Verity Sparks, Lost and Found (10 page)

Back upstairs, I muttered an apology and slipped to my seat. Looking around the room, I was surprised to see Connie. Was she was feeling a little better? I gave her a smile, but she didn’t smile back. Perhaps it was because our headmistress had moved off the subject of hats and onto the subject of Connie.

“So,” she said severely. “I will not have any of you girls giving way to your feelings and sulking in your chambers. You must exercise self-control. Do you hear me, Consolata? Now, about the soiree on Friday evening. Best dresses, of course – and not that old yellow thing please, Consolata. Bring your sewing baskets with you; I wish to demonstrate the refined yet homelike atmosphere of our school. We will have the musical interlude before supper. Grace, on the harp, will go first. Then Emily, you are to play the violin. And last, Jessie will sing. She has been practising her lovely Scottish songs and Consolata will accompany her. Consolata? What’s got into the girl?”

For Connie, pushing roughly past Jemima and Louisa, had rushed from the room.

“I told you, Mrs Enderby-Smarke. She’s terribly upset,” said Miss Deane. “She’s lost that locket she always wears.”

“That does not excuse her rudeness.”

“Yes, but it contained the only picture she had of her mother,” said Jessie. “Poor Connie. She’s devastated.” Butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. I could have smacked her.

“Your soft heart does you credit, Jessie,” said Mrs Enderby-Smarke, shooting an approving glance at her favourite.

“May I go after her now?” asked Jessie. “I may be able to comfort her.”

My jaw dropped. Miss Deane was so surprised she jabbed her needle right into her thumb. But Mrs Enderby-Smarke just purred.

“Yes, Jessie, you may go.”

Jessie carefully replaced her sewing basket in the cupboard before leaving the room, and Mrs Enderby-Smarke went on. “Girls, Jessie has just given you an example of truly kind sisterly behaviour. This is why she is Head Girl. After all, it’s not as if Connie was … Well, never mind that. Back to the soiree. Alice, you and Louisa are to pour the tea …”

Mrs Enderby-Smarke droned on about sugar tongs, sandwich plates and teaspoons for another fifteen minutes. When at last she finished, Emily and I hurried to Connie’s room and found her lying on her bed, sobbing. Jessie was nowhere to be seen. I sat down and gently patted her back, and after a little while her shoulders stopped heaving. It was the second time this week I’d had to calm a crying friend. Lottie had been easy to comfort, but Connie? There was nothing anyone could do to cheer her up except find the locket. Or take her home to Riverbend Station.

“Verity,” Emily whispered. “May I suggest something?”

“What is it?”

“You have a spare bed in your room. Do you think Connie could sleep in with you?”

Why hadn’t I thought of that? Emily was not only good-hearted, she was smart as well.

“What a good idea,” I said. “Connie, would you like that?”

“Yes.”

“Come on then.” Emily and I helped her up, wrapped her in a shawl and between the two of us, got her to my room and tucked her up in my bed.

“Emily, could you ask Miss Deane to come here?”

I thought that Miss Deane should be told about the change, and besides, I’d need a set of sheets for the other bed. While I waited, holding Connie’s hand, I looked around the room. Suddenly, I had the strangest feeling. Something was not right, and yet as far as I could see by the flickering candlelight, everything was in its place – the pictures of Papa and the Plush family, my hairbrush and hand mirror, the little wooden jewellery box on my chest of drawers … No. My jewellery box had been moved.

Gently withdrawing my hand from Connie’s, I got up and walked over to the chest. I opened the box.

My lucky piece was gone.

I’m afraid I swore, but I won’t tell you what I said. The thief at Hightop House had to be stopped! Surely now my gift would return to me. After all, the lucky piece was precious – not because it was worth a lot of money, but because of what it meant to me. I concentrated. I tried to picture Mrs Vic and my mother. I tried to see the piece itself, with the seven stars …

I was interrupted by a soft tap at the door. For a couple of seconds, I’d thought that maybe my gift was about to return … But no.

“How are you, dear?” Miss Deane asked Connie as she approached the bed.

“Oh, please can’t I stay?” whimpered Connie.

Miss Deane stroked her tear-stained face. “Don’t fret, Connie.”

“But what if Mrs–”

“You have my permission to change bedrooms.” Miss Deane reassured her. “Don’t worry. I will speak to Mrs Enderby-Smarke about it tomorrow.” She turned to Emily and me. “This is a very good idea, girls. Connie shouldn’t be alone. Verity, will you come with me to the linen room?”

