The Mystery of the Emeralds (8 page)

Williamsburg is only a hundred and fifty miles from Washington, so by noon the next day everyone was settled into the comfortable colonial cottage near the Inn. Trixie, of course, was eager to drive out to Cliveden without delay, but she cheerfully fell in with the plan of the others to walk around the old streets of the town and become familiar with the layout before going through any of the buildings. They had great fun outside the Public Gaol, taking turns being locked in the pillory and the stocks. Honey had brought her camera and took pictures of them and the “gaoler,” a guide dressed in colonial garb. The whole village occupied an area only a mile and a half wide, so even though they walked slowly and absorbed all the sights, they were through with their tour early in the afternoon.

“Don’t you think we might drive out to Cliveden this afternoon and just have a look at the place?” Trixie asked. “We can easily get back in time for dinner.”

“Why not?” Di asked eagerly. “Daddy and Mummy will be at a tea until six, so we’ll have plenty of time.”

They stopped at the large brick restoration of the building which from 1699 to 1779 had served as the capitol of the Virginia colony and inquired the way to Cliveden from one of the guides.

“It’s not far out on the dirt road south of here,” he told them. “But you’ll have to watch out or you’ll drive right through without knowing it. I don’t reckon there’s more than a couple of hundred people in the whole township, and they’re pretty well scattered.”

“That doesn’t sound too promising, does it?” Honey asked as they walked back to their cottage to pick up the station wagon and leave a note for Mr. and Mrs. Lynch.

“But there’s bound to be a post office in the town,” Trixie answered. “Maybe someone there will know where Rosewood Hall is.” She tried to keep the note of discouragement out of her voice as she said this.

The guide had been right. Cliveden was not much bigger than the dot on the map in the geography book. If Trixie hadn’t happened to notice a rusty sign,
INCORPORATED VILLAGE OF CLIVEDEN, SPEED LIMIT
15
MILES AN HOUR
, they might well have driven right through.

“Wow! Fifteen miles an hour!” Jim exclaimed, slowing the car to a crawl. “I bet that sign has been there since the first horseless carriage came into town.”

“Watch out for the livestock!” Brian cautioned as a rawboned old cow meandered into the road.

“Looks more like dead stock to me,” Mart said with a shiver. “What a creepy town!”

There was one general store and a few houses, a boarded-up church and a one-pump gas station. But as they passed the store Trixie caught sight of a small sign in the window:
UNITED STATES POST OFFICE
.

“Gleeps!” she cried. “Back up, Jim, or turn around or something. We’re on the right track at last.”

“Hey, watch out, Trix!” Brian yelled as Trixie opened the door and jumped out almost before the car had come to a halt. “Do you want to lose a leg?”

His warning was disregarded as his sister raced up the rickety steps into the store.

“Let’s stay in the car,” Honey suggested. “If there
is
a Rosewood Hall, she should be the first one to hear about it, and if there
isn’t
, our being in there with her won’t help matters a bit.”

“You’re right, Honey,” Jim said. “I hope she’ll get some encouragement. She’s so sure she’s on the trail of something big, I would hate to see her bubble burst now.”

The store was empty when Trixie entered, but the squeak of the hinge apparently had been heard by someone in the rear because it wasn’t many seconds
before there was the sound of scuffing feet. A curtain hanging in a doorway at the back was pushed aside and a wrinkle-faced old woman came out. Although the day was hot she clutched a faded blue shawl around her thin shoulders.

“Excuse me,” Trixie began, her voice unnaturally high with excitement. “Do you happen to know where Rosewood Hall is?”

“Rosewood Hall?” the old lady cackled. “I reckon I
do
know where it is. My folks used to live there before—” She gave Trixie a long, cold look, the smile disappearing from her face. “What do you-all want to know about Rosewood Hall for?” she drawled. “You aren’t from around here, are you?”

“No, we’re just passing through,” Trixie answered as nonchalantly as she could. “Relatives of a friend of mine used to live there, and I was curious to see it, that’s all.”

She smiled sweetly and turned as though to leave, hoping to reassure the old lady that she didn’t have any ulterior motive in asking about Rosewood.

