“Here. Hold it,” she told Matt. “I’ll go through first.” And she did, disappearing feet first. A minute later she reached back up to hold the window in place. “Here,” she said. “I’ve got it. You come through now.”
It wasn’t as easy as she had made it look, but with only a scraped knee and a slightly bumped head, Matt finally lowered himself down into—deep shadow, a distinct change in temperature and an unpleasantly musty smell. “Okay,” Amelia was whispering. “Here we are.”
Staring into almost complete darkness, Matt whispered back, “Where? Where are we? Why is it so cold?”
She made an exasperated sniffing noise. “Basements are supposed to be cold,” she said. “You wanted to see the Palace, didn’t you? So here you are. In the basement of the Palace. I thought you might like to see the basement first. Okay?”
“Yeah sure.” Matt blinked, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the sudden lack of light. “But it’s too dark to see very much, isn’t it?”
“Well, just wait a minute and I’ll fix that,” Amelia said in an irritated tone of voice. “I just have to get my flashlight.” And then, as she started away, she added, “Stay right where you are. Don’t move a muscle.”
“Wait. Come back. Don’t leave…,” Matt started to say, but it was no use. Amelia’s shadowy form was fading into solid black nothingness.
Eleven
LEFT ALONE IN THE dark basement, Matt did as he was told and didn’t move a muscle, except the ones that move when you shiver. Only a quick quiver at first, the shaking rapidly developed into something that started at the back of his neck and shook him so hard his teeth chattered. With his muscles tensed against the shaking, he strained his eyes and ears to follow Amelia as she moved away, faded and disappeared entirely. He’d gone on straining and shivering for what seemed like practically forever before a faint ray of light and the sound of Amelia’s voice began to drift back to him. “Come on,” she was calling. “I’ll shine the flashlight back that way.”
As he left the window’s light behind, Matt tried to stay within the flashlight’s beam, but it wasn’t easy. Large dim and dusty shapes, cupboards perhaps, or simply huge stacks of boxes, crowded in on either side so that most of the time he seemed to be moving through a narrow tunnel. It was slow going. When he finally caught up to Amelia, she reached back and grabbed his sleeve. Then she turned the flashlight’s beam away and began to move forward.
Matt stumbled after her as they made their way through several small rooms full of stacked crates and boxes and then into a more open area where their path wound between barrels and racks of dusty bottles. A strange, sweetly sour smell was heavy in the air. As Matt sniffed, Amelia said, “Yeah. It stinks, doesn’t it? It’s the wine room.”
There were other dark, dusty rooms. Somewhere old tables, chairs, desks and cabinets sat around only partly draped in sheets of canvas. Between some of the rooms short flights of steps led up and then down again.
At first Matt tried to remember the twists and turns, but he soon realized he had lost all sense of direction. Amelia, however, continued to move forward without hesitating.
Somewhere along the way she let go of Matt’s sleeve but, feeling certain that he would never be able to find his way back to the window on his own, he reached out quickly to grab the edge of her white veil.
At last, a longer flight of stairs led steeply upward to a small landing, where Amelia carefully and quietly opened a door and they stepped out of the cold and dark into another hallway and a totally different atmosphere. This hall was still bleak and bare and very narrow, but a window at one end provided at least a little natural light and the air was suddenly dry and warm. Amelia jerked her veil out of Matt’s hand.
“All right,” she whispered. “We’re out of the basement now. Be very quiet.”
As they started down the hall, Matt began to hear low sounds, which grew louder as they passed a closed door. Clattering, scraping sounds and with them a more normal sort of smell. The warm, greasy smell of a kitchen where something had been cooking not long ago, or perhaps still was cooking at that very moment. Amelia was definitely tiptoeing now and, as she looked back at Matt, she held a finger to her lips in a stern-faced demand for quiet.
