Hydrofoil Mystery (4 page)

We went through the door and into the kitchen. There was a fire in the corner hearth and two young women were bustling around, working at the counters that rimmed the room.

“Please, have a seat. It's not usually this busy around here but we're readying for a gathering tonight. Have you had breakfast?” Mrs. McCauley-Brown asked.

“A bite on the boat.”

“A bite isn't nearly enough for a lad as big as you. Hildy, put on a few eggs and a big helping of porridge for Billy.”

“Yes, ma'am,” one of the women responded immediately. She wasn't much older than me. She gave me a shy smile and returned to her work.

Mrs. McCauley-Brown took a seat beside me and started to open the letter when the door opened and a harried-looking woman burst into the room.

“We have problems, big problems!” the woman stated emphatically.

“What could possibly be that big a problem? No one here is dying,” Mrs. McCauley-Brown retorted.

“It's the lobster.”

“What about the lobster?” Mrs. McCauley-Brown asked calmly.

“There isn't any. There's none.”

“What do you mean none! How can there be no lobster? This is Cape Breton Island, we're surrounded by the ocean, and the ocean is filled with lobster!” She no longer sounded calm.

“It's the fisherman. He said his boats have never come back so empty. He can't meet the order for the party tonight.”

“He must! A dinner party at Beinn Bhreagh without lobster is not a possibility!” she said as she bounded to her feet. “I've got to get to town immediately! Immediately!”

She was almost through the door when she skidded to a stop. “Oh my gosh, I almost forgot about you, Billy. Hildy, as soon as he finishes up his breakfast I want you to have someone bring him up to the staff house and get him properly introduced.” Then she rushed out the door accompanied by the messenger, closing it noisily behind her.

“It's only like this when there's a party or gathering,” Hildy said.

“It seems like there's special guests or a party every other day!” the other woman added. She was kneading dough for bread, and her arms, right to the elbows, were dusted with flour.

“It is busier of late, no denying that,” Hildy agreed. “How many eggs would you be having, and how would you be liking them?”

“Three … or four would be good, and any way would be fine with me,” I answered. “And porridge as well, please.”

“Definitely there'll be porridge. Mr. Bell insists on porridge every morning,” Hildy said. She walked over to the stove with a bowl and started serving porridge out of a large pot. “I think there are more gatherings this year for a reason,” she added.

The other woman stopped working and turned to face her.

“It's because of the grandchildren,” Hildy explained. “The grandchildren! How can all these parties be for the grandchildren when they aren't even here?” the baker asked.

Hildy just smiled as she set a heaping bowl of porridge and a spoon on the table in front of me.

The baker thought for a moment, then smiled. “Of course she's right! Mrs. Bell has arranged all these extra gatherings to get her husband's mind off the grandchildren not being here.”

“As long as I've been working here there's been at least one of the grandchildren up here for the summer. The Bells just dote on their grandchildren, and this summer none of them will be up here until much later in the season,” Hildy said.

“It's unfortunate for Billy, as well,” said the baker. “If some of the grandchildren had been coming he would have had somebody to chum about with.”

I nearly rolled my eyes. Even if they would let one of their grandchildren “chum” with a servant, who's to say I wanted to be around them?

“Possibly, but they're a bit younger than him. The eldest wouldn't be any older than fifteen,” Hildy replied.

“I'm fifteen,” I said through a mouthful of porridge. “Fifteen! I was taking you for much older … at least sixteen or seventeen!” Hildy exclaimed. “You're a big lad for your age.”

Her response didn't surprise me, although it did please me. I was always being mistaken for older. My mother
said this was half the reason for the problems I'd got into over the past year, and my father—well, my father didn't know, or care, about any of it.

I
FOLLOWED HILDY
out of the kitchen and we circled around to the back of the house.

“Now I want you to wait right here. There's too much happening in the kitchen for you to wait in there. I'll fetch somebody to bring you up to the staff house and get you settled in,” Hildy said. “I've got to get back to the kitchen and into my work.”

