by Julie Berry
He’d slipped below the window ledge, but he found his grip, took a deep breath, and climbed up the last few feet of bricks once more, with me pulling so hard on his muffler that I nearly choked him.
When Tommy was safely deposited on the carpet, I pulled his window shut, and we tiptoed toward the fire. Mrs. Gruboil’s loud snore from the canopied bed in the corner nearly made Tommy jump. It occurred to me that, although he knew we were burgling a woman’s bedroom, it might not have fully dawned on him that that would mean there was a woman in it.
We crouched beside the hearth for a minute or so, thawing our icicle limbs. He stared, aghast, at the large, shadowy, blanket-covered form of Mrs. Gruboil, through the sheer bed-curtains.
“I never knew women snored like men,” he whispered. He looked more horrified than when monsters chased him in Persia. “Our schoolmasters sound like train engines.”
“Not all women sound like that.” I felt a need to defend my half of the world’s sleepers.
When we were warm enough, Tommy stretched before the fire like a sleepy cat, then pointed to a door, dimly lit by the fire, festooned with locks. I nodded to him, and he went to explore the door while I went searching for a ring of keys.
I tried to think. If I was a greedy, grasping, bitter older woman who had found a djinni by robbing a student’s dormitory room, and I’d chosen to live near that girl’s school where, heaven knew, she might well try to come after it, where would I hide the keys I used to keep my precious djinni safe?
I’d keep them on my person at all times. On a key ring. More likely, a chain around my neck. And if I were the size of Mrs. Gruboil, I could hide them in the bosom of my dress, and no one would ever be the wiser.
But I wouldn’t want to sleep with them there. At night, I’d hide them where no one would think to look. A place where, if someone looked, I’d be sure to wake up.
Under the mattress? Under her pillow?
I tiptoed over toward the bed, assessing the difficulty of pulling back the curtains and sliding my hand underneath her pillow without getting caught. A small bedside table with a drawer gave me momentary hope. I ever-so-carefully pulled the drawer open. On a flat ceramic dish sat her false teeth—faugh!—some fingernail clippers, and a used handkerchief, but no keys.
Why couldn’t something be easy, just for once?
I stared at her sleeping form. It was too dark to see much, but Tom, sensing my predicament, added some bright-burning kindling to the fire and it cast a bit more light about the room. It also burned with a loud crackle, and Mrs. Gruboil began to stir in her sleep.
I didn’t move. She rolled over on her side, facing toward me, and the key chain flopped out from the neckline of her nightdress.
There they were, dangling from a bit of silk cord running around her neck.
I reached for the nail clippers from the drawer.
My body cast a shadow over her, so I couldn’t see well. I couldn’t prop my elbows on the bed, or she’d wake up. I had to cut the keys free without her noticing, and without cutting her. I didn’t dare breathe.
They keys lay on the mattress, right in front of her. I tugged them toward me ever so slightly and slipped the lower silk cord between the blades of the nail clippers. One snip, and the cord was cut. Success! But when I pulled the keys away, the cut cord slid around her neck, and she murmured in her sleep.
I waited.
I had to cut the cord again. The top part. Not below the keys, as I’d just done, but above them. And the “baroness” had begun to snore.
My fingers shook. The cord wouldn’t cooperate and stay between the blades. I squeezed the clippers, and they squeaked. I was ready to abandon all, but I managed one more attempt, and the cord fell, cut in two.
I tiptoed slowly over to the closet. I fanned out the keys, six of them, for Tommy, and he pointed to the keys he thought most likely to fit the four locks on the closet door. Each click made our bodies clench with terror. But each click brought us closer and closer to my sardiney djinni.
One lock left. My heart pounded and my breath came fast. We’d done it! We’d found Mermeros! Like a needle in a haystack the size of London, we’d done the impossible and found one vitally important little tin of fish.
The key twisted. The latch clicked. The door swung open.
And out fell an avalanche of metal pots and pans, plates and cups, spoons and forks. The clang and bang and gong of them would’ve woken the dead.
