It was a strange breakfast. Aunt Adelaide was at her grimmest, and Cousin Josephine was not far behind. Uncle Edgar looked even gloomier than usual, but not melancholy enough, it seemed, to spoil his appetite. Nobody, except maybe Matilda, so much as looked in Harleigh’s direction when he came in. He took his place at the table without saying anything, and it wasn’t until the meal was almost over that anyone said anything at all.
It wasn’t until Matilda had begun to clear the table that Aunt Adelaide turned to Harleigh and said, “Now listen carefully, Harleigh. It has been decided that since you do not seem to be ready to be a trustworthy member of the Weatherby family, we will need to have a serious discussion about enrolling you in an institution where you might learn to behave in a more responsible manner. Do you have anything to say?”
Harleigh met her steely glare steady-eyed, but all he said was, “No. Nothing that would make any difference.”
“I see.” Aunt Adelaide went on, “This morning I have an early appointment in town, so I’m afraid our discussion will have to be postponed until later. Perhaps this afternoon.” To Uncle Edgar she said, “In the meantime, Harleigh will go back to his old study schedule.” Turning back to Harleigh, she added, “So on Mondays and Wednesdays you will report to the library as usual at nine o’clock.”
And that was that. Back in the Aerie, Harleigh gathered up his books and then sat down to wait until nine. There would be a robbery today while Aunt Adelaide was gone, or there wouldn’t be, and there wasn’t anything Harleigh could do about it. And if a lot of money that might have been used to keep Weatherby House from collapsing into ruins disappeared forever, that was how it would have to be. That was just how . . .
Suddenly Harleigh looked at his watch, picked up his books, and started downstairs. He did ask himself why, but he didn’t try to answer the question. There was no answer, and he wasn’t looking for one. There wasn’t even an answer to “What?”—as in, “What do you think you’re doing?” But he kept on going until he reached the second floor, where he crossed the landing to a door that led out onto a small balcony. By peering from behind one of the balcony’s decorative pillars, he had a good view of the driveway. He’d only waited a few minutes when he began to hear the noisy old Buick, and then watched it head for the main gate. But as he watched Aunt Adelaide leave for town, Harleigh couldn’t help wondering if, somewhere behind another Weatherby House window, Junior was watching too.
Back now on the grand marble stairs that led down to the entry hall, Harleigh had a serious argument with himself about which direction he was going to go when he reached the main floor. Would he turn to the left toward the library and a slightly early lesson with Uncle Edgar, or to the right in the direction of the recital hall and . . . and what?
I won’t go far, he told himself as he started down the wide dimly lit west corridor. Just close enough to hear if he’s tearing up the floorboards. That’s sure to be noisy enough to be heard from that end of the drawing room. I’ll just wait there for a few minutes, or maybe in the poolroom, and see if I hear anything. He won’t see me. I’ll be careful not to let him see me.
That’s what he told himself, but when he passed the drawing room door and then the one to the poolroom he didn’t stop, and it wasn’t until he had reached the recital hall when he began to hear it. Just what he had been expecting: a series of sharp splintering thuds that came from the direction of the stage. Harleigh paused for only a second, and then, as if drawn by a magnet, he opened the door to Aunt Adelaide’s recital hall bedroom and peered inside.
The heavy velvet curtains had been pulled aside, and on the stage a huge hulk of a man was at work. As Harleigh watched, Junior bent to lay aside a large ax and pick up an enormous crowbar, and then bent again to thrust it into the damaged floor. Harleigh didn’t say anything, he was sure of that, but perhaps he gasped or even moaned, because suddenly Junior turned and stared directly at him.
As Harleigh was backing out into the hall, several things happened simultaneously. Junior pulled the crowbar out of the shattered planks and jumped down off the stage. And at the same time, a voice whispered, “Here. Come with me,” and something tugged at Harleigh’s sleeve. Dropping his books, Harleigh turned and followed a familiar shadowy shape that dashed down the hall through a door and into—total darkness.
Whispering, “Allegra. Where are you?” he staggered forward, only to fall over a large bulky object.
The voice was Allegra’s, the dead, musky smell meant he was in the smoking room, and the object he’d fallen over was one of the fat, overstuffed chairs.
“Allegra?” Harleigh said. “It’s so dark. Where are you?”
“Shh,” she answered. “I closed all the blinds. Here. I’m over here.”
Crawling in the direction of the voice, Harleigh found himself next to Allegra in the far corner of the room behind another one of the bulky, toad-shaped chairs.
“Where did you . . .” Harleigh was beginning to whisper when the smoking room door was flung open and a monstrous figure appeared in the opening. With his huge bulk blotting out what little light might have come in from the hall, Junior was staring into almost total darkness, and as his hulking shape moved forward there was a grunt, followed by a thudding crash, a howl, and a string of oaths. It seemed that Junior, too, had fallen over a chair.
On his feet again, Junior began to talk. “Come on out, kid,” he said. “I know you’re in here. You come out right now and I won’t hurt you.” His voice softened from a growl to a wheedling whine. “We’ll just talk things over. Maybe make some kind of a deal. Okay?”
Behind the chair in the corner, Harleigh and Allegra lay low. Long seconds passed, and Junior muttered again and then apparently began to swing the crowbar, thudding it into chairs and against walls, tables, and finally the door to the poolroom. As the door disintegrated, Junior moved toward the light, opened what was left of the door, and disappeared into the poolroom.
“Now,” Allegra whispered, “run.” And they did, Allegra first and Harleigh close behind her. Out into the corridor, past the poolroom and into the solarium. They had almost reached the exterior doors that opened out onto the grassy field that had once been lawn, when they heard Junior’s roar. “I see you, kid. Got you now. Here I come.”
Harleigh ran fast, but out in the open, the length of Junior’s legs gave him an advantage. By the time Allegra, with Harleigh close behind her, reached the first garden, Junior was very near. While jumping over crumbling stone walls and dodging around dead rose bushes and Roman statues, they maintained their slight lead, but the thunder of Junior’s feet was again drawing closer when they reached the bamboo thicket.
The advantage was theirs then, as they slid through the well-known trails. Behind them they could hear swishing and slashing as Junior tried to keep up by forcing his way right through the heaviest stands of bamboo. When they reached the tree house clearing, they still could hear Junior’s noisy progress, but he was not yet in sight.
It was then that Allegra slid to a stop, and turning back to Harleigh, she whispered, “Go that way. Go to the maze. I have to go over the fence.” Putting her hands on his chest, she gave him a little shove and then turned away on the path that led toward the fence and the tree where Harleigh had seen her fly.
Harleigh reached out to stop her, but his hand only closed on one of the long ragged tatters of her dress, and then she was gone, and on the other side of the clearing Junior burst out of the bamboo.
Harleigh ran toward the maze.