The Bluebeard Room

by Carolyn Keene

  Lisa giggled. “It belonged to Hugh’s uncle, the old Lord Penvellyn from whom he inherited the castle. Uncle Nick was quite a lively old dog. I’m told he bought this dinosaur in his youth, before the Battle of Britain, and loved it so much he kept it in tip-top shape. Hugh considers it the best part of his inheritance!”

  Lisa had the porter load Nancy’s luggage into the car, and moments later the two girls drove off. Nancy was thrilled as they whizzed along smoothly.

  “Your husband’s right, Lisa. This car’s a gem! I wish Ned could see it!”

  “Speaking of whom, how are things between you two, Nancy?”

  “We’ve decided to date other people for a while.”

  “Ah, so things are at that stage, are they? And do I gather you’ve already met someone new and interesting? or even fascinating?”

  “Well . . .” Nancy smiled somewhat noncommittally. “Interesting, yes. And I guess most girls would call him fascinating, too, but I’m not sure I’m ready to talk about him just yet.”

  Lisa threw her an understanding smile. “All right, we’ll save all that for a cozy chat later.”

  “What about yourself—you and Hugh, I mean? Are you enjoying the state of holy matrimony?”

  Nancy was shocked at the shadow that seemed to fall across her friend’s face.

  “I love Hugh more than ever, Nancy,” Lisa replied in a voice that sounded slightly unsteady, “but I’ll admit things haven’t been perfect since we settled in at Penvellyn Castle.”

  “Can I help?” Nancy asked after a pause.

  Lisa looked at her. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.” Nancy flushed, but decided the truth was preferable to deceit. “That’s not the only reason I’ve come, though. I did want to see you. But your mother was very worried and . . . well, all that seemed a good enough reason.”

  “I thought so, and I’m glad you’ve come, Nancy . . . but I’m not sure what you or anyone can do.”

  “Is there anything you’d care to tell me?”

  Her friend shrugged unhappily. “It’s all so vague and . . . depressing, I hardly know how to answer that, Nancy. Hardly anyone in Polpenny will even speak to me. It’s as if they resent my coming to Penvellyn Castle. And Hugh seems terribly glum and weighed down, as though he’s carrying some dreadful secret. And I’ve been feeling rotten, and—oh dear, nothing seems to have gone right for us!”

  Lisa’s voice quavered and her eyes glistened.

  Nancy patted her hand. “All right . . . you can tell me all about it when we have that cozy chat.”

  Penzance seemed a colorful, bustling summer resort. But once they were outside the town on the road to Polpenny, the landscape became rugged and stark, and Nancy began to glean a sense of Cornwall as a remote peninsula jutting out into the wild Atlantic.

  “I should probably be giving you the standard tourist lecture,” said Lisa.

  “Never mind,” Nancy chuckled. “I’ve already had one from an old gentleman on the train.”

  Polpenny actually lay beyond Penvellyn Castle, so Nancy had little chance to take it in before she was overwhelmed by the spectacle of the castle itself. The ancient, mossy stone pile stood on a rugged headland overlooking the sea, just as she had seen it in the photo, with the fishing village a mere cluster of roofs around the harbor at the foot of the grassy slopes of the cove.

  “Well?” Lisa smiled as they parked in the courtyard and got out of the car. “How do you like it?”

  Nancy stared up at the gray walls, wide-eyed. “I’m breathless!”

  “We only live in one wing—oh, here comes Hugh!”

  Nancy had met the present Lord Penvellyn at the time of his wedding to Lisa, soon after he inherited the title. Black-haired and in his late twenties, he was a tall, powerfully built young man with a strong jaw and thick dark brows that almost met over a fierce hawk nose. He had been a foreign correspondent, but since his marriage, he had been writing a book on international politics.

  Nancy thought that, like Lisa, he looked drawn and tired. His mood seemed almost somber, though he smiled cordially as he took her hand. “I’m so glad you’ve come, Nancy. I know how much Lisa’s been looking forward to your visit.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be fun for both of us, Hugh!”

  Nancy had time to rest and change for dinner, which was served in a high-ceilinged, paneled room, on a large refectory table. The long summer twilight had faded when they finally moved into the drawing room for coffee.

