The Jane Carter Historical Cozies Box Set 2 Read online

  Florence held her watch so that she could read the figures in the bright moonlight and observed that it was only a quarter past ten.

  “Anyway, we should be starting for home,” I told Flo. “Coming about.”

  Florence prepared to lower her head as the boom swung over, but to her surprise, the maneuver was not carried through. Instead of turning, the dinghy kept steadily on its course.

  “What’s the idea?” she demanded. “Isn’t there enough breeze to carry us around?”

  “I was watching that light up on the hill,” I explained.

  Florence twisted in the seat to look over her shoulder.

  “What light?”

  “It’s gone now, but I saw it an instant ago. There it is again.”

  The moving light was far up the hill. As we watched, it seemed to approach the dark mansion and then receded.

  “Probably someone with a lantern,” Florence remarked indifferently.

  “But why should anyone be prowling about Roseacres at this hour?”

  “It does seem strange.”

  I steered the sailboat toward the beach.

  “I think we should investigate,” I said. “Everyone knows Mrs. Covington lives alone. Someone may be attempting to break into Roseacres.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Oh, Jane, there must be a perfectly good reason for that moving light,” Florence protested as the boat grated on the sand. “You only want an excuse for prowling about Roseacres yourself.”

  “Perhaps,” I admitted. “Jump out and pull us in, will you please?”

  “My ankles are nice and dry, and I like them that way,” Florence protested. “If it’s all the same, you do the jumping. It was your idea to beach in such wretched spot.”

  “All right, I don’t mind—much.” I gingerly stepped from the dinghy into shallow water. I pulled the boat farther up onto the shore so that Flo could climb out without wetting her feet. Together we furled the sail and removed the steering apparatus, which we hid in the nearby bushes.

  “I don’t see a light now,” Florence protested after we had secured the boat. “Must we climb that steep hill and fight all those bushes? It was hard enough going in daylight.”

  “It will be better this time,” I insisted. “We beat a lot of the undergrowth back.”

  “Did we? I didn’t see your machete.”

  “We must go up,” I insisted. “Something may be wrong at Mrs. Covington’s, and we ought to find out about it.”

  “You just love to investigate things. You know as well as I do that there’s not likely to be anything amiss.”

  “Someone may be prowling about the grounds.”

  “Well, there will be certainly be at least two people prowling the grounds if we make it to the top of the hill.”

  “My feet are cramped from sitting so long in the boat,” I persisted. “Prolonged inactivity is murder on one’s circulation. What we need is exercise. It is vital to pay careful attention to one’s health.”

  Flo gave up.

  We followed the crude trail leading up the river bank, which soon joined the trail we had traveled earlier. We climbed until we were within a hundred yards of the mansion at Roseacres. We emerged from the bracken and fought our way through an overgrown clump of lilac bushes until we finally had an unobstructed view of the yard.

  “There’s the light,” I whispered to Flo. “See! By the old wishing well.”

  I thought we had approached in silence. However, the person who prowled in the yard seemed aware of our approach. As we watched, the lantern was extinguished. Simultaneously, the moon, which had been so bright, moved under a dark cloud.

  For several seconds it became too dark to make out the shadowy figure by the well. When the moon again emerged, the figure had disappeared.

  “Whoever was there has hidden,” I said to Florence. “After we leave, he may attempt to break into the house.”

  “What ought we to do?”

  “I think we should warn Mrs. Covington.”

  “The house is dark,” Florence said dubiously. “She’s probably in bed.”

  “Wouldn’t you want to know about it if someone were prowling about your premises?”

  “Yes, of course—but—”

  “Then come on,” I urged, starting through the tangle of tall grass which bordered the unkempt garden. “Mrs. Covington will be very grateful for the warning. It may prevent a burglary.”

  As we crossed the yard, we kept an alert watch of the bushes but could see no one hiding behind them. Nevertheless, I was convinced that the prowler could not have left the grounds.

