Loe raamatut: «The Automobile Girls Along the Hudson: or, Fighting Fire in Sleepy Hollow», lehekülg 5
CHAPTER IX – TEN EYCK HALL
Ten Eyck Hall, with its high-peaked roofs, its rambling wings and innumerable dormer windows, seemed to the four girls the very home of romance.
It was an enormous house built of brick, turned a faded pink, now, from age, which made a delicate background for the heavy vines that shaded the piazzas and balconies and clambered up to the roof itself.
The handsome old master of this charming house leaped to the ground as lightly as one of his nephews, the moment the automobile drew up at the front door. Lifting his hat he made a low, old-fashioned bow.
“Dear ladies,” he said, “you are as welcome to my home as the flowers in spring!” Giving his arm to Miss Stuart, he conducted her up the front steps. The great double doors flew open as if by magic, and the party filed into the vast center hall, on each side of which stood the servants of the household, headed by the butler and his wife, the housekeeper.
“Dear me,” exclaimed Miss Sallie, “I feel as if I were entering a baronial castle. Why did you never tell me years ago you owned such a fine place, John Ten Eyck?”
“Because I didn’t in those days, Sallie,” answered the major. “There were several heirs ahead of me then. But I always wanted you to come and see it. Don’t you remember my mother wrote and asked you to make us a visit? But you were going abroad, that summer, and couldn’t come.”
“Well, I was a very foolish girl,” replied Miss Sallie. “But better late than never, John, and it will be a pleasure to see the young people enjoy themselves in this beautiful house.”
Some of the young people were already plainly showing their delight and pleasure in the visit. The major made a smiling gesture toward the four young girls, who, with arms around each other’s waists, were strolling up the great hall toward the fireplace at the far end, pausing here and there to look at the fine old portraits and curious carved cabinets and settees. Many of the latter had been collected by the major during his travels abroad.
“I feel like a princess in a castle, Major,” called Ruth.
“And here comes one of the princes, my dear,” answered the major, glancing up at the broad staircase which occupied one side of the hall. All eyes followed the direction of his gaze, and an exclamation of surprise escaped the lips of the automobilists. For there, on the landing of the staircase, looking down at the little group of people below as calmly as a real prince might regard his subjects, was the motor cyclist.
“Why, it’s Mr. Martinez!” exclaimed Miss Sallie. “How are you?” she said graciously, as he descended the broad staircase. “We had no idea you were a friend of the major’s, too.”
“Nor had I, Madam,” replied the young man, as he bowed low over Miss Stuart’s hand and acknowledged the greetings of the girls. “I did not know who Major Ten Eyck was when he was stopping at the hotel, or I should have presented my letter there. It was a surprise to find in him the same gentleman I had come down to meet, and it is, indeed, a great pleasure and surprise to meet you and the young ladies so soon again.”
“Martinez is the son of an old friend of mine, José Martinez of Madrid,” broke in the major. “But how did you happen to meet him?”
Miss Stuart explained that he was the brave young man who had saved them from the attack of the drunken tramp.
“My dear José,” exclaimed the major, grasping him cordially by the hand, “you were brave. It was an act worthy of your father, and I can say no more for you than that.”
The young man flushed, and for the first time in their acquaintance showed signs of real embarrassment.
“It was nothing,” he said. “The man was drunk and drunken men are easy to manage.”
“But he was not easy to manage,” exclaimed Ruth. “He was a giant in size and strength.”
The young foreigner shrugged his shoulders and the flush deepened on his face.
“Well, well,” laughed Major Ten Eyck, “we won’t embarrass you any more by insisting on your being a hero whether you will or no. Here comes Mary to show you to your rooms, ladies. You look as fresh as the morning, but after a night spent in a Gypsy camp perhaps you would like to spruce up a bit before luncheon. Come along, José, and let me show you my library. I am very proud of my collection of Spanish books. I want your opinion of them.”
