The Aviary (24 page)
“Well, it seems that Elliot
is
most probably my father.”
Daphne grabbed her friend’s hand. “Clara, are you sure?”
When Clara laid out all that she had heard from her mother and the birds, Daphne was convinced as well.
“Where would Mr. Booth be keeping your father all these years? And for what purpose?”
“I don’t know,” Clara said. “But I not only have the
story from the birds; I also have had indications from Mrs. Glendoveer—”
“Indications? Has she spoken to you?”
“Not in words. But she does send signs. I told you about the dining room candles—and now I’ve had another experience with my bedroom candle the other night. It is obvious that Mrs. Glendoveer is convinced Mr. Booth is an enemy to the family. And when I tried to get information on whether she thinks he knows of Elliot’s whereabouts, the candle extinguished itself with lots of black smoke.”
Daphne pursed her lips. “But you haven’t got a yes or no, have you? Black smoke could simply be Mrs. Glendoveer showing anger. We really know nothing about Elliot from that.”
“But we have good reason to suspect that Elliot is alive somewhere—otherwise, he would have come back to inhabit the body of a bird along with the others. And even if Mr. Booth was in Berlin when the boat crashed with the children, would he not know what happened to the baby if he set up the plot himself?”
Daphne lowered her eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Well,
I
know that time is running out for finding my father. If Mother sells the house, how can he return? And if he does not return home, the Glendoveer children will live on without release.”
“Do you mean they will not die, even of old age?”
“From what I understand, they won’t. Ruby has told me
that cockatoos can live longer than many people; but the rest of the birds should be long dead by now. We say that they thrive on her excellent care, yet I know they are weary of their life as birds. If you had only heard Frances cry the other day, begging to have the spell broken.”
Daphne placed a hand on her heart. “What was the Great Glendoveer thinking when he did this to his children? It is cruelty, plain and simple.”
Clara sighed. “There is nothing plain and simple about any of it. It is all good intentions and disastrous consequences. Poor Mr. Glendoveer cast a spell to save his children from death, to call back their souls. But he never knew the outcome of his dabbling in magic. In fact, he was never sure that the spell had worked!”
“Then it is a tragedy, all of it,” Daphne said. “A sad story that doesn’t end.”
“And now everything is urgent. It would be such a help to have some sign from Mrs. Glendoveer that her Elliot is definitely alive and that Mr. Booth knows where he is.”
“Ask her,” Daphne said.
“Right now?”
“Yes. If you’d rather try it alone, I’ll understand.”
“No. Please stay,” Clara said.
Daphne sat with her hands knotted in her lap while Clara looked up at the ceiling. “Mrs. Glendoveer? My friend Daphne is here with me. We want to find Elliot. Do you think Mr. Booth knows where he is?”
The girls waited in silence. Not even a curtain stirred.
“Maybe you should light a candle,” suggested Daphne.
“We could try.” Clara opened the top drawer in which she kept her matches, stood on tiptoe, and looked in. The handkerchief that had held Mrs. Glendoveer’s faded blossoms had opened and spilled. For a moment, the blood rushed so quickly from Clara’s head, she saw spots. “It’s her. She’s been here.”
“What is it?” said Daphne. “Show me.”
Clara moved out of the way so that Daphne could see: an almost empty drawer littered with crushed petals. And written in their dust?
“ ‘Yes’!” said Daphne. “She wrote ‘yes’!”
“We asked for a sign, and she gave it,” Clara said.
Clara watched her friend reel over to the bed and plop down. “Gracious,” Daphne said. “I’m used to you telling me the most fantastical things, but seeing it for myself …”
“Are you scared?”
Daphne sat up and set her jaw. “Only a little.”
Clara sat beside her. “Good. Then we must figure out what comes next. If Mr. Booth knows where Elliot is, then we must find a way to make him tell us. You will help me, won’t you?”
“You don’t need to ask,” Daphne told her. “I’m already thinking.”
