The Marshland Mystery

by Campbell, Julie

  Now the men were coming around a bend in the narrow road. There were six of them, and they were rough-looking young fellows in denims, carrying long-handled spades and shovels over their shoulders. One of the men was limping and being supported by one of the others. They were all talking angrily about something, but neither of the girls could make out what it was that had upset them.

  Trixie and Honey sat watching them disappear around the next curve. “They look as if they’d been digging,” Trixie said in a carefully lowered voice.

  “Maybe they’ve been digging in the swamp for that legendary pirate loot,” Honey guessed.

  But Trixie shook her head and said, “Nobody’s been silly enough to do that in the past hundred years. Besides, their boots weren’t muddy. I looked specially.”

  “Then, I wonder if—” Honey began but stopped abruptly. “That silly newspaper story about a fortune being hidden in the ruins of the Martin place! That must be what brought them here!”

  “Mr. Trent again! I bet you’re absolutely right!” Trixie exclaimed disgustedly.

  “But I wonder what the shots were,” Honey said, with a little shiver.

  “There’s only one way to find out,” Trixie said soberly. “I think we should keep on. I have a funny sort of hunch about it. When we were at Miss Rachel’s the other day, I noticed a double-barreled shotgun in a rack near the fireplace.”

  “Oh!” Honey exclaimed, horrified. “You surely don’t think Miss Rachel would shoot at anyone, do you?”

  “She might shoot over their heads to scare them away,” Trixie answered. “I think we should find out right now what happened. She might be glad to see us.”

  “All right,” Honey agreed, but weakly.

  A moment later, they were again on their way.

  They stopped as they came to the ruined mansion. Footprints made by boots such as the men were wearing were all around the place. And when Trixie, on an impulse, dismounted and ran back to look at the rose garden, she found it a complete wreck. Bushes were broken, some were uprooted, signs of digging were at the foot of the mounds of rubble at the edge of the garden, and there was strong evidence that the men had been looking for something there.

  She rejoined Honey and swung into her saddle. “They made a mess of the rose garden,” she said, “but I didn’t see a print of her little shoes anywhere around, so I guess they must have gone to her cottage, too. Let’s hurry.”

  And they were on their way again, riding faster now.

  Miss Rachel was standing in front of her open door, watching, as they rode in. She held the ancient shotgun at her side, but when she saw who they were, she set it against the doorway and went to meet them.

  The girls dismounted quickly and hurried to the gate as Miss Rachel came down the path.

  “Were those rough-looking men here, Miss Rachel?” Trixie called out as they came. A moment later, she stared, speechless, at the condition of the garden. All the dainty spring flowers, in their neat little beds, had been trampled into the earth. Over in the side garden, the herbs were a mess of broken plants and boot marks. There was nothing left of the well-tended garden.

  “They came for a drink at the well,” Miss Rachel told the girls, her thin little face drawn and tragic, “and when I asked them to be careful of my Wildlings and the spring beauties, they said it didn’t matter about a bunch of weeds. And one of them even suggested that as long as they hadn’t found any of my great-grandfather’s gold in the ruins of the big house, they really should look inside my cottage. I told them to go, but they called me an old witch and a lot of other names. So I scared them away with my father’s shotgun.”

  “How awful for you!” Honey exclaimed indignantly.

  “One of the men was limping,” Trixie said.

  “I know.” Miss Rachel almost managed a smile. “He was the one who was leading them, but when I brought out the shotgun, he was so frightened that he didn’t wait to go out through the gate but jumped over it, and he sprained his ankle or his knee or something. The others argued about coming back, but I shot into the air a couple of times, and that ended the argument. I suppose they’ll come back again, or others like them, now that there’s been a rumor about hidden gold.”

  Though the girls did their best to convince her that Sergeant Rooney or some other police officer would take a hand in stopping the intrusion, Miss Rachel was still shaky as she remembered her manners and invited them in for mint tea.

  It was over the cup of tea that Trixie finally got up courage to ask, “How soon do you have to move away, Miss Rachel?”

