“I’m sorry, who are you?” Aria said, frowning at Maddie. Then her eyes sparked with recognition. “You’re the girl who I saw at the Archive—” She broke off, realizing she shouldn’t say more.
“Aria, how could you?” Mr. Hughes said. “You’re an artist. You know the value of paintings—”
“How could I what?” Aria asked, but her heart didn’t seem to be in her words. She clearly knew she was caught.
She glanced over her shoulder, as though she was looking for somewhere to run.
“I wouldn’t go anywhere, if I were you,” the bobby said.
“How could you steal paintings that belonged to the people of England and sell them for your own gain?” Mr. Hughes pushed.
“Not for my own gain,” Aria said, gesturing around her flat. “Look at this flat. Do I look like I live in luxury?”
“For what, then?”
Aria eyed Maddie, and then sighed, a deep, full-body sigh. Oddly, it didn’t seem to Maddie that Aria was angry about having been caught. In fact, she seemed almost relieved.
“You’ll find all the money in my safe,” Aria said, gesturing to the wall. “I’ve never been able to spend even a penny of it. Couldn’t bear to.”
“If you weren’t stealing the paintings for the money, what then?” Mr. Hughes asked.
“Keep in mind that anything you say may be used against you in court,” the bobby said, clipping handcuffs on Aria. “I arrest you in the Queen’s name as being concerned in the theft and sale of artwork which belongs to the National Gallery.”
THIRTY
As though she hadn’t heard the bobby, Aria pushed on, turning to Mr. Hughes. “Why did it take you so long to figure out what was happening?”
“I . . . It . . .” Taken aback, Mr. Hughes stumbled to find words. “Well, it was Maddie who figured it out, actually, in the end.”
“I just wanted to be seen,” Aria said. “I stole painting after painting, and no one even noticed.”
Mr. Hughes looked completely taken aback by this. “We noticed paintings were being taken, of course! We just didn’t know . . .”
“Do you know what it feels like to be an artist?” Aria demanded, stepping toward Mr. Hughes, even though the bobby had a firm grasp on her hands behind her back. “You spend hours and hours, weeks, months, years even, creating something beautiful. You put your creation out into the world and what happens? Nothing. Not one thing. No one notices. No one cares. Or, if you’re lucky, someone notices but they tear you and your work apart. We’re supposed to feel grateful that an expert paid our work a moment’s attention, someone who has probably never lifted a paintbrush in his whole life. We’re supposed to be grateful for his feedback, even when he stomps our hearts into the ground.”
“But if you’re an artist, you know how priceless a painting can be, how irreplaceable,” Mr. Hughes said.
“A painting is simply an object, one that can be owned, bought, and sold, but we treat some like they matter and others like they’re dirt. Sounds like the way we treat people, doesn’t it?” Aria’s eyes glittered, her face dark with hatred.
“So, this was only about making a point? You stole and sold priceless paintings, and will probably go to jail forever to prove . . . what?”
Aria didn’t answer. Silence filled the room.
“To prove that every person matters,” Maddie said, the words cold and frightening to speak out loud. Cold and frightening because she understood them, heard the same words echoing in her own heart.
“Yes.” Aria slumped back against the police officer, no longer straining against her handcuffs. “Yes, that’s exactly it.”
“Let’s go,” the bobby said to Aria. “Where are your keys? We’ll lock up your flat for now.”
The hatred had already faded from Aria’s face, but now her cheeks went truly pale. She looked around her flat, at all of her unfinished work.
Maddie crossed the room to look at the painting that looked like “Sun-Splattered Afternoon.” “How did you get so much done on this, when you just stole the painting today? And how could you sell it before you were finished?”
“When you don’t finish something, you never know what it can become. It still has all of its potential.” Aria nodded to her keys sitting on a table and the bobby picked them up. “I always work on them quickly like that, just an hour or two to see how far I can get . . .”
Maddie circled slowly, taking in the other canvases. They were all beautiful—unfinished, but still beautiful.
“You stole all of these?” Maddie asked.
