Betsy’s Story, 1934

by Adele Whitby

  “I bought it from that handsome American, Patrick O’Brien,” Gabrielle said nonchalantly. “Why are you so angry, Beth?”

  “I was supposed to buy it from him!” Mum said, her temper flaring. “We had an arrangement and you—you tricked him and you went behind my back—”

  Gabrielle waved her hand in the air. “Beth, Beth, you are making a fuss over nothing,” she said. “Yes, I suppose I tricked Mr. O’Brien into selling me the necklace. But only because I so very desperately desired to give it to Betsy for her birthday.”

  “But why?” I asked. “Why the Katherine necklace, of all things? Surely you know it could never belong to me—”

  Gabrielle grabbed my hand. “No, Betsy, you are the only one who should have it,” she said firmly. “I will explain everything.”

  “Good,” Mum said. “Because my patience is wearing thin.”

  Gabrielle looked pained, but for once she didn’t have a clever retort on the tip of her tongue. Instead, she said, “The main reason that I wanted to be here for Betsy’s birthday was to make amends. It is . . . it is the shame of my life, you know, Beth. The way I almost ruined your twelfth birthday. Ugh, what a dreadful little brat I was. Spoiled rotten!”

  I saw Mum’s face soften. “It was a long time ago,” she said. “Water under the bridge, Gabrielle.”

  “Still, I wanted to make it right,” Gabrielle said. “So I thought and I thought until—eureka! But wait. I am getting ahead of myself.”

  She closed her eyes and pressed her hand to her heart. “Beth, I know you remember our dear great-grandmother Cecily. When she died, I was beside myself. I could not eat for days and days. Not a single bite!”

  “Yes,” Mum said, nodding. “It was very sad.”

  “So our country house sat vacant for ten years after Cecily passed away,” Gabrielle continued. “And at last, I decided to sell it. I love living in Paris, you know. The country life is not for me. But first I had to figure out what to do with everyone’s effects. Maman’s old dresses, Papa’s old papers, all the books in the library, even some things that had belonged to Cecily—for example, her old letters. I read them all, including one from Elizabeth Chatswood, dated 1848. And when you read the letter, you will understand why it was so very important for Betsy to receive the Katherine necklace. Here. I have it with me. It’s right—”

  “Stop,” Mum interrupted her.

  Gabrielle and I both stared at Mum.

  “This is a family secret that I need to tell Betsy,” continued Mum. “Please, Gabrielle, you must respect that.”

  Gabrielle’s mouth dropped open in shock. “You knew?” she cried. “You knew and you never told me?”

  “Told you what?” I asked. Then I turned to Mum. “What is she talking about?”

  Mum looked torn—but she didn’t say anything.

  “Please, Mum!” I begged. “You’ve got to tell me!”

  “She has a right to know, Beth,” Gabrielle said.

  At last Mum reached for my hands and held them both in hers. “This is an old family secret, Beth,” Mum said in a soft voice. “Almost as old as the Elizabeth and Katherine necklaces themselves.”

  My heart was racing. Is this it? I wondered. The big birthday secret that Mum promised to tell me? I tried to take a deep breath to steady my nerves, but it didn’t help.

  “You know, of course, that Elizabeth and Katherine received these necklaces for their twelfth birthday in 1848,” Mum replied. Then she reached over to the jewel box in my lap. “May I?”

  “Yes, yes,” I said, fidgeting with the pendant of the Elizabeth necklace; I’d been wearing it for only a few moments, and already it felt like a part of me. “Go on.”

  Mum carefully removed the Katherine necklace from its case. She held it high so that its rubies glittered in the morning sun. “The truth is somewhat different from the story you’ve always been told,” she continued. “The truth is that Elizabeth Chatswood received the ruby necklace . . . not Katherine.”

  I wasn’t sure that I’d heard correctly. My hand clutched the sapphire-studded pendant around my neck. “The ruby necklace?” I repeated.

  “Yes, darling. And Katherine received the sapphire necklace . . . the one you’re wearing now.”

  “But . . . that doesn’t make sense,” I said in confusion. “Are you saying that the twins switched necklaces? Why would they do that?”