They continued to tiptoe, the kitchen noise and smells faded, and at the end of the hall another flight of dimly lit, narrow stairs led up, turned and then went up again. Finally, Amelia came to a stop, pushed open a door and peeked out. Turning back, she again put her finger to her lips and stared at Matt with narrowed eyes. “Okay,” she whispered. “Follow me and be absolutely quiet.”
Matt followed her out through a narrow door that, as she pushed it back into place, became only a piece of shiny wood paneling. He was still staring at the hidden door when, following her pointing finger, he turned around—and froze with astonishment. They were now in an enormous room. As wide as two ordinary rooms and much longer than it was wide, it went on and on, and every inch of it was furnished and decorated in an incredible way. Large, fancy pieces of furniture sat along walls that were covered with mirrors and pictures. Pillars, statues, painted panels and curving arches were everywhere, and up above a long procession of crystal chandeliers dangled from the high ceiling.
It was absolutely the grandest room Matt had ever seen—and grand in an incredibly old-fashioned and historical way. It probably was, next to the missions and the Alamo, the most ancient place Matt had ever been in. And although the Alamo might have been a little bit more historical, the Rathburn Palace was certainly a lot fancier. Turning in a slow circle, Matt stared and went on staring, and would have stared even longer if Amelia hadn’t jerked on his sleeve.
“Okay. Okay. You’ve seen it. Let’s go,” she whispered.
And Matt whispered back, “What is this room? What’s it for?”
“It’s the hall,” Amelia said.
“A hallway?” Matt was amazed. “Just a hallway?”
“Well, not an ordinary hall like for walking through to get someplace. More like the kind of great hall people have parties in. And dance. I guess they used to have really big parties here.” Amelia was sounding more impatient as she went on. Impatient and anxious, too. “Come on. Let’s go. Follow me.”
Matt followed her slowly down the great hall, swiveling his head from side to side as he stared up at beautiful stained-glass windows and down into huge stairwells where flights of marble stairs curved down to a lower level and up to a higher one. At last, near the end of the hall, Amelia pushed on what seemed to be another solid panel of shiny wood, and when another secret door opened, she pulled Matt toward it.
“Hey,” he said. “Show me how you did that.”
“Did what?”
“Opened that secret door.”
She made a snorting noise. “They’re not secret doors,” she said. “They’re just doors to the servants’ hallways. All the Rathburns knew they were here. They just weren’t supposed to use them. Only the servants were supposed to use them.”
As they made their way down the dim and narrow stairs, Matt asked, “So this is a servants’ staircase?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Amelia said. “So the servants could get all around the house to wait on people without bothering anyone or getting in their way. The big stairs and hallways were just for the Rathburns.”
Matt started to ask why she didn’t use the big staircases since she was a Rathburn, but before he could finish the question she shushed him, pushed past him and opened another door.
This time the door led into another large room full of big, bulgy furniture upholstered in velvet and gold braid. Lamps with painted and tasseled shades and tall, gilded vases sat on marble tables, and large gold-framed pictures hung on the walls. At one end of the room was the longest grand piano he’d ever seen and, beside it, a big golden harp. At the other end a huge fireplace was surrounded by marble pillars and mirrors framed in gold.
“Wow,” Matt said.
“Shhh!” Amelia thumped him with her elb
ow.
“Wow,” he said again more softly. “Where are we now?”
“The music room. This is the music room.”
Matt felt almost breathless. “This is…This one I really like.” It wasn’t, like the great hall, too huge to even imagine as a place where people actually lived. He was turning in slow circles, trying to print a long-lasting mental picture in his brain, when his shoulder just barely touched a music stand. As the stand teetered, he grabbed for it and, of course, knocked it over.
When the heavy iron music stand fell with a loud metallic clatter, Amelia gasped. Quickly putting it back upright, she grabbed Matt’s arm and dragged him back the way they’d come. They were almost to the music room’s secret door when he began to hear a faraway sound. Someone was calling. Echoes of the calling voice seemed to come from every direction and it gradually became louder and clearer.
