by Julie Berry
“What is the meaning of this outburst?” she demanded. “You wake the whole school in the dead of night, with an invented story about a man in your room, putting the entire staff and student body into an apoplexy of fright, and for what? Some attention-seeking stunt? A cover for some misdeed of yours?”
Poor Alice. She’d had a terrible night. And she wasn’t used to scoldings as I was—or to having her story doubted. Her eyes grew red and filled with tears.
“But we’re not making it up, Miss Salamanca,” she protested. “There really was a man here. I swear it.”
“Well-bred young ladies never swear,” said our kind headmistress.
The bell rang down below, and Miss Plumley, in her housecoat, showed two police officers upstairs. We heard their deep voices and their heavy boots on the stairs. Miss Salamanca went out into the hallway to confer with them.
“Psst! Alice, Maeve. Everything all right?”
We turned to see Tommy’s bright-red hair poking up from his head, which hovered in the window opening.
“I heard the screaming,” he said. “Something about a man?”
All my frustration and anger washed over me once more, like a bucket of cold water dumped over one’s shoulders in a bathtub.
“He got away with the sardine tin, Tommy!” I sank down onto my bed and buried my face in my knees.
“No!” He let out a low whistle.
Out in the hallway we heard Miss Salamanca’s voice. “I assure you, Constables, that there’s no need to investigate.”
“Good,” I whispered. “Old Sally’s getting rid of the bobbies. Here, come on in, Tom, before you freeze to death.” I reached him an arm and pulled him inside.
“Which way did he go?” Tommy said. “Could I catch him, do you think?”
“He’s a big man, Tom. He’d beat you to a pulp.”
Alice darted back to the door in a panic. “Maeve, if they find Tommy in here—”
I looked up to see why she’d stopped talking. There, framed in the doorway like a portrait of three avenging angels, were Miss Salamanca, the tall constable with the mustaches, and the older officer with the spectacles.
“Well, well,” Miss Salamanca said coldly. “It appears I was in error, Miss Alice. It appears there was a male”—she sniffed—“in your room after all.” She pointed an accusing finger at Tom. “Officers! Arrest this intruder!”
Chapter 33
Any friendly warmth, any patient kindness we’d seen in the officers’ eyes before, was gone. The taller policeman thumped his club, over and over, into the thick palm of his hand.
Alice didn’t recognize the policemen, of course, so she ran to them for help.
“Officers,” she said, “this isn’t the man who was in our room. It was a tall man, in a long black coat and a bowler hat, with a ginger beard. He stole something from Maeve!”
It’s impossible not to love Alice, unless you have a heart of stone, and I thought I saw the shorter officer’s frosty expression melt.
“What did he steal, sweetheart?” he asked her.
Alice’s confidence faltered. She looked to me for help.
“A tin of fish,” she said softly.
“A tin of fish,” he repeated, with the air of a man who didn’t hear that story every day.
“A tin of fish.” Miss Salamanca fumed with scorn. “Officers, their tale is preposterous. It’s some vain attempt to divert our attention from the fact that they’ve invited orphan boys into their bedroom.”
The taller officer lifted his cap and scratched his scalp. “A tin of fish?” he echoed. “That’s what that phony baroness had in her special closet.”
The other officer elbowed him in the ribs. “Something fishy going on, I’d say.”
Miss Salamanca didn’t care a fig about fish, nor about jokes. She pointed her lethal gaze at Alice. “I must say, Miss Bromley, it grieves me to see you stoop this low. Maeve’s behavior doesn’t surprise me at all, but you! Such a good family. It just shows you never can tell.” She sniffled tragically. “It also shows me my error in keeping a pupil like this one”—she nodded in my direction—“for as long as I have. She infects my other students with her wickedness.” She dabbed the corners of her eyes with the sleeve of her housecoat. “I hoped I could help her change her ways.”
Balderdash, she did.
“What kind of fish?” the tall officer asked.
