HIDDEN MICKEY ADVENTURES 2

by Nancy Temple Rodrigue

  “It’s Constance! Hey, I’ll bet this guy was one of her other husbands!” He brushed away some of the dust and found a small brass plate engraved with the names Reginald and Constance. Seeing two strands of pearls hanging in front of her white lace wedding dress, Peter suddenly smiled. “So this must be husband number two. I wonder if the others are in here, too!”

  Not paying attention to the dust and the gloom and the reality of what that discovery might reveal, Peter anxiously went from one side of the attic to the other. Then, as he clumsily tripped over a rolled up Persian rug, he stumbled into another wedding portrait. This painting revealed a younger-looking groom and Constance—in the same dress. Peering closer, he noticed she had on only one strand of pearls. “This must have been the first one she…she….” Peter broke off and sank into a wooden rocker that sat behind an open trunk of dishes. He thought for a moment about the kind woman who had seemed honestly concerned about him. Then he remembered the bloody axe she had been holding when she had found him outside.

  Suddenly starting to breathe hard, he jerked to his feet, but his shoes slipped in the dust. Arms flailing, he blindly reached out to grab the armoire that stood beside him. He missed his goal and his fingers banged against a floral ceramic vase to send it crashing to the floor at the same time he did. His head slammed into a small end table and his candle was snuffed out, leaving his immediate area in total darkness.

  Trying to sit up as he rubbed his sore head, he could hear the pounding of a heartbeat loud in his ears. A little dizzy from his fall, he struggled to get up on one elbow. As the room seemed to tilt around him, he spied something moving across the room. Finding his candle unlit and useless, he tried to squint to see what it was. Dust stung his uncooperative eyes. He could barely make out a ghostly figure dressed all in white. Before he could move or scream it began sweeping toward him with arms outstretched as it reached for him.

  “Master Brentwood! Whatever are you doing? You cannot be found here!”

  Surprised by the frantic, hurried whisper, Lance spun around from his perch on the footstool. Already unsteady, his arms flailed as he fell backward to bang painfully against a bedroom door. He rubbed the back of his head as Constance rushed over. When she reached him, they heard the sound of a similar thud that seemed to come from above.

  They both looked up at the ceiling. “Do you usually have an echo in here?”

  Constance attempted to help him to his feet but the wide skirt of her wedding dress kept getting in the way. “Oh, dear, I am afraid I am not of much use. There or here.” She seemed to be muttering to herself when she finally gave up her ineffectual assistance. When she backed away to give him room, she nervously glanced down the long hallway. Surely that crash must have been heard by the others. “I don’t think that was an echo, Master Brentwood. If you will pardon me just a moment, I really must check something.”

  Lance thought she was going to leave, but she righted his stool and climbed up to see if there had been any reaction to the noises in the ballroom. As she peered through the eye holes, she gave a sigh of relief. “Oh, good. It doesn’t appear they heard you.” She came down from the perch in a more dignified manner than Lance. “However, Rollo will soon tire of playing and they will be leaving the ballroom. The men usually retire to the Conservatory to continue their…refreshments. The ladies might want to come here to the retiring rooms to freshen up. You really must leave, Master Brentwood!”

  Before Lance could reply, they heard another muffled crash overhead. “Mice?” was his skeptical guess.

  “It would have to be a rather large mouse, if that were true. My Miss Kitty wouldn’t go near that one.” A frown appeared between her eyes as she pondered what might have happened. She had heard numerous noises like this all day, but had dismissed them as the creaks and groans of their large house. Now she had a different idea. A wide smile suddenly lit her face. “Master Brentwood, I think we will be able to solve two problems at the same time! We will be able to get you out of sight. And,” she paused dramatically, “I think we will be able to locate that rather large mouse. Follow me!” She immediately turned and hurried down the hallway.

  With no other option at the moment, Lance reluctantly followed her. Not knowing where the Conservatory was located inside this mansion, he wasn’t keen to wander blindly around and possibly run into any of the people he had watched.

