The Gatehouse Mystery

by Julie Campbell

  “They’d love it,” Trixie said. “But they’d like your green tomato chutney the best of all, Moms. You can’t buy anything like that in the stores.”

  “Fine,” Mrs. Belden said. “Remind me when I start picking the green tomatoes early in October.” She laughed. “I mean, when you pick them for me.”

  “It never seems to end,” Trixie said with a moan. “Sometimes, Moms, I wish you hadn’t been born with a green thumb.”

  “Speaking of which,” her mother said, “there are beans to be picked and early potatoes to be dug. And don’t go up to Honey’s this afternoon until you’ve gathered the eggs and fed the chickens.”

  It was after six when Trixie climbed the hill to the Manor House, and she was so tired from working in the garden she knew she would fall asleep the minute she got into Honey’s big bed.

  “But I’ve got to stay awake,” she wailed inwardly. “I just know Nailor will try to sneak into Honey’s room and get the diamond.” She stopped, suddenly, as she heard stealthy footsteps on the path behind her. She wheeled. “Bobby Belden, what do you mean by following me with that jar full of leopard frogs? Go and put them right back in the pond.”

  “Won’t,” Bobby said firmly. “I’m gonna show ’em to Dickie. Mummy said I could.”

  “Are you sure she said you could?” Trixie demanded suspiciously. “It’s your suppertime.”

  Bobby nodded until his blond curls danced. “Sure as sure. Hey! I love Dickie and he loves me.” He trotted along beside Trixie, clutching the jar of frogs.

  Trixie made sure that there were enough air holes punched in the metal top. “I wish you’d stop catching frogs,” she said. “It’s sort of cruel. Even though you do let them go right afterward.”

  “Is not cruel,” Bobby said. “They like it. I feed ’em flies and things. I love frogs ’most as much as I love Reddy and Patch and Regan and Dickie. But Dickie,” he confided in a lower tone of voice, “is ’fraid of horses.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Trixie said with a sniff.

  “He is so,” Bobby insisted. “Tol’ me so his very own self. But he loves Patch and Reddy. Bought ’em some big bones when he droved into the village. Oh, oh,” he finished. “That was see-crud.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Trixie said. “Why should it be a secret? It was very nice of him to bring some bones back to the dogs.”

  “We have lots of see-cruds,” Bobby said smugly. “I showed Dickie all round Honey’s place today. I showed him the wading pool and the cottage and Honey’s windows. That’s a see-crud, too.”

  “Well, I’m glad you had fun,” Trixie said absentmindedly, and added to herself, Bobby and his secrets! He’s hopeless!

  The plump little boy raced ahead of her to show his prizes to the new chauffeur, tripped on an exposed tree root, and fell on the rocky path. The jar broke with a loud crash. For a moment, Trixie was too frightened to move. Broken glass was all around him—was Bobby badly cut?

  He was yelling as though he were suffering from a million serious wounds, and Trixie forced her trembling legs to carry her to his side. But Dick reached the child first and lifted him up in his arms.

  “There, there, Bobby,” he said, in a reassuring voice. “You haven’t got a scratch.”

  Trixie saw, with relief, that Bobby was only screaming because his leopard frogs were hopping off into the ferns as fast as they could. The new chauffeur gave her a disapproving glance. “You ought to have better sense,” he muttered. “The idea of letting a little boy run around with a jar in his arms!”

  “My frogs,” Bobby shrieked. “I’ve losted ’em all!”

  “Never mind,” Dick said, setting the boy down on the ground. “I’ll help you catch some more.” To Trixie, he added in a disagreeable tone of voice, “You’d better get a broom and clean up that broken glass.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Trixie retorted. “But I’ll clean it up. Thanks,” she added sarcastically, “for offering to help.”

  A dark flush spread over his pale features. “I haven’t time,” he told her coldly. “And it was your fault. You’re supposed to take care of that kid, and you go off and leave him for hours at a time.”

  It was Trixie’s turn to flush. She squared her shoulders. “I’m sorry Bobby took up so much of your valuable time this afternoon. It won’t happen again.” And she marched off to the stable for a broom and trash can.

