by Holly Webb
“Oh, I don’t think Jasper’s rude,” Maisie said, smiling. “He’s not a very clever parrot. He hardly ever says anything except ‘Polly want a cracker’. Most of the time he just squawks and hangs upside down in his cage. Has the professor got company, then? Sally must have let them in while I was out running errands.”
Mr Smith liked the professor – they had spent a whole afternoon discussing the South Sea Islands, and whether or not sea serpents were real. Maisie thought Professor Tobin was a good judge of character, so she was glad to see them getting on. She knew deep down that Mr Smith couldn’t be as villainous as he looked, especially as Eddie liked him, too, but his strange blue glass eye still made her feel odd. As though the old sailor could look inside her head, and see what she was thinking. She knew that was silly, but she couldn’t help worrying about it.
Although actually, she decided, as she ran up the stairs to Professor Tobin’s rooms, it would be very useful for a detective to have an eye that could do that. She was still wondering about the missing scarab, and Miss Dacre and her strange sideways looks. If only she could just see what people were thinking!
“You rang, Professor?” she asked. “Oh! Good morning, Lord Dacre,” she added, bobbing a curtsey as she realized who the professor’s company was. Lord Dacre was sitting in the armchair across from the professor’s and he looked distinctly miserable.
“Did you want tea, Professor?”
“Yes and no, Maisie.” Professor Tobin beckoned her in. “A cup of tea would cheer his lordship up, I’m sure, but I also wanted you to see this.” He pointed to the little table in between them, and Maisie gasped. “You found it!”
Lying on top of the professor’s newspaper was a huge golden ornament, the size of Maisie’s hand. It was clearly a beetle. It reminded her of the black beetles they sometimes found in the scullery copper, the great iron tub where they heated the hot water for washing. Maisie always had to chase them out before they began the weekly wash, as they gave Gran the collywobbles. She didn’t like their scrabbly little legs. But this beetle was fat and glossy, made of something smooth and blue which glowed so richly that Maisie could hardly believe the jewel was thousands of years old. It had wings, great curved golden and blue ones, and it was holding the sun in its claws – a ball of glowing amber.
Maisie looked at Lord Dacre in confusion. If the scarab had been recovered, why did he look so unhappy? “Did you have to pay a reward to get it back, my lord?” she asked.
“What?” Lord Dacre seemed to be sunk deep in thought. He looked up at her and blinked vaguely. “Oh… Tea. Please.”
Professor Tobin sighed and nodded to Maisie. “Fetch it for us, would you, Maisie, and I will explain when you get back.”
Maisie dashed back downstairs to tell Gran about their visitor and to make the tea. She muttered crossly at the kettle as it took an age to boil. There was clearly something mysterious going on – perhaps even something more interesting than the theft itself. Lord Dacre definitely didn’t look like someone who was delighted to have his precious treasure returned.
“Are you sure he’s a lord, Maisie?” Gran muttered, hurrying about. “Goodness gracious. You’d better use the best tea. And take some biscuits!”
“He didn’t look like he wanted biscuits, Gran, he’s ever so gloomy. I shouldn’t think he’ll even notice. But I’ll take them. And, yes, I’ve already got the silver teapot.”
“Don’t be cheeky, Maisie,” her gran murmured, but she didn’t sound as though she really meant it. She was far too worried about entertaining a lord. “And for heaven’s sake, don’t spill tea on him!”
Maisie escaped back upstairs carrying the tray, with Gran still calling after her about remembering to use the sugar tongs, and not to speak unless she was spoken to. Lord Dacre brightened up very slightly when he saw the tea tray, but as he moved the scarab out of the way for her to put the tray down and laid it on his lap, he let out the most enormous sigh.
Maisie raised her eyebrows at Professor Tobin. What was wrong with Lord Dacre now? “He’s got it back!” she whispered. “What’s the matter?”
“Pour the tea, Maisie. Leggy, tell Maisie what’s happened.”
“Tell the maid?” Lord Dacre looked at her, vaguely surprised. “Wait a moment, isn’t this the young lady who was with you at the museum?”
