Later on, towards the last, it became all too evident what my aunt’s real activies were.
January 21st. He thinks he can cheat me. He should know better. He thinks I’ve done all this for a lark. He thinks I’m an eccentric old woman without moral standards who finds an outlet in all this. He really believes I am as dotty as they say I am. I’m a harmless old woman who fools around with herbs and crazy cures. That’s what they all say, and that’s his protection. They would never suspect I had anything to do with this business. Without me he hasn’t a chance to pull it off. If I were to talk … but he won’t dare cross me.
I wondered what “all this” was about. It became increasingly clear as I read on.
January 30th. He says his position protects him. They wouldn’t dare connect him with the robberies. If only they knew what a devil he really is! He threatened me today. He said he would have me put out of Dower House and committed. He has the power, he says. Maybe he does, but he wouldn’t dare. The others don’t matter. They can be replaced. He can’t replace me. Without my cover he’d be lost. If anyone else lived in Dower House it would all come out.… He threatened me, but he won’t do anything to me. He hasn’t got enough yet. When he gets enough, I’ll start to worry.
My aunt had been involved with the highwaymen. Somehow or other she had furnished cover for them. I wondered how an old woman living alone in an isolated house could do that. What kind of cover could she give the thieves? Surely they could not come and go at Dower House without being seen. It was a complete puzzle to me, but as I read on the pieces of the puzzle began to fit into place.
February 11th. We were almost found out last night. I had to think quick and lie convincingly in order to save the situation. One of the farm women brought her daughter to see if I had anything that would help the girl’s cramps. She had started cramping after supper and when they didn’t stop she brought the girl here. It was after midnight and I had them both in the kitchen. I had mixed up a powder and was giving instructions on its use when we heard something crash downstairs. This was followed by voices. The women had been in the house for half an hour. They were quite alarmed. I said the noises had come from the shed in back of the house. I told them I had given two gypsies permission to sleep there for the night. I babbled on about how sound echoed so strangely this near the quarry, and I could see they were convinced, although the woman gave me a lecture about how dangerous gypsies were.… They had knocked over a shelf of my best preserves.
The cellar! I had felt something wrong the first time I saw it. I remembered that horrid, fetid smell and that atmosphere of evil. No wonder I had reacted to it the way I had. They had been using the cellar for rendezvous. They probably met there. Perhaps they changed into their garb there. They could come to Dower House one by one, inconspicuously, without arousing any suspicion, but I wondered how they could all leave together without being seen. I thought about it, and I thought about the cellar, pressing my brows into a frown. There was another mystery here. In the back of my mind something was taunting me, as though a tiny voice I couldn’t quite hear was trying to tell me the answers to all my questions.
The last entry in the notebooks caused me to shiver with horror. As I read it I suddenly knew the real reason why Roderick Mellory wanted me away from Dower House.
March 18th. Feeling bad, very bad. Weak. I wonder. Of course he has tea with me, but I know all there is to know about poison. He is a devil, a devil, but he wouldn’t do that. But he is very angry. Oh yes, he thought he was going to cheat me. He refused to give me my share, so I took it, took all I was entitled to. Almost half. He will never find it. No one will. He will have to start all over again, unless he listens to reason. He is coming here tonight. Perhaps we can strike a bargain. I am beginning to be a little afraid. I am his match, I know, but he was so incensed when he found I had taken the gold and hidden it.…
I closed the notebooks and sat there in the darkened room. All around me there was silence. A vein throbbed at my temple and my wrists felt weak. I thought about my Aunt Lucille, a poor old woman whom I had never known. She had played a dangerous game with a dangerous man, and she had lost. She had double-crossed him. That had been a mistake. He had killed her for it. He would probably have killed her anyway. It gave me some satisfaction to know that she had outwitted him in at least one respect. How furious he must have been when he discovered that she had stolen from him in turn. Had he ever found the gold that she had hidden so skillfully?
