she thought.

  “Miss Leona Springer is the head librarian,” Elizabeth said. “But as her helper, I can assist you.”

  The woman was scanning the far corners of the library, perhaps hoping to catch sight of Leona. When Elizabeth remained standing before her, the woman lowered her gaze and said, “Please stop badgering me.” She looked away.

  All of Elizabeth’s resolve fled. “Oh, you’re looking for a book on badgers?” she said. “Yes, that makes a lot of sense. Section C-28 on the second floor. Tons and tons of books on animals, and even a few with photographs of badgers in them, in case you just wanted to look at the pictures.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” the woman said, fixing Elizabeth with a glare; just then Leona came from around the nearest bookcase.

  “Kidding, yes!” Leona said with a laugh. “Our lovely assistant, Miss Somers, is a great kidder!” She came and put an arm around Elizabeth’s shoulders. “Would you mind finishing the filing in our office, dear, and I’ll join you shortly?” She turned to Elizabeth with the sternest look she had ever given her, and even gave a firm press on her back to send her on her way.

  “I … I will,” Elizabeth said, suddenly feeling foolish. She looked to the woman in the plaid skirt. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say what I said.”

  The woman sighed with annoyance. “It’s quite all right,” she said tersely.

  Elizabeth headed for the office, feeling terrible not only for what had just happened but for being unable to shake the sense that she wasn’t really learning the basics about being a librarian—and was having trouble keeping her cool.

  “That assistant of yours was very rude,” Elizabeth heard the woman say to Leona.

  “I appreciate the observation,” Leona said curtly. “Now, may I help you locate a book?”

  When Elizabeth entered the office, she decided to read Marshall’s journal—maybe she could forget about how poorly she’d behaved—and, with any luck, learn something more about the secret passageways. She opened the enormous book and scanned the contents to see if anything stood out; Miles bobbed on his perch but remained silent. She skimmed over chapters titled “The Most Foul-Mannered Movie Star in the World Spends Eleven Days Too Long at Winterhouse: Chas Calloway’s Twelve-Day Stay with Us,” and “My Sister Becomes a Nun,” and “Ice on Lake Luna till August!” and then found herself intrigued by a chapter named “The Complete and Total Blocking Off of the Ripplington Mine Shafts.” She began to read:

  As you will recall from earlier chapters, the Ripplington Mining Company at one time dominated the landscape and countryside and region in the area around Winterhouse, with their operations, which were mines, i.e., holes dug into the ground from which were carved or hewn or hacked out all manner of minerals and other things.

  However, in 1887, after careful investigation coupled with lengthy study, the president of the Ripplington Mining Company, Mr. Wilhelm Balsa Ripplington, determined that because of the tenacious permafrost throughout the region and the fact that temperatures in the region typically remained below freezing for four or five or even six months out of the year, his mining operations were unduly difficult, and his company had lost seven million dollars over its fifty years of existence. With this, he decided to relocate to warmer climes where the ground was softer and much easier to dig into, which is why the Ripplington Mining Company is now located in the deserts of Arizona and New Mexico. Before departing the area here, though, Mr. Ripplington had all of his mines plugged up so that people and animals wouldn’t stumble and fall into an open pit or a dangerous hole.…

  Elizabeth, amazed as always by Marshall Falls’s unique way of explaining things, skimmed the next two pages of the journal, in which Marshall tediously described the filling in of twenty-two separate mine shafts. And then she came to the last description:

  Finally, the greatest mine of all had to be plugged up, and this was the grand and massive Ripplington Silver Corridor, whose entrance was one and a half miles from the hotel. In fact, there is a curious legend that the twisting, winding, mazelike tunnels of the mine extended beneath Winterhouse itself and that the fabled “secret passageways” said to exist within our walls connected to this enormous silver mine.

  I have never believed this, of course, but it was a persistent rumor, one discussed frequently and often within the family. The story was that there was a corridor between Nestor’s bedroom and the candy kitchen—and I can vouch for this very brief walkway (though hardly a “secret passageway” at all, but more of a little tunnel that allowed our illustrious founder to pop in for a square or two or three of Flurschen whenever he desired), because I myself was inside of it on three occasions—but beyond that, there were no passageways. That is, aside from the one that led from Nestor’s room to the library itself, so that he could, when he chose, make his way to the library and thus evade his wife’s displeasure at the fact that he so often had his nose buried in books. She had mandated the library doors be locked at nine o’clock every evening, and so if Nestor found himself at midnight wanting to read a book about, say, popular hairstyles in ancient Mesopotamia or why whale skin is found only on whales, he could simply stroll down the passageway from his room to the library and procure whatever he desired.

  This passageway, of course, was demolished when the library was renovated as part of the expansion efforts here at Winterhouse, the campaign to “improve the place,” and “make it bigger,” and “allow for more guests.” I should add, as well, there was the ill-advised “pass
ageway” that led to another room and that connected with the one from Nestor’s room to the candy kitchen and the library. But this boondoggle of a mistake was more of an emergency exit, and I was glad it was hidden away once Nathaniel took over. But my point is that the legend persisted that Nestor’s passageway converged on a spur of the mine itself, effectively creating a veritable catacomb beneath the hotel, a twisting tomb of tunnels, an arctic ants’ nest, a permafrost prairie-dog town, a mountain maze! And so Mr. Ripplington poured tons and tons of pulverized rock into the entranceway to the mine, and he …

  Elizabeth was breathless, and she skimmed ahead over the next few pages to see if there were any more references to the secret passageways. Marshall, however, simply went on and on about the mines themselves, and then he ended the chapter by explaining an idea he had to turn the pebbles on the shores of Lake Luna into glass crystal.

  There were four doors into a main passageway, Elizabeth thought. One in Nestor’s room, one in the candy kitchen, one in the library, and one somewhere else. And they all joined the main passageway, and it connected to tunnels even deeper under the hotel. She closed the journal and stared at it. Where is the fourth door?

  “Hello, dear,” Leona said as she entered the office. Elizabeth turned. Leona did not look upset, but she also didn’t have her usual bright expression. “Let’s sit. I’d like to talk to you.”

  * * *

  “Elizabeth,” Leona began, after she’d made rose tea and they were sitting at the small table in the corner of her office, “you know I love you dearly and have full confidence in your ability—in time—to look after the library. But there is an additional piece to all of this, and that is learning how to interact politely and gracefully with the guests who visit us.”

  Elizabeth had been prepared for this and had hardly needed to work herself up to apologize to Leona, because she already knew how wrong she was.