“It’s a terrible loss to the National Gallery.” Mr. Hughes shook his head. “To the people of Britain, in fact. We will certainly try to recover them. On that note, how do we handle the money in the safe?” he asked the bobby.
“First, after a thorough investigation, of course, she will have to stand trial. Once she is convicted, the judge will determine to whom the money belongs. But I’m relatively sure the money will be given to the National Gallery to help recoup losses.”
“So, we’re finished here?” Mr. Hughes asked.
“Yes,” the bobby said.
“Let’s go, then, Maddie,” Mr. Hughes said. “You can lead the way.”
Maddie passed Aria, and then stopped to look the young woman directly in her eyes. “If you can paint other people’s paintings like that, I know you could paint your own. They’d be beautiful. I’d want to see them, anyway.”
“There won’t be any painting, I’m afraid,” the bobby said. “Not for quite some time.”
“Someday, then,” Maddie said, and then more urgently, “Don’t forget, no matter what happens.”
They left the flat, down the two flights of stairs and out onto the stone stoop. Once they were outside, the bobby asked Mr. Hughes for his phone number and called to reroute his backup to the station. Then he untied his horse, but didn’t mount. Instead, he walked with Aria on one side, the horse on the other, down toward the main thoroughfare.
“Thank you again for all of your help!” he called.
Maddie and Mr. Hughes waved, and Maddie felt as though she was waving to Aria just as much as to the bobby. As the two turned the corner, Maddie sank down onto the stoop.
“I suppose we should wait here for Miss Twist,” Mr. Hughes said.
“Okay.” Maddie wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them tight. As she laid her cheek on her knees, she realized she was sitting almost exactly as Mary Magdalene sat in the painting in the green room at the National Gallery. Right now, Maddie wouldn’t be able to put her thoughts into words if she tried, but maybe Mary couldn’t have either.
THIRTY-ONE
After pacing up and down the stairs for a few minutes, Mr. Hughes sat next to Maddie. For a long moment, neither spoke. Maddie took her sketchbook out of her bag and started to draw. Aria’s high cheekbones, her shoulder-length hair, long bangs swept across her brow. Her eyes, the way they’d looked when Maddie had told her not to forget to paint—sad and surprised too.
“May I?” Mr. Hughes asked, motioning for the sketchbook. “I’d love to see your drawings.”
Usually, Maddie would never share her art with someone she didn’t know well, but somehow, she didn’t mind showing Mr. Hughes. She passed it over. After he looked at the drawing of Aria, he flipped backward through the pages and studied a few of the other images.
“You’ve got nice control of your lines,” he said. “And your perspective and scale are strong too. How old are you?”
“Ten,” Maddie said.
“Ten.” Mr. Hughes shook his head. “I was about ten when I decided I wanted to be a professional artist when I grew up.”
“You’re an artist too?” Maddie asked, surprised.
“Nope. Not too far along the way, I realized I didn’t have the drive,” Mr. Hughes said. “If I had the choice to draw or to read, I’d read. Or spend time with friends. Instead of becoming an artist myself, I got as close to art as I could without having to make it myself.�
�
“But don’t you ever feel like something’s missing? Like if you made something special, or did something important . . .” Her voice trailed off. She realized she was talking more about herself than about Mr. Hughes.
He handed back her sketchbook. “The way I see it, tending to art is a very important job too. In many ways, I agree with Aria. When people create a piece of art, they put a piece of themselves out into the world in visual form. Each artwork helps us see the world with new perspective—through that artists’s eyes. By tending that artwork, I feel as though I’m telling each of those artists that their work matters. Maybe I’m not able to look them in the eyes to tell them so, but still, we honor each artist by caring for their work faithfully over the years. I suppose what I’m saying is that no matter what part you play, it’s important that you play your part.”
“Aria said it was like putting her heart out into the world and having it stomped on.”
