“But how did you get out of that attic?” Robin asked.
“Well, for a while it looked as if I just wasn’t going to. I had to stay in that little attic room for almost a week, mostly because Mary was having such a good time sneaking food up to me and taking all sorts of unnecessary, elaborate precautions. I’m sure I would have reconsidered and gone home if it hadn’t been for Mary’s enthusiasm for the whole escapade. But Mary’s aunt had written from San Francisco asking her to come for a visit, and Mary had decided that I should go to San Francisco, too, and look for a job as a governess.”
“Is that where you went?” Robin asked. She had completely forgotten her own problems and was listening breathlessly. She had never heard such an exciting story in her whole life.
“Yes, indeed. And I’m sure our trip there was the masterpiece of Mary’s lifetime. Someday I’ll try to tell you about it. It’s all a bit jumbled in my mind now, but as I recall it was an absolute maze of disguises, intrigues, and secret meeting places. But be that as it may, I did reach San Francisco and Mary found me a perfect job, with the family of a German professor in Berkeley. The Bauers were just over from Germany and they knew little English and less about American customs, so it didn’t occur to them to investigate my background very carefully.”
“And didn’t Mary ever tell anyone where you were?”
“No, she never told. After a year or two, she did write, urging me to come home, but by then I was reluctant. And poor Mary didn’t live to be very old. While I was still at Berkeley, she died of typhoid fever. And as far as I know she had never told anyone what she knew about my disappearance.”
“And what did you do then?”
“I lived with Professor Bauer’s family for four years. They were wonderful people. I was supposed to be teaching the children English, but after a while I was really a member of the family. The professor was very like my grandfather in some ways, and the oldest girl, Helga, was almost my age, and we became close friends. I was very happy there. Then when I was nineteen a young artist came to visit the Bauers. His name was Eric Gunther, and he was from Switzerland.”
Bridget was silent for a moment, and her dark eyes were soft and cloudy. She seemed to be drifting away into old happy memories. “Gunther?” Robin prompted eagerly.
“That’s right,” Bridget said smilingly. “Eric and I fell in love and were married, and I went back to Switzerland with him.”
“Didn’t you ever tell him about Bonita McCurdy and Las Palmeras and everything?”
“Not for a long time. You see, Eric was a very independent person, and he never had a great deal of money of his own. Somehow it never was just the right time to tell him that I could claim a large inheritance if I wanted to. We were happy, and it seemed foolish to risk changing things. I always intended to tell him some day, but I kept putting it off—until just before he died. When he was very sick and we knew he hadn’t long to live, I told him, because he was worried about leaving me with so little money. He made me promise to come back to Las Palmeras. That was about fourteen years ago. So, after he was gone, I came back to Santa Luisa. I had heard that my aunt and uncle had died some time before, I went to see a lawyer, and he told me how to go about proving who I was. But then I heard that Don McCurdy and his new wife were looking for a housekeeper, and I decided to apply, just to look the situation over and to see Donie again. I’d always remembered what a sweet baby he had been.”
“Didn’t anyone recognize you?” Robin broke in.
“No, thirty-three years is a long time. And, of course Mr. McCurdy was just a baby when I left Las Palmeras. No, no one knew who I was. So then I just took the job as housekeeper and told the lawyer that I’d decided not to let anyone know after all. And in a little while Gwen was born and I became her nurse.”
“What made you decide not to tell that you were Bonita?” Robin asked.
Bridget didn’t answer right away. For a time she only sat staring into the fire. “I don’t know,” she said finally. “I don’t know, really. In a way you might say that I ran away again. Do you understand what I mean by that?”
It was Robin’s turn to ponder. After a while she said, “I guess I don’t understand, not really. Because you didn’t really run away again, did you?” Bridget shook her head. “Then I guess I don’t understand, unless you mean you just did what was easiest for you at the time. Is that it?”