“Miss Hitchins is a detective, Leggy. She’s most experienced. She solved a series of daring art thefts recently, and helped to capture the infamous Sparrow Gang. You might have read about the case in the newspaper.” Professor Tobin beamed encouragingly at Maisie. “She is also my landlady’s granddaughter and, yes, she works as a housemaid. I took her to the museum to learn more about Egypt. She is, er, naturally curious.”
He was trying to find a polite way to say that she was downright nosy, Maisie decided, but she didn’t mind.
“I really don’t think…” Lord Dacre began, looking at Maisie doubtfully. “And I don’t have that long, Scruffy. I need to get back to St Katharine Docks. There’s another ship come in, you know, with more of my artefacts from the tomb. I need to oversee the unloading – no one understands how delicate those finds are!”
“Miss Hitchins has been consulted by the police, Leggy. They know of her at Scotland Yard!”
Maisie tried not to smirk. They certainly did. Inspector Fred Grange had been one of Gran’s lodgers and he knew Maisie quite well. In fact, he’d probably tell Lord Dacre that she was a meddling little so-and-so. But he would have to admit that it was Maisie’s detective work that had led to the capture of Charlie Sparrow.
“She’s a little girl!”
“Exactly, my lord,” Maisie said briskly. “It’s ever such a good disguise for a detective. No one ever suspects. Now, why are you looking so downright miserable when you’ve got your beetle back? Did you have to pay a huge reward?”
Lord Dacre flinched when he heard her refer to his precious scarab as a beetle, but Maisie didn’t feel like being all that polite. “No. No reward. It was found. But it isn’t complete,” he said, glaring at her.
“Oh…” Maisie peered at it. “May I see, my lord?”
He held it out, cradling it lovingly in his hands, and Maisie saw at last what was wrong. The glowing blue of the body and the fiery amber sun had been so beautiful that she hadn’t realized. The beetle’s head was solid gold, as far as she could tell, but there were two round holes where its eyes should be. Someone had gouged them out. She could even see faint scratches around the eye sockets where it had been clumsily done.
“The eyes are missing,” she said. “Someone took them and left the rest?”
“Curious, isn’t it?” the professor agreed. “How much is this treasure worth, Leggy? All this gold and precious enamelwork?”
“Thousands of pounds, I suppose,” Lord Dacre murmured. “It must be, but it’s hard to say. No one has ever sold anything like it. I don’t want to sell it!”
The professor turned to Maisie. “It had ruby eyes, you see. Two quite large rubies. Very valuable in themselves, of course, but much more precious as part of the scarab. Someone has taken the rubies and just thrown the rest away.”
“Oh!” Maisie looked up from the scarab in surprise. “I thought the police must have found it and brought it back. Was it really thrown away?”
“A gang of mudlarks found it early this morning at low tide, buried in the muddy bank of the Thames,” Lord Dacre told her. “Someone pulled out the eyes, and then threw my scarab in the river!” He cupped his hands around it, as though he wanted to keep it safe. “The boys took it to a pawnbroker, who had the sense to see that this was nothing like the cheap necklaces and brass rings he usually deals with. He paid them something for their trouble, and then he went to the museum to show them what he’d found. Mr Canning sent for me straight away.”
“And the eyes are gone…” Maisie said thoughtfully. “I suppose the thief kept those. Although if they were thrown in the river, too, there’s no telling where they might have ended
up. Why would anyone do that? Is the scarab too unusual to sell, my lord?”
“Probably,” Lord Dacre admitted. “To sell it for its real value, the thieves would need to take the scarab to an expert – and any expert would know who it belongs to. I have given private lectures, you see, since I returned with my treasures. The scarab is well known among Egyptian scholars. It was to feature in my book,” he added sadly. “A very talented artist has made several sketches of it.”
“But why throw away the golden part?” Maisie frowned. “They could have melted it down, even if they couldn’t sell it as it is…”
Lord Dacre let out a strangled sort of yelp and clutched at his chest, his eyes bulging painfully. “Melted it down!” he gasped. “Oh, my heart… My precious scarab…”
Maisie hastily poured him a cup of tea. “I’m so sorry, my lord, I was just thinking aloud. Please don’t take on so. They didn’t, did they? It’s here, look…” She glanced worriedly at the professor. She hadn’t realized quite how upset his lordship was.
