Читать книгу Bitsy Finds the Clue: A Mystery of Williamsburg Old and New - Augusta Huiell Seaman - Страница 5

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At half-past four in the afternoon, the September sun is very hot in old Williamsburg. It blazed down on the college campus, mitigated by only a slight breeze which scarcely stirred the foliage of the tall trees in front of Wren Hall. Celeste, coming around one corner of the building on her way to her fraternity house, paused in the shade of the Hall to enjoy its slight coolness for a moment, and in so doing, her eye caught an arresting sight. Leaning against the pedestal of old Lord Botetort’s noseless statue was a red-haired, dejected little figure whose every line bespoke discouragement and woe.

“Why, I do believe it’s little Bitsy!” she exclaimed aloud. “I’d almost forgotten her these last two days. Wonder what’s the matter?”

“Hello, Bitsy dear!” she called on her way over. “Haven’t seen you for a spell. You don’t look too peppy! Is anything wrong?”

“Everything!” muttered Bitsy Bates, packing all her tribulations into one expressive word. Then she lapsed into silence and concentrated her gaze on the disfigured face of the one-time Colonial Governor’s likeness.

“Well, do tell me about it!” exclaimed Celeste, putting her arm around the drooping shoulders of the younger girl. “Homesick—are you? I’m a beast not to have looked you up oftener the last two or three days, but, honest-to-goodness, what with getting my schedule arranged and helping to get the fraternity house running and planning for the ‘rushing season’, and one thing and another, I haven’t had a moment to myself. I’m terribly sorry! I ought to have been with you a bit more, but it was literally impossible. Things’ll be better from now on. What’s gone wrong, honey?”

Bitsy Bates said nothing for a moment, then she turned and looked Celeste squarely in the eye. “I can’t stand it another day. I’m going to pack up and go home tomorrow!” she announced with stubborn distinctness. Celeste was startled and shocked.

“You’re not!” she cried protestingly. “What would your parents say? You can’t do that!”

“I can and I will,” Bitsy persisted. “I’m sick of it all. I hate everyone—except you, and I scarcely ever see you at all. I’m lonesome. I’m frightfully homesick. My roommate and I don’t get on together at all. I don’t know anybody hardly to speak to. I spent all yesterday—that was Sunday—just sitting in my room or roaming around this town—alone. I can’t stand it! I never dreamed it would be like this!” Her self-control gave way suddenly and she burst into wild sobs. For a few moments Celeste could only hold her shaking little body and soothe her with inarticulate murmurs. She hoped that no one would come by, for she didn’t want any uproarious or unsympathetic students to witness the crushed unhappiness of this pathetic little newcomer. Presently Bitsy got herself in hand, ceased the wrenching sobs and dried her eyes.

“Gosh!—I hate being so silly, but—but—I sort of feel better for—acting like a baby!” she sighed. “But I haven’t had anyone—anyone! I come here and hang around old Botetort for company. Poor old noseless fellow!—Seems as if he’d had some hard going too, sometime or other!” She grinned forlornly and Celeste gave her a sympathetic hug.

“Well, you’re going to cut all this out—from now on. You hear me!” she announced. “It’s been all my fault, but I was rather helpless about it before this. From now on, though, it’s going to be different. I want you to go over to the Library and wait for me there a little while. I’ve got to go to my fraternity house and do a little work that will keep me about half an hour. Wish I could take you with me, but it isn’t allowed. But I’ll stop at the Library for you when I’m through. After that, you’re coming home with me and have dinner and this evening we’ll go to the movies. There’s a good show on tonight. Are you game?”

“Oh, I’d love to!” sighed Bitsy. “You’re—you’re awfully good to me!” And she strolled over to the college Library and spent a quiet half-hour of anticipation in its cool and soothing silence. Celeste was certainly a dear! she mused. If everyone were like her, college would be heaven! But all the same, she—Bitsy Bates—was going home tomorrow. That was final!

Presently she saw Celeste in the doorway, and hurried over to meet her. And the two went out together into the hot sunlight.

“Which dormitory are you in?” asked Bitsy. “Jefferson—or Chandler or what?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” exclaimed her companion. “I don’t room in any of the dormitories. I’m in town, staying with my aunts and uncle. The old Romney House. I thought I told you. You see, Dad and Mother live in New Jersey. Dad’s business is in New York, and I go up to them for the vacations. But when I’m at college, I stay with my relatives at the house in town. It’s cheaper for us than room and board in the college, and the folks here need the money pretty badly, in these hard times. They’re my great-aunts and great-uncle really and they’re quite old, but they love having me with them. You see, Mother was born and brought up here before she married Dad and went to live up North. I get just as much college life, through the fraternity, but it has its advantages—living at what’s practically your own home, this way. You’re much freer in a good many ways. Come along now! You’ll like the house, I think. It’s a quaint old place.”

