Читать книгу Bitsy Finds the Clue: A Mystery of Williamsburg Old and New - Augusta Huiell Seaman - Страница 9
ОглавлениеTHE CURIOUS CONDUCT OF COLONEL ROMNEY
Beneath the noseless statue of old Governor Botetort, in front of Wren Hall, two students loitered, at noontime some two days later. One was Bitsy, the other the stalwart, blond Duff, and both were waiting to meet Celeste, who was detained by a French class. The late October weather still held mild and sunny, and crowds of other students were drifting by on their way to lunch in the dining-hall.
“Can’t think why Celeste is so long,” vouchsafed Duff. “She promised to meet me here and have a sandwich at the Coffee Shoppe and go for a little stroll afterward. Don’t get a chance to see so much of her lately, since Miss Abby’s got a grouch and won’t let me come to the house!” He grinned ruefully.
“I’ve got to see her too, for a minute,” admitted Bitsy. “She left earlier than I did this morning, and Eliza wants her to do some errands in town before she comes back this afternoon. I knew she’d be passing here, so I said I’d tell her. I’ve got to stay late for a math class this afternoon. Kind of hard on you, isn’t it, Duff? Miss Abby acting so cantankerous!”
“Sure is, but we’ll weather it somehow! They’re a strange lot, all of them—I mean the Romneys—except Miss Eva. The old Colonel sort of likes me, I think, but he’s right under Miss Abby’s thumb, same as Miss Eva.”
“Duff, I want to ask you something,” suddenly interrupted Bitsy. “I’m just sort of curious, and I hate to be always asking Celeste about her relatives. What is Colonel Drew always working at when he sits writing all day at his desk, surrounded by a lot of old books and letters and things?”
“Oh, didn’t you know?” Duff replied. “Why, I understand he’s writing a history of the Romney family. Been working on it for years. It seems they were always very prominent in this town’s affairs and the State too, from earliest Colonial times, and he’s made it his life work of late years to write up their history in this part of the country. Celeste says he’s been at it ever since she can remember. She thinks he’s sort of lost some of his enthusiasm about it the last few years, for some reason he never would explain, but he still digs away at it off and on. Keeps him busy and takes his mind off of other troubles, I suppose.”
“He acts so strangely about it, sometimes, when I happen to come in the room,” added Bitsy. “You know he writes at that big secretary desk in the living-room. And if I happen to enter the door, he just quietly stops, puts all his books away, shoves his writing in a drawer and gets up and walks off. It makes me feel sort of queer, as if I’d interrupted him, or he didn’t want me to know what he was doing, or ask about it—or something. I’ve got so I always peek in first now, and if he’s busy at it, I just walk off and don’t go in!”
Duff shook his head as if the riddle were too much for him, and at that moment Celeste joined them and the conversation ended for the time. It was, however, no later than that same evening that Bitsy was to happen upon another most curious phase of the problem.
Celeste had gone off after dinner to rehearse in a play that the senior class was to give the following month. She had confided to Bitsy that she wouldn’t have gone, except that she had quite an important part and couldn’t be spared. She had made it a rule since Miss Eva’s departure, to be on hand at home as much as possible and help out there. But this was a matter which could not very well be dodged. So Bitsy had promised to do her part by helping Eliza get Miss Abby off to bed at the proper time, see that the Colonel had his glass of milk and cracker that he always took before retiring, and generally keep an eye on things till her return. And Celeste had departed with a free mind.
The evening had proceeded in its usual way. After dinner Bitsy sat in the living-room, busy at the table on her work for the next day. Miss Abby and the Colonel had sat by the open fire, for the evening had turned chilly, reading and conversing in their usual desultory manner. On this particular evening Miss Abby had chosen to converse with Bitsy at quite unusual length on the subject of her studies, and seemed more than ordinarily human in her interest. Bitsy always felt a trifle shy with Miss Abby and could never seem to relax into friendly chat with her as she did with Miss Eva. But on this occasion Miss Abby was remarkably kind and friendly, and finally asked Bitsy to help her to her room without the aid of Eliza, who, she confided, was sometimes clumsy and prone to step on her toes or jerk her about with well-meant but unnecessary energy. Very much flattered at being singled out to give this “pernickety” old lady assistance, Bitsy did her best and was rewarded by a kindly good night and pat on the shoulder when she had landed Miss Abby safely in her own quarters.
Then she went to the kitchen to get the Colonel’s tray of milk and crackers from Eliza, and tell her she would not be needed any longer that night, but could retire to her own cabin out beyond the garden.
“Bress yo’ heart, honey!” groaned Eliza. “Ah done feel dat stiff wid de rheumatics an’ de misery in mah back dis night—Ah’m glad Ah kin git ter bed right smack off. Dere’s gwine ter be a change in de wedder—yo’ mark ma words, honey! Ah kin feel it comin’ on, in mah ol’ bones. De autumn storms is mos’ hyah—an’ Ah doan lak de autumn. Hit mos’ always brings trubble in dis yere house. Yo’ ain’t heard no mo’ o’ dem tap-tappin’ sounds at night, hab yo’?”
“No,” said Bitsy as she took up the tray. “I haven’t—and I hope I don’t either!”
“Well, yo’ look out fo’ dem hall an’ stairs—dey ain’t safe! Yo’ hyah me talkin’, chile?” Bitsy nodded solemnly, and fled with the tray to the living-room. Sometimes Eliza made her flesh creep and her blood chill with those eerie warnings!