  He stood watching her, insolently grinning, while she swept and picked up the broken pieces of glass. When she finished, he said, “Let that be a lesson to you. Palling around with a rich little girl has sort of made you forget that you’re supposed to work for the money your dad gives you every week, hasn’t it?”

  Trixie ignored him. She started Bobby off on the path that led down to their home and said, “Go right into the house. Your supper is waiting for you.”

  “I won’t go home by my own self,” he yelled. “Hey! I want Dickie to take me home.”

  Dick immediately took the boy’s fat little hand. “Sure, I’d be glad to, Bobby,” he said affably.

  Trixie, her hands on her hips, watched them stroll down the hill. “Well, I never,” she cried exasperatedly. “He’s too busy to help me pick up the pieces, but he’s Bobby’s willing slave.”

  Down in the hollow, they were joined by the two dogs. Reddy and Patch greeted the new chauffeur affectionately, and that made Trixie crosser than ever. “This must be Dick’s ‘Be kind to children and animals week,’ ” she reflected bitterly. “Anybody over twelve is beneath his notice.”

  “Talking to yourself?”

  Trixie whirled around to face Jim who must have come quietly down from the back of the house. “No,” she told him. “I’m simply boiling over. That new chauffeur is as mean as a snake.” She explained, but instead of being sympathetic, Jim merely chuckled.

  “You can’t expect everyone who works around here to be the good sport Regan is,” he said. “Regan is something pretty special. I’ll bet there’s not another groom in the world who would put up with what he puts up with, and no complaints.” He picked up the trash can and broom. “I’ll put these away for you. Honey’s on the front porch champing at the bit because you didn’t show up when you said you would.”

  “Thanks a lot, Jim,” Trixie said, and added gratefully, “You and Regan are both swell to help me take care of Bobby. I’ll try to be better after this.”

  Inwardly, she was thinking, Bobby must have given Dick a play-by-play description of what the Belden family does every day. How else could he have known that Dad gives me five dollars a week for helping Moms?

  As she walked along the graveled driveway, she tried to remember what Bobby had said to her about the secrets he shared with the new chauffeur. Something he had said didn’t make sense. If Dick were very modest, he might not want it known that he had bought some bones in the village for the dogs. That would explain that “see-crud.” But what else was it Bobby had told her?

  Then Trixie remembered. “I showed Dickie all round Honey’s place today,” Bobby had said smugly. “I showed him the wading pool and the cottage and Honey’s windows. That’s a see-crud, too.”

  Honey’s windows! That was it, and now it did make sense!

  Chapter 6

  Midnight Prowler

  Dinner at the Manor House was usually such a formal affair that it never failed to awe Trixie. She was always terrified of using the wrong fork or spoon; and, no matter how careful she was, she always managed to spill something on the snowy white tablecloth.

  But on Thursdays, the cook’s night off, the meal was a much more simple affair. Celia served the first course, and then she and Miss Trask brought in platters of cold cuts and big bowls of salad. Everyone helped himself, and the dessert was usually fruit and crackers with several kinds of cheese. Grownups were served coffee in fragile little cups.

  This Thursday night, Trixie made up her mind that she would have some coffee, too. Otherwise, she would never stay awake. And she had to stay awake. Someone, sh
e was sure, would sneak into Honey’s room after everyone else was asleep—someone who knew that there was a valuable diamond in the secret compartment of her jewelry box. That someone might turn out to be the new gardener, Nailor—or the new chauffeur, Dick.

  When Celia brought in Miss Trask’s coffee, Trixie pushed back her chair and jumped to her feet. She grabbed the nearest platter and said, “I’ll help you clear the table, Celia. I always do it at home.” She pushed through the swinging door into the butler’s pantry. On the drain board was a large cup of black coffee which Celia had obviously just poured for herself. Trixie slid the platter of cold cuts in between the pots and pans beside the sink, and grabbed the cup.

  After the first swallow, she almost screamed with pain. It was scalding hot and as strong as lye. Trixie had never tasted coffee before. It was horrible, but she forced herself to gulp down as much as her protesting throat would let her, and hurried back into the dining-room.

  “Why, Trixie,” Honey gasped. “You’ve been crying. What’s the matter?”