They crossed a corner of the campus and made for the Duke of Gloucester Street. This wide avenue, stretching a mile long, from Wren Hall, facing it at one end, to the distant “restored” House of Burgesses at the other, lay dreaming in the hot afternoon sunlight. Quaint and dignified old Colonial houses lined it at intervals on both sides. Even the new commercial buildings and shops near the college end partook of that old-time atmosphere in their architecture, with their ancient-looking gables and tiny-paned windows, instead of the ordinary plate-glass array of a modern age.

“Let’s stop at the Coffee Shoppe and have some soda—or ice-cream—my treat!” suggested Bitsy shyly, anxious to do her part in the afternoon’s entertainment.

“That’ll be jolly,” agreed Celeste, and they went in to refresh themselves, coming out to stroll on eastward along Duke of Gloucester Street.

“Great old town—isn’t it!” smiled Celeste, as Bitsy commented excitedly on Bruton Parish Church and the ancient brick and wooden residences dreaming in the shade and sun of that wide and lovely avenue. “You should have seen it, though, before the ‘restoration’ began! Quite a different proposition, let me tell you! My folks don’t like this ‘restoration’ business at all, but I think it’s wonderful.”

And then, as Bitsy seemed rather hazy on the subject of “the Restoration”, she went on to explain how one of the country’s wealthiest citizens had decided to spend some of his millions in restoring this marvelous example of a Colonial town to its ancient appearance, removing eventually all signs of modern invasion, and presenting it as a memorial for all time to the nation, in a true picture of its early Colonial aspect.

“I think that’s great!” exclaimed Bitsy. “It’s a grand way to use one’s money. I should think everyone who lived here would be crazy about it.”

“Most of them are,” said Celeste, “and have given their homes gladly to be ‘restored’. They can still go on living in them, you know. But my folks have a queer ‘kink’, somehow. I don’t understand it myself, but they just won’t let that house be touched. It’s a beautiful old place, too. One of the oldest and most interesting in the town. Our ancestors have lived in it from the first. I don’t think Aunt Eva would mind so much. She’s the youngest and has more modern ideas. But Uncle Drew and Aunt Abigail won’t hear of it. Let’s turn down England Street here. Our house is on Francis Street.”

Bitsy was never to forget her first day in the old “Romney House.” Long and low and considerably weather-beaten, it stood in the midst of a wide old box-garden, now sadly gone to seed and over-run with weeds and wild vines and uncut shrubbery. It had fascinating wings and additions in a bewildering number, and several enormous chimneys, one at the end occupying the entire side of the house. And if from its clapboards the ancient paint was peeling, its windows were snowy-curtained, and the grand old trees about it threw a cooling shade over its shabby exterior. Two flowering crêpe-myrtle bushes that flanked the doorway were still radiantly in bloom, and the scent of the box-garden perfumed the quiet afternoon air.

On a wide porch at the back, overlooking another stretch of garden, Bitsy was introduced to Celeste’s relatives. She was considerably overawed by white-haired Colonel Drew Romney, with his stately manners and the gold-headed cane he was never without, since he suffered greatly from rheumatism. And equally white-haired, decrepit and constantly trembling Miss Abigail Romney, who seldom rose from her chair without assistance, and whose sharp black eyes and aquiline features proclaimed her unquestionably the “martinet” of the trio. But she fell in love at once with gentle, charming Miss Eva, whose wavy gray hair was piled regally on top of her head in a quaint but singularly becoming manner, whose big gray eyes resembled Celeste’s own, and whose delightful welcoming smile went straight to Bitsy’s heart. They all chatted a few moments on the porch, and Celeste retailed to them the news of her day. Then she excused herself and took Bitsy with her to the safe retreat of her own room upstairs, from which they could look out on the garden through three ancient gabled windows.

“Well, what do you think of it all?” inquired Celeste, when they had thrown themselves across the bed and were nibbling chocolate-bars purchased by Bitsy that afternoon. Bitsy’s eyes grew dreamy.

“I think this house is—wonderful!” she sighed at last. “And I like your aunts and uncle. I—I just love your Aunt Eva. She’s a peach—isn’t she!”

“Yes, she’s a dear,” admitted Celeste. “They’re all really pretty nice—when you get to know them. And I’m glad you like this old ranch. I’m sort of keen on it myself. Wish it were in better repair, though. By the way—to change the subject—you didn’t mean what you said about leaving college tomorrow, of course.”

“I surely did!” exclaimed Bitsy, sitting up and surveying her friend with tragic eyes. “I meant it so much that I wrote Dad and Mother yesterday—that was Sunday—that I couldn’t stand it any longer and why. I expect they’ll wire me by tomorrow and settle it with the college—somehow. But I wouldn’t spend another four days like the last—not for anything you could offer me!”

“But what exactly is the trouble?” demanded Celeste, shocked anew by this revelation and unable to unravel the puzzle of Bitsy’s obsession. “Of course it’s hard getting used to it at first. I felt it too, that freshman year, even though I was here with my own folks. I missed Mother and Dad horribly, and didn’t know any of the girls and felt awfully out of it, just at first. So did almost all of them, I found out later. But it wore off in a little while and I settled down to have a jolly good time. Why can’t you?”