After only an hour or so in Clara’s room, the girls were putting the finishing touches on a letter to Mr. Booth.
“I’ll have to go home and write this on my own
stationery,” Daphne said, looking the paper over, “but I’m almost ashamed. I sound like such an awful pill.”
Clara laughed. “Read it out loud!”
Dear Mr. Booth:
Please forgive me when I confess that I first wrote you out of mere curiosity. After reading your moving reply, I felt rather small. It was obvious that the Glendoveers are as near to your heart now as they were when they were alive. And when you asked me to help prevent any further “blackening” of their family legacy, I felt absolutely chastened and vowed to be your advocate wherever I could.
However, today I write you with urgent news. It is your own legacy now being threatened, sir. I have it from the daughter of Mrs. Glendoveer’s servant that the family has a document in which the old woman accuses you of the most unspeakable crimes. She lays the deaths of her children at your feet and claims that you plotted to kill them!
It hurts me even to write such a thing, but I cannot remain silent. This revelation must wound you, to have your extraordinary kindness repaid with such treachery.
For myself, I refused to believe such “evidence” existed until the girl, Clara, showed it to me. The girl says that both her mother and the cook plan to sell it to a magazine of the lowest reputation for their own gain.
Clara is pious and shy. I’ve convinced her of your
innocence and good intentions, and told her that to stain your reputation with these lies would be a grave sin, whereupon she was reduced to penitent tears.
She tells me now that she would gladly turn the paper over to you—but
only
to you personally. She is most fearful of having the document fall into the wrong hands. I assured her I would write you at once!
The girl is seldom left alone. However, I have learned that both her mother and the cook are to meet with attorneys on June 19 to discuss the sale of Mrs. Glendoveer’s home. If you are able to travel and meet me at the house in the morning, I will be happy to introduce you and assist in recovering the document.
For her own safety, the girl does not want neighbors to see a car or carriage parked out front when you visit. If word gets back to her mother that she has let people in the house, she shall be beaten. Please arrange to have a car drop you off and then drive away or she will not answer the door. (I’m sorry, but it is the best accommodation I could make with her.)
I have not informed my own parents of our possible meeting. They would surely forbid me, and then what would become of you? Please write back and let me know whether you can come to Lockhaven and at what time I should meet you. But do not be explicit! My mother reads all my mail.
Do write as soon as possible, as it is barely two weeks’ time before the 19th.
Bless you, Mr. Booth. I shall not fail you!
Sincerely,
Daphne Aspinal
The two girls shared a wordless moment before Daphne said, “We don’t have to send this if you aren’t completely sure.”
“No, Daphne. I’m sure.”
“Do you think he’ll actually come?”
“We’ll know when he answers the letter,” Clara said. “I just hope he minds the part where we warn him to come alone.”
Daphne held the letter to her chin. “There’s no reason for him not to mind it. He knows we’re just two little girls. He also knows that your mother will indeed be gone, seeing that she is meeting with his own representatives.”
“Miss Lentham says he’s easily frightened. Or that he used to be. In any case, let’s hope he hasn’t overcome his ornithophobia.”
Daphne covered her mouth and giggled. “I’m sorry. Something about that word. It sounds like a cross between a lisp and a sneeze. ORNITHOPHOBIA!” she exclaimed, sneezing the word into her pinafore.
“Gesundheit,” said Clara with a nod. “Now, don’t you think you should hurry? The postman comes at noon!”
Clara walked her friend to the foyer, where the two embraced.
Simultaneously, each gave the other a smart pat on the back for courage. But when the door closed, Clara leaned against it and felt a trickle of fear.
She knew she must keep moving or she might lose her resolve. So she went to the aviary, sat in the grass beside it, and began enlisting the help of her friends for the work ahead.
The reply from Mr. Booth was not long in coming. When Daphne arrived, breathless, waving the torn envelope, Clara surmised that he must have written back the same afternoon he received their letter.
