by Susan Green
“Lucifer?” It took a few seconds for the penny to drop. “You mean your pet cockatoo?” I couldn’t help giving a little giggle. “Oh, I’m so relieved … Not that Lucifer isn’t very dear to you, I’m sure,” I added hurriedly.
Miss Deane managed a throaty chuckle herself. “The Colonel’s a scamp but not quite a murderer. I’d better tell you the whole story. He’s a gambler. Horses, greyhounds, football games. I believe he’s even bet on cockroaches crawling down a wall. Because of his leg, he can’t get out and he’s … well, he’s used me as his runner.”
“His runner? What does that mean?”
“His betting agent can’t come up to the house or Mrs Enderby-Smarke would find out. So I … well, I go out and meet the agent a little way down the road. We exchange money and betting slips. What I didn’t know was that the Colonel’s been taking money from his wife’s desk and then replacing it from his winnings. The week before last, I had fifty pounds for him. Since Miss Smith left, I’ve been terribly busy and I didn’t have the chance to pass on the money. I hid it in a safe place, in with my stockings. And you know the rest. I have no proof, but – I think it’s Jessie.”
“I think so too.”
“She’s had plenty of opportunities to steal. But I’ve searched her room from top to bottom. I’ve even gone through her clothes while she was taking her bath. The worst of it is, I can’t tell Mrs Enderby-Smarke. Jessie is her prize pupil and I know she’d refuse to believe me. But still, there’s a silver lining right here in this letter.” She gave a comical grin. “Fancy, the Colonel is a fraud. I always knew there was something fishy about him … just wait till I tell him what I know!” Her eyes sparkled. “I shall write to Mr Plush first thing tomorrow, to thank him.”
“Can you tell him something from me?”
“Certainly,” said Miss Deane, taking a small notebook and pencil from her pocket. SP would approve of this lady, I thought.
I began to list the names I could remember from Mrs Enderby-Smarke’s documents.
“Minerva Eudora Smith?” said Miss Deane. “Our Miss Smith? Is Mr Plush investigating her as well?”
“If you think he should, Miss Deane.”
“I certainly do. I can’t find out where she’s gone and I’ve been awfully worried about her. And now, I suppose we had better take this linen back upstairs, and I should get back to the Seniors’ sitting room. Verity? Verity?” She put her hands on my shoulders and shook me slightly. “Are you all right?”
“What? I’m sorry. What were you saying?”
But I hardly heard her reply, for in my mind’s eye I could see the Seniors’ sitting room. My classmates reading, writing letters, sewing. A card game. Sewing baskets. Doilies and blue embroidery silk. And then pages from The Young Ladies’ Treasure Book and Complete Companion came floating through my mind, and I laughed out loud. It was so simple, and so silly. If only I was right …
“Miss Deane,” I said. “After lights out, can you come and get me? I have a theory about where the stolen goods are hidden. And if I’m right, we’ve caught our thief.”
11
PIÈCE DE RÉSISTANCE
Grace Fanshawe’s final chord shimmered from the harp. She stood up and gave an elegant curtsey. In the drawing room, the assembled guests – the Reverend and Mrs Silas McGurk, Mr and Mrs Alphonse Drome and Mr and Mrs Daniel Opie – clapped appreciatively. We girls, pausing a moment from our sewing, added to the applause. The Colonel, who was snoozing in his chair, woke suddenly and said in a loud voice, “Jolly good, eh? Bravo and all that.”
“Perhaps we could have an encore?” said Daniel. Grace hesitated beside the harp, but Mrs Enderby-Smarke wasn’t having any of it.
“You are too kind, Mr Opie,” she said, “but I assure you, the best is yet to come. Thank you, Grace. Go and sit down, dear.” She stood up, beaming. “Now, for the pièce de résistance, our last musical item before supper, we are in for a rare treat. Miss Jessie McGryll will sing some Scottish songs.”
Jessie, dressed in a very smart green dress with a frilled overskirt and a tartan sash, walked over to the piano. Connie quietly slipped onto the piano stool and waited for her.
“And who is our fair accompanist?” inquired the Reverend McGurk.
