Chapter 9 The Hidden Staircase by Carolyn Keene
A Worrisome Delay
“You say Willie Wharton was seen in River Heights down by the river?” Nancy asked unbelievingly.
“Yes,” Hannah replied. “I learned it from our postman, Mr. Ritter, who is one of the people that sold property to the railroad. As you know, Nancy, Mr. Ritter is very honest and reliable. Well, he said he’d heard that some of the property owners were trying to horn in on this deal of Willie Wharton’s for getting more money. But Mr. Ritter wouldn’t have a thing to do with it—calls it a holdup.”
“Did Mr. Ritter himself see Willie Wharton?” Nancy asked eagerly.
“No,” the housekeeper replied. “One of the other property owners told him Willie was around.”
“That man could be mistaken,” Nancy suggested.
“Of course he might,” Hannah agreed. “And I’m inclined to think he is. If your father is staying over in Chicago, it must be because of Willie Wharton.”
Nancy did not tell Hannah what was racing through her mind. She said good night cheerfully, but actually she was very much worried.
“Maybe Willie Wharton was seen down by the river,” she mused. “And maybe Dad was ‘unavoidably detained’ by an enemy of his in connection with the railroad bridge project. One of the dissatisfied property owners might have followed him to Chicago.”
Or, she reflected further, it was not inconceivable that Mr. Drew had found Willie Wharton, only to have Willie hold the lawyer a prisoner.
As Nancy sat lost in anxious thought, Helen came into the hall. “Something the matter?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” Nancy replied, “but I have a feeling there is. Dad telegraphed to say that he wouldn’t be here tomorrow. Instead of wiring, he always phones me or Hannah or his office when he is away and it seems strange that he didn’t do so this time.”
“You told me a few days ago that your father had been threatened,” said Helen. “Are you afraid it has something to do with that?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Is there anything I can do?” Helen offered.
“Thank you, Helen, but I think not. There isn’t anything I can do either. We’ll just have to wait and see what happens. Maybe I’ll hear from Dad again.”
Nancy looked so downcast that Helen searched her mind to find something which would cheer her friend. Suddenly Helen had an idea and went to speak to Miss Flora and Aunt Rosemary about it.
“I think it’s a wonderful plan if Nancy will do it,” Aunt Rosemary said.
Helen called Nancy from the hall and proposed that they all go to the attic to look in the big trunk containing the old costumes.
“We might even put them on,” Miss Flora proposed, smiling girlishly.
“And you girls could dance the minuet,” said Aunt Rosemary enthusiastically. “Mother plays the old spinet very well. Maybe she would play a minuet for you.”
“I love your idea,” said Nancy. She knew that the three were trying to boost her spirits and she appreciated it. Besides, what they had proposed sounded like fun.
All of them trooped up the creaky attic stairs. In their haste, none of the group had remembered to bring flashlights.
“I’ll go downstairs and get a couple,” Nancy offered.
“Never mind,” Aunt Rosemary spoke up. “There are some candles and holders right here. We keep them for emergencies.”
She lighted two white candles which stood in old-fashioned, saucer-type brass holders and led the way to the costume trunk.
As Helen lifted the heavy lid, Nancy exclaimed in delight, “How beautiful the clothes are!”
She could see silks, satins, and laces at one side. At the other was a folded-up rose velvet robe. She and Helen lifted out the garments and held them up.
“They’re really lovelier than our formal dance clothes today,” Helen remarked. “Especially the men’s!”
Miss Flora smiled. “And a lot more flattering!”
The entire trunk was unpacked, before the group selected what they would wear.
“This pale-green silk gown with the panniers would look lovely on you, Nancy,” Miss Flora said. “And I’m sure it’s just the right size, too.”
Nancy surveyed the tiny waist of the ball gown. “I’ll try it on,” she said. Then laughingly she added, “But I’ll probably have to hold my breath to close it in the middle. My, but the women in olden times certainly had slim waistlines!”
Helen was holding up a man’s purple velvet suit. It had knee breeches and the waistcoat had a lace-ruffled front. There were a tricorn hat, long white stockings, and buckled slippers to complete the costume.
“I think I’ll wear this and be your partner, Nancy,” Helen said.
Taking off her pumps, she slid her feet into the buckled slippers. The others laughed aloud. A man with a foot twice the size of Helen’s had once worn the slippers!
“Never mind. I’ll stuff the empty space with paper,” Helen announced gaily.
Miss Flora and Aunt Rosemary selected gowns for themselves, then opened a good-sized box at the bottom of the trunk. It contained various kinds of wigs worn in Colonial times. All were pure white and fluffy.
