The Case of the Vanishing Emerald

by Holly Webb

  So nice that it was quite suspicious, actually, Maisie decided, after a couple more evenings watching her at the theatre. Surely nobody could be so sweet-natured absolutely all the time?

  Maisie watched Arabella thoughtfully as she gossiped to Sarah in the dressing room. She did seem to know an awful lot of stories about smart society people – perhaps she had recognized plain old Timmy as Lord Tarquin Fane.

  Maisie was tidying Miss Sarah’s make-up, checking it as carefully as she could. Only last night, she had put away all the sticks of greasepaint, and felt something scratch her fingers. It had taken her ages to work out what it was, and then she had felt sick with disgust. Someone had pushed a hat pin up under the foil cover of the greasepaint stick, so that as it wore down, Sarah would eventually draw a great scratch down her face. It made Maisie even more determined to find out who was playing these horrible tricks. Maisie didn’t quite know what she would do when she found out who it was, but she was considering punching them on the nose.

  Could it really be Arabella? Maisie would need proof.

  Maisie drifted closer to Sarah and Arabella, with the open jar of face powder in her hand (Sarah had sent her out to buy a new jar, after they had discovered the itching powder). As Arabella waved her hand to demonstrate just how ridiculously large a hat the lady in the front row had worn the night before, Maisie squeaked and tipped the powder all down Arabella’s dress.

  “Oh! You stupid little brat!” Arabella screamed, aiming a slap at Maisie. Maisie dodged so she mostly missed her. Then she ran to the corner and pretended to cry.

  Arabella snarled something furious and began to dust frantically at the dress – it was a beautiful navy-blue velvet, and it was going to be a beast to clean. But Maisie didn’t feel all that sorry.

  “Arabella, it wasn’t Maisie’s fault, you knocked the powder!” Sarah said, looking surprised.

  “Oh…” Arabella seemed to suddenly remember her sweetness. “Sorry, Maisie. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. This is my favourite dress, that’s all. But it really doesn’t matter,” she added, smiling, but with gritted teeth.

  Maisie sniffed and smiled back, but she had to bite her lip to stop herself laughing. So Arabella wasn’t so nice after all. Maisie was beginning to think she would really rather enjoy proving her guilty.

  “Maisie! Can you take these in to Miss Massey for me?” Mr Jones leaned out of his cubbyhole by the door, waving a pretty little basket of white flowers. “Hello, sonny,” he added, patting Eddie on the head. “Heard about your stage debut the other night. Going to take it up as a profession, are we?”

  Maisie looked down at Eddie and shook her head. “I don’t think so, Mr Jones. He is very clever, but he’s not always clever when he’s supposed to be, if you see what I mean.”

  Maisie hurried on down the passage to the dressing rooms, clutching the little basket of flowers, and met Sarah just taking off her coat.

  “Mr Jones sent these up, Miss,” she said, putting the flowers on the dressing table, next to a huge bouquet of roses that Lord Tarquin had sent from his country house a couple of days before.

  “Oh, they’re very pretty,” Sarah said, leaning over to smell them. “What sort of flowers are they? I don’t recognize them. Ugh!” She reeled back, holding up the back of her hand to her mouth in disgust.

  “What is it?” Maisie cried anxiously.

  “Oh, they smell horrible,” Sarah said, coughing a little. “Like onions, or something. Disgusting. Take them out, Maisie, please.”

  Maisie picked up the little basket, and sniffed cautiously at the starry white flowers, and the broad leaves. She hadn’t looked at them very closely – she’d thought they were Lily of the Valley, or something like that. But now she could see that they were quite different, and they did smell odd. Very like onions.

  “What a foul thing to do,” Sarah muttered, and Maisie could see that her eyes were filled with tears. “I thought those mean tricks had stopped. Someone must really hate me!”

  “I’ll get rid of them right now, Miss,” Maisie promised, feeling glad that she hadn’t told Miss Sarah about the pin in the greasepaint. She hurried back down to the stage door, with Eddie scurrying behind her.

  “Mr Jones, I don’t suppose you remember who brought these?” she asked hopefully, showing them to him.

  Mr Jones frowned. “Isn’t there a card? It was just a boy. Not long ago. Just before you arrived. He said a girl had given him twopence to bring them.”

