The Dark Secret of Weatherend (7 page)

After the crash an awful silence fell in the room. Everyone stood dead still, staring at the unconscious form of Miss Eells. In the middle of the room stood Mrs. Oxenstern. Across the front of her dress was a large pink stain. Her fists were clenched, her face was very red, and she was trembling all over with fury. When she could finally make herself move, she turned and stalked out of the room, walked down the stairs, and went straight into Miss Eells's office. She picked up the phone and called the police. Then she called the Hoosac
Daily Sentinel,
and, finally, the hospital. When she had finished phoning, Mrs. Oxenstern no longer looked angry—she looked triumphant.

Three days later, on a cold, gusty November evening, Anthony Monday was ringing the doorbell of Miss Eells's house. He felt very bad. Miss Eells had been suspended from her job at the library. Although she hadn't exactly been fired yet, everybody figured that it was only going to be a matter of time before that happened. Wild stories were going around about her. Some people claimed she had been drinking on the day of the awful incident, while others said that she had gone crazy and hinted darkly that there was insanity in Miss Eells's family. Anthony's mother did not like Miss Eells, and so she believed both the drunk and insanity stories, and went around saying that she had "seen this coming" for a long time. As for Anthony himself, he was shocked and saddened by what had happened. At first he had absolutely refused to believe the things he heard about Miss Eells's wild behavior. On the day of the party he had seen her leave the library looking very grim and frightened, and of course he knew from all the commotion that
something
had gone wrong. But when people told him what had occurred, he just couldn't accept it. Then, finally, on the day after the incident, Miss Eells called Anthony up and gave him her version. She told him that something very strange was going on and that perhaps Anders Borkman was behind it all. Anthony responded by telling her of the strange disappearance of Borkman's journal, and Miss Eells suggested that Anthony come over soon, so they could figure out what to do.

And so here he was, in his leather jacket and red
leather cap. Under his arm was a box of Dorfmeier's chocolates, the special dark, soft-centered assortment. Anthony's finger jabbed at the bell button. He pushed it again and again impatiently. All sorts of wild fears had been running through his mind lately. He had heard that people who lost their jobs often flipped out. It was true that Miss Eells had sounded quite level-headed when he talked to her on the phone, but still...

There was a rattling sound. A chain was unhooked, a bolt was drawn back. The door opened and there stood Miss Eells, wearing one of her tasteless fake-Japanese kimonos with dragons all over it. Around her waist was a wide fringed sash, and stuck into it was a tiny samurai sword in a wooden sheath. It was a souvenir letter opener that she had gotten once on a trip to Japan. Miss Eells looked pale and drawn, but her eyes were clear and she was smiling.

"Hi, kid!" she said, and she gave Anthony a jaunty little wave. "It's good to see you, and I'm glad you're still speaking to me. Some people aren't, you know."

Tears sprang to Anthony's eyes. "Anyone that won't talk to you is a dumbhead and a creep," he said angrily. "The stuff that happened wasn't your fault. Somebody made you do it." Suddenly Anthony remembered the box of chocolates. "Here," he said, smiling. "This's for you."

Miss Eells was touched. Now there were tears in
her
eyes. "Come on in," she said, giving Anthony a friendly pat on the arm. She smiled wryly as she looked at the
candy box. "My, my! Just what I need! I'll be able to get fat while I collect my unemployment checks. Come on in! Don't just stand there with that woebegone look on your face! Let's see what's what, okay?"

A. few minutes later Anthony was seated on Miss Eells's saggy couch with a bottle of Coke in his hand. Miss Eells was kneeling in front of the fireplace, toasting English muffins the old-fashioned way because her toaster was broken and she kept forgetting to have it fixed. As Anthony watched she turned the muffin this way and that, trying to get it browned evenly on both sides. Near her on the floor was a big jar of Frank Cooper's Oxford marmalade, a spoon, a couple of butter knives, and a stack of untoasted muffins. They were going to have a feast.

"Whaddaya think about that book disappearing and me waking up with my socks on?" Anthony asked. "What's goin' on?"

Miss Eells pursed up her lips. "Nothing good, that's for sure!" She turned and looked hard at him. "Tony, how come you never told me about the disappearance of Borkman's journal before?"