  Miss Rachel’s face looked haunted as she hesitated. “Not for a long time, we hope,” Honey put in quickly. Miss Rachel flashed her a quick smile of gratitude. “I really don’t know, exactly. Late in summer, I suppose. I hope that I can stay here until my pennyroyal and the bergamot are ready to gather—what those men have left alive, I mean.”

  “Pennyroyal. Isn’t that a kind of mint? I think Miss Bennett mentioned it. For fever, isn’t it?” Trixie said.

  “Oh, yes! There’s nothing quite so good for reducing a fever,” Miss Rachel told them. “I have some left in my herb cabinet, but I like to gather it fresh every fall.”

  “I hope you can stay all fall and winter and just as long as you want to, Miss Rachel,” Trixie said earnestly.

  “Why, thank you both,” Miss Rachel told them gratefully, but she sighed afterward. “Of course, the bank people seem to feel that the sooner I am away from here and settled in—” she paused a long moment, then went on bravely—“in some other place, the better it will be.” Both girls knew without asking that she meant the city’s Home, and for a minute there was silence, except for the ticking of the old grandfather clock in the corner. It boomed out the hour of four and made Honey start with such surprise that it brought a giggle from Trixie.

  “He’s a noisy old fellow,” Miss Rachel said lightly, “but he’s company, even if he did get scorched in the fire.”

  Trixie went over to look more closely at the painted face of the old clock. “Goodness—1714! He is an old one,” she exclaimed. She noticed the small drawer at the foot of the clock. “What’s in there?”

  “I’m sure I don’t know. I never thought to open it,” Miss Rachel said. “You may look if you wish.”

  Trixie squatted down and pulled gently on the small porcelain knob. It resisted her effort to open the drawer.

  “Hey, it’s locked! Here’s a keyhole, a little round one. What kind of a key would open that?”

  Miss Rachel and Honey both went over to look, and Miss Rachel said quickly, “My father’s gold watch was wound with a key of the same kind. I’ll get it and see if it will fit this lock. I’m getting curious myself now.” She hurried to her bedroom to look for the key.

  “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if she found that little drawer all filled with gold pieces! Wouldn’t that be something to throw at Paul Trent!” Trixie chortled.

  But when Miss Rachel had located the small key with its straight shaft and had tried it, there were three disappointed faces as the key turned loosely in the lock.

  “I guess that’s that,” Trixie sighed. “I don’t suppose you have a thicker key of the same kind.”

  “I’m afraid not,” Miss Rachel said regretfully.

  Trixie’s blue eyes sparkled suddenly, and she reached over and pulled a bobby pin from one of Honey’s long golden-brown tresses. “Let’s turn burglar! I saw a girl in a TV show use one of these to open a door. Cross your fingers, everybody!”

  And as both the elderly spinster and Honey solemnly watched, Trixie inserted the bobby pin in the small lock and wiggled it a couple of times. There was a tiny click as the drawer sprang open.

  Three pairs of eyes stared into an empty space. There was silence for a long moment; then Trixie said glumly, “Empty!” Honey only groaned.

  “Don’t be disappointed, my dears. It would have been wonderful if we had found the drawer full of gold pieces, but it was asking too much. Those thing
s only happen in fairy tales,” Miss Rachel told them, with an attempt at a laugh. But the laugh sounded anything but real to Trixie and Honey, and they exchanged unhappy glances.

  Almost at once, Trixie brightened. She faced Miss Rachel impulsively and asked, “Miss Rachel, when you leave here—I mean, when you go wherever you’re planning to go—will you have room for all this furniture?”

  “Why, I—I hadn’t thought about it. I don’t suppose I will have too much room there—I mean, where I’m going. Would you like the clock? I’d be happy to give it to you if you can use it,” Miss Rachel said with a smile. “I’d like the old fellow to have a good home.”

  “Oh, no, I wasn’t thinking of your giving it to me— or anybody,” Trixie said eagerly. “I was thinking that, if you won’t have room for these pieces, you could probably get a lot of money for them.”

  “Sell them?” Miss Rachel stared at her in surprise. “Why, I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose I could.”