Miss Salamanca’s face twitched. “How can that possibly matter?” she cried. “Officers. I will deal with my pupils, and write to their parents, and set things to rights here in my own way. But this boy”—she skewered a knobby finger in Tommy’s direction—“this boy is an intruder. Breaking and entering. Stealing, no doubt, from my school. Harboring wicked intentions regarding these young ladies.”
Tommy’s cheeks bloomed red-hot. It looked like he was ready to explode.
“He’s my friend.” I didn’t care what Miss Salamanca thought anymore, but I needed the police to hear it. “He only came when he heard us screaming about the man in the room. He came to help.”
The officers looked at each other, then at Tommy, then at me.
Miss Salamanca crossed her arms across her chest. “This one’s a troublemaker, Officer,” she told the older policemen, pointing to me. “Whenever there’s mischief in the school, you can bet your life’s savings that this wretched girl is behind it.”
The taller officer nodded. “I’d take that bet.”
“Quiet, Rogers,” the other said. Rogers. So that was his name. “I don’t doubt you’re right, ma’am, but as you say, I’ll leave her in your…” He swallowed hard. “…capable hands. As for you, young man,” he said to Tommy, “twice in one night is twice too many breaking-and-entering incidents for my liking. We’re taking you down to the police bureau with us, lad. You’ve got some lessons to learn, and a night or two in a cell will teach them right quick.” He reached for Tommy’s collar. “We’ll report this to Mission Industrial School first thing in the morning. Come along with you.”
Tommy’s face was blank as he passed by me and out the door, each arm gripped by a police officer. I watched his back disappear around the door to the stairwell, the rip in his jacket still flapping from where Mr. Treazleton’s driver had lashed him with a whip. What happened to boys at the Industrial Home who got into serious trouble? It couldn’t be good. Would they send him off sooner to the cotton mill? Keep him locked up on bread and water until he reached fifteen?
Poor Tom.
He should’ve stolen my djinni the first time he had the chance. Becoming my friend instead of my enemy was the worst decision he’d ever made.
Chapter 34
Miss Salamanca locked me in the coal closet for the night. Of course, she did.
I will say this for her: she knew how to keep punishments interesting and new. After my time in the dungeon-like cellar, I’d come to miss the coal closet.
My body was chilled to the bone. It wasn’t cold enough to die. Just cold enough to wish I would.
There was no place to lie down amid the sharp, brittle pieces of coal. Every breath I took felt like it was belched from a smoking volcano.
My dress was ruined, but what of that? I wouldn’t be returning to this school. Not after last night. It actually made me sad. The leaving, not the dress. How many times had I yearned to quit this dreadful place, only to realize now I would miss it! And Alice especially. Before Alice, I wasn’t sure that I knew how to make friends with other girls.
And Tom. What would happen to Tom?
I wondered what kind of night he’d had. Probably shivering in a prison cell and wishing he’d never introduced himself to “Fast-bowl Franny.”
I don’t know how I passed the night. Dozing, twitching, shivering, nodding off, jolting awake, aching all over. It seemed to last an eternity. But eventually I could hear echoes of noise as the
school, and London, woke to face a new day. Horses’ hooves and wagon wheels and newspaper sellers and delivery boys. How could they go on about their cheerful business when my father was about to be sacked and ruined, and I, expelled in disgrace, and Tommy, most likely sent off to the cotton mill?
There was nothing I could do about any of it.
Time dragged on. The breakfast bell rang, and then the bell for first classes.
Mr. Treazleton had surely come and gone. My father’s doom was rattling toward him over London’s cobbled streets, and he didn’t know it. He thought today was just another day. Poor Father.
All of it was my fault. I hung my head between my knees, grateful that no one could see me now.
Soon someone would come to shovel up coal for the day’s fires. I was surprised they hadn’t come already. Perhaps they still had leftover coal from yesterday, but surely a charwoman would be here before long, bucket in hand. Would they scream at the sight of a girl locked up in the coal cellar? Or would they just laugh?
My whole body clenched into a knot when I heard keys rattling in the lock. It would be Miss Salamanca, no doubt, fresh from a long night of sleep in which to dream up new methods of tormenting me.