  “I have the same question,” Gabrielle spoke up. “In her letter to Cecily, Elizabeth wrote in great detail about her love for her ruby necklace. Why would she trade with Katherine?”

  “So you don’t know the full secret, then,” Mum said, looking surprised . . . and perhaps relieved.

  “Go on, Mum. Tell us,” I said. “I’m dying to know!”

  “Yes, Beth. Out with it!” added Gabrielle.

  Mum bit her lip before she shook her head. “Betsy, I’m going to ask you to wait a bit longer,” she said. “This is a family secret that you and Kay should hear together—the way that Aunt Kate and I always dreamed.”

  I was barely able to hide my disappointment. A bit longer? I thought. That doesn’t make any sense. Since Uncle Joseph and Aunt Kate canceled their trip to England, who knows when Kay and I will finally be together . . . unless . . . what Mum’s trying to say is . . .

  When I looked up at Mum, her eyes were twinkling with merriment. “Yes, Betsy,” she said as though she could read my mind. “We’re going to America for Kay’s birthday!”

  “Oh, Mum!” I shrieked as I threw my arms around her neck. “Thank you!”

  “You’re welcome, darling,” Mum replied, squeezing me tight. “And I’ve been thinking that the money we put aside for your ball could be just as well spent on throwing a ball for you and Kay—to celebrate your twelfth birthdays together.”

  “A ball in America?” I cried. “For both of us?”

  “If you’d like that.”

  “Oh, would I!”

  Then a new thought crossed my mind. “I have a question,” I said. “If Cousin Gabrielle wasn’t stealing the telegrams and bills . . . then who was?”

  Gabrielle looked surprised. “Me? You thought I was stealing your mother’s private correspondence?”

  I squirmed uncomfortably. “Well . . . for information about the Katherine necklace,” I tried to explain. “And . . . there was a rumor that you . . . had designs on Chatswood Manor.”

  “Why on earth would I want the Chatswood inheritance?” Gabrielle asked incredulously. “After I sold our country estate, I have enough money to last me through two lifetimes!”

  Then she burst out laughing. “But I suppose I can’t blame you for your suspicion,” she continued. “I probably deserved it!”

  “I have one more secret to share with you today, Betsy,” Mum said. “It turns out that Juliette was the culprit.”

  I gasped. “Juliette?”

  “I’m afraid so. A few weeks ago, Maggie caught her prowling about the hallway near my bedroom,” Mum explained. “Of course, there was absolutely no reason for Juliette to be there, so Maggie rightfully brought the matter to my attention and has kept me apprised of Juliette’s behavior ever since.”

  “Is that why Maggie’s been to see you so much?” I asked. “I thought she was trying to get me in trouble!”

  “In trouble for what?” Mum asked, raising an eyebrow.

  I grinned sheepishly. “Well . . . never mind. I guess I owe Maggie an apology. But, Mum, how did you find out that Juliette was stealing the telegrams?”

  “Last night, to my reluctance, I ordered Mr. Embry to conduct a search of the servants’ quarters,” Mum said. “That’s why I couldn’t stay with you at bedtime. And lo and behold, an entire cache of stolen papers was found beneath Juliette’s mattress . . . including the letter that you’d been writing to Kay.”

  “Juliette stole my letter?” I cried. “But why?”

  Mum shrugged. “Who can say? She obviously had an unhealthy preoccupation with the workings of Chatswood Manor. I’d kept a v
ery close eye on Juliette at the start of her employment, you know, especially after what happened with her sister.” Mum paused as she looked over at Gabrielle. “I’m sure you remember your former lady’s maid, Helena.”

  “Do you mean to tell me that your chef is Helena’s sister?” Gabrielle exclaimed. “It’s a wonder she didn’t try to poison me!”

  “Wait,” I said to Mum. “You knew about Juliette’s sister?” Then I turned to Gabrielle. “Helena was your lady’s maid? How come you didn’t see a resemblance when you scolded Juliette?”

  Gabrielle looked baffled. “Scolded Juliette? What are you talking about? I never saw her in my life.”