  Trixie hastily dabbed at her watering eyes with her napkin.

  “Oh, dear,” Miss Trask said worriedly. “Don’t tell me you’re a hay fever victim, Trixie? This is the ragweed season, you know.”

  Celia sniffed. “More likely, onions is the answer. Trixie loves onions, and I left some thick slices in the pantry. I forgot Mr. Wheeler wouldn’t be here for supper. He loves ’em, too.”

  Jim laughed. “You’d better snitch a slice, too, Honey. Otherwise, Trixie’s breath will drive you crazy all night.”

  “Radishes are worse,” Honey said, nibbling one. “Anyway, the bologna was laced with garlic. We’re all in the same boat, or breath, I guess.”

  Later, when the girls were upstairs in Honey’s room getting ready for bed, she said, “You were crying, Trixie. That’s why you hurried out to the butler’s pantry. And I know why.” She gave Trixie an impulsive hug. “Jim told me that Dick was rude to you. I’m perfectly furious. If Daddy were here, I’d see to it that he was fired tomorrow. He said something that hurt your feelings, didn’t he?”

  Trixie hesitated. She wanted to share her suspicions of the new chauffeur with her best friend. She longed to blurt out, “He found out from Bobby which windows on this floor are yours. So now he knows where your bedroom is. He may sneak in here tonight and try to get the diamond. I think he’s one of the two men who left it in the cottage.”

  But suppose she was wrong in her suspicions? Bobby loved to give out information of any kind. It made him feel important. He might well, without any coaxing, have told his new friend where every member of the Wheeler household slept.

  Trixie quickly decided that there was no sense in worrying Honey until she could prove her suspicions. And tonight she should be able to prove them. So she merely tossed her short, blond curls and said, “Pooh. That skinny, little weasel couldn’t hurt my feelings.” She quickly changed the subject. “A fine hostess you are! Why don’t you help me unpack my overnight kit?”

  Honey collapsed on the big bed, shaking with laughter. Trixie’s overnight kit consisted of a toothbrush hastily wrapped in a clean handkerchief. She always borrowed pajamas from Honey when she spent the night at the Manor House.

  Honey, still giggling, handed her a pair now. “There,” she said. “Don’t you dare say I’m not a good hostess. What else does your royal highness wish?”

  “Soap, towel, and washcloth, please,” Trixie said airily. “I’m going to take a cold shower.”

  “A cold shower?” Honey stared at her. “Why, it’ll keep you awake, Trixie, and you told me yourself that you had to get up at the crack of dawn to feed the chickens.”

  “Nothing could keep me awake,” Trixie said. “I’m so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open.”

  The cold shower did make her more wide-awake for a short while, but, in spite of the fact that she had gulped down half a cup of strong, black coffee, Trixie fell asleep before it was quite dark outside.

  When she awoke, it was pitch black and stiflingly hot. Someone was stealthily opening the door to Honey’s room. Trixie felt the sound more than she heard it, and, still groggy with sleep and weariness, she yelled at the top of her lungs.

  “Who’s there?”

  Too late, she remembered that she had planned to catch one of the two new employees with his hand on Honey’s jewelry box. She scrambled out of bed and dashed to the door. Honey was mumbling something in a frightened, bewildered voice, but Trixie didn’t pay any attention. Someone had just darted around the corner of the long, carpeted hall. She tore after him and collided with Jim when he burst out of his room. Miss Trask appeared, then, too, her crisp gray hair rumpled, her bright blue eyes blinking in the light of the hall.

  “Who yelled?” Jim demanded.

  “Me,” Trixie said. “I had a nightmare, I guess.”

  Honey joined them, then. “Wh-what on earth happened?” she asked. “Something woke me up, and then I saw Trixie dashing out of the room.”

  Trixie forced herself to smile. If only she hadn’t yelled! She might have caught the person who was probably at this very moment tiptoeing down the back stairs—or tiptoeing up them to his room on the third floor. “I had a nightmare,” she said again. “I’m sorry I woke you.”

  Honey laughed. “It was that cold shower, Trixie. I warned you.”

  “Well, go back to bed, all of you,” Miss Trask said. “It’s midnight.”

