Authors: Carolyn Keene

The Bluebeard Room (13 page)

On the altar, a ring of candlesticks surrounded a
shiny statuette of gold—a woman glancing at a mirror held in her right hand.

“The mate to the Golden Mab!” murmured Nancy.

She tilted her beam upward, and a huge oil portrait came into view above the mantel. It portrayed a stunningly beautiful girl with long blond tresses and slanty emerald-green eyes, clad in the sumptuous court costume of the early 1700’s.

Behind her, in shocking contrast, through dark veils of smoke, loomed a goatish, horned devil!

“Who’s that?” Lance queried. “The bird, I mean.”

“The one-time witch queen of Polpenny, Lady Phoebe Penvellyn,” said Nancy. “She died under torture, and because of her extorted confession, other villagers were burned at the stake.”

Lance shuddered. “What jolly tidbits you know!”

“Well, here’s another. She’s almost an exact double of the present Lady Penvellyn. Phoebe was an American girl, too. She must have been a forebear of Lady Lisa’s.”

Nancy’s gaze turned to a pile of modern-day bales and crates. The bales proved to be marihuana and hashish, while the crates contained plastic bags of cocaine!

Lance gaped. “Where’d this stuff come from?”

“The Polpenny witch coven still exists,” said Nancy. “Only now they’re more into drugs and drug smuggling than witchcraft. Ian Purcell was recruited
into the coven and got hooked. That’s how he happened to see the Golden Mab.”

“Brilliant sleuthing, my dear!” said a cultivated English voice somewhere behind them.

Nancy turned and gasped. The tapestry on one wall had been pulled aside. Several people were stepping out of an alcove behind it. The speaker was Ivor Roscoe. With him were Ethel Bosinny, Dr. Carradine and, surprisingly, Bobo Evans, as well as two hard-eyed men in stylish suits, each holding a gun.

“Unhappily, Miss Drew,” Roscoe went on with a sardonic grin, “your kind of snooping is apt to have fatal results!”

18
Witch Bane

Nancy’s initial shock gave way to a rush of fear. Her instincts told her these were ruthless, twisted individuals, but she tried not to panic. “Lance and I seem to have interrupted a business transaction,” she said coolly, pointing to the pile of drugs.

“So you have, Miss Drew,” said Ethel Bosinny, after lighting a wall sconce, “and we find it most inconvenient. Diane warned Ivor yesterday that something like this might happen.”

“And your two friends with guns, I presume, are drug dealers from London. They must have slipped in by posing as sightseers with the tour group, but actually came to pick up more goods. Crooks seldom trust each other, I’ve noticed, so you each make it a point to come and collect your cut in person.”

“What a perceptive little busybody you are!”

“But tell me, Miss Bosinny,” Nancy went on, “how did you all get here unnoticed?”

“I was visiting Lisa, my dear. It wasn’t hard to slip over to this wing, while pretending to let myself out of the castle. The others came through a secret ‘priest-hole’ passageway that dates back to the days of Cromwell and King Charles.”

“And these drugs you’re about to sell were smuggled in by sea the night before last.”

Dr. Carradine eyed Nancy suspiciously. “Now how the deuce would you know that?”

“I saw the boatman from my bedroom window,” said Nancy. Suddenly she caught her breath. “Oh no! Did you people stop Alan Trevor from showing up at the harbor?”

“Our London friends here attended to him early this morning,” said the doctor with a thin smile. “They forced him at gunpoint to swallow a powerful sedative. It knocked him out almost at once. But don’t be alarmed, Miss Drew, he’ll sleep it off.”

“In point of fact,” Ethel Bosinny added, “we were hoping his absence might discourage
you,
Nancy dear. But no! You are such a
persistent
little—”

Just then a key grated in the lock. The door opened and Hugh Penvellyn stepped into the Bluebeard Room. He stopped short, gaping in disbelief. “What the devil’s going on here?!”

“My!” We seem to be collecting quite a crowd of gate-crashers,” said Ivor Roscoe mockingly.

Lord Penvellyn’s face darkened with rage. “So you’re the filthy witch-cultists who ruined my uncle!”

“These are just the ringleaders,” said Nancy. “There are usually thirteen in a coven, so they must have followers in the village, people who are just as much victims as your uncle was, I imagine.
These
witches are more interested in drug smuggling.” She gestured to the bales and cartons.

Her words seemed to fill Hugh Penvellyn with fresh fury. He started forward, fists clenched—but the two drug dealers stopped him at gunpoint.

“Don’t try anything, Your Lordship,” sneered one, “unless you’re bored with living in a castle.”

“If only you’d stayed away!” purred Ethel Bosinny. “But the damage is done now. I’m afraid we’ll have to get rid of you along with these other two bothersome snoops.”

“You must be out of your mind!” Hugh retorted contemptuously. “You can’t possibly hope to get away with murder—not here in Castle Penvellyn!”

“But of course we can, Hugh dear, if nobody ever finds your bodies. Which they won’t, once we’ve drowned you at high tide in that iron cage down below, like rats in a trap!”

“What are you talking about?!” Hugh growled.

“Nancy will explain while the water’s rising.”

As the two spoke, Nancy found herself clutching
at a sudden straw of hope. She felt sure she’d heard the faint sound of footsteps ascending the stone stairs.
Could this possibly be the person she prayed it was!?

