THE DISCOVERIES CORINNE MADE
Corinne did not reappear for nearly a week. During all that time the
twins, who only saw her in school, reported that she would have nothing
to say to them outside of this statement:
"Let me alone, girls, just for a while. I'm working hard at it. When
I've run to earth something worth while, I'll tell you, and we'll have
another meeting!" And that was absolutely all they could get from her.
Meanwhile, Margaret was passing the slow days in a fever of impatience
and baffled expectation. Now that she no longer had her mind occupied
by puzzling out the curious old journal and could only sit and wait for
the results of Corinne's work, she grew terribly restless. So much so,
indeed, that the lynx-eyed Sarah, who watched her beloved charge like a
cat, made up her mind that Margaret was beginning to have symptoms of
a real fever. She prepared, therefore, a huge bowl of boneset tea to be
taken in instalments.
Now, if there was any one thing under the sun that Margaret hated more
than another, it was boneset tea! And, moreover, in this case she knew
that there was absolutely no need of the remedy. But this she dared not
confide to Sarah lest she awaken fresh suspicion in that handmaiden's
already too suspicious mind. So she swallowed her bitter doses
uncomplainingly, and longed for Corinne's coming for more reasons than
one!
And then at last, six days later, Corinne came flying home with the
twins one afternoon, and all three burst in unexpectedly on the
delighted Margaret. Corinne was armed with a load of volumes that were
plainly not school-books, and these she planked down on the floor
beside the invalid-chair with just one brief remark:
"_I've got it!_"
Questions and inquiries were hurled at her thick and fast, but not one
of them would she answer till all were seated about Margaret's chair
in the usual half-circle by the open fire. Then she began quietly, but
with much suppressed excitement in her voice:
"Yes, girls, I've got it—at last! I'm going to tell you all about
it, and you're going to have the surprise of your lives! It took me a
long while before I struck just the right clue. I've spent about every
afternoon reading at the library near us. I even went up to the big one
at Forty-second Street yesterday. And every evening at home has found
me still digging at it. I've neglected my school work completely, and
have failed in everything this week; but I don't care!
"Margaret's a trump! She put us all on the right track in the first
place by sensibly suggesting the Revolution. That was fine! But, of
course, the subject was a big one and concerned the whole thirteen
original colonies. In thinking it over, I decided that since Alison
came from Bermuda, the 'city' she keeps speaking of would most likely
be the _nearest_ one to Bermuda. On looking it up, I found the nearest
was Charleston, South Carolina. So I started in and hunted up every bit
of Revolutionary history I could find about Charleston, but never a
thing did I strike that helped a bit.
"Then I gave that up and tried another city. As there didn't seem to be
any very likely places south of Charleston, I turned north and tried
Richmond, Baltimore and Philadelphia. Not a single thing in any one of
them that threw a ray of light on our troubles! Finally, I began on New
York—and hit it right away!" Her listeners gave a little jump. "Yes,
right here in old New York. And come to think of it, that _was_ the
most likely place, after all, and I might have saved myself all that
other bother, if only I'd used a little common sense!"
"But how did you know right away that it was New York?" demanded
Margaret.
"Why, the simplest thing in the world! Almost the first thing I came
across, in reading up about New York during the Revolution, was about a
place called—_Richmond Hill_!"
"What? Where?" they all cried in one breath.
"Yes, Richmond Hill! It was the name of a big mansion and estate
outside of the city, and was a very famous place in its time."
"But how did you know it had anything to do with Alison?" they demanded
incredulously.
"Well, just about twenty things pointed to it without a doubt. I'll
tell you all about it. In the first place, I read that this mansion was
built in 1760 by the paymaster-general of the British army, and his
name was—_Abraham Mortier_!"
She stopped significantly, but no one seemed to catch her meaning till
Margaret suddenly cried:
"Madame M.!"
"Precisely!" said Corinne. "I wondered if you'd catch it. 'Madame M.'
must have been Madame Mortier, his wife, of course!"
"But Alison didn't say anything about _Abraham_ Mortier," objected Bess.
"That's just it,—she didn't, because Madame Mortier was then a widow.