Mrs Enderby-Smarke, wincing at the sight of Connie’s ugly mustard dress, responded briefly, “Consolata McTavish.” And then got back to her favourite subject. “Jessie – she’s a McGryll of Gryll Grange, you know – has a delightful voice. Mr Albertini, our singing master, says …” She prattled on while Connie began to play the introduction, stopping only when Jessie opened her mouth to sing.
“By yon bonnie banks
And by yon bonnie braes
Where the sun shines bright …”
Miss Deane’s eye met mine, and she gave a little nod. It was time to put our plan into action. I felt surprisingly calm as I got up from my chair.
“Excuse me, Mrs McGurk,” I murmured. “Excuse me, Mr Drome.”
“… on Loch Lomond
Where I and my true love …”
Mrs Enderby-Smarke was looking daggers at me but I ignored her.
“Excuse me, Alice,” I whispered, very politely, when I reached the sofa. Jessie’s sewing basket was beside it on a small carved table. I stretched out my hand towards it.
“That’s Jessie’s,” hissed Alice.
“I know,” I whispered. “But what’s in it is mine.”
“Jessie!” squeaked Alice, desperately.
“By the bonnie, bonnie–”
With a most unmusical squawk, Jessie stopped in the middle of her song. She dropped her sheet music. “Put that down!”
“Verity, what are you doing?” began Mrs Enderby-Smarke, standing up and advancing towards me. Miss Deane made a rapid hand motion. She was telling me to hurry. I grabbed the basket and held it to my chest. Just in time, because Jessie practically flew across the room.
“Give it me, or I’ll–” she snarled, trying to snatch it way from me. But quick as a flash I turned it upside down and tipped her needle case, scissors and embroidery threads out onto the floor.
“No!” cried Jessie. She launched herself at me like a tiger. Too late. When Jessie had sewed the lining back into her basket, she’d used large and rather clumsy stitches. They were so easy to rip apart.
“What? What is this?” gasped Mrs Enderby-Smarke, as five ten-pound notes floated gently to the floor.
“It’s the fifty pounds that was taken from my room,” said Miss Deane.
“Damn and blast,” whispered the Colonel.
“What is going on?” demanded the Reverend McGurk. “Are these some impromptu theatricals?”
“Most peculiar,” the Dromes were saying to each other. “Almost like a brawl.”
Mrs Enderby-Smarke stamped her foot. “What is the meaning of this? Miss Deane, I demand that you tell me at once.”
I jiggled the basket and two other items fell out onto the carpet
“Oh!” Connie cried, scooping up her locket and clutching it to her chest.
“So you stole it, Jessie,” said Laura. “You horrid sneak.”
“You snake in the grass,” added Annabelle.
Grace finished up. “You little beast.”
“It must have been someone else,” said Jessie, desperately. “I swear to you, Mrs Enderby-Smarke, it wasn’t me. Someone else put them there to get me into trouble.” She was clutching at straws, and I was sure Mrs Enderby-Smarke would see through her. “Who knew where to look? Verity did. It must have been Verity.”
Mrs Enderby-Smarke took a deep breath. “Explain yourself, Verity.”
My silver chain, which had been caught up inside the basket, slithered to the floor.
“Are you telling me I stole my own chain, Jessie? Connie’s locket, Laura’s bracelet and the Colonel’s money?”
Jessie burst into tears, but for once Mrs Enderby-Smarke paid no attention. “The Colonel’s money?” She turned first to her husband and then to Miss Dean
e. “I thought you said it was your money.”
“No,” said Miss Deane. “It’s not. And it’s not really the Colonel’s either.”
“Miss Deane.” The Colonel turned red and then white. “Watch what you say, my girl, or else–”
“Or else what?” said Miss Deane. “You’ll kill my pet cocky?”
“What is going on? Reginald, I demand you tell me.”
“I think we must bid you all good evening,” said the Reverend, huffily, taking his wife’s arm and heading for the door. “We seem to have descended into farce. This is not the school for our Amelia. It’s a madhouse.”
“Most peculiar, most odd, most unsuitable,” muttered the Dromes. They made an exit too.
Daniel and Judith sat back on their sofa, enjoying the show.
“Mrs Enderby-Smarke,” said Miss Deane, “the Colonel has been taking money from your drawer in order to fund his gambling habit, and I have been acting as his runner.”
“Miss Deane,” growled the Colonel, warningly.
