Kipper was interrupted again by another burst of ugly laughter, one that this time caused him and Emily to turn to one another with looks of dismay and horror. For somewhere in that laughter, they had heard the unmistakable, blood-chilling, all-too-familiar sound of a hisssss!
“I aim to go see what’s up,” Kipper whispered. “There ain’t much light in the passageway, and plenty o’ kegs to hide behind.” Without even waiting for Emily’s opinion of this plan, Kipper darted for the door. A moment later, he had disappeared.
Emily had no intention of waiting there alone. She raced after him, following as he slipped like an eel from keg to keg toward a sharp shaft of light that stabbed through a partly open door. Crouching behind a large keg, they peered into the room.
Around a long, scarred oak table laden with a ham, a roast beef, a turkey, and all sorts of puddings, cakes, and custards (a collection, in fact, of the delectable foods Emily was used to seeing in the locked icebox), sat the grisly Captain Scurlock, his crew of rough officers, and two other persons. One of these, as they had guessed it would be, was Mrs. Meeching. With one hand under her sharp chin, and the fingers of another coiled around a long pipe, whose smoke glided silkily up her thin nose, she lounged in a carved black chair at the foot of the table.
But, unlike the first day she had entered Sugar Hill Hall, it was not Mrs. Meeching that caused Emily’s blood to turn to ice in her veins. This time it was a second person, a person who sat in a chair raised from all the others as if on a platform at the head of the table. The face of the person was one Emily had loved. No, not the face of Uncle Twice, but the face of a woman. Vanished, however, was the sweet expression, the soft eyes, and the gentle mouth. The face was now a curiously twisted hard mask, the eyes glittering like blue glass marbles, and the mouth no more than a black hole lined with red, opened wide to pour out a howl of ugly laughter.
Emily turned to Kipper with horror. “Aunty Plum!”
“Locked up there in the Remembrance Room remembering her bad deeds, oh, it does my tender heart good!” shrieked Mrs. Plumly. “And when I think of her sitting there prim as you please drinking her Aunty Plum’s nice, warm t-t-tea-hee-hee!” She exploded again with coarse laughter. “Never suspecting what was in it and pouring out all her tender little secrets about Mama’s thimble and Papa’s cap, getting tipsier and tipsier, and spilling out her nasty little tricks regarding the fish syrup, the old buzzards in the attic, that filthy cat, and her nineteen gold coins. ‘Sewn up in my mattress, Aunty Plum,’ she whispered to me, pleased as pleased could be.”
So Mrs. Plumly was the evil behind the evil, the eyes and ears of Sugar Hill Hall, which had been told nothing, but seen and heard everything. And now it was known how!
As Mrs. Plumly spoke, her face grew uglier and uglier until she was spitting out the words. “Meal-mouthed, meddling little brat! I’d like to have my hands on those precious clothes of hers so I could have the pleasure of hurling them into this fireplace all over again. Well, she’ll come out of the Remembrance Room a different child than she went in, mark my words. And if she gets any more dangerous ideas, there’s always another cup of tea in Aunty Plum’s room, eh, Meeching?”
“Indeed, Plumly!” said Mrs. Meeching in a fawning voice.
Then a poisonous smile spread over Mrs. Plumly’s face. “I must say I’ve never done a finer acting job. But then I didn’t earn my title of Queen of the Dance Halls for nothing, eh?”
“That was a splendid drop you did in the parlor, Plumly. Sssimply sssplendid!” hissed Mrs. Meeching.
“Ah yes!” mused Mrs. Plumly. She went into a trance, but quickly collected herself. “Well, perhaps on that note we had better take leave and be on our way.”
The two ladies rose, the officers stumbled to their feet, and Emily felt a sharp tug on her arm. “Ain’t got time to lose! Let’s get back to the tunnel!”
Numb with horror and shock, Emily could barely make one leg follow the other as she slipped silently down the passageway with Kipper. It was not until they were back in the tunnel with the trapdoor safely down overhead, that her throat unlocked enough for her to speak. “Oh Kipper, how could I have been so stupid as to believe her!”