“You—you don’t understand, I guess,” hesitated Bitsy. “You’re pretty and—and charming—and just bound to be popular, somehow. And you are strong—and can go in for all the athletics—and sports. And—and—well—I’m just different. I know I’m little and undersized and unattractive. I’ve been awfully ill and my heart behaves badly sometimes. I can’t go in for all the strenuous things. And I—I somehow don’t make friends easily. I—I like the nice ones but I just hate the ones that snub me and turn me down—and I show it. My roommate—she—she—well, I just can’t talk about her—but you can imagine!” Celeste could. And she saw, moreover, that tears were gathering again in Bitsy’s brown eyes at these memories.

“But you have me now,” she ventured. “And I can have you meet some really nice girls and—look here!—if things go all right perhaps you can get in to our fraternity! Wouldn’t that be grand?” But Bitsy’s hurt had gone too deep for her to rise even to that lure.

“You—you’re awfully good to say all this,” she answered, “but I still would hate it—so much of it—that dormitory, for instance. I can hardly bear to think of going back to it—even for a night. I—I’ve suffered so horribly there. No, I’m going home!” Celeste immediately sensed the full tragedy of this lonely child’s suffering in her first experience so far away from all she knew and loved. And a sudden solution sprang full-fledged into her brain.

“Look here!” she exclaimed. “How would this do? You just can’t leave William and Mary like this, without ever having tried it out and found what a swell place it really is. Suppose you change your quarters? How would you like to board here with my folks, instead of in the dorm? I’m pretty sure it could be arranged. There’s an empty room right next to this one. It’s small, but we could fix it up nicely, and old Eliza in the kitchen gives us grand meals. If the folks will agree, would your father and mother consent?” Bitsy’s eyes sparkled with delight.

“Oh, I’d love it!” she sighed ecstatically. “I know my family would think it wonderful. Do you—do you suppose your people would consent to it? I’d be awfully quiet and never any trouble.”

“I think I can persuade ’em,” said Celeste, “but one thing I must tell you first. It won’t be so convenient as the dorms. Or as comfortable. Not nearly. You see this house hasn’t had a modern improvement in it since the War Between the States, I reckon! No nice plumbing or steam heat or anything that you’re used to. The folks can’t afford it and wouldn’t hear of it anyway. You won’t be very comfortable—especially in winter, for we only have open fires to heat the place.”

“I don’t care—I don’t care a thing about that!” cried Bitsy, scornfully. “I’d rather be uncomfortable—if I can be with you. Oh, will you ask them—right away?”

“Yes,” said Celeste. “This is pretty important. You wait here while I go down and talk it over with them.”

She was gone a long while. Bitsy began to have terrible misgivings that they could not agree to the proposition. She could fancy Colonel Drew Romney and Miss Abigail flatly refusing to allow a stranger to make a home in their exclusive domicile. Finally she decided that it was hopeless and mentally began to pack her luggage while she watched two cardinals flitting about the box-garden. Then Celeste returned.

“It’s no use, I suppose,” Bitsy sighed resignedly.

“Nothing of the sort!” laughed Celeste. “They were kind of stunned at first, I’ll admit. And Aunt Abby declared you’d dislike the cooking and die of cold, and probably your parents would sue us. But Aunt Eva wanted you, and Uncle Drew thought it would be nice for me to have a young companion in the house, so it’s all settled. You’ll have to wire your parents tonight and get them to fix it up with the college, and meantime I’m going to get permission for you to spend tonight here with me, so you won’t have to go back and stay in that dreaded dorm!”

Words failing her, Bitsy could only hug Celeste convulsively. But the older girl laughingly held her off and said:

“Wait a minute! There’s something I haven’t told you yet. Maybe you’ll change your mind after you’ve heard it. This house is haunted!—at least they say it is—and even I’ve heard queer noises and things that no one could explain. Can you stand living with an honest-to-goodness ghost?”

Bitsy laughed. “If it’s haunted, so much the better! I’ve always been crazy to be in a real, actual haunted house. Never thought I’d have the chance. You can’t scare me that way!”

“Well, I may be exaggerating about the hauntedness,” admitted Celeste, soberly. “But there is some queer mystery about this place that I’ve never been able to fathom. It’s some family affair, I think, from way back. I’m sure the folks know something about it but they would never tell me. It’s for some reason connected with this that they won’t have the house ‘restored’, I rather imagine. There are certain times and periods when nothing seems to be right, when queer, weird things happen—and everyone seems ‘up in the air’, if you understand me. So don’t be surprised if you get an inkling of them. Just act as if you didn’t notice anything amiss. I think that’s the main reason they had for hesitating about having you here.”

“I’ll do anything you say, Celeste, just so long as I can be with you!” breathed Bitsy. But to herself she whispered: “Oh the joy—the luck—of going to live in a ‘haunted house’—like this!”