“Not everyone will see the world the way we do,” Mr. Hughes said. “But I’d rather preserve the visions of many, rather than destroy them. Aria was thinking only of herself, of what the world would think—or not think—of her. She wanted people to pay attention to her, personally, and she was willing to do whatever it took to make that happen. But what will become of those paintings, scattered all over the world, in need of tending?”
“Whatever it took . . .” Maddie repeated. “I guess it’s easy to become carried away and forget about right and wrong along the way, when you’re so sure it will turn out right in the end.”
“Such as sneaking out of your hotel on your own? Or chasing criminals across London?” Mr. Hughes asked, his eyes twinkling.
“Yes, such as those things,” Maddie said. “And knocking over a cello.”
“Plus half of the London Guard?”
Maddie raised her hands in innocence. “That was Lulu, not me.”
Mr. Hughes laughed. “Right. Sorry.”
“Honestly, I thought it would feel different to find the thief,” Maddie said. “Aria will be locked up for years now, right? And she won’t be able to paint. And the paintings are still missing . . .”
“But you tended to an artist,” Mr. Hughes said. “You don’t realize it, probably, but you did. Aria wanted to be caught, wanted to stop stealing paintings—I could hear that in every word she said. And you not only helped stop her stealing-spree, you reminded her who she truly is, an artist. That’s not a small gift, Maddie.”
“It feels small.”
“Many times, it’s the small things that add up over time that make the most difference,” Mr. Hughes said. “Ah, Miss Twist!”
He stood to meet Miss Julia, who was hurrying up the block, Mia and Lulu in tow.
“Maddie Glimmer!” Miss Julia said, and then more softly, sweeping Maddie into a hug. “Oh, Maddie, I’m so glad you’re all right.”
Then, holding her at arm’s length so she could look into her eyes, she asked, “What in the world did you think you were doing, wandering all over London on your own? Do you have any idea how far away you are from the hotel?”
“This last bit, the part from Trafalgar Square to here, she was with me,” Mr. Hughes pointed out, trying to be helpful.
“Still!”
“Right,” Mr. Hughes said, nodding. “Still.”
“You snuck out and you didn’t invite me?” Lulu wailed.
“I’m sorry, Lulu,” Maddie said, trying to give her a hug, but Lulu would have none of it.
She went to stand on Miss Julia’s other side and glared.
“Mia?” Maddie said, concerned that her twin hadn’t said anything at all.
Mia eyed Maddie as though she was a stranger.
“We should go,” Miss Julia said. “Thank you for taking care of her, Mr. Hughes.”
As they started walking home, Miss Julia called Mom. “Yes, Gloria, she’s here with us now. No, I don’t think you should leave your concert. Well, if you think . . . Okay. Yes. We’ll see you at home.”
The walk home was quiet and terribly uncomfortable. Mia kept her silence and Lulu pouted. Miss Julia kept her hand firmly on Maddie’s back, which Maddie knew was supposed to be a comfort, but which felt like a warning. What did she think? That Maddie was going to run off right now for no reason? Maddie wanted to tell everyone about catching Aria, but no one seemed to want to know. So much for doing something special. As soon as they reached the hotel, Maddie went to the girls’ room and curled up on the bed, relieved to be away from her sisters and all of their anger. Relief quickly faded as she realized the only thing to do now was to wait for Mom and Dad.
THIRTY-TWO
When the hotel door clicked open, Lulu and Mia’s feet pounded down the hall, both running to tell Mom and Dad what had happened.
“Maddie ran away!” Lulu said. “All the way across London!”
“She thought she could catch that thief,” Mia said. “I told her not to sneak out, and she did it anyway after I fell asleep.”
“And she didn’t even take me!” Lulu wailed.
“Maddie? Maddie? Where are you?” Dad called.
“MADDIE?” Mom shouted.
Maddie looked up as the door to her room swung open.
“Maddie!” Mom strode into the room.
“What happened?” Dad demanded.
“You know better!” Mom said. “How could you sneak out of this hotel, away from Miss Julia, all on your own?”
Maddie curled more tightly into a ball, trying to block out Mom’s anger.