“Yes, Miss Deane.”

“Follow me.”

Walking as quickly as she could without extinguishing her candle, Miss Deane led me downstairs and to the back of the ground floor. This area was out of bounds to us girls. Here was the boiler room, the sick bay where infectious pupils could be isolated, and a couple of storerooms. Selecting a key from the chatelaine at her belt, Miss Deane opened the linen room door. In the dim light I could see the walls were lined with open shelves containing piles of sheets, towels and blankets. The whole room smelled of lavender and cloves.

“We won’t be disturbed in here,” said Miss Deane, shutting the door behind us. “Now, Verity …” She reached into the front of her bodice and pulled out an envelope. “I received a very interesting letter this morning. It’s from a Mr Saddington Plush.”

“Oh,” I said. Why had SP written to Miss Deane and not me? And what had he discovered?

“Hold the candle, will you?” she said. She unfolded the letter and began to read.

“Dear Miss Deane
,

For your eyes only:

Investigations via a contact at the Army and Navy Club reveal that Reginald Enderby-Smarke has never been a member of either the British or Indian armies. Though he has spent some time in India, he was engaged in selling horses. He is not a colonel, and there was no battle at Borabadur. In fact, I don’t think there is a place called Borabadur – not in India at any rate. He smashed his leg falling off an elephant, which he was riding as a bet
.

I hope this information will help you in your present difficulty
.

Yours faithfully
,

Saddington Plush
.

PS I’ve enclosed a note for Verity.”

Miss Deane handed me a small piece of paper.

I looked at it quickly.

I will be out of town for a couple of days, so if you need anything, contact Daniel
.

“Tell me, Verity, what’s this all about?”

I took a deep breath. “We have a thief at Hightop House.”

“I know we do,” she said. “Because, so far, someone has stolen Connie’s locket and Laura’s bracelet.”

“I can add to your list,” I said. “I’ve just discovered that my new silver chain and lucky piece have been stolen.”

“Oh no.”

“And hasn’t a large sum of money gone missing as well? Fifty pounds, to be exact.”

“How do you know about that?” she asked sharply.

“I heard you and the Colonel talking while I was waiting for SP to take me out for my birthday. Besides, you’ve been searching high and low for the money. I didn’t believe what you said about moths,” I added.

Miss Deane shook her head. “It wasn’t a very good excuse, was it?”

“SP – that is, Mr Saddington Plush, is a confidential inquiry agent, Miss Deane. I told him that I heard the Colonel threaten to kill someone if the money was not returned. I’ve been so very worried.”

“You’re a dear girl!” said Miss Deane, giving me a quick hug. “It’s not as bad as all that. The Colonel was threatening to kill Lucifer.”

“Lucifer?” It took a few seconds for the penny to drop. “You mean your pet cockatoo?” I couldn’t help giving a little giggle. “Oh, I’m so relieved … Not that Lucifer isn’t very dear to you, I’m sure,” I added hurriedly.

Miss Deane managed a throaty chuckle herself. “The Colonel’s a scamp but not quite a murderer. I’d better tell you the whole story. He’s a gambler. Horses, greyhounds, football games. I believe he’s even bet on cockroaches crawling down a wall. Because of his leg, he can’t get out and he’s … well, he’s used me as his runner.”

“His runner? What does that mean?”

“His betting agent can’t come up to the house or Mrs Enderby-Smarke would find out. So I … well, I go out and meet the agent a little way down the road. We exchange money and betting slips. What I didn’t know was that the Colonel’s been taking money from his wife’s desk and then replacing it from his winnings. The week before last, I had fifty pounds for him. Since Miss Smith left, I’ve been terribly busy and I didn’t have the chance to pass on the money. I hid it in a safe place, in with my stockings. And you know the rest. I have no proof, but – I think it’s Jessie.”

“I think so too.”

“She’s had plenty of opportunities to steal. But I’ve searched her room from top to bottom. I’ve even gone through her clothes while she was taking her bath. The worst of it is, I can’t tell Mrs Enderby-Smarke. Jessie is her prize pupil and I know she’d refuse to believe me. But still, there’s a silver lining right here in this letter.” She gave a comical grin. “Fancy, the Colonel is a fraud. I always knew there was something fishy about him … just wait till I tell him what I know!” Her eyes sparkled. “I shall write to Mr Plush first thing tomorrow, to thank him.”