The major waved his hand gallantly to the five women who were following the housekeeper up the carved oak staircase to the regions above.
“Am I awake, or asleep?” asked Mollie. “This whole morning has seemed like a dream, and now this lovely old house – ”
“And the lovely old major, in the lovely old house,” added Ruth.
“Isn’t he a dear!” pursued Mollie. “I wonder if Miss Sallie is sorry now,” she continued to herself. “If he were as gentle and charming when he was young as he is now, I don’t think I could have been cross with him, ever.”
Meanwhile, Barbara was saying to Miss Stuart:
“No; we never told Mr. Martinez where we were going, or mentioned the major’s name, so of course he had no way of knowing that we were coming here. It is curious, though,” she went on thoughtfully, “our meeting him here. I wonder when he arrived?”
“Yesterday, I suppose,” replied Miss Sallie. “Or it may have been this morning. However, it doesn’t make any difference. I am glad, at least, that a friend of ours can show him some hospitality in return for his courageous act.”
By this time they had reached the top of the stairs and had a glimpse of another hall corresponding to the one below, at one end of which was a great casement window with a broad cushioned window-seat under it. The other end, where the stairs turned, was lighted by an enormous stained glass window.
Little exclamations of rapture escaped the girls as they tripped over the softly carpeted floors to their rooms, which were on the left side of the hall. Opposite were the major’s rooms, so Mary explained, while the young men were all quartered in the right wing except Mr. Martinez, who had a room at the end of the hall on the same side as the major’s suite.
“I could live and die in a house like this, and never want to leave it,” cried Bab, her eyes sparkling with pleasure as Mary opened the door leading to the room that had been assigned to Ruth and her.
They could have a room apiece, if they wished it, the housekeeper said, but when it was discovered that this would necessitate two of the girls taking rooms in the right wing, many passages and corridors away from the others, all said they would rather share the rooms on the main hall. Mary looked somewhat relieved at this. It was evident she was not in favor of the right wing for the girls, either; although she did not explain her reasons.
In the large old-fashioned bedrooms, hung with chintz curtains and furnished with mahogany that would have been the joy of the antique dealers, were already placed the boxes and satchels of the automobilists. Two neat housemaids were engaged in unpacking their things and placing them in the drawers of the massive highboys and wardrobes.
“Bab,” exclaimed Ruth, giving her friend an affectionate little shake, “this is worth two highwaymen and a night in a Gypsy camp. I feel as if I were in an English country house. I feel we are going to have a perfectly wonderful time. And, somehow, the young Spaniard adds muchly to the whole thing. He seems to belong in the midst of carved oak and Persian rugs, doesn’t he, Barbara, dear? As he stood on those steps he looked like an old Spanish portrait. All he needed was a velvet cape, a sword and a plumed hat.”
“Well, that seems a good deal to complete the picture, considering he was wearing an ordinary pepper and salt suit,” observed Barbara.
“I don’t believe you like Senor José Martinez,” said Ruth.
“Oh, yes I do,” replied the other. “I like him and I don’t like him. His eyes are just a bit too close together, and still he is very handsome. But give me time, give me time. I don’t enjoy having my likes hurried along like this. If he can play tennis, ride horseback and dance as well as he can knock down a tramp, he will be a perfect paragon among men. Look here, Ruth,” she continued, exploring the various closets, “do you know we have a bathroom all to ourselves? Did you say that Major Ten Eyck was poor when Miss Sallie threw him over?”
“Well, he wasn’t rich at that time,” replied Ruth; “that is, not according to Aunt Sallie’s ideas, but since then, she tells me, an uncle has left him lots of money.”
“Now, for a bath!” cried Barbara, as she turned the water on in the tub.
“Don’t use too much of it,” called Ruth. “I never saw a country house where the water didn’t run short, no matter how grand a place it was. Remember the drought, Bab, and leave a little for your fainting friend.”