“That’s it exactly. It was wonderful to be living at Las Palmeras again, but somehow after all those years it was easier not to have so much responsibility. And besides, I liked Don and Catherine, and I didn’t want to risk turning them into another Frank and Lily.”
“Oh,” Robin said suddenly, “there’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you about—the tunnel. Why is there a tunnel?”
“Oh, yes, the tunnel. I should have explained that to you before. It has quite a history. At the time the adobe portion of the house was built, way back before my grandfather came to Las Palmeras, there had been unsettled times in Southern California. There had been a bit of fighting among the Spanish Californians over who was to be governor of the state. And while the leaders of the state were busy chasing each other around, there was no one to interfere with the activities of gangs of bandits and renegade Indians. So when the house was built, my great grandfather, Francisco Montoya, had the tunnel made as a way to escape in case the house was ever attacked.”
“Was it ever attacked?”
“No, it never was. In fact, I remember my grandfather saying that when he first came to Las Palmeras, the tunnel was being used as a wine cellar. Anyway, as I told you, the key was one of the few things I took away with me when I ran away. Then, after I came back and Don and Catherine built the new house, I used the tunnel to visit the old place now and then when I felt homesick. But in recent years I’ve not been able to manage the ladder.”
They sat silently for a while in front of the fire. Robin was thinking that it was no wonder she had felt so close to Bonita. She really had known her, all the time. As she looked at Bridget’s face, with its wide dark eyes and small pointed chin, she could see why the miniature portrait had looked slightly familiar.
It was a wonderful story, more fascinating than any fairy tale. It was the best secret she had ever known, and the most exciting. But then, like sticking a balloon with a pin, Bridget thrust a question into Robin’s excitement, exploding it and leaving in its place only fear and a stubborn deafness.
“Do you understand, Robin, why I thought I must tell you all this?”
Robin’s eyes were on her fingers, which were carefully folded and unfolding a pleat in her skirt. If she said yes, perhaps Bridget wouldn’t say anymore. “Yes,” she said. “I think so.”
But Bridget didn’t stop. “Do you see what my story has to do with you, and with what you’ve decided to do?” Robin nodded hastily, keeping her eyes down and her mind closed; but she couldn’t help hearing. “When I was Bonita McCurdy, I had the Velvet Room, in fact all of Las Palmeras, but it didn’t help me. I had to leave it all behind to find what was really important. Belonging to a place isn’t nearly as necessary as belonging to people you love and who love and need you. I’ve lived a long time, Robin, but I have never been happier than I was the years Eric and I spent wandering all over Europe like gypsies—and we didn’t even have a Model T to call home.”
Robin’s face burned with resentment. Bridget had no right to mention the Model T. It was like mentioning someone’s crossed eyes or crippled legs. But she only shook her head and muttered, “That’s not the same.”
After a moment Bridget said, “You’re quite right, my dear. Of course, it’s not the same. A gypsy life is all very well for adults who choose it, but children want security and permanence, the way Damon, over there, wants his chair to be in the same spot by the fire every night. It was a foolish thing for me to say.” She leaned forward and put her hand on Robin’s. “But people do have to count on other people, Robin, no matter how frightening and dangerous tha
t seems at times. If you give up on people, you’re giving up on life.”
Robin stood up stiffly and pulled her lips into a smile. “I understand,” she said. “I understand, but I have to go now. It’s dark, and my folks will be worried.”
Bridget started to get up. “Wait,” she said. “I’ll go part of the way with you. You shouldn’t be out alone so late at night.”
“Oh, no,” Robin said quickly. “I’m not afraid. If I run, I can be there in a minute.”
Outside the gate she turned and looked back. She watched the slice of light narrow and disappear as Bridget closed the cottage door. Then she turned away, but not toward the orchard and the Village. As fast as she could, in the misty darkness, Robin made her way toward Palmeras House and the Velvet Room.