  “A girl?” Maisie looked thoughtful. “So, there wasn’t a card.” Maisie shook her head. “And they’re not proper flowers, you know. They smell bad.”

  Mr Jones sniffed the flowers suspiciously, and snorted. “Wild garlic, that is, Maisie! Ramsons, they call it, too. Now why didn’t I spot that!”

  “The pretty basket?” Maisie suggested. “It looks like a nice present, doesn’t it? So where would you get wild garlic from?”

  Mr Jones shrugged. “Anywhere. It’s a weed. Somewhere shady under a tree, maybe? But it would have to have been very sheltered,” he added, frowning again. “It’s proper late for it to be flowering now. Or early, maybe. It’s a spring plant. Unless someone took it into a nice warm house and brought them on. Mmmmm. Someone’s been planning this a while, I’d say.”

  Maisie scowled. She bet she knew who. But she couldn’t prove it. Unless – if it was Arabella, wouldn’t she want to see how her horrible trick had worked out? She hadn’t been able to resist telling Sarah about the posters being splashed all over with paint. She was bound to be hanging around the dressing rooms, waiting for Sarah to burst out crying…

  Maisie thanked Mr Jones and raced back up the passageway, peeping into dressing rooms as she went, wondering where Arabella was.

  She found her at last in the main chorus girls’ dressing room – where the stove was. Arabella had a big bowl of hot water, and she was scrubbing her hands hard, going at her nails with a brush, and sniffing them every so often.

  “This stuff stinks…” Maisie heard her mutter, as she sniffed and rinsed again. Then she dried her hands carefully on a towel, and tipped the bowl of water down a grating in the corner. Maisie darted behind a dressmaker’s dummy that was standing by the door, pulling Eddie with her, and praying that he wouldn’t make a noise as Arabella hurried past. The girl’s skirts brushed past her, and even now Maisie could catch a faint whiff of garlic. Arabella stopped and turned, and Maisie froze, thinking that she’d sensed someone watching her. But instead, Arabella glanced towards the door before she picked up a scent spray that stood on one of the mirrored benches. She sprayed herself generously, aiming the scent at her hands, and wincing. She had scrubbed so hard they looked raw, and the perfume must have stung.

  It served her right, Maisie thought. She was sure now that Arabella was playing all the tricks – she must be so jealous of Miss Sarah – but that didn’t get her any closer to finding the necklace.

  When she got back to Sarah’s dressing room, Maisie found her with her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she cried.

  “What is it? What’s happened?” Maisie begged. She shouldn’t have been so long watching Arabella.

  “It’s not another horrible trick,” Sarah told her wearily. “It’s Timmy. Lord Tarquin, I mean. It’s a note from him. He’s back, Maisie. He says he can’t wait to see me, but he doesn’t want to disturb me before the show. He wants to take me out for a late supper. Oh, Maisie, he’ll expect me to be wearing the necklace! Whatever am I going to tell him? I can’t pretend any more! He’ll be so upset, so angry. He’ll break the engagement, I know he will!”

  Maisie swallowed anxiously. She thought she knew who the thief was. But she only had a few more hours to find the necklace – before it was too late.

  At last Sarah dried her eyes, and she gave a little sigh, and a sniff. “Oh, well. There’s nothing I can do, is there? That necklace is probably in the window of a pawn shop somewhere by now. That’s the awful thing –whoever took it probably had no idea
what it was. They’ll have thought it was glass, like I did, and sold it for a few shillings.” She shook her head at Maisie. “I know it sounds silly, but I wish it had been glass all along. It would have been a lot less trouble.”

  Maisie nodded. “It would, Miss. But Lord Tarquin only gave it to you because he loves you. He wouldn’t have wanted you to just have glass. He didn’t know how much trouble the emerald would cause.”

  “Oh, don’t make me cry again!” Sarah wailed. She sniffed, and dabbed at her eyes, and then stared at Eddie, who was crouched down next to the door, running his nose along the floorboards. “What is he doing, Maisie?”

  “I think he’s probably smelled another mouse, Miss,” Maisie said. “I’ll let him out, shall I? He won’t stop that sniffing and scratching until he’s caught it.”