The notebooks had been concealed in the secret drawer along with a revolver and a tarnished old key. I thought about that key. I wondered what lock it fit. I was suddenly quite anxious to find out.
XIII
EVERY DROP of color had drainied out of the sky as I drove Billy’s wagon back to Dower House. The road ahead was a dark gray ribbon, and the trees were like grotesque black figures crowding in on either side. There was no light left and the stars had not yet appeared. Shadows thickened. A brisk breeze stirred the grasses and rustled the leaves overhead. Billy’s gray moved at a brisk trot, as eager to be home as I was. I clicked the reins, urging him on.
I was strangely calm now, despite my hurry. All the pieces of the puzzle seemed to fit together nicely, and although it was not a pretty picture, it gave me a strong sense of satisfaction to know that any suspicions about Roderick Mellory had been correct. He was the highwayman. He was the man in black who had held up the coach that brought me to Cornwall. Paul Mellory had told me that his brother would stop at nothing to see that Phoenix Hall was completely restored. How true those words had been. Roderick Mellory had discovered a way to recoup the family fortune, and the fact that there was risk involved must have been a challenge to him.
It fit perfectly. He had the means. He had the position. He had an easy access to all private information. Being the Master of Phoenix Hall, he was above reproach. How he must have laughed as he deceived the people he detested, those innocent, naïve village officials who were all too ready to oblige the local aristocrat. My poor old aunt had somehow or other fallen in league with him. He could not very well use Phoenix Hall as a place of rendevous, so he talked my aunt into letting him use the cellar of Dower House. He could meet his cronies there without detection. He had promised the old woman a share of the plunder. When he failed to keep his promise she had stolen from him in turn, and he had killed her, just as he had killed the man whose body had been found in the ravine.
There had been no inquest when my aunt died. There had been no need for one. She was a very old woman who had apparently died a natural death. Only one man knew differently. No wonder Roderick Mellory wanted me out of Dower House. No wonder he had tried to frighten me away. Not only did I make it impossible for him to continue to use the place as a rendezvous, thus making his risks greater, but there was also a strong possibility that I might find some evidence of his crime.
He might have an even stronger motive still. I had no way of knowing that he had made a bargain with my aunt before killing her. I had no way of knowing that he had found the gold she had hidden. Perhaps it was still there. He had continued to stage the robberies after her death. Perhaps he had been trying to make up for what he had lost. It was ironic that he had been clever enough to deceive a whole county and yet had been unable to deceive an old woman. Because of her he would ultimately lose everything.
I did not doubt that my aunt had been senile. After losing her husband she had lived on all alone in the isolated house and that must have gradually worked on her mind. Everyone had called her eccentric. They had looked upon her with amused tolerance and some respect for her bizarre wisdom. She must have been a curious creature, serving as midwife by day and giving succor to thieves by night. Yet she had been shrewd. She had recorded all their transactions in her notebooks, and the notebooks would be proof enough to hang him.
Of course Greg knew. He had known the night of the ball. That probably explained his curious conduct, his extreme nervousness. He had decoded the notebooks and learned t
he truth about Roderick Mellory. He wanted to put the matter in the right hands, so he had contacted someone from London. The man who had brought a message at the ball was from Scotland Yard, not from the school. Greg had not gone back to Liverpool. He had gone back to London. They were preparing an airtight case against Roderick Mellory before they confronted him with the evidence. Perhaps they were even now spying on Phoenix Hall, waiting to catch him in some incriminating act. There was a big reward offered for the capture of the highwaymen. Greg would get that. It would be enough to enable him to leave the school and do as he wished.
I knew now why he had not told me any of this. It was a perfectly natural reaction on his part. He had not wanted to alarm me. Even in this he was thoughtful and considerate, the perfect gentleman. He had lied to me, true, but he had done so out of a sense of masculine protectiveness. And I had treated him so shabbily, I thought. I would make it up to him. As soon as this was all over with, I would make up for everything. I promised that as I drove towards home.