“Now see here, Emily,” said Kipper sternly as they began their journey back up the tunnel, “anyone would o’ believed her. She’s a perfessional actress. And how was you to know you was guzzling tea which weren’t just tea? There ain’t any use banging your head ’gainst a wall to punish yourself for what ain’t your fault. Anyways, we learned a couple o’ somethings out o’ this visit. ’Pears as how Mrs. Plumly is chief viper ’round Sugar Hill Hall, and not the snake lady. And also ’pears as how she ain’t the one your Aunt Twice is pertecting.”
“Which means that—that it might be Uncle Twice after all!” Emily’s voice broke.
“Maybe,” said Kipper. “More’n maybe, most likely.”
“But how does Aunt Twice know he’s really alive?” Emily cried. “Suppose he isn’t and they’ve just been lying to her all along!”
“There you go with more supposings, Emily,” said Kipper.
“Yes, but—but if he’s alive, then where is he?” Emily was close to tears.
“That’s what we got to find out,” said Kipper. “But right now we’d best hurry you back to the Remembrance Room and me out o’ it in case them two ladies decides to pay you a visit. You know, you could o’ knocked me over when I seen them in The Jolly Sailor. I ain’t ever seen them going in, nor out either. Beats me how they sneak in and out so secret. O’ course—”
Kipper was interrupted by the distant, but loud, clap of the trapdoor behind them being slammed shut. Footsteps tapped sharply on the stone stairs, and a moment later the screeching, hissing voices of Mrs. Meeching and Mrs. Plumly echoed hollowly down the tunnel.
“What the-!” exclaimed Kipper softly. “Them loony vipers is usin’ the tunnel! Come on!” He grabbed Emily’s hand and nearly pulled her off her feet. “We better move faster’n we ever done in our lives!”
If the trip down the tunnel had been terrifying, not knowing what was before them, then the trip up the tunnel was ten times more so, knowing what was behind them. Stumbling on the rocky path, gasping for breath in the stagnant air, they ran. But the twists and turns of the tunnel protected them, and the loud, echoing voices of Mrs. Meeching and Mrs. Plumly drowned out the sound of their footsteps. When they reached the stairway to the Remembrance Room, they scrambled up the stone steps and hurled themselves into the room. Then they swiftly, but carefully, carefully lowered the trapdoor and flattened themselves on top of it like two panting, trembling small animals who have just escaped their hunters, listening. The voices came nearer.
And nearer. They paused at the foot of the stairs to snarl and hiss for a few moments. Then the voices moved on in the direction of the stone wall. And disappeared!
Kipper stared round-eyed at Emily. “Them two ain’t elves what can vanish. Must be steps what we missed.”
“Steps?” said Emily. “To where?”
Kipper shrugged. “Beats me.”
Then Emily gasped. “Do—do you suppose they lead into the ballroom? It should be just about overhead, Kipper.”
“Dingus, Emily, you could be right!” exclaimed Kipper. “O’ course, it’s more rightly the ballroom what was, ’cause ain’t likely any balls is being held there now, what with no windows and doors what we know of. More like a tomb, if you ask me.”
Kipper had no sooner said the words than his face froze. “I—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t o’ said that, Emily.”
“It’s all right,” Emily said quickly. “I—I’ve already thought it—that Uncle Twice might be in that room, buried alive.”
Or dead! Wasn’t that a possibility, too? But nobody said it. The words weren’t necessary. The thought filled the small room like a crushing stone.
FIFTEEN
A Necklace of True Pearls
The distant clock tolled the hour of one o’clock in the morning as Emily to
ssed and turned restlessly on the hard bench. Where was Kipper? Why hadn’t he come at midnight just as before? He had promised he would be there. What could have happened to him? The minutes dragged slowly by, and another half hour passed. Then suddenly there was the familiar sound of a key grating in the lock. Joyfully, Emily jumped from the bench and ran to the door.
It was Kipper, just as she had expected, but what a different boy he appeared this time. His head was a mat of dishevelled red curls, with some clinging damply to his forehead in small, wet corkscrews. His eyes were huge, and he was panting heavily as if he had been running hard and fast for a long distance.
“What is it? What’s happened?” Emily cried. “Is someone after you?”
Kipper shook his head dazedly. “No, ’tain’t anything like that, Emily. But there’s more dark, mysterious goings-on afoot, and all got to do with you!”
“M-m-me?”
Kipper nodded. “And what you got to do now is come with me, ’cause you been sent for.”
