Mystery at Peacock Hall (8 page)

   Althea was shocked. “You’ve been sneaking into my house, Roscoe Janney?”

“So what?” Marlene said. “The plan is ruined.”

At that moment Grandfather came in, followed by Tate.

“You’re right,” Grandfather announced. “Your plan
is
ruined. Althea, I found out from my lawyer friend that your great-nephew and this woman have been plotting together all along.”

“To buy my house?” Althea asked. “They’ve both made me separate offers, but I’ve always refused.”

“Roscoe figured you’d give in before the deadline,” Grandfather explained. “He was counting on your desperation to accept his ridiculously low offer.”

“How does this woman fit in?” Althea asked.

“Roscoe was going to turn right around and sell Peacock Hall to my development company at a huge profit,” Marlene confessed. “We’d split the profit. Whatever the treasure was, we’d split that, too.”

Tate stared at Roscoe, astonished. “I thought you loved this house! When you were little, you talked about living at Peacock Hall. And you were going to sell it?”

“Who wants this old place?” Roscoe said.

Jessie suspected Roscoe was embarrassed at being caught. And he didn’t like it that a six-year-old had discovered the secret he had been looking for all these years.

“Now I know why my husband insisted I sell this house to a member of the Randolph family,” Althea said to Roscoe. “He must have known you wouldn’t love the house.”

“Roscoe only loves money,” Marlene said.

“You’d better leave,” Althea ordered the real estate woman. “I wouldn’t sell to your development firm or my good-for-nothing nephew for the world.”

Roscoe stalked into the hall. He made a big show of holding the door open for Marlene Sanders, but she brushed past him angrily.

“I can open my own door!” she said.

After Roscoe had left, Althea glanced at the clock on the mantel. “I’d better pack. It’s nearly five. The sheriff will be here soon to escort me off my property.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Grandfather.

Althea turned, her eyes anxious. “What do you mean? That porcelain vase is in a million pieces. The treasure of Peacock Hall can’t help me now.”

“Althea, I’m surprised at you! A history expert,” Grandfather teased. “The vase was undoubtedly valuable, but you’re overlooking the true treasure of Peacock Hall.”

Henry understood immediately. “The panels in the fireplace! They’re just like the one designed by Thomas Jefferson at Monticello! How many other houses have secret panels hidden in the fireplace? Maybe Thomas Jefferson built these, too!”

“Why, the treasure has been in front of me all these years!” Althea said in awe. “It’s very possible Mr. Jefferson designed these fireplace panels. He and Zachary Randolph were friends as well as neighbors.”

“Yeah,” Benny put in. “He even wrote a note to Zachary.”

“What?” Violet asked. “Benny, what are you talking about?”

He held out the paper Marlene had thrown on the floor.

“This,” he said. “It’s a note from Thomas Jefferson. See? There are his initials in the corner.”

Grandfather took the receipt from Benny. “Benny is absolutely right! Talk about not seeing what’s right in front of us!”

“I just kept looking at that paper,” Benny explained. “And suddenly I could read those two letters at the bottom.
T
and
J
. Like the letters Roscoe wrote on the fish fountain.”

“And George Washington carved on the wall of Natural Bridge!” Jessie added, excited. “Ever since Grandfather got your letter, Althea, Benny has been seeing initials! It all began with your monogrammed letter.”

“You children clearly take after your grandmother’s side of the family,” Althea declared, winking at Grandfather. “Your grandfather is pretty smart, too. I hope he can figure out a way I can keep my house.”

“The answer is right here,” Grandfather said, waving the receipt. “This little piece of paper is worth a small fortune. It’s a receipt for the vase Jefferson brought back from England. Zachary or his wife may have asked Jefferson to buy them some English china. Jefferson wrote this receipt and initialed it.”

“That’s worth money?” asked Violet.

“People who collect autographs would pay a great deal of money for anything with Jefferson’s signature.” Grandfather smiled at Althea. “Maybe the foundation that runs Monticello would buy the receipt. It’s worth more than enough to pay your taxes.”

“It’s not too late?” Jessie asked. The clock’s hands had nearly crept to five.

“The sheriff is probably on his way,” Tate said, mopping his forehead with a handkerchief. “What’ll we do when he gets here? He won’t care about any old piece of paper.”

Grandfather nodded. “I’ve spent most of this week down at the courthouse. Believe me, the county would much rather have its tax money than go through an eviction procedure. I’m sure you will be granted an extension, Althea, once the news of this discovery is out. And then the autograph buyers will be calling. You’ll sell it and have money left over.”

Althea sank into a chair. “I can’t believe it. I don’t know how to thank you, James. And you children!”

“Your problems aren’t completely over,” Grandfather pointed out gently. “You still need help with this house. And the money left over from the sale of the Jefferson receipt won’t last forever.”

Tate cleared his throat. “I think I can help with this problem, Mrs. Randolph.” He went to the front door and signaled with his arm.

Heather and David Olsen walked in.

“Who are these people?” Althea asked Tate.

“Heather ran the herb stand on the highway,” Benny supplied.

Tate added sheepishly, “I’ve been letting them stay in the smokehouse. They don’t have anyplace to live.”

