The Marshland Mystery (16 page)

“He sounded as if he did,” Trixie said stubbornly, “and this morning he tried to make a big thing out of it to Miss Crandall, and she almost believed him.”

“I’m sure Honey’s father settled all that for good. Stop thinking about it. It’s all over.”

Trixie was almost able to believe that—until she came down to breakfast the next morning.

The Twisted Story ● 15

MORNING, EVERYBODY,” Trixie said cheerfully, bouncing into the kitchen and dropping her books and sweater on the chair by the door so she could grab them and run for the bus when it was due.

Her father and mother and the boys were all at the table, eating quietly. Only her mother managed a subdued “Good morning, dear.”

Trixie looked around at them. “What’s wrong?”

Mart nodded glumly toward her place. “Look at your little surprise. Second column, front page.”

It was only then that she noticed the morning newspaper lying across her plate. She dashed to pick it up and look where Mart had told her to.

The heading was GAYE GOES FOR A RIDE. Trixie gasped and looked weakly around the table. Bobby was the only one who wasn’t watching her. He was busy eating.

Mr. Belden said sternly, “I don’t know what you said or did to antagonize the young man who wrote that column, but it seems to have had a bad effect.”

Trixie sank into her chair and bent her head over the paper. She read silently for a couple of minutes, then read the last paragraph of the article over again out loud, hardly believing it.

“ ‘Miss Trixie Belden of Sleepyside Junior-Senior High School took a prominent part in the finding of the missing child. Miss Belden, age thirteen, has acquired quite a reputation for solving mysteries. It is even rumored that the Bob-Whites of the Glen, an exclusive group at the school, are thinking of changing their name to The Belden Private Eyes and specializing in publicity stunts for a selected list of clients. Miss Trixie “Sherlock Holmes” Belden is their president, as it happens.’

“Oh!” Trixie’s eyes flashed. “That’s not fair! He makes it sound as if the Bob-Whites, and especially Trixie Belden, had arranged the whole thing for publicity!”

“It could be taken that way,” her father said grimly. “Can’t we make him take it back? Can’t you talk to the editor of the
Sun?”
Trixie demanded.

Mr. Belden shook his head. “I’m afraid not. He’s been clever enough not to make a direct charge that any of you arranged Gaye’s,disappearance. He hinted at it, of course. But he didn’t actually say so. The best thing you and the Bob-Whites can do is to ignore that part of the story.” He frowned. “I’d advise you to avoid any comment on it to him. Just ignore it.”

“Dad’s right, dear,” Mrs. Belden assured Trixie, who was frowning rebelliously. “After all, it’s probably only his idea of teasing you.”

Mart growled, “I’d like to take a poke at him!”

“You’ll do nothing of the kind!” his father said.

There was general silence for a moment as the three Bob-Whites exchanged resigned looks and then went on eating their breakfast.

Mrs. Belden sighed as she saw their faces. She looked appealingly at their father. “You could say something to the editor about the rest of the article, though, couldn’t you? I mean where he says that Miss Martin thought she was seeing a ghost when Gaye came out of the barn dressed in the other little girl’s clothes. He makes it sound as if Miss Martin weren’t quite sane!”

“And Miss Martin was just surprised when she saw Gaye in a dress she recognized as Emily’s, that’s all,” Trixie said. “She knew it wasn’t little Emily’s ghost!”

“I don’t think anyone will take his word for it, especially anyone who has ever talked to Miss Rachel,” her father said lightly. “She was an excellent businesswoman until the highway took away the passing cars and left her high and dry out there.”

“What did she sell?” Trixie asked, surprised. “Marvelous hooked rugs that she made herself,” her mother said quickly, “and old-fashioned patchwork quilts that people came from all over the valley to buy. You children each have one of her double-wedding-ring quilts on your bed.”

“But if she doesn’t sell anything anymore, how can she live, all alone out there? Doesn’t it cost money?” Trixie was always practical.

