by Lyn Gardner
Rose smiled, but her heart stuttered. Gandini wouldn’t stay at Campion’s forever. He would move on. Would Effie move on with him? Rose realised that she might be going to lose both Rory and Effie very soon. She’d be on her own again at Campion’s. The thought of them abandoning her made her forlorn.
“Well, I’m going to try a few more houses,” said Rose. “I’ll be back at Campion’s in time to see the Illustrious Gandini, the Great Wizard of the North, and his very charming assist—” She suddenly broke off.
“That’s it!” she said. “I knew something wasn’t quite right, the night we first met Lydia and Amy.”
“What weren’t right? Spit it out, Rosie.”
“Do you remember? We’d all gone down to the cabs ready to set off from the Pall Mall for Campion’s. We were just about to leave when Amy came rushing out.”
“Yes, Lydia had forgotten her,” said Effie, “an’ offered her a lift to her lodgings in Rotherhithe.” She suddenly looked excited. “She said it were by the river. But where we dropped her, and where the police were looking, was way back from here.”
“That’s right,” said Rose. “That’s clever of you, Effie. I had forgotten that. But there’s something more.”
Rory wrinkled her forehead, thinking. “Lydia suggested that Amy came with us all to Campion’s.”
“And what did Amy say?”
The others shrugged.
“I dunno,” said Effie. “Yes, please?”
Rose looked triumphant. “She said that she would like to come and see the Illustrious Gandini.”
Rory and Effie shrugged. “Why’s that significant?”
“Because nobody had mentioned Gandini, so how did she know he was performing?”
The others looked sceptical.
“Maybe she’d heard he was on the bill. Maybe she’d seen a poster? Maybe you misremembered – it was ages ago.”
“Perhaps, but I remembered thinking there was something odd at the time but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. Listen, you go back. I’ll ask around a bit more, at the lodgings close to the river.”
Rose retraced her steps along the riverfront. She was too hot and she had found no trace of Amy. It was as if the girl had simply vanished, like a magician’s assistant in a conjuring act. She had tried all the houses with signs saying that they took lodgers along the riverfront, and she was walking in the direction of Campion’s. She had been silly to think that she could do better than the police. But she was worried about Amy. What if she had been beaten up like Jem? What if she had escaped with the Doomstone, and Jem, if he recovered, was going to end up taking the blame?
She walked past a small house. It was down at heel but the windows were clean, even if the shutters were in need of a lick of paint. There was no sign suggesting that the house took lodgers, but something caught her eye through the glass. A china duck sitting forlornly on the windowsill next to a pile of pebbles and shells, perhaps dusty mementoes of a long-ago seaside trip. It reminded her of how Amy had come alive when she had been talking about visiting Southend. Maybe she had come here, seen the display in the window and found lodgings here. It was worth a try.
Rose lifted the knocker and let it fall. A moment passed and then she heard footsteps and a woman’s weary voice telling a child to let go of her skirts. The door was pulled open and an exhausted-looking woman wearing an apron stood before her, tucking a wayward strand of hair into her cap with one hand while trying to soothe the infant over her shoulder with another. Two toddlers, obviously twins, peeped shyly from behind her skirts, one trailing a wooden soldier, the other a frayed blanket. The woman looked at Rose expectantly.
“I’ve come to see my sister. I’ve heard she’s lodging here. Amy.”
The woman shook her head. “There’s no Amy here. You’ve got the wrong place.”
“But you do take lodgers?” The woman nodded. “Maybe she’s calling herself something else. She looks about my age. But she’s younger. Reddish-gold hair, gooseberry-green eyes. Lanky. She’s got a mustard-yellow dress,” said Rose quickly.
The woman nodded. “Oh, you mean Melly. Least, that’s what she called herself. I don’t asks no questions, as long as them’s respectable, eats what I give ’em and pays the rent up front and don’t want too much hot water. I had one girl wanted a hot bath every week.” The woman looked outraged. “But Melly’s been easy enough. Keeps herself to herself. Shy little thing.” She peered more closely at Rose.
