by Imogen White
“We travelled by train, Miss T. The stations are like palaces and the trains shiny, and everything runs on time!” The boy spoke English very well, with just the slightest accent.
Miss Templeforth reached up and cupped his face with her hand. “Now, tell me, how is your uncle the Maharajah?”
“He is in London visiting the King. He’s brought two enormous urns the size of elephants, full of holy water – from the Ganges river in India so he doesn’t have to use the English water.”
“How extraordinary…but you managed to come down to see me here in Hove. I feel extremely honoured, Rui,” Miss Templeforth said with a slight bow of her head.
“Miss the opportunity of visiting you,” he gushed, “and experiencing an adventure of my own in Hove, like the stories you told me? Never.”
Miss Templeforth’s laugh broke off into a fit of coughing. Mr Crank stepped forward once more, but she shooed him away. Taking a couple of deep breaths, she composed herself.
“Now, Rui. This is Rose Muddle.” All the eyes in the room switched to Rose and her skin bristled. “She is to be your companion during your stay here. I am sure you will find you have a lot in common.”
Lots in common! Doubt wedged itself in the pit of Rose’s stomach. Well he has lots and I’m just plain common, I suppose. She caught Crank’s scowl and was suddenly aware of the ridiculous fixed smile slapped across her face.
“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Rose,” the boy said, striding forward, pressing his palms together. He nodded his head and put out his hand to shake hers. Rose swiftly wiped her sweaty palms on the back of her dress, then offered her hand. He shook it firmly.
“Miss T and Miss Rose,” the boy continued. “I would like to introduce my tutor, Mr Gupta, eminent archaeologist and curator of the Jaipur Museum.”
Mr Gupta stepped forward, his monkey stalking his shadow.
“Ah yes, I am most grateful you have chaperoned Rui for this visit, Mr Gupta. I trust your stay here will be a comfortable one,” Miss Templeforth finished with a quick smile.
Mr Gupta held his hook in front of him and executed a low bow, his other arm outstretched to the side. “Greetings, Miss Templeforth,” he said, in a deep voice. He flashed a toothy grin, which was instantly mirrored by his monkey.
All teeth and no smile, the both of ’em, Rose deduced with a shiver.
“A curator. How fascinating, Mr Gupta. You must make a point of visiting our humble museum in Brighton town. I am sure you will find some curiosities of interest to you.” Miss Templeforth leaned away to take another sip of her medicine.
“As a matter of fact, I was in communication with the curator at the Brighton Museum prior to my journey here,” Mr Gupta mused, his eyes glaring at Miss Templeforth’s pendant. “They have a cup on display that I am particularly keen to handle.”
The room charged with invisible tension and Rose’s eyes rounded to saucers.
“A cup!” The word flew out of Miss Templeforth’s mouth amid a splutter of water as she leaned forward and tucked the pendant inside her lace collar.
Rose’s ears pricked. He’s on about the evil cup at the museum. She glanced at the boy. He’d sensed the changing atmosphere too she was sure, but his face was difficult to read.
“Yes, I have a certain passion for mythical cups,” Mr Gupta offered. The monkey dived behind his legs and peered around them.
“How very intriguing, Mr Gupta. Pray do tell us more.” Miss Templeforth tried to hide her surprise, but Rose could see the barbed interest flashing in the old lady’s eyes.
Mr Gupta began to pace in front of the fireplace. “Well, I have dedicated my working life to studying magic, myths and legends from across the globe. I find ancient objects fascinating, you see. And there are some who believe that certain relics and places contain great mystical powers.”
“Is this what you believe too, Mr Gupta?” Miss Templeforth held up her spectacles. Her other hand clung on to the pendant, now hidden beneath her blouse.
“Well, that is a matter of personal conjecture,” Gupta waved his good hand in the air, “but—” He spun round, his index finger raised.
The boy remained respectfully silent, but Rose could see he watched everything very closely. Gupta pulled free a book from his tunic pocket, the one he’d been carrying earlier. “My lifetime’s research is contained in this journal.” He held it aloft.
