The Amber Pendant

by Imogen White

  When Rose Muddle is plucked from the workhouse to become a maid in a grand mansion, she discovers that her new mistress has secret plans for her – plans which involve a strange amber pendant with extraordinary powers.

  But fearsome enemies lurk in the shadows, intent on finding the mysterious pendant. As the shadows begin to close in, can Rose uncover the truth of her own destiny to stop these forces of evil?

  For Bobbie, 1928 – 2015

  Contents

  About this book

  Map

  Dedication

  Chapter 1. Thirteen Sackville Road

  Chapter 2. The Library

  Chapter 3. Miss Templeforth’s Pendant

  Chapter 4. Belonging

  Chapter 5. Guardians

  Chapter 6. A Room with a View

  Chapter 7. All Teeth but no Smile

  Chapter 8. Butterfly Magic

  Chapter 9. Unwelcome Deductions

  Chapter 10. Faraway Places

  Chapter 11. Old Friends

  Chapter 12. The Legend of the Amber Cup

  Chapter 13. Gone

  Chapter 14. A Quick Escape

  Chapter 15. The Pleasure Gardens

  Chapter 16. Monkey Business

  Chapter 17. The Gypsy Caravan

  Chapter 18. Fabric of Time

  Chapter 19. Skrying

  Chapter 20. Murder Most Horrid

  Chapter 21. Lock and Key

  Chapter 22. A Strange Keepsake

  Chapter 23. The Police

  Chapter 24. Mr Gupta’s Journal

  Chapter 25. Necromancy

  Chapter 26. Stitchworthy’s Tobacconist’s

  Chapter 27. Inside the Dragon’s Lair

  Chapter 28. Uncovered Plans

  Chapter 29. Street Scum

  Chapter 30. Body Snatchers

  Chapter 31. Spirits of the Undead

  Chapter 32. A Most Brilliant Plan

  Chapter 33. The Missing Pendant

  Chapter 34. Possessed

  Chapter 35. Grim Reality

  Chapter 36. The Brotherhood of the Black Sun

  Chapter 37. Rejuvenated

  Chapter 38. The Handcuff King

  Chapter 39. Two Halves

  Chapter 40. The West Pier

  Chapter 41. The Gateway

  Chapter 42. HIM

  Chapter 43. Light in Growing Darkness

  Chapter 44. Carbolic Soap

  Chapter 45. Filthy Rich

  Chapter 46. The Truth’s Out

  Postscript

  The Rose Muddle Mysteries

  A letter from the author, Imogen White

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Usborne Quicklinks

  Copyright Page

  Hove, 1907

  “ROSE MUDDLE! Miss Templeforth has requested your company in the library.”

  Rose fell off her stool, sending it clattering across the kitchen. Drawing a sharp breath, she scrambled to her feet. Mr Crank, the butler, snarled at her from the doorway.

  “M-me?” she stammered. “In the library?” She felt the colour leaving her cheeks. “But I ain’t supposed to go in the library.”

  “Stop your braying, and get over here!”

  Adjusting her frilled headpiece, she rushed over to the butler. Straight-backed in her maid’s uniform, she tried to stand every one of her twelve years to a regimented attention.

  The butler gripped her arm, and pulled her close. “As you know, Miss Templeforth has been interviewing a number of young girls this afternoon and she is extremely tired. Once this last girl leaves, it will be your turn. I suggest you go in quietly and listen to her very carefully,” he smirked. “One may hope that she’s reconsidering her act of charity in having you here, and is shipping you back to the workhouse where you belong. Imagine being replaced after just one week. Ha! I never understood why they brought you here in the first place.”

  Rose scrunched up her face against his hot cabbage breath. She decided his liver-spotted bald head looked like a quail’s egg under the glare of the lamp.

  Egghead! Rose thought, her slate-coloured eyes flashing at him.

  The butler winced as if he’d detected her unspoken insult. Squeezing her arm even harder he opened his mouth to speak, but was cut short by a bell from the library upstairs.

  With a sigh, he let go of Rose and set off up the creaky servants’ staircase that led to the lobby above.

  “Stay put. I’ll be back to get you, Rose Muddle.”

