She looked down at the paper and laughed. “Sylvia,” she said. “Looks like puss is taken with Lady Bromley. Look, here she is at that wonderful party at the palace. Do you remember that awful story about her a few weeks ago? That beautiful starburst necklace of hers was stolen at her house party. A lot of other jewels went missing, of course, but the necklace was the most important. A seven-pointed star on a string of black and cream pearls. She had invited about a hundred guests to her estate for the weekend and she had planned to wear the necklace to the dance on the last night. While she was dressing, someone crept into her dressing room and used knock-out drops on her. When she woke up the necklace was gone!”
Maximilian’s ears pricked up as he took all this in. He was sure now that this necklace was the one in Madame Emerald’s case. He remembered how she had gazed at it, that smile that was not quite nice playing over her lips. If the necklace in Madame’s dressing room was really Lady Bromley’s, what was Madame Emerald doing with it? He felt that familiar tingling in the tip of his tail. He knew he had to have a closer look at that necklace, and that meant getting back into Madame Emerald’s dressing room.
He let out a short “you’ve been a great help” miaow to them both and darted out of the dressing room.
Behind him he heard Agnes laugh. “That cat! It’s almost like he’s talking to us!”
Maximilian stood on the edge of the fire escape looking down into the street far below and felt his tummy turn over. Was it only a few days ago that he had leapt across the window sills to Madame’s dressing room with Oscar? How he wished that Oscar was with him now. He was not sure he had the courage to make it across on his own.
If I fall from this height, will I land on my paws? he wondered, then decided it would be better not to find out.
He reached a trembling paw out to the first window sill and made a small jump, landing securely on all four paws. He could feel his heart beating loudly inside him and he peered across to Madame Emerald’s window. It was open but the gap was tiny. Maximilian frowned. I hope I can squeeze through, he thought, regretting all those double helpings of sardines.
He shuffled forwards towards the edge of the sill, ignoring his shaking legs and sticking his tail out to help his balance, and then he leapt again. His first three paws landed safely, but his back paw slipped on the shiny wood, and for a few seconds it felt as if he was going to plunge into the street below. Scrabbling wildly, he managed to regain his balance and sat, trembling and trying not to look down.
Perhaps I could go back and find another way in, he thought, but just as he was trying to decide whether to leap forwards towards Madame’s window or back towards the fire escape his tail gave a telltale tingle. Maximilian’s eyes narrowed. There was no way he was letting this mystery lie. He had to find out whether his suspicions about Madame were true!
He sprang forwards with greater determination and easily cleared the gap to Madame’s window sill. He had been right – the window was half closed. He pressed his head through the narrow gap then, sucking in his slightly wobbly tummy and wiggling his bottom, squeezed through into Madame’s dressing room.
The first thing to do, thought Maximilian, is find that necklace. If Lady Bromley’s precious necklace was somewhere inside the dressing room, that would prove that Madame was up to no good. It must be in her jewel box, he thought. Maximilian remembered those nervous looks that she had cast towards the drawer with the jewel box in it when Agnes had talked about the robbery at Lady Bromley’s. What if she had not been nervous for her own jewels, but because she was hiding the stolen necklace herself?
Well, there’s only one way to find out, he thought. In a few minutes he was by the dressing table. Madame had placed the box in the right-hand drawer, so he stood on his back paws to grasp the drawer handle between his teeth. He gave it a rough shake but it did not move. Of course, she had locked it! Maximilian shook harder. He rocked the drawer back and forth to see if he could wiggle the lock free, but it was no use. He let go of the handle and butted his head against the drawer with an annoyed miaow.
Maximilian looked around the dressing room. Really, Madame was a very messy lady. There were clothes scattered all over the chairs. He padded over to the costume rail where Madame’s dresses hung and nudged one absent-mindedly with his nose. Something in it thudded to the floor, narrowly missing Maximilian’s paw. It was a long cotton roll, stuffed to bursting and tied off with twine at each end.
How odd, he thought. He put out a paw, prodding it with his claw, and the bag split open, spilling the filling across the dressing-room floor. Maximilian sniffed it. Cotton wool and oats.
