儿童英语读物 The Tattletale Mystery CHAPTER 9 Uncovering the Truth

It was almost dinnertime when Grandfather phoned, asking the children to meet him at the gallery right away. He sounded very mysterious.

The four Aldens got on their bicycles and pedaled as fast as they could to Town Square. When they arrived, they spotted Mrs. Spencer coming out of the bookstore.

Benny ran forward. “You’ll never guess what, Mrs. Spencer,” he cried, bursting with news. “We’re on our way to the Mona Lisa Gallery — to solve the mystery!”

Mrs. Spencer gasped. “Really?”

“We can’t be certain we’ll solve it,” Henry added honestly. “But we’re keeping our fingers crossed.”

“I can hardly believe this!” Mrs. Spencer’s face broke into a big smile.

Jessie had a thought. “Why don’t you come with us, Mrs. Spencer.”

“Oh, yes!” urged Violet. “It would be so nice if you were there. Just in case we really do solve the mystery, I mean.”

Mrs. Spencer was quick to agree. “I’m meeting Rachel for dinner. Just let me run and tell her what’s happening,” she said, pointing to the Greenfield Real Estate office. “Then I’ll be right there.” With a cheerful wave, she hurried off.

As soon as they were out of earshot, Violet said, “I hope Mrs. Spencer won’t be disappointed.”

Outside the gallery, Benny’s shoulders suddenly slumped. “Uh-oh,” he said. He took a step back and pointed to a sign in the window: CLOSED FOR DINNER. WILL OPEN AGAIN AT 7:00. “Looks like we’re too late.”

“Don’t worry, Benny,” Jessie assured him. “Grandfather said he’d be here.”

No sooner had Jessie spoken than the door of the gallery swung open. “Hi, kids!” Janice Allen greeted them with a smile. “Your grandfather asked me to keep an eye out for you. He’s in the back with Edmund,” she said, ushering them inside.

Sure enough, the children found their grandfather in the back room, having a cup of coffee with the gallery owner.

“I knew you wouldn’t waste any time,” Grandfather said, smiling as they came into the room. “We were hoping you’d get here before the others.” He looked relieved. So did Edmund.

“Others?” Henry looked surprised.

“Your grandfather suggested getting Margaret Longford and Jem Manchester over here on the double,” explained Edmund. He was sipping his coffee, his shirtsleeves rolled up above his elbows. “I don’t know what this is all about,” he added, “but if something dishonest is going on around here, I want to get to the bottom of it.”

The gallery owner gestured toward a large worktable covered with rags and bottles of solution. “I removed the top layer of paint from the landscape. Would you like to take a look at what I uncovered?”

When the Aldens nodded eagerly, Edmund went over to the worktable. He held up a portrait of an elderly woman with soft gray eyes and silver hair.

“Oh, wow!” Benny cried excitedly. “Milly Manchester!”

“Isn’t that the self-portrait Milly was painting in Mrs. Spencer’s snapshot?” Henry wondered, finding it hard to believe.

Jessie nodded. “I’m sure of it!” she said, astonished.

“That’s the real artist of the snapdragon paintings.” Violet didn’t seem a bit surprised by what Edmund had uncovered.

“Self-portrait?” Edmund looked puzzled. “Milly Manchester painted this?” When the children nodded, he added, “But ... why would Margaret paint over someone else’s work?”

Henry spoke up. “We don’t think it was Margaret who painted over it.”

“Mrs. Spencer told us that Milly sometimes painted over her own finished work,” explained Jessie. “If she was short of cash to buy new canvas, I mean.”

Edmund put the portrait down. As he turned around, he raised a hand. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Margaret Longford’s signature was on the landscape.” He looked at each of the Aldens in turn. “Surely you’re not hinting that ... that Margaret signed her name to someone else’s work.”

“We don’t want to believe it,” said Violet. “But it looks that way.”

“And not just the landscape,” put in Benny. “All the paintings in the gallery are Milly Manchester’s.”

“At least, that’s what we think,” added Jessie.

Edmund looked stunned. “I ... I can’t believe Margaret would do such a thing.” He shook his head. “You must be mistaken.”

“My grandchildren are seldom wrong when it comes to solving mysteries,” Grandfather said firmly.

As muffled sounds of conversation came from the gallery, Edmund rolled down his shirtsleeves. “I guess it’s time to ask a few questions,” he said, sighing deeply. Then, with a worried look on his face, he led the way out to the gallery, the portrait under his arm.

“What’s this all about, Edmund?” Jem Manchester, who was standing with Margaret and Janice, was quick to confront the gallery owner. “You expect me to drop everything and come running down here on a moment’s notice? I’ve got a business to run, too, you know!” He seemed a little rushed and out of breath.

