“Oh no!” said Lucy. “He should have been fair. Did the curse get him too?”
Mr. Sivam nodded solemnly. “My thatha became ill with a terrible cancer. By the time he died, my father was ten or eleven years old and heard the story as I have told it to you. He inherited the emerald when he came of age at eighteen and vowed to remove it far away from anyone he loved, though it took him a great long time before he could travel such a distance. Why did he not simply carry the emerald back to the temple? I suppose he feared punishment.”
Instead, Mr. Sivam’s father had left the family behind to sail to England, taking the treasure with him. He feared a shipwreck throughout the stormy voyage, alarmed that everyone on board would be struck down by the gem’s curse. But he arrived safely in London and left the emerald in a bank vault with a letter of explanation. He returned home with a lighter heart.
“And now I shall right the wrongs of my forefathers,” said Mr. Sivam, “and put this nonsense to rest at last. I will return the Echo Emerald to its place in the garden of Aditi, where it will abide in peace.”
* * *
—
After dinner, Marjorie walked us up the stairs and helped to get our dresses off and our hair brushed out. Hector did for himself, but he was used to that. We were all so tired that barely a word was spoken. Marjorie checked that Dot had put warming pans between our sheets to take away the chill. Lucy was in the bigger bed, in the center of the room, the one she always had when visiting Owl Park. But I was perfectly content with the narrow cot under the window, with a headboard that formed a shelf for books. Surely I would have sweet dreams with all those stories above my head?
And yet I awoke with a jolt, the black windowpanes glinting above me like devilish eyes. A moment passed before I remembered where this window was, my heart hammering as if I’d suffered a nightmare. I saw a dim flash as Lucy tossed aside her coverlet and then I did the same. It had been no dream that had frightened me awake, but an insistent shrieking from somewhere below us in the house.
CHAPTER 5
AN UPSET HOUSEHOLD
WITHIN MOMENTS WE had on our robes and slippers and found Hector in the hallway tying the cord to his own quilted bed jacket. It was much broader in the shoulders than his body required, and I suspected it was a loan from the vicar in Torquay.
Another shriek sped us down to the second floor, at the front of the house.
“Juliet suite,” said Lucy, nearly breathless as we ran. “Where the Sivams are staying.”
Rounding a final corner, we found ourselves in the midst of a gathering of servants, all wearing nightclothes. Pressman, the butler, had an ear to one of the doors, unnecessarily, as the wailing within was audible to all of us. As we arrived from one direction, James and Marjorie arrived from the other. The noise stopped abruptly and the door flew open. Pressman hopped backward amidst a chorus of gasps from the maids. Mrs. Frost, the housekeeper, shushed them with a glare and flapped her hand to shoo them back a few paces.
But who would not be alarmed at the sight of Mrs. Sivam, her face blotched and hair wild? Her husband appeared at her shoulder, his worried eyes meeting those of his host.
“We apologize for the disturbance, my friends,” said Mr. Sivam. “My wife has had a fright.” He glanced toward the cluster of servants still hovering in the passage. “It seems we’ve had an intruder.” His grip tightened around the woman now trembling under his arm. “I wonder…”
“May I be of assistance?” Mr. Pressman threw back his shoulders and stood as rigidly straight as if he were in his formal butler garb instead of a woolly tartan dressing gown.
“Make a quick circuit of the doors, will you, Pressman?” said James.
The butler nodded and strode away in his slippers.
“Kitty is shivering.” Marjorie placed a calming hand on Mrs. Sivam’s shoulder. “Mrs. Frost, will you provide a cup of sweet tea?”
The housekeeper sent one of the maids to make tea, and then barked at the others to go along too. Poor luck, I thought. Roused and fussed in the middle of the night and not allowed to watch! It could happen to us at any moment, as children were never welcome at moments of high drama. I signaled Hector and Lucy with a finger to my lips and we kept still in the shadows.