The girls had barely time to bathe and dress, when a deep gong sounded in the hall. The five automobilists, refreshed by their belated baths, and dainty in crisp ducks and muslins, filed down the great staircase at the sound. Miss Stuart, in a lavender organdie, her white hair piled on top of her head, led the procession.
The major, waiting for them at the foot of the steps, smiled rather sadly as he watched the charming picture. The five young men grouped together at the end of the hall, came forward at sight of the ladies. Three of them at least were rather shy in their greetings, especially the English boy, Alfred Marsdale, who was only seventeen and still afraid of American girls. Stephen and Martin Ten Eyck, boys of sixteen and seventeen, were also rather green in the society of girls. They had no sisters and their vacations had been spent either at Ten Eyck Hall or out West on their father’s ranch. And an avalanche of four pretty, vivacious young women, advancing upon them in this way, was enough to make them tongue-tied for the moment. Jimmie Butler, who was nineteen and had seen a deal of life all over the world with his mother, a well-to-do widow, was proof against embarrassment, and the young Spaniard also seemed perfectly at his ease.
“Come along, young people,” said the major, giving his arm to Miss Sallie and leading the way to the dining room.
Soon they were all gayly chatting at an immense, round table of black oak, so highly polished that it reflected the silver and china and the faces of the guests in its shining board.
“Miss Barbara,” said the major, “suppose you let us have a history of the attempt at robbery? Since it was your courage and presence of mind that drove the robber away you ought to be the one to give the most connected account. Miss Stuart tells me that he was a giant with a deep bass voice, but that the sight of a pistol made him cut and run like a rabbit. You have not heard, José,” continued the major, turning to Martinez, “that our ladies were in danger of being robbed last night and would have been but for Miss Barbara, who drove off the robber with a pistol?”
“Is it possible?” replied José, looking at Barbara with admiration. “But there must be a great many robbers in this country. Almost as numerous as in the mountains of my own country. And what was the appearance of the robber, may I ask, Miss Thurston? Was he again a tramp?”
“He was not a giant,” answered Barbara. “He struck me as being rather short and very slender, so slender that it made him appear taller than he was. His voice was curious. I could not describe it, and I think really it was disguised. He spoke only a few times. He wore a mask that completely covered his face, and a slouch hat, so there was no telling what his hair was like; but he gave me the impression of being dark. I think he was a coward, because he ran so fast when I pointed the pistol at him.”
“Do you suppose he’s hiding in the woods now, Major?” asked Mollie. “We were walking there all morning, but we had nothing to be robbed of.”
“Oh, he is probably running still,” replied the major. “But what is quite plain to me is that it was somebody who knew you expected to make the trip. This robber had evidently prepared beforehand for the attack. He had chopped holes in the bridge, painted the sign, fastened the ropes across, and had arranged the whole thing during the morning. But he had not reckoned on your little pistol, Miss Barbara, had he? Ah, you are a brave girl, my dear, and they tell me that this is only one among many acts of heroism of yours.”
Barbara blushed.
“I am sure any of the others would have done the same thing, Major, if Mr. Stuart had given them the pistol.”
“Do the ladies in America carry firearms?” asked Alfred Marsdale, looking from one to another in a hesitating, embarrassed way.
“Why, certainly, Alfred, my boy,” replied Jimmie Butler. “Don’t you know it’s dangerous, in this country, for a woman to walk on the streets unarmed unless she is dressed like a suffragette? And then she doesn’t need a pistol to make people run from her.”
“Now, you’re joking, Jimmie,” said Alfred.
At which everybody laughed until they all felt that they had known each other much longer than just a few hours.
“While I think of it,” observed the major, “I have only one request to make of my guests, and that may seem like a very inhospitable one, but you will all understand, I know. Don’t be too lavish with the water.”
Ruth and Barbara looked at each other and smiled.