Emily started. “S-s-sent for?”
“Oh, no need to fear. ’Tain’t by the snake lady or Mrs. P., but by an indiwidual what don’t want to be made known to you ’til he’s spoke his case.”
Emily felt as if all the blood had suddenly been drained from her body. “U-U-Uncle Twice?” she breathed. “Kipper, did you find Uncle Twice?”
Kipper’s eyes filled with sympathy. “No, ’tain’t your Uncle Twice, Emily. But you got to come anyways, and no ‘don’t,’ nor ‘won’t,’ nor ‘can’t.’ No use minding the old folks right now, much as you’d like, ’cause there’s others with lives hanging on it, namely you and your Aunt Twice!”
“But what of Uncle Twice’s life?” whispered Emily faintly.
“I don’t know anything ’bout that, Emily. All I know’s this indiwidual’s waiting for you at Pa’s place. Pa sent ’long one o’ his own old seagoing jackets. He knows as how you’ll get lost in it, but he says ’twill keep you warm. Besides, ’twouldn’t do to go wearing velvet coats nor fur collars in the part o’ town we got to cross to get to Pa’s.”
Emily took from Kipper a navy blue jacket faded by salt and sun and thick with the smells and stains of a thousand journeys over the sea. Kipper’s Pa’s jacket! The thought of being wrapped in this comforting object was the only thing holding Emily up at that moment.
“Don’t put it on just yet,” Kipper said quickly. “You can leave it here, ’cause first we got to make a visit to a place in Sugar Hill Hall to find some papers what this indiwidual says he got to have. And the papers is in that ballroom you been talking ’bout, Emily!”
The ballroom! They were going into it at last! “But how—how will we get there?” Emily asked.
“Same way as what the snake lady and Mrs. P. got there, through the tunnel, up the stairs, and through the trapdoor. We unlock it with this, what the indiwidual gave me!” Kipper held up a large tarnished brass key. “We can go in safety, ’cause the ladies ain’t in residence, being at this moment in the cellar o’ The Jolly Sailor. But we ain’t got time to waste.”
Even before he had finished speaking, Kipper was on his way down the stone steps into the tunnel. Emily hurried after him. It took them only moments to find the second steep stone stairway, which was hidden in a small cavelike room directly behind the stairs to the Remembrance Room. It was easy to see how this second flight of stairs could be missed.
Halfway up, however, Emily’s footsteps faltered. “Oh, Kipper!” There was a sob in her throat.
“I know what you’re thinking, Emily. You’re thinking o’ what might be on top o’ that trapdoor what ain’t papers,” Kipper said. “Right now, howsumever, we ain’t got any choice but to see.”
He lifted the trapdoor carefully, peered under it, and then whistled. “Wheeoo! Come take a look o’ this, Emily!”
Standing beside Kipper, Emily looked at last upon the ballroom that had once been the source of so much pleasure. But even though the walls were faded and the mirrors tarnished, the flickering light from several gas lamps now danced on a startling display of color and magnificent beauty that far outdistanced anything she had ever seen there before. Shimmering emerald green, scarlet, royal blue, and purple brocades lay spread around the room like sleeping silk serpents. Carved tables of teak, mahogany, and rosewood bore delicate cloisonne and porcelain vases, and bowls carved of precious turquoise, jade, and rose quartz. But what perhaps was the most dazzling of all were the shelves and tables sparkling with diamond and ruby necklaces, heavy chains of gold and silver, emerald and sapphire brooches and rings, and other exotic jewels whose names could only be guessed. It was a scene to take anyone’s breath away. But beyond all this display worth two king’s ransoms, the room was empty.
“No Uncle Twice!” Emily whispered. The ballroom had seemed to offer the last hope of ever finding him, and now all hope was gone. “He really must be dead. I know it now.”
“You don’t know any such thing,” said Kipper staunchly. “Ain’t anybody said he was in this room for certain. He’ll come to light one o’ these times, hale as a halibut and fit as a flounder, as Pa always says.” These words of cheer were, unfortunately, not matched by the look on Kipper’s face.