  I pounded on the rear door of the Covington house.

  “Not so loud,” Florence said nervously.

  “Mrs. Covington is probably asleep. I want to awaken her.”

  “You will, not to worry, and scare her half to death in the process.”

  I kept on knocking until I heard the approach of footsteps from within. The door opened, and Mrs. Covington, in lace night cap and flannel robe, peered suspiciously out at us.

  “Who are you and what do you want?” she demanded. “Why do you awaken me at such an hour?”

  “Don’t you remember us?” I said, stepping into the light. “We didn’t mean to startle you.”

  “Startle me, fiddlesticks! I am merely annoyed at being awakened from a sound slumber.”

  “I’m terribly sorry,” I apologized. “We wouldn’t bother you, but we saw someone with a lantern moving about in the yard. We were afraid a burglar might intend to break into the house.”

  Mrs. Covington gazed carefully about the yard. “I see no light,” she said stiffly.

  “It’s gone now,” Florence admitted. “But as we came up from the river, we distinctly saw it near the old wishing well. Jane and I thought that whoever it was hid behind the bushes.”

  “You both imagined you saw a light,” the old lady said. “In any case, I am not afraid of prowlers. My doors have good bolts, and my revolver and I will be more than a match for anyone who tries to get inside. Thank you for your interest on my behalf, but really, I am able to look after myself.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “We thought—”

  “Your intentions were good,” Mrs. Covington said in a kindlier tone. “But I sleep with a gun beneath my pillow for just such an eventuality. Better go home now and forget all about it. Young ladies shouldn’t be wandering about at such a late hour.”

  After the door had closed, Flo and I retraced our way to the river’s edge.

  “Someday I’ll learn to stand firm against your crazy ideas, Jane Carter,” Florence said, breaking a lengthy silence.

  “But you saw the light with your own two eyes, didn’t you?”

  “I thought so, but I’m not sure of anything now. It may have come from the main road.”

  “I disagree, but if Mrs. Covington wishes to be robbed, I suppose it’s her own affair. Still, I’d hate to be staring down the barrel of her revolver. Do you suppose she had it concealed in that flannel night dress when she answered the door?”

  “Perhaps she had it tucked under that lace nightcap.” Flo giggled. “Who would have thought that the such a cultured old lady would be armed with a revolver?”

  We launched the dinghy, spread our canvas, and sailed before what wind there was. When we reached my father’s cottage, he was waiting for us by the boathouse and helped us to haul in the craft.

  I did not tell Dad about our little side trip to Roseacres, but on Tuesday morning, while attempting a lazy game of tennis, Flo and I discussed it at considerable length. As far as I knew, no attempt had been made by anyone to break into Mrs. Covington’s house. Nevertheless, I was unwilling to dismiss the affair as one of my many errors in judgment.

  I was still thinking about the affair as I dropped off Flo to preside over the Wednesday Tiny Tots Story Hour at the Greenville City Library.

  I parked Bouncing Betsy at the curb and went inside to return an overdue book. Abigail Whitely was sitting at
one of the tables staring moodily into space, text books and papers spread out before her.

  “Hello, Abigail,” I said. “You must have an examination coming up from the way you are frowning.”

  “Am I frowning?” Abigail said. “I was thinking hard. The truth is, I am rather puzzled.”

  “I like puzzles. If you have a knotty problem, why not test it on me?”

  “I doubt if you can help me with this one. Do you remember those two Texas men I told you about?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I don’t trust them,” Abigail said. “Mr. Coaten has offered to adopt Ted and me.”

  “Adopt you! Is that why they came here?”

  “Mr. Coaten wants to become our legal guardian, but I can’t understand why he should show such interest in us.”

  “I thought the Sandersons were looking after you and Ted.”

  “They took us in because we had no one else. We never were legally adopted, and the truth is, we’re a financial burden.”