“You don’t look much alike for sisters.”
“I take after the other side of the family,” said Rose quickly. “Can I speak to Amy – er, Melly?”
The woman shook her head. “We’d all like to speak to her. Me included. Haven’t seen her for two days. She owes rent. I’ve known them skip before. They try and do a moonlight flit but they don’t realise I sleep with one ear open.”
“So she’s gone?” asked Rose.
“So it seems, but your sister ain’t like the others. She’s gone, but she’s not taken nothing with her. Not that she had much to take.”
Rose frowned. “Didn’t you think that something might have happened to her, something bad?”
The woman sighed. “Of course it crossed my mind. But it’s none of my business what the lodgers gets up to, as long as they pays their rent and don’t bring trouble knocking on my door. If they want to call themselves Amy or Melly or whatever, I’m easy. I’ve got enough to cope with keeping body and soul together since my Mick lost a leg down on the docks.”
“I’m sorry about your husband,” said Rose, “but I’m worried about Amy, I mean Melly. She’s missing. She hasn’t been seen at work either. It’s not like her.”
The woman looked guilty. “I don’t want you thinking I’ve got a heart of stone. It’s been hanging heavy on me. There’s summat not right. I was going to report it to the police if she didn’t come back tonight.” She sighed. “I like Melly. She’s good with the kiddies too. Sometimes she does magic tricks for them. Makes that sparkling blue bauble she’s got disappear in front of your eyes.”
Rose’s eyes widened and she coughed to disguise her surprise, but the woman didn’t notice.
“Blue bauble?”
“Yes, lovely sparkling thing. She said it was a Christmas tree decoration, pretty but worthless. My Mick said she could have done a magic act in one of them halls. Right little magician, she is.”
“Can I see her room?” asked Rose, trying to suppress her excitement.
The woman hesitated. “What if she comes back and I’ve been letting you rummage through her things?”
“Just a quick peek,” said Rose. “I’m her sister, I might notice if something is amiss.” She took some coins out of her pocket and held them out in her palm. “I could pay the rent she owes so you’re not out of pocket.”
A man’s feeble voice could be heard calling: “Lorrie! What’s keeping you, Lorrie?”
The woman glanced back with a worried frown, as one of the twins set up a wail and the baby began to bawl.
“Don’t think me heartless,” she said, “but we’ve all got to live.” And she scooped the coins out of Rose’s palm and nodded up the narrow stairs.
“Two flights up, then the door on the left. It’s not locked. Not that you’ll find much. I poked my head in and it’s neat as a pin, just as it always was. Couldn’t see the bauble, mind, and that often sat on the top of the chest of drawers. Call when you’re leaving.”
Rose stepped inside Amy’s room. The woman was right – Amy didn’t have much to her name. There was something about the room that reminded Rose of a stage set, as if it was a space that had been carefully arranged and was holding its breath waiting for something to happen. It was scrupulously neat. Nothing was out of place. Two dresses hung forlornly from a rail next to a coat, good quality but worn. The mustard-yellow dress was missing. In a drawer she found some neatly folded undergarments. She pulled up the cheap paper that had been used to line the drawer. Underneath was a copy of The Times, wit
h the front-page story telling of the night at Campion’s when the Doomstone went missing and rehashing the story of the curse. The bit about the curse had been underlined in thick black ink. It was the only thing that connected Amy, or Melly, to the room at all. It was as if she hadn’t lived here but had merely existed. Rose saw the corner of something that had slipped down the back of the drawer. She pulled it out. It was a seaside scene of little fishermen’s cottages drawn in charcoal.
The small, narrow bed was neatly made. A wooden doll sat propped up on the pillow. There was something about the doll, with her out-of-proportion legs and green eyes, that Rose found heart-breaking, as if what she was looking at was Amy herself. She picked up the doll and underneath there was a small folded piece of paper. She unfolded the paper. There were just a few lines written in blue ink.