  Hugh was telling Nancy about the progress of his book. “It’s coming rather slowly, I’m afraid. The world situation’s changing so fast th—”

  He broke off as a scream suddenly rent the air from the courtyard outside!

  11

  Spook Attack

  Hugh leaped to his feet. “What the deuce was that?!”

  “Someone’s been hurt!” cried Lisa.

  The three ran from the drawing room into the great hall of the castle.

  Landreth the butler and one of the maids came rushing into the small anteroom that lay between the great hall and the front door.

  “What’s happened, Landreth?” Hugh inquired.

  “I don’t know, m’luv. I’ll turn on the ground lights.”

  The whole courtyard was brightly illumined as they stepped outside, but no one was in sight.

  “Perhaps someone’s outside the gateway,” said the butler after peering around.

  He and Hugh hurried to check. Moments later they returned, supporting a woman between them. She looked close to sixty and was somewhat disheveled, with her broad-brimmed felt hat askew over one eye, but seemed otherwise unhurt.

  “Why, it’s Ethel Bosinny!” gasped Lisa.

  “A friend of yours?” Nancy asked.

  “Yes, one of the few I’ve made in Polpenny! She’s a retired games-mistress from a girls’ school near here. She instructed the girls in sports there. A bit dotty, but she’s been a great comfort to me!”

  When Miss Bosinny was seated in the drawing room and given a cup of tea, they learned that she had been bicycling up to the castle gateway when a startling figure loomed out of the darkness.

  “Was it anyone you recognized?” Hugh asked.

  “I—I really couldn’t say.” Ethel Bosinny gave a hoarse, embarrassed laugh. “Perhaps it was all my imagination. Anyhow, my bicycle went off the path and turned over, and I lay there stunned until you and Landreth came and helped me up.”

  She said she had been coming to pay a neighborly call on the Penvellyns, and the village postmistress had asked her to deliver a letter to their young American visitor. Unfortunately, she had dropped it when her bike overturned. Landreth retrieved the bicycle, but neither he nor the maid could find the letter.

  Miss Bosinny was much distressed. “Oh my! I’m dreadfully sorry, Miss Drew. I don’t know how I could have been so careless!”

  “Never mind,” Nancy smiled. “I’m sure it’ll turn up. It was good of you to bring it.”

  The next morning Lisa showed Nancy around the castle.

  “The original stronghold was built by the Normans back in the twelfth century,” she explained. “Most of it has crumbled away, but the central keep has been preserved. Beginning in the 1500’s, wings were added, connecting the keep to other buildings inside the bailey, or outer wall. We’re living in the newest wing, which I’m told was built in 1650 or thereabouts.”

  Nancy chuckled. “1650 is close enough for me. I must say, it’s withstood the centuries very well.”

  “We’ve added a few modern conveniences, of course, like central heating and plumbing.”

  Nancy was glad to hear her friend laugh. Her visit already seemed to have cheered Lisa up.

  The older, unoccupied parts of the castle were now open to public tours. Much of the woodwork in these areas had long ago rotted away, and most of the furnishings, too, had decayed or been removed, leaving little behind but drafty, echoing stone ruins. But as the two friends strolled back to t
he central keep, Nancy was surprised to see one room shut off by a stout, iron-bound oak door.

  “What’s in here?” she asked curiously.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Aren’t you curious?”

  Lisa hesitated. Her cheeks seemed to have lost color again. “Hugh keeps that room shut up. I’m not sure why, but he—he seems to feel quite strongly about it, so I respect his wishes.”

  Nancy couldn’t help remembering the old fairytale about Bluebeard, who forbade his beautiful young wife ever to open a certain room in his castle. When she did and discovered its sinister secret—the heads of former wives he had murdered—she almost became another of his victims. Seeing her friend’s unhappy face, however, Nancy kept her thoughts to herself.

  When the girls returned to the great hall of the castle, Lisa was ready for “elevenses,” the British version of a morning snack. Nancy was eager to see the village, but she couldn’t persuade Lisa to accompany her.

  “You’ll enjoy it more by yourself, Nancy.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “I’ve told you most of the villagers will hardly speak to me. I think they’re more apt to be friendly to you if they don’t see us together.”