  “Is Mr. Coaten an old friend?”

  “No, I never met him until he came to Greenville. He and his friend, John Addison, claim they were close associates of my father, but neither Ted nor I have any memory of ever having met them. I don’t even recall hearing Papa speak of either of them when he was alive.”

  “It does seem exceedingly strange they should show such sudden interest in you,” I said. “You have no property they might wish to control?”

  “Ted and I haven’t a penny to our names. Papa never owned land, and what cash he had was used up during his illness right before he died.”

  “Perhaps Mr. Coaten really was a friend of your father’s and just wishes to do a good dead for his old pal.”

  “I wish I could think so, Mrs. Carter, but I can’t. I’m suspicious that he has a selfish purpose behind his apparent kindness. It worries me because I can’t figure out what it might be.”

  “Then you’ll not agree to the adoption?”

  “I don’t want to, but Ted favors it, and so does Mrs. Sanderson. Mr. Coaten has been very generous with his money.” Abigail indicated a new dress which she wore. “He gave me this. He made Mrs. Sanderson accept money, and he’s giving Ted things, too.”

  “If he really is a friend of the family—”

  “I’ll never believe that he is,” Abigail interrupted. “Never!”

  After I left the library, I couldn’t stop thinking of what Abigail had told me. I knew absolutely nothing about the two strangers from Texas, but it was hard not to question their motives.

  Another matter was causing me considerable annoyance. A rival morning paper had carried a brief item about the stone Flo and I had discovered on the riverbank below Roseacres. I had learned from my father that, instead of delivering the rock to the museum, George Roth had hauled it to his own home, and was offering it for sale to the highest bidder. I assumed this could only be because the Historical Society had been unwilling or unable to meet his exorbitant price.

  I persisted in the belief that Mrs. Covington should be informed of Mr. Roth’s underhanded dealings, yet I was far from eager to return to Roseacres.

  “After the other night, I’ve had enough of that place,” Florence said as we talked over the matter on the telephone later that afternoon. “Mrs. Covington was very rude to us.”

  “Even so, we should tell her what George Roth has done,” I insisted. “Let’s go there now.”

  “I can’t. I have to finish the Pilgrimage posters I abandoned the other day.”

  “I’ll come help you,” I offered. “It will make the work go faster.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Flo said stiffly.

  “You think I’ll ruin them?”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Then let’s go to Roseacres immediately after dinner,” I persisted. “I’ll pick you up at your house.”

  As it turned out, various duties kept us both so busy that it was dusk before we were on the road to Roseacres. Florence protested that it was much too late to call on the widow.

  “Mrs. Covington surely won’t be in bed before eight o’clock,” I told Flo. “If the house is dark, we can drive away without disturbing her.”

  When we pulled into the drive at Roseacres, there were no lights in the windows.

  “We may as well turn back,” Florence said, transparently relieved.

  I slowed Bouncing Betsy to a crawl as my eyes roamed the unkempt grounds. I wasn’t giving up so easily.

  “Flo, look! There it is again. The light.”

  “Where?” Florence demanded. “I don’t see it.”

  As I spoke, Bouncing Betsy rolled past a tall clump of azalea bushes bordering the property. Through the branches, the light appeared to be standing still.

  “It’s a lantern covered with a cloth to prevent a bright glow,” Flo said.

  “And it’s close to the wishing well. There’s something very odd going on. Let’s drive past the house and park up the road. Then we’ll steal back on foot and see what we can see.”

  Chapter Ten

  Surprisingly, Florence offered no objection to my proposal. I drove Bouncing Betsy on down the road for a considerable distance and parked her just off the pavement. We set off on foot back to the estate. A high hedge bounded the front side of Roseacres, but we were able to peek through the scanty foliage into the yard.

  “It will be just our luck if the light has disappeared,” I muttered. “I don’t see it anywhere.”

  “I see it again. Look over there by the wishing well.”

