The Treasures of Weatherby

by Zilpha Keatley Snyder

  “Now,” Sheila’s voice was once again so soft that Harleigh had to strain to hear, “you said you wanted to talk to me.”

  Harleigh blinked, wondering for just a moment what she was talking about before he remembered he’d said exactly that. He also remembered what he’d wanted to ask about and why. It all came from what Allegra said about Sheila’s “sad story.” Something about the way she’d said it, with a deep sigh and a slow shake of her head, made him curious.

  Not that he was often curious about other people’s stories, sad or otherwise. But now he found himself wanting to know not only how Allegra knew about it, but also about the story itself. Sitting down on the mahogany bench, he waited only long enough for Sheila to sit beside him before he began, “Tell me . . . that is, I’d like to know—to know . . .” He stammered to a stop and then came up with, “Why did you come to live in Weatherby House, and where did you live before that?”

  It turned out to be a long story. A long story about the same kinds of bad things that happen to a lot of people. Things about deaths and desertions, and unwelcoming relatives, and how, when she was working as a secretary, a disloyal friend told lies about her that made her lose her job. But for some reason, maybe just really listening in person to the storyteller, it seemed more . . . more what? More real and alive, maybe. So alive that listening to parts of it made Harleigh’s eyes burn and his throat tighten.

  He didn’t like the feeling, but when the telling was over and Sheila thanked him for being such a good listener and said she felt better, he did too. And then, remembering the disapproving way Allegra looked at him when he told her he didn’t know what Sheila was sad about, he liked thinking how much he’d have to say if the subject ever came up again.

  It wasn’t until Sheila left and Harleigh was on his way up to the tower that he remembered that he’d decided there wasn’t going to be a next time. That he was through with Allegra, once and for all.

  No more Allegra, except . . . except that some things had changed since he made that decision. Of course, some things were still the same. He was still angry about how she’d forced her way into the House and then run away to explore on her own. But what had changed was the fact that she probably had not been lying when she said she’d heard a metal detector on the stage in Aunt Adelaide’s recital hall bedroom. So maybe he’d change his mind enough to see her one more time, just long enough to tell her Shelia’s story, as well as all about what Junior had done to him, and what Junior might have done to him if Shelia hadn’t happened to come along. A couple of events that ought to really impress a person who was so interested in other people’s stories.

  While he was still trudging up the steep circular stairs, Harleigh was beginning to plan his next visit to the black walnut tree and Allegra.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was late that same night, or maybe very early the next morning, when Harleigh Four came up from the depths of a sound sleep with a vague feeling that he’d heard something. Someone on the stairs, perhaps? A rattling noise on the iron stairway that led to his tower bedroom? Sitting straight up, he stared wide-eyed toward the door while he listened breathlessly for the sound to be repeated.

  Time passed. A faint hint of moonlight, seeping in through the Aerie’s many windows, was not enough to dispel the threatening shadows that seemed to ooze around the base of the circular wall, clumping together here and there to form slightly sinister shapes. Many long, anxious minutes crept by while Harleigh watched and listened and waited for something terrible to happen.

  But nothing did. Whatever or whoever it was apparently had decided not to open the door—must not even have tried to, since there was no lock, and whoever it was could have walked right in. It was a troubling thought, and long before daylight arrived Harleigh had decided he had to do something about it.

  It would have to be done very secretively. Aunt Adelaide would never agree to let him put a dead bolt lock on the door to the Aerie, and even if Uncle Edgar did, chances were that he would not be able to climb the tower staircase to help install it. The only other possibility, Harleigh decided, was Ralph the gardener, and that wasn’t a very good one. Ralph was old and grouchy, and probably couldn’t handle the stairs any better than Uncle Edgar. So it was without much hope that Harleigh went to the solarium that morning as soon as he’d finished his Friday lessons.