“Forgive me for causing such trouble. There is nobody to miss me. I am all alone in the world. I made a mistake and I can’t live with myself. I stole the Doomstone. Chance gave me the opportunity and the means, and I gave in to temptation on a whim, but it has been the doom of me. I cannot eat and I dare not go to sleep. I cannot go on. I’m cursed. The Doomstone is an evil thing. All I can do to atone for my crime is to rid the world of both it and myself. May God forgive me my sins. Amy.”
Rose put her hand over her mouth and tears filled her eyes. She rushed down the stairs shouting, “Missus! Missus!” The woman looked up with anxious eyes.
“We must fetch the police,” said Rose, and she held out the note to the woman. “Something terrible has happened to Amy.”
15
Everyone was gathering in Campion’s auditorium waiting for the inspector to arrive. The mood was sombre. Rose found she couldn’t settle to anything. She was too upset thinking about poor Amy. She picked up some props at the side of the stage and decided to busy herself by taking them back to the prop store. She neared the door and paused, hearing voices. It was Lydia and Stratford-Mark. In his low voice, the latter was saying:
“Don’t you forget, I’m keeping a close eye on you, Lydia. I’ve made you and I can break you. I know all about you. We made a deal and feelings can’t be allowed to get in the way of it.”
The door to the dressing room opposite the prop store was ajar and Rose was tempted to slip inside, but she hardly dared breathe, let alone move, as Lydia said:
“Don’t threaten me, Stratford-Mark, or I may just snap in half to spite you. Haven’t I been as good as my word so far? Even though I fervently wish I had never agreed to our arrangement in the first place. We have to trust each other. We have no choice. But I warn you – if you push me too far, it will be the worse for both of us. We will both lose everything.”
Someone moved towards the prop room door, and Rose took a step backwards into the dressing room, standing behind the door and peering through the crack as Lydia swept out of the prop store towards the stage, followed by a scowling Stratford-Mark hobbling to keep up like a wounded bull. Rose took a deep breath. Her head was spinning with what she had heard. What was the deal that Lydia and Stratford-Mark had made? She was suddenly aware she was not alone in the room. She spun round. Billy Proctor was standing further back in the room.
“What are you doing here?” she asked indignantly.
Billy gave a little smirk. “Apparently, exactly the same thing as you, Rose Campion. Eavesdropping on other people’s private conversations.” He strolled away, leaving Rose feeling a mixture of fury and shame.
Inspector Cliff peered around at everyone gathered in the auditorium. His eyes were serious. Everyone from Campion’s was there, but Stratford-Mark had left shortly before the meeting began. Lydia was clinging to Edward’s arm, pale and nervous. Edward’s distress was all too evident. Gandini was standing behind them, drumming his fingers on the wall. Billy Proctor was slouching against one of the pillars with a studied nonchalance. He saw Rose looking at him and averted his gaze, as if he didn’t want to make eye contact. Everyone knew by now what Rose had discovered at Amy’s lodgings, although she had confessed only to Effie and Aurora and the inspector how she had employed deception, pretending to be Amy’s sister, to gain access to her room.
“Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for coming. I wanted to inform you about the latest developments in the investigation into the theft of the Star of the Sea. I know that you are all aware by now of the disappearance of Miss Duchamps’s dresser, Amy, as she was calling herself, and the note that was found by Rose Campion suggesting that Amy had taken her own life. It seems that Amy was an alias – possibly one of several that the girl was using. The references with which she supplied Miss Duchamps were false. Amy was clearly not all that she seemed, and we may never find out exactly who she really was.”
Lydia put her hand to her mouth, and her eyes were wide with shock. “Amy lied to me? What a trusting fool I was to be taken in by her! She tried to slit my throat when she stole the Doomstone. I would never have believed it of her. She seemed such a quiet girl, and quieter still in recent days – as if something was troubling her.”
The inspector continued. “We have made inquiries but so far we have discovered nothing about the girl, or who she was and where she came from. However, we have discovered some evidence that strongly indicates Amy did indeed throw herself into the Thames with the Doomstone, to her death. We cannot be sure of that scenario but we do have two witnesses who have said that they both saw a girl in a mustard dress down by the Devil’s Steps in Rotherhithe very late on the night in question. One of those witnesses, on his way home from the Anchor Inn, has said that he thinks the girl might have been in some distress.”