  “My mother paid two hundred dollars for a rosewood desk not half as pretty as this one you have,” Honey said quickly. “I know if you wanted to sell any of these lovely things, lots of people would be interested.”

  “Oh!” Trixie’s blue eyes were round with excitement. “You could have an auction sale this fall, just before you have to move away! We Bob-Whites could help you by putting up posters and getting publicity for the sale, and Jim could be the auctioneer, because he’s been studying about old Colonial furniture like yours and can tell how much to take for it, and—” But she had run out of breath and had to pause to catch a new supply before she could go on.

  “We’ll have lots of time to get ready for it.” Honey took it up. “All summer! And I know the boys will be delighted to do all they can to help!”

  “That’s for sure!” Trixie nodded vigorously. “What do you say, Miss Rachel?”

  “I’m speechless, girls,” Miss Rachel said in a quavering voice, and she dabbed at her eyes with the daintiest of lace handkerchiefs. “I don’t know how to thank you for being so kind.” She hesitated a moment and then said, with sweet dignity, “It could make quite a difference if I had a few hundred dollars. I could rent a little place in town where I could display my quilts and rugs, and—” She was too choked up to continue.

  Both girls knew what she had left unsaid—that the thought of independence would make all the difference.

  “Well, you can depend on the B.W.G.’s to put it over. We’ll get the boys busy on ideas right away,” Trixie said, briskly businesslike to cover her sympathy. “And we’ll keep in touch with you and let you know what we’ve worked out. It’s going to be great fun for us.” She looked quickly at her watch. “Oops! We’re late, Miss Rachel. We have to go now.” She pulled Honey by the arm. “Come on, or we’ll be scalped by Regan for keeping the horses out so long!”

  A moment later, they were running gaily down the path to their horses. When they mounted and turned the patient animals homeward, they looked back to wave at Miss Rachel as she stood looking after them.

  She waved in return and then stood for a long time looking in the direction in which they were riding.

  The two girls were surprised to see Jim and Brian talking seriously in front of the little clubhouse.

  “They’re probably plotting not to help us with the horses tonight!” Trixie giggled. “Wait till they hear the plans we’ve made! They’ll be so thrilled that they’ll insist on grooming these two themselves, out of sheer gratitude!”

  But she was in for a shock. She and Honey hurried to the boys, fairly bubbling over with the report of their visit with Miss Rachel. But before they had finished telling their story, Jim stopped them.

  “Sorry, kids,” he said, “but Miss Rachel won’t be around any longer at the end of summer. She has to move out of the cottage by a week from Sunday.”

  The Best-Laid Plans ● 19

  BUT WHY? Why does Miss Rachel have to move out of her cottage so soon?” Trixie asked, bewildered.

  “Because the work on the road is to start in a couple of weeks, and they’re closing off the road to the cottage a week from Monday,” Brian explained.

  “Oh, no!” Trixie and Honey said it at the same time and in the same shocked tone.

  “Oh, yes,” Jim contradicted grimly. “Brian’s friend Bud—you know, the one whose father’s on the council —Bud told Brian a few minutes ago that the council has changed its collective mind about waiting till fall to start cutting that road through the marsh. And apparently Miss Rachel herself is to blame!”

  “I don’t understand.” Trixie frowned.

  “It seems that your friend Miss Rachel Martin took a couple of shots at some young fellows who had stopped by her place and asked for a drink of water,” Brian explained. “It happened this afternoon. Lucky you missed it. Must have been before you got there.”

  “It wasn’t like that at all! They didn’t ask for a drink. They dug up her rose garden first and then came and trampled all her lovely flower garden and called her an old witch!” Trixie said hotly. “Didn’t they, Honey?” Honey nodded solemnly. “We came along right after it happened, and she was still trembly. And ,she shot over their heads with an old, old shotgun, to scare them away when they wanted to come into her house and look for her great-grandfather’s ‘hidden gold’ that Trent mentioned in the Sun!”

  “That wasn’t their story, and the council believed them. Now they’re sure she’s a menace to the neighborhood,” Brian explained. “That’s why they’re making her move out before anything else can happen.”