  Sure enough, when Harleigh finally located Old Ralph in the orchid room at the far end of the solarium, it seemed obvious that he was, as usual, in a grouchy mood. Looking up from where he was bending stiffly over a watering can, his frown was almost hidden by a curtain of frowsy white hair, but his thin lips were set in an angry growl. When Harleigh said, “Good morning, Ral”—What was his last name? Oh, yes, Olsen—“Good morning, Mr. Olsen,” the old man straightened up slowly with one hand on his back.

  “Here. Let me help you with that,” Harleigh said, surprising himself almost as much as it seemed to surprise Mr. Ralph Olsen. The end of the encounter was surprising, too. By the time Harleigh had watered all the orchids and even managed to catch a large insect for the Venus flytrap, he’d finished explaining that he was interested in owning a dead bolt lock. So then Mr. Olsen found one in his storeroom, taught Harleigh how to install it, and didn’t even ask what door it was for.

  Harleigh was about to leave with the lock and a paper bag full of the necessary tools, when the old man pushed the hair out of his eyes, stared at Harleigh, and said, “Yer growin’. Ain’t you?” Of course Harleigh knew better, but it seemed like Old Ralph meant well, so he just smiled and thanked him and said good-bye.

  That was on Friday, and Harleigh slept better that night and the two that followed. Once or twice he did hear, or dreamed he’d heard, someone on the stairs. A metallic clatter that started far away and then came closer and got louder. And one time there’d even been a faint clicking sound that seemed to come from the door. As if someone might have tried and failed, because of the dead bolt, to open it. It worried him some, even though he wasn’t entirely sure it hadn’t all been part of a dream. But it would have worried him a lot more if he hadn’t known that the Aerie’s door was firmly dead-bolted shut.

  He was still, however, doing a certain amount of lying awake, which gave him lots of time to think about the fact that he now knew that Junior probably had been using a metal detector in Aunt Adelaide’s bedroom. And there was the even more disturbing fact that Junior might have guessed that he knew. The longer he thought about the situation, the more he wanted to tell someone the whole story.

  Someone, but definitely not Aunt Adelaide and Cousin Josephine. He wasn’t sure why, except that he had no way to prove any of it, and he knew they would think it was just a wild story he’d made up to cover the fact that he himself had been prowling around and doing some kind of damage in Aunt Adelaide’s private living quarters.

  But then there was Uncle Edgar. Harleigh briefly considered telling him the whole story, except that the telling would have to include the metal detector, and that would involve mentioning—Allegra. And not just a brief mention. After all, if Allegra hadn’t seen Junior using the metal detector on that moonlit night, and then if she hadn’t heard him using it on the recital hall stage, there was no way Harleigh would have known anything about it.

  But Allegra was the one subject Harleigh couldn’t imagine mentioning to anyone. Certainly nothing concerning her dangerous visit to Weatherby House, and not even who she was. Especially not who she was. He didn’t know why that was true, except that any question about Allegra’s identity was one he really didn’t know how to answer.

  And besides, before Uncle Edgar would do anything he’d probably feel he had to tell Aunt Adelaide the whole story, which she probably wouldn’t believe coming from him, any more than she would if it came directly from Harleigh.

  Of course, there was one person who did know some of the truth about Junior, and that was Sheila. At least she knew about how he had attacked Harleigh just because he asked about a metal detecto
r. But what Sheila knew or didn’t know unfortunately didn’t make any difference one way or another, since none of the other Weatherbys would pay any attention to anything poor Sad Sheila had to say.

  So it was no wonder he was anxious to see Allegra again. Not that she could do anything to help the situation, but at least she would be someone to talk to.

  Chapter Eighteen

  But when Monday morning finally came, Allegra was late as usual. Sitting there in the tree house, waiting for her as the minutes dragged by, would have put Harleigh in a really bad mood, except for the fact that he had finally managed to climb up the way Allegra always did, with only one metal rod in place. And that accomplishment improved his state of mind so much that when he heard a faint noise and turned just in time to see Allegra’s head appearing over the edge of the tree house floor, he felt quite calm. At least a lot calmer than he’d expected to be.