Heather said, “Tate’s been wonderful, Mrs. Randolph. We knew it was wrong to stay on your property without your permission, but we just had no place else to go. I had to think about my son.”

“How long has this been going on?” asked Althea.

“About two months,” Tate answered. “I found them walking along the highway and brought them home. I’ve been bunking in the dairy house. I hope you’re not mad.”

“No, Tate, I’m not angry. But I don’t like being fooled.” Althea’s face softened. “Still, I understand how you must feel, Heather, trying to raise your son.”

Heather became excited. “Do you know you have a wonderful herb garden? It’s all grown over, but I can bring it back. We could open an herb shop right here at Peacock Hall. Since it’s on the way to Monticello, we’d have lots of visitors.”

“You could open the house as a public attraction,” Grandfather suggested to Althea. “People would love to see that fireplace. Peacock Hall should be registered as an historic property. That way the house will be protected.”

“I can help you do that,” Heather told Althea. “I know a lot about old houses and gardens.”

Althea liked the idea. “You and David could live here, of course. Oh, everything is working out! I never dreamed I’d keep my house and have young people stay with me, too!”

“I’m happy for you, Althea,” Grandfather said. “But it’s time we Aldens headed back home.”

“I don’t know how I can ever repay you,” Althea said.

“We don’t need any payment,” Henry said, speaking for all the Aldens. “We had fun finding the treasure.”

David stepped forward, his hands behind his back. “I have something Benny might want,” he said.

He presented Benny with a peacock feather. It was a glorious reward, almost as tall as Benny, with a sapphire eye on the end.

“Oh, boy!” Benny exclaimed. “Thanks a lot, David!”

Outside, the peacock gave his eerie cry.

“He doesn’t want this back, does he?” Benny asked. “Can peacocks count their tail feathers?”

Everyone laughed.

“No, Benny,” Jessie said. “I don’t think birds can count as well as you can!”

She was glad they had found the secret of Peacock Hall and saved the wonderful old house.

And they could count on another mystery just around the corner!

G
ERTRUDE
C
HANDLER
W
ARNER
discovered when she was teaching that many readers who like an exciting story could find no books that were both easy and fun to read. She decided to try to meet this need, and her first book,
The Boxcar Children,
quickly proved she had succeeded.

Miss Warner drew on her own experiences to write the mystery. As a child she spent hours watching trains go by on the tracks opposite her family home. She often dreamed about what it would be like to set up housekeeping in a caboose or freight car — the situation the Alden children find themselves in.

When Miss Warner received requests for more adventures involving Henry, Jessie, Violet, and Benny Alden, she began additional stories. In each, she chose a special setting and introduced unusual or eccentric characters who liked the unpredictable.

While the mystery element is central to each of Miss Warner’s books, she never thought of them as strictly juvenile mysteries. She liked to stress the Aldens’ independence and resourcefulness and their solid New England devotion to using up and making do. The Aldens go about most of their adventures with as little adult supervision as possible — something else that delights young readers.

Miss Warner lived in Putnam, Connecticut, until her death in 1979. During her lifetime, she received hundreds of letters from girls and boys telling her how much they liked her books.

The Boxcar Children Mysteries

T
HE
B
OXCAR
C
HILDREN

S
URPRISE
I
SLAND

T
HE
Y
ELLOW
H
OUSE
M
YSTERY

M
YSTERY
R
ANCH

M
IKE’S
M
YSTERY

B
LUE
B
AY
M
YSTERY

T
HE
W
OODSHED
M
YSTERY

T
HE
L
IGHTHOUSE
M
YSTERY

M
OUNTAIN
T
OP
M
YSTERY

S
CHOOLHOUSE
M
YSTERY

C
ABOOSE
M
YSTERY

H
OUSEBOAT
M
YSTERY

S
NOWBOUND
M
YSTERY

T
REE
H
OUSE
M
YSTERY

B
ICYCLE
M
YSTERY

M
YSTERY IN THE
S
AND

M
YSTERY
B
EHIND
THE
W
ALL

B
US
S
TATION
M
YSTERY

B
ENNY
U
NCOVERS
A
M
YSTERY

T
HE
H
AUNTED
C
ABIN
M
YSTERY

T
HE
D
ESERTED
L
IBRARY
M
YSTERY

T
HE
A
NIMAL
S
HELTER
M
YSTERY

T
HE
O
LD
M
OTEL
M
YSTERY

T
HE
M
YSTERY OF THE
H
IDDEN
P
AINTING

T
HE
A
MUSEMENT
P
ARK
M
YSTERY

T
HE
M
YSTERY OF THE
M
IXED
-U
P
Z
OO

T
HE
C
AMP
-O
UT
M
YSTERY

T
HE
M
YSTERY
G
IRL

T
HE
M
YSTERY
C
RUISE

T
HE
D
ISAPPEARING
F
RIEND
M
YSTERY

T
HE
M
YSTERY OF THE
S
INGING
G
HOST

M
YSTERY IN THE
S
NOW

T
HE
P
IZZA
M
YSTERY

T
HE
M
YSTERY
H
ORSE

T
HE
M
YSTERY AT THE
D
OG
S
HOW

T
HE
C
ASTLE
M
YSTERY

T
HE
M
YSTERY OF THE
L
OST
V
ILLAGE