The Mystery on Cobbett's Island (6 page)

“Good girl,” said Mart, giving her a pat on the shoulder.

“All those in favor of waiting signify by the usual sign,” said Jim, rapping on the tree with a stone for a gavel, as everyone agreed.

Peter was soon back, and after he had handed the saw over the wall to Jim, he himself jumped over. “Now, this is more like it,” he said as he got a firm foothold, adjusted the choke, and pulled the starter cord.

The saw made short work of the tree. Under Peter's direction, the boys took turns using it, but manfully insisted that it was too heavy for the girls to manipulate. They had to content themselves with piling the big pieces of wood near the wall to be split later on, and with taking the smaller ones to the rear of the house where the fireplace logs were stored.

“Honestly,” said Trixie, throwing down an armful of wood with unnecessary vigor, “boys think they know everything!”

“Well, it doesn't hurt to let them
think
they do sometimes,” replied Diana with a knowing smile.

It was well past the usual lunchtime when the lawn was finally cleared, but Honey had asked the cook to make a lot of sandwiches so they could eat whenever they got hungry. She invited Peter to stay for lunch, so he telephoned his mother that he wouldn't be home until later.

As they were eating, he said, “How about all of you coming over to my house? It's sort of interesting because it's the oldest house on the island.”

“I can't think of anything that would be more fun!” exclaimed Honey. “I love to explore old houses!”

“Watch out for Trix and Honey, Peter. They're always exploring something and coming up with a mystery,” Brian laughed. “Is your house haunted, by any chance?”

“Oh, there's some story about Aunt Cornelia coming back to try to find a lost fan,” Peter answered, “but I never saw any signs of the old girl. Let's go back by way of the Shore Road. It will be easier than going through the underbrush,” he added.

They walked a short way down the road, and then they turned into a beautiful wrought-iron gate. As they were going down the long driveway, through thick woods where pink and white dogwoods were in bloom, Peter told them a bit about the history of the Oldest House, as it was known on the island. It dated from 1713 when Peter's ancestors first settled on the island, and it had been in his family ever since.

“Unfortunately, Uncle Jasper, who was the last to live here before we came, was sort of an oddball.” Peter chuckled as he continued. “He wasn't interested in the house or the gardens, and he had just enough repairs done to keep things halfway livable. He spent all his time on some research project. I think it was about the eating habits of some remote African tribe, but he never even got around to writing the book about it. So the place went to pieces while he lived here.”

“What are those rocks over there?” asked Di, pointing to some crudely carved stones under a huge oak tree.

“That's a slave cemetery,” Peter answered. “We found it last year when the tree surgeons were working on that old oak, and later, Dad found a list of the slaves in an old ledger.”

The driveway made a graceful curve a little farther on and revealed the house, set among stately trees and
bushes of syringa and lilac. It was a two-story house with an enormous central chimney. The only thing about it that was not perfectly simple was the main doorway which was dark red and flanked on each side by narrow leaded windows. Overhead was an arched panel bearing a beautifully carved eagle.

“Oh, how lovely!” cried Honey as they went through the gate of the picket fence. “I can hardly wait to see the inside.”

Peter called his mother who came into the large central hall to meet them and be introduced.

“I'm so glad to see all of you. It's always a pleasure to have Peter's friends here, and I want you to feel welcome at any time,” she said with a warm smile which was very much like her son's. “And now if you will excuse me, I'll let Peter give you what he calls the fifty-cent tour of the house. I'm trying to get ready for a garden party I'm giving later this week, but the storm has really put a quirk in my plans.” With a friendly wave, she was gone.

“A garden party! What a perfect place for one,” said Trixie, “but the storm surely came at the wrong time.”

“I'll say it did!” said Peter. “We've been working for days to clean up the gardens, and we'd hoped to get the old gazebo in shape before the party, but I'm afraid now
we'll have to let that go and just get this fallen stuff cleared up. I guess Mother will have to serve tea on the porch.”

“Look, I have an idea,” said Trixie, her eyes shining. “Why can't the Bob-Whites help you clear up? We haven't a thing planned, and we'd love to repay you for all the help you gave us this morning.”

“I'm all for it!” cried Jim. “How about it, Peter? When can we start?”

The others joined in enthusiastically as they crowded around Peter with suggestions and offers of help.

“Gosh, that's great of you, and you don't have to repay me for a thing. But this party is to raise money for a new town library, so on behalf of the Library Building Fund Committee, I gratefully accept your offer,” he said, making a theatrically low bow. “You know, if word gets around that more of the gardens have been opened up and the gazebo restored, more people will come to see them.”

“More people,
ergo
, more money,” said Mart gleefully. “Right?”

“I don't know anything about ‘
ergo
,' ” said Trixie, “but ‘money' I understand. When do we start?”

“We can start as soon as I show you the rest of the
house,” Peter said, leading them into the sitting-room. He pressed one of the little rosettes on the mantle, and to everyone's surprise, one of the panels above the fire-place slid slowly back revealing a hiding place behind.

“There wasn't a thing in it except some old copies of
Youth's Companion
,” said Peter. “What corny stories!”

Beyond was the dining-room which was papered with some scenes from the days when whaling had been an important occupation. The kitchen was in an ell at the rear of the house and one whole side of it was filled with a wide fireplace and brick ovens. A refrigerator and modern stove had been built in so cleverly that the early American atmosphere of the room had not been disturbed.

“What a wonderful place for parties!” exclaimed Jim. “I can smell the popcorn right now.”

