The Mystery of the Jewelled Moth

by Katherine Woodfine

  With them were Veronica’s fellow debutantes: first of all Phyllis, Lady Alice’s eldest daughter and the Countess’s granddaughter. She had yellow hair and smiled a lot. Veronica thought contemptuously that she had probably never said two interesting words together in her life – though of course, Lady Alice and Isabel had decided between themselves that she and Phyllis were the very best and dearest of friends. Then there was Miss Emily Montague. Emily’s family lived next door to Lady Alice’s London residence, and Emily had been to finishing school with Phyllis, though the two of them were quite different. Where Phyllis was gentle and placid, Emily was quick and shrewd and sharp. At that very moment, Emily was staring around the restaurant, looking quite as bored by the conversation as Veronica was herself. She looked distracted and out of sorts, though Veronica suspected she was probably just sulking because she hadn’t yet managed to attract the attentions of any eligible beau.

  ‘So, my dears, how are you enjoying your first Season?’ the Countess asked suddenly, smiling indulgently at the three young ladies.

  Lady Alice answered for them. ‘They’re having a simply delightful time!’ she bubbled. ‘There have been so many lovely parties for them to enjoy.’

  ‘Well of course, Lady Fitzmaurice’s ball is always quite an occasion,’ said the Countess, nodding in agreement. ‘Dear Sylvia is such a wonderful hostess. And Beaucastle’s garden party too – his grounds are quite spectacular.’

  ‘Then there is the York House ball tonight,’ went on Lady Alice. ‘Phyllis has a divine new dress for it, don’t you darling?’

  Isabel had just noticed Veronica’s plate. ‘Veronica!’ she exclaimed, sharply. ‘You’ve hardly touched your luncheon!’

  ‘Is there something wrong with it?’ demanded the Countess, swivelling her flinty gaze back in Veronica’s direction, and peering through her eyeglass suspiciously at the fish.

  ‘No – nothing,’ said Veronica. ‘I’m not very hungry today, that’s all.’

  ‘She obviously has a modest appetite,’ said the Countess, staring at Veronica. Her eyes were like dark grey pebbles. ‘Well, a ladylike appetite can be an excellent thing, just as long as you keep your strength up. The Season can be exhausting, you know, especially for the more delicate young girls.’ She turned to Isabel. ‘Is she delicate? She looks rather . . . peaky.’

  They all peered at her over the table: the Countess critical, Lady Alice concerned, Emily smirking with amusement and Isabel just annoyed. Veronica burned with indignation under their gaze, whilst beside her, Phyllis continued eating her stuffed grouse quite cheerfully, apparently not noticing that anything was wrong.

  ‘She’s probably just excited about the dance tonight,’ said Lady Alice, kindly. ‘I remember how excited I used to be before a ball. Why, I could never eat a thing at supper! Perhaps she’d be better off with something sweet – an ice, perhaps? You love your sweets, don’t you Phyllis?’

  ‘Yes, Mama,’ lisped Phyllis happily.

  The Countess glanced at Phyllis for a moment, her lips pursed, looking rather displeased, then turned back to pin her steely gaze upon Veronica. ‘Well, from what I hear, she has rather good reasons for being excited,’ she said archly, addressing Isabel and Lady Alice, although her eyes remained fixed on Veronica. ‘I understand that Beaucastle has been paying her attentions,’ she went on in a suspicious tone, rather as if she suspected Veronica of having somehow tricked him into it.

  Isabel was positively delighted by this change of subject. She jumped in at once: ‘Yes, Veronica is a dreadfully lucky girl. Lord Beaucastle has been so very attentive and kind.’

  Veronica couldn’t help feeling pleased to see that both the Countess and Lady Alice were looking rather peeved. She suspected that they were disappointed that Lord Beaucastle – who was, after all, one of London’s most eligible bachelors – had chosen to pay attention to her over their dear little Phyllis.

  ‘He gave her the most wonderful gift, you know, to mark her presentation at court,’ Isabel was saying blithely.

