The Mystery of the Jewelled Moth

by Katherine Woodfine

  ‘We should cover her up,’ she found herself saying, in a voice that didn’t sound like her own.

  Lil took a cloth off one of the tables that had been set out on the grass. Together, she and Sophie knelt down beside the girl, and rather awkwardly spread it over her body.

  Whether it was better or worse when she was covered, Sophie wasn’t sure. Now she looked simply ghoulish, a blank white shape on the ground. She found herself tucking the cloth more carefully around the girl’s form, as if she were trying to make her more comfortable somehow – a silly sort of thing to do, but she couldn’t help it – and then something made her stop.

  ‘I think I’m going to be sick –’ said Billy suddenly.

  But Sophie wasn’t listening. She had seen something gleaming on the ground: bending down, she realised that the girl was holding a small silk purse, the drawstrings wrapped several times around her wrist, as though she had taken special care to secure them. The drawstring had come open, and something glittering had slipped a little way out. Sophie bent down to pick it up: it was almost as big as her own hand, a strange, spiky shape that felt very cold against her skin.

  Behind her, she could hear Billy making horrid retching sounds, and Lil trying to say comforting things to him, but still she did not move. She was staring down at the object in her palm: a lacework of silver and enamel, dotted with rows of tiny emeralds and sapphires and chips of gleaming opals. At its centre was a single large stone: as the light played over it, it gleamed cold, silver-white as the moon, even in the bright sunshine. She had never seen anything so odd and beautiful in her life.

  ‘We’ve found it . . .’ she whispered, half to herself.

  ‘It can’t be!’ said Joe hoarsely from behind her.

  She whirled round to face him and held it out. ‘Look!’ she said, her voice quaking with astonishment. ‘It’s the jewelled moth.’

  PART III

  The Proper Paying of Calls

  Young ladies making their first appearances in society must understand the importance of visiting. The ceremony of paying calls remains the basis upon which that great structure, society, rests. Following the proper etiquette is of paramount importance, whether one is paying calls congratulatory, calls of condolence, or calls of courtesy. The hours for calling are between three and six o’clock p.m., and on no account should a call be paid before luncheon, unless calling on a very particular friend.

  Lady Diana DeVere’s Etiquette for Debutantes: a Guide to the Manners, Mores and Morals of Good Society, Chapter 4: The Proper Paying of Calls – Occasions when Calls should be Paid – The Card Case and its Contents – Lengths of Visits – The Proper Conduct when Staying in a Friend’s House – A Brief Word on Servants

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Billy felt ill at ease as he sat in the office on Monday morning, trying hard to concentrate on the letters that Miss Atwood had given him to type. All around him was the usual bustling activity of Mr Sinclair’s office – telephones ringing, typewriter keys clacking, clerks hurrying to and fro – but after the events of the day before, he found himself feeling peculiarly detached from everything around him. It was most likely because he was tired, he told himself stoutly, frowning at the letters. After all, he had slept very badly the night before, troubled in the early hours of the morning by horrible dreams.

  In the dreams – or rather, the nightmares – the drowned body of the girl from the river had come to life, her limbs swollen, her hair dark and tangled and her skin glowing, eerily pale. Her eyelids flickered open; water ran off her in long streams. She had moved, swaying, towards him, her arms outstretched. Her mouth opened as if she was trying to say something, but her voice was only a hoarse, unintelligible croak – as if the river had stolen away her ability to speak.

  He shook his head, trying to shake away the horrible memory. It still felt so very real, even here in the office, with the bright morning light streaming through the window. Of course, it didn’t help that right behind him, two clerks were talking in low voices, sharing all manner of lurid speculations about what might have happened to the girl. There was a great deal of wild gossip buzzing around the store about the incident that had so dramatically disrupted the staff excursion, but Billy did not want to hear any of it. He leaned over his desk, trying to fix his attention on the typewriter keys.

  But just at that moment, the office door opened. ‘This way, please, constable,’ came Miss Atwood’s crisp tones from behind him, matching the brisk clip of her boots. ‘Mr Sinclair is occupied at present. I’ll show you into Mr Betteredge’s office. He is the store manager here, and will be able to help you with anything you need. ’

  Billy looked up curiously to see a tall, uniformed policeman accompanying Miss Atwood.

  ‘What d’you suppose that’s all about?’ whispered one of the clerks behind him. ‘Reckon it’s to do with what happened yesterday?’

  ‘Search me,’ muttered his chum, craning his neck to see what was happening, even as the door of Mr Betteredge’s office closed behind the policeman.

  Miss Atwood saw them all looking and pursed her lips in disapproval. ‘Back to work, please,’ she instructed. ‘Parker, fetch some tea for Mr Betteredge.’

  Billy got up at once, and hurried for a tea tray – he had long ago learned that Miss Atwood did not like to be kept waiting. As he returned, balancing the tea tray carefully, he heard voices coming from the other side of Mr Betteredge’s door.

  ‘A terrible business, really, most distressing.’ Betteredge sounded grave.

  ‘It was indeed, sir. We were grateful for the prompt actions of your staff. I only hope the ladies were not too upset by the incident.’

  ‘And have you been able to identify the body of the poor young woman?’

  In spite of himself, Billy found himself listening with interest.

  ‘We have, sir, this very morning. It’s an extraordinary thing. I’m sure you’ll understand that it’s not so uncommon to come upon a body in the river, most of ’em poor unfortunates that have come to a bad end. It’s an easy way to dispose of a corpse, you know, sir, if you’ll pardon my being blunt. But a lady of quality, well that’s quite another matter. That’s not something that happens every day, I can tell you.’

  ‘Do hurry up please, Parker. That tea will be stone cold if you will insist on dawdling,’ rapped out Miss Atwood from her desk across the room.

