The Gatehouse Mystery

by Julie Campbell

  “Oh, oh,” Honey cried in a low voice. “I know what you mean, Trixie. If anyone was lurking around in the woods on Wednesday, he’d be sure to have a rash from the poison ivy by now.”

  “Not necessarily,” Mart said. “Not unless he’s allergic. I’m not, for one. But our friend, Dick, obviously is. Bobby had better give him lessons on ‘leaflets three, let it be.’ ” He chuckled. “If Trixie were not here, I would have said, avoid trifoliolate leaves. They may contain an irritating substance called urushiol.”

  “Now, you’re talking like Brian, the medical man,” Trixie moaned.

  “Exactly,” Mart said. “ ’Twas Brian who taught me that lingo. I tried to pass it along to the small fry at camp, but, no, even ‘leaflets three’ was over their dear little heads.”

  “I’d better go ask Miss Trask for some calamine lotion for Dick,” Honey said. “The side of his face where he hasn’t the black eye might swell up like anything. It looks puffy, right now.”

  Regan came out of the garage and gave Dick one look. “For Pete’s sake,” he said with a sigh. “Now what? You’d better go right back to your doc, Dick, and get some medicine. That rash on your face and hands is going to get a lot worse before it gets better.”

  “Forget it,” Dick growled. “I’ve had poison ivy before. It’s nothing to get excited about.”

  Regan’s sandy eyebrows shot up. “But a black eye is, huh? Well, well. I learn something every day. Where did you get the shiner, fella?”

  “Jupe kicked him,” Trixie said impudently. “And Jupe’s hoof was contaminated because he had been galloping through the woods. It explains everything—even the poison ivy.”

  Dick whirled to glare at her. “Fresh as paint, aren’t you? Why don’t you go home where you belong?”

  “Take it easy, Dick,” Mart said, obviously controlling his temper with an effort. “It so happens that we Beldens were invited to spend the weekend up here.”

  “It so happens,” Regan went on hotly, “that the Beldens have been invited to spend all their spare time up here. If you, Dick, spent a little of your spare, or otherwise, time around here, it would help.” He pointed toward the station wagon which was parked between the garage and the stable. “Brian is giving Jim a lesson in gear-shifting at the moment. I got the impression that that was your job.”

  Immediately, the disagreeable expression on Dick’s face faded. “Gee, I’m sorry about that,” he said, almost contritely. “Jim’s a good kid. I’ll give him a driving lesson right away.”

  “Oh, no, you won’t,” Regan corrected him. “You’ll get right into uniform. Miss Trask is about ready to go in and do the weekend shopping. When you get back, it’ll be time to take Winnie, the laundress, home. Then you can have lunch. After that you can drive Helen home. She has the afternoon off. When you get back from that, it’ll be time to take Marjorie in to town. She’s getting off early today, because she worked overtime last night.” He put his big freckled hands on his hips. “Between then and dinnertime you can give Jim a lesson, if you’ve cleaned the cars. The sedan could stand a coat of wax.”

  Dick placed his own thin hands on his hips, frowning. “And what, may I ask, are you going to be doing all day?”

  “Me?” Regan’s eyes were very green. “I’m going to clean out the stable, that’s all. And tonight I’m going to watch the wrestling matches on television.” He chuckled wryly. “I’d invite you to join me, but you’re going to be too busy. And if you don’t take care of that poison ivy, you won’t be able to see by then, anyway.” He strode off into the stable.

  “What’s eating him, Miss Honey?” Dick asked, in a bewildered voice.

  Miss Honey to her, Trixie thought, because she’s the boss’s daughter. But I’m fresh as paint.

  As though reading her mind, Honey said quickly, “Please don’t call me miss, Dick. And Regan is cross because he had to do a lot of driving last evening and this morning. He hates it, you know. Cares about nothing but the horses.” She came closer and stared at the rash on his face. “You’d better take his advice, Dick. If that rash spreads, both of your eyes may close. Why don’t you see our doctor when you take Miss Trask into the village? He’ll give you some pills and a salve. I’ll go in now, and make an appointment for you, if you like. Miss Trask will be shopping for hours, and she won’t need you, except when she’s through, so you can carry the cartons from the super market to the car.”