I nodded.

Instead of rushing back, Hildy stood there staring at me. I felt uncomfortable.

“Well?” she asked.

“Well, what?”

“Aren't you forgetting something?”

I looked down. I had my bag. “I don't think so.”

“It's apparent you forgot something … your manners …

or don't they say thank you when somebody makes you breakfast where you come from?”

“Yeah, I guess I forgot … thanks,” I muttered.

“Oh, don't mention it,” she smiled. “That was nothing at all. It does me a world of good to feed a lad with such a fine appetite. It's a good thing the Bells are wealthy people, though, or they couldn't afford to feed you for the summer.” She chuckled to herself as she walked away and disappeared around the side of the house.

I looked around. I could now see more clearly the buildings that I'd first spied as I walked up the driveway, as well as many others. There were at least a dozen
structures, some not much larger than a big shed and others that looked like warehouses. All the buildings were connected by gravel pathways which stood out reddish-brown against the lush green grass that covered everything else. Along the back of the house and running out in a big U shape was a flower bed filled with a dazzling variety of different shaped and coloured flowers.

As my gaze ran along the length of the garden I was startled by the sight of an old man crouched in among the flowers, staring at me. He was dressed in dirty old work clothing and had a thick white beard and a mass of hair that flowed in a thousand different directions. He held a hoe in one hand and some weeds in the other. He motioned for me to come to him. I hesitated, but his gesturing became more animated until I started moving. I stopped when I was standing over top of him.

“What do you think?” he asked.

“Think? About what?”

“The flowers. What do you think about the flowers, the way they're arranged?”

“I don't know anything about flowers,” I answered.

“I didn't ask about your horticultural knowledge, I asked what you thought. Even when you don't have any knowledge you still have an opinion. What do you think of the way I've planted them … the way they're arranged?”

“They're all right, I guess.”

“Do you think there are too many of the purple flowers?” he asked.

I looked along the length of the bed. “There is a lot of purple,” I admitted.

He looked disappointed.

“But I like 'em. They're pretty,” I added. “What are they called?”

His face instantly brightened. “They're a type of petunia. They're my favourite. Every year when I plant the flower beds I sneak in a few more of them. There were none here when I first started.”

Now I looked at the garden more carefully. There were hundreds of petunias. He must have been here a long time. “How long ago did you start?”

“It's coming up to almost thirty years.”

“Thirty years! You've been a gardener here for a long time,” I exclaimed.

“It is a long time, but I do a little bit more than just the gardening.”

“I guess you must think this is a pretty good place to work.”

“Best place in the world as far as I'm concerned. No place else I'd rather be. Can you lend me a hand getting up?” he asked, reaching out an arm.

I grabbed his hand. He was surprisingly solid and I strained to pull him to his feet.

“The legs get a little stiff when I've been weeding too long,” he admitted. “So, have you come here to work for the summer?”

“If I can make it through.”

He gave me a puzzled look, the lines on his forehead furrowing into deep grooves.

“It's just … it wasn't my idea to come up here. I wanted to stay at home.”

“And where is home?”

“Halifax. I live with my mother and sister … and my father.”

“I can understand. It's hard to leave your family behind—”

“And my friends,” I interrupted.

“And your friends.”

“And besides, I heard that Mr. Bell is a little …”

I stopped. It probably wasn't wise to be saying any of this since he must know Bell pretty well after having worked here all those years. If I wasn't careful, I could end up getting fired before I'd even started my job. Then, in a flash, I realized that if I did get fired I could simply go back home … or wherever else I decided to go instead.

“Heard that Mr. Bell is a little what?” he asked. “Batty.”

“Batty? What on earth does that mean?” he wondered. “You know, a little bit round the bend, sort of touched.” “Ah, touched! You mean like some kind of a nut!” He laughed.