  Shuffling from one foot to the other, Rose waited until the sound of the butler’s footsteps had faded. Then she squeezed her eyes shut and wished really hard that she could vanish into thin air. But it didn’t work – it never did. She slumped onto her lumpy bed in the corner of the kitchen.

  Rose hadn’t met her mysterious mistress yet; she’d only heard the strange, haunting moans coming from the library. Miss Templeforth was ill – tuberculosis, so Rose had been told. She lived in the library, which remained out of bounds to everyone but the butler, the physician and the family lawyer. Until today that is, when a stream of girls had arrived to see her. They’d been sent in there, one by one, but had all come away screaming, or so struck down with fear they’d had to be carried out.

  Rose did not want to visit the library – what if she was to be sent back to the workhouse? Thoughts of barred windows, turning the rotten mangle, Miss Gritt’s punishments and the icy cold of the dormitory filled her mind. She shivered. This place was a piece of cake compared to there. In fact, working as a scullery maid at Sackville Road was more than Rose Muddle had ever dreamed of.

  From her bed, Rose looked over the heavy table to where the stockpot bubbled merrily on the stove. Above it copper pans, arranged according to size, lined the wall. Everything here felt toasty warm.

  And a shilling and threepence a week. Rose smiled. This was a proper job. All her board and lodgings included, and she even had every other Sunday off – free as a bird to do whatever she fancied. Her smile faltered, as the words of the housemistress at the workhouse came to her. “They’ll never keep you, Rose Muddle. Mark my words. You’ll be back,” Miss Gritt had said. And now the butler wanted shot of her too. A thread of alarm stitched itself inside Rose’s heart. She wiped her sweaty palms on her apron. I won’t go back there, not ever.

  Voices carried from the servant’s staircase, as the day maids headed back down to the kitchen.

  Rose panicked, her tummy in ribbons; she needed some fresh air, and somewhere alone to think. Heading to the door, she freed the latch softly and slipped into the basement yard.

  The October chill gnawed through her black floor-length dress and apron. She sniffed, wiping her nose on her sleeve and clapping her arms with her hands as the basement yard pressed in around her.

  At four thirty it was already getting dark. The evening light made the yard, which had a grey stone floor, feel even smaller, just a few feet across. Rose looked at the tall brick wall that stretched up to the roadway above. She could hear the carriages rattling past on Sackville Road.

  Scared stiff, she paced back and forth, still hoping she could wish the situation away. She spotted the coal-hole and stopped, chewing her nail.

  Maybe if she hid for a while she wouldn’t have to see the mistress after all. And what with the mistress so tired from all them interviews, and being as ill as she is…she could have a little nap instead. Yes, Rose convinced herself. I’d be doing her a blessed favour. She jumped down in front of the hole.

  “Oi, Rose! Is that you?” A scruffy head peered over the wall from the neighbouring yard, eyes hidden beneath a heavy fringe. “What’s been happening to all them girls leaving your place looking like they seen a ghost or summin’.”

  “Shh, Jack Billin
gs,” Rose said, tugging with all her might at the barred door to the coal-hole. “I ain’t got time to talk to you now.”

  “So, how’s life treating you in the big house?” he pressed on, though it was taking all his effort to hold himself up.

  “Bloomin’ marvellous,” she muttered, forcing the stiff bolt.

  “Rose, what you up to?” he giggled.

  “Miss Templeforth” – Rose looked up – “wants to see me in the library.” She fell back to rest on her hands as the door groaned open. “But I fancy stopping inside there.” She pointed into the sooty cavern of the coal-hole.

  “Them girls,” Jack said, clawing at the wall to get a better grip, “the ones leaving with the collywobbles. Them’s the ones what answered to the advert in yesterday’s local rag.”

  “Advert?” Rose got to her feet, dusting herself off. “What advert?”

  She climbed onto an upturned pail and stared at Jack’s dirt-smudged face as it hovered over the wall, his feet still dangling over Potts’ Laundry Emporium next door. The Templeforth premises was the last of the smart townhouses on this side of the street; next to it crouched a line of shops and businesses.

  Jack Billings beamed down at Rose amid the sweet-scented steam drifting up from the basement washroom behind him.