The Colonel accepted his evening refreshments from her with his customary old-time courtesy, thanked her and consumed them in silence while she went on with her work. When he had finished, she removed the tray to the kitchen and, returning, gathered up her books and bade him good night. Then she went upstairs to continue her studying in her own room. Privately she had decided that she would wait up till Celeste’s return and have a chat with her before they both retired. But the evening was still early, scarcely more than nine, and she knew her friend would not be back much before eleven. So she lighted the fire on her own little hearth and huddled over it for warmth, while she wrestled with some difficult Latin translation. It must have been nearly an hour later that, having finished her Latin and turning to her mathematics, she discovered that she had left her algebra textbook down somewhere in the living-room. Taking her pocket flashlight (there being no electricity in the house) she prepared to go down and get it, deciding that Colonel Romney must have long since gone to his own room.
She had reached the head of the stairs before she realized that something unwonted and strange was going on down below. The lower hall was lighted dimly by an oil-lamp in an elaborate bracket hung from the ceiling, and this lamp had been left lighted till Celeste’s return. But to Bitsy’s enormous astonishment, she beheld, at the foot of the staircase, the figure of Colonel Drew Romney, upon his hands and knees, his gold-headed cane lying beside him, and two lighted candles standing on the lower step. What he was doing, she could not make out at first, and a sheer fascination of curiosity kept her standing there, unobserved, for she had long since taken off her ties and put on a pair of soft bedroom slippers that had made no sound. Presently she saw what he was engaged in, and her wonder grew by leaps and bounds.
For Colonel Drew Romney, his gold-rimmed eyeglasses dangling by their black ribbon, his white moustache and goatee fairly trembling with earnestness, was prying and poking at the boards in the hallway near the bottom step of the stairway, with an open penknife, which he suddenly laid down to peer more closely at the boarding with—of all things!—a magnifying glass!
Bitsy could scarcely believe her eyes. And not for any consideration could she have withdrawn her fascinated gaze and returned to her room at that exciting moment. She could not understand what he was searching for. If he had merely dropped something, he would surely not be employing a magnifying glass! Presently the Colonel removed his attention from the stair, placed the candles on the floor near the wall and, without rising to his feet, changed his position so that he could examine the boards of the paneling near the floor. And in the shadows above, she still stood and watched him, breathlessly. At the first moment she had felt that perhaps she ought to make her presence known and offer to go down and help him with his search. But she speedily sensed the fact that this would be an unwelcome intrusion and the consciousness had been forced on her that she should not then be spying on him. She was just about to tiptoe reluctantly back to her room, when suddenly, without warning, he rose stiffly to his feet, stooped for his cane, reached for one of the candles and replaced it on the hall table where it evidently belonged. Then he rescued the other, replaced it and blew them both out. And Bitsy, fearful of being discovered, retreated hastily to her own room and closed the door. Later she heard him come slowly and softly up the stairs and retire to his own quarters at the end of the hall. But there was no more studying for her that night!
When Celeste returned shortly before eleven, she found a strangely wakeful Bitsy waiting for her, with an excited gleam in her brown eyes, and was prompted to ask:
“What’s the matter, old dear? You look as if you’d seen the family ‘ghost’! Anything happen while I was away?” And Bitsy took a sudden resolve. She had not at first intended to tell Celeste what she had seen that evening, as she always felt shy of intruding on any family matters. But when Celeste had inquired so pointedly, she determined to give her an account of the whole affair, and did so, with full details. Perhaps, she thought, her friend ought to know of this queer occurrence, especially since her family relations had lately become so complicated. Celeste listened to it all in silence, a queer, determined expression dawning in her fine gray eyes. At the end she sat silent for a moment, and suddenly burst into a most unexpected declaration:
“Look here, Bitsy, old thing! I’m not going to stand this business any longer. What you’ve just told me has made up my mind for me, and I’m going to get up and act about it now—and you’re going to help me, if you will—and we’ll get Duff in on it too!” She stopped impressively.
“I—I don’t know what you mean, I’m afraid!” stammered Bitsy, amazed at her friend’s sudden and enigmatic vehemence.
“I mean I’m going to find out what this is all about—I’m going to chase down this family mystery and get it solved—once and for all! I’ve got a perfect right to! I’m one of the family, when all’s said and done. Mother is own niece of all these folks here. We’ve got a right to be let in on it. I’ve known for a long time that something is preying on the minds of Aunt Abby and Uncle Drew, though they haven’t apparently told even Aunt Eva. And they’re both old and feeble and can’t get about much, and it hampers them a lot in trying to solve whatever they are trying to solve. I believe that if we could get this mystery cleared up, things here would change and be a lot happier. And there’s no sense why they shouldn’t all be happy in their old age—and let the rest of us be happy too.
“But I can’t do it alone—I’m so busy at college and all that. I need help. And you and Duff could lend a hand if you will. We might even get Aunt Eva in on it when she comes back. What do you say, Bitsy child? Are you game?”
“Sure I’m game!” declared Bitsy loyally, thrilled to be taken thus into the innermost secrets of the mysterious Romney affairs. “But—but how are you going to go about it, Celeste? Have you any plan?”
“Nary a plan—just yet—it’s too sudden. But we’ll have to think it over and talk it over a lot. I know a good many things I’ve never told you yet—things that have happened in the past. I never thought about them much at the time, but they probably all have a bearing on what’s going on now. We’ll dope out this Romney mystery—or I’ll eat my chemistry textbooks! You hear me talking, child?”
They discussed the affair excitedly, far into the night, and then retired, wide-eyed and sleepless, having definitely planned to begin operations the very next day.
