The Baker Street Boys - The Case of the Stolen Sparklers
Read The Baker Street Boys - The Case of the Stolen Sparklers Online
Authors: Anthony Read
ONTENTS
P
olly gazed in wonder at the jewels laid out on Lady Mountjoy’s dressing table. Dozens of emeralds set in a long, looped necklace glittered green in the gas light; pearls glowed softly white in delicate earrings; and rubies, set in gold rings, shone a deep, warm red. But best of all, so beautiful that they quite took her breath away, were the diamonds sparkling like stars on a silver headband. Where the band rose to a point at the front, a single stone, bigger and brighter than all the others, flashed with cold fire. It was so lovely that the young servant girl was almost hypnotized by it. Dreamily, she stretched out her hand. As her fingers almost reached the glittering jewel, she was jerked back into reality by a harsh shout from behind her
.
“Oi! Skivvy! Keep your filthy paws off them sparklers!”
Polly jumped as though she had been stung and pulled her hand away, letting out a little squeal of surprise
.
“What d’you think you’re doing?” The voice belonged to Violet, Lady Mountjoy’s maid, who had just come into the room. Polly blushed a deep crimson as the older girl advanced towards her
.
“I- I weren’t doin’ no harm,” Polly stuttered. “I was only lookin’.”
“No you wasn’t,” Violet snapped. “You was going to touch ’em. Look, don’t touch. That’s something you better learn if you’re going to get on in service.”
“Yes, Violet. But it’s so beautiful. What is it?”
“That, my girl, is the famous Mountjoy tiara.”
“What’s a tiara?”
“That is. That crown thingy. And it’s worth a king’s ransom.”
“What’s a king’s ransom?”
“Don’t you never stop asking questions? It’s a lot of money – more’n the likes of you and me will ever see in a lifetime. Now, hurry and get that fire made up. I want you out of here before her ladyship comes back from the bathroom. She’ll be wanting to get ready for the duke’s ball.”
Violet gathered up a large white towel that was warming by the fireplace and hurried out as she heard her mistress calling her. Left alone, Polly couldn’t resist looking at the jewels one more time. Glancing quickly over her shoulder to make sure no one was watching, she stretched out a finger and let it rest for a moment on the big diamond in the tiara. Then, sighing deeply, she turned away, picked up her heavy brass bucket, and began placing lumps of coal on the fire in the ornate little grate
.
Stepping out of Lady Mountjoy’s room when she had finished, Polly almost bumped into the portly figure of Mr Harper, prowling noiselessly along the corridor. The butler let out an annoyed grunt and straightened his tailcoat
.
“What are you doing up here, girl?” he demanded in his light Scottish accent
.
Mr Harper was so grand that Polly found it hard not to curtsy to him. Instead, she swallowed hard and answered nervously, “Makin’ up her ladyship’s fire, Mr Harper. She rang for more coals.”
“Very well. See to the fires in Mr Gerald’s room and also the library and drawing room before you go back below stairs.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Just a moment.”
“Yes, sir?”
“Where are your gloves? You’ve been told before, when you are handling coals you must wear gloves.”
Polly looked down at her hands. The fingers were black with coal dust. Blushing, she tried to wipe them on her apron
.
“Sorry, Mr Harper, sir. I forgot.”
“‘Forgot’ is not good enough, my girl. You must have clean hands at all times in this household.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I shall speak to you about this later. Now, get on – and look sharp about it.”
Polly was quite out of breath when she got back to the kitchen after making up the fires, and she was nervous about what Mr Harper would say to her. Mrs Ford, the cook, was busy dusting flour from her hands, having just put the pastry top on a large, round pie. Mrs Ford was famous for her pies – steak and kidney, veal and ham, plum and apple – they were all delicious, and she always seemed to be baking them. She looked up and scowled at Polly
.
“You’ve took your time, young lady. What have you been up to?” she snapped
.
“Nothin’, Mrs Ford. Only what Mr Harper told me to do – makin’ up the other fires.”
“Hmmph! And just look at you. Keep those filthy hands away from my pastry. Get them washed and then start clearing up in here.”
“Yes, Mrs Ford. Sorry, Mrs Ford.”
Polly scurried across to the big stone sink and turned on the tap. She had just put her hands in the water when the whole house echoed to the sound of someone screaming
.
“That’s her ladyship!” said Mrs Ford. “Quick!”
She bustled out of the kitchen, Polly following, and they rushed up the stairs as fast as they could go. Mr Harper was just ahead of them, panting with the effort. As they all reached the top, they found Lady Mountjoy standing on the landing with her hands pressed to her head. Violet was behind her in the open doorway. Lady Mountjoy’s brother, Gerald, came out of his room, half dressed, and hurried to his sister
.
“What is it, Belle?” he asked. “Whatever’s up?”
“My jewels!” she cried. “They’ve gone. Someone’s stolen my jewels!” And she fell to the floor in a faint
.
TOP THAT
G
IRL
!
“Sweep! Swee–eep!” Wiggins and Gertie could hear the chimney sweep’s cry echoing along the street before they saw him. He was wearing a battered top hat and dusty black tailcoat – the traditional sweep’s outfit – and pushing a handcart loaded with brushes and poles and sacks.
“Wotcha, Charlie,” Wiggins greeted him. “How’s tricks?”
“’Allo, young Wiggins,” the sweep replied mournfully. “Not so good – nobody round ’ere wants their chimbleys swept. Can’t even find a good weddin’ to go to.”
“What d’you want to go to a weddin’ for?” Gertie asked, puzzled.
“Don’t you know nothin’?” Charlie gave her a withering glance.
“People think a sweep brings good luck to the happy couple,” Wiggins explained. “Ain’t that right, Charlie?”
“Right. And they slips me a nice tip for turnin’ up outside the church.”
“What, just for turnin’ up?”
“That’s right. I even gets to kiss the bride, sometimes,” he grinned. “Just a peck on the cheek, mind. For luck.”
Gertie pulled a face at the thought of being kissed by Charlie, who had to be at least forty years old – his skin was wrinkled and pitted with years of soot from the chimneys he swept.