“Tell her the rest, Leggy,” Professor Tobin said firmly. “And do calm down.”
“There’s more, then.” Maisie sat down on the floor next to Professor Tobin’s chair and pulled her little notebook out of her apron pocket.
Lord Dacre took several deep, shaky breaths, and then nodded. “More, yes. Did I mention curses, when we met at the museum? Curses supposed to have been left by the pharaohs on their tombs? All nonsense, of course,” he added, but this time he didn’t sound so sure.
“You’re worried you’re under a curse?” Maisie said sympathetically. After his lordship’s description of the shadowy tomb, and the paintings that seemed to move in the torchlight, she wasn’t surprised that he was jumpy.
“No, no… Well…” He heaved a huge sigh. “Only in my darkest moments, anyway. But Isis is convinced that the pharaoh is taking his revenge. She’s frightened that the scarab being discovered without its eyes is the most terrible threat! She’s even started talking the most ridiculous gibberish about secret societies carrying on through the centuries to bring about the pharaoh’s curse, if his tomb should be discovered!”
Maisie blinked. “I’m not sure that I understand…”
“Me neither,” Professor Tobin muttered.
“Some sort of gang. The great-great-great-however-many-times-grandsons of the pharaoh’s servants. Summoned to attack the thief – that’s me – and defend their master’s honour!” Lord Dacre stared at them both, his watery blue eyes bulging worriedly.
“That’s just silly,” Maisie said, after a moment’s disbelieving silence.
“Oh, I know,” Lord Dacre agreed. “But after listening to my daughter having hysterics for three hours this morning, even I almost believed it. And you have to admit, the removal of the eyes – it is rather, um, unpleasant. One could read all sorts of nasty meanings into it. And believe me, my daughter has. She has retired to bed, she worked herself into a nervous collapse.”
Maisie had to hold back a sniff. It would be nice to be rich enough to have a day to waste on a nervous collapse, she thought. Perhaps she could have one next washday.
“Poor little Isis,” Professor Tobin said, giving Maisie a sly sideways glance.
“Indeed.” Lord Dacre heaved another enormous sigh. “And she and Max were meant to be helping me check over the unloaded finds from the ship again, too. Most inconvenient. Anyway, it is all the more important to find out what is going on,” Lord Dacre said firmly. “I need to convince my daughter that I am completely safe and all this talk of curses is just ridiculous. And of course I must find the rubies – the scarab loses so much of its character without them. Not to mention its value.” He eyed Maisie doubtfully. “Scruffy assures me that you are a brilliant detective, Miss Hitchins. And I must say, the housemaid disguise is very good.”
Maisie opened her mouth to explain that it wasn’t really a disguise – Lord Dacre didn’t seem to understand that she actually did work in the boarding house. Perhaps he didn’t think of servants as people who could think for themselves? But then she caught Professor Tobin’s eye, and saw that he was shaking his head very slightly. He was right. It was easier to let Lord Dacre think what he wanted – especially as it was the most interesting case, and she didn’t want his lordship to decide she wasn’t up to it. She simply smiled at him and nodded.
Lord Dacre held out the golden beetle, blind and broken, and stared at her hopefully. “Will you help me, Miss Hitchins?”
Maisie shivered and huddled the checked muffler tighter around her shoulders. It had snowed in the night, and Gran had fussed over her before she went out to the grocer, telling her to go and put on a flannel petticoat and thick woollen stockings. She looked up thoughtfully at the greyish, heavy-looking sky. Would it snow again? And how soon? At least her basket wasn’t all that heavy – it held just a few bits of shopping that Gran had needed, biscuits and such. But it was a terribly long way down to the River Thames, too far to walk in the snow. Too far to walk without taking so long that Gran would send out a search party, anyway. And she had to make sure she was there at low tide, while the mudlarks were out hunting for scraps along the muddy bank.