“Not so fast, honey,” the woman said, coming out from behind the nearly empty showcase, the wry smile reappearing. “I thought you might be another of those rich folks from up north.”

“Well, I’m from up north,” Trixie said in her most
ingratiating manner, “but I’m certainly far from being rich!”

“They come down here and buy up these old places, and us folks who’ve lived in ’em for years have to get out,” the old lady said in a whining voice. “Then they don’t even have the grace to come in here to buy a stamp.”

“Is that what happened to you?” Trixie asked.

“Well, not exactly” was the evasive reply. “Part of Rosewood burned down during the Civil War, and the wing that was left, where we lived, just finally fell down around our ears when I was a girl. Rotten clean through, it was. There’s only the front left standing today.”

Trixie’s heart was pounding as she said, “Well, I’d like to take a look at it as long as I’ve come this far.”

“It’ll just be a waste of time, honey. If you want to see a really nice place, go to the house next to it, Green Trees. That’s one the Northerners haven’t got their hands on yet.”

“And who lives there?” Trixie asked, wanting to get as much information as possible from what might turn out to be her only source.

“Edgar Carver, and he’s the last of his line,” the old woman said sadly. “I’m told his ancestors built the house over a hundred and fifty years ago, and there’s been a Carver in it ever since. It’s down the road a mile. You can’t miss it.”

“Oh, thank you, Miss—”

“James, honey. Lizzie James, and if you see Edgar, tell him I said hello.” And with that she shuffled off behind the curtain. So far as she was concerned, the interview was over.

As Trixie came out of the store, the Bob-Whites couldn’t tell from her looks what her luck had been. She walked slowly toward them, the trace of a frown on her forehead, but she didn’t keep them in suspense long.

“Well, it’s both good and bad news,” she said as she settled into her seat with a sigh. “I found out where Rosewood Hall is, all right, but—” She paused and tears welled up in her eyes. “It’s nothing but a ruin!”

“Oh, Trixie,” Honey cried sympathetically, putting her arm around her friend. “I had
so
hoped—”

“Let’s drive on down the road anyway,” Trixie said, dabbing her eyes and forcing a smile. “We might as well know the worst.”

They had not gone far before they noticed what appeared to be a newly installed post-and-rail fence running along the road. The grass in the field behind it had been recently cut. Two horses, their noses poking through the fence, were browsing on the taller grass outside.

“There’s a living example of the old saying about the grass on the other side of the fence,” laughed Brian.
“I wonder who owns this farm? Looks prosperous, doesn’t it?”

A little farther on they came to a break in the fence, but instead of a gate, there was a heavy chain across the opening.

Jim stopped the car so they could look down the driveway beyond. Suddenly Trixie, who with the others had got out of the car, called out, “Way back there in that clump of trees! Don’t you see something white?”

“You’re right, Trix,” Jim said, craning his neck to get a better view. “I’ll bet it’s Rosewood Hall.”

“Well, if it’s in ruins, certainly no one is living there now,” Trixie said. “If we don’t bother the horses, I don’t think anyone would mind if we walked in and looked at it, do you?” She turned to the other Bob-Whites for reassurance.

“Of course not. Come on,” Mart urged. “There’s not apt to be anyone around. Except for the horses this place looks absolutely deserted.” He jumped over the chain and headed for the ruins.

The others quickly followed. What had once been a sweeping driveway was now little more than a path, barely wide enough for a car. A tangle of rhododendron and laurel bushes grew on either side of the winding road, with magnolia trees and pines behind them. The air was
redolent with a scent which none of them recognized.

“It must be jasmine,” Honey conjectured. “Books about the South always talk about the smell of jasmine and honeysuckle.”

Their conversation was interrupted as they rounded a wide curve and suddenly came upon a sight that held them all breathless. There in the wilderness of green was what looked to be the remains of a Greek temple. Five white Doric columns rose from a stone veranda, their stark lines softened now by wisteria which had grown around them for years. Two others had fallen and lay cracked and broken on the ground.

“What a beautiful place this must have been.” Trixie sighed as she picked her way through the vines and climbed the wide steps. “Can’t you just imagine girls in long dresses and elegant young men sitting here years ago?”

“You’re
so
romantic!” Mart teased. “You sound like Scarlett in
Gone With the Wind
, but I’ll admit it’s beautiful.”