“You can’t threaten me,” said Miss Deane. “I’ll tell her myself. I’ve been acting as his runner because if I didn’t, he was going to tell you my secret. And my secret is …” Miss Deane blushed, and her voice quivered just a little as she said, “The reference I gave you was a year out of date. I was dismissed from my last situation.”
“I knew it.” Mrs Enderby-Smarke clutched at her chest. “I knew there was something unsavoury about you.”
“My employer treated her servants abominably. She beat her maid. She locked the boot boy in a cupboard. I told her what I thought of her–”
“Just like Dorothea in The Heart of a Heroine,” gasped Laura.
“How brave,” sighed Annabelle.
“–and she said it was none of my business. She slapped my face. So I slapped her back.”
“How daring!”
“How impertinent, how unladylike!” cried Mrs Enderby-Smarke. “Miss Deane, make arrangements to leave at once. You are dismissed.”
“You can’t dismiss me. I quit.”
“Enough of this.” Miss Judith’s voice was calm yet forceful. “Mrs Enderby-Smarke, we are leaving. And we are taking Verity and Connie with us.” She stood up in a dignified manner, swishing the train of her silk evening dress behind her. “Daniel, girls – are you ready?”
“We will send a man for their trunks tomorrow,” said Daniel, putting on his hat. “I believe they are already packed.”
“You can’t … you won’t get away with this. Consolata, I order you to stop. Right now. This very minute!”
“No,” said Connie. She put her arm through Daniel’s. “Not if you paid me.”
“Hello, hello, hello.” An unexpected visitor entered the room. Goodness knows how he got off his chain and into the house, but Lucifer, with his golden crest fully raised, toddled boldly past Mrs Enderby-Smarke and over to his mistress. She picked him up and he flapped onto her shoulder.
“What is the meaning of this?” thundered Mrs Enderby-Smarke. “Miss Deane, put that bird down immediately.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” panted Bridget, entering the room just a few seconds later. “I couldn’t catch him. An’ there’s a gentleman to see you, ma’am.”
SP, wearing a heavy travelling coat, appeared in the doorway.
“Mr Plush,” faltered Mrs Enderby-Smarke.
“I didn’t think you’d make it in time, old boy. Well done,” said Daniel, shaking his hand.
“Please excuse my attire, ladies,” SP said with a bow. “I had no time to change. We have just arrived in Melbourne on the Ballarat train.”
A thin, elderly lady, dressed all in black, appeared from behind him.
“Miss Smith!” Looking as if she might faint, Mrs Enderby-Smarke sat down heavily on the piano stool.
“The more the merrier,” said Daniel, taking his hat off. “Sit down again, Judith. I have a feeling the show’s not over.”
“And also Mr Cropper, who happens to be Mrs Morrison’s lawyer.” Here SP looked directly at Mrs Enderby-Smarke. “Mrs Morrison, as you will no doubt remember, is the owner of Hightop House Academy.”
“Now, see here,” blustered the Colonel. “You can’t come bursting in here, making wild accusations–”
“Yes, I can, Colonel,” said SP. He paused. “Though it would be more correct to call you Mr Enderby-Smarke, wouldn’t it?”
The Colonel went a strange greenish colour. He looked as if he might be sick.
“Oh no,” whispered Mrs Enderby-Smarke.
“Mr Cropper has some questions to ask you, madam.”
Mr Cropper, a tubby little man with a fussy manner, adjusted his spectacles and coughed before he began, “Let me see, let me see …” He took a piece of paper from his breast pocket. “First, there is the matter of forged signatures on various documents and bills of sale. Secondly, there is the embezzlement of funds belonging to Miss Smith from the Teachers’ and Governesses’ Pension Fund. Thirdly, you have fraudulently claimed …” His attention was distracted. “What is the matter with that young lady? Does she need help?”
Jessie lay on the carpet in the middle of the room. She was kicking, banging her fists, and howling. Alice hovered nearby, but Louisa and Jemima, brave at last, deliberately moved to the other side of the room.
“It wasn’t me,” Jessie was bawling. “It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t–”
Mr Cropper decided to ignore her tantrum. “As I was saying, madam, you have fraudulently claimed to be part-owner of this establishment when in fact Mrs Morrison merely authorised you to run it for her. These are very serious matters. Indeed, they are police matters, should Miss Smith and Mrs Morrison wish to lay charges.”