But it wasn’t Miss Salamanca.
It was Alice.
“What are you doing here?” I gasped.
She held a finger over her lips. “Quickly. Come with me.”
I followed her, treading softly on the balls of my feet. We slipped up the stairs and through the kitchen. Miss Plumley stood in a starched white apron and cap, kneading dough at a table, and with her, a serving maid I hadn’t seen at the school before.
I froze, and searched for a way to escape, but Miss Plumley winked at me. “Dash off with you, now, Miss Maeve!” She handed me a warm bun wrapped in an old, clean napkin. “Good luck!”
“I’ll be there in two ticks,” said the young woman, in a voice I knew. The servant to Mrs. Gruboil who’d fled from her abuse! The job applicant, looking for Darvill House!
“But… How…” Words failed me. “Why did she just say—”
“Come on,” Alice said, practically dragging me out the door. “I’ll explain everything. But come!”
She pulled me up the back stairs to the dormitory floor, and up another flight to where the servants slept, and led me to a bedroom door.
“This is Miss Plumley’s room,” she explained. “Why, Maeve! Have you been crying?”
In a small mirror hung on the wall, I saw little tracks of clean skin running down from my eyes across my coal-dust-covered cheeks.
She gave me a washcloth and pointed me toward a basin of water, then helped me change quickly into clean clothes.
“Now, listen carefully,” she said. “Mr. Treazleton has already come and gone. You’ll have to hurry after him to stop him. But don’t worry; Sarah will go with you. She’s the woman helping Miss Plumley in the kitchen. We have it all arranged. I’ve given her some money, enough to take you in a cab over to your father’s bank, and you can fix everything.” She buttoned the last button on my coat. “I don’t know how you’ll do it, but I know you’ll come up with a way.”
“But, Alice!” I protested. “How did you get me out? And why are Miss Plumley and…Sarah helping us? And what will happen when Miss Salamanca finds me missing?”
Alice’s smile was sad. “I doubt that matters,” she said. “I think your time here is up already. Pretty much. But, oh, I’ll miss you terribly.” She squeezed my hand. “You were the one thing that made this place bearable.”
I wiped my eyes. “You too, Alice.”
“Let’s be friends always,” she said, “no matter what happens. Let’s write to each other.”
I nodded. “I promise.”
“Now, you’d better get going,” Alice said, nudging me toward the door. “Sarah’s waiting to take you downtown to the bank.”
“But how…?”
Alice shook her head and smiled. “I stayed up all night trying to think what I could do to help fix things,” she said. “Finally, I decided to take a chance on telling Miss Plumley. I thought maybe, now that she knows Sarah’s story, she won’t find ours so impossible.”
I stopped in my tracks. “You told Miss Plumley? About Mermeros?”
She blushed. “Not quite. I told her that you possessed an heirloom of great value that Mrs. Gruboil had stolen from you, and that Mr. Treazleton was trying to steal from you, and that he’s been threatening to have your father fired over it.”
My mouth fell open. “And they believed you?”
Alice smiled. “People tend to believe me, Maeve. I don’t have your reputation for, er, stories. Besides, Sarah could easily believe “Baroness Gabrielle” would steal from a youth. And Miss Plumley has a sister who used to be in service to the Treazletons, until they sacked her for burning some eggs.” She winked. “Miss Plumley was only too eager to help you. She lent me her keys, fetched you clothes, everything.”
I shook my head. “You amaze me, Alice! You’ve worked a miracle.” We tiptoed down the stairs. “But you’ll get in a heap of trouble for skipping class.”
She shrugged. “After facing monsters in Persia and thieves in my bedroom, I’m not too frightened of Miss Salamanca anymore.”
“Bravo, Alice!” I said. “That’s the fighting spirit!”
She laughed. “No, I’m still a great chicken. I didn’t have an ounce of nerve last night. I ought to have summoned Mermeros, but I just couldn’t bring myself to—”
I stopped halfway down the stairs. My heart pounded in my chest. “You ought to have what?”