“As a matter of fact we
do
usually end up here Saturday nights,” Peter remarked.

After looking into the library with its big mahogany desk, comfortable leather chairs, and shelf upon shelf of books, Peter took them upstairs to see a curious four-poster bed covered with a tester and with a trundle bed underneath. Each post was elaborately carved, and the bed was so high that to get into it, one had to use a step stool.

They decided to postpone the visit to the attic until they had more time. Peter said his family had been so busy getting the downstairs redone that no one had had time to explore it fully.

“Jeepers, it's an awful temptation to start looking through all those fascinating old trunks and boxes,” said Trixie, poking her head through the narrow door that led to the attic, “but I know if we took one peek, we'd never be able to tear ourselves away.”

“You're so right,” Honey agreed. “Come on, everybody, let's get out of this enchanted house.” And she led the way down the narrow back stairs and out the kitchen door.

After getting rakes from a nearby shed, they took the path which led to the entrance to the gardens behind the house. It was obvious that the gardens had been lovingly and skillfully planned years ago, and even time and neglect had not been able to erase their beauty. Fruit trees lined a path leading to a shallow pool where Mrs. Kimball had started water lilies. Behind the pool was an ancient statue of a woman holding an urn on her shoulder, and on either side were gracefully carved stone benches. Carefully laid-out flower beds were already bright with color, and beyond them could be seen the vegetable gardens. To the right of the pool and at some
distance lay the still-unrestored section of the garden. Honeysuckle and wild grape vines had grown to the tops of the trees, making an almost impenetrable tangle, and practically concealing a little structure which Peter said was the gazebo.

“You know, I was wondering what a gazebo was,” mused Diana. “I always get that word and carousel mixed up, for some reason or other.”

“My mother tells me these fancy little houses were the last word in Queen Victoria's day, for tea parties, or just to sit in and gaze about. That's probably how they got their name,” Peter offered.

They all went to work cleaning up the debris in the main garden so it, at least, would be presentable for the party, and it was dusk when they finally stopped work.

“If I can get everyone up early tomorrow, we'll be back and get this finished in jig time,” said Trixie.

“Say, who was first up this morning, I'd like to know?” asked Jim with mock indignation. Turning to Peter, he continued, “I'll take charge of this work crew and have them here at eight, sir.” He clicked his heels and gave a brisk salute.

On the way back to The Moorings Trixie said, “Now how do you all feel about Peter and the letter?”

“Oh, I think he's about the greatest!” Diana
answered with a faraway look in her big eyes.

Mart gave her a withering glance but agreed with Trixie that Peter certainly seemed dependable.

“How about you, Honey?” asked Trixie. “Do you think we should tell him about the letter?”

Honey thought for a moment and then said, “You know, anyone who loves old houses and gardens and will work like a beaver to make them beautiful must be all right. Personally, I'm for letting him share the secret.”

The others agreed, and it was decided to take the letter with them the next day and show it to Peter.

As it turned out, it was Peter who woke them the next morning. Miss Trask called from the bottom of the stairs that he was on the phone, and Honey, pulling on her pink dressing gown as she went, hurried to answer. Peter suggested since it was such a beautiful morning they might like to go for a swim and then have breakfast at his house before getting to work.

Jim, Brian, and Mart, who had heard the girls racing downstairs, joined them in time to hear Honey answer in her sweetest voice that they would love to have a swim and would be right over. Playfully taking the receiver away from Honey, Brian asked Peter if the invitation included only the girls.

“You, too, of course!” answered Peter gaily. “You
think I'm crazy? I'd never hear the last of it if Cap or the other guys saw me swimming alone with three beautiful mermaids. I'll meet you in front of our gate in ten minutes,” he added, “so step on it!”

It didn't take them long to get into their suits, and taking beach towels, and shirts and shorts to put on after their swim, they set out for the gate of the Oldest House. On the way over, Jim, looking intently at Trixie, said, “Isn't that a new suit, Trix? Nice color,” and without waiting for an answer, he dashed ahead to talk to Brian and Mart.

“Jeepers,” Trixie whispered to Honey and Di, “he actually noticed what color it was!”

Peter was waiting for them, and together they crossed Shore Road to the sandy beach which ran in front of The Moorings and the Kimballs' property. In contrast to the last two days, the weather was now perfect, and they were glad to see the beautiful island at its best. Like Peter, all the Bob-Whites were excellent swimmers, Honey in particular. She ran onto the low springboard at the end of the dock and did a beautiful dive into the clear, cool water.

“Good girl, Honey,” called Brian. “You haven't lost any of your form from last summer. Let's see you stand on your head in the water.”

No one except Peter had ever swum in salt water before, and they were surprised at how buoyant it made them. After a brisk game of tag, they began to get a little chilly, so they came out and changed into dry clothes in the little bathhouse at the edge of the beach.

Returning to Peter's house, they found places had been set at an iron table on the brick-paved terrace. A big pitcher of tomato juice was ready to be poured, and while they were drinking it, Mrs. Kimball came out with a tray of freshly made coffee cake and cocoa.

“Have you had breakfast?” Peter asked her. “Won't you join us, or do you want us to save some of the coffee cake for you later?”

“I know what all those questions mean, young man,” Mrs. Kimball answered with a laugh. “They're just a polite way of asking if you may eat all the cake and is there any more in the kitchen.”

“Guilty, Mother,” Peter grinned and passed the tray to his guests.

“I made a double recipe, and I've already eaten, so help yourselves,” Mrs. Kimball said warmly.