I thought Mrs Enderby-Smarke was going to have an apoplexy. She turned red as a beetroot. Her bosom heaved. Her eyes bulged.
“How dare you question my methods?” she spluttered. “I deny any wrongdoing whatsoever. Absolutely and completely!” She banged her hand on the piano for emphasis. Lucifer, disturbed by the noise, fluttered off Miss Deane’s shoulder and onto SP’s.
The Colonel put his hand on his wife’s arm. “The jig’s up, Betsy old girl. We’d better come clean, don’t you think?”
“I don’t know what you mean, Reginald.” Mrs Enderby-Smarke’s voice rose to a screech. “And if you were any kind of a man, you’d eject this riffraff from our drawing room right this minute!”
“With this leg?” said the Colonel. “You’ve got to be joking, Bet.”
“Go to hell,” said Lucifer, hopping up and down.
“Miss Deane, silence your bird!”
“Go to hell,” said Lucifer. “You’re a–”
“Lucifer!” cried Miss Deane. “Mind your manners.”
“A bloody old battleaxe!”
“Too true, old boy,” said the Colonel. “Battleaxe came in second last, and I’d put two pounds on her. For a cockatoo, you’re a fine judge of horseflesh.”
“What are you talking about? Is it racehorses? Reginald!” she shrieked. And then they were at it hammer and tongs. It was better than a Punch and Judy show.
“Let’s leave them to it,” whispered SP, and the rest of us tiptoed away.
12
A SURPRISING VISITOR
“What a hullabaloo,” exclaimed Judith. She was lying on the sofa with a cup of hot cocoa in her hands. We were back at Alhambra, with Mrs Reilly, Kathleen and Mary-Kate fussing like mother hens over Connie and me.
“More like a melodrama,” said Daniel.
“No, a circus,” said SP.
“The look on Mrs Enderby-Smarke’s face when Lucifer told her what he thought of her – it was priceless,” said SP. “And what about Miss Jessie having a tantrum on the floor?”
“I almost felt sorry for her then,” I said.
“I didn’t,” came a quiet voice.
“I know, Connie,” I said, squeezing her hand. “But it’s over. You won’t have to go back there again. I’m sure when your aunts realise how unhappy y
ou were, they’ll let you go back home to Riverbend.”
“Do you really think so?” Poor girl, she was quite dazed by the events of the evening. But at least she had her locket back. Even though it hung from the new ribbon donated by Grace Fanshawe, she was taking no chances and held it clutched in her hand.
“I’ll make sure of it,” said SP. “Even if I have to take you home myself.”
With a look of adoration on her face, Connie drank the rest of her cocoa and allowed Kathleen to lead her upstairs to bed.
Judith was tired after the evening’s performance, so our coachman drove her and Daniel back to Richmond. SP said he’d walk home, but he lingered for a while, stretched out on the hearthrug in front of the fire.
“That was quite a show you and Miss Deane put on for us tonight, Verity.”
I giggled. “It worked out very well, didn’t it? Thank you for arranging for Judith and Daniel to attend the soiree. Without knowing whether or not you would turn up, it was nice to have reinforcements.”
“It was perfect timing, if I do say so myself,” said SP, modestly. “The arrival of Miss Smith and the lawyer was really a masterstroke. But Verity, won’t you tell me how you discovered Jessie’s hiding place? I thought you’d lost your gift, that you were no longer a teleagtivist.”
I spread my fingers out and looked at them. I didn’t have itchy fingers to thank for my success this time. It was observation, and more than a little bit of intuition.
“The Professor always used to tell me that a person knows far more than they think they know. Some tiny things that you might notice, but think aren’t important, can turn out to be the vital elements that solve a case. Jessie not letting Laura get some blue silk – Jessie and Alice looking for the bracelet in the sewing baskets – Jessie snapping at Louisa when she offered to get her sewing basket out …”
“And the intuition part?”
“I kept thinking about the book Papa gave me. Remember? It’s a horrid thing about knitting and sewing and knotting and–”
“Stop, stop!” laughed SP.
“It was my mind trying to point my attention to the topic of handicrafts. But now you tell me – how did you find out about Mrs Enderby-Smarke?”