Kitty refused to go back inside the suite, so it was Marjorie who fetched a blanket. Mr. Sivam and James had a hurried whispered exchange, but we were not close enough to hear. Mr. Sivam held his precious box, and shook his head when James offered to take it.
Kitty Sivam, warmly wrapped and calmer, began to tell what had frightened her so.
She’d been startled awake, by a bump, perhaps? As if someone had collided with the washstand in the dark. She could see from her bed that the door connecting her room to that of her husband was half ajar. Lakshay’s window was firmly shut. Her own window was open, overlooking the glass-paned roof of the conservatory, presently covered in snow. No intruder could have entered that way. She was not certain that she had locked her door to the passage. Why would she, in so friendly a household?
What she saw, peering into the dark, was a figure frozen to the spot by her sudden gasp. He seemed broad and tall, but perhaps the shadows had exaggerated his size. He waited, in silence. Kitty pulled the bedclothes over her head and did not see which way he went. She heard a scuffling and felt a draft, though from where she could not say. She mustered her courage and went to the connecting door. Her husband’s bureau had been plundered. She began to scream, waking him and everyone else.
She came to the end of her tale with a ragged little sob.
“Ssh,” said Mr. Sivam. “It’s all over.” He guided his wife, protesting only faintly now, back into their suite.
Mr. Pressman returned along the passage.
“Windows and doors are secure, my lord. All the servants are accounted for. I have footmen circling the grounds with torches, to see if we can flush the scoundrel.”
“Thank you, Pressman,” James said. “I presume they’ll be alert to footprints in the snow? And not disturbing anything unexpected with their own boots?”
“Indeed, my lord, though the snow is falling thickly.”
James sighed. “What time is it?” he said.
“Ten minutes past four, my lord.”
“I think we might all try for another hour of sleep, don’t you? Best to avoid waking my mother. Perhaps a visit from the constabulary in the morning?”
“My lord.”
Hector tapped my elbow. Lucy and I followed him around the corner where we paused to whisper.
“If a thief is outside, he is gone by now,” said Hector.
“And his footprints already covered with fresh snow,” I said.
“Uncle James should call the police,” said Lucy, “and summon dogs to chase the man down.”
“I believe this would be of no use,” said Hector. “Logic tells me that whoever is wishing to steal the jewel…”
I caught his meaning at once. “He is very probably still inside the house!”
DECEMBER 24, 1902
WEDNESDAY
CHAPTER 6
A COMPANY OF ACTORS
WE NEVER DID GO back to sleep and we were famished by half past six. Lucy felt brave enough by then to scurry down to the kitchen to ask for cocoa. Poor Dot brought up a tray the size of a sled, with a pot of cocoa, ramekins of coddled eggs and a stack of hot crumpets under a tea cloth.
“If you want anything more,” she said, “you’ll have to go down to the breakfast room.”
Hector sniffed a small bowl of preserves. “Blackberry, Miss Dot?”
Dot blushed. “You don’t call me miss, Master Hector. I’m under-parlormaid, so just Dot. But yes, that’s one of Cook’s special jams, that is.”
“This is a majestic breakfast, Dot, thank you,” I said.
We tucked in. It was one of the best meals of my life, sittin
g by the fire wrapped in a blanket with snow whirling outside.
“And!” said Lucy. “No adults!”
“And,” said Hector, “an attempted burglary to consider.”
“And, it’s Christmas Eve!” I added. “With a company of actors coming to deliver tableaux to our very own drawing room.”
“I expect they’ll use the ballroom, actually,” Lucy said. “I didn’t take you in there yesterday, but it’s much bigger and grander than the drawing room.”
“The ball room?” said Hector.
“The dancing sort of ball, not the sort to kick about with a dog,” said Lucy.
“Ah, oui, le bal,” said Hector. He took an enormous bite of crumpet and quickly mopped a trickle of butter from his chin.