If it was, everything depended on warning him in time—and on distracting the crooks’ attention.

Quickly she caught Lance’s eye and indicated the pile of dope. Then she looked straight at the door through which Hugh had entered,
“Alan!”
she cried.
“Thank goodness you’ve come!”

There was instant confusion! Both gunmen turned in the direction Nancy was looking. Lance seized his opportunity. Scooping up a bale, he hurled it with all his might. It struck one of the gunmen on the head, knocking him to the floor!

At that instant, Alan Trevor appeared in the panel opening. He was clad in a diver’s wet suit and armed with a boathook.

The other gunman saw him and swung around to fire. But the boathook was already whizzing through the air! It hit the crook in the chest, and he too went down, his gun flying from his hand!

Both Roscoe and Dr. Carradine lunged for the fallen weapons. Hugh kicked one gun out of Ivor’s reach and felled him with a vicious right hook. Lance was subduing the doctor.

Ethel Bosinny dashed toward the door, but Nancy snatched up the boathook and tripped her. Ethel went sprawling on the floor, screaming with fury!

In moments it was all over. Alan and Lance kept the prisoners covered with the drug dealers’ guns while Hugh went to phone the police.

“Oh, Alan, what wonderful timing!” exclaimed Nancy. “But how did you manage to recover from the sedative so soon?”

“The phone rang twice for a very long time,” he grinned. “It was ringing practically right in my ear. By the time it stopped, I was out of my fog. When I finally got to Polpenny Harbor, I spied your dinghy over by the headland. Reckon you can work out the rest of it.”

“You sure know how to keep a date!” Nancy laughed, and kissed him on the cheek.

“Hey, don’t I rate one?” Lance complained, so she kissed him too.

That evening in the castle drawing room, Nancy discussed the case with Lisa and Hugh. Lisa had been deeply shaken when she learned about Ethel Bosinny’s role in the witch cult and drug smuggling racket. “How could she have been so nice to me, Nancy—that’s what I can’t understand!”

“You were important to her, Lisa. The toxin in her herb cordial kept you just unwell enough to need her therapy, and her hypnotic suggestions enabled her to put you in danger at any time, in case Hugh went to the police. She probably hoped to eventually draw you into the coven.”

Hugh revealed that his uncle had belonged to the
coven. Shortly before his death, knowing that his nephew would soon inherit both his title and the castle, he had told Hugh everything. But he refused to name the other members of the coven and made Hugh swear to take no action against the cult. Hugh had agreed, provided it ceased to exist.

“But the others obviously never trusted my promise,” he went on. “First I received an anonymous phone call, which I now know was made by Roscoe, disguising his voice. He threatened to create a scandal that would ruin my family name if I made any move. Then, after I married Lisa, that drug dealer saw me in London one day and swore his gang would kill her if I talked.”

“Had you seen the portrait of Phoebe before you met Lisa?” Nancy asked curiously.

“Yes, and I suppose I fell in love with her before I ever laid eyes on this little witch.” Hugh smiled fondly at his wife. “The resemblance was so striking, I knew there must be some family connection.”

Nancy related that Ethel had had cult members spread superstitious rumors in the village that Lisa was a reincarnation of the infamous witch queen who had brought such tragedy to Polpenny. “That’s why they wouldn’t talk to you, Lisa—they were afraid of you.”

“Good grief, that’s hard to believe in this day and age, Nancy!”

“Not in Cornwall, apparently.”

Dr. Carradine had confessed to the police that he was the one who had introduced the coven to drugs. But Nancy believed that Ethel Bosinny was the stronger character, and the one who had built up their profitable drug smuggling racket.

She had drawn the two rock musicians, Ian Purcell and Bobo Evans, into the cult to use them as pushers. Ian had done his best to get off drugs and get out of the cult. When he saw the Golden Mab on a TV documentary show, he realized its mate on the cult’s altar was worth a fortune, and tried to cash in on it. Ethel Bosinny ruthlessly had him suspended in the iron cage at high tide, after drugging him, literally frightening him out of his wits.

“What a horrible woman!” Lisa gasped.

“She believed in her own witchcraft, I think,” mused Nancy. “She slipped an elf-bolt into a letter you sent your mother, probably after sweetly offering to post it for you, and did the same thing with my letter from Lance Warrick. And after your mother called to say I might be coming over, Ethel had Bobo Evans send me tickets to the Crowned Heads concert and then plant cocaine in my purse.”

Lisa shuddered. “It all seems like a bad dream!”

Hugh hugged her. “The nightmare’s over now, dear—thanks to Nancy!”

Days later, after a week of sun and fun on the Cornish Riviera, Nancy prepared to fly home. Both Lance and Alan were at Heathrow to see her off. She didn’t know that she would soon find herself
involved in a frightening mystery called
The Phantom of Venice.

“You still haven’t said which one of us you care for most, Nancy luv!” Lance complained.

A voice announced that it was time to board. Nancy kissed each of her suitors and replied lightly, “I guess that’s one riddle I haven’t solved yet!”

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ALADDIN BOOKS

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10020

www.SimonandSchuster.com

Produced by Mega-Books of New York, Inc.

ISBN: 0-671-66857-9

ISBN: 978-1-4424-9878-5 (eBook)

First printing August, 1988

NANCY DREW and NANCY DREW MYSTERY STORIES are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.

ALADDIN BOOKS and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.