The Swenster Pearls
School did not keep the following day, and early afternoon found Madge
and Cara camped on the Brady front porch, comparing notes.
“I couldn’t learn a thing about the Swenster mansion except that it’s
owned by an old lady who hasn’t been near the place in years,” the latter
confessed regretfully.
“My luck wasn’t a great deal better,” Madge admitted. “However, I did
find out the name of a woman who may be able to tell us what we want to
know. Her name is Hilda Grandale.”
“Haven’t I heard of her before?”
“Probably. She’s a real old lady—eighty or ninety. She is reputed to know
all the old residents of the town and their histories. In her day she was
considered quite a belle.”
“Where does she live?”
“That’s the catch. She moved to the country a few years ago. She’s living
on a farm with her sister. It’s in Cahoun County.”
“Then we’ll have to scratch her off our list.”
“Oh, I don’t know. Uncle George might be persuaded to loan us his coupe.
We could drive out there in a couple of hours.”
The idea seemed an excellent one so the girls went to search for Mr.
Brady. They found him in the back yard washing the car. With shrewd
calculation they snatched up rags and aided him in polishing the nickel
work. Mr. Brady eyed them somewhat suspiciously and was not surprised
when Madge inquired: “By the way, Uncle George, will you need your old
hack for a few hours?”
“Just for that, I’ll not let you have it,” he told her sternly, but the
next minute he smiled and turned over the keys.
Madge backed the coupe out the driveway, missed a telephone pole by scant
inches, and sped down the street. She took a main highway out of the city
and soon was in open country. Having previously inquired the way, she
thought they would have no difficulty in finding the farmhouse where
Hilda Grandale lived. Soon after the speedometer registered thirty miles,
Cara spied the name for which they searched upon a roadside mailbox.
The gate was open and they drove into the barn yard. Squawking chickens
darted to safety and a flock of geese waddled off hissing their protest.
The commotion proclaimed their approach, and as the girls halted the car,
a woman peered out the kitchen door. She hastily straightened her hair
and came down the walk to meet them.
Madge stated their mission, saying that they wished to visit Mrs.
Grandale.
“I’m not sure Mother is awake,” the woman returned doubtfully. “She
usually takes a nap about this time. But if she’s up I know she’ll be
glad to see you. She does enjoy company and so few people ever get out
this far.”
She led the girls to the house, seating them in a prim, old fashioned
living room. They begged her not to disturb Mrs. Grandale, but she went
upstairs, returning to say that her mother was awake and would be down
shortly.
In a few minutes, the old lady came slowly down the stairs. She was
dressed in severe black, with a long full skirt which swept the floor,
and wore a white lace cap. Her face was wrinkled and sunken but her eyes
were as bright as those of a young girl. She beamed kindly upon Madge and
Cara as they arose to greet her. They did not offer to help her to a
chair for they guessed that she was proud of her ability to get around by
herself.
“Let me see, do I know your names?” she inquired, studying their faces
intently. “You’re not the Sterling girl, are you?”
“Yes, I am,” Madge acknowledged in astonishment. She never before had met
Mrs. Grandale. “How did you guess?”
“Didn’t guess,” the old lady cackled in delight. “I could tell those
features anywhere. I used to know your father, my dear, and you’re the
picture of him.”
Madge looked a trifle embarrassed at the reference to her father. His
name was seldom mentioned in the Brady household although no disgrace was
attached to his memory. He had simply disappeared when Madge was a child,
and no one had ever heard of him again. Some day she hoped to learn what
had taken him away from Claymore, but at the present she preferred that
Mrs. Grandale not dwell upon the subject.
She introduced Cara Wayne, and for a time it was next to impossible for
the girls to get a word in edgewise, as Mrs. Grandale immediately went
into a long monologue on the subject of the Wayne family history. By
concerted action they finally managed to switch the subject to the
Swenster mansion.
“In my day, it was the house of Claymore,” Mrs. Grandale declared. “And
what a pity that it has fallen into decay! Not that folks didn’t say the
Swensters would rue the day they built it—it was much too fine for the
city even in prosperous times.”
“Tell us about the Swensters,” Madge encouraged.
“They were a proud family,” the old lady ruminated, obviously relishing
the tale. “At one time, old Mr. Swenster practically ran the town. His
daughters were in society and they thought the world depended upon the
swish of their skirts. At least Florence did.”
“How many girls were there?” Cara asked.
“Two. Rose and Florence. Rose was the younger and the favorite with her
father. She was a pretty thing too. Far too handsome to suit Florence. I
think I have a picture somewhere.”
“Oh, never mind,” Madge said hastily. She was interested in the story
which she felt Mrs. Grandale was on the verge of telling, and did not
wish her to digress lest she forget.
“What was I saying? Oh, yes, Rose and Florence were rivals and they were
both anxious to get their hands on the Swenster pearls.”
“I never heard about them,” Madge remarked. “Were they valuable?”