Lydia was dabbing at her eyes. Rose’s throat was raw and she swallowed hard.
“We have not as yet recovered a body but we hope to do so. What goes into the Thames doesn’t always come out again, and if it does it can sometimes be weeks or months later. But we have every reason to believe that Amy did indeed throw herself into the river. One of the clues we have is the yellow dress. It was discovered by mudlarks on the Devil’s Steps at Rotherhithe on the night she disappeared, and sold on to a local market stall. The dress was still on the stall.”
He suddenly produced the dress from out of the box in front of him, just as a magician produces a rabbit out of a hat, in what Rose thought was a curiously calculated theatrical gesture. If it was, it had the desired effect. There were audible gasps. Edward gulped in astonishment. Gandini closed his eyes as if in pain. Lydia gave a little squeal. Thomas passed his hand despairingly across his forehead. It was as if poor Amy was here in the room with them, her absence magnified to unbearable proportions by the mustard-coloured garment that they had all seen her wearing, both on the night of the disappearance of the Doomstone and often since.
The inspector paused again, as if letting them all consider the significance of the dress. Then he said, “I can also confirm that the note discovered in Amy’s lodging house matches samples of Amy’s handwriting that Miss Duchamps gave us. My men and I have considered the evidence carefully and we believe that Amy was indeed responsible for the theft of the Doomstone. We fear that both Amy and the diamond are somewhere at the bottom of the Thames and may never be recovered.”
“The curse caught up with her!” blurted Effie. “Poor little Amy was doomed as soon as she stole that diamond. Her fate was sealed.” She saw everyone looking at her and turned scarlet.
“In the circumstances,” continued the inspector, “we are bringing the inquiry into the disappearance of the Star of the Sea to an end. So I am here to tell you that I will be returning to Scotland Yard to announce that the case is now closed.”
There was a buzz of excitement as everyone began talking at once. Rose saw Billy Proctor give a little smile that seemed to suggest some secret satisfaction or knowledge. Gandini was frowning slightly, as if he was thinking hard, and his gaze was moody. Edward seemed distracted. Lydia was the centre of several people’s attention as she explained that of course she was broken-hearted at dear little Amy’s demis
e, and only wished she could have done something to save the girl from herself, but now she thought about it, the girl had always been extremely evasive about where she came from, and although she, Lydia, would never speak ill of the dead, there had been something low and cunning about Amy. She placed her hand on the inspector’s arm and looked at him with her big eyes.
“We have much to thank you for, Inspector.”
The inspector gave a curt little bow. “There was little to solve. Once we found out about the girl’s suicide, it was pretty well an open-and-shut case.” He nodded to Thomas. “I must get back to the Yard.”
He walked towards the stage door. Rose watched him go, a scowl on her face. She couldn’t believe it! The police were closing the case with so many unanswered questions. She hesitated and then she ran after him. The inspector was at the far end of the yard with his hand already on the gate.
“Inspector Cliff,” she called.
He turned round and smiled kindly as she approached. “Rose. You knew Amy and you discovered the note; this must be hard for you. If there’s anything I can do…”
“Well, actually you can,” said Rose bluntly. “I just want to know if it’s common for people who commit suicide to remove their clothes before jumping in the river. The bodies of people who’ve thrown themselves in are regularly fished out around here, and unless they’ve been in there for weeks, they’re always fully clothed.”
There was a tiny electric pause, and then the inspector said levelly, “It’s uncommon but not unheard of for those intent on self-harm to remove their clothing.” He looked hard at Rose. “Don’t think that we didn’t consider the fact that Amy had removed her dress before she entered the water.” He seemed to be looking beyond Rose when he said, in a voice that carried, “The case is closed. We are quite confident our deliberations are correct, and we have other pressing cases to attend to at Scotland Yard.” Then, in a much lowered voice, he said, “Keep safe, Rose, and leave the detecting to the detectives.” Then he was gone.