  Sarah nodded, and Maisie opened the door, watching Eddie race out into the passage so fast that his paws skidded on the boards. “I’ll just go and check he isn’t chasing that mouse anywhere he shouldn’t,” Maisie added worriedly. She wasn’t sure Eddie would be allowed back in the theatre if he caused any more trouble.

  All Maisie could see was a glimpse of white tail, disappearing round the corner, and she hared off up the passageway, just in time to see Eddie bolting into the workroom, where the wardrobe mistress did the alterations, and the new costumes were made. It was lined with cupboards where old costumes were stored in cloth bags until they were needed for another show.

  Eddie was skittering backwards and forwards in front of one of the cupboards, growling, and occasionally letting out sharp little barks.

  “Oh dear… Did the mouse get in the cupboard?” Maisie asked him, hurrying over, and glancing round for the wardrobe mistress. She didn’t think the old lady would want a dog in her workroom. But then she probably wouldn’t want a mouse in there with all the precious costumes, either.

  “It’ll be locked, Eddie,” Maisie tried to tell him. “Come on… Leave the mouse. I bet Miss Sarah’s got a biscuit for you in her bag. Biscuit! Come on, Eddie!”

  But Eddie could still smell mouse, and he couldn’t chase biscuits. Furiously he sprang up at the cupboard door, battering at it with his little paws. Then he jumped back with a yelp of surprise as it swung open, revealing shelves lined with boots and dancing slippers, and bags and head dresses, all stored in bags and boxes.

  Maisie giggled. “Wasn’t that what you wanted it to do? Oh, Eddie, no!”

  The mouse was in the cupboard, so Eddie saw no reason why he shouldn’t be, too. He took a running leap and sprang on to the first shelf, dislodging a whole row of shoes, and a scruffy-looking wooden box, which hit the floor with a thump.

  Eddie snapped triumphantly, and bounced out of the cupboard to lay the mouse at Maisie’s feet but Maisie wasn’t interested in the mouse – she was staring at the mess in horror.

  “Eddie! You monster! I have to clear this up or Annie will kill me!” Annie was the wardrobe mistress, and she’d already told Maisie to be sure not to let Eddie get muddy pawprints on any of Sarah’s dresses. She didn’t like dogs.

  The wooden box was full of sparkly paste and glass jewellery, the kind of thing that looked wonderful on stage from a distance, but didn’t look like real diamonds and rubies and sapphires close up. Maisie sighed as she started to scoop it all back into the box. She held the glittering piles up in her hands, letting them run through her fingers. They were so pretty, even if they were fake. This one, for instance. She picked up a beautiful pearl necklace – this must be very like the one that Sarah had lost. The pearls were huge, bigger than peas, and they had a soft glow to them, as though a little light shone inside each one. At the end of the pearl string was a huge emerald pendant that burned and flashed as Maisie swung it to and fro. It does look ever so real, Maisie thought. And then she dropped the necklace as if it really had burned her. What were the chances of the theatre wardrobe having a necklace exactly like the stolen Stone of Saint Cecilia?

  Maisie picked it up, cradling the emerald in her hands, and then squeaked as Eddie gave it an interested lick. “You mustn’t! Eddie, I think this is it! I think we’ve found it! This is the real necklace! Someone must have taken it and hidden it in here when they weren’t able to smuggle it out. It’s the best place to hide anything – in amongst things that look the same. Whoever took it must have hidden it here until the fuss had died down – which it hasn’t yet, of course.”

  Maisie stood up and slipped the heavy handful into the pocket of her little apron. Then she quickly picked up the shoes and boots that Eddie had knocked down and put them back in the cupboard. She went to pick up the jewellery box last of all, but just as she was sliding it back on to the shelf, she paused, staring thoughtfully at it.

  It was all very well having found the necklace, but wouldn’t it be even better to know for certain who had taken it? And she thought she knew just how to prove it. Maisie smiled to herself and took the wooden box with her.

  “What on earth are you doing with that?” Sarah asked, staring at the box in surprise. “I don’t need any more jewellery on stage.” Then she smiled sadly. “Oh, Maisie. Were you thinking that I could find something in here to deceive Timmy? It wouldn’t work. The emerald isn’t like anything you’d find in a costume store. But you’re a darling to think of it. Anyway, I need to tell him the truth. I should have done to start with.”