  Constance stopped in front of an ornately carved door that, like all the other doors, had a brass knocker mounted in the center. Putting her hand on the doorknob, she hesitated. Her face had blushed to a rosy pink when she turned to Lance. “I do apologize for where I am about to take you. But I have no other choice.”

  She turned the knob and the door creaked inward on its hinges. Lance now wondered what he had gotten himself into. Hands balled into fists at his sides, he mentally prepared himself for whatever he was about to face in that darkened room.

  “Please close the door behind you. And, hurry, Master Brentwood. It is possible I might be missed downstairs. I doubt it, but sometimes miracles do happen.”

  When she began to fumble with something in the darkness, Lance wasn’t sure he wanted to close the door. Then, as she managed to light a couple of candlesticks, he could see he was in a feminine bedroom. The realization made him tense up all the more at the thought of being discovered there.

  Constance set one of the candles on an antique white dressing table that was all aglitter with gold trim. The oval leaded mirror also caught the shimmer of the flame and sent a myriad of tiny rainbows into the room. Ignored, Lance remained poised in the doorway, ready to run down the flight of stairs he could see behind him. Ever curious, he watched as she pulled aside a large tapestry covering the far wall. It was a beautiful piece, filled with mountains and fields of colorful flowers, a herd of deer grazing in a meadow. Not even looking at the scene that gave her so much pleasure, she tucked the corner of the tapestry into a small tufted-back chair. Three spaces were counted down on the wall paneling and then she gave a push. The wall obediently slid to the side to reveal a dark, narrow passage.

  With the assumption that Lance was right behind her, she spoke in a whisper. “Keep close, Master Brentwood. We need to hurry.”

  When she received no answer, she turned, confused. “Master…. Why ever are you still at the door? Come in quickly and lock it behind you, please! Take up the candle and hurry!”

  As she impatiently motioned for him to enter ahead of her, Lance took a deep breath and did as she asked. After grabbing up the extra candle on the dresser, he held it high as he walked slowly into the dark passageway to wait.

  After a step inside, Constance reached back and loosened the tapestry held by the chair. It fell back into place and the passage closed, allowing her to relax. The hidden panel would keep them safe—for a while.

  There was still a need for secrecy, so Lance leaned closer to Constance. “Would this be a good time for you to tell me what’s going on?”

  With one free hand, she tried to gather her full skirt as close to her legs as possible. “I do wish I had time to change out of this silly thing.” Once she gave up, she held her candle a little higher and her features became visible to Lance. He could now see a reassuring smile on her face. “Yes, I do suppose this might look bad. But I assure you I mean nothing amiss, Master Brentwood. I think I know where your Peter may have gone.”

  That was what Lance had hoped she would say, but he still looked confused. “I saw a panel in the wall of the ballroom open and close as the organ was played. It was my assumption that Peter may have seen it, too, and gone in to check it out. I was trying to figure out a way to get into that room undetected when you found me.”

  Constance looked baffled for a moment and then motioned for him to follow. “Oh, yes! The organ! I had forgotten all about that secret door. Of course! That would explain how Peter got out of the room so quickly.”

  “But, doesn’t Edward know about that door? Didn’t he have it ins
talled when the house was built?”

  Since he walked behind her, Lance couldn’t see the smug grin that curved her lips. Still speaking as low as possible, he had to strain to hear her. “No, he does not. He might keep many secrets from me, but I have a few tricks up my sleeve as well, Master Brentwood.”

  Not sure if he liked the sound of that, Lance let it pass. He had another question when they came to a flight of stairs that sharply angled upward. “So, where does this passageway go?”