  “Why can’t we go to the police and make them listen to what really happened?” Trixie asked angrily.

  “Too late. The council has already announced its decision. It’s official. The deadline for her to get moved away would be a week from this Sunday,” Brian said. “So if you can get ready for the sale, it’ll have to be held on Saturday. And that’s pretty short notice.”

  “That’s right, Trix.” Jim nodded. “Don’t forget, there’ll be posters to make and distribute and signs to letter so we can post the road that people will have to take to the marsh. Most of them don’t know the way.”

  “And there’s a little question of how we’re going to advertise the sale, without spending money that we don’t have in our treasury!” Brian warned.

  “I know a way,” Honey said eagerly. “I can get Mother and Dad to talk it up among their friends. Lots of the ladies from the Arts Club collect antiques like mad, and they’re always trying to get ahead of each other at it.”

  “Good thinking, squaw,” Mart said with a grin. They hadn’t noticed that he had strolled up. “The Beldens might do their part, too. I’ll put pressure on Moms for a new handmade quilt for my bed. The old one’s getting worn out.”

  They all laughed but Trixie. She sniffed at her almost-twin. “If you didn’t eat pizza in bed so much, it wouldn’t have to be cleaned so often that it’s getting worn out!”

  “That settles you, young feller!” Brian told him. “But let’s decide, right now, whether we hold the sale or the girls have to tell Miss Rachel it’s too much for the Bob-Whites to handle.”

  “What do you think, Jim?” Trixie asked of her copresident.

  “I’m for it,” Jim said seriously. “I think with everybody working hard, we can pull it off. How about starting right in tonight? We’ll have a meeting at the clubhouse as soon as we get through dinner and our evening chores, and we’ll map it out like a battle campaign.”

  When the mapping was done and each of them knew exactly what he or she would have to get done by the day of the sale, it didn’t look so forbidding. Trixie and Honey and Di were to ride out to Miss Rachel’s as often as possible to help her pack. They were to spread the word at school about the sale so their classmates could tell about it at home.

  The boys were to letter the posters and tack them up on fences and trees, where it was allowed, and then get the direction markers ready for the morning of the sale.

  “The main thi
ng,” Trixie warned the others, “is not to say anything about how badly Miss Rachel needs the money. It’s just a closing-out sale. I think that’s what they call it.”

  “Trix is right. No use letting everybody know that she’s hard up. They’ll want the stuff for practically nothing,” Mart said promptly.

  “I didn’t think of that,” Trixie admitted, frowning. “I was just thinking that it would hurt Miss Rachel if people knew.” She sent Jim an appealing glance.

  “Agreed! So no sob stuff, kids,” Jim said crisply.

  “Okay, okay,” Mart growled, “but I hope Paul Trent doesn’t make a big thing of it.”

  “I’m pretty sure he won’t,” Jim said grimly. “Dad knows the editor of the Sun pretty well, and after Trent wrote that stuff about the Martins, Dad filled the editor in on Trent’s motives. Mr. Trent is now under orders to lay off Miss Martin, from any angle.”

  “Well, thank goodness for that!” Trixie sighed, and Honey seconded her.

  “And now, let’s get the ice carnival posters off the shelf and see how many we can salvage for the sale. It’ll saye us a lot of time—and money—if we can use them again,” Brian suggested.

  They were all soon at work on the posters and planning the next day’s schedule. Dan Mangan wouldn’t be able to do as much as the others, because his chores at Mr. Maypenny’s kept him very busy from early morning till late at night, with only enough time off to attend school and study. He was very happy living at the old farm. Mr. Maypenny was giving his young assistant more and more responsibility, now that Dan had learned to like the life and had put the past behind him. He had left the meeting early, but he had promised to drop over when he had a chance during the week and do what he could to get ready for the sale.

  “I think Trix and I should take a run out to see Miss Rachel tomorrow and tell her what we’re planning,” Honey said as the meeting broke up.

  “Good idea,” Trixie agreed. “She probably needs some good news after finding out that she has to move away so soon.”