by Holly Webb
For Lucy and Madeleine ~ HW
For Anna, Fuzz, Emily, Nicola and Neil ~ ML
Contents
Title Page
Dedication
31 Albion Street, London
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Copyright
“Maisie! Maisie!”
Maisie Hitchins looked up from the hallway of her gran’s boarding house to see Lottie Lane, the actress who rented the third-floor rooms. She was hanging over the banisters in a most undignified way – Gran would have told Maisie off for doing that – but she still looked beautiful, even upside down.
“Yes, Miss Lane?”
“Maisie, can you bring up tea for me and a guest later on, dear? A friend of mine from the theatre is coming to see me.”
Maisie nodded. “I’ll tell Gran,” she said with a sigh, as she flicked her duster over the picture frames. Miss Lane vanished back up to her rooms, and Maisie trailed along the passageway to pass on the message.
“What is it, Maisie?” her grandmother asked, as she came into the kitchen. Gran was sitting at the big wooden table with Sally, the new maid, showing her how to polish silver properly. Gran complained all the time about Sally not knowing which end of a broom was which, but Maisie thought Gran actually quite liked her.
Sally didn’t seem to mind her new job, even though it was such a huge change from the butcher’s where she used to work. She’d been caught borrowing money from the takings, to pay for her little sister’s doctor’s bills. Maisie had got to the bottom of the mystery, then got Sally the job with Gran when she had been sacked from the butcher’s, so it had turned out all right in the end.
That was what Maisie did best – solving mysteries. She adored puzzles, and was planning to become a detective when she was older. Gran didn’t approve of this idea in the slightest, but Maisie thought there was still time for her to come around to it.
Maisie would scour Gran’s newspaper every day for mention of her favourite detective, Gilbert Carrington. But Mr Carrington seemed to have disappeared from the papers at the moment.
Maisie’s gran peered at her anxiously, and Maisie stood up straighter and tried to smile. If Gran thought she was bored and miserable, she would probably say that Maisie needed to work harder. She would decide to have spring-cleaning early (it was December), and make Maisie take down and wash all the curtains. Or they’d whitewash the kitchen, or some other awful job. Or, even worse, she might decide that Maisie was sickening for something, and she needed a particular disgusting tonic. There was a bottle of cod liver oil at the back of the larder somewhere, and Maisie had no intention of letting Gran dig it out.
“It’s Miss Lane, Gran,” Maisie said. “She says, please can I take up some tea for her and a visitor later on?”
“Oh! I wonder who it is,” said Sally, her eyes shining. “It could be a famous actress. I saw Miss Lane in Penny Piece, she was so lovely. I’d love to go on the stage…”
“You would not, my girl,” Gran said sharply. “Such nonsense. And the hours that Miss Lane keeps. Never in before midnight! Sleeping till ten! It isn’t right.”
“But Gran, the shows don’t start till eight! How could she get home any earlier?” Maisie pointed out.
“Humph.” Gran clearly didn’t have an answer for that. “Well, that doesn’t explain why her rooms are always such a mess,” she said, with a sniff. “I hope her friend isn’t shocked.”
Maisie giggled. “Miss Lane might just tidy up a bit. She’ll have to, if she wants her friend to be able to sit down.”
“Maisie Hitchins! You’re supposed to clean that room. How can you let her get it into such a state?” Gran said crossly.
“It’s not my fault!” Maisie protested. “I have to dust round the mess, Gran! Miss Lane always says not to tidy up or she can never find anything. She made me promise!”
“Ridiculous,” Gran muttered. “Now, have you finished the dusting?”
Maisie sighed and crouched down to stroke Eddie, her puppy, behind the ears. He had been lurking under the table, in the hope that someone might drop something he could eat. Sally had dropped a polishing cloth on his head, but that was all, and he looked as depressed as Maisie did. Maisie thought he was missing detecting, too – he was very good at sniffing people out and was as brave as a lion, except when faced with really large alley cats. Maisie called him her faithful assistant. All proper detectives had faithful assistants.
