Chapter 8 The Secret of the Old Clock by Carolyn Keene
A Forgotten Secret
Nancy screamed for help, hoping to attract the farmer’s attention. She expected momentarily to be bitten by the angry dog, but to her great relief the animal did not harm her.
The young sleuth’s sudden fall had caused the puppy to fly from her arms. With a leap its mother was at the pup’s side. She grabbed her baby by the back of its neck and trotted off toward the barn.
“O-o, that was a narrow escape.” Nancy took a deep breath as she got to her feet, brushed herself off, and ruefully surveyed a tear in her sweater.
By this time the man on the tractor, having changed direction, saw the fracas and came running. He apologized for the dog’s actions, but Nancy said quickly:
“It was my fault. I should have set the pup down. Its mother probably thought I was trying to dognap her baby!”
“Possibly.”
Nancy explained why she had picked up the little animal and the farmer said he would look at the cut later.
“I’m glad you weren’t hurt,” he added. “Thanks for being such a good scout about it. Did you come to see me or my brother?” he asked. “I’m Fred Mathews.”
Nancy gave her name, and added that she was acquainted with the Turner sisters and others who had been told they would benefit under Josiah Crowley’s will.
“My dad—the lawyer Carson Drew—and I are working on the case. We believe there might have been a later will than the one presented by Mr. Topham, and we’d like to find it.”
“And you came to see if William and I could give you a clue?” Fred’s bright blue eyes sparkled boyishly.
“That’s right, Mr. Mathews. Also, did Mr. Crowley ever tell you he was going to leave you some money?”
“Indeed he did.”
At this moment another man came from the house and Fred introduced him as his brother William. Both were tall, spare, and strong-muscled. Though their hair was gray, the men’s faces were youthful and unwrinkled.
“Let’s sit down under the tree here and discuss this,” Fred suggested, leading the way to a group of rustic chairs. He told William of Nancy’s request, then asked him, “Did Cousin Josiah ever give you any idea he’d made a will in which we were not beneficiaries?”
“No. I thought one would come to light when he died. To tell the truth, Miss Drew, Fred and I were thunderstruck at the will which left everything to the Tophams. That wasn’t what Cousin Josiah led us to believe.”
“It certainly wasn’t,” Fred spoke up. “But I guess William and I counted our chickens before they were hatched. We just about make ends meet here with our small fruit farm. Help and equipment cost such a lot. One thing we’ve always wanted to do, but couldn’t afford, was to travel. We thought we’d use the money from Cousin Josiah to do that.”
“But our dream bubble burst,” said William. “No trips for us.”
Nancy smiled. “Don’t give up hope yet. Dad and I haven’t.”
She was disappointed that the brothers could offer her no clues about a place to look for another will. A little while later she left the farm and returned home.
“No new evidence,” she told her father. “Let’s hope Mrs. Abby Rowen has some!”
Early the next morning she set off for the elderly woman’s home, and reached her destination by asking directions of people living along West Lake Road.
“This must be Abby Rowen’s house,” Nancy told herself. “It fits the description.”
She climbed out of her car and stood before the one-story frame building which was badly in need of paint and repair. The yard around it was overgrown with weeds, and the picket fence enclosing the cottage sagged dejectedly.
“The place looks deserted,” Nancy mused. “But I’ll see if Mrs. Rowen is at home.”
Nancy made her way up the scraggly path to the house and rapped on the front door. There was no response. After a moment, she knocked again.
This time a muffled voice called, “Who’s there? If you’re a peddler, I don’t want anything.”
“I’m not selling anything,” Nancy called out reassuringly. “Won’t you let me in, please?”
There was a long silence, then the quavering voice replied, “I can’t open the door. I’ve hurt myself and can’t walk.”
Nancy hesitated an instant before pushing open the door. As she stepped into the dreary living room, she saw a frail figure on the couch. Abby Rowen lay huddled under an old shawl, her withered face drawn with pain.
“I am Nancy Drew and I’ve come to help you, Mrs. Rowen.”
The old lady turned her head and regarded Nancy with a stare of wonder.
“You’ve come to help me?” she repeated unbelievingly. “I didn’t think anyone would ever bother about old Abby again.”
“Here, let me arrange the pillows for you.” Gently Nancy moved the old woman into a more comfortable position.
“Yesterday I fell down the cellar stairs,” Mrs. Rowen explained. “I hurt my hip and sprained my ankle.”
“Haven’t you had a doctor?” Nancy asked in astonishment.
“No.” Abby Rowen sighed. “Not a soul has been here and I couldn’t get in touch with anybody. I have no telephone.”
“Can you walk at all?” Nancy asked.
“A little.”