“Yes, I guess that's what they mean.”

“How interesting, how very interesting,” he said, shaking his head and continuing to laugh softly to himself. “And what about you? Do you think he's, what was that word you used, ‘batty'?”

“I've never met the man,” I admitted.

“You show wisdom in suspending judgment until you've met him, although I know for a fact many of the things he does seem peculiar to many folks.”

“You must know him pretty well after all these years.” “Indeed I do, although I must admit, as the years pass I seem to learn some new things and at the same time
discover many of the old ideas were incorrect. And what is your name, laddie?”

“Billy, Billy McCracken.”

“Billy is a fine name … for a goat. I shall call you William. That is your given name, is it not?”

“Yeah, but nobody but my mother and my … nobody but my mother calls me that.”

“Well, there shall now be another who addresses you by your formal name.”

I shrugged. “What's your name?”

“I'm sorry, William, how impolite of me. I'm called many things too, but since I'm addressing you by your first name I suggest you should call me by my given name, Alexander. If you feel that's too forward, I can address you as Mr. McCracken and you may refer to me by my surname … Mr. Bell.”

Chapter Four

M
Y HEART SKIPPED A
few beats and I swallowed hard to make it start ticking again. Mr. Bell climbed completely out of the flower bed. His laughter became deeper and louder as he walked away toward the big house. I watched him go, and I could still hear him chuckling as he reached the door. He turned around with a big grin on his face, waved and entered the house.

It seemed pretty clear to me that some of the things I'd heard about him were at least halfway true; he did strike me as an odd old bird. I wondered whether I'd really offended him, and if he was even now making arrangements to send me home. It wouldn't be the worst thing, I decided, although having to cable my mother, and then have her send me money for the fare, wouldn't be pleasant. Especially having to lie to her about what happened to the five dollars she'd given me.

My thoughts were interrupted when I caught sight of a man moving quickly toward me.

“Are you McCracken?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“I'm Mr. McGregor. I'm the foreman. Come this way,” he said, as he spun on his heels and started walking quickly away.

He was an older man, short and bandy-legged, but I had to move pretty fast to keep up with him. I hurried and fell in step beside him. “Where are we going?”

“Staff house. You've been assigned a room. You'll leave your bag there and I'll give you a tour of the grounds. Let you see what sorts of things go on here.”

“Does everybody who works here live at the staff house?” I questioned.

“No, only a few of the employees. Most live in the area and return to their homes in the evening. Nearly all of us live in Baddeck. It's only those ‘guests' from the outside who live in the staff house.”

“Guests?”

“That's just what the Bells call us. We're all employees, paid by the Bells, but they don't treat us like we're just workers.”

“Huh?”

“You'll find it pretty darn interesting to work around here. Hardly ever a dull moment, and if you do your job, and work hard, you'll be treated better than fair. The Bells are good people. Treat everybody mighty fine.”

“Can you tell me what I'll be doing?”

“Everything.”

“What do you mean everything?” I asked with dread. “You'll try your hand at near every job on the estate.

Mr. Bell likes new people, especially the young ones, to sample everything that's going on.”

“I guess he wants to see what people are good at,” I suggested.

“That's part of it. The other part is that he considers this to be more than a job. It's part of your education. You'll have
a chance to see what might be your future. I can't even count the number of young men and women who came up here for the summer and discovered what they wanted to do with their lives. Here we are,” he said, holding open the door to a large, two-storey building. As with everything else in Baddeck, it was covered in a fresh coat of white paint.

“How many live in the staff house?”

“Right now there are only nine … correction, you make ten. That means you get your own room. Later in the season there'll be twenty or more people, and some of you will have to double up. We haven't had as many workers since the war started, though. Mostly young boys like yourself, a few who are unfit for military service but can still swing an axe or plough a field. Rest are old codgers like me. Your room is directly at the top of the stairs. Put your things away and meet me in front of the house in fifteen minutes.”