They surely woke Mrs. Gruboil. She sat up, shouting and cursing, and fumbled for a package of safety matches—and her false teeth—and lit a pair of candles. Then she seized a bell and jangled it furiously.
“Help! Thieves!” she screamed. “Intruders in my bedroom! Fetch the police!”
That business done, she shuffled her body out from under her blankets and approached where Tommy and I stood paralyzed. She held the candle up to my face and let out a long, slow chuckle.
“Well, look who’s here.” The gloat of triumph on her face looked like a toad’s, if toads could gloat. “Little Miss Trouble, and she’s brought her no-good friend. Pull up a chair, Miss Maeve. I’ve been expecting you.”
Chapter 31
They arrived in record time, those constables. I suppose if you’re a baroness, or as rich as one, they come when summoned, jolly quick.
I hoped Alice had had the good sense to get far away from this place and in from the cold. As for us criminals, Tommy and I sat on soft chairs by the fire. “Baroness Gabrielle” hadn’t exactly bound and gagged us, but she might as well have done. A butler, a footman, and a housekeeper were at her door within moments of her screaming. Now they surrounded us with their glaring eyes.
But not before I’d seen what I came to see. By the light of a growing collection of candelabra, I saw the prize. Inside that closet, perched like a rare jewel on a cushion of velvet, enthroned upon a small table, was my sardine can. Sultana’s Exotic Sardines, Imported.
I won’t say that I’m particularly clever, but I did receive a little flash of genius. When the servants appeared in the doorway, and Mrs. Gruboil turned from castigating us to go give them their orders, I coughed loudly, to cover the sound, then I dropped her ring of keys into the embers smoldering in her fireplace grate. They sank and disappeared into the red heat like sacrificial maidens disappearing into volcanic lava to appease an angry heathen god.
The closet door was still open.
I made my last move.
“Tommy,” I whispered. “My pocket. Make the switch.”
He didn’t sputter, nor ask stupid questions. A man of action, was our Tommy. He belonged on jungle expeditions, not in Mission Industrial School and Home for Working Boys.
I turned my body somewhat so the others couldn’t see him reach into the pocket sewn into a side seam of my cloak. He pulled out my secret weapon and slid it up his sleeve. Then he stood, watching the adults warily, and stepped toward the pile of pots and dishes, tripping and falling spectacularly on the floor in front of the closet.
“Baroness Gabrielle” Gruboil whipped her head around. “Back in your chair, orphan!”
Tommy extricated his long, lanky limbs from the jumble of cookware. “Yes, ma’am. Apologies, ma’am.” Quick as an eel, he sat back down and slipped something underneath the cushion of my chair.
“Surround them,” barked Mrs. Gruboil. “You, Jackson, and you, Fredericks. Watch them like hawks. Don’t let them move a muscle.”
They favored us with their most intimidating grimaces while we waited for the officers of the law to appear. Appear they did, two of them, looking puffy with fatigue and irked that their snoozing at the police bureau had been interrupted by actual police business.
The older, shorter of the two officers took a probing look at us. “Your intruders are children?”
“That’s right, Officer,” said Baroness Gruboil. “That one there, the
girl, is a bad sort.”
The taller, younger officer with the fat mustaches, rubbed his forehead. “She looks like any other schoolgirl to me.” He turned to me and said gently, “What’s your name, young miss?”
“I’m Maeve Merritt,” I said meekly. “I’m a student at Miss Salamanca’s school.”
“Trust me, Constable,” said Mrs. Gruboil. “I know this one. She’s rotten.”
The elder officer cocked his head. “The report on this property said you’d recently moved to London after years on the Continent and a long visit to America,” he said. “Days ago, in fact, which beats all. So how could you possibly know this girl?”
The baroness coughed. “I mean, I’ve seen her about. In the schoolyard.” She screwed up her nose and mouth. “It’s easy to see she’s the sort that’s always causing mischief.” She gestured to Tommy. “Running about, up to no good with those dirty orphan lads!”