  Nancy set off downhill, preferring to stretch her legs rather than borrow Lisa’s bike. Polpenny was little more than a cluster of stone cottages, most of them whitewashed and thatch-roofed, circling the cove. All activity seemed to center on the cobbled high street around the harbor, but even that seemed none too busy. There were only two or three wooden docks. Most of the boats were simply drawn up on the stony shingle which sloped down into the water. Coming to the small town hall, she decided to introduce herself to the local constable. “My name’s Nancy Drew.”

  The young policeman nodded and smiled politely. “Yes, ma’am, I know. I’m Constable Kenyon.”

  Nancy was surprised but went on diffidently, “Then maybe you also know I’m an amateur detective?”

  “Yes, Miss. I’ve read about some of your cases.”

  “Would you mind if I asked you some questions?”

  “Of course not. Please have a chair.”

  “Thank you.” Nancy sat down. “There’s a rock musician, Ian Purcell, who stayed in Polpenny while he was getting over his drug habit.”

  Constable Kenyon nodded again, somewhat tight-lipped. “Yes, ma’am, I know him.”

  “Have you any idea how recently he was here?”

  “In Polpenny? Couldn’t say for sure, ma’am. He just camps out, like some of the tourists do, and he often goes back and forth to London.”

  Nancy explained what had happened to Ian Purcell and asked, “Could he have been here just before he turned up at his rooming house in London?”

  The policeman frowned thoughtfully. “Hard to say, ma’am. All I can tell you is I haven’t seen him around this past week.”

  “What about drugs?” Nancy asked. “Are they much of a problem locally? Does any dealing go on?”

  Kenyon shrugged. “It’s the tourists who give us headaches more than the locals. There was a pusher arrested in Penzance the other day. That’s the only recent case. Mind you, there are rumors that dealing goes on at the old tin-mine engine house.”

  “Where is that?”

  “West of the headland, out near the edge of the moor. You can see the smokestack from the castle. The mine’s closed, you see, so the engine house area is all deserted. I’ve staked it out once or twice at night but I never caught anyone.”

  Nancy pondered a bit before asking, “One last question, Constable. This may sound silly, but have you ever heard talk of a local witch cult?”

  Just for a moment she thought Kenyon’s glance flickered. Then his jaw clamped grimly. “There’s always gossip of that sort, I reckon, especially here in Cornwall, but there’s no such goings-on in Polpenny that I know of.”

  Nancy thanked him, rose and walked out thoughtfully into the summer sunshine. She was puzzled by the fact that he had known of her sleuthing. How had he found out? From a castle servant?

  She wandered about, gazing in shop windows and exploring the byways. The villagers smiled at her and their lilting accents were pleasant to hear. But everyone seemed to know that she was Lady Penvellyn’s American friend, and her attempts at conversation were politely rebuffed.

  Nancy felt frustrated and annoyed. What on earth could they have against Lisa, and why should such resentment brush off on her?

  Finally she turned back toward the harbor. The breeze carried a refreshing tang of salt air. A young man in a tweed sports jacket was chatting with fishermen as they mended their nets. Seeing Nancy, he broke off and came walking toward her.

  “Excuse me. You’re Nancy Drew, aren’t you?”

  “Why, yes.” Nancy smiled, pleased that someone had finally spoken to her. “How did you know?”

  “It’s my business to know, you might say. I’m Alan Trevor, a reporter for the Western Sun.”

  Nancy recognized the name of one of England’s larger West Country newspapers, having seen it on railway newsstands. “But surely I’m not that well known on this side of the Atlantic.”

  “You are now.” The reporter, husky and clean-shaven, had a brash, smart-alecky manner that nettled Nancy. “In the States you may be a famous girl detective, but over here you’re Lance Warrick’s latest bird. Warrick’s scheduled a gig in Cornwall, so you’ve come to be near him, right? Officially, of course, you’re hunting drug pushers and a gold statuette.”

  Nancy was breathless with shock and outrage. “I b-b-beg your pardon!” she stuttered angrily.