“I mean,” continued the major, “don’t fill the tubs to the brim. A hand’s depth is the allowance; or we shall be high and dry without any water and no prospect of any unless a rain comes. This interminable drought has dried up every brook on the place and the cisterns are lower than they have ever been before. We keep one cistern always full – not so much in case of drought as in case of fire; it might be needed some day.”
They all promised to bathe in what Jimmie Butler called “two-fingers of water.”
“If the water gives out,” said Jimmie, “we’ll beautify our complexions by bathing in milk. I think I need a lotion for a delicate skin, anyhow.” Jimmie’s nose was a mass of freckles.
“You would have to have your face peeled, Jimmie,” said Stephen, “before you could call it delicate.”
“Excuse me,” replied Jimmie, “my indelicate skin then.”
“I have not made any plans for your entertainment this afternoon, young ladies,” the major was saying. “Miss Stuart is determined that you must lie down and sleep off the effects of the Gypsy camp. But to-morrow we shall have a picnic to make up for it, and Miss Ruth may take her tea basket, since we have none in this household.”
“I’m not a bit tired now,” said Ruth.
“Neither are we,” echoed the other girls as they rose from the table.
“Well, suppose we make a compromise,” said the major, “by showing you over the house? After that sleep must be your portion, eh, Sallie?”
“It must, indeed,” replied that lady firmly, and all adjourned to the library.
CHAPTER X – AN ATTIC MYSTERY
The library of Ten Eyck Hall was, to Bab, the most beautiful of all the rooms. The walls were literally lined with books from floor to ceiling, and there were little galleries halfway up for the convenience of getting books that were too high to reach from the floor. Big leather chairs and couches were scattered about and heavy curtains seemed to conceal entrances to mysterious doors and passages leading off somewhere into the depths of the old house.
“This is just the place for a secret door or a staircase in the wall,” exclaimed Grace.
“There is a secret door, I believe, in this very room,” replied the major; “but it is really a secret, for the location was lost long ago and nobody has ever been able to find it since.”
“How interesting!” said Ruth. “Can’t you thump the walls and locate it by a hollow sound?”
“But, even if you discovered a hollow sound, you wouldn’t know how to open the door,” said Martin.
“Press a panel, my boy. That is all that is necessary,” replied Jimmie. “With a wild shriek Lady Gwendolyn rushed through the portals of the lofty chamber. With trembling hands she pressed a panel in the wainscot. Instantly it flew back and disclosed a secret passage. Another instant and she had disappeared. The panel was restored to its place and Sir Marmanduke and her pursuers were foiled.”
All this, the irrepressible Jimmie had acted out with wild gesticulations.
They all laughed except Alfred Marsdale, who stood looking at Jimmie in a dazed sort of way.
“Wake up, Al, old man! What’s the matter with you?”
“Oh, nothing,” replied Alfred, “I was only wondering where I had read that before.”
There was another laugh, and the major led the way to the red drawing room. It had been the ball room in the old days.
“It’s a long time,” observed the major, “since anyone has danced on these floors.”
The room took its name, evidently, from the red damask hangings and upholstering of the furniture. The walls were paneled in white and gold and there was a grand piano at one end.
“We’ll have to take turn about playing,” said Ruth. “Grace and I each play a little.”
“Oh, Jimmie can play,” replied Martin. “Is there anything Jimmie can’t do?”
“Jimmie, you’re a brick,” said Alfred.
Back of the red drawing room was another smaller room which, the major said, had always been called a morning parlor, but it had been a favorite room of the family when he was a young man, and had been used as a gathering place in the evening as well as after breakfast.
“This is the prettiest room of all, I think,” observed Mollie.
And it was certainly the most cheerful, with its brightly flowered chintz curtains and shining mahogany chairs and tables.
After that came a billiard room, a small den used as a smoking room, and a breakfast room.
“Who wants to see the attic?” said Martin.
“We all do?” came in a chorus from the young people.