“This must have been what Sylvia saw fall from Madame’s dress!” Maximilian miaowed. “But why on earth would Madame be wearing rolls of cotton wool?” He pondered for a minute or so, drumming his claws on the floor. Then all of a sudden he let out his “of course!” miaow. “She must have been stuffing her costumes to make herself look bigger!” That explained why she always looked fatter in her costumes and thinner in her day pyjamas. And it was why she gave such lumpy cuddles. But what strange behaviour, he thought. Why on earth would Madame Emerald want to make herself look fatter than she really is?
Maximilian’s nose twitched. There were clues to be gathered here, even if he could not get hold of that necklace, and Maximilian was determined to sniff them out. He glanced across the room at the table near the window where the phonograph stood. He remembered there being something very odd about the way that Jeanette had spirited away that record without letting Sylvia play it. Maybe there is a clue to be found there, he thought, and he leapt on to the table, next to the phonograph.
It took some deft paw-work to nudge open the clasp that held the box shut tight, but eventually it swung back and Maximilian was able to push the heavy lid of the box up and reveal the turntable inside.
There was a dark wax disc lying on the turntable, the brass knob with the needle resting on its edge. Maximilian stared at it. How had Madame made it turn? He nudged at the record with a paw, trying to make it spin round, but it only juddered a little and the needle made a scratching sound that set his whiskers on edge. He tried again, placing a pad of his paw on the record and pulling it towards him. This time, the wax disc spun round on the pin in the centre and a high-pitched note echoed somewhere deep in the machine.
For a third time, Maximilian pushed at the record. This time the sound echoed out of the doors at the front of the box.
“Ah, fair fates…” sang the record in a high, sweet voice.
Maximilian almost fell over. Surely that was Madame’s voice! Not the awful, froglike one that she had used when she waltzed him around the dressing room, but the beautiful one that had stopped traffic outside the theatre and made the company set up camp outside her door in the hope of hearing a few seconds more. What on earth was she doing playing a record of her own singing in her dressing room? With a flash, he remembered his last visit to this room, when he and Oscar had sat on the window sill watching Madame snoring while someone else sang hidden away in the room.
Madame had never sung a note. Ever. She had pretended to sing, but all along it was the record. No wonder Jeanette had tried so hard to hide it! Maximilian had solved one mystery, but it only opened up another. Madame had been celebrated all over Europe as the finest singer ever to set foot on any stage. How could that be if she hid away in her dressing room and never sang on stage? It was impossible.
Maximilian thought about the stuffing in Madame’s clothes, and the mystery of her missing voice, and the wigs and the lies and that peculiar thing she had said about stopping “being Madame Emerald”. Of course! How could he have missed the truth?
Madame Emerald was not the great, the grand, the talented Madame Emerald at all. She was an imposter. Who knew who she really was, or what she had done with the real Madame Emerald?
Maximilian let out a low growl. He must act at once to expose her. She could not be allowed to make a fool of all his friends. But how could
he prove that she was not who she claimed to be? Maximilian looked across the room to the dressing table.
“I don’t care how I do it, but I have to get that necklace!” he said.
He sprang to the floor and dashed over to the dressing table.
Maybe I could hook the lock open with my claw, he thought. Last season one of the tenors had turned out to have a rather dubious past as a pickpocket, with a little lock picking on the side, and had demonstrated his skill by getting into a cabinet for which Mrs Garland had lost the key. Maximilian had been fascinated.
He jumped up on to the dressing table and dug around by the lock, squeezing the narrowest of his claws into the tiny gap between the drawer and the lock, but it was no use. The drawer remained stubbornly locked. Maximilian rattled the lock with his paw, making the whole dressing table tremble.
Behind him he heard a thud as a bottle of scent rocked on its narrow base and fell over. The cut-glass stopper rolled out and on to the floor where it smashed into a hundred tiny pieces. Maximilian chided himself. How stupid. Madame Emerald would know for sure that someone had been snooping now. He sniffed the air. He had been right about that perfume, it was definitely off. It had a harsh, sour smell, not sweet like Mrs Garland’s French perfume or Agnes’s fresh lavender water. He sniffed again. It was very strong too. It made him feel light-headed, almost woozy.