There was no time now, however, for sorrow or sympathy. Kipper’s eyes quickly searched the room. “Oho! There ’tis, right over yonder by that—that door!” His voice exploded. “By dingus, Emily, there is a door, and it leads right into the snake lady’s room, all nice and disguised by a wardrobe. Always wondered ’bout that second wardrobe with the big lock. Well, now I know!” He darted through the tables, making his way toward the large, heavily carved black desk in the corner.
Emily ran after him, but as she did, she suddenly saw something on a table that gave her heart a sharp stab of joy, mingled with a terrible sadness at the same time. “Kipper!” she cried. “Here is Mama’s necklace of true pearls, given to her by Papa when I was born. I’d know the clasp anywhere. Papa had it made especially with my initials, E. O. L., for Emily Ophelia Luccock.”
“Stole from your trunk, o’ course, Emily!” Kipper exclaimed over his shoulder. He was busy pulling out one drawer after another in the desk. “I trust you ain’t surprised. That’s what all this loot is ’bout—stealing and smuggling. I expect smuggling is how that brass button from a seaman’s uniform come to be in the tunnel. A mighty cozy arrangement, I’d say, a tunnel running right up to this mansion. Oho again!” He lifted out a large sheaf of papers from the bottom drawer. “See, Emily, see here!” He pointed excitedly to the top sheet. “Says ‘Luccock.’ That’s exactly what this indiwidual wanted. Come on! I got ’em now, so let’s go.”
Hesitantly, Emily set the pearl necklace back on the table where she had found it.
“Ain’t you going to take it with you?” Kipper looked astonished.
“Would—would it be all right?”
“If you ain’t the one, Emily! O’ course it’s all right. They’re yours, ain’t they? They was property stolen from you. Here, I’ll pin ’em on you.”
As Emily felt the beloved pearls being clasped around her neck, tears flew to her eyes. These pearls had once been worn by Mama, and might be all she would ever have of her past. Even her present now had a question mark after it, because who knew what would come from this mysterious journey with Kipper. Question following question. Was there ever to be an end to them, or to the horrors of Sugar Hill Hall?
SIXTEEN
The Scary Individual
This was Emily’s first exit from Sugar Hill Hall since her arrival there, and all she was doing was going from a known terror to an unknown one. Even inside the comfort of Kipper’s Pa’s great coat, she shivered.
A night fog, thick as fish chowder, hung over the city of San Francisco. Emily could barely see Kipper right beside her as they crept from the back door of the mansion, out past the coach house, and down an alley to the street. Once out of the alley, Kipper’s footsteps flew over cobbles long familiar to them. And so intent was he
in reaching his destination, he suddenly grew silent as the fog.
Emily had to struggle to keep up with him, her breath snatched from her throat, and her feet aching from the hard stones. Thump! Thump! Thump! Was the sound of her footsteps real? Or had she finally become that ghost outside the train window, seeking but never finding a home? Gaslights flickering palely through the fog, and an occasional dark shadow borne past them on the muffled drum of horses’ hoofs only made Emily feel more than ever that she had entered another world. Thump! Thump! THUMP! The cobblestone tripping Emily was all too real. With a gasp, she reached out for Kipper.
Kipper snatched her arm before she could fall. “Well, if I ain’t the stoopidest! Going ’long with my noggin buried in the fog. I plain forgot you ain’t ever been on these streets before.”
Emily was happy to feel Kipper’s warm reassuring hand close around her cold one. But it was still impossible to keep from feeling frightened as they plunged through the dark streets. And the journey became even more treacherous when they left the part of the city that had long since gone to sleep and arrived at the part that would not go to sleep until dawn.
The streets there teemed with life, but a kind of life Emily would not have recognized from her darkest dreams. She could almost wish she were back in the Remembrance Room as Kipper pulled her past dingy store windows, dark, evil doorways, and doors that swung open to let escape bursts of coarse laughter. She felt a terrible chill inside at the sight of the faces swirling around her—brutish bearded faces under strange-looking caps; pockmarked faces with slanted eyes; hideous flat faces without noses and with too-thick lips; and ladies’ faces as brittle and bright as painted china plates.
Emily shuddered and then felt Kipper’s hand tighten around hers. “Told you ’bout this part o’ town, Emily. Ain’t the best at any time, but night is when the rats come up from the sewers o’ San Francisco. But we’re ’bout there, so don’t give up.”
Peppermints in the Parlor Page 12