“Oh, sweetheart,” Mom said to Maddie, her voice softening. It was quiet for a moment, and even though Maddie had her eyes squeezed tightly shut, she knew Mom must be patting Dad on the shoulder, the way she sometimes did. “Why don’t you give us a little one-on-one girl time?”
“I’ll be with Mia and Lulu in the living room,” Dad said.
Maddie heard him close the door and then Mom was on the bed, pulling Maddie into her arms. “Okay, so what happened?”
Maddie couldn’t answer, not while every single person in her family was furious with her.
“I shouldn’t have yelled,” Mom said, her voice soft now, and soothing. “I’m sorry, Maddie. I was so scared when I heard you were somewhere out there on your own. I want you to be safe, always. I can’t stand the thought of you being in danger. Let’s start again, okay? Start from the beginning and tell me what happened.”
Maddie took a deep breath. “You really want to know?”
“Yes, I truly do.”
Hugging a pillow tight, Maddie sat with her legs crisscrossed and steeled herself to tell the whole story. She started with the palace, the knocking-over of the guards, the chase, and Mr. Hughes’ office. Then she told Mom about Aria, and the overheard conversation.
“I knew it was wrong not to tell Miss Julia about wanting to go to the Square, but I also knew she wouldn’t let me go. So I tried to convince Mia to sneak out with me. She wouldn’t, and then I felt like I had to go on my own. It was like this boulder that started rolling and it kept picking up speed, faster and faster, until I was doing things that I didn’t even want to do.” Maddie shuddered. “I hated being out on the street alone.”
“I can imagine,” Mom said. “So, after you made it to Trafalgar Square, then what?”
“I saw Aria sell the painting to a man. He had two guards with him. I think that’s when I started to realize how wrong it was for me to try to stop her all by myself. All along, I kept telling myself that maybe God wanted me to follow Aria. After all the clues that led to her, I thought maybe it was my special mission to stop her. But when I saw those guys and realized how serious the situation was, I knew I hadn’t been listening at all. I just wanted to catch the thief on my own.”
Maddie told Mom about running into Mr. Hughes, and about following Aria and catching her in her flat.
“I don’t understand why you took this so personally, Maddie. What was it about the painting that was so important to you?”
“It wasn’t
the painting, really.” Maddie smoothed out the pillow in her lap, trying to find the words to tell Mom as much of the truth as she could. “It was that I saw something wrong had happened, and I wanted to make it right. And I guess I wanted to do something special. I was . . . looking for my glimmer.”
Mom smiled and pulled her close. “And do you think you found it?”
“I think so, maybe. I’m not sure how to put it into words. But I think it has something to do with drawing, with the way I can see into people when I’m drawing. And how that seeing can help me help others. Like the way I hopefully helped Aria.”
Mom nodded. “Maddie, you should never have left. Sneaking out was very wrong. But I understand that you felt like no one was listening to you. And you helped catch the thief, right? I’m proud of you for your very great courage. Even in the middle of mistakes, God brings beauty.”
“That’s nearly what Mr. Hughes said, but he said it in different words,” Maddie said.
“What did Mr. Hughes say?” Mom asked.
“After we caught Aria, she told us why she was stealing paintings—because she wanted to be special and get noticed. She’s an artist, and people weren’t paying attention to her, so she decided to start stealing paintings instead. I realized I was doing a similar thing—not stealing paintings, but acting like rules didn’t matter as long as things turned out the way I wanted them to in the end. After the bobby took Aria away, Mr. Hughes talked about Aria wanting to be caught. She didn’t want to be a thief—she wanted to be an artist. I think for her, the whole situation was a little like an out-of-control boulder too. Her paintings were beautiful and I told her so, and Mr. Hughes said that was a small but important thing to say, that sometimes the small things matter the most.”
“I agree with him,” Mom said. “I’ll bet that Aria will remember what you said, and even while she’s going through this hard time, God can use your words to help her. You showed her what it means to be a Glimmer girl. Even though Aria was stealing, you showed kindness to her.”
London Art Chase Page 11