Terror in the Dark
WHEN ROBIN REACHED THE grove of trees, she had to slow to a walk and feel her way with outstretched hands. The air was so thick and damp it was like walking through rain clouds that had fallen to the ground. She couldn’t even see Palmeras House until she reached the patio, and even then it was only a great blurry mass of deeper darkness against a dark sky.
Like a blind person, she found her way to the well. Her feet told her the way over the bricks of the patio floor, and her fingers remembered how to turn the key in the padlock. Then, at the bottom of the ladder, her groping hands found the candle and matches, and at last her eyes were useful again.
Inside the empty rooms of Palmeras House it was even darker than it had been the night before. But, as Robin tiptoed through the house, shielding the flame of her candle with her cupped hand, a fear hovered somewhere in the back of her mind that had nothing to do with the dark shadows that filled the corners. Just as the candle’s light held back the shadows, a part of her mind was holding back the fear—keeping it nameless and shapeless until she reached the Velvet Room.
She got to the top of the stairs and glided down the long hall to the door. She opened it with a feeling of triumph. She’d made it! But this time it didn’t work.
Instead of fading, the fear grew and took shape. Something had happened to the magic of the Velvet Room. It was not the same. It didn’t look any different. It was all there just as it had always been. As she moved forward, the candle’s light fell on the same familiar things: the tiny inlaid game table, the chair with roses on it, the curving back of the velvet couch. But somehow there was a difference.
Feeling dazed and desolate, she drifted into the alcove and sat down. In the velvet circle, if anywhere at all, she might be able to recapture the missing magic. But nothing happened, and she found herself thinking instead of Bridget’s story. As she went over in her mind all the things that Bridget had told her, she began to feel again the excitement she had felt in the cottage. And then, without realizing it, she was thinking about what Bridget meant when she asked if Robin understood. Reluctantly at first, and then more eagerly, she began to explore some ideas that she had been carefully avoiding.
Before Robin noticed that her candle was burning low, she had discovered some pretty amazing things. She had discovered, she thought, what Bridget had meant when she had talked about good and bad reasons and the importance of counting on people. And she had also found out what it was that was different about the Velvet Room. Tonight, for the first time, she understood what the Velvet Room really was, and maybe even more important, what it wasn’t and never could be. What it really was, was just what you could see by the candle’s light—a beautiful room full of lovely old things. And what it wasn’t, was what Robin had tried to make it—an enchanted refuge, a strictly private world of dreams.
As she moved slowly toward the door, Robin stopped to look at everything and say good-by. She knew she would never forget even the tiniest thing. But she also knew, now that leaving it would only be the end of an adventure; not the end of everything. And it had been a wonderful adventure—meeting Bridget, exploring the tunnel, finding the Velvet Room. There must be hundreds of people who grew up and grew old without ever having—
Suddenly Robin froze into rigid attention. Into the midst of her musing had come a strange sound. For a moment she couldn’t tell what it was or from what direction it came. As it grew louder and nearer, it became recognizable as the sound of tires on gravel, and she hurried back to look out the window. Below, on the gravel driveway, a car was approaching. It was going very slowly, and it had no headlights on. Like a giant night beetle, it crept up the road and stopped at the foot of the stairs that led to the main entrance of Palmeras House.
Robin could barely see the three shadowy figures that got out of the car, but she clearly heard the thuds as the car doors shut behind them. She pressed her nose against the window and peered downward. Just as the figures disappeared beneath the portico, a light flashed on. Someone had turned on a flashlight.
“Robbers!” she thought in terror. There could be no other reason for anyone to arrive at a deserted house at night in a car with headlights out. But then her panic subsided. Surely they wouldn’t be able to get in. There was the big extra padlock on the front door, and all the other doors and windows were boarded up as well as locked.
She jumped off the window seat and tiptoed across the room to the door. She opened it and leaned out into the hall, listening. Almost immediately she heard the squeak of the hinges of the heavy double doors of the main entry. Somehow the robbers had gotten inside the house, and they had done it as quickly as if the front door had not been locked at all.