“Yes, I’ve finished the dusting,” Maisie admitted, expecting Gran to find her another job. She didn’t mind helping out with the work in the boarding house, of course she didn’t. It was very good of Gran to look after her. Maisie’s father was away at sea, and she hadn’t seen him for three years, six months and eleven days (she kept a note in a little book that lived under her mattress), so Gran was all Maisie had, as her mother had died when she was a baby. Gran worked hard to make ends meet and Maisie was proud to help her. But over the last couple of weeks, it had felt like work, work, work and nothing else.
Nothing interesting had happened for ages. No mysteries at all. Usually Maisie could at least count on the French lady – Madame Lorimer – who lived on the second floor, to lose her knitting a couple of times a week. Maisie always used her magnifying glass to try to find it. But Madame Lorimer had been confined to bed with a streaming cold and the knitting was in its basket, just where it was supposed to be. And that meant that Maisie’s lovely magnifying glass had stayed uselessly in the pocket of her petticoat, except when she took it out to polish.
Gran looked at Maisie with her head on one side. “Well, perhaps you could go to the grocer’s and fetch me a pennyworth of liquorice,” she said thoughtfully.
Maisie stared at her. Gran hated liquorice, so it must be a treat for her!
Gran reached over to find her purse and handed Maisie the penny with a little smile. “Go on then, and take the dog,” she said, nodding. “Oh, and don’t eat all of the disgusting stuff on the way home, Maisie, or you’ll be sick. Make it last.”
Maisie hugged her. She hadn’t had any money to spend on sweets for ages. The house at 31 Albion Street brought in good money from the lodgers, but times were hard. Maisie knew that Gran was worrying about the leak in the roof, and how she was going to find the money to get it mended. Gran had a bucket in her room collecting the drips, and Sally said it was coming through her side of the attic now, too. She’d had to move her bed to stop it dripping on to her nose.
“Are you sure?” Maisie whispered, and Gran smiled.
“A penny won’t matter, Maisie. You’re a good girl, you deserve a treat.”
“Thanks, Gran!” And Maisie hurried away to find her jacket before she could change her mind.
That afternoon, Maisie toiled up the stairs with the heavy tea tray. Even though Gran said she disapproved of theatre people, she clearly wanted to impress Miss Lane’s guest. Maisie was carrying the best china and the silver-plated teapot that had been one of Gran’s wedding presents. She was curious to see the actress who had come to visit – Sally had opened the door to her and said that she was very smartly dressed, and had a beautiful hat, but she couldn’t see what the lady looked like, as the hat had a veil.
Maisie knocked on Miss Lane’s door with her elbow. There was a scuffling noise, and a piteous wail and Maisie heard Miss Lane murmuring something. She stared at the door in surprise, wondering if she ought to go away and come back with the tea later. But then the door opened and Mi
ss Lane peered out at her, looking harassed.
“What is it? Oh, Maisie! I’d forgotten the tea.” She turned back to speak to the lady who was sitting in the armchair by the fire. “Sarah, dear, do try to cheer up. Maisie’s brought us some sustenance. You’ll feel better after a cup of tea, won’t you.”
Sarah? So that was the actress’s name. Sarah who? Maisie wondered. Perhaps she was famous.
“She’s upset,” Miss Lane told Maisie, quite unnecessarily, as Maisie could see past Miss Lane to the armchair and the litter of damp handkerchiefs around it.
“I’ll bring the tray back down later, Maisie,” Miss Lane sighed. “Much later, probably…”
Maisie was quite reluctant to go downstairs. She wanted to see what was going on, but she couldn’t think of any excuse. She was just being nosy, she thought to herself, sighing. But it was because she was naturally nosy that she was such a good detective!
It was a good two hours later, while Maisie was peeling potatoes for supper, that she heard the front door bang. It must be Miss Lane’s guest leaving.
“Go and fetch that tray, Maisie,” Gran said, turning round from the stove. “I’ll want it to send up Professor Tobin’s supper.”
Professor Tobin had the first-floor rooms, and he was Maisie’s favourite lodger. His rooms were full of stuffed animals in glass cases and strange weapons and masks, and things that Maisie simply had no idea about at all. They were a nightmare to dust, especially the glass cases, but Maisie forgave him for that, because he would talk to her while she cleaned them, telling her stories about his travels. He had been everywhere, as far as Maisie could tell.