With the tiniest of miaows, Maximilian slumped forwards and fell in a heap to the floor.
Maximilian woke with a mouth full of water, unable to breathe. He yelped and struggled to his feet.
In front of him stood Jeanette, glaring down at him, an upturned flower vase in one hand and a bunch of roses in the other.
“It’s awake, Madame. Should I get rid of it now?” Jeanette said.
Behind her stood Madame. She had her hands clamped to her hips and a nasty, angry look on her face.
“Yes, throw it out,” she snapped. “You’ll have to go and buy us some more of the knock-out drops. The show is in just a few hours and we’re going to need plenty of them if we’re going to get those jewels.”
Maximilian shrank away, shivering from the cold water and the freezing look on Madame’s face. He edged towards the door, trying to think. His head felt so fuzzy.
“Knock-out drops” – that was what Madame had said. Agnes had mentioned them when she told Sylvia about the robbery at Lady Bromley’s, and now Madame was talking openly about stealing jewels. Maximilian had no doubt now that Madame, or whoever she really was, was the thief who had attacked Lady Bromley and taken her beautiful starburst necklace. So she was dangerous too. If she should harm any of his friends… His fur stood on end to think of it.
Maximilian remembered what it had felt like to be out on the streets, scared and alone. Mrs Garland, Miss Julier, Bill, Agnes and Sylvia had become his family and he wasn’t about to let some horrible thief hurt them.
“Get an extra-large bottle this time, just in case,” Madame muttered, pressing a roll of notes into Jeanette’s hand. “And before you come back I think you should pay our guest a little visit. We don’t want her getting away and warning the King and Queen.”
“There’s far too much that could go wrong,” Jeanette said, buttoning up her drab coat. “We’ll have that old fool Lavroche sniffing round the dressing rooms tonight.”
“Oh, I can deal with him,” Madame said. “We’ll pop the record on a couple of times so he thinks the great Madame Emerald is in fine voice and by the time he realises the truth we’ll be on a boat train to France with the Queen’s jewels safely in my case along with that little trinket from Lady Bromley and the lovely stones our friend was nice enough to give me.”
She held out her arm and stroked the Golden Stones bracelet on her wrist. Maximilian’s head reeled. Madame was even more daring than he thought. She was planning to steal from the Queen herself!
“I suppose we have all that time when the ballet is on,” said Jeanette.
Madame nodded. “Yes, they’ll all be gawping at those silly girls dancing. That stupid child Sylvia will come in useful for once. Always pirouetting around the place. I would love to see her fall flat on her face.”
Maximilian’s fur stood on end. How dare she talk about Sylvia’s lovely dancing like that! He hissed at her. Madame rounded on him, her face scowling.
“We haven’t forgotten you, you little rat,” she spat. “Get rid of it for good this time, Jeanette. It could ruin everything, miaowing and drawing attention to us all the time.”
Jeanette swooped down and grabbed Maximilian by the scruff of the neck. He let out a “how dare you, put me down at once!” yowl of anger, but Jeanette ignored him and marched along the corridor to the steps that led to the upper stairs.
Maximilian felt the jolt of every stair as Jeanette stomped up and up, through the third and fourth floors of the theatre, past the old storerooms and Bill’s favourite napping spot on the top floor. He struggled and yowled, but it was no use. Everyone was downstairs making the theatre look as beautiful as possible for tonight’s visitors. He was alone with Jeanette.
She carried him up through the attics, calling him a “moth-eaten old fleabag” and “interfering furball” and muttering about how she should throw him off the roof to teach him a lesson. Maximilian’s heart went cold. Surely she wouldn’t? When they reached the door that led to the roof she lifted him up so that she was looking him directly in the eyes.