  Next to the wishing well was the faint glow of a covered lantern which had been deposited on the paving stones. A shadowy figure was bending over, examining some object on the ground.

  “Can you tell who it is?” I whispered to Flo.

  “Not from here. Dare we move closer?”

  “Let’s risk it,” I said, and led the way through the open gateway.

  We kept tall bushes between ourselves and the wishing well as we quietly stole closer. Someone in dark clothing was kneeling on the ground, face turned away from us. The person was trying unsuccessfully to lift one of the flagstones which formed a circular base around the covered well, then the figure straightened, and lifted the lantern from the ground.

  “Is that Mrs. Covington?” I whispered to Florence.

  “It looks like her. But what can she be doing at the well?”

  We remained motionless, watching. Mrs. Covington bent again and finally succeeded in raising one of the flagstones.

  “She’s searching for something underneath,” I whispered. “Probably, she works after dark, so she won’t be observed.”

  It was obvious to me that the moving light at Roseacres which had attracted our attention the previous night had, undoubtedly, been Mrs. Covington’s own lantern.

  Although I now could understand the old lady’s irritation at our intrusion, her actions still mystified me. As we continued to watch, Mrs. Covington laboriously pried up one stone after another.

  “We might offer to help her,” Florence proposed half-seriously.

  “If we show ourselves now she’ll order us to leave immediately and never to return. I want to find out what this is all about.”

  For the next ten minutes, we huddled behind the friendly bush. Finally, Mrs. Covington gathered her tools and went back into the house.

  “Obviously, she didn’t find what she was after,” I said. “What do you suppose it can be?”

  “Buried treasure, perhaps?”

  “Maybe someone hid the family silver?”

  “I’m afraid not. Mrs. Covington lived at Roseacres all her early years. If there had been anything valuable buried, wouldn’t she have done her searching long ago?”

  “If that’s a question, I can’t answer it.” Florence sighed. “What’s our next move? Home?”

  “I should say not! Let’s inspect the wishing well.”

  I started forward, taking pains to avoid a patch of light which came from th
e lower windows of the Covington house. Even in the semi-darkness, I could see that many of the flagstones around the well had been removed and then fitted back into place again.

  “Just for luck I shall make a wish,” I said to Flo as I lowered the bucket into the pit.

  “What will it be this time?”

  I drank deeply of the cool water and tossed a penny from my pocket into the well.

  “I wish that Roseacres would give us a whopping big mystery,” I said. “Why did Mrs. Covington return to Greenville after being away so many years?”

  “This is her ancestral home.”

  “True, but didn’t she say whether or not she remains here depends upon certain conditions? Flo, she must have had a compelling reason for returning to Roseacres, and it may have something to do with this old wishing well. We ought to find out what it is.”

  “Why ought we? Is it really any of our business?”

  “Flo! At times, you’re the most exasperating person. Here we are face to face with something baffling, and you wonder why we should interest ourselves in it?”

  “I like a good mystery as well as you, but you know Mrs. Covington won’t care to have us interfere in her private affairs.”

  “Probably not,” I conceded. “Oh, well, we can forget all about it if that’s the way you feel.”

  “How could we learn anything without provoking Mrs. Covington?”

  “I know of no way,” I admitted. “In fact, she’ll probably be irritated when I rap on her door again.”

  Florence followed me reluctantly down the path toward the house.

  “Ought we bother Mrs. Covington now? She may think we have been spying on her.”

  “Which is exactly what we have been doing,” I said. “But I’m not about to admit to it.”

  I ignored Flo’s continued pleas to turn back as I boldly clomped across the veranda and knocked on the door. We did not have long to wait. Mrs. Covington appeared, looking decidedly flustered and nervous.

  “Who is it?” she asked sharply, and then recognized us. “Oh, I see.”

  “Mrs. Covington, do excuse us,” I said. “I’ve learned something which I feel sure you’ll wish to hear.”