  Maisie had slipped the emerald necklace back into the jewellery box, and now she was setting it down on the bench in front of the mirror and opening it up. “Are you sure you won’t find anything like it in here?” she asked slyly, smiling up at Sarah.

  “No, really, you see it’s absolutely unmistakable. I can’t believe how I was silly enough to think it was glass and fish-scale pearls in the first place… Maisie!”

  Sarah dropped the greasepaint stick she was blending on the back of her hand and it rolled under the chair, forgotten.

  “Maisie Hitchins! Where did you get that?”

  “Out of the paste jewellery box, Miss,” Maisie told her, smiling. It was fun to tease Sarah a little bit.

  “You found it! You found it! You actually did! Oh, Maisie, just in time! You little angel! How did you do it?”

  “It was Eddie, really,” Maisie explained. “And the mouse. It ran into the cupboard, and Eddie scrabbled it open and tipped out the box and all sorts of other things. It was only when I was putting the jewellery away that I saw it – just like Miss Lottie described it to me.”

  “I can’t believe it…” Sarah stroked the pearls wonderingly. “It was there all the time? Do you think it got there by mistake?”

  “No,” said Maisie seriously. “I’m pretty sure that it’s just been hidden there for the time being, ready to take away when everyone’s given up hope of finding it.”

  Sarah nodded. “Of course. That’s quite clever. Hiding it in plain sight.”

  “Miss Sarah … I’ve been thinking about how we could catch whoever’s been doing all this,” Maisie said, dropping her voice to a whisper.

  Sarah stared at her. “Do you know who it is?”

  Maisie chewed her bottom lip. “I think I do,” she said slowly. “But unless I’ve got proof, you aren’t ever going to believe me.”

  “I will!” Sarah cried. “I promise I will, I mean, you’ve found the necklace. I have to trust you now.”

  Maisie took a deep breath. Dare she tell her? “Well…” she started. “Well, I think it’s Arabella.” Maisie looked at Sarah with her head on one side.

  “Arabella?” Sarah frowned. “But why? Arabella’s my friend. She’s always so nice to me. Much nicer than the others.”

  “I know.” Maisie nodded. “And that’s what put me off the scent at first. I’m not certain, but she gave the game away when she tried to trip you up, once. I saw it. And then when I spilled that powder on her, she was furious. Why would she have been so cross unless she had done something to the powder?”

  “You mean she put the itching powder in the jar, too? And she thought it
was still there?” Sarah asked, her eyes widening.

  “Mmmm. I’m not certain it’s all been her.” Maisie smiled. “But I have thought of something we can do to find out for sure. It does mean you’d have to put the necklace back in the jewellery box, though. But only for a little bit…”

  “Arabella, I don’t know what to do!” Sarah wailed. “He’s back, and he’s coming to see the show tonight. He’s going to take me out to supper afterwards, and I shall have to tell him I’ve lost the necklace. He’ll hate me!”

  “Maybe he won’t mind,” Arabella said, clearly trying to sound hopeful.

  “Not mind! It’s an heirloom! It’s worth thousands!” Sarah started to sob into her hands and Maisie passed her a handkerchief and a bottle of smelling salts. “Thank you, Maisie, you’re such a treasure. I really don’t know what I’d do without you.” Sarah sniffed and looked up from the handkerchief. “In fact, you should have a reward. Something nice. I know!” She seized the wooden box, and pushed it towards Maisie.

  “What’s that?” Arabella asked, a little sharply.

  “Oh, just the box of paste jewellery from the wardrobe,” Sarah told her in a careless voice. “I thought I’d look through it for something to brighten up my dress in the finale – it’s just a little bit too dull. But I haven’t had the heart, since I found out about Timmy…” She peered into the huge mirror hanging on the wall. “Oh my goodness. I look like a hag. I look so old. Crying is the worst thing for your face, it really is. Maisie, pass me my greasepaint sticks, and then you can choose yourself something pretty out of that box. It doesn’t matter what. I’ll give Annie something for it, she won’t mind.” Sarah drooped one eyelid in a wink as she took the greasepaint from Maisie, and then looked gloomily at her reflection. “Ugh, dreadful.”