I heard Tommy’s angry inhale, but I leaned my foot against his in warning.
“Officers,” I said, “what the lady says is true. I am, I confess, a troublemaker.”
The mustache twitched, and the older officer’s eyes twinkled behind his spectacles.
“And how is that?” the older officer inquired.
“Well,” I said slowly, “back when this house was abandoned, my mates and I would come here sometimes to play games.”
The older officer leaned over toward me. “That’s trespassing, that is.”
I bowed my head. “I know. It was wrong of me.” I gestured all around me. “But as nobody was living here, and we weren’t damaging anything, I didn’t see any harm in it.”
The younger officer frowned. “You’re not saying you didn’t realize anybody lived here now, are you?”
“No.” I sighed. “It’s just that… Well, it all feels very foolish, now…”
“No doubt,” he interjected.
“…but we resented the fact that this house wasn’t available to us to play in anymore,” I said. “So, I challenged my friend Tom to a dare. We would see if we could get into the house, and get out again, without getting caught.”
“Don’t believe this one,” snarled Mrs. Gruboil. “Listen to her, officers! She’s a liar, bold as you please!”
The older officer turned to her. “What did you say your name was, your, er, ladyship? Your full and legal name?”
Mrs. Gruboil drew herself up tall and indignant. “What is that supposed to mean? What has my name to do with anything?” She held her nose high. “Who are you to question me?”
The younger officer swelled with official pride, ready to tell Mrs. Gruboil exactly who they were to question her. I interrupted him.
“Please, officers,” I said. “We’re very sorry. We’ll be in ever so much trouble if the school finds out about me, and Mission Industrial School finds out about Tom.”
The older officer folded his arms across his chest. “I should think you would be.”
I thought of Aunt Vera’s dog and tried to give my best pleading puppy eyes to the older officer. “Please, Officer. May we go home? We promise we’ll never, ever disturb this fine lady again.” I turned to Mrs. Gruboil. “Please forgive us, madam. It was a stupid prank, and it was very wicked of me to suggest it.” I gestured to Tom. “Tom tried to talk me out of it, but I called him a chicken if he didn’t do it.”
A sudden fit of coughing seemed to seize both officers at once.
Mrs. Gruboil’s red face contorted with rage. “You cunning little fox, you won’t get away with this so easily!”
“Now, madam,” the older officer said soothingly. “Has anything been stolen?”
Mrs. Gruboil huffed as she stormed around the room. She made a show of checking every cupboard and jewelry box. Then she marched over to the closet and looked inside. She let out a slow, relieved breath.
“It appears not,” she told the officers. Then her face hardened. “They opened this locked closet of mine!”
The tall officer leaned over to peer inside it. “The closet where you keep nothing but a can of sardines?”
A few of the other servants, clustered near the door, tittered.
“What I keep in my closets is my own affair,” Mrs. Gruboil snapped.
“Come along, you two,” the taller officer said to us. “Turn out your pockets for us, and don’t give us any trouble.”
We each pulled out the linings of our pockets. What few belongings Tommy carried so obviously belonged to a grubby boy that nobody questioned them.
Good thing I’d gotten rid of those keys.
“There,” said the older officer. “I think we’ll just return these two young people to their proper homes. We’ll show ourselves out.”
Mrs. Gruboil’s brows lowered. She leaned over me to whisper in my ear. “I’m watching you,” she said in a low voice. “If you ever bother me again, you’ll wish you hadn’t.”
I gathered up my mittens and my muffler, straightened my chair cushions, and untangled my cloak from its carved armrests. Tommy followed my lead and let the police officers shepherd us out the door.
“I hope we’ve learned a lesson tonight,” the tall officer said. “This sort of business leads to very unhappy ends. You’d both best say your prayers, and change your ways, and leave this foolish behavior behind you.”
“We will, Officer,” Tom said.