  ‘The jewelled moth – yes, I heard about it,’ said the Countess, rather shortly. ‘A very special piece, I understand. Not at all the sort of present one would give to a young girl. I would have thought a nice pearl string more suitable.’

  ‘Papa gave me a pearl necklace for my debut, didn’t he Mama?’ said Phyllis, with a smile. Everyone ignored her.

  ‘I must say, I was surprised that he would give away a treasure like that. I hope you’re taking very good care of it, my dear,’ the Countess snapped out to Veronica.

  Her words were like a gush of cold water. Veronica reeled for a moment. Surely the Countess could not possibly know the truth about what had happened to the jewelled moth? The Countess was still talking, and Veronica realised gradually that her comment had no special significance. But the ice-cold feeling still lingered and there was a rushing in her ears that seemed to drown out everything else being said.

  The truth was that Veronica had disliked the moth brooch on sight. It was so big and heavy: it had quite spoilt the look of her white satin court dress, and had torn an ugly hole in the beautiful rose-coloured gown she had worn to Lady Fitzmaurice’s ball. She knew the brooch was expensive and fashionable, and had been made especially for her by the most elegant London jewellers, and that was all very well – but she did think there was something a bit creepy about it.

  Of course, she had been terribly proud when Lord Beaucastle had given it to her. It meant he wanted to marry her, and it went without saying that she was pleased about that. After all, he was rich, titled and a society favourite – everyone knew him and liked him. It was a tremendous compliment to have been singled out by a man like him! None of the other girls in her ‘set’ was even close to a proposal, and here she was, with one of society’s most eligible gentlemen showering her with attention. She knew that the others were all terribly envious of her. Why even now she could see Emily watching her with the oddest expression; and the other girls were forever making snide remarks that smacked of jealousy.

  And yet . . . it had all happened so quickly. She had barely been out in society for a month! One minute Lord Beaucastle had been just a friend of her father’s – rather old, though awfully nice, of course – and the next he had been sending her bouquets of hothouse flowers, taking her into supper at balls, and then presenting her with this extravagant gift. Although she had dreamed about finding a husband during her first Season – that was what all the girls hoped for; no one wanted to be left on the shelf until next year – she had imagined it happening so differently: meeting a handsome young man in a ballroom, drinking champagne on a moonlit balcony, falling head over heels in love and then having a triumphant wedding, all ivory lace and orange blossom, and living happily ever after. Lord Beaucastle was perfectly pleasant, and certainly very generous – but she was not in love with him. The thought of it made her squirm.

  Perhaps that was why she hadn’t wanted to wear the brooch at Lord Beaucastle’s garden party. Isabel had been nagging her about taking care of it, but instead of doing what she was told, she had left it inside the house, pinned to her silk shawl. Now, she cursed herself for being so reckless. For when she had come back in from the garden, the shawl was lying exactly where she had left it – but the jewelled moth had vanished.

  She dared not tell anyone what had happened. She couldn’t tell Isabel – she would be simply furious if she knew that Veronica had left Lord Beaucastle’s valuable gift so carelessly unattended – and the other girls would be sure to crow over her if they knew. She could all too clearly imagine the cutting little jibes that Emily would make. She had known that she must find a way to get the brooch back – and quickly. If she lost the gift that Lord Beaucastle had given her, he might be so offended that she would lose her chance at an offer of marriage from him. He would probably never speak to her again! Everyone would know about it, and she would be utterly shamed.

  Her coming-out ball was due to take place in less than a fortnight. Lord Bea
ucastle had offered to host it at his own splendid mansion, and everyone was whispering that he was going to propose. They would all expect to see her wearing the jewelled moth. She simply had to get it back!

  ‘But I’ve always said, Beaucastle knows his own mind,’ the Countess was saying, her voice suddenly loud again in Veronica’s ears. ‘We all thought he was quite set on bachelor life, but evidently that is not the case. I must say, though, I’m surprised to see him paying his addresses to a debutante. Why, he must be twice her age!’

  ‘Well, those matches can work, you know,’ said Isabel, hastily, turning rather pink.

  Veronica’s father was almost twice Isabel’s age, come to that, Veronica thought.