“Now, girls,” protested Miss Sallie, “remember you were to take your rest this afternoon.”
“Oh, we shan’t be up there long,” said Martin. “We promise you to bring them back in time for the beauty sleep.”
“Very well,” answered Miss Sallie; “go along with you. It’s very hard to be strict, Major. Don’t you find it so!”
“I never even tried the experiment, Sallie,” replied the gentle old soldier, “because I always found it harder on me than on the boys. It’s really a certain sort of selfishness on my part, I suppose. Cut along now, boys, and don’t keep the girls from their rest too long.”
The pilgrimage started up the great front staircase, led by Martin and his older brother, who together had made many excursions to the attic and knew the way by heart.
On the second floor the explorers followed a passage that led to another flight of stairs, and this in turn to another passage, and finally to one last narrow flight of steps with a mysterious door at the top.
“This reminds me of the House of Usher,” said Jimmie, “only it goes up instead of down. Can’t you imagine all these doors opening and closing, and the sound of footsteps on the stairs, down, down?”
Just then Martin opened the door and a gust of wind blew in their faces. Something flashed past that almost made the whole party fall backwards down the steps.
Mollie gave a little shriek.
“Don’t be frightened,” said José, who was standing just behind her. “It is only a bird.”
“Somebody must have left the window open,” exclaimed Stephen in surprise. “I wonder who it was? The servants are afraid to come up here. They believe it is haunted. Lights have been seen at midnight, shining through some of these windows, and the only persons who are not afraid are the housekeeper and the butler, who come twice a year, and clean out the dust.”
The young people found themselves in a vast attic whose edges were hidden by dense shadows. The center was lighted by dormer windows, here and there, that gleamed like so many eyes from the high sloping roof. Scattered about were all sorts of odds and ends of antiquated furniture, chests of drawers, hair trunks, carved boxes and spinning wheels.
“Isn’t this great!” cried Jimmie Butler. “Just the place for handsprings,” and he began to turn somersaults like a professional, while the girls looked on delighted.
“Stop that, Jim,” protested Stephen. “You’ll get yourself filthy and break your neck into the bargain. You are much too old for such child’s play. You’ll have rush of blood to the head and strain a nerve, and heaven knows you’ve got enough to strain.”
“‘In my youth, Father William replied to his son,
I feared it would injure the brain,
But now that I’m perfectly sure I have none;
Why, I do it again and again!’”
sang Jimmie as he wheeled over the floor toward a partition wall which cut off one end of the great room. Over and over he circled, without looking where he was going, until suddenly, bang, his heels hit against the wall.
There was a curious grating noise, a creaking of rafters, and before their amazed eyes the wall slid along and disclosed another attic as large as the first.
Jimmie was so bewildered he forgot to pull himself up from the dusty floor, and lay with his head propped against an old trunk looking across the enormous space.
Then everybody began talking at once.
“This looks to me like smugglers,” cried Alfred. “I was in an old house in England, where there was the same sort of wall, only not so large.”
“And look,” called Bab, “there are footsteps in the dust. Who could have been here lately, to have left those marks. Do you see? They come from over there in the right hand corner.”
“Yes, is it not curious,” replied José, “that they are going away from the wall and not approaching it? He must have walked out of the wall. Perhaps there is a secret door there, too.”
They rushed across pell mell, and began thumping the walls, but nothing happened.
“I say, Stephen,” said Martin, “do you suppose we had smugglers in our family?”
“I don’t know,” answered Stephen. “They managed to keep it secret if they had.”
“I’d like to be a smuggler,” cried Martin. “There would be some excitement in life then. But how did you manage to do it, Jimmie? You are always having things happen to you.”
“I don’t know,” replied Jimmie. “I must have kicked the panel that worked the spring. Let’s see if we can move it back again. Here’s the place in the floor,” and bending over he pressed on a sliding board in the floor. Instantly the wall began slipping back in place. The others leaped back into the first attic, and in a moment the partition had fitted itself as snugly as if it never had been moved.