“Dolly,” the voice was calling. A woman’s voice, harsh and angry-sounding. And then, louder and nearer, “Dolly. Is that you?”
Opening the hidden door, Amelia stepped through, jerked Matt after her, shut it carefully behind them and hurried down the passage. Looking over her shoulder, she whispered, “Come on.” Her voice quivered with anger. “Hurry up, you klutz. You have to get out of here.”
Twelve
AS THEY MADE THEIR way back down the servants’ passages and then on into the basement’s bewildering labyrinth, Amelia kept them moving quickly. Once or twice Matt tried to ask one of the questions that kept bubbling up in his mind, but she only shook her head and hurried on. Not until they were all the way back to the basement window with the missing pane did she stop and turn to face him. Her strange wildcat eyes were glittering again as she said, “Okay. Now what were you trying to say?” And then before he could think where to start, “But hurry! You have to get going.”
For a moment Matt was tongue-tied. There were so many questions he wanted to ask. And sure enough, when he finally decided, it was obviously the wrong choice. “Who’s Dolly?” he asked. Amelia’s stare froze into an icy scowl and, turning her back on him, she pushed open the window.
“Go on. Get out,” she said.
Matt hesitated. “Aren’t you coming?”
She shrugged. “Why should I? You know the way now.”
“But the swamp,” he protested. “I don’t know my way across the swamp.”
Amelia sighed and threw up her hands. “Well, you ought to,” she said. “It’s not that hard. Anyone can do it.”
Matt managed a rueful grin. “Anyone but Frankie?”
She started to smile and then swallowed it. “Yeah, anyone but klutzes like you and old Frankie. Well, come on then. I’ll go with you. But hurry.”
They were still crossing the Palace’s overgrown garden when Matt caught up with Amelia, grabbed the back of her dress and pulled her to a stop. “Why won’t you tell me about Dolly? Somebody was yelling Dolly. You must have heard it. I just wanted to know who she is.”
She shook her head, still glaring fiercely. “I don’t know anything about any Dolly,” she said. “You must have imagined it. Come on. We have to hurry.”
Matt was sure he hadn’t imagined it, and somehow Amelia’s angry reaction made him all the more sure it was something he needed to find out about. But for the time being, he changed the subject. His next questions were about how many servants the Rathburns had now and if they still used the servants’ hallways, but Amelia didn’t answer those questions either.
Matt went on asking questions without getting any answers until they reached the edge of the swamp. For a while after that the only question he could concentrate on was whether he was going to make it across, but as soon as he was back on dry land he began to try again.
Catching up with Amelia, he said, “Hey, who else lives in the Palace now, besides you? Who else is in your family?”
“Nobody,” she said. “Nobody else is exactly in my family.”
“Wow,” Matt said. “You mean you don’t have any sisters and brothers and like that?” Then, as Amelia trudged on silently, “What’s the matter with you? Why won’t you tell me anything?”
No answer. It wasn’t until they were back to the park and almost across the baseball field that Amelia suddenly stopped, turned to face Matt and said, “Okay. Okay. You want to know everybody’s secrets. I’ll show you a real one. Wait till you see this. Come on.”
Matt’s first reaction was suspicion. Like, this particular secret would turn out to be just a way to get his mind off the kinds of questions Amelia didn’t want to answer. But after a moment he began to change his mind. What changed it was something about the expression on her face. A nervous, excited expression like she had just made an important decision.
Actually, the thought of a nervous Amelia made Matt a little uneasy. A part of his mind was telling him that when a person who went through quicksand and dark basements without batting an eye was about to do something that made her nervous, it might be something you ought to think twice about doing. But another part of his mind said, “Okay. Let’s go.”
Walking fast, like she wanted to get to wherever she was going before she had time to change her mind, Amelia led the way across the ball field and the parking lot, and then down the path that led to the old church. In the ruined entryway Matt’s bicycle was still leaning against the wall and Amelia stopped to stare at it. As he watched her run her hand across the handlebars, he couldn’t help remembering how hard it had been to get her off the bike when she rode it before. Making a show of looking at his watch, he started to say, “I don’t know if I have enough time for—”
“Oh shut up,” Amelia said. “When you see what I’m going to show you, you’ll forget all about what time it is. Come on.”