“Then your hip isn’t broken,” Nancy said in relief. “Let me see your ankle. Oh my, it is swollen! I’ll bandage it for you.”
“There’s a clean cloth in the closet in the kitchen,” Abby told her. “I haven’t any regular bandage.”
“You really should have a doctor,” Nancy remarked. “Let me drive you to one.”
“I can’t afford it,” the old woman murmured. “My pension check hasn’t come, and it’s too small, anyway.”
“Let me pay the doctor,” Nancy offered.
Abby Rowen shook her head stubbornly. “I’ll not take charity. I’d rather die first.”
“Well, if you insist upon not having a doctor, I’m going to the nearest drugstore and get some bandaging and a few other things,” Nancy told her. “But before I go, I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
“There’s no tea in the house.”
“Then I’ll get a box. What else do you need?”
“I need ’most everything, but I can’t afford anything right now. You might get me some tea and a loaf of bread. That’s enough. You’ll find the money in a jar in the cupboard. It’s not very much, but it’s all I have.”
“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Nancy promised.
She stopped in the kitchen long enough to examine the cupboards. With the exception of a little flour and sugar and a can of soup, there appeared to be nothing in the house to eat. Nancy found that the money jar contained less than five dollars.
“I’ll not take any of it,” she decided.
Quietly the young sleuth slipped out the back door. She drove quickly to the nearest store and ordered a stock of groceries. Then she stopped at a drugstore and purchased bandages and liniment.
Reaching the cottage, she carried the supplies inside and adeptly set about making Abby Rowen more comfortable. She bathed the swollen ankle and bound it neatly with the antiseptic bandage.
“It feels better already,” Mrs. Rowen told her gratefully. “I don’t know what would have happened to me if you hadn’t come.”
“Oh, someone would have dropped in,” said Nancy cheerfully. She went to the kitchen and in a short while prepared tea and a light lunch for the elderly woman.
As Abby Rowen ate the nourishing meal, Nancy was gratified to observe that almost immediately her patient became more cheerful and seemed to gain strength. She sat up on the couch and appeared eager to talk with Nancy.
“There aren’t many folks willing to come in and help an old lady. If Josiah Crowley had lived, things would have been different,” she declared. “I could have paid someone to look after me.”
“It’s strange that he didn’t provide for you in his will,” Nancy replied quietly.
She did not wish to excite the woman by telling her real mission. Yet Nancy hoped that she might lead her tactfully into a discussion of Josiah Crowley’s affairs without raising hopes which might never be realized.
“It’s my opinion that Josiah did provide for me,” Mrs. Rowen returned emphatically. “Many a time he said to me, ‘Abby, you’ll never need to worry. When I’m gone you’ll be well taken care of by my will.’ ”
“And then everything was left to the Tophams,” Nancy encouraged her to proceed.
“That was according to the first will,” Abby Rowen stated.
“You mean there was another will?” Nancy inquired eagerly.
“Of course. Why, I saw that will with my own eyes!”
“You saw it!” Nancy gasped.
The old woman nodded gravely. “Mind, I didn’t see what was in the will. One day Josiah came to call and give me some money. Right off I noticed he had a bunch of papers in his hand. ‘Abby,’ he said, ‘I’ve made a new will. I didn’t bother with a lawyer. I wrote it myself.’ ”
“How long ago was that?” Nancy asked quickly.
“Let me see.” Abby Rowen frowned thoughtfully. “I can’t remember the exact date. It was this past spring. Anyway, Josiah hinted that he’d done well by me. ‘But, Josiah,’ I said, ‘are you sure it’s legal to write it yourself?’ ‘Of course it is,’ he said. ‘A lawyer told me it was all right, just so long as I wrote it myself and signed it. But I did have it witnessed.’ ”
“Do you know who witnessed the will?” Nancy broke in.
“No. He didn’t say.”
“Haven’t you any idea what became of the will?” Nancy asked hopefully.
“Well, I remember Josiah did say something about putting it where nobody could get it unless they had legal authority. But I really don’t know what became of it.”
“Are you certain that was all Mr. Crowley said?” Nancy inquired gently. She recalled the Turners saying that Abby had become forgetful.
The elderly woman shook her head and sighed. “Many a night I’ve lain awake trying to think what else he did say about where he would put the will. I just can’t recollect.”
“Try to think!” Nancy begged.
“I can’t remember,” Abby Rowen murmured hopelessly. “I’ve tried and tried.” She leaned against the cushions and closed her eyes, as though the effort had exhausted her.
At that very moment the clock on the mantel chimed twelve. Abby’s eyes fluttered open and an odd expression passed over her face.
For an instant she stared straight before her, then slowly turned her head and fastened her eyes on the clock.