* * *
—
The arrival of the actors was somewhat delayed because many of the country lanes were near impassable with the fallen snow. Lucy’s grandmother, according to Lucy, did not intend to be overly gracious to those she called “vagabonds.” They would not be greeted by a line of respectful servants outside the front doors, and they would have their meals in the kitchen.
Mr. Sivam had offered to show James the underworkings of his motorcar, so the welcoming committee for the company of actors was only Marjorie, Mrs. Sivam, Hector, Lucy and me. Calling it a company was a bit misleading. There were only three, and their appearance was disappointing, to say it plainly. The two men and a woman were so ordinary-looking that one might expect to see them selling fish in a market or collecting tickets on a train. No dash or bluster, no glamor or sparkle. Their clothing showed no ornament or whimsy, though I was cheered to see that the older actor wore a small gold ring in his ear.
“Mr. Mooney,” said Mrs. Sivam, coming forward with a hand outstretched to the man who seemed to be the leader. It was through his acquaintance with the Sivams that this little troupe had come to Owl Park. Mr. Mooney had removed his hat when he entered the house, showing off dark hair rather longer than was usual for a man, and a fine pointed beard as well. Quite Shakespearean and not so drab, after all.
“As lovely as ever, dear Mrs. Sivam,” said Mr. Mooney, bowing over her hand and kissing it, making her blush. His greeting to Marjorie was more sedate, before introducing his fellow actors, Mr. Corker, who wore the earring, and the woman, Miss Day.
“It is enough baggage to supply a circus,” said Hector.
The actors and two reluctant footmen stood amidst an impressive heap of packing cases, large wicker baskets and brassbound trunks. Costumes! Scenery! Hats and boots and jewelry! And it all must be dispersed in little more than an hour, before old Lady Greyson passed through the Great Hall on her way to luncheon at one o’clock.
“I did not realize there’d be quite so much apparatus!” said Marjorie. “We might have arranged a different entryway. Take everything to the ballroom,” she instructed the footmen. “And please remove the packing cases to the coach house when essentials have been retrieved.”
“Before you disperse!” Mr. Mooney waved his hat in the air, commanding our attention. He put out a hand to stop the footmen who were lifting a table. “Let it be known throughout the household that we are eager to share the stage with anyone who wishes to participate in our entertainment this evening, from upstairs and down. From the lady of the house to the scullery maid.”
The footmen glanced at one another and grinned. Tradition said that Christmas Eve was a night of topsy-turvy, where the servants dressed in their finest clothes and the family poured the drinks and passed refreshments.
“We have particular need of young people willing to assume important roles in our tableaux. May I depend upon your goodness?” He made a deep, graceful bow before Lucy, causing her to burst into happy giggles.
“Yes!” she said. “I’ve always dreamt I might…”
“Marvelous. Will you come as well, young man?”
Hector nodded, very keen.
“And you, miss?”
I hoped my head shake was not impolite, but I simply could not appear upon a stage. Whenever I tried to say aloud one of my poems, for instance, my mouth turned as dry as sand on a desert plain.
“Who will I play?” said Lucy.
Mr. Mooney tapped the side of his nose and whispered, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “That, my dear, will be revealed out of earshot of the curious onlookers. Rehearsals will begin directly we’ve shifted our caravan of belongings.”
Lucy giggled again, and picked up a basket holding several pairs of knee-high boots with gold buckles.
“Isn’t he the most handsome?” she whispered to me.
Quite close by, the lady actor sighed. I looked her way and she flushed at being heard. I tried a small smile and she sent me a bigger one back.
“He can’t help himself,” she said, quietly. “Sebastian Mooney feels compelled to charm every lady in the room, whether she’s twelve or ninety-two. It gets a bit boring for the rest of us.”
She wasn’t flashy the way I’d expected, though her high cheekbones were tinted with a tinge of rouge over tawny skin. Her hair was dark auburn, her eyes light brown and merry. What sort of woman became an actress and traveled about in the company of men? She knew I was studying her and smiled again.