“Why? What? Where are we going?” Matt said, but she didn’t answer. Turning away, she pushed aside a heavy growth of fern, revealing what seemed to be the entrance to a hidden, tunnel-like path.
“Come on. Follow me,” she said as she ducked into the tunnel. She was soon out of sight. Matt took a deep breath and did as he was told.
Following the stone wall of the church, the path turned a sharp corner and went on until it reached what seemed to be another entrance. Under a smaller arched entryway the remains of an old wooden door hung crookedly on rusty hinges. The door creaked and groaned as Amelia pushed it open and led the way through heavy undergrowth to emerge inside the ruined church. It wasn’t until then that she waited long enough to allow Matt to catch up.
“Be careful,” she whispered as she moved forward. “Stay close to the wall. There’s another booby trap right out there.”
Matt followed, watching his feet as he sidled along the wall. When he looked up, it was just in time to see Amelia pushing open, and disappearing through, a smaller door made of rough unfinished wood. And following close behind her, Matt found himself in a place he’d never been, but which was so close to the way he’d imagined it, it almost seemed familiar.
Old Tom’s cabin was small and dimly lit. The wooden walls were unpainted, the roof was of rusty corrugated tin, and the only light came from two tiny windows. As Matt’s eyes adjusted to the faint light he was able to see that, just as he’d imagined it, some furniture was still there. At one end of the room stood a table made of rough unfinished wood, a bench and what seemed to be the rusty remains of a wood-burning stove. And on the other side, a rocking chair with a broken rocker sat near an iron bed frame. And that was all, except that near the bed there was a large, old-fashioned trunk with a dome lid. Matt sat down on the bench and looked around.
“Wow,” he said, almost under his breath. He felt strange in a way he couldn’t explain. The tightness in his throat and the warmth behind his eyes were almost like grief or pain, but they weren’t really either one. At least not his own grief or pain. He could only guess whose it really was, and why he was imagining it. Imagining the person who—
“Well, here it is,” Amelia interrupted his thoughts. She made a kind of “so what” gesture. �
�You wanted to see it so bad—so here you are. Satisfied?” Turning suddenly, she grabbed Matt by the front of his shirt. “But don’t you ever come in here without me. You hear?”
As usual Amelia’s wild woman act made Matt feel just the opposite of what she probably intended. “Hey, watch it! You’re going to tear my Alamo T-shirt,” he said, and then as she went on glaring, “Okay. Okay. I promise. I won’t come here by myself.”
She stared, narrow-eyed, for a moment longer before she nodded and turned him loose. “Okay. I guess I believe you.”
He looked around the tiny, lonely room. “But why not? What’s in here that you don’t want me to see?”
“Nothing,” she said quickly. “There’s nothing here I don’t want you to see. It’s just…” She paused a moment and then went on, “It’s his ghost that doesn’t want you snooping around. Old Tom’s ghost.”
“His ghost?”
She nodded sternly. “Yeah. Old Tom’s ghost would get you for sure if you came here by yourself.”
Matt got up off the bench and started walking around the room, stopping to look at the rusty stove, the broken rocking chair and then the trunk. The trunk was made of stamped metal and it was fastened shut by a padlocked latch. After a while he came back to where Amelia was standing and said, “But you come here by yourself. Why doesn’t he get you?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know. Except he must like me because…” Another pause. “Because he knows I don’t believe he was the one who started the fire.”
“You mean the fire that burned down the town?”
She nodded.
“Did some people believe he did it?”
“Sure,” she said. “Almost everybody did. Everybody except us Rathburns anyway. Old Tom was a foreman for the Rathburns and they said somebody else must have started the fire.”
Ghosts of Rathburn Park Page 6