“You wondered the same thing about Mr. Maypenny, your ‘poacher,’ who turned out to own a nice piece of land in the middle of the Wheelers’ game preserve. He raised most of the food he needed. He trapped otter and mink in the streams and sold their skins for sugar, salt, and coffee—things that he couldn’t grow. Miss Rachel gets along without those things now, I imagine, just as our pioneer ancestors did,” Mr. Belden explained.

“Yikes!” Brian said, looking at his wristwatch. “Bobby’s bus is just about due, Trix. Better move!”

For the time being, there was no more talk about either the brash young reporter or Miss Rachel Martin.

But that afternoon, as Honey, Di, and Trixie got off the bus at the Wheeler stop, one of their schoolmates-called out through the open window jokingly, “G’bye, Miss Sherlock Holmes Belden!” There were noisy giggles from several others as the bus pulled away.

“Don’t pay any attention to those dopes,” pretty, violet-eyed Diana Lynch told Trixie, glaring after the bus. “They’ll forget that silly article by tomorrow.”

“Golly, I hope so,” Trixie said unhappily. “That’s all I’ve been hearing all day—that and people making believe they’re ghosts and going ‘whoo-whoo’ at me!”

When they reached the stable, the prospect of taking a ride in the bright spring sunshine wiped out Trixie’s annoyance. Regan had saddled Lady, Strawberry, and Starlight, and the horses were standing waiting.

Mrs. Belden had sent a basket of preserves and jellies over earlier with Mr. Belden, who had -dropped it off on his way to work at the bank.

“Don’t ride off and forget the present,” Regan reminded them. “I guess the' old lady’ll be glad to get it. Give her a change of diet. ’Specially the crab apple.” Honey reminded the girls, “Let’s hurry and change to riding things so we can get started. I’m dying to get better acquainted with Miss Rachel.”

“I want to meet her, too,” Diana seconded as they started up toward the house to change.

After just a few steps, they were surprised to see Tom Delanoy, the chauffeur, backing Mrs. Wheeler’s big car away from the house, turning it on the driveway, and coming down toward them. From a distance, the car looked empty, except for Tom.

The girls stepped aside, but to their amazement, he stopped the car beside them.

“Hi!” He grinned. “Your mom says you’re to go along to Miss Martin’s with us, Honey.”

“Us?” Honey asked. She stepped to the car and looked inside. Gaye was huddled in the rear, as far in the corner as she could get. She had Mr. Poo tight in her arms as she stared unsmilingly at Honey. The delicate white dress from Miss Rachel’s barn was very carefully arranged on the driver’s seat next to Tom.

“But we were going to ride out that way, all three of us. Can’t we take the dress in a package on one of our saddles?” Honey frowned.

“Well, your mother said—” Tom looked uneasy.

Gaye leaned forward, scowling. “You don’t need to come with me! I’m not afraid of that mean old witch!” she said defiantly—but with a telltale quaver.

It was Trixie who noticed that little quaver in Gaye’s voice. She said quickly, “Maybe we can all three go in style! Let the boys exercise the horses this afternoon. We can take their turns tomorrow afternoon, as a swap. How about it, Honey?”

“Why not? They’re always asking us to take
their
turns for some excuse or other!” Honey agreed happily.

“I’ll break the news to them,” Regan said promptly. “But you’d better climb in and get started, before they arrive and begin making excuses about why they can’t do it!” He handed the basket of preserves to Trixie. “And don’t forget the present.”

They hurriedly swarmed into the big car, and almost at once they were on their way. Gaye had been strangely silent since her one outburst. The girls began to feel uncomfortable as she stared out the car window.

“What an adorable dog!” Di said, after a long silence. “May I pet him?”

Gaye bit her lower lip. Then she nodded.

Di stroked the fluffy white head and told Gaye what a darling he was. But Gaye looked accusingly at Trixie. “I guess you didn’t mean it when you said you liked Mr. Poo,” she said in a small, hurt voice. “You didn’t even say hello to him.”

Trixie smiled. “I wanted to, but I wasn’t sure if
he
liked
me.
Those teeth look pretty sharp.”

Gaye giggled and hugged her pet. Then she bent down and pretended to listen to something he was saying. When she lifted her head, she was smiling. “He says he wouldn’t think of biting you, because he wants you to be his friend.”