She clapped a hand over her forehead. “Gracious heavens. Didn’t I tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
She reached into her pocket, looking rather proud of herself, and pulled out a shiny tin of sardines. Sultana’s Exotic Imported. It wiggled in the palm of her hand. I seized it and cradled it in my hands like a kitten.
“But how?” I whispered. “I don’t understand!”
She tried not to show it, but she was awfully pleased with herself. “You saw me tussle with him, didn’t you?”
“Yes, and I could scarcely believe my eyes.”
“Well, I wasn’t trying to stop him. I was trying to get your sardine tin back.” All her modesty couldn’t stop her from smiling. “And I did.”
I hugged her tight. “You’re like a fairy godmother, Alice! You’ve fixed everything!”
She frowned and shook her head. “No, there’s more.” We crept down the stairs and back toward the kitchen, keeping out of sight of any of the servants. She pulled a small object from her pocket. A heavy gold ring. For a terrible moment, it reminded me of the ring of the sorcerer-king.
“This,” she said, “is what I was doing when I went after his fingers. Remember, when he hung from the windowsill?”
I laughed. “How can I forget? I thought you were trying to murder him!”
She rolled her eyes. “I got a glimpse of the ring when I lit my candle, and I thought that the ring would provide a clue to whom he was. I didn’t want to let him leave without taking it.” She held up the ring so I could see it more closely. From the flat golden surface of the ring, a sold letter T arose, surrounded by laurel leaves.
Alice pulled from her pocket the letter I’d received from Mr. Treazleton before Christmas. “See?” she said. “It’s his own private seal. The initial and the laurel leaves are exactly the same.” She looked embarrassed. “I happened upon it in your desk once. When I needed a pencil.”
I took the ring and turned its heavy weight over in my hand. “I don’t understand, though,” I said. “Why would this man have Mr. Treazleton’s ring?”
“He’d have it if he worked for him,” Alice said. “My grandfather has a secretary who handles most of his correspondence. Papa trusts him completely. He has Papa’s seal more of the t
ime than Papa has it himself.”
I slipped the ring into my pocket. “So the ginger-whiskered thief works for Mr. Treazleton,” I said. “I suspected as much. And now we have proof.” I pocketed the letter as well. “I knew he was following me! My family thought I was absolutely cracked, but I knew I was right.”
“Mr. Treazleton’s fingers are fatter,” Alice said, “so this ring slipped right off Mr. Ginger Whiskers’s hand.”
“Did someone say my name?”
We both froze as Theresa Treazleton appeared in the stairwell. She shouldn’t be here! But neither should we, so there was nothing I could say about it.
She pranced over to us with a mocking, smug expression.
“Hello there, Maeve, Alice,” she purred. “Today’s the day, Maeve, dear.”
Alice gave her a withering look. Alice Bromley, as I live and breathe! “The day for what, Theresa?”
Theresa simpered. “The day for me to win and Maeve to lose.” She leaned closer and whispered in my ear. “It’s going to be mine, you know. And do you know the first thing I’ll do to you with my very first wish?”
“Theresa,” Alice said sharply.
“Yes?” She actually batted her eyelashes, the faker.
“Mind your business,” Alice snapped.
Theresa looked as surprised as I did.
“And you’ve got something on your nose.”
Theresa’s hand reached up and rediscovered her pimple. She gasped. Commenting on Theresa’s imperfections, of course, was not allowed. She scowled at Alice in a most unladylike fashion and disappeared down the hall in a huff.
“Alice Bromley,” I told my roommate. “You never cease to surprise me.”
She took a deep, satisfied breath. “I’ve longed to give her a good ticking-off ever since I arrived at this school,” she said, “but up until now, I hadn’t the nerve.”
I laughed. “Watch out, world,” I said. “Alice Bromley is unleashed.”
She laughed. “Oh, go on with you, Maeve. Good luck.”
Sarah, the former maid to “Baroness Gabrielle,” poked her head into the doorway. “Are you ready, Miss Maeve, to accompany me on a little trip downtown?”