When Maisie came up the stairs to Miss Lane’s room, the door was slightly open and she could see Miss Lane collapsed in an armchair, looking exhausted. She waved vaguely at Maisie to come in.
“Are you all right, Miss Lane?” Maisie asked worriedly, as she tidied the teacups back on to the tray.
“Yes. But I’m worn out, Maisie. Actresses are just so – tiring! Sarah would not stop!”
“Is she a very famous actress, Miss?” Maisie asked curiously. “As famous as you?” she added, to be tactful. Miss Lane was always in work, but she wasn’t really a household name.
Miss Lane chuckled. “You’re very sweet, Maisie. That was Sarah Massey and she’s, hmmm, almost famous. If you haven’t heard of her by now, you almost certainly will do soon. She’s playing at the Dauntry Theatre at the moment, and she’ll be a household name one of these days.” She sighed. “Well, she will if we ever sort this nightmare out, anyway…”
“Why, what’s the matter with her, Miss? Is it her young man?” Maisie asked sympathetically. Miss Lane had complained to her in the past about the various young men that hung around the stage door and got under their feet.
“Yes,” said Miss Lane. “Oh, he hasn’t been cruel to her, though, Maisie. Quite the opposite, actually. He wants to marry her.”
“Marry her?” Maisie frowned. “But that’s good, isn’t it, Miss?”
“Oh yes, and she wants to marry him as well,” said Miss Lane. “Which is even better, but it’s the necklace, you see. That’s what’s causing all the trouble.” Miss Lane frowned at Maisie. “Oh, I shall have to tell you the whole story. But you mustn’t breathe a word. It’s the deepest, darkest secret. Promise you’ll keep it to yourself.”
Maisie’s eyes glowed. She sat down on the hearthrug next to the tea tray and stared up at Miss Lane eagerly.
“A few months ago, Sarah told me that a young man started coming to see the show night after night. He always sat in the front row, in the middle seat if he could get it. And he would spend the whole evening gazing at Sarah. He sent flowers to her. He left chocolates for her at the stage door. It went on for weeks, until at last he sent her a note with the chocolates, asking if he could perhaps take her out for afternoon tea – her and a friend, as he wanted to be very proper.” Miss Lane smiled. “He was so polite, Maisie, and by this time she was so curious about him that she said yes, and you can guess who that friend was.”
Maisie nodded and Miss Lane smiled at her. “She asked me to go with her. He met us at the ABC Tea shop, and he bought us buns.” Miss Lane sighed. “And that was that. They’ve been smitten with each other ever since, Sarah and Mr Timmy Fane.”
“But if he wants to marry her…” Maisie said, frowning, “I don’t see why she’s unhappy. It all sounds perfect.”
Miss Lane nodded. “It does, doesn’t it. Except Mr Timmy Fane isn’t Mr Timmy Fane at all. He’s a lord, Maisie. The son of a duke, and his name’s Tarquin. He’s only just told her. And honestly, what sort of a name is Tarquin to saddle a poor child with?”
“But that’s even better,” said Maisie. “Doesn’t she want to marry the son of a duke?” Maisie began nibbling one of the biscuits Gran had sent up with the tea. Miss Lane and Miss Massey hadn’t touched them, which just showed how upset they were.
“Of course she does! She’ll be a duchess then – well, one of these days!” Miss Lane rolled her eyes. “Sarah, a duchess…” she said faintly. “I can’t imagine it…”
Maisie shook her head. “So, I still don’t understand why she’s upset.” As far as she could see, marrying a duke sounded wonderful. She was willing to bet duchesses never had to do dusting, and they were probably allowed to do a bit of detecting in their spare time as well! “Oh!” Maisie had a sudden thought. “Does he want her to stop being an actress?” she added, frowning.
“No, it’s not that,” said Miss Lane. “Quite the opposite. In fact, he says he loves it that she’s so clever. No, the problem is that Timmy gave Sarah a necklace. Very pretty, nice pearl beads, and a big green glass pendant with little sparklies all round it. He said it matched her eyes – you wouldn’t have been able to tell that this afternoon, she’d been crying so much, but Sarah’s got lovely green eyes.” Miss Lane frowned. “Well, anyway. She loved it. Wore it all the time, until a couple of days ago, when it disappeared. She left it in her dressing room while she was on stage, and when she came back, it had gone.”