Trixie patted the little dog’s back. “I’d love to, Mr. Poo,” she told him seriously, “and I’d like to be Gaye’s friend, too.”

Gaye stared at her doubtfully, and they could all see that she wasn’t sure just what to say. Honey spoke promptly. “We’d all like to be your friends, Gaye. We think you’re just wonderful. I never heard anyone play the violin as beautifully as you do.”

“It must be super to be so gifted,” Di sighed.

But instead of seeming to enjoy the compliments, Gaye frowned and leaned back to stare out of the window steadily. A shadow seemed to come over her face.

The girls exchanged puzzled looks. It seemed to all of them a strange way of acting when they had sincerely tried to compliment her.

Di tried again. “Is it really true that you’ve played before kings and queens, Gaye?” she asked with awe.

Gaye scowled and didn’t answer for a moment. Then she shrugged impatiently. “Oh, I guess so,” she said indifferently. “Aunt Della said they were. But they’re all just audiences. I play the same pieces for them as I do for the others. We stay in hotels and always keep traveling. Places are all the same, and so are audiences.” She gave a weary little sigh and slumped in her corner.

Trixie felt a tug of sympathy, but she couldn’t think of anything to say. She was glad when Tom turned his head to warn them, with a grin, “Hold on, ladies! We’re about to go over the bumps!” And a moment later, they were all giggling and bouncing around in the car as it negotiated the narrow, rough road to Miss Rachel’s cottage.

Miss Rachel was working in her flower garden as they drove up. She rose with a frown as the car stopped. But the frown disappeared when she recognized Trixie getting out. And she was most gracious as she invited the girls and the chauffeur to have a cup of mint tea.

Tom refused hastily but politely. “I’ll just stay out here and wait for them, Miss Rachel. Only, don’t let them stay long and bother you.”

“I’m sure they’ll be no bother,” she assured him. “Come along, children.”

Honey, Trixie, and Di started in with her, but Gaye held back, the poodle in her arms. “I think I’ll stay here,” she said wistfully. “Mr. Poo doesn’t like me to leave him.”

“But he’s very welcome, too, child,” Miss Rachel assured her. “We may even be able to find him a cookie.” They all trooped into the cottage, Trixie carrying the gift of preserves and Gaye holding the starched white dress. Miss Rachel gazed at the dress admiringly.

“It’s done up beautifully, dear,” she told Gaye. “I’ll hang it carefully away, in case some other young lady wants to borrow it someday.”

“It’s a very pretty dress, and I thank you,” Gaye said gravely, “and I’m sorry I was so upset yesterday.”

“That’s all right, child. Just forget it, and let’s go put the kettle on for that good hot mint tea.”

As Gaye and the poodle went cheerfully to the kitchen with Miss Rachel, the three Bob-Whites exchanged pleased looks.

“She isn’t really such a little monster when you dig down, is she?” Honey asked Trixie, and Trixie had to admit that Honey was right.

Aftereffects ● 16

WE ALMOST CAME to see you yesterday,” Trixie told Miss Rachel between sips of the hot herb tea. The small cottage living room was bright with sunlight as they sat with Honey and Di and little Gaye and chatted politely.

“I wish you had, child.” Miss Rachel smiled. “Why didn’t you?”

“Well—” Trixie paused and looked to Honey for assistance—“you see, we met Paul Trent when he left here in a hurry, 'and he looked so mean and angry that we were afraid he had upset you about something.”

“And so we just didn’t want to intrude on you,” Honey added.

Miss Rachel frowned and rocked silently in the low rocking chair that looked as if it had been made in Colonial days. “Mr. Trent is a thoughtless young man. He came here asking me some very personal questions about my family history, and when I hesitated to answer them, he made insulting remarks about my ancestors, and I ordered him to leave my property.”

“I should think you would!” Trixie said fiercely. “He’s just plain disagreeable.” Her own resentment was still simmering.

“Well, I think we’ll just forget that young man now and enjoy our visit,” Miss Rachel said. “I believe there are more cupcakes in my pantry.” She went out to see if she could find them.