  The big grandfather clock in the downstairs hall was striking when the girls climbed back into Honey’s big bed. Honey fell asleep on the eleventh stroke, but Trixie lay awake for a long time, thinking.

  Why hadn’t she told Jim and Miss Trask the truth? If she had, Jim would probably have caught the prowler before he got away. Who was the prowler? The new chauffeur or the new gardener? It would have been easy for Nailor, if he knew that Honey had the diamond, to sneak down from his room on the floor above. And it would have been almost as easy for Dick to sneak into the house through the kitchen door. Trixie knew that when Miss Trask closed up the house on hot nights, she simply hooked the flimsy latches on the screen doors. Anyone could lift those latches from the outside by slipping a knife through the crack.

  Suddenly, Trixie couldn’t stand it another minute. She had to know whether or not the kitchen door was latched. If it was, the midnight prowler must have been Nailor. If the latch was not in place, then the man she had frightened away must be Dick.

  She slipped out of Honey’s room and tiptoed down the hall to the back stairs. They were only dimly lighted and she had to grope her way down, clinging to the railing. It was not a pleasant feeling. Suppose the midnight prowler was lurking in the shadows of the hall below?

  At the bottom, Trixie took a deep breath and dashed across the dark hall and through the swinging door into the kitchen. She knew that Miss Trask always left a light burning above the sink, but it was not turned on now. The door swung to behind her, leaving her in complete darkness.

  A thick wall of blackness surrounded her on all sides, and Trixie felt as though she couldn’t breathe. She wanted to turn around and race back to Honey’s room, but she couldn’t move. She could only stand there, listening, for someone was coming quietly down the back stairs. Whoever it was, was not groping, so he must be carrying a flashlight. Now he was crossing the hall. Now he was pushing open the swinging door. The beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness, and Trixie whirled around, stifling a scream.

  It was Jim.

  “Say, what goes on?” he demanded in a loud whisper. “You’re up to something, Trixie. I didn’t fall for that nightmare yarn of yours.” He grabbed her arm. “What cooks?”

  Trixie let out her pent-up breath. She felt like laughing and crying, but she didn’t dare do either. She didn’t dare make any noise at all. Miss Trask might wake up and hear them.

  “I’ll explain everything in the morning, Jim,” she whispered. “Honest, I will.”

  “It had better be good,” he hissed and held the door ope
n for her.

  Trixie meekly climbed up the stairs ahead of him. They separated outside Honey’s room, and Trixie crept silently into bed.

  The next morning she dressed while Honey was still sleeping and hurried out of the house. She was starting down the path to the hollow when Jim hailed her from his bedroom window.

  “Wait for me,” he said. “I’ll help you feed the chickens. They may need fresh water.”

  In a few minutes he joined her, wearing swimming trunks. As they walked down the path together, Trixie told him how she and Honey had found the diamond in the old cottage and why she suspected one of the two new employees.

  “You girls are the limit,” he groaned. “You should have turned that diamond right over to Dad.”

  “I know,” Trixie admitted. She scattered grain in front of the chicken coop. “The mash hoppers are almost empty, Jim. You fill them, please.”

  “I will,” he said, “but don’t try to change the subject. You’re insane to suspect Dick, Trixie. I happen to know that the last man he worked for is a very good friend of Dad’s. Dad showed me that letter of recommendation. And as for Nailor, he’s not what you’d call a landscape gardener, but he has lived in Sleepyside all his life and has a very good reputation. He has clipped the hedges and tended the flowers of leading citizens for years.”

  But Trixie wasn’t listening. She was staring, openmouthed, at the back terrace of her house. Two tall, tanned boys were standing by the kitchen door.

  “Brian,” she yelled. “Mart! Jim, look. They’re home from camp already.”

  Trixie’s brothers jumped over the low stone wall of the terrace to meet her as she raced toward them. After she had hugged them both, she dragged them to the chicken coop where Jim was waiting to be introduced.

  Brian shook hands with him and said, “Gee, it’s great news that you live up in the Manor House. Trixie wrote us about you and Honey.”

  “Scribbled is the word, Jim,” Mart said with a grin. “It took us hours to decipher her message, but when we did, we decided we were missing too much fun at home. So here we are.”