  Suddenly, I realized that Juliette’s story about Gabrielle’s mistreatment was just one of many untrue things she’d said.

  “Yes, Betsy. Juliette’s sister is the same lady’s maid who almost cost Shannon her position,” Mum told me. “Of course, I had a thorough investigation conducted on Juliette’s background before I hired her. But I didn’t think it was fair to deny her employment for a crime her sister had committed. And over the months, she appeared to be a dependable, trustworthy employee. Now, of course, I think that she was merely biding her time. It wouldn’t surprise me in the least to learn that Juliette was responsible for all those rumors about Chatswood Manor’s supposed financial troubles. I’m sure that’s why she stole your letter, Betsy. She was probably worried that you were about to discover her secret scheme.”

  “I thought Juliette was my friend,” I said, feeling foolish. “What will happen to her now?”

  “She is already gone,” Mum replied. “After the papers were discovered in her room, Juliette confessed everything. I dismissed her on the spot. I wasn’t about to have anyone at Chatswood Manor who might ruin your birthday, Betsy. Though I am sorry that your birthday dinner will feature only plain fare.”

  I started to laugh. “That’s all right,” I told Mum. “I’d already requested roast chicken and buttered peas!”

  “What? No blini?” For a moment, Gabrielle looked disappointed. “Well, if that’s what suits you. Now, tell me, Betsy—which necklace will you keep? The sapphires or the rubies? An agonizing decision, to be sure!”

  I reached behind my neck to unfasten the clasp of the sapphire necklace. Then I placed it beside the ruby one. They were so lovely together, just the way they must’ve looked when Elizabeth and Katherine had received them nearly a hundred years ago.

  But Gabrielle was wrong. It wasn’t a difficult decision to make at all.

  “This is the necklace that my mother wore,” I told Gabrielle as I held up the sapphire pendant. “And my grandmother, my great-grandmother, and my great-great-grandmother. I can’t imagine wearing anything else.”

  And I had the feeling that Cousin Kay would agree when we returned the ruby necklace to her for her twelfth birthday . . . in just a few short weeks!

  Betsy!” I cried, waving my arm wildly in the air. “Betsy! Down here!” Ever since the enormous steamship had pulled into Boston Harbor, I’d been craning my neck in hopes of catching a glimpse of my cousin, Betsy Northrop, and her mother, Beth Etheridge-Northrop. At last, the passengers had begun to disembark—and a good thing, too, because I couldn’t wait another moment to finally meet Betsy and Aunt Beth!

  Mom slipped her arm around my shoulder, pulling me into a hug that made me stop waving. “I can’t wait to see them either, Kay,” she said. “But there’s no way Betsy can hear you—or even see you—all the way down here. We’ll just have to be patient for a little longer. I’m sure she and Beth will walk down the ramp as soon as they can.”

  I smiled sheepishly as I leaned my head on Mom’s shoulder. I knew she was right, of course, and I knew that it really wasn’t proper behavior for me to make such a spectacle of myself, waving and shouting on the docks. But patience had never come easily to me—especially not now of all times, when meeting Cousin Betsy was just moments away!

  Adele Whitby wishes she lived in a grand manor home with hidden rooms and tucked-away nooks and crannies, but instead she lives in the next best thing—a condo in Florida with her husband and their two dogs, Molly and Mack. When she’s not busy writing, you can usually find her reading and relaxing on the beach under a big umbrella. She loves getting lost in a good story, especially one set in a faraway place and time.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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  This Simon Spotlight hardcover edition January 2015

  Copyright © 2015 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. Text by Ellie O’Ryan.

  Illustrations by Jaime Zollars. All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. SIMON SPOTLIGHT and colophon are registered trademarks of Simon & Schuster, Inc.

  Jacket design by Laura Roode. Jacket illustrations by Jaime Zollars. Jacket illustrations copyright © 2015 by Simon & Schuster, Inc. Designed by Laura Roode. The text of this book was set in Adobe Caslon Pro.

  ISBN 978-1-4814-2753-1 (hc)

  ISBN 978-1-4814-2752-4 (pbk)

  ISBN 978-1-4814-2754-8 (eBook)

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number 2014935640