“He’s an anxious one,” Daphne said. “And crafty. Look!”
Dear Miss Aspinal:
Your recent interest in the Glendoveer family history has had a most fortunate side effect! It has prompted Miss Lentham to arrange a tea for some of Lockhaven’s elder residents. These are people I knew years ago and have not forgotten. Apparently, they have not forgotten me either, for they wish
me to attend so we might reacquaint ourselves.
Although I do not travel often, I am delighted to attend. I arrive on the morning of the nineteenth at 10:00 a.m. and will have time for a look around before the tea. I am interested to see how the town has changed and how it has remained the same.
We old people lose such a great number of our loved ones that renewing past friendships is much like rediscovering lost treasure. I only wish that Miss Lentham and I had put our heads together sooner.
I remain yours,
With gratitude,
Woodruff Booth
P.S. I invite you to write to me anytime. It is a tonic for me to hear from youngsters like you. Take care, dear girl.
“Do you think there’s really a tea?” asked Clara.
“No. He’s telling us in code that he’ll be here at ten. Duplicitous old man. And he wants me to confirm that I’ve received his letter.”
Clara rubbed her moist palms together. “He’s really coming. It’s all just as we hoped! So why am I having trouble catching my breath?”
Daphne gave her a smile. “May I tell you something? At my last school, I was put in the corner once with a sign around my neck. ‘POLRUMPTIOUS!’ it said.”
“Never heard the word.”
“It means ‘bumptious’ and ‘overconfident.’ It was one of Mrs. Carthill’s favorite terms and not meant to be a compliment. But I think it’s just the attitude our situation calls for.”
“Then go ahead and be polrumptious. I shan’t hang a sign on you.”
“I’m not joking. If one of us goes wobbly, we’ll infect the other. From now on, we don’t do anything but show our polrumptious side to each other. Agreed?” Daphne flared her nostrils and did her best to appear imperious.
“If it will help us keep our wits about us, I will do it,” declared Clara.
“Then let us shake hands like men.”
The friends shook so firmly and so hard that Clara’s shoulder twinged, though she was careful not to show it.
Daphne wrote back to Mr. Booth at once on a postcard. “That should do it,” she said. “I’ve confirmed the time and the place for him. Now all we have to do is make sure our plan is foolproof. We must anticipate every single thing that might go wrong and arm ourselves beforehand.”
“And I’ll ask the birds. They’re all clever, and I’m sure they can contribute at least as much as I can.”
“We certainly can’t do it without them,” agreed Daphne.
The girls wrote a list of preparations.
“First, we must write some statement from Mrs. Glendoveer about Mr. Booth. If we make it look like a deathbed declaration, I can forge her signature.”
“You can do that,” Daphne said. “And you also must get the aviary key.”
“I’ve got it,” said Clara. “Mama put it back on the ring. It’s hanging in the mudroom.”
“Do you think the birds will speak if we need them? I’m hoping that if we get into trouble, one of them can fetch help.”
“I’ll ask Frances,” Clara said. “She knows that we are only working on her behalf, so how could she refuse?”
Daphne cleared her throat. “And now, in regard to weapons—”
Clara dropped her list and sat with her mouth agape.
“Polrumptious!” prodded Daphne.
“Yes,” Clara said, resuming a firm grip on her pencil. “What in regard to … weapons?”
“Isn’t it best to have some form of self-defense? In case of emergency. Think.”
“Um, we have a scythe in the garden shed.”
“Is it very heavy?” Daphne asked. “Because if it’s something cumbersome, it can easily be taken and turned
against us. I read that in a Rover Boys book.” She gave Clara a sly look, then snapped her fingers. “I must go back and read more! They defeat several criminals in every volume. Write that down. They’ll know how to trap a rat!”
“What
about
rattraps?” Clara asked. “We
have
had rats down in the boiler room, actually. I’ll ask Mama to get some.”