  “The attic, Master Brentwood. The attic. My little piece of blessed, isolated security.” As they climbed, she seemed eager to explain and happy to have a confidant. “You see, while Edward and I were overseas, I had some men loyal to me move all that I held dear into this attic. In a word, it is my life.” The whiteness of her dress was like a beacon for Lance as it shimmered and rose in front of him. Her voice had taken on a dreamy tone of someone who remembered a better time and a happier past. “No one else knows about it. They all think the carpenters erred in their work and blocked off the attic! There are a few other hidden passages in the house. And I am mistress of them all. I do believe this hideaway is all that keeps me sane.” Her words ended with a sigh. “Ah, here we are.”

  As she pushed aside the hidden panel, they both heard another loud crash—but this time it was followed by a very human groan.

  “Oh dear!” She rushed ahead of Lance into the room and headed straight to the source. Her candle flame, already weak, fluttered out from the sudden movement. “Peter!”

  Peter’s eyes widened and he gasped. “She knows my name!” He desperately tried to back away from the pale arms that reached out for him. But there was too much furniture around to allow any escape. When he tried to find something with which to protect himself, his hand swept across the broken shards of the vase he had just broken. With a flinch, he realized he had cut his palm. His hand protected close to his body, he shut his eyes and waited for doom. The sound of the beating heart got louder and louder in his ears. It was then that Peter realized it was the sound of his own heart that he heard.

  “Pete? Is that you?” Lance called out.

  “Dad!?” Peter’s eyes flew open as the white ghost materialized into the worried face of Constance who now hovered over him. Over her shoulder he could see the relieved face of his dad.

  Happy and excited, Constance was just a breathless rush of words. “Are you all right, lad? You’re as white as a ghost. We were so worried about you! Oh, your hand is bleeding!”

  Unable to believe what he was actually saw, Peter looked from the bride in the attic to his father while she made an effort to bind his wound. As she ripped a small strip from her underskirt, a little blood got on the front of her dress before she could wrap his hand.

  “You came after me!” Peter went into his dad’s arms for a hug. “Where’s Uncle Wol….”

  “Shh.” Lance interrupted the questions he didn’t want Constance to hear. “We’ll talk about that later.” The hug continued when he just couldn’t let go of his son. “I’m so happy to see you. Right now we need to get you out of here. Let me look at you.” He finally pushed Peter to arm’s length. “Are you all right? Really all right?”

  Peter held up his bandaged hand and looked at it as if he wasn’t sure how it got that way. “I guess there’s just my hand here. It stings, but that’s all. Gosh, I missed you!” He went in for another embrace.

  Eyes closed, Lance let the boy’s warmth seep into him. He hadn’t realized how tense he had been, how every fiber of his being had been tightly wound ever since Peter vanished in the river. Now he felt it all melt away. Peter was safe and in his arms. “Pete?”

  “Yeah, Dad?” The response was muffled against his chest.

  “You do realize you’re grounded for life, right?”

  Peter gave a contented sigh. “Yeah, I kinda figured that.”

  Constance had a tear in her eye as she watched this family reunion. She didn’t understand everything they had said, but was both happy and sad. Peter was back with his father but he would soon be taken away from her—possibly forever. “That is as it should be.” It was barely a whisper as she relit her candle with one of the tapers that still burned in the attic.

  As the father and son quietly talked, she wandered around the room trailing a fond hand over various objects. The portrait of Reginald caught her attention when she saw some of the dust had been wiped away. “My dear Reggie.” She sighed as she stared at his familiar face and placed her fingertips on his lips. “I am so sorry. I always have been.”

  Over at the small piano, she tried unsuccessfully to fit the torn pieces of the charred doily together. Even though thick dust covered the embroidered cushion on the bench, she sat in her place in front of the keys and softly pressed middle C. Badly out of tune, the sour note was muffled by the closed lid. She had loved this instrument from the moment it was given to her as a gift from the Marquis when they wed. Now the Marquis was dead and Edward had deemed the piano too small and ugly to be placed in his grand mansion. When he had suggested it be broken up into useful firewood, she had it hidden until such time as it could be stashed here in the attic.

  “So many good men. Perhaps the next one will be better.” She gave a small sigh as she looked over to see what Lance and Peter were doing.