Anthony hung his head. "I... I just didn't wanta talk about it. I was scared that I might be goin' outa my mind."

Miss Eells smiled sympathetically. "Well, you weren't—or if you were, you've got company now. But it doesn't seem terribly likely that we're both going bats at the same time. Remember the day when Anders Bork
man came to the library and had a talk with us in my office? Well, I have the darnedest odd feeling about that talk. I can't remember one little tiny thing," she said. "It's as if the whole time we spent in the office has been erased from my mind."

Anthony nodded. "Yeah. It's... it's like it was all part of a dream or something like that."

Miss Eells took the muffin off her fork, put it on a plate, and started buttering it. She added a big dollop of marmalade, spreading around with the back of the spoon, and handed the plate to Anthony.

"A dream, eh?" she said thoughtfully as she put another muffin on the fork. "Yes... Borkman's visit was a bit like that, I suppose. And then, right afterward, you felt you'd been someplace in the middle of the night, only you couldn't remember where, and then whammo! Old Borkman's journal was gone! And speaking of disappearing books, the weird black book that he returned has totally vanished."

Anthony was startled.

"Yup, it's gone!" Miss Eells said solemnly. "I used my passkey to sneak back into the library the night before last, and there's just a gap on the shelf where I put it. Anthony, I am
sure
the dust Borkman put on that weird book made me do all those strange things at Mrs. Oxenstern's party. And you know what else I'm sure of?"

As Miss Eells turned dramatically, pointing the toasting fork straight at Anthony, she discovered that there was a flaming muffin on the end of it. With a yell she
jumped up, shook the muffin off onto the floor, and stomped on it with her foot. That done, she quickly dropped to her knees, picked up the charred muffin gingerly, and flipped it into the fire. But she was too late. There was a big ugly scorch mark on the rug.

Miss Eells looked at Anthony helplessly. Then she laughed silently until the tears were running down her face. "Oh, dear!" she said, shaking her head and dabbing at her eyes with her handkerchief. "What next, Tony? I ask you." Finally getting control of herself, she stood up and brushed crumbs off her kimono. "As I was saying when the Great Fire broke out, I think Anders Borkman is dabbling in sorcery. The idea sounds incredible, I know, but I can't think of any other explanation for the insane things that have been happening to us lately." Miss Eells folded her arms. She turned and gave Anthony a long, searching look. And when she spoke again, there was a genuine tremor of fear in her voice.

"Anthony, I'm worried. If Borkman—young Borkman—is using magic on us then... maybe the threats in old Borkman's diary were not just a lot of lunatic nonsense." She paused. "I know, I know! You tried to tell me this before, and I wouldn't listen. But now I think it
is
possible that the son has come back to finish the evil work that his father began. Remember when you read me that passage out of Borkman's diary? Well, there's a phrase that sticks in my mind:
Let one who comes after me set the wheels in motion.
Maybe..." Miss Eells's voice trailed off. She looked despondent. "Oh, Lord,
Lord!"
she exclaimed, shaking her head in despair. "If only he hadn't swiped the diary. Why didn't we have the sense to make a copy?"

Anthony brightened up and grinned. "We did... er, I mean,
I
did! I made one at the library with the new Thermofax machine. I just wanted to see how the machine worked. And—"

He never got to finish his sentence. With a joyous whoop Miss Eells rushed across the room and threw her arms around the boy, knocking his cap off in the process. "You wonderful, bright, clever, charming person!" she crowed delightedly. "You're a genius, you really, truly are! Where is it? Where did you put it? Did you bring it with you?"

As soon as he could get a word in edgewise, Anthony explained that the Thermofax copy of Borkman's diary was tucked away in the bottom of one of his desk drawers at home.

Miss Eells looked worried. "Are you sure it didn't disappear with the original? Have you checked?"

Anthony smiled confidently. "Yeah. It's still there."

Miss Eells heaved a sigh of relief. "Good! Let's hope it stays there till we get a chance to look at it. And now could I ask you to toast another muffin for me? I'll go out in the kitchen and brew a pot of my disgusting Lapsang souchong tea, and then we'll figure out what we ought to do next. Okay?"

Anthony got busy with the toasting fork while Miss Eells went to the kitchen. Soon she returned with her
big flowered Staffordshire teapot, steam curling up from the spout. Anthony recognized the smell drifting toward him; it was like a pile of burning wet leaves.