She had asked Mr Smith about the way the river’s tides worked, but she hadn’t been able to ask about exact times, as he’d given her a very suspicious look. “You ain’t going down there, are you, Maisie? That’s not a place for a nice girl like you.” It was lucky that George the butcher’s boy had turned up with the meat delivery just at the right time, and given Maisie an excuse to hurry away.
She was planning to go and see where the scarab had been found. She had got up that morning determined to find some time for her investigations, and nipping out to the shops seemed like a perfect excuse. But now it was dreadfully cold, and she was ever so tempted to hurry back to the warmth of the kitchen at Albion Street. Her boots were damp and her feet ached. Eddie looked up at her hopefully. His ears were drooping and he kept lifting up his paws and putting them down again, as if he hoped the snow might have gone away in between.
Gran had given Maisie threepence that very morning. She had said she knew that Maisie missed being able to buy sweets and that, as she was going to the grocers, she might as well take the chance to get some. Maisie had been tempted, looking at the glass jars – she had fancied some liquorice, or perhaps bulls’ eyes, since they lasted such a long time. But she hadn’t taken her own little purse out of her coat pocket, in the end, so she was still quite rich. She had two shillings from Lord Dacre, as well, for what he called “expenses”. Maisie smiled to herself as she waited at the corner of the road for the horse-drawn omnibus. Horse buses weren’t very grand, but it would be much, much warmer than walking.
Lord Dacre had told her that the scarab had been picked up by a gang of boys mudlarking – it must have been a surprising find for them, Maisie thought. She didn’t know anyone who’d ever made a living that way, though she had seen them at it when she’d walked over the bridges. Mudlarks were scavengers who sold things that washed up at the edge of the river – firewood, lumps of coal, copper nails, whatever they could find. Not golden beetles, usually.
Maisie had envied them sometimes, on the hottest of days, when they were wading about in the water and she was buttoned into layers of petticoats. But she had been shocked to hear that there were boys out on the riverbanks now, scavenging in weather like this. It had been freezing cold yesterday, when the scarab had been found, even if it hadn’t yet snowed. Did they still go picking through the mud in the depths of winter? Wouldn’t it all be frozen, anyway?
She waved wildly to the omnibus as it came rattling down the street, paid the conductor and climbed aboard, wrinkling her nose at the wet, muddy straw all over the floor. Still, she was about to go down to the Thames and pick her way over the riverbank, which was nothing but mud with some rubbish thrown in. That would be much worse than a bit of muddy straw.
Maisie sat down next to a thin, elderly lady who peered at her disapprovingly over
pince-nez spectacles. “Good morning,” Maisie murmured politely.
“Please make sure not to tread on my feet!” the elderly lady snapped, as the omnibus swung wildly round a corner. “And keep that dog under control!”
Maisie pulled her feet the other way as far as she could and picked up Eddie, holding him tightly, but the old lady simply gave a disgusted sniff. Maisie gave up trying to be polite and just stared out of the dirty window, trying to see if it was going to snow again. It was awfully slow, this journey, she thought worriedly. Perhaps on the way back she had better go by the Underground. She had said to Gran that she had errands to run for Professor Tobin as well. Hopefully that would stop Gran worrying where she had got to.
Maisie still had a little way to walk when she got off the omnibus. Lord Dacre had explained to her that the boys were known to work down towards Wapping and the docks. He had told her to ask the way to the Pelican Stairs, down to the river. It was not a part of the city that Maisie had ever been to before. She hurried along the alleyway that a young man pointed out to her, wishing she had never come. In the grey winter cold, with the snow already turning to filthy slush, the streets were eerily empty – but at the same time she felt as though she was being watched.
Maisie hesitated at the top of the stone steps. They were caked in mud and slime, and she couldn’t help thinking of the sewers, pouring out who knew what into the river. She frowned. If there was mud and weedy slime up the stairs like this, then that must mean the water came all the way up, too. At that moment the river seemed a long way away, sucking sullenly at the mud. She knew that the river moved with the tides here, being quite close to the sea, but surely it didn’t move as much as that? Could it truly rise all the way up a flight of stairs?
