Chapter 3 The Sign of the Twisted Candles by Carolyn Keene
The Feud
“Come and sit down, my dear! The celebration has already begun,” old Mr. Sidney greeted Nancy as she re-entered the tower room.
“I’m sorry to have been so long,” Nancy remarked as she sat down in the rocking chair.
“Jemitt has made some excellent fruit punch,” he told her.
“Then I propose a toast to you, Mr. Sidney,” Nancy said, lifting her glass high. “Happy Birthday!”
The four girls rose to their feet and sang the familiar birthday song. Tears of happiness glistened in the eyes of the old man, and even his beard could not conceal the pleased smile that spread over his face.
“Thank you, thank you,” he murmured.
The candlelight sparkled on the silver and china, and Bess and George relaxed in the gaiety of the birthday party. Even Carol’s timidity seemed to vanish.
Nancy, Bess, and George each told a humorous story, and Mr. Sidney laughed in delight. Finally Nancy asked him about candle making.
“It began in England,” the old man replied as he finished his cake. “I was born in Liverpool-on-Tyne. When I was still a boy I went to work for a chandler—a man who makes candles.”
“Was the work hard?” Bess asked.
“For the first year I carried wood and stoked the fires which melted the tallow,” Mr. Sidney said. “It was hot work and the hours were long. Then I was promoted to stirring and skimming the hot grease. Under an arrangement with my parents, I was to live with my employer until I was eighteen. At that time I was to receive a new suit of clothes, some money, and a certificate to prove I was a journeyman chandler.
“It’s not boasting to say that I learned quickly, and when I was fifteen I developed my first invention. I invented a candle that was pierced lengthwise by four holes, down which the melted tallow ran, instead of spilling over the candlestick. In this way it was saved, to be burned when the candle grew shorter. My employer made a good profit on that. I received nothing.”
George said sympathetically, “How unjust!”
“It was, so I decided to run away. I had only the clothes I wore and no money, but I was determined to get to America,” Mr. Sidney explained. “I offered to work my way across the ocean, and the captain of a freighter agreed to give me passage in exchange for labor as a helper in the galley.
“The ship ran into terrible storms and it took months to get to New York. Our drinking water ran low. I can tell you we were mighty glad to reach America and drop anchor.
“I soon found steady work making candles,” Asa Sidney went on. “When I had a little money laid aside I opened my own shop, married, and had three children.
“Evenings I experimented with improvements on candles and—and I guess I neglected my children and my wife.”
The white head bowed and a tremor ran through the old man’s body. The girls remained respectfully silent.
“Eventually I invented the twisted candle which brought me fame and fortune.”
At the phrase “fame and fortune” Nancy said to herself, “So this man, despite his surroundings, is no doubt wealthy.” Her eyes roved around the room. A small ornate wooden chest under a low table caught her attention. Carved on the top were several twisted candles. There was a nameplate: Private property of Asa Sidney.
At the moment the old man was saying, “But fame and fortune did not help solve my problem. My little girl died and my wife and boys left me here alone. I never heard from them again. But years later I learned all of them had died. The boys had never married, so I have no descendants. I had a brother, though, who also came to America, but he has passed away.”
“I’m terribly sorry,” said Nancy, and Bess and George expressed their sympathy.
“Men should be content,” Mr. Sidney said. “If they let success make them greedy, they lose the happiness money can’t buy.”
“But surely,” Bess spoke up, “a successful man owes it to the world to use his talents for the general good.”
“It was pride that urged me on, not a desire to better the world,” the old man said.
Mr. Sidney’s grief was so apparent that Nancy rose from her chair and put a hand on his quivering shoulder. “I’m sorry if we have revived sorrowful memories. Please don’t be so sad.”
“Sad? I’m doomed to be the saddest mortal on earth. Instead of a pleasant home, with my relatives coming to see me, I have lived to watch a feud. There is greed where there should be affection, and envy where there should be love!”
Nancy glanced at Bess and George, who shrugged. Apparently they had never been told about the feud.
Asa Sidney sat up straight and looked about him. “You must pardon me, my dears, for inflicting a half century of sorrow upon you. This is no way to repay your kindness. Is there any fruit punch left? Let us drink to the new world of electronics, spaceships, and trips to the moon—but always soft candlelight. Salute!”
All drained their glasses of fruit punch, Bess looking wistfully at the maraschino cherry which obstinately remained in the bottom of her glass.
Nancy saw that the old man was tiring and said they must go. As she rose from her chair, they all heard a bloodcurdling shriek from outdoors. Nancy rushed to the window and looked down. She could see no one, but in a moment Jemitt rushed from the inn and gazed about. Apparently he was puzzled too.
“I must go,” Carol said quickly and hurried downstairs.
The other girls said good night to Mr. Sidney and followed. By the time they reached the first floor, Jemitt was coming back inside.