  Trevor grinned. “If it’s the bit about Lance Warrick that upsets you, Miss Drew, don’t blame me. It’s all in the tabloids. All I want to know is whether you’ve dug up any mystery at the castle?”

  “Why not read your trashy tabloids and find out!” Nancy retorted, then turned and walked away.

  Angry as she was, Nancy simply had to find out if there was any truth in Alan Trevor’s remarks, so she bought a couple of London papers at a village sweet shop. It took only a moment of leafing through the pages to confirm her fears.

  Simmering, she trudged back up the road to Penvellyn Castle. Questions were rising in her mind, none of them pleasant to dwell on. Partly to distract herself, Nancy decided to look for the letter that Ethel Bosinny had lost the night before.

  From her and the butler’s remarks, Nancy knew the bicycle had overturned near a huge old oak tree and clump of shrubbery just to the right of the path leading up to the castle gateway.

  To her surprise, she quickly sighted a lavender envelope. It bore the Crowned Heads monogram and was addressed to her at Penvellyn Castle in Lance’s handwriting.

  Nancy was eager to read the letter in private. Luckily she managed to get up to her room without encountering Lisa or Hugh. To her annoyance, her hands trembled as she opened the envelope.

  But there was no letter inside!

  Nancy could feel something else, however, small and hard. She shook it out into the palm of her hand—and caught her breath.

  It was a tiny, glassy stone arrowhead . . . another elf-bolt!

  Surely Lance hadn’t sent her this! But if not, who had? Some other member of his group?

  Another explanation was possible, Nancy realized. The spook might have filched the envelope after Ethel Bosinny was helped indoors, then removed the letter and inserted the elf-bolt before putting the envelope back during the night.

  But why? As a warning to this young American busybody to leave Polpenny Castle and not pry into matters of witchcraft that didn’t concern her?

  Despite her normal commonsensical outlook, Nancy couldn’t shake off a chill of fear that trickled down her spine. Slumping in her chair, she let the elf-bolt and envelope fall into her lap and clasped her hands to keep them from trembling.

  What I need, Nancy told herself sternly, is to get so mad that I won’t have room to be frightened!

  Which was easy enough once she opened those London ta
bloids and read the leering accounts of her friendship with Lance. One paper ran a photo of them in his sports car escaping the fans outside her hotel. The implication was clear . . . that the American sleuth was the latest addition to Lance Warrick’s harem of groupies!

  Nancy was furious. What if those reports were to filter back to America and be read by her dad and Hannah and all her friends in River Heights?

  Nancy felt a need to work off her churning emotional energy. Yet she didn’t want to be seen by the servants or risk facing Lisa or Hugh in her upset state. To calm herself, she began walking down the corridor, her thoughts in turmoil. No wonder Constable Kenyon knew all about her! Those hateful news stories might even partly explain the villagers’ coolness toward her!

  She slowed her steps as angry voices drifted toward her. Nancy realized that she was near the Penvellyns’ private suite.

  “I’ve told you before—what’s in that room is none of your business!” Hugh was saying stormily.

  “But why not, if I’m your wife?” Lisa pleaded.

  “Because I say so, and I’m your husband! What kind of a marriage do we have if you can’t trust me that far?”

  “Doesn’t trust work both ways? Oh, Hugh, I felt so foolish and ashamed, having to admit to Nancy that you wouldn’t even tell me why you keep that room shut up and locked!”

  “Nancy’s here as our guest, not as a detective!” Lord Penvellyn retorted. “Why I choose to keep that room closed is none of her business, either!”

  “I’m not a child! You’ve no right to treat me like one!” Lisa’s voice rose and quavered; she sounded on the verge of tears. “What can possibly be in there that’s so terrible you can’t even confide in me, your wife?!”

  “Just take my word, that’s all! That room must remain locked to protect my family name and our happiness, do you understand?!” Hugh’s hot-tempered words turned cold and grim as he ended, “I want you and your friend to stay away from that room, is that clear?! From now on, I don’t even want to hear it mentioned!”

  12

  Danger in the Dark

  Nancy’s cheeks burned with embarrassment. It was bad enough to feel like a snoop whose prying had caused trouble between a couple she was so fond of. But to learn of this by eavesdropping, even unintentionally, seemed to make it all the worse!