“I am Annabelle Day,” she said. “Are you certain you won’t join us?”
I bit my lip and shook my head no. “I’d rather watch,” I said.
Mr. Corker piled a stack of tricorn hats upon his head, leaving his hands free to carry an oddly shaped leather case.
“We’re always grateful for one or two who are faint of heart,” he said. “We do like an audience, however small.”
“I am renowned for my skill at applause,” I said, tickled to make him smile.
“Never an undervalued talent in our profession,” he said. “If nobody claps, there’s not much point in showing off, is there?”
I agreed that there was not. “I shall clap until my palms sting,” I promised. “I’m curious about your fancy case. What fits in there?”
It was long and narrow and only about three inches deep, firmly buckled in several places.
“Sebastian?” called Miss Day. “We’ve had a request to inspect your precious armory.”
“Aha!” said Mr. Mooney. “Nothing could delight me more!”
He took the long case from Mr. Corker and stepped carefully over a roll of bright fabric to put the case down on the marble floor. He unbuckled the clasps, with a circle of admirers watching closely. When the lid came up, there was an excited Oooh! all around. Inside lay a pair of gleaming swords and a matching pair of daggers, each with a crafted bronze handle and a very sharp-looking blade. Lucy reached out to touch, but he put up a hand to stop her, removing a sword from its nest of velvet.
“Arghh, me hearties!” He swung the weapon above his head, doing a trick with his wrist so that the point remained balanced upward for a few moments, even as he flung his other arm into the air with a flourish. He looked straight at me and winked.
“Who will be the first pretty maiden to walk the plank?” He brought the sword down with a rapid swish and jabbed the air toward Hector. “And who will be the first traitor to get run through with my trusty blade?”
CHAPTER 7
A SISTER’S STRUGGLE
WHEN MY FRIENDS joined the rehearsal, I went to sit with the young Lady Greyson during her hour of household management, delayed today because of the actors’ arrival. I approached the morning room tasting two distinct flavors of anticipation. One, I would have nearly a whole hour to visit with my sister! And two…I was obliged to visit with my sister for nearly a whole hour…
Marjorie had gone to boarding school when I was still a child and then married James soon after graduating. I suppose I’d told her little girl secrets before she’d gone away, but we’d had no recent practice sharing thoughts and dreams. Would we find a
way to be easy together? She was a married woman with a manor house full of servants to command. I suspected that in her eyes I was still a child.
She was at her desk when I came in, her elegant script unrolling across a page of creamy paper. I sat near her in a chair upholstered in dusky pink velvet. Not a place to spill one’s cocoa. Marjorie asked at once, how was Tony? Well, Tony was getting a bit stout. Our maid, Sally, liked to feed him buttered toast.
“He likely needs to fatten up for winter,” said Marjorie. “Like a bear. And our neighbors next door at the EverMore villa? What do you hear of them?”
“It has been a quiet few weeks,” I said, since I’d discovered Irma Eversham’s corpse on the floor of the Mermaid Dance Room. “Our dancing lessons have been suspended until the new year.”
“I had a note from Rose, full of sadness and confusion,” said Marjorie, “but we know how that feels, do we not?”
Yes, we did.
“And how do you think Mummy is faring? It is so hard to discern from her letters.”
“Mostly well since your wedding,” I said. “Despite the upset of our murdered neighbor. But recently, she has been very low indeed. Perhaps because of the gray winter sky.”
“And you, Aggie? Is Groveland terribly quiet and lonely with just the three of you?”
How to explain the tremble from my ankles to my scalp when I passed the door of Papa’s study and knew he was not there to wink at me? How to describe the ache in my throat when I turned the pages of his dictionary or stood in his dressing room with my face pressed to the sleeve of his velvet smoking jacket? How to relate the moment, many times in a week, while we ate our supper when Mummy, Grannie and I each found one another’s eyes resting on Papa’s empty chair?
Peril at Owl Park Page 4