“What happened?” Nancy asked.
“Search me,” he replied. “Some crazy woman just trying out her lungs, I guess. Did you enjoy your dinner?”
“It was delicious. How much do I owe you?”
The manager named an amount and Nancy paid the bill.
As the girls went to the front porch, Carol came from the garden, saying she had not seen the woman who screamed. “I hope she wasn’t injured.”
Nancy was suspicious about the whole episode. Had Jemitt been eavesdropping at the tower room door, afraid Asa Sidney might say something to his visitors which would make them feel he was being mistreated? To get the girls away, had he ordered some woman, probably Mrs. Jemitt, to scream? If so, the ruse had worked!
Nancy did not express her thoughts aloud. Instead, she gave Carol a quick kiss and said, “Remember, my dad is a lawyer. If he or I can be of service to you, please let me know.”
“I hope to see you again and often,” Carol answered shyly, “even though I can’t imagine myself needing legal advice.”
Nancy, Bess, and George walked along the driveway to the road and set off for the convertible. The wind had died down but had left trees uprooted and branches snapped off.
They found Nancy’s car undamaged and climbed in. She turned on the headlights and had just backed around when a car roared up the road and stopped short at the fallen tree. The driver almost scraped the fender of Nancy’s car. He leaned out and asked curtly why she was blocking the road.
“Great-Uncle Peter!” George exclaimed. “Hello, Uncle Pete!”
“Who—what—George! And Bess, too? Yes, it is. What are you girls doing here?”
The man leaped from his car and strode toward them, his face plainly showing annoyed surprise.
“We haven’t seen you in a couple of years,” Bess called, trying to force a cheery note into her voice.
Nancy watched the little drama with wonder. She had never heard of Great-Uncle Peter.
“You haven’t answered my question. Why are you two here?” the man demanded.
“We were caught in the storm and stopped at The Sign of the Twisted Candles,” George replied. “This is our friend, Nancy Drew. Our Great-Uncle, Nancy. Mr. Peter Boonton.”
Peter Boonton, a tall, thin man about sixty, nodded acknowledgment of the introduction.
“Well, run along now,” he admonished his nieces. “It is late for you girls to be so far from home.” He turned on his heel and started toward the inn on foot.
“Whew!” George exclaimed. “What a greeting! Nancy, the plot thickens. Great-Uncle Peter must have come to see Asa Sidney. Well, let’s go!”
Before Nancy could start, another car whizzed up the road and screeched to a halt.
“This place has become very popular all of a sudden,” Bess remarked.
Since the newcomer was blocking the road, Nancy tapped her horn. Instead of moving, the driver sat staring at Peter Boonton’s car. He called to Nancy, “Say, miss, do you know whose car that is? It looks like Pete Boonton’s.”
He stepped to the ground. The man appeared to be about the same age as Bess and George’s great-uncle, but was heavier set.
“Yes, that’s Pete’s car all right,” he declared emphatically. “See here, you aren’t waiting for him by any chance, are you?”
“Certainly not,” Nancy answered, gripping Bess’s arm as a signal for silence. “We’re just leaving, as a matter of fact.”
“Don’t let me keep you, then,” the stranger said, leaning an elbow on Nancy’s car. “Now that the owner of this place has hit the century mark, I suppose every relative of his or his wife is looking forward to a piece of his estate. They’re worrying more about his money than his health, you can bet!” The man laughed loudly.
Here was added light on Asa Sidney’s odd affairs, Nancy thought. She hoped the stranger would continue his musings.
“Yes sir! Two generations of bickering, and now—him! Well, Peter Boonton can’t put anything over on me,” the man muttered. “He’s not a blood relative. There’ll be a hot scene in the tower room tonight or I’m not Jacob Sidney!”
Bess and George gasped but said nothing. Nancy asked, “You are related to Asa Sidney?”
“Yes, my father was his brother. How do you know Asa?” he said, thrusting his face into Nancy’s car. “Say, who are you?”
“Oh, I just met Mr. Sidney this evening,” Nancy replied nonchalantly. “When I heard it was his hundredth birthday, I arranged a little party for him. Carol helped get it ready and ate with us.”
“Carol! Humph! Asa thinks more of that girl than of his own flesh and blood.”
“He seems to be very lonely,” Nancy remarked pointedly. “He said so himself.”
“Oh, he did, did he? And whom has he to blame for that?” Jacob Sidney shouted. “Cutting himself off from everybody and living in an attic making twisted candles all the time. He’s crazy, that’s what he is.
“You can bet that I’m not crazy enough to let Pete Boonton fill the old man with gossip,” he added, shaking his fist at the house. “The Sidneys didn’t inherit any weakness in the head, and a Boonton never got the best of ’em yet!”
With that, the man dashed off to the inn.