Night had completely fallen as I turned on the curve of road that led up to Dower House. A thin shell of moon had come out from behind the clouds and it shed mellow light. The roof of Dower House was washed with silver, but the walls were dark, the yard spread with shadows. No lights burned in any window. Nan and Billy had probably gone out for one of their amorous strolls and had not yet returned, and yet it was not like Nan to leave the house in darkness. Possibly they had gone out before dark.
I was a little alarmed as I stopped the wagon and climbed down. I had been gone longer than I had intended, of course, but still Nan should have cooked dinner. There should have been a light burning in the kitchen and the odors of food cooking. I stood there for a moment, my hand resting on the warm muzzle of Billy’s dappled gray. The animal was placid, kicking his hooves lightly on the dirt. If anything were wrong he would have sensed it, I thought.
Then I wondered about Peter. He should be barking. He always rushed out to greet me when I had been gone. There was no sign of him now. Well, I thought, perhaps they took him with them. I hesitated, looking at the dark house, and then I saw something far off, beyond the house. It lasted just a second, a brief flash, a tiny pin point of yellow light in the quarry behind Dower House. It came and went so quickly that I could not really be sure I had seen it.
I stepped across the yard and opened the front door, scolding myself for a too vivid imagination. Nan and Billy had gone for a walk. They were huddled together somewhere now, exchanging intimate confidences, and Peter was with them. A firefly had flashed in one of the shrubs, and I had let my imagination magnify it into a sinister light in the quarry. I should have better sense, I thought. I resolved to dress down Nan and Billy both for their thoughtlessness.
The house was very dark and still. I stood for a moment in the hall trying to get my bearings. I touched the wall and felt my way over to the little secretary where we kept matches. I opened the drawer and felt for the slender little sticks. My hand brushed over paper, ribbons, a package of seed, but I could not find the matches. We had probably used them all. I knew for certain that there were some in the parlor. I stumbled into the room, irritated with myself. It was so dark I could not feel a sense of direction.
I stood in the middle of the parlor. The curtains were drawn and not a drop of light penetrated into the room. Where was the desk? I started to move towards the right when I heard a noise that caused my pulses to leap. It was not my imagination this time. The noise was repeated, a rattle and creak that was here in the room with me. Someone was moving. The noise was followed by a faint chirp and I realized that Nan’s canary had jumped up on his swing in the cage. The noise enabled me to find my bearings. I went to the desk and found the matches immediately.
The lamp spread a warm glow of light in the room. It was friendly and welcoming, all neat and clean as I had left it. The canary blinked sleepy eyes at me and hopped down from his swing to peck at his seed. I went into the kitchen and lit the lamp there. The room was filled with the fragrant odors of newly baked bread, and two golden brown loaves were setting on the drain board beside the whetstone and four newly sharpened knives. The light glittered on the long steel blades. Although Nan had cleaned up all of her bread making mess, there was a sprinkling of flour on the floor, and there were no signs of preparation for dinner.
I went back into the parlor and sat down, trying to curb my irritation with the negligent couple. This was not at all like Nan. I wondered if anything had happened. Had there been an accident? Had someone come to fetch Billy? Nan would have gone along with him if there promised to be any kind of excitement. There was bound to be any number of logical explanations for their absence, the most likely being the romantic stroll I had surmised in the first place. They were both young and carefree. What did a late dinner matter in the face of that?
The house was very quiet, almost too quiet. I could hear the wind in the trees outside, the limbs groaning. I could hear the clock ticking on the mantle. It was a monotonous sound, only emphasizing the silence. They would be back soon, surely. I did not like being alone. I had been upset by my discoveries, and I wanted to hear Nan’s friendly chatter. I wanted to feel the security of Billy’s presence. I sat there in the chair, my palms resting on the overstuffed arms, waiting to hear the sound of footsteps on the gravel and Peter’s excited yelp.