  “What you on about, Jack Billings?” she asked, throwing him a sharp look. She’d known Jack from the workhouse – he collected the surplus laundry that Nanna Potts paid the workhouse to wash. He was always full of mischief and a rumour-mongerer to boot. But this particular snippet of information had well and truly sparked Rose’s interest. “Well?” she asked.

  “Look, I got it here.” Jack’s tongue balled in his cheek, pleased to have gained her attention. He fished something out of his pocket. “You workhouse lot can all read, can’t ya? So take a look for yourself, Rose.” He thrust forward a crumpled piece of paper.

  Rose flattened the newspaper cutting against the wall.

  SEARCH FOR A TEMPLEFORTH HEIR

  The esteemed Miss Lucile Templeforth, being of ill health and in fear of death, is without an heir for the Templeforth family estate. She is compelled to undertake…

  Rose shot a nervous glance at the house. She could hear the two day maids bashing about in the kitchen. She squinted back at the small print that trailed into a long article.

  “Jack Billings, I ain’t got time to read all that.” She passed it back. “Do you know what it says or not?” she asked, knowing he would. He seemed to know everyone’s business before it even happened.

  “Yep.” He winked, scrunching the paper back into his pocket. “Nanna Potts told me. Everyone’s talking about it.”

  “Well? Spit it out then.”

  “Nanna Potts says of all the funny goings-on in that house, this is the oddest of all. Your mistress is dying, right? And coz she ain’t got no family she knows of, she’s asked in the Evening Argus for girls – girls what are not older than thirteen – what might be related to her, to come today to be interviewed.”

  “Why only girls?” Rose asked. “And why just that old? What is it they’ll get?”

  “Well that’s just it. Everything! When she snuffs it, they’ll get the lot: the spooky house, all her dosh, and some old pendant what’s been in the family for ever. Can you imagine getting all that? Some days I just wish I was a girl…” He eyed the grand townhouse and shook his head. “Nanna Potts thinks the old lady’s batty. She must have had half the girls from town in and out of there today trying their luck.”

  “Well, I never!” Rose exclaimed. “But that don’t explain why all them girls have been leaving in such a state…”

  A thud, followed by a scream, cut her short. Rose looked up, but the projection of a bay window obscured her view. The noise came from the main doorway on the street above.

  Rose turned to Jack, a finger pressed to her lips. Leaving him behind, she crept up the steps that led to the pavement gate.

  High above, the front door crashed open, sending the fist-shaped knocker into convulsions. The outline of a feeble young girl hovered outside.

  Rose ducked out of sight as the girl zigzagged down the steps and swayed between the stone lions flanking the entrance. She wore a starched white frock, tied in the middle with a blue sash, and her hair was set in tight blonde ringlets. Like the others leaving that day, she looked delirious and wretched with fear. The girl staggered towards a waiting carriage. Its door swung open, allowing her to crawl inside.

  Rose jolted as the carriage door slammed. The driver, high up on his bench – collar up and hat low – cracked his whip hard. The two black mares whinnied before jerking forward. They turned sharply in the street and headed back towards the junction at Church Road.

  An emblem on the luggage hold flickered into view under the street lamp, a black sun with a face at its centre. In matt relief against the sheen of the carriage, it glared back at her before vanishing into darkness.

  Rose gulped. It’s my turn next. Awful memories of the workhouse stacked one on top of the other. The penance cupboard. The hunger. Ten of the best from Miss Gritt’s rod. She swallowed. If I’m discharged from here Gritt will have it in for me… I can’t go back, I won’t! Rose fumbled with the latch on the gate to the street but it was no use; it was locked. She stared longingly up into the darkness outside.

  “ROSE MUDDLE. It is time!” The butler’s voice boomed from the kitchen doorway below.

  Rose’s heart tripped over itself. She snatched back her hand from the gate as icy dread flooded her body. No good can come of this. I don’t want to be sent back.

  “Sir, I were just…urm…I heard another scream and I…” she spluttered, rushing down the steps.

  “Move it!” he spat, as she dashed past.

  Inside, Rose felt the maids’ eyes pinned to her back like daggers, but she ran on.

