The Marshland Mystery (13 page)

“I wonder where she could be?” Mart asked, pretending to look all around the room and under the table.

“You can stop being silly, both of you. And I can do the dishes without any china-breakers pretending to help me!” And Trixie elevated a snub nose at both her big brothers.

“Ah! But it’s a poor job that doesn’t need a boss to watch it!” Mart grinned. “So I’ll hang around and keep you amused with my witty sallies while you labor.”

But a little later, when Brian and their mother had left, Mart and Trixie washed and dried the dishes and forgot all about their little squabble as Trixie told Mart about Gaye and the borrowed white dress that had seemed to startle Miss Rachel.

“I can hardly wait for Dad to get home so I can find out who Emily was,” Trixie concluded.

“Ah! A mystery, hey? Well, it’s been all of a couple of weeks since we had one kicking around here!” Mart teased.

“You can laugh, but if you’d seen Miss Rachel’s face when she saw Gaye, you’d wonder, too!”

Out of the Past ● 12

THEY WERE ALMOST finished with the dishes when the phone in the study rang. It was a mad dash, but Trixie got to it first and heard Honey’s voice.

“Hi, Honey!” she said, settling down in her father’s overstuffed chair, with her feet over the side. “How’s it going?”

Mart waved a dishcloth at her from the doorway and melted away back to the kitchen. “Don’t talk all night!” he called back and then disappeared.

Honey’s voice sounded a little worried. “Gaye’s in bed, resting till the last minute before the people start arriving. She looks to Miss Trask as if she might have a fever, but Miss Crandall says it is just that she’s so high-strung and so nervous after her shocking experience this afternoon!”

“What she needs is a spank or two,” Trixie said with a disgusted snort. “Her aunt must know that she hid up in that loft deliberately when I was trying to find her.

If she had answered me, none of the rest of it would have happened.”

“I suppose Miss Crandall does know it, and she’s probably furious with Gaye.” Honey’s worried tones turned to a giggle. “Gaye’s maid told Miss Trask that Miss Crandall doesn’t dare to cross Gaye too often, because Gaye gets even by pretending to be too ill to practice and then has to be coddled and bribed.”

“One good thing,” Trixie said, laughing, “she won’t be able to cause an uproar very much longer. She’ll have to leave soon on her tour.”

“Thank goodness!” Honey said quickly and then seemed to feel ashamed. “Oh, I shouldn't have said that. I guess we don’t realize that it can’t be much fun to be a child prodigy.”

“I s’pose that’s true,” Trixie admitted soberly. “Moms says that she’s glad there are no prodigies in our house. We’re about as far from that as we can get, I guess.”

“Who cares?” Honey had her laugh back. “I wouldn’t want to live with one, I know. Not if they’re all like our dear little Gaye!”

“It would be a shame if she disappointed all those people who have promised to come tonight, Trixie said indignantly.

“It really would,” Honey agreed, “especially after Mother and her committee have worked so hard.”

“Well, I guess that’s how it is with prodigies.” Trixie sighed sympathetically.

Mart appeared in the doorway. He had a wedge of blueberry pie in his hand and a rim of blue around his lips. “You can stop stalling here now. I just scrubbed the last of the pans,” he said and took another bite.

“Ugh! Excuse me, Honey; I’ve got to go now,” Trixie said into the phone, “but call me again if anything exciting happens.” She hung up the receiver and glared at Mart. “I suppose you know that’s the last piece of pie!”

“Sad, but true,” Mart admitted, gulping another chunk.

“It happens to have been
my
piece,” Trixie told him coldly. “I didn’t eat it at dinner because I was saving it for breakfast. And now you’re gobbling it!”

“Dear me, I’m so sorry!” Mart grinned with blue teeth. “I only did it to save you from falling a victim to excessive avoirdupois, dear sibling!”

“Hmph!” Trixie snorted scornfully, but a moment later she giggled. Mart had tried to cram the last large bite of pie into his mouth as he finished speaking, but he had dropped half of it on his shirt. “That’ll learn yuh to watch your langwidge, podner!” she teased as she started past him into the hall.