The clock ticked on. Merely sitting here only made matters worse. My impatience was getting out of bounds and I knew I could no longer wait. The key was in the desk drawer and I took it out, holding the tarnished object in the curve of my hand, examining it as though I had never seen a key before. If my aunt had, hidden it in the secret drawer with the revolver and the notebooks, there must have been a reason. The key must have been important. I knew it did not fit any of the cabinets or drawers in the main part of the house. All those keys were on a ring I kept hanging beside the kitchen door. What could it possibly fit?
She had hidden the gold very skillfully. She would have put it somewhere where she could have more or less kept an eye on it. I did not think she would have buried it, and I was certain it was not stuffed away anywhere in the house. The key must be significant. It must have something to do with the hidden gold. Why else would she have put it away with the other things? I tried to think of any place I might have overlooked.
Then I remembered the cellar.
Of course. There were several old boxes and trunks down there. I had never gone through them. I had avoided the cellar whenever possible. The key must fit one of those locks. What a perfect place for the gold. Aunt Lucille had been a shrewd old woman, and she must have known her man very thoroughly. It was the one place he would not think to look. It was much too obvious. It was the one place he had most access to. The gold would be right there, within easy reach, and he would never have thought about looking for it right there under his eyes.
I grew more and more excited as I thought about this possibility. I grew convinced the gold was in the cellar. The cellar was the focal point of this whole afair, and if the gold was still at Dower House the cellar was the only place it could possibly be.
I had forgotten about Nan and Billy now. I had forgotten about everything else. I hurried into the kitchen and unlocked the door that led down to the cellar. A wave of cold, clammy air rustled up from the darkness and the fetid odor assailed my nostrils. I stood there, peering down. Something held me back. Perhaps it was the filth. Perhaps it was the smell. Perhaps it was the associations the place had in my mind. I could feel the clammy air on my arms, and the sour smell was ugly. It was a place of cobwebs and spiders and dust and darkness, and I hesitated. It would be much better to wait until morning. Then Billy could go down with me and I would not feel so uneasy.
I looked down at the key in my hand. It seemed to burn there in my palm, urging me to use it immediately. My curiosity got the better of me, overcoming the sense of uneasiness. I opened the cellar door all the way back and propped a chair against it to hold it open. It would be the f
irst thing Nan and Billy would see when they came in. I took the oil lamp from the shelf and started down the stairs.
They were slick with moisture, and bits of green moss grew between the cracks. The lamp spluttered, throwing garish shadows over the damp wall. It was very cold down here, and I shivered a little, standing at the foot of the stairs and wondering where to begin. A huge cobweb was draped over one corner, its silky threads dripping with moisture, and I shuddered as I saw a spider dangling in the center of the web. The earth floor was spongy to my feet. I set the lamp on a stack of old boxes and kneeled down before a small trunk.
It was not locked. It contained old photographs and ancient letters. I moved aside a basket of rubbish to get to a brass bound trunk that looked promising. It was locked securely, but the leather hinges were so old and mildewed that they broke easily and I was able to lift the lid. The trunk contained nothing but books.
The light flickered. I was extremely nervous. I kept looking over my shoulder as though I expected to see someone standing there in the shadows. I had the curious feeling that someone was watching me, but I knew it must be my imagination. There was a strange noise, too, a scurrying sound behind the shelves of poison. No doubt it was mice, but it worried me nevertheless. I was beginning to lose my nerve. I stood up, brushing the dirt from my skirt.
The oil lamp spilled a pool of spluttering light in the center of the room, but the rest of the cellar was in shadows. I held the lamp up, peering into the corners. I could not get over the feeling that a pair of eyes was fastened upon me. The sensation grew stronger. There was a crunching sound, like someone shifting their weight from one foot to the other. When I whirled around there was nothing but my own shadow on the wall. There was no one in the cellar besides myself. It was absurd to imagine these things, I told myself, trying to regain my composure. There was no possible way anyone could get here without coming down the steps, and the door had been securely locked. I moved the lamp to another stack of boxes so that it could illuminate another part of the cellar.
The Master of Phoenix Hall Page 18