“You’ll regret you ever interfered, you little wretch!” she spat at him. “You destroyed a whole bottle of knock-out drops that we needed to use on the King and Queen tonight. Let’s see if anyone finds you up here! Maybe they’ll open this door in a few months’ time and find a scrawny, fur-covered little skeleton!” And she threw him through the door on to the roof and slammed the door behind her.
Maximilian sprang to his feet and hurled himself at the door, but it was no use. He dashed to the skylight he usually used to get to the roof, but with no one to open it from the inside he was trapped. He crossed the roof to where the great glass dome stood over the main house and pressed his paws against the glass, looking down into the theatre, willing one of his friends to look up and see where he was. Far below him he could see Sylvia and Agnes running through their dance on the stage while Miss Julier beat time for them and clapped her hands in encouragement. Maximilian miaowed his “please notice me, I’m trapped on the roof” miaow, but no one’s gaze was drawn to the small white cat high above their heads.
“What on earth are you up to?” said a voice behind him. It was Oscar, who was very surprised to find Maximilian spreadeagled across the theatre’s glass dome roof.
Maximilian jumped to the ground. “Madame is a jewel thief!” he cried. “She plans to wait until everyone is watching the ballet tonight and then sneak away and steal the jewels from the Queen herself!”
“A jewel thief?” said Oscar, shocked at this latest revelation.
“She stole Lady Bromley’s pearl and diamond starburst necklace. She said so to Jeanette,” Maximilian said. “And goodness only knows how many other robberies she has done. Her jewel case is stuffed with tiaras and necklaces but tonight she is going to steal the Queen’s jewels. We have to stop her.”
Maximilian’s mind flew to the beautiful rivulet of fire on Madame’s wrist.
“And she has the Golden Stones!” Maximilian said. “So she must have stolen them from Madame Emerald.”
“But she is Madame Emerald,” objected Oscar.
Maximilian shook his head. “I think she is an imposter,” he said. “She cannot sing and underneath all her disguises she looks nothing like Madame Emerald. I think she must be a fake.”
“Then where,” asked Oscar, “is the real Madame Emerald?”
“She must have her hidden away somewhere,” said Maximilian. “She needed her out of the way so that she could carry out her plan of stealing the Queen’s jewels.”
An awful thought struck him as he remembered just how terrible Madame’s plan was.
&nb
sp; “The knock-out drops! She is planning to use them on the Queen!”
Maximilian dashed to the dome and miaowed even more frantically. He tried his “quick, hurry, Madame Emerald is a fake and has a dreadful plan” miaow and his “a terrible crime will be carried out unless you notice me” miaow and even his “there is about to be an act of treason!” miaow, but although he managed to dislodge a little dust from the inside of the dome that fluttered to the floor and made one of the maids tut, no one heard or saw him.
“It’s hopeless,” Maximilian said, flopping down in despair.
“The fire escape!” Oscar said. “It leads all the way down to the ground.”
Maximilian dashed over to the edge of the roof and looked down. Below him the fire escape criss-crossed the building. As he was preparing to leap on to the first landing, a movement far below distracted him. A figure was emerging from the back door of the theatre – a thin woman in a dowdy coat.
Maximilian bristled. It was Jeanette. She must be going to get the knock-out drops.
“I have to stop her somehow,” he muttered. But it would take many precious minutes for a cat to make his way down all of the staircases, and Jeanette could be streets away by the time he reached the ground. It would be quicker to follow from the roof.
He looked across to the roof of the museum next door. It was a large leap and, should he fall, it was a long way down to the ground.
“I wonder where she’s going…” Oscar began, but Maximilian was not listening. With a quick glance around to get his bearings, he gritted his teeth and leapt.
Jeanette moved swiftly through the city. Maximilian shadowed her from the rooftops, keeping a close eye on her figure in the crowd as he jumped from roof to roof, swinging from guttering and dashing down fire escapes and across flagpoles. Jeanette weaved through the crowds with ease, slipping through gaps and edging round corners so that Maximilian was glad that he was high up above her, not down on the ground dodging a forest of feet and avoiding the kicks and stamps of hobnailed boots.
The Disappearing Diva Page 6