In blind panic Robin dashed back to the alcove. The candle went out in the rush of wind, but her groping hands found the heavy drapes and she slipped behind them. Fear was a great knot filling her throat and almost strangling her as she pressed herself back against the wall and listened to the footsteps on the stairway leading to the second floor.
The footsteps got nearer and louder, and then the door to the Velvet Room opened. Through the drapery Robin could see a faint glow of light. A voice said, “Here it is. Over this way.”
Robin stifled a gasp of surprise. The voice was familiar. For a moment she couldn’t think to whom it belonged, but as the footsteps came toward her, muffled now by the thick rug, she suddenly remembered. It was Fred Criley!
The footsteps stopped. From somewhere on the window side of the room a voice said, “That them?”
“Yeah.” It was Fred again.
A third voice asked, “You got the key to this thing?”
“No,” Fred said. “Old man McCurdy hangs on to that.”
“Well, that ain’t hard to fix.”
There was a crash and then the tinkle of shattered glass. For a moment Robin was almost more indignant than frightened. Someone must have broken the beautiful curved glass of the whatnot case.
“Yeah!” one of the strange voices said. “Pretty nice. I know a place in L.A. where these things will bring a handful of dough.”
For a minute the only sound was the scrape and tinkle of objects being taken from the glass case and dropped into something, perhaps a bag. Then one of the strange voices said, “That just about does it. Come on, let’s get out of here.”
“Wait a minute,” Fred’s voice said. “I got something else to do first. If these things just turn up missing, it ain’t going to look too good for my family. Outside of old man McCurdy, my ma’s the only one who ever has the keys to this place. So I’m gonna fix it so no one’s ever gonna know there’s been any robbery.”
“Oh, yeah? How’re you gonna do that?”
“It’s a cinch. We set fire to the place; it burns down, and nobody’s ever gonna know whether them little things is in all those ashes or not.”
Robin’s heart stood still with dismay. No one spoke for a moment, and then one of the strangers said, “Well, suit yourself, but I ain’t gonna help. This place gives me the creeps. I’ll wait in the car.”
“Me, too,” the other voice said. “Ya know, when we first got out of the car down there, I thought I saw a little light in one of the windows up here. I heard tell, lo
ts of times, that this place is haunted. You burn ’er down if you want to, but I’m getting out of here right now.”
Robin heard Fred’s short hard laugh. “What a couple of chicken livers. O.K. Go hide in the car. I’ll be down in a minute.”
Footsteps crossed the room. “Wait a minute,” Fred called. “How’m I gonna see if you take the flashlight?”
“That’s your problem. We gotta get down these stairs, don’t we? You start that there fire, and you’ll have lots of light.”
The footsteps went out the door and down the hall. There was the sound of a match striking and the smell of sulfur. Robin could hear Fred moving around on the other side of the room. With only a match’s flame on the other side of the room, the alcove was left in complete darkness, so it seemed safe to peek around the edge of the drape. Fred was over by the bookshelves. With one hand, he was holding a lighted match and with the other, he was pulling books off the shelf and dropping them on the floor. Then he crouched down and shoved the books into a pile. The match burned low and he dropped it. There was a scratching sound, and another match flared up. Robin watched in horror as Fred leaned over and held the flame to the pages of an open book.
Without even knowing that she was going to do it, Robin leaped out from behind the drape and screamed “STOP!” with every ounce of power in her lungs. Fred catapulted into the air and whirled to face the darkness in the alcove, his eyes bulging wildly in his pudgy face. Staggering backward, he tripped over a footstool, and his howl of fear was cut short with a heavy thud as he landed on his back.
If she had stayed in the alcove, Fred might have gotten up and run away without ever knowing what had screamed at him out of the darkness. But the book was burning brightly, and Robin couldn’t bear it. She dashed into the room, and, grabbing the book by the cover, she began to beat it on the floor.
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