As thick as a bible, the journal’s cover was bound in silver. A swirling design was pressed into the metal, surrounding the central detail of an enamelled human eye. It looked so real that Rose shivered; it was quite the creepiest thing she’d ever seen. Gupta’s hook held the book in place as he flicked through the pages. It was full of strange-looking handwriting and pictures.
“Here! To demonstrate,” the old man announced, drawing a length of silk ribbon to mark out a chosen page. He turned the book round to show Miss Templeforth. “An amber cup, recorded within some ancient scriptures I discovered and reputed to be a mythical vessel of great power. Could it be the very cup located in your humble museum?”
Rose strained to see; she didn’t want to miss any of this.
The page showed what looked like a glowing red cup, with black shapes cascading out from inside it. The pages seemed stained brown and the corners blackened – as if the book had been burned. Rose edged closer to get a better look, but Mr Gupta snapped the book shut and slipped it into his pocket.
He spoke again. “This cup is thought to be capable of giving its owners great knowledge and power –” he paused – “some even say it might give eternal life, or have the potential to open gateways…to other worlds.”
Miss Templeforth’s fingers clenched the arms of her chair so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
Gupta suddenly snatched a fistful of air from in front of his face. Rose blinked and stepped back.
“When the magic of the cup is harnessed,” Gupta said kissing his clenched fist, “it is to be like the caterpillar…transformed!” He unfurled his fingers. A blue butterfly rested in the centre of his palm, its wings parting gently. A satisfied smile formed in the midst of Mr Gupta’s grey beard as he searched the faces of his audience. He blew the butterfly off his hand. The butterfly took flight, rising and falling as if suspended on a length of invisible string.
Rose drew a quick breath. How’d he do that? she thought, watching the butterfly dancing across the room.
“Very good, Mr Gupta.” Miss Templeforth clapped slowly. “Rose,” she continued, without looking in her direction, “please show Rui to his quarters. Rui, we will speak later. I need to discuss some matters privately with Mr Gupta. I will send for you shortly.”
As Rose stepped into the lobby, Rui shot to her side, resplendent in his golden gowns. He looked her up and down. “So here we are, Miss Rose.”
Rose gave a quick nod. How am I going to pull this off? she worried. Being a companion to someone like him, so rich and full of long, clever words, suddenly seemed very scary.
Rose sucked in her cheeks, and put on her poshest voice. “So…you know the mistress well?” She felt her face flush.
The boy hid a smile. “Yes, I do. I know Miss T very well, and through the power of observation I try to know a great number of other things too. Actually, I am in training as a detective. For the past five years, Miss T, your mistress, my old governess and dearest friend – well, my only friend, actually – has been sending me the Sherlock Holmes books. I am his greatest admirer,” he gushed.
Who the heck is Sherlock Holmes? Rose nodded, smiling, pretending to know anyway. The boy continued.
“He is the greatest detective known to man and I have taken it upon myself, through his insights, to study the art of detection. If I may, let me tell you what I have deduced about you, to demonstrate.”
Rose’s smile exposed her clenched teeth.
“Four foot seven inches.” He appraised her from tip to toe, before lingering on her face. “Large eyes, an unusual shade of grey, pretty,�
� he said matter-of-factly. Rose could feel the glow rising in her cheeks. She turned away, but he grabbed for her hands, spinning her back round to face him.
He smoothed them in his and glanced up. “Your hands are work-worn and not from light work. Interesting.” He searched her face. “You have a callus on your right hand, consistent with the type formed by some kind of hard labour. Yes?”
Rose tugged her hand free. She knew she had the blessed workhouse mangle in the laundry to thank for that.
“Also, you find yourself in a different job: elevated. Those boots are brand new; so new they hurt your feet, pinch your toes?”
Rose gawped but did not answer.
“Your dress is new too, it fits well enough, but due to its newness it hangs a little from your waist. A correctable detail, and one most ladies would see to, if they had the time.” He waved his index finger in front of him. Rose opened her mouth to speak, but he cut in. “Your hair is neat but lacks finesse.”
“Oi,” she jutted out her chin, tapping her hair.