  “That’s very nice of you,” he said, “but I won’t bother, thanks. If she’s going to spend a lot of time in the village, I’ll come back out here and give the sedan a coat of wax. Then I’ll be free to give Jim a driving lesson before dinner. I don’t like to break my promise to him.”

  “Well, that’s very nice of you,” Honey said with a quick smile. “Did Miss Trask tell you how to get to the dead-end road on the other side of the woods? It’s the safest place for Jim to practice steering if you think he’s ready for that this afternoon.”

  “Sure,” Dick said affably. “You go right at the end of Glen Road, then you go right again. I know how to get to that little country lane, all right. No traffic on it, huh?”

  “That’s right,” Mart said. “We call it Hoyt Lane. Mr. Hoyt owns the farm, and his house is the only one on the road. He’s busy right now, harvesting, so I doubt if you’ll even pass his truck if you and Jim go there this afternoon.”

  “Fine,” Dick said. “And go we will. If your brother is teaching him how to shift gears now, Jim will be ready to get the knack of steering this afternoon. He’s a bright boy, Jim is.”

  “He certainly is,” Trixie said, forcing her lips into a smile. “How do you suppose you got that poison ivy, Dick?”

  He narrowed his eyes. “If you must know, Miss Nosy, it was taking care of your little brother. Bobby ran into the woods the other day, and I ran after him.”

  “Oh, my,” Trixie said, pretending to be very upset. “Then I guess Bobby has a rash now, too. He’s very allergic.” She slipped her arm through Honey’s. “Well, I’m not going to worry. Moms is armed to the teeth with all sorts of remedies which work like magic.”

  They strolled off, followed by Mart. “Let’s take a look-see at our clubhouse,” he said, adding, as soon as they were some distance from the garage, “That guy couldn’t speak the truth if it were written out for him in words of one syllable. Ever since Bobby had that bad attack in May, he never goes near anything that remotely resembles poison ivy.”

  “That’s right,” Trixie said. “He’s even wary of Virginia creeper and wild blackberry vines. If he ran into the woods, it was at a spot where he knows there is no poison ivy.”

  “I know,” Honey said. “He’s much smarter than I am. Besides, we’ve had men out here spraying ever since we bought the place. There’s hardly any poison ivy growing now in the woods near the house and the stable and the garage.”

  “There’s plenty right there,” Mart said, pointing to the shrubbery at the foot of the lawn. “If we’re going to spend a lot of time fooling around the cottage, we’d better try to get rid of it. Trixie hasn’t got the brains Bobby has.”

  “We’ll encourage the wild honeysuckle and the wisteria,” Trixie said. “They choke out everything. The wisteria, Mart, is what ruined the roof of the cottage. Do you think you boys can fix it so it won’t leak?”

  Mart went inside the cottage and stared up at the ridgepole. “We’ll have to cut away the vines and start all over again,” he said. “What I mean is, we can patch up the leaks with heavy tar paper. That stuff is so tough you can use it instead of concrete for making small swimming pools.”

  “It also costs money,” Trixie pointed out. “Where are we going to get the money for repairs?”

  “We’re going to work for it, of course,” Mart said. “How else do you get money, dope?”

  “Oh, dear,” Honey said. “Trixie is saving every cent she earns so she can buy that colt. Couldn’t Jim and I pay her share?”

  “No, you couldn’t,” Mart said. “And I
think that, even though you and Jim are loaded with the stuff, you’ll have to pretend you’re as broke as the other members of the club. ‘Rosie O’Grady and the colonel’s lady’ is the idea. We’ll all be brothers and sisters in poverty, or it wouldn’t be any fun.”

  “You’re absolutely right, Mart,” Honey said quickly. “It was very silly of me to say what I did. How will we earn the money for repairing the clubhouse?”

  Mart stared up at the sloping lawns and the flower beds. “Brian and I are right handy with a lawn mower,” he said. “I have a feeling Nailor could be kept busy enough with the flowers so we could pick up some change after school and weekends.”

  “Of course,” Honey cried. “And the vegetable garden. It’s full of weeds, and the tomatoes and things are rotting because nobody picks them or anything. Miss Trask would be thrilled to death if you and Brian would take over the lawns, Mart.”