  “Harleigh!” Allegra squealed delightedly the moment she saw him. “Where have you been? I’ve been so worried about you. Are you all right?”

  “All right?” Harleigh said. “Of course I’m all right. I just didn’t come because I was angry. At you.”

  “Angry at me?” Allegra looked amazed. “Why were you angry at me?”

  “You mean you don’t have any idea?” Harleigh snorted. “Don’t you remember pushing your way into the house and then running away when I was trying to get you out, and—”

  “Oh, that.” Allegra shrugged and smiled. “But everything turned out all right, didn’t it?”

  “Just barely. We were just very lucky that door in the west wing wasn’t locked.”

  “Oh? ’Cause it’s usually locked?” She sounded doubtful.

  “Of course,” Harleigh said. “It’s one of the rules.”

  “Oh,” Allegra said again. “I thought maybe it usually wasn’t.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Some doors are usually unlocked, and . . .” Her smile was knowing, almost teasing. “And some doors are locked that didn’t used to be.”

  Harleigh was about to ask her what she meant by that, but it was right then that she asked a different question.

  “And what about the metal detector?” she suddenly said.

  “Well, that was the other thing I wanted to talk about,” Harleigh said. He went on to tell her how he found out about the noise that metal detectors make, and how he now knew that someone had been in the recital hall and had done some damage. And that he, Harleigh, was being accused of having done it. “I didn’t believe it when you said you heard it up there on the stage, but now I do.”

  He waited for her to say, “I told you so.” But all she did was to cock her head to one side, the way she did when she was thinking, before she said, “What do you think he was looking for?”

  Harleigh shook his head. “Same as before, I guess. The Weatherby buried treasure. But the worst part of it is, that he must have guessed that I know what he’s been doing. Anyway, he’s really angry at me for some reason. Wait till I tell you what happened.”

  So he did. The whole story about how he went all the way to the servants’ ell at the end of the west wing, and how he met Junior and asked him about his metal detector, and how Junior just about shook him to death, and probably would have if Sheila hadn’t come along.

  Allegra’s reaction to the story—wide eyes and several sharp gasps—was about what Harleigh expected, but what she said next wasn’t. Instead of some ideas about what ought to be done about Junior, she only stared into space for a long time without saying anything. And when she finally did, it was only, “And how about Sheila? Is she all right?”

  Some seconds ticked by while Harleigh considered some remarks such as, “Sheila? She wasn’t the one who got attacked, remember? I was the one Junior almost shook to death.” But he finally settled for, “She’s all right.” But then he remembered how he had planned to tell Allegra that he now knew everything about Sheila’s sad story, so he added, “That is, she’s fine except for the fact that she’s had this terrible life. I mean, you wouldn’t believe all the horrible things that have happened to her. She told me all about it.”

  Allegra nodded eagerly. “She did? Tell me,” she said.

  So he did. All about the tragic deaths and treacherous friends and all the rest of it. Allegra listened, wide-eyed, hardly seeming to breathe, and when Harleigh finished, she said, “Yes. I thought it must have been something like that. No wonder she cries a lot.” Then she sighed again and shook her head before saying, “So you think Junior was looking for the treasure when we heard him in Aunt Adelaide’s room?”

  It took a moment for Harleigh to switch back over from Sheila’s troubles, but when he did, he said, “I guess so. Just like when you saw him that night out on the lawn.”

  “Hmm.” Allegra stared into space a moment before she said, “I wonder what kind of treasure. Something made of metal, I guess.”

  Harleigh snorted. “Well, what else do you look for with a metal detector? But I guess it could be jewels or money in a metal box. In a metal box under the floor of the stage. The stage is up about this high.” Harleigh held up his hand to indicate the height of the stage. “A whole lot of treasure could be hidden in between the two floors.”

  “Yes.” Allegra’s eyes were alight. “I think you’re right.”