Carrying the costumes and wigs, the group descended to their bedrooms, where they changed into the fancy clothes, then went to the first floor. Miss Flora led the way into the room across the hall from the parlor. She said it once had been the drawing room. Later it had become a library, but the old spinet still stood in a corner.
Miss Flora sat down at the instrument and began to play Beethoven’s “Minuet.” Aunt Rosemary sat down beside her.
Nancy and Helen, dubbed by the latter, Master and Mistress Colonial America, began to dance. They clasped their right hands high in the air, then took two steps backward and made little bows. They circled, then strutted, and even put in a few steps with which no dancers in Colonial times would have been familiar.
Aunt Rosemary giggled and clapped. “I wish President Washington would come to see you,” she said, acting out her part in the entertainment. “Mistress Nancy, prithee do an encore and Master Corning, wilt thou accompany thy fair lady?”
The girls could barely keep from giggling. Helen made a low bow to her aunt, her tricorn in her hand, and said, “At your service, my lady. Your every wish is my command!”
The minuet was repeated, then as Miss Flora stopped playing, the girls sat down.
“Oh, that was such fun!” said Nancy. “Some time I’d like to— Listen!” she commanded suddenly.
From outside the house they could hear loud shouting. “Come here! You in the house! Come here!”
Nancy and Helen dashed from their chairs to the front door. Nancy snapped on the porch light and the two girls raced outside.
“Over here!” a man’s voice urged.
Nancy and Helen ran down the steps and out onto the lawn. Just ahead of them stood Tom Patrick, the police detective. In a viselike grip he was holding a thin, bent-over man whom the girls judged to be about fifty years of age.
“Is this your ghost?” the guard asked.
His prisoner was struggling to free himself but was unable to get loose. The girls hurried forward to look at the man.
“I caught him sneaking along the edge of the grounds,” Tom Patrick announced.
“Let me go!” the man cried out angrily. “I’m no ghost. What are you talking about?”
“You may not be a ghost,” the detective said, “but you could be the thief who has been robbing this house.”
“What!” his prisoner exclaimed. “I’m no thief! I live around here. Anyone will tell you I’m okay.”
“What’s your name and where do you live?” the detective prodded. He let the man stand up straight but held one of his arms firmly.
“My name’s Albert Watson and I live over on Tuttle Road.”
“What were you doing on this property?”
Albert Watson said he had been taking a short cut home. His wife had taken their car for the evening.
“I’d been to a friend’s house. You can call him and verify what I’m saying. And you can call my wife, too. Maybe she’s home now and she’ll come and get me.”
The guard reminded Albert Watson that he had not revealed why he was sneaking along the ground.
“Well,” the prisoner said, “it was because of you. I heard downtown that there was a detective patrolling this place and I didn’t want to bump into you. I was afraid of just what did happen.” The man relaxed a little. “I guess you’re a pretty good guard at that.”
Detective Patrick let go of Albert Watson’s arm. “Your story sounds okay, but we’ll go in the house and do some telephoning to find out if you’re telling the truth.”
“You’ll find out all right. Why, I’m even a notary public! They don’t give a notary’s license to dishonest folks!” the trespasser insisted. Then he stared at Nancy and Helen, “What are you doing in those funny clothes?”
“We—are—we were having a little costume party,” Helen responded. In the excitement she and Nancy had forgotten what they were wearing!
The two girls started for the house, with the men following. When Mr. Watson and the guard saw Miss Flora and Aunt Rosemary also in costume they gazed at the women in amusement.
Nancy introduced Mr. Watson. Miss Flora said she knew of him, although she had never met the man. Two phone calls by the guard confirmed Watson’s story. In a little while his wife arrived at Twin Elms to drive her husband home, and Detective Patrick went back to his guard duty.
Aunt Rosemary then turned out all the lights on the first floor and she, Miss Flora, and the girls went upstairs. Bedroom doors were locked, and everyone hoped there would be no disturbance during the night.
“It was a good day, Nancy,” said Helen, yawning, as she climbed into bed.
“Yes, it was,” said Nancy. “Of course, I’m a little disappointed that we aren’t farther along solving the mystery but maybe by this time tomorrow—” She looked toward Helen who did not answer. She was already sound asleep.
Nancy herself was under the covers a few minutes later. She lay staring at the ceiling, going over the various events of the past two days. As her mind recalled the scene in the attic when they were pulling costumes from the old trunk, she suddenly gave a start.
“That section of wall back of the trunk!” she told herself. “The paneling looked different somehow from the rest of the attic wall. Maybe it’s movable and leads to a secret exit! Tomorrow I’ll find out!”