“Hey, wait a minute, Trix!” Mart looked with dismay at the mess on his clean white shirt. “Gosh, how can I get this stuff off my shirt? Moms will scalp me! I was supposed to wear it to school Monday,”

“Gleeps! You’ll start a new style!” Trixie laughed.

“Quit clowning, sis!” Mart pleaded. “What will take the stain out?”

“Hm-m-m.” Trixie pretended to be thinking hard. “Let’s see now. Should it be soaked in milk or—no, that’s ink stains. Salt and lemon juice? Nope, that’s for rust.”

“Come on-n!” Mart begged. “Have a heart!” He had an inspiration. “I’ll help you cart those weeds to school Monday morning if you lend me a hand with this mess.”

“It’s a promise!” Trixie twinkled. “Okay, I remember now! On to the kitchen. March!”

Mart had a little trouble getting the stained shirt off without spreading the gooey stains, but he finally managed it while Trixie was putting on the teakettle.

When the water started to boil, Trixie spread the stained shirt over a large mixing bowl and held it stretched taut. “All right, now,” she told Mart, “hold the kettle as high as you can and pour the boiling water through the stain. But don’t splatter it on me, or I’ll yell so loud old Miss Martin out at the marsh will hear me!” Mart stood on a chair and tipped the steaming kettle over the bowl.

“It’s starting to fade!” Trixie exclaimed excitedly. “What is this?” Brian’s voice came from the doorway. “You witches brewing up a love potion or something?”

“I’m saving his life—not that he deserves it,” Trixie answered, and, when Mart had finished pouring the boiling water and had jumped down off the chair, she held up the shirt for Brian to see. “just like new—if you don’t look too closely. Kind of a pale blue shadow.” She handed it to Mart. “Hang it on the service porch. If you ask me sweetly in the morning, I’ll iron it for you.”

“You’re reah-lly not a bad sort, sistah deah!” Mart held an imaginary monocle to his eyes. “Thanks awf’ly!”

“You two!” Brian chuckled.

“Anything going on over at Wheelers’ yet?” Trixie asked, perching on the end of the kitchen table and swinging her legs as she bit into an apple.

“People are starting to arrive. And I caught a glimpse of the little fairy princess watching from the window when I let Moms out at the front entrance.”

“I hope that means she’s going to perform. Honey said she was still jittery after this afternoon, according to Miss Trask.”

“I wouldn’t know. I just dropped Moms, had a little gab with Dad, and dashed on back.” Brian chose an apple for himself and leaned against the table beside Trixie as Mart came back in from the service porch.

“I hope Dad and Moms come home before I have to go to bed,” Trixie told Brian. “I’m dying to ask Dad if he knows who Emily could be.”

“Was
is the word,” Brian said calmly.

“Brian! You found out! Who was she?” Trixie demanded eagerly.

“Rachel Martin’s little sister. She was drowned in the swamp the night that the Martin mansion burned down.”

“Oh, my goodness!” Trixie’s blue eyes were like saucers. “Go on!”

“It was a pretty awful thing, Dad says. Especially for Miss Rachel. They were the last of their family.”

Trixie was silent for a moment. Then she said soberly, “No wonder she hates that swamp! But I wonder why she still lives there. The fire was forty years ago.”

“Dad says that the talk around the bank is that she blames herself for the little girl’s death, and living there is a sort of way of punishing herself. Besides, she has no other place to go.”

“Why does she blame herself?” Mart asked. “Did she-start the fire or something like that?”

Brian shook his head. “No. Dad says it’s supposed to have started in the summer kitchen from grease that caught fire on the stove. The house went up so fast that there was hardly time to get some of the priceless antique furniture and family silver out. The servants did what they could, but the flames moved too fast.”

“I saw some old trunks up in the barn loft. I suppose they’re part of the stuff that was salvaged,” Trixie said, “and I saw some lovely old furniture in the cottage when I peeked in this afternoon.”

“Miss Snoop,” Mart said, and before Trixie could think of something in her own defense, he went on. “I still would like to hear why Miss Rachel thinks she’s to blame for what happened to her sister.”