  She climbed up the wooden staircase from the kitchen and hurried along the corridor into the imposing lobby, stopping outside the closed library door to catch her breath. Mounted animal heads and stuffed birds in glass domes leered from the walls, and the grandfather clock ticked away her final seconds before her fate would be sealed.

  Rose yelped as the butler appeared behind her. Pushing her to one side, he opened the library door wide.

  “Rose Muddle, as you requested, Ma’am.”

  Rose blinked up at him. “For pity’s sake, don’t send me in there. I can do better…work harder,” she whispered. “I’ll scrub the floors all night if you want.” She willed him to change his mind. But the butler’s thin lips crept into a twitching smirk as he nudged her inside.

  The heavy library door closed behind Rose, plunging the room into silence. Her heart jiggered like a bee trapped in a pill pot as she stared across the vast, brooding room. Exotic skulls hung between the bookcases. Their shadows danced in the firelight, making phantoms which seemed to reach out for her.

  “Do come and sit with us a while, Rose.” The lady’s voice echoed across the dim room. Rose traced it to a winged armchair positioned by the fire. The fifteen paces separating them seemed to swell and extend.

  “Yes, Ma’am,” Rose heard her own quivering voice reply.

  She edged across the library, while the woman in the grand portrait mounted above the stone mantelpiece sneered down at her from behind an open fan.

  As she reached the fire, Rose swayed, feeling like a Christmas goose ready for the chop. Steadying herself, she took her first look at her mysterious employer.

  The fire picked out a motionless body, dwarfed by the massive chair. Haggard, with hollow cheeks and skin like parchment, Miss Templeforth stared unblinking into the hearth.

  So this is the frail old bird? A vision of grey and white: high-necked nightdress, grey plaits to her waist and a thick blanket covering her legs. The only colour on Miss Templeforth was a circular orange pendant, edged in gold and suspended on a chain around her neck.

  The woman’s pinched lips parted to take a rattling breath. Rose flinched. This woman l
ooked closer to death than anyone Rose had ever seen. This place, this woman – everything felt wrong.

  Footsteps sounded behind her. Rose gasped as a new figure emerged from the shadows.

  It was Miss Lee – the woman who’d collected her from the workhouse a week ago. Why’s she here? Rose thought. It felt as though the floor beneath her was about to be swept away. What if she’s here to take me back, like the butler said?

  Rose’s gaze locked with Miss Lee’s. She was a strange, quiet woman. Her clear blue eyes shone like searchlights from under a bob of black curls. She wore the same maroon shawl she’d had on before, fringed with golden discs. Rose forced a smile.

  “Hello, Rose dear, do sit down.” Miss Lee nodded, indicating the stool close by. “Miss Templeforth has just experienced another dark visitation. I need to administer some medicine. This shouldn’t take long.”

  Rose nodded mechanically, as she perched on the edge of the stool. Dark visitation? Did that have anything to do with those haunting moans that had filled the house all week? And what exactly had so terrified all the girls leaving today…? Her heart galloped.

  Miss Lee tucked the blanket around Miss Templeforth’s body and produced a hip flask from her dress pocket. Popping off its stopper, she held it to the old lady’s trembling lips for a moment. She poured some more of the red liquid into a tumbler, the firelight dancing across her gaudy rings, and carefully placed the glass on the table before settling in the chair next to Rose. “There,” she said, her face falling into an easy smile.

  Miss Templeforth coughed and Rose turned to her.

  “Enna,” Miss Templeforth managed, gesturing to Miss Lee, “is keen to discover how you are finding domestic life here at number thirteen? It must be quite a change from the workhouse. I do so hope they treated you well there? I’ve been desperate to speak with you, but…we have had to be cautious.”

  The old woman’s manner had changed and she seemed suddenly so full of life. Rose glanced at the glass of strange liquid Miss Lee had given her. What is that stuff? she wondered.

  Looking up from the table, Rose saw both women staring at her and realized she was meant to be saying something. “H-hum. Well, Ma’am…and Miss Lee, of course,” she twisted her hands in her lap. “The truth is, I am so thankful for the kindness you’ve shown me, giving me this chance and—”