“The next showing isn’t until seven o’clock.” Margaret sounded every bit as annoyed as Jem Manchester. “What’s going on, Edmund?”

Benny put his hands on his hips. “Those paintings aren’t supposed to be sold!” he blurted out.

Jem Manchester laughed, throwing back his head. “Now, that’s a good one!”

“It’s true,” Benny said stubbornly. “Those are Milly Manchester’s paintings.”

A startled look crossed Margaret’s face. But only for an instant. With an angry toss of her head, she turned to Edmund. “I certainly hope you didn’t ask me down here to listen to this nonsense.”

Jessie said, “Those are Milly’s paintings. And we can prove it.”

“Did you say ... those are Milly’s paintings?”

A voice behind them made everyone turn in surprise. It was Mrs. Spencer. She had just come into the gallery with her daughter. Jessie noticed Jem’s eyes shift nervously when he caught sight of the elderly woman.

“It’s true,” said Henry, answering Mrs. Spencer’s question. “Milly’s the real artist.”

Jem smiled over at the Alden children. “It’s nice to see young people taking an interest in art,” he said, although he didn’t sound as if he meant it. “But you kids ought to get your facts straight before you go spouting off.”

Henry squared his shoulders. “The fact is, Grandfather bought a landscape last night,” he said, looking Jem straight in the eye. “Violet was sure there was another painting hidden under it, and —”

“There was!” finished Benny.

Nodding, Violet said in a quiet voice, “Edmund removed the top layer of paint, and he uncovered something that belongs to you, Mrs. Spencer.”

As the gallery owner held up the portrait, Mrs. Spencer cried out in surprise.

Stepping forward, Rachel said, “Milly Manchester left that self-portrait to my mother in her will.”

“If that’s true, why was a landscape painted over it, Margaret?” Edmund demanded. “A landscape with your signature on it.”

Margaret didn’t answer right away. She took a deep breath and tried to collect her thoughts. Finally she blurted out, “It’s not a self-portrait at all. I was the one who painted that picture of Milly. But I never did care much for it.” She shrugged a little. “That’s why I painted over it. What’s wrong with that?” she added rather sharply.

“Why would you paint a picture of somebody you didn’t know?” Benny asked, accusingly.

It was a good question. Margaret had made it clear she’d never met Milly Manchester. Why would she paint her portrait? Everyone waited expectantly for an answer.

Margaret struggled to find something to say. “I ... I meant I didn’t know Milly very well. She gave me a few tips on painting, that’s all.”

The Aldens looked at one another in surprise. They had been certain Margaret would confess when she saw Milly’s self-portrait. They hadn’t counted on her trying to bluff her way out of it.

But Henry wasn’t giving up so easily. “What about the snapdragons?”

Margaret blinked. “What ... ?”

“There’s a snapdragon in every one of those paintings,” stated Henry, watching Margaret closely.

Mrs. Spencer glanced around at the gallery walls. “Then they really are Milly’s paintings,” she said in an awed voice. “That was Milly’s signature, you know — a bright pink snapdragon.”

Edmund looked grim. “There seem to be some strange things going on around here.”

“I’ll tell you what’s strange.” Jem seemed amused. “It’s strange anybody would think those are my aunt’s paintings.” Then he shook his head sadly. “Her canvasses were destroyed in a fire, you know. Every last one of them. Such a terrible loss!”

“Maybe that’s just what you want everyone to believe,” Henry suggested.

Jem pretended to look hurt. “How can you accuse me of such a thing? I’m a respectable businessman. Why, that would be ... ”

“Dishonest?” finished Grandfather.

“Unless you can prove what you’re saying,” Jem responded in an icy voice, “we have nothing more to discuss.”

Edmund glanced over at Jem a little suspiciously, but did not say anything. Then Jessie caught a knowing look pass between Janice and Rachel.

Janice suddenly spoke up. “I believe I can prove it,” she said. “I have something in my purse I think you should see, Edmund.” With that, Janice disappeared into the back room. She returned a moment later, waving a photograph in the air.

Edmund’s face grew grim as he studied the snapshot. After a lengthy silence, he looked up. “How would you explain this, Margaret?” he demanded, passing the photograph to her. “As you can see, it clearly shows Milly Manchester painting her own portrait — with you watching nearby.”

Margaret’s face turned very red as she looked down at the snapshot.

“That sounds like your photograph, Mrs. Spencer,” observed Benny. “The one that was missing from your album.”

“But how in the world did —” Mrs. Spencer began.