  Harleigh thought he was right too. He could almost see it. A large open area under the stage floor where stacks of metal boxes overflowed with the famous Weatherby buried treasure. The very thought of it was like a magnet pulling him back toward the house. Getting to his feet, he said, “I’d better go now.”

  “Now?” Allegra looked shocked and surprised. “Aren’t we going to work in the maze today? At least just a little. I think we only have a little more to do.”

  “A little more to do before what?” Harleigh asked.

  “Before we get to the end. I think we’re almost there.” She rolled her eyes thoughtfully. “I think it’s important to find the exit very soon.”

  “Why is that? Why does it matter when we do it?”

  She shook her head slowly. “I’m not sure why. But I just think it does.”

  Harleigh finally agreed, but even after they got to the maze and started to work, they didn’t get much done. Every few feet one of them would stop shearing and clipping to share another idea about what the treasure might be, and whether it really was under the floor of the stage, or whether Junior had already managed to steal it.

  “Wouldn’t your aunt and Josephine know if it was already gone?” Allegra wanted to know.

  Harleigh stopped briefly in midclip. “No, I don’t think so,” he decided. “There’s a curtain between the stage and the rest of the room, and no one goes up there anymore. They might not even notice. But Junior might not have had a chance to do it yet.

  “The thing is,” he went on to explain, “I think he must have just found out where the treasure is when we heard his metal detector, but right then Aunt Adelaide had only gone to the kitchen or something, so he didn’t have very long. He’d probably have to tear a hole in the stage floor to get the treasure out, and that would be noisy and take a lot more time. I guess he could have done it later while Aunt Adelaide and Josephine were somewhere else in the house, but I think it’s more likely he’s waiting to do it when they go to town again.”

  “Don’t you think he might be in a hurry because you know about his metal detector?” Allegra said.

  Harleigh had to think about that for a minute before he said, “Maybe not. All he knows is that I think he has one, like maybe I heard someone talking about it. He probably doesn’t know we heard it on the recital hall’s stage.”

  “When will Aunt Adelaide go to town again?” Allegra asked.

  “Usually they go on Mondays,” Harleigh told her. “But yesterday at breakfast I heard Aunt Adelaide telling Matilda she’d be going on Wednesday this week because she has a dentist appointment. So I guess that means . . .”

  “Day after tomorrow,” Allegra said. “But how would Junior kno
w when she goes away?”

  That was another question Harleigh had to think over. “He could find out pretty easily,” he said at last. “He could ask Ralph. Ralph always drives the car. Or else he could just watch for her to leave. That wouldn’t be hard for him to do. Ralph has to drive around to the front entrance, and then he and Josephine load Aunt Adelaide and her wheelchair into the car. And then they have to go all the way around the circular drive on their way to the gate.”

  “Yes,” Allegra said. “I think he’s probably waiting for her to go to town. And then he’ll have time to tear up the floor and get the treasure out. Unless we can do something to stop him.” And then, speaking in a thoughtful tone of voice, she asked, “What will we do to stop him?”

  Harleigh snipped off a few more twigs before he suddenly whirled around to face Allegra. “What do you mean, ‘we’? You’re not going to be there.”

  He stared at Allegra and she stared back, her gray eyes wide open and innocent. Or at least, wide open. At last she turned away, and reaching way up over her head, she clipped off two or three branches before saying, “Yes, I know. I meant what will you do? I won’t be there.” She clipped some more before she said, “What will you do to stop him?”

  Harleigh shook his head slowly, thought some more, and shook it again.

  “What?” Allegra pressed him.

  “I guess I could warn Aunt Adelaide about what he’s planning, except . . .”

  “Except?”

  “Well, if she believed me enough to stay home to wait for Junior to come, he would see that the car hadn’t gone out, so he wouldn’t show up. I mean, he wouldn’t be dumb enough to try it without checking to see if the car was gone. And then when he didn’t show up, she’d be sure it was just a lie I made up to get him blamed for something she thinks I did. And I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t call the police.”