The boy shrugged. “Fact!” he added.
“Stop!” She drew a sharp breath. “Well, Master Rui, with your skills at knowing stuff, p’raps you’d be so kind as to explain a few things to me,” Rose barked in a thick workhouse drawl – she was too cross to care.
He nodded. “Of course, Miss Rose, we must get to know each other well. I have been asked to take care of you, to protect you.”
Rose’s mouth clamped shut. “Take care of me?” she said, her hand on her chest. What claptrap!
“Yes!” He pulled a strip of crumpled paper from the pocket of his robes. “This secret note was delivered to me by stealth, to ensure I had the information herein, before I reached the house. A gypsy woman trailed me from the terminus at Hove Station to our waiting carriage and slipped it into my pocket.”
Enna! Rose’s mind was struggling to keep up.
“It reads as follows…” He coughed to clear his throat. “Protect Rose Muddle. Danger. And that’s it, simple and concise.”
Rose baulked. Danger – the word hung heavy in her mind like a thundercloud.
“Danger!” Rui scrunched up the paper. “Goodness knows I love that word.” He discharged the crumpled ball into the air, allowing it to bounce off his forearm. He grabbed to catch it, but missed.
Lightning quick, Rose snatched it to her chest. “May I?” she smirked, already unravelling it. All she could see was a series of dots and dashes. “Hang on a minute, you’re havin’ me on.” She waved the paper in the air between them. “There ain’t no writing on this.”
“On the contrary,” Rui said, his dark lashes fluttering, “it is the first rule of detection to expect the unexpected.” He brandished his index finger once more. “This note is in fact written using a form of Morse code known only by myself and one other. The “other” being the tremendous Miss Lucile Templeforth. An extraordinary woman. She used to tell me wild stories about England – and fantastical tales of her own adventures here in Hove. I promised myself that one day I would make the journey to have an adventure of my own. And here we are!” He met her eyes with a wide smile.
“Right,” Rose snorted, “adventures here. In Hove!”
“Yes, Rose Muddle,” he announced. “You and I are going to have the most fantastic adventure – I can just feel it!” And with that, he galloped up the stairs. Rose drew a deep breath.
Did he know anything about the pendant? Could she even trust him? “Oi, wait up. What danger am I in?” she stage-whispered after his retreating form.
He glanced back. “If you aren’t already aware, then I suppose that’s the first clue which requires deciphering. Which is to be my room?” he added, already at the top of the stairs.
“Second door on the right. Oi! Wait a minute.” Rose stopped on the bottom step to wiggle her pinched toes inside her new boots. How did he know all that stuff about me without being told? She watched her new companion disappearing from view at the top of the stairs. I haven’t finished with you yet. In fact, I haven’t even started, she thought, as she ran up after him.
Rose found Rui leaning back comfortably in one of two armchairs flanking a low table in his grand room on the first floor. Blue wallpaper interspersed with printed peacocks lined the walls, and the same design decorated the swags of fancy material adorning the windows.
Rui leaned forward and tapped the chair opposite him.
“Right, my turn,” Rose said flinging herself into the seat, determined to get some answers of her own. “Who’s that Mr Gupta you arrived with? Is he some kind of magician?”
Rui’s eyebrows raised into high arcs. “No. Mr Gupta is a mystic, Miss Rose, and the curator at the Jaipur Museum. He locates artefacts for the museum’s collection. He’s undertaken many adventures – and even lost his hand during one such expedition! He was a true adventurer in his youth. He is something of a personal hero of mine.”
“So you know him well then?” Rose asked.
“Well actually, I met him in person for the first time on board the ocean liner, The Cape of Good Fortune, shortly before our departure from Bombay. He volunteered to chaperone me on this trip and become my tutor as he has some scholarly studies to attend to whilst here in Hove. My uncle was delighted to accept his kind offer. We docked at Southampton last Tuesday week.”
“Studies – like seeing that Amber Cup in the museum?”
“Yes, apparently so.”
“So you ain’t clapped eyes on him before, but he’s now your tutor?” Rose searched his face.