“Can you tell him something from me?”

“Certainly,” said Miss Deane, taking a small notebook and pencil from her pocket. SP would approve of this lady, I thought.

I began to list the names I could remember from Mrs Enderby-Smarke’s documents.

“Minerva Eudora Smith?” said Miss Deane. “Our Miss Smith? Is Mr Plush investigating her as well?”

“If you think he should, Miss Deane.”

“I certainly do. I can’t find out where she’s gone and I’ve been awfully worried about her. And now, I suppose we had better take this linen back upstairs, and I should get back to the Seniors’ sitting room. Verity? Verity?” She put her hands on my shoulders and shook me slightly. “Are you all right?”

“What? I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

But I hardly heard her reply, for in my mind’s eye I could see the Seniors’ sitting room. My classmates reading, writing letters, sewing. A card game. Sewing baskets. Doilies and blue embroidery silk. And then pages from
The Young Ladies’ Treasure Book and Complete Companion
came floating through my mind, and I laughed out loud. It was so simple, and so silly. If only I was right …

“Miss Deane,” I said. “After lights out, can you come and get me? I have a theory about where the stolen goods are hidden. And if I’m right, we’ve caught our thief.”

Grace Fanshawe’s final chord shimmered from the harp. She stood up and gave an elegant curtsey. In the drawing room, the assembled guests – the Reverend and Mrs Silas McGurk, Mr and Mrs Alphonse Drome and Mr and Mrs Daniel Opie – clapped appreciatively. We girls, pausing a moment from our sewing, added to the applause. The Colonel, who was snoozing in his chair, woke suddenly and said in a loud voice, “Jolly good, eh? Bravo and all that.”

“Perhaps we could have an encore?” said Daniel. Grace hesitated beside the harp, but Mrs Enderby-Smarke wasn’t having any of it.

“You are
too
kind, Mr Opie,” she said, “but I assure you, the best is yet to come. Thank you, Grace. Go and sit down, dear.” She stood up, beaming. “Now, for the
pièce de résistance
, our last musical item before supper, we are in for a rare treat. Miss Jessie McGryll will sing some Scottish songs.”

Jessie, dressed in a very smart green dress with a frilled overskirt and a tartan sash, walked over to the piano. Connie quietly slipped onto the piano stool and waited for her.

“And who is our fair accompanist?” inquired the Reverend McGurk.

Mrs Enderby-Smarke, wincing at the sight of Connie’s ugly mustard dress, responded briefly, “Consolata McTavish.” And then got back to her favourite subject. “Jessie – she’s a McGryll of Gryll Grange, you know – has a
delightful
voice. Mr Albertini, our singing master, says …” She prattled on while Connie began to play the introduction, stopping only when Jessie opened her mouth to sing.

“By yon bonnie banks

And by yon bonnie braes

Where the sun shines bright …”

Miss Deane’s eye met mine, and she gave a little nod. It was time to put our plan into action. I felt surprisingly calm as I got up from my chair.

“Excuse me, Mrs McGurk,” I murmured. “Excuse me, Mr Drome.”

“… on Loch Lomond

Where I and my true love …”

Mrs Enderby-Smarke was looking daggers at me but I ignored her.

“Excuse me, Alice,” I whispered, very politely, when I reached the sofa. Jessie’s sewing basket was beside it on a small carved table. I stretched out my hand towards it.

“That’s Jessie’s,” hissed Alice.

“I know,” I whispered. “But what’s in it is mine.”

“Jessie!” squeaked Alice, desperately.

“By the bonnie, bonnie–”

With a most unmusical squawk, Jessie stopped in the middle of her song. She dropped her sheet music. “Put that down!”

“Verity, what are you doing?” began Mrs Enderby-Smarke, standing up and advancing towards me. Miss Deane made a rapid hand motion. She was telling me to hurry. I grabbed the basket and held it to my chest. Just in time, because Jessie practically flew across the room.

“Give it me, or I’ll–” she snarled, trying to snatch it way from me. But quick as a flash I turned it upside down and tipped her needle case, scissors and embroidery threads out onto the floor.

“No!” cried Jessie. She launched herself at me like a tiger. Too late. When Jessie had sewed the lining back into her basket, she’d used large and rather clumsy stitches. They were so easy to rip apart.

“What? What is this?” gasped Mrs Enderby-Smarke, as five ten-pound notes floated gently to the floor.