Maisie gasped. “Gone?” That was terrible! But then she had another thought. “If he’s so rich, can’t he buy her another one? I know it’s sad, but couldn’t she just explain what happened?” Maisie asked.
Miss Lane shook her head. “It’s not as simple as that, Maisie. You see, when Timmy told her he was really Tarquin, he told her about the necklace too. They were real pearls, Maisie. A string of matched freshwater pearls, and the sparklies were diamonds, and that green glass pendant?” Miss Lane leaned forward and whispered dramatically. “An emerald, Maisie! One of the biggest emeralds in the world! We’d never even dreamed that it might be real – it’s as long as my thumb, for goodness’ sake.” Miss Lane stared gloomily at the glowing ashes of the fire. “It’s an heirloom. Worth thousands and thousands of pounds. Every Fane bride wears it on her wedding day. Tarquin clearly wanted Sarah to have it, but the idiot didn’t think of telling her until much later how precious it was until a couple of days ago! Now how can she tell him she’s lost it?”
Maisie nodded slowly. She could see why Miss Massey had been so upset.
“Maybe you can find it for her, Maisie,” Miss Lane sighed. “You’re really good at mysteries.” But Maisie could tell that she didn’t really mean it.
“I’ll take the tray down now, Miss, if you don’t mind,” she said, getting up, and Miss Lane nodded.
Maisie went slowly down the stairs, balancing the heavy tray and trying to think of ways she might find a jewel worth a king’s ransom. It would be so good to have a proper mystery to solve!
But she’d never even been to the Dauntry Theatre, where Miss Massey was appearing. Maisie had never been to any theatre! Gran didn’t approve of them. How could she investigate if she couldn’t even imagine the scene of the crime?
“Miss Maisie!”
Maisie was so deep in thoughts of priceless emeralds that Professor Tobin’s whisper took her completely by surprise. She jumped and nearly
dropped the tea tray, sending Gran’s best sugar bowl sliding dangerously towards the stairs.
Professor Tobin caught it, and stared at her apologetically. “Sorry, Maisie. I just wanted to ask you…” He looked around rather guiltily and then leaned close to whisper – so close Maisie could see the tufts of hair growing out of his ears, and the biscuit crumbs on his bowtie. “Was that Miss Sarah Massey I saw going up the stairs earlier?”
“Yes,” Maisie said, staring at him in surprise. “Do you know her, Professor?”
“Oh no!” Professor Tobin shook his head. “No, not at all. But I’ve seen her – she’s playing the lead role in Circus Sweethearts, you know. I’ve seen it four times. She’s a wonder! Her voice! Her dancing!”
“I didn’t know you liked the theatre, Professor,” Maisie said, trying not to giggle. She couldn’t imagine the professor watching a musical show.
“It is the greatest of the arts, Maisie, quite the greatest…” Professor Tobin suddenly frowned at her worriedly. “But Miss Massey seemed to be upset. Is something wrong?” He breathed in, puffing out his chest, and Maisie realized that he was imagining himself rescuing the lovely young actress from a fate worse than death.
Maisie frowned. She probably ought not to tell him. But if the professor knew the theatre, perhaps he would be able to help her investigate. He might be able to suggest a way Maisie could get into the theatre.
“It’s a secret,” she began doubtfully. “You must absolutely promise not to tell…”
The professor nodded eagerly.
“Miss Massey is going to be married to a duke – well, almost a duke. He will be one day. And he’s given her a beautiful emerald necklace, but it’s been stolen, and she doesn’t know how to tell him. It’s worth thousands and thousands of pounds. I was thinking, I could try and help her look for it…” Maisie added shyly. “But really she ought to tell the police. She doesn’t want to, though, because then they’d be bound to tell Lord Tarquin Fane, as the necklace really belongs to him. She hasn’t told him yet as she’s worried he’ll be furious with her. Perhaps she could ask the famous detective, Gilbert Carrington, to help,” Maisie said dreamily. “Except I think he must be out of the country at the moment.”