Her husband died quite suddenly, just at the outbreak of the war. So
_that's_ accounted for. And don't you remember that Alison said Madame
M. allowed the steward to transact all the business of the household.
She wouldn't be doing that if her husband were alive! Well, except for
that, I couldn't find out another thing about the Mortiers. History
doesn't mention them again. But it tells a lot about other things we're
interested in. To begin with, after the siege of Boston, Washington
came to New York, and was there several months. Now then, while he was
in the city, he made his headquarters at—Richmond Hill! What does that
suggest to you?"
Again they all looked blank for a moment, and once more Margaret was
first to catch the idea.
"I've got it! Washington is the 'he' that Alison says so much about but
never names!"
"Right!" cried Corinne.
"How do you know?" clamored the less astute twins.
"This way," explained Corinne, "Everything that Alison says about
'him' tallies with the descriptions of Washington—'grave, courteous,
stately, kindly, thoughtful.' There isn't a shadow of doubt! She speaks
of his servants and men and guards. Only a commander-in-chief would be
likely to have all that retinue."
Suddenly Jess, who had been deep in thought, interrupted: "But, see
here! If it was Washington, why did Madame M. act so hateful about him?
Alison said if she hadn't been sick, she'd have gladly slammed the door
in his face. I don't understand it!"
"Oh, that's _easy_! Madame Mortier was, without doubt, a _Tory_!
You know, New York was full of Tories at the time, and they hated
Washington and all the rebels like—like poison!"
"But I still don't understand," insisted Jess, "how, if Madame Mortier
was a Tory and hated Washington so, he should come to be using her
house for his headquarters. I don't wonder she was furious!"
"I thought of that too," said Corinne, "and it seemed strange to me;
but, from what I've read, I think it was this way: he had to have his
headquarters somewhere while he was in New York, and just at first he
had them way down in the lower part of the city, in the Kennedy house.
But later he wanted to get outside of the city for some reason; perhaps
it was on account of one of those plagues of smallpox or yellow fever
that were always breaking out there. Then, of course, there were so
few houses outside that he had to take anything he could find that was
suitable. So he chose Richmond Hill, and Lady Washington followed him
there later."
"How do you know?" again demanded the ever-skeptical listeners.
"Well, didn't Alison say, just toward the last, that 'his lady' had
come?"
"True enough!" assented Jess. "And that makes me think of something
else. Was that the 'Lady Blank' she spoke of first, do you think?"
"Without doubt, for she even says, 'I do not think she remembers me.'
But where or how she met her before, I haven't had time to work out.
Anyhow, it explains why Madame Mortier began to be suspicious of
Alison. Of course she would be if she was such a staunch Tory and found
Alison talking to the wife of her worst enemy!
"But here's something very important, and it's the _real_ proof of the
whole thing. The rest was just rather easy guesswork. Do you know,
while Washington was at Richmond Hill, that summer of 1776, the Tories
in the city got up a big plot to kill him, blow up his fortifications,
massacre all his soldiers, and spoil everything for the Americans?
_And_—it very nearly was accomplished, only some one discovered it
and gave the whole thing away. _That's_ the plot, evidently, which was
brewing when Alison felt that something strange and mysterious was
going on. And here's my positive proof: one of the chief conspirators
in the plot was a man who kept a tavern near the edge of the woods
close to Washington's headquarters, and his name was—_Corbie_!"
"Didn't we _say_ that name would be of great help?" cried Margaret,
excitedly. "Why, all this seems like a fairy story coming true! Is
there anything else, Corinne?"
"Yes, there's one other thing. But before I tell you, I'm curious to
know why you haven't asked one question."
"What?"
"Why, the exact location of Richmond Hill. You haven't exhibited the
least curiosity about that!"
"But you said it was outside of the city somewhere," put in Bess, "and
I suppose it was up around Fordham or West Farms, or even White Plains.
It must have been pretty far out."
Corinne laughed. "Do you realize that the 'city' only extended to
about City Hall Park in those days? And all beyond that was out in the
country! No, Richmond Hill was _right here in Greenwich Village_!"
They all stared at her in such frank amazement that she broke into a
giggle.
"Perhaps you think that's rather astonishing, but I've something to
say that's even more so. I told you I'd give you the surprise of your
lives, and here it is: the exact spot where the Richmond Hill mansion
stood was—_just about where this house stands now_!"