“All is as if it never had been,” exclaimed Jimmie. “Now let’s find the place I kicked.”
But try as they would, no one could locate the spot again.
“Well, of all that’s curious and mysterious!” said Stephen. “Jimmie, go and turn a few more wheels and see if it happens again.”
Jimmie did as he was bade, and kicked the wall vociferously from one end to the other but it never budged an inch.
In the meantime, Martin and the girls were diving into some old trunks and carved chests which were filled with clothes of another date, old-fashioned silks and dimities that had been worn by the major’s grandmother and aunts.
“There is a trunkful of men’s things, too,” called Stephen, leaving the sliding partition, to join in the rummage.
“I say, girls,” cried Jimmie, “wouldn’t it be fun to give a fancy dress party some day, and surprise the major and Miss Stuart?”
“How delightful!” exclaimed the girls in one voice.
“Oh, pshaw!” said Martin, disgusted.
“Oh, I say now, Jimmie, what a beastly idea!” exclaimed Alfred, equally disgusted.
“Come on, fellows; don’t throw cold water on the scheme if the girls like it,” put in Stephen.
And so the party was arranged.
All this time José had never left the partition, but had kept up a continuous thumping to find the sliding panel.
“Everybody take a hand, and we will carry down everything we can find, and then we won’t have to make another trip,” called Stephen. “Come, José, we’re going to dress up. You’ll have to be a pirate. Here’s a red sash and a three cornered hat that will just suit your style.”
So saying, the cavalcade departed from the dark old attic, laden with spoils.
“If this is to be a surprise on uncle and Miss Stuart, we had better hide the things, hadn’t we?” observed Martin, who was very cautious and always thought ahead, once he had decided to do a thing.
“Very well. We’ll let Mary take charge of them and divide them later,” replied Stephen. “You had better go take your naps now, girls,” he added in a whisper, “or we’ll have the old lady and gentleman on our necks.”
The young people separated, the boys taking a corridor leading to the left wing, the girls following the main hall. Bab left the others and started downstairs.
“I’ll be right back,” she called. “I left my handkerchief in the library.”
She confessed to herself, as she descended the stairs, that she was rather tired. The excitement of the two past days, her uncomfortable bed made of a steamer rug spread on the ground, the night before, and finally the close, dusty air of the attic had combined to give her a headache and a feeling of extreme weariness.
When she reached the cool, darkened library, she sat down for a moment in one of the big chairs and closed her eyes. It was very restful in there. The sun had left that side of the house in the shade and the room with its heavy hangings, its dark leather furniture and rich rugs was full of shadows.
She was almost asleep, a slender little figure in a great armchair of carved black oak. Her head dropped to one side and her eyes closed, when she was awakened with a start by a draught of cold air. One of the curtains next the book shelves bulged out for a moment and Barbara’s eyes were fastened on a long, white hand that drew them aside. Then a face she had seen in the wood looked from around the curtain. The eyes met hers, and again that strange, childlike look of sorrow and amazement filled them.
A dizziness came over Barbara. She closed her eyes for a moment, and, when she opened them again, the face, or phantom, or whatever it was, had gone.
Holding her breath to keep from crying out, Barbara ran from the room as fast as her trembling knees could carry her. In the hall she met José. He looked at her curiously.
“Mademoiselle, have you seen a ghost?” he asked as he stood aside to let her pass.
She was afraid to answer, for fear of bursting into tears.
“I am sorry,” he continued. “Has anything really happened?”
But still she refused to speak, and ran up the stairs.
He turned and went into the library, closing the door after him.
There was a queer little smile on his face. Perhaps he, too, had seen the old man and understood her look of terror.
By the time she reached her room, Bab had regained her self-composure, and had again determined to say nothing about the adventure. It would only frighten the girls and take away from the pleasure of the visit.