  Peter wanted to show his dad all the treasures he had discovered there in the attic—especially the large stuffed raven he caught a glimpse of just before he fell.

  After a futile attempt to brush some of the grime off her dress, Constance came over with a resigned look on her face. “I am afraid it is time for you two to leave. Any further delay could mean detection and that would not be good for any of us.”

  Both Lance and Peter knew she was right. “I came in through the kitchen when your staff was out of the room. I don’t know if that would work now.”

  Constance shook her head. “No, they will most likely still be cleaning up from the…party. I know another way, but we must be absolutely quiet.”

  At their nods, she led the way across the attic to a different wall. Peter took one last, longing look at the stacks of treasures and followed her into what appeared to be a twisting passageway. They wound down and down and it seemed to the two Brentwoods that they must have reached the cellar by now. Unmindful of their concern, their guide led them unerringly through the maze, her white dress and flickering candle a comforting sight in the darkness and stale air of the walkway. In the gloom it was difficult not to imagine the spooky scenes in Disneyland’s Haunted Mansion.

  Peter suddenly bumped into Constance, not realizing that she had stopped to turn and face them. “Sorry.”

  “That’s all right, my dear. We’re here. This passage opens out to the side yard facing the river. We will have to part here.” They could hear the note of regret in her whispered words. “You must be very quiet. The first window will be Master Gracey’s private study. It is doubtful anyone would be in there, but one never knows. You know how to get to town from here?”

  Since it was a question directed at him, Lance nodded. Then he realized she wouldn’t be able to see his gesture. “Yes, we know what to do.”

  There was an almost soundless whoosh and a welcome breeze of fresh air blew over them. Constance pressed herself against the inside wall and put her hand on Peter’s back as a gesture for him to go ahead. As he began to leave, she gave a small cry and pulled him close for a final hug. “Be safe, dear boy!”

  “Uhm, thank you.” Embarrassed by her emotion, he still returned the embrace.

  As Lance went to pass her, he remembered the legend of the Mansion and paused. “Will you be all right, Mistress Gracey?”

  She patted his hand and gave a rueful smile. “I always seem to land on my feet, Master Brentwood. One might think I have nine lives. It is my guess I have four left!” She meant for it to sound cheerful, but she looked with an unmasked longing at the open doorway and the starlit sky that was visible through it.


  He placed his free hand over hers. “Our thoughts will be with you.”

  “If you are ever in the area again, please come back.”

  Lance didn’t want to dash her hopes, but he knew that the next Constance he would see would be a very different one. “I’m sure we’ll see you again. Thank you.”

  As he stepped through the doorway, he turned back to say something else. However, she had already pressed the lever and the last glimpse he had was the white of her wedding dress. Nudging Peter, he motioned for him to head toward the crypt.

  As the boy started across the lawn, Lance heard some voices from the front of the house. Instead of following Peter as he should, he tried to tiptoe to the corner of the house to see if they were still undetected. Because he looked at the house and not at his feet, Lance stepped on a wooden rake that the Caretaker had left in the grass. At the moment when silence was vital, he let out a startled yelp as it whacked him hard on the shin.

  After he assisted the inebriated Uncle Theodore into his carriage, Edward offered a hand to his Aunt Mary.

  Slow to get into the phaeton, she looked over Edward’s shoulder. “Do your servants often cavort on the lawn in the middle of the night?”

  “Whatever do you mean, Aunt Mary? Of course not. They would be let go immediately.” As he turned to see what she meant, they heard the yell of pain and could see a dark figure hobble toward the river. “Who in the world is that?” Edward then yelled across the lawn, “Stop, you!” The moving figure did not obey. “Rollo! Phineas!” Turning to the open front door of the house, he alerted his relatives. “We have an intruder!” Before the men could get there, Edward leaped over the flowerbed and ran over the grass as best as he could in his tight costume. The bright moonlight helped guide him around seating areas and other flowers that were in his way.