“Good show.” The senior officer proffered a hand for each of us to shake in turn. “Off to bed with you, and think twice before doing something like this again. Next time, I’ll warn you, we won’t be so soft on naughty behavior.”
“There won’t be a next time, Officer,” I vowed.
“See to it,” he said. “I suppose you two miscreants know how to let yourselves back indoors without getting caught?”
Tommy grinned, winked at me, and melted into the night, heading toward Mission Industrial School and Home for Working Boys. I turned heel and headed for the back entrance to the school that I’d left unlocked.
I found Alice there waiting for me, pale as a ghost with worry.
“Thank the Lord you’re all right, Maeve!” she whispered. “When I saw all those lights go on, and heard all the screaming, I was afraid Mrs. Gruboil would summon Mermeros and have him chop you to bits! Feed you to sharks, even!”
I gave her a hug, and we headed upstairs. “No such luck for the sharks,” I whispered, “though Mermeros would’ve loved that. Now, hush, if you don’t want us getting caught.”
“No djinni is worth all this risk,” she whispered as we made our stealthy way up the stairs. “I say we abandon this nonsense immediately.”
I pulled open the door to our room and quietly, we slipped inside.
“I mean it, Maeve,” Alice insisted. “This djinni business has got to stop. I’m through.”
I pulled Mermeros’s squiggling sardine can out of my cloak pocket. “You want to miss out on all the fun?”
Chapter 32
“You got it back!” Alice cried softly. “You’re a wonder. How ever did you find it? And how did you manage to smuggle it out right under their noses?”
“An excellent question,” said a man’s voice. “Alas, there’s no time for an answer.”
And before I could make a peep or swing my fists, iron fingers pried the sardine tin from my hands.
“Help!” Alice screamed. “Intruder! There’s a man in our room!”
I sprang toward the dark figure, my fists flailing. I grabbed at handfuls of hair and punched a back in what I hoped were the fiend’s kidneys.
“Give that back, you villain!” I yelled.
Alice kept on screaming, but managed to strike a safety match and light a candle.
He was the man with the ginger whiskers!
His dark eyes took us both in murderously before he darted for the window and wrestled with the lock. I tac
kled him afresh and tore at his coat pockets, but he shoved me aside roughly. I’d felt the flat weight of the tin swinging in his coat pocket, though. I dove for the pockets again, but he boxed my ears. His heavy ring probably left a mark on the side of my face.
Alice rushed to my side and pushed hard at the man. They scuffled back and forth. I think he was so surprised to be attacked by a pink-cheeked, blond-haired cherub that he wasn’t sure how to strike back. He’d had no problem shoving me. But Alice was relentless. My corruption of her was complete.
He darted toward the door, but I managed to trip him so that he stumbled. Voices and footsteps running toward the door made him pause, and he darted back toward the window and pried up the sash. He looked down the drainpipe toward the ground, far below, hesitated, then swung himself out the window, hanging from the ledge. Alice rushed over and pounded and pried on the man’s fingers.
“Alice!” I cried. “Are you trying to kill him?”
“Kill whom?” demanded Miss Salamanca, bursting through the door. “What’s all this screaming about a man in the room?”
“Here, at the window.” Alice panted and pointed. “He was in our room!”
Miss Salamanca went to the window and looked down. “I don’t see anybody.”
Alice and I ran to the window to see for ourselves. I pointed down below. “Don’t you see that shadow, Miss Salamanca?” I said. “That’s him, getting away!”
“How could he have gotten away so quickly, Maeve?” Alice asked.
I wondered the same thing myself. “Slid down the pole, I expect.”
“Or never was there in the first place,” Miss Salamanca said darkly.
More teachers came pouring into the room, wrapped in blankets over their nightdresses. Curious girls followed them in droves. Miss Salamanca shooed everyone back out the door. When it was just the three of us, Miss Salamanca glowered and took a deep breath, priming herself to deliver a fatal verbal blow. She looked, if it was possible, even more gaunt and forbidding in her long nightdress, robe, and cap.