“Let’s go around back and see if any of the foundations of the house are left,” Jim suggested. “We may get a better idea of what the place looked like.” He started to make his way through the underbrush behind the columns.

Jim was right. Not only were the outside foundations clearly visible, but the supporting posts in what had been the cellar gave an indication of the way the rooms had been laid out.

A sudden yell from Trixie brought them all over to where she stood.

“Look, someone has started clearing around here!” she cried. “See where all those vines have been cut back? And some of these stones have been moved recently. You can see fresh dirt on top of them.”

The Bob-Whites were so busy examining Trixie’s find that they failed to hear approaching hoofbeats until a rough voice snarled, “Hey, you! Get out of here or I’ll have the law on you!”

They wheeled around to see a man on horseback brandishing a heavy crop. Trixie couldn’t be sure whether his face was so purply-red because of sunburn, natural coloration, or anger, but she strongly suspected the last. His coarse black hair, growing low on his forehead, looked as if it had never known a comb, and it was hard to imagine that the small eyes, glaring from under heavy brows, had ever smiled. Jim took a step forward, a move which only served to make the man raise the whip again, but Jim was undaunted.

“We beg your pardon, sir. We certainly meant no
harm. My friends and I were curious about the house that used to stand here.”

“Curiosity killed the cat, and it’s just as likely to get you into trouble, too,” the man snapped. “This is a horse farm and not a tourist joint, and I don’t want nobody prying around here. Do you understand?”

Trixie, who had come up beside Jim, said, “We certainly do understand. You have made it very clear, and we’ll be delighted to leave, but just so we won’t make the mistake of trespassing again, you’d better show us where your property ends.”

The man looked at her suspiciously, as if to make sure, before answering, that she wasn’t making fun of him. Although Trixie’s face was flaming, it was dead serious and she didn’t flinch under his scrutiny.

“You won’t have no trouble if you keep outside the fence,” he replied. “The whole farm is closed in, all sixty acres of it. Cost me a pretty penny, it did, too, to have it surveyed and fenced, but I don’t want no mistake about what’s mine. Now get going. There’s the path to the main road, right over there.”

He pointed over his shoulder to the lane, a continuation of the one the Bob-Whites had taken when they came in. Yanking the reins, he wheeled the beautiful roan mare he was riding and watched until they were on
the path and walking toward the entrance. Then striking the horse sharply, he galloped off in the opposite direction.

“Whew! That’s Southern hospitality for you!” Mart exclaimed. “This trip has been about as useful as a refrigerator at the North Pole.”

Trixie, her hands clenched and her head down, kicked the dirt angrily as she walked along. She didn’t join the others as they discussed the unpleasant incident. She was torn between a feeling of great sadness at the sight of the ruins of Rosewood and fury at the incivility of the owner. She couldn’t bear to admit that this might be the one and only chance they would have to visit Rosewood Hall. As she thought about it she suddenly realized they wouldn’t even be able to look for the graveyard Ruth and Helen had visited all those long years ago. In her mind’s eye she could still see the faded entry in John Sunderland’s diary. She felt utterly miserable.

“Cheer up, Trixie,” Di urged her. “I know how you feel, but don’t let it spoil our holiday.”

Trixie, remembering this trip was Di’s birthday present, and that she shouldn’t put her own feelings first, made an effort to appear cheerful.

“You’re right, Di,” she said, forcing a smile. “Let’s
forget that old grouch and take a look at Green Trees.”

“And this time I suggest we don’t even get out of the car,” Brian said with a shake of his head. “We’re apparently in enemy territory.”

A short distance down the road they came to the end of the fenced-in land, and not far beyond was Green Trees, set far back from the road among well-tended lawns and shrubbery. Jim pulled the car to the side of the road and turned off the motor.

“Look!” Trixie cried. “It’s just what Rosewood Hall must have been like. Aren’t those the same kind of columns?”

“They certainly are!” Honey agreed. “What a gorgeous house!”

“Wouldn’t you love to go through it?” Di said. “But I wouldn’t even dare ask after the reception we just got. Would you, Trixie?”

“No, but we won’t
have
to ask, Di,” Trixie said softly.