  “I’ll contribute whatever you think is fair from the five dollars a week Dad pays me,” Trixie offered.

  “Good girl.” Mart clapped her affectionately on the shoulder. “And I know how much you want that colt, Trix.”

  “But what’ll I do?” Honey wailed. “I can’t do anything really well.”

  “Not much you can’t,” Mart said. “You sew like a dream. I’ll bet Moms would be glad to pay you something just for keeping Bobby in shoulder straps.”

  “Oh, oh!” Honey’s hazel eyes were wide with delight. “Do you really think she would, Mart? It would be so wonderful to earn money. You don’t know how I’ve envied Trixie.”

  “There’s nothing like it,” Mart agreed. “Now, there’s one little hitch. Jim may want the job of mowing the lawns or working in the vegetable garden, or both, and we can’t do Nailor out of a job, or can we?”

  “Don’t worry about Nailor,” Honey said hastily. “There’s enough to do around here to keep two men like him busy. And as for Jim, I know he’s been dying to do something about the vegetable garden, but Gallagher wouldn’t let him go near it. Gallagher wouldn’t let him mow the lawns or do anything. He was awfully dog-in-the-mangerish about his job, although he didn’t do it properly.”

  “That’s the answer, of course,” Mart said. “Gallagher was afraid that Jim would show him up. Won’t Nailor feel the same way?”

  “I don’t think so,” Honey said. “He hasn’t been here quite long enough to feel that he owns the place, the way Gallagher did. Nailor is already complaining about how much work there is. I think he’d be glad if he had nothing to do but putter around with the flowers and shrubs. Heaven knows, there are enough of them; and they almost all need more care than they get.”

  “That’s true,” Trixie said. “Even I know that the chrysanthemums should have been pinched back long ago, and as for the delphiniums, Mother would burst into tears if she saw how they’ve been neglected.”

  “Why don’t you get the job of flower-tending?” Mart asked. “How green your thumb has grown this summer! Last year you didn’t know the difference between forget-me-nots and sunflowers.”

  Trixie grinned. “I learned the hard way, working for Moms. Boy, she’s a slave-driver when it comes to the care of little growing things.”

  “And your place,” Honey said, “is always as neat as a pin. Now that you’re back from camp, won’t you have to mow your own lawn, Mart?”

  He snapped his fingers. “Oh, that! Brian and I can polish it off before breakfast once a week. It’s the size of a pincushion compared to yours.”

  “Don’t mention that word,” Trixie said with a shudder. “I wish Honey would go right home now and get a mending job from Moms. It might give her an excuse for checking up on the diamond.” She giggled and gave Honey a little push. “Go on, and tell Moms you’ll take care of everything in her basket. She’ll hire you on the spot. Brian and Mart probably brought home a dozen pairs of socks that need darning.”

  “All right,” Honey said soberly. “I love to darn, Trixie.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Trixie said. “I was only joking. We don’t have to start earning money this weekend, do we, Mart?”

  He swung the cottage door back and forth on its rusty hinges. “The sooner we start, the sooner we can turn this ramshackle place into a decent clubhouse.”

  “True, true,” Trixie said impatiently. “But if we want to keep on the good side of Regan, we’d better exercise the horses before it gets too hot. We won’t be able to ride this evening; not if we’re going to the movies.”

  “That’s right,” Honey said. “And Jim must have had enough of gear-shifting by now. Let’s all go for a ride and discuss plans for getting our clubhouse into shape.”

  Up at the stable, they found Jim and Brian waiting for them. “Oh, for the feel of solid reins in my hands again,” Jim said ruefully. “And stirrups for my aching feet. I wouldn’t be a chauffeur if you paid me.”

  “We don’t want you to get paid for that,” Mart said, grinning. “How do your aching hands and feet feel about farming on a small scale? A vegetable garden for your very own?”

  “Lead me to it,” Jim said, brightening. “Anything to get away from the smell of gasoline.”

  Mart explained while they rode through the woods. “We’ll need at least fifteen dollars to make the cottage rainproof,” he finished. “There are three of us boys. Do you think Miss Trask would pay us what Dad pays Trix, Jim? Five dollars a week for keeping the lawns and the vegetable garden out of Nailor’s hair?”