“Yes, I was so thrilled to finally meet him. He’s very well considered in Jaipur, though he’s something of a recluse these days. But he’s already taught me much about how to read ancient Sanskrit and even a little astrology. You know, during our stay here in Hove, there is supposed to be a planetary alignment, a very rare one. Truly fascinating. I concur that he is a little odd,” Rui added, noticing her sceptical expression, “but who isn’t?”
“And what about that monkey of his?” That vicious hairball.
“Oh Bahula!” Rui smiled, exposing his perfect white teeth. “He’s a juvenile rhesus macaque. The shorter-tailed type indigenous to Jaipur. They can grow quite big as adults. Bahula is very loyal to his master; the two of them are inseparable. But he’s very wary of strangers and particularly wary, it would seem, of you.”
“Well, ain’t that the truth!” Rose exclaimed.
“Monkeys are believed to sense things – invisible, otherworldly things. Perhaps he sensed something about you?”
“I doubt that!” Rose scratched her neck, her mind flashing back to the night before. “The creature’s a menace. That’s all.”
“Ha! You know, back in Jaipur, monkeys are considered sacred, they are associated with Hanuman, the noble monkey god, and due to this connection they cannot be harmed. So the markets in Jaipur are overrun with packs of them stealing from the traders; they get up to all kinds of mischief. You must believe me when I say they are clever creatures, and our Bahula downstairs is not an exception.”
Rose said nothing. Rui’s words had conjured up strange and exotic pictures in her mind, like things from a book she’d seen once. She let her imagination burst into bright colours. How she would love to visit such faraway places, so full of sunshine, laughter, palaces and…monkeys. She grimaced. Well, p’raps I ain’t so bothered about seeing any more monkeys.
Rui clapped his hands. “Now,” he began, “Rose Muddle, you still have not revealed to me where exactly you have come from? You intrigue me greatly. You are so…mysterious. And English!”
“Hmfff! Mysterious! You’re having a laugh?”
“Well?” the boy pressed on.
“Oh!” Rose shrank back into her chair, not sure she wanted to tell him about herself yet. What would he think if he knew where I’m really from? “I-I thought you already knew everything about me,” she said quickly.
“Aha.” He wafted his finger at her. “Very good. Yes, there is much to interpret from the out
side. But, like a pocket watch, it is the inside, the hidden part, the mechanism that operates the hands that really interests me. Every English gentleman has a pocket watch, no? Tick, tick, tick.” He tapped his head. “I should very much like to have a pocket watch. So?”
She smiled. He had a funny way about him that she couldn’t help warming to. She longed to hear all about India and what it was like to live somewhere so different and so hot. Rose blinked. It suddenly struck her that this boy, even with all his fine clothes and fancy talk, might find her and Hove just as unusual as she found him and his world. What does it matter where I’m from anyway? she reasoned. Besides, who am I trying to fool? I am what I am, there’s no changing that. He’s bound to find out sooner or later.
“Oh, all right, Rui, I’m from the workhouse. There!”
“Workhouse?” Rui peered at her, his chin resting on his knuckles.
“It’s where they keep people who no one wants: invisible folk and nobodies. I ain’t got no parents and all that.” She didn’t want to catch his gaze. Nor did she want to say much more about it.
“No parents?” Rui murmured, his head bowed.
Right, change the subject, Rose, and quickly. “What do you know about Miss Templeforth’s pendant and about that cup?” The words shot out of her mouth before she’d a chance to think them through.
He craned forward. She thought she caught a spark of admiration.
“Do you believe in magic, Rose?” he asked, his eyes glittering.
Magic?
A sharp knock at the door interrupted them, and Mr Crank appeared at the frame. Rose wondered if he’d been eavesdropping on them – it wouldn’t be the first time. “Miss Templeforth has requested your company shortly for luncheon, at one o’clock.” His lips twisted down as his gaze met Rose. “Both of you.” He strode away, his disdain hanging in the air.
“Come on,” Rui said to Rose. Then leaning in to her, he whispered, “If you want to know about magic, there is but one person who is best placed to tell you…Miss T!”