After taking off the lid of the teapot and sniffing the rich, smoky aroma, Miss Eells poured herself a big, brimming cup. Then she settled herself in her wingback chair and took the muffin that Anthony handed her. As she munched and sipped she stared off into space. There was silence in the room.

Suddenly, with a loud, alarming clatter, Miss Eells set down the cup, saucer, and plate. She leaped up, pulled the little samurai sword letter opener out of her belt, and brandished the tiny blade.

"We've got to
attack!"
she exclaimed. "We've got to get him before he gets us!"

Anthony gaped. He wondered If Miss Eells really had gone off her trolley this time. Then she turned, saw the expression on his face, and laughed. Throwing the letter opener down on the coffee table, she smiled sheepishly and said, "I get a bit dramatic sometimes. It comes from my grandfather, who was a Shakespearean actor. What I meant was, we've got to find some way to get inside Borkman's estate. Maybe he's planning to pull some dirty work with those four statues we saw—Wind, Snow, Hail, and Lightning. Something's going on, that's for sure, but we really don't have an awful lot of information yet. If we can find some evidence, maybe we can use that book full of the old man's crackbrained ravings and really skewer him to the wall!" Miss Eells paused and
smiled mischievously. "Besides," she added, "snooping around the grounds of the villain's estate always works in the movies."

Anthony did not quite understand the logic of what Miss Eells had said. "How're we gonna break into Mr. Borkman's place?" he asked.

"I don't really know," Miss Eells replied placidly. "But I'm sure I'll think of something. Actually I wasn't planning on
breaking
in. I had something more subtle in mind—" She snapped her fingers. "I know! I'll get hold of my brother, Emerson! He'll know what to do! He always has sneaky, tricky, devious plans and strategies up his sleeve. He can get us into Weatherend—I'd bet money on it!"

Anthony knew Emerson Eells well. Emerson was a lawyer up in St. Cloud. He was a little rabbity man with a big shock of white hair and a very precise way of talking. When Anthony had gone on trial because of a treasure he had found, Emerson had defended him. Anthony liked and respected his courage and resourcefulness, and felt if anyone could get them onto Borkman's estate, he could.

But suddenly an unpleasant thought occurred to Anthony. "Miss Eells," he began, frowning, "what're you gonna do about your job? Are they really gonna fire you?"

Miss Eells stopped smiling. Her jaunty manner vanished, and she suddenly looked old and careworn. She stared at the tea leaves in the bottom of her cup,
as if she were trying to read her fortune there. "I honestly don't know what the library board will do, Anthony. For the time being I've been suspended from my job, without pay, and the board will meet again in early December to decide my fate. I will admit that things do not look terribly rosy. After all, I've only got one friend on the board, and that's Mrs. Bump, the reporter who kept the story out of the
Sentinel.
But it's a seven-member board, and you can be sure that Mrs. Oxenstern will hang me from the yardarm if she can possibly manage to do it."

Miss Eells was almost speaking in a whisper. Anthony could hear the fire crackling and the Waterbury clock ticking on the mantel. Suddenly he was filled with righteous anger. They couldn't do this to Miss Eells—they just couldn't! Quickly his anger turned to fear. If Miss Eells was fired, how would she manage to live?

Miss Eells looked at Anthony and smiled wanly.

"Don't worry, kid," she said, chuckling. "I have some money put away, and what with Social Security checks and sponging off my rich brother, I'll survive. But—"

Suddenly there was a loud, reverberating peal of thunder and an instant later a blue flash of lightning leaped through the living room windows. The antique plates on the mantel rattled, and the lights dimmed. Miss Eells looked stunned for a second; then she leaped out of her seat. Motioning for Anthony to follow her, she rushed out into the hall and headed for the front door.

They paused on the front stoop and looked up. The air
was bitterly cold; the sky was clear. Overhead the stars were clustered thickly, and the faint whitish track of the Milky Way visible. In the distance the dark, irregular shadow of the Mississippi bluffs rose against the sky. But all that they could hear was a faint rumble, like the sound of a distant train. Miss Eells and Anthony looked at each other fearfully. Then Miss Eells turned and gazed off toward the faraway line of bluffs. The anxious look on her face had changed to one of grim determination.