“They were reputed to be worth a small fortune. The pearls had been
bought abroad generations before and were perfectly matched. They were to
be passed down to the eldest daughter.”
“Then Florence was to have them,” Cara observed.
“According to custom, yes. But that was what caused all the trouble.
During his lifetime, old Mr. Swenster permitted the girls to take turns
wearing the pearls. They were very jealous of their father’s favor in
regard to the privilege, or so rumor had it. Florence thought the pearls
were hers and resented having her sister even wear them.
“Then Mr. Swenster died and when his will was read, the daughters had the
surprise of their lives. It was learned that he had left the pearls to
his favorite, Rose.”
“That must have stirred up trouble,” Madge smiled.
“Yes, Florence considered it a great injustice. She claimed she had been
cheated out of her rightful inheritance. For a time, there was a
disgraceful fuss.”
“Rose kept the pearls?” Madge questioned.
“So it was generally believed, but I doubt if anyone ever knew for
certain. The matter was suddenly hushed up.”
Mrs. Grandale relapsed into a meditative silence, seeming to forget the
girls. Then she said, half to herself: “No one ever saw Rose wear the
pearls—that was the odd part of it.”
“Were Rose and Florence friends after that?” Cara probed.
“They went about together but it was apparent things were not as should
be between two sisters. Everyone said the pearls brought them misfortune.
At any rate, Florence died the following year.”
“Oh, how dreadful,” Cara murmured. “How poor Rose must have felt.”
“She dropped out of society after that,” Mrs. Grandale returned. “For
years, she lived alone at the old mansion and then one day, she up and
married.”
“She isn’t living now, of course?” Madge inquired.
“Oh, no, she died young—shortly after her daughter was born. The little
girl was called Agatha. She’s the last of the Swenster line now, and they
say the estate has dwindled to almost nothing.”
“What became of Agatha Swenster?” Cara asked.
“Well, I can’t exactly say,” the old lady responded, frowning
thoughtfully. “She lived in Claymore until eight years ago and then
closed up the place because she couldn’t afford to keep such a large
house open. She went to another town, but where, I can’t say.”
“You say she’s the last of the Swenster line,” Madge prompted as Mrs.
Grandale appeared to have ended her story. “She never married?”
“Not to my knowledge. She did have an adopted boy. Let me think—no, I
can’t recall his name. He turned out badly. Agatha thought a lot of him
and folks said it most broke her heart when he got into trouble.”
“What did he do?” Cara questioned curiously.
“I can’t tell you that. The Swensters always kept their troubles to
themselves. I do know that it was something that turned Agatha against
him. They separated, and after that she closed up her house. It may have
been because of money or perhaps on account of the boy. At any rate,
she’s having a hard time of it now like as not. She’s getting on in years
and with no one to support her, it must be trying.”
“What do you imagine became of the pearls?” Madge asked suddenly.
The old lady smiled.
“I imagine they were sold years ago.”
The girls had learned all there was to know concerning the Swenster
mansion and its former occupants, but they lingered a half hour longer,
before saying goodbye to Mrs. Grandale. Before they left, her daughter
appeared from the kitchen with fresh-baked cake and a cool beverage.
“Delightful people,” Cara observed as they drove away. “And did you ever
hear anyone more talkative than Mrs. Grandale? She’s a walking
encyclopaedia of Claymore’s history. Did you learn what you wanted to
know, Madge?”
“I learned enough to make me more interested than ever in the old
mansion. Strange about those pearls, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, they turned out to be a sort of family hoodoo.”
“I wonder if they were actually sold?”
Cara stared at her friend in astonishment.
“Why, Mrs. Grandale said they were.”
“That was only her opinion,” Madge corrected. “Of course, I have no
reason for thinking the pearls weren’t sold. I was merely wondering.”
She relapsed into moody silence and did not broach the subject again
during the ride back to Claymore. They had remained at the farmhouse
longer than they had planned and it was nearly supper time when they
reached the city. Cara requested Madge to drop her off at the Wayne home
which was not out of the way.
“Going to be busy tonight?” Madge inquired as she halted the car in front
of the Wayne residence.
“No—why?”
“I thought we might do a little sleuthing.”
“Something in connection with the Swenster mansion?” Cara demanded
suspiciously.
“Yes, I have a notion to go there tonight and watch. It would be fun to
see if that man comes back.”
“Fun!” Cara snorted. “I have other ideas of amusement. Count me out!”
“Well, if you won’t come, I suppose I can get Jane or Enid,” Madge said
shrewdly.
Cara visibly wavered. She had no desire to go near the Swenster mansion
again, but neither could she bear to have Enid or Jane sharing in an
adventure which was hers for the taking.
“All right,” she gave in. “If I can get away, I’ll come.”
“Meet me at the pine grove at nine o’clock,” Madge directed, as she
shifted gears. “And don’t fail to come. Something exciting may break!”