Rachel interrupted. “I’ll explain everything to you later,” she whispered. And she gave her mother a reassuring pat on the back.

Jem inched his way closer to Margaret and looked over her shoulder. As he got a glimpse of the photograph, his mouth dropped open.

“Well, Margaret,” Edmund said sternly. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

Margaret didn’t answer. Instead, she wheeled around to face Jem. “This is all your fault!” she cried, almost shouting. “I told you not to come to the gallery. Didn’t I warn you it would look too suspicious? But oh, no, you had to come anyway, didn’t you? You just couldn’t resist giving one of your big sales pitches.” Margaret shook her finger at him. “You’re a fool, Jem Manchester! Your aunt was a brilliant artist. Her paintings would’ve sold without any help from you.”

Jem’s eyes darted from side to side. He opened his mouth several times as if about to speak, then closed it again. Finally he let out a sigh and said, “All right, it’s true. My aunt painted every last one of them. But she had no business putting a condition in her will!” He sounded upset. “There’s nothing wrong with a guy wanting to make a few bucks. I should’ve been able to do whatever I wanted with her paintings!”

He stopped talking for a moment. Then he gave a little shrug. “Anyway, no harm done,” he said, suddenly trying to make light of everything. “Why don’t I just gather up my paintings and get out of your way.” Then, with a few quick strides, he went over and took a painting down from the wall.

But Mrs. Spencer wasn’t having any of that. “Not so fast, Jem Manchester! Aren’t you forgetting something? As I recall, Milly’s will makes it clear that if you try to sell her art, her paintings become the property of the Greenfield Public Library.”

Replacing the painting, Jem headed for the door, muttering to himself. As he left, he called out, “You won’t be seeing me in here again!”

“I’ll count on it,” replied Edmund.

When the door slammed shut, the gallery owner turned to Margaret. “I can’t believe you’d take credit for someone else’s work,” he said. “How could you do something like that?” Edmund sounded more disappointed than angry.

Rachel had an opinion about this. “For the money, no doubt.” She shook her head in disapproval. “Just like Jem Manchester.”

Margaret’s dark eyes suddenly flashed. “That’s not true! Every dime from those paintings was going to Jem,” she shot back. “It was always about the money with him. It never was for me.”

Edmund lifted his hands in bewilderment. “Then ... why?”

Violet thought she knew the answer. “You wanted to make a name for yourself in the art world, didn’t you?”

Margaret looked down shamefully. “Yes, I did want to make a name for myself,” she acknowledged. “My family always told me I was wasting my time painting. They wanted me to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a lawyer.” She swallowed hard. “I figured if I could win the art contest and get some good reviews from the art critics, my career would take off, and my family would finally accept my decision to become an artist.”

“So you went along with Jem’s plan to sell his aunt’s paintings,” concluded Jessie.

Margaret didn’t deny it. “I was shocked when Jem first mentioned it. Milly had taught me so much, and she’d always been so kind to me.” Her voice wavered. “I just couldn’t imagine betraying her like that — passing her work off as my own. I told Jem I wouldn’t do it. And I meant it, too.”

“But then you changed your mind,” put in Henry, urging her on.

“I really didn’t want to do it.” Margaret looked close to tears. “But my father refused to pay for my art studies at the college anymore. I was desperate to prove to him I could make it as an artist.”

Margaret told the rest of the story quickly. Jem had concocted a scheme to make everyone believe his aunt’s works of art had been destroyed in a fire. Then Margaret signed her name to the paintings and entered them in the art contest sponsored by the Mona Lisa Gallery. It seemed simple enough. After all, Milly had never put her paintings on display anywhere, so very few people had ever seen them.

“Jem’s plan seemed foolproof,” finished Margaret. “So I agreed.”

“Nothing’s ever foolproof, Margaret,” said Edmund. “Now you’ll have to suffer the consequences of your actions.” His voice was stern. “It’ll be a long time before the art world will trust you again.”

Margaret didn’t have a reply to that. She just hung her head and stared at the floor.

Janice spoke up. “If you really want to stay in the art program, Margaret, you could put yourself through school. Lots of people do. Of course, it’s not easy working and going to school,” she added. “But it’s worth it.”

“I ... I never thought of doing it on my own,” Margaret said, a faint note of hope in her voice.

Mrs. Spencer had something to add. “Milly thought you were a fine painter, Margaret. She always hoped you’d develop your own style one day.”

“Milly was always a good friend to me,” said Margaret. She stood twisting her hands. “I’m so ashamed of what I’ve done.” Looking truly regretful, she turned and walked slowly from the gallery.