  The Countess waved her hand, as if swatting Isabel’s words away. ‘Oh, I quite understand. There could scarcely be a finer suitor. Why, the man has everything: a title, a fine income, that beautiful estate. And such a distinguished military record! He joined the army when he was a very young man, you know,’ she added in a conspiratorial tone. ‘He never did see eye to eye with his father – a nasty, cantankerous old fellow, if you ask me.’ She paused for a moment, as if daring the others to disagree with her, but of course, no one did.

  ‘Was he really?’ fluttered Lady Alice.

  ‘He was indeed,’ confirmed the Countess. ‘But the army was the making of Beaucastle –’

  Isabel interrupted suddenly, changing the subject. ‘Look – over there! Isn’t that Edward Sinclair?’

  They all turned to look, even the Countess. The owner of Sinclair’s department store was something of a celebrity, even amongst London’s society set. Beautifully dressed, with his signature orchid in his buttonhole, he bowed to a distinguished customer, and then went to talk to the Head Waiter.

  ‘He’s rather handsome, isn’t he?’ said Isabel, looking over at him with interest.

  ‘Hmmm,’ said the Countess, peering through her eyeglass. ‘Too showy, if you ask me. These Americans always are. And he’s new money of course.’

  Veronica saw that Isabel’s cheeks were going pink again. No one could be more ‘new money’ than Charles Whiteley, Isabel’s husband and Veronica’s father. He might now live in Mayfair and dine with the city’s most eminent families, but London society would never quite forget that he was not an aristocrat. He was an industrialist: the wealthy owner of several very lucrative mines in South Africa. Isabel, on the other hand, was from real society stock, which was exactly why Veronica’s father had married her, after Veronica’s mother died. That, and because he liked having a beautiful, expensively dressed young wife on his arm. And Isabel had married him for his wealth, and for as much shopping at Sinclair’s as even she could ever desire, thought Veronica with a shudder.

  ‘They say he’s quite the ladies’ man,’ Lady Alice was commenting, still watching Mr Sinclair. ‘Why, Mrs Balfour told me . . .’ She leaned forwards, and began murmuring something under her breath, whilst Phyllis craned around curiously, and even Emily looked over at Sinclair with interest. But Veronica didn’t even bother to glance in his direction. What did she care for some ridiculous American shopkeeper? She was simply grateful for the distraction, which allowed the waiter to take her plate away without anyone noticing that she hadn’t taken a single bite more.

  PART II

  Excursions and Amusements

  There is no more pleasant entertainment than an excursion out of town. The absence of all ceremony and formality is certain to be conducive to a delightful gaiety of spirit. Yet whilst relishing the novelty and freedom of an excursion, a young lady in society must at all times guard against rowdiness and unseemly behaviour, just as she might in the confines of the most fashionable drawing room.

  Lady Diana DeVere’s Etiquette for Debutantes: a Guide to the Manners, Mores and Morals of Good Society, Chapter 17: Excursions & Amusements – On Picnics – On Field Sports – Boating – Cycling – On the Conveyance of Guests and of Provisions – Things Not to be Forgotten – Tea

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘A jewelled moth ?’ said Billy in surprise. ‘That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?’

  ‘Actually, it’s jolly fashionable,’ Lil informed him. ‘It’s quite the thing these days to have a brooch in the shape of a beetle, or a necklace in the shape of a dragonfly, or something like that. Heaps of the ladies who come to Sinclair’s have them.’

  Billy screwed up his face, as if to convey that the peculiarities of fashion were quite beyond him.

  It was the end of another long day at Sinclair’s, and the four of them had strolled down to the river, where they stood enjoying the evening sunshine.