“Dad was a little vague about that, but he thought it was because Miss Rachel, as Emily’s big sister, had punished her for some mischief and sent her to bed without supper. When the fire started, the servants forgot all about little Emily being up in her bedroom, and it was Rachel herself who found her there, unconscious from the smoke, and brought her down through the smoke and flames. She put the little girl safely on the lawn and then ran back inside again to get some papers of her father’s. When she came back, Emily was gone. No one had seen her in all the excitement.”

Trixie and Mart had listened intently, shocked by the old tragedy. Mart nodded somberly as his brother ended. “And when they did find her in the swamp, it was too late?” he asked.

“That’s right,” Brian agreed. “And Miss Rachel blamed herself for leaving the child for the few minutes it took her to find her father’s papers and save them. She had a nervous breakdown and was in a sanitarium for months. Then she moved into the marsh cottage that had been the servants’ quarters, and she’s lived there ever since, all alone.”

“No wonder she looked as if she’d seen a ghost today,” Trixie said with a shudder. “Gaye, with her yellow curls like Emily’s, walking out of the barn in what must have been Emily’s dress!”

“Who told you what color Emily’s hair was?” Brian asked.

“Why, Miss Rachel was talking to me just before Gaye started pounding on the barn door, and she said something about Emily’s curls being ‘long and yellow, too.’ ”

The two boys exchanged quick looks. “Too?” Mart said quickly. “You mean she
had
already seen Gaye? I thought she denied that.”

“Maybe Gaye wasn’t lying when she said Miss Rachel had purposely locked her in the barn!” Brian added.

“No, no,
no!
She
hadn't
seen Gaye.
I
told her about Gaye’s curls being long and yellow when I went to the door to ask if she had seen Gaye!” Trixie explained.

“That’s different,” Brian said with relief. “Glad to hear it. I’d hate to think Trent had guessed right about an attempted kidnapping. You had me holding my breath!” He looked suddenly toward the open window, then held up his hand. “Listen!”

They all heard it then. Faintly, from the Wheeler mansion high on the hill beyond the Belden wood lot, the sound of violin music was clear on the night air.

Trixie dashed to the back door and flung it open so they could hear more clearly. “It’s Gaye, all right!” she said in an excited whisper. “She got over her sulks!”

At a pause in the music, Brian whispered, “Wow-ee! The kid is good, good, good!”

But Mart snickered. “I bet Miss Crandall would send us a bill if she knew we were enjoying it for free!”

All Trixie said was “Shhh!” as the music started again. She closed her eyes and imagined little Gaye, in the bright gypsy costume of yesterday, standing alone on a stage, her tiny, thin fingers moving expertly on the string of the big violin while she guided her bow across them, now slowly, now at full tempo, in the flashing gypsy music.

“Nice going,” Mart murmured, forgetting to be funny in his real admiration for the little girl’s skill.

Trixie frowned and said “Shhh!” again, but just as she said it, the music stopped abruptly in the middle of a particularly brilliant passage.

For a moment they waited in silence, looking at each other inquiringly. But there was no more of the gay gypsy music from the Wheelers’.

“What do you think happened?” Trixie broke the silence after a long moment.

“Mebbe so stling bloke,” Mart said in his best pidgin English dialect. “Find more stling; play more!”

Trixie threw a reproachful look at her almost-twin. “It isn’t funny. I just hope that’s all that’s wrong!”

Good Intentions
•
13

THERE SHE GOES!” Mart told Brian, with a grin that made Trixie’s face redden. “A violin string breaks, and right away she smells a big deal. Har, har!” he teased his sister. “Relax, dearie!”

Brian saw that Trixie’s temper was rising. “Relax yourself, son,” he told his younger brother. “Trixie’s hunches usually pay off. And with that small imp Gaye around, anything could be happening over there at Wheelers' right now. Gaye could have broken the violin over her aunt’s head, for instance.”

Trixie giggled at the picture his words invoked, and Mart couldn’t help joining in.