  “I know she would,” Jim said. “It would be worth more than fifteen dollars a week to keep Nailor happy. I think Miss Trask herself would resign if she had to try and find another gardener. And Nailor is complaining about the work.”

  Honey nodded. “I heard him grumbling to Miss Trask this morning. I got the idea that he likes working with the flowers and shrubs but is slightly allergic to lawns and vegetables.”

  “This job business,” Jim said, “is the best idea anyone ever had. I’ve been on vacation too long now. But, Mart, since you’re the one who’s going to agricultural college, wouldn’t you like to take over the vegetables?”

  “But how about you, Jim?” Mart asked. “You spent a lot of your life on a farm, didn’t you?”

  Jim nodded. “I can also mow lawns. Which job do you prefer, Mart?”

  “Gee, Jim,” Mart cried, “you know I like to grub around with vegetables. My fingers itch to get out there with a hoe and hill up your potatoes.”

  “Then it’s settled,” Jim said. “Take your itching fingers to the vegetable garden whenever you feel like it.”

  “Charity begins at home,” Trixie said. “Our own potatoes will need hoeing soon again.”

  “That’s your job,” Mart said airily. “I wouldn’t think of doing you out of it.”

  “Thanks,” Trixie said. She giggled. “I can’t help thinking it’s funny. Jim has half a million dollars in stocks and bonds, and yet he’s going to mow lawns for five dollars a week.”

  “It’s not funny at all,” Jim told her. “You know perfectly well I’m not going to touch a cent of the money I inherited until I’m ready to start my boys’ school.” He flicked a deer fly from Jupe’s glossy, black neck. “And as for Honey, it’s great that she’s going to have a chance to earn some money.”

  “I’m so excited I won’t be able to thread a needle when the time comes,” Honey said. “Do you really think your mother will hire me, Trixie?”

  “I’ll let you in on a little secret,” Trixie said, chuckling. “Moms likes to sew and knit, but she does not like to mend. Especially during the canning season. Monday is her birthday. The nicest present Dad could give her would be you for the next few weeks. I’m going to call him up and suggest it when we get back.”

  “Brother!” Mart yelled. “Monday is Moms’s birthday. I haven’t bought her a thing. Have you, Brian?”

  “No,” Brian admitted. “But Trixie has a plan. You know how Moms hates to have us spend our hard-earned cash on presents for her.”

  “That’s right,�
� Trixie said. “So, from now until school starts, I thought we’d take turns doing all the cooking. You learned how at camp, and, when I make up my mind to it, I’m not too bad myself.”

  Mart chortled. “Let’s not have broiled tomatoes every meal you cook. Honey must teach you how to make waffles.” He patted Trixie’s cheek affectionately. “All kidding to one side, Sis, it’s a great idea. You can fix breakfast; I’ll do lunch, and Brian can cook supper. He does something to spareribs that makes my mouth water. We’ll have them every night. They’re cheap.”

  “I wish I could do something like that for my mother,” Honey said quietly. “It’s so hard to buy her anything, and so silly, too. Whenever she wants anything, she buys it herself.”

  “I know something you could do for your mother,” Trixie said. “Your handwriting is beautiful, and she gets an awful lot of letters from people asking for donations to their pet charities. A lot of the mail we brought up from the mailbox last night looked like appeals for money. You could answer them for her, Honey. Miss Trask couldn’t possibly have time to.”

  “It’s a wonderful idea,” Honey cried. “I can even draw the checks and have them all ready for her to sign. I know about how much she gives to each charity. Why, I could be sort of a private secretary, couldn’t I?”

  “That’s right,” Trixie said. “And you could do the same thing for your father. His own secretary at the office in New York must be pretty busy. Speaking of which,” she went on, turning to Jim, “did anybody check up on Dick’s letter of recommendation from Mr. Whitney?”

  They all stopped their horses in a little clearing in the woods and stared at Trixie. “Why, I don’t know what you mean,” Jim said. “It was one of those TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN things. Typewritten. But Dad certainly knows Mr. Whitney’s signature when he sees it. They’ve been corresponding for years. Why should anyone check?”

  “I’d like to see that signature,” Trixie said mysteriously. “And I’d also like to know, Honey, if your father was expecting a letter from Mr. Whitney which he never got.”