  Joe was a little apart from the others, leaning against the railing, watching the boats surging up and down the river: colourful strings of pleasure boats, a big sailing ship cruising slowly between them and little dinghies bobbing in its wake. It was hard to believe that this was the same river that flowed through the East End. There was perhaps something of the same smell of tar and salt and smoke, but otherwise, it was a different creature altogether, peaceable and pleasant. Here, a man in a striped jacket passed by with two Dalmatians on leads, and a young couple strolled by, arm-in-arm, eating ices. Not far away from them, a lady was sitting on a folding stool, painting the view across the river in watercolours; and beyond her, a Punch and Judy man had set up a striped tent, and was performing a show for a circle of enraptured young spectators. There was a festive mood in the air. Joe could smell warm caramel, and hear a trickle of music blown across on the breeze from one of the passing pleasure boats.

  This was his London now. The East End had fallen off his map of the city, as remote to him as Timbuktu. He would never go back there – Whitechapel Road and Spitalfields Market, Shadwell and Limehouse, the East India Docks – they could have simply vanished into thin air. He grinned to himself, only half-listening to Sophie and Lil as they talked over all the interesting details of their meeting with Miss Veronica Whiteley, quietly marvelling at the fact that a fellow like him could have such luck.

  Billy, on the other hand, was taking the whole matter very seriously indeed, in spite of what he had said about being too busy to help them much with their investigations. He had brought an exercise book and a pencil with him, and was scribbling notes busily as Sophie and Lil talked. Miss Atwood always said it was jolly important to write everything down, he had informed them all, in an earnest voice.

  ‘Besides, if we’re doing this properly, then we’ll need real case notes, like proper detectives,’ he explained gravely. Billy considered himself to be quite the authority on what real detectives did. He had, after all, read practically every story about schoolboy detective Montgomery Baxter that had ever been written.

  ‘We are proper detectives,’ said Lil, who had grown bored of all the note-taking, and had stepped up on to the bottom rung of the railing to look out over the water, shading her eyes with her hand in the manner of a ship’s lookout. ‘We’ve been hired to solve a case – I think that makes us as proper as anyone.’

  Billy looked doubtful, but went on scribbling. ‘Tell me more about the brooch,’ he said to Sophie. ‘What does it actually look like?’

  ‘It’s decorated with emeralds and sapphires and chips of opal on the wings. The moth’s body is made of a single large diamond. Miss Whiteley called it the Moonbeam Diamond – apparently it’s a famous jewel,’ Sophie explained. ‘The brooch was made especially for Miss Whiteley by Thackeray’s, the jewellers. I think it must be worth an awful lot of money.’

  ‘Right,’ said Billy, writing all this down at a rate of knots. ‘So – the brooch was given to Miss Whiteley by a gentleman named Lord Beaucastle. It was stolen at a garden party at Lord Beaucastle’s house last week. She left it pinned on a shawl inside the house when she went out into the garden, and when she came back it had gone,’ he summarised quickly, glancing down at his notes. ‘She didn’t tell the police because she wants us to get it back for her without anyone knowing that it was taken in the first place. If they find out, she th
inks she’ll be blamed for being careless.’

  ‘She thinks it will put this Lord Beaucastle off her, more like,’ added Lil, with a snort.

  ‘But here’s a thought – how does she know for sure that it was stolen?’ suggested Billy. ‘Maybe it just fell off the shawl and got lost.’

  ‘I wondered that too,’ said Sophie. ‘But I don’t think it’s likely. Miss Whiteley said the clasp was stiff and strong – it was difficult to unfasten. And judging by what she told us, Lord Beaucastle lives in a very grand style. He has a beautiful manor house out by the river. He’s probably got dozens of servants: if it had simply fallen off her shawl, it’s more than likely that one of them would have found it by now.’

  ‘So chances are someone nicked it,’ suggested Joe, finding himself increasingly drawn in by the conversation. ‘Probably they just saw an opportunity and grabbed it for the chance of making a few bob.’

  ‘There weren’t many people who had that chance,’ Sophie went on. ‘From what she says, there were only half a dozen other people who went in and out of the room where the shawl was left during the party.’

  ‘Who were they?’ asked Billy eagerly, poised to write them down.

  ‘Apart from Miss Whiteley herself, some of the other debutantes,’ Lil explained. She frowned as she tried to remember them. ‘Mary Chesterfield, Emily Montague, and the Honourable Phyllis thingummy-bob.’