  Billy hurriedly slipped through the door and into the office with the tea tray, just as Mr Betteredge said: ‘A lady of quality, you say? Why, who was she, constable?’

  What the policeman said next almost made Billy drop the tray – teapot, sugar bowl and all. ‘A young lady from a fine society family, sir,’ he said. ‘Her name was Emily Montague.’

  Sophie and Lil hurried up the steps of the Whiteleys’ town house.

  ‘Do you think we ought to have written first?’ asked Sophie anxiously as they rang the bell. ‘Or sent a telegram, perhaps?’

  She was feeling peculiarly apprehensive. Like Billy, she had slept badly the night before, jerking awake from confused dreams in the darkness of the lodging-house bedroom, her heart racing, very aware that the jewelled moth lay only a few feet away on her chest of drawers.

  It had been a split-second decision to take it. She had only had a few moments before the police arrived: if they saw it, she knew that they would claim it, and it would be gone for good. All right, she had reasoned, it would make its way back to Miss Whiteley in time, for it was bound to be recognised – but then its loss would not remain a secret, and all kinds of questions would be asked. More pragmatically, Joe had pointed out that if the police took it, they would certainly lose their chance of earning Miss Whiteley’s fee.

  But the real reason that Sophie had taken the moth had nothing to do with Miss Whiteley or with money. She had been struck by a sudden and not entirely rational feeling that she must protect the drowned girl – even if she was the thief. It had been so dreadful to see her waterlogged body dragged from the river. Someho
w, Sophie felt that she could not let her be condemned as a criminal too. Better, perhaps, to return the moth in secret to Veronica Whiteley, and let the girl rest in peace. She had made her mind up and slipped the moth into the pocket of her frock just moments before several policemen had taken control of the scene.

  Ever since, she had been wondering if she had made a terrible mistake. After all, the moth brooch was evidence – and taking evidence was bound to be some sort of a crime. Suppose by taking it she had stopped the police finding out what had happened to the girl, and had prevented justice from being done? Billy’s discovery that morning that the drowned girl was none other than one of Veronica’s fellow debutantes had made her feel even more confused. How had a wealthy debutante ended up dead, floating in the river? Sophie felt certain that something terrible had happened to Emily Montague – and the jewelled moth had played a part.

  Now, outside the house in Belgrave Square, the haughty maid answered their ring. She did not appear to recognise Lil dressed in her ordinary clothes rather than her debutante finery, and looked surprised and more than a little affronted when they asked to see Miss Whiteley. Nonetheless, she showed them in. Instead of taking them to the drawing room where the tea party had been held, she led them along a passageway into a little sitting room furnished with draped curtains, overstuffed armchairs and many little cushions decorated with tassels. Veronica was alone, sprawled on a chaise longue reading a novel. Seeing her visitors, she sat up hurriedly, and shoved the book under a cushion.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she asked them abruptly, as the maid left to fetch tea. ‘You oughtn’t to just turn up like this, you know. If Isabel had been here, she would think it was dreadfully odd. Or what if someone else had been here paying a call? I mean, who would I say you were? And we’re expecting Lord Beaucastle to tea in half an hour!’

  ‘I’m sorry we didn’t let you know we were coming,’ said Sophie, ‘but we thought we should come at once.’

  ‘Oh! Have you found something out about the brooch?’ said Veronica eagerly, realisation dawning.

  In response, Sophie simply held out her hand. Lying in her gloved palm was the jewelled moth.

  Veronica seized it in delight. Her face lit up, and for the first time, she actually smiled at them. ‘I don’t believe it!’ she exclaimed. ‘Oh, thank heavens !’

  Lil looked rather as though she was about to say that Veronica really ought to be thanking them and not the heavens, but Sophie gave her a warning poke with her elbow. Veronica had flopped down on the chaise longue again, clutching the brooch as if she was afraid to let it go. Sophie and Lil sat down rather awkwardly on the edge of a very soft sofa as the maid came back in, bringing tea in a silver pot and a plate of thin slices of sponge cake.

  Veronica waited until she had closed the door behind her again, and then burst out: ‘Where did you find it? Who took it?’

  Sophie and Lil looked at each other uneasily. ‘I’m afraid that we found it under rather unpleasant circumstances,’ Sophie began.

  ‘The body of a young lady was pulled out of the river yesterday afternoon,’ Lil went on, looking unusually grave. ‘The brooch was in her possession.’

  ‘I’m sorry to say we believe she was someone you know,’ Sophie continued. ‘Her name was Emily Montague.’

  ‘What? ’ exclaimed Veronica, baffled and utterly disbelieving. ‘Emily? But that’s impossible!’

  Lil quickly explained what Billy had overheard in Mr Betteredge’s office that morning. ‘Apparently the story that Emily had eloped with a footman was quite wrong,’ she said soberly. ‘In fact, the footman had simply been called home suddenly as his mother had been taken ill. The note he left behind for the butler was misplaced, and everyone jumped to the wrong conclusion. Emily hadn’t run away to be married – she was dead.’

  ‘But – but – she can’t possibly be dead,’ said Veronica incredulously. ‘Why – everyone would know – they would all be talking about it!’

  ‘She has only just been identified,’ said Sophie. ‘I am sure it won’t take long for the news to spread.’

  ‘But how – why? What happened to her? Why did she have the moth?’ burst out Veronica. Her face was quite white.

  ‘We can only suppose that she was the one who stole it at the garden party,’ said Sophie. ‘When she was found, the brooch was in her bag. We ought to have handed it over to the police, but we thought you would want us to return it to you,’ she added, rather pointedly, still not feeling sure about that particular decision.

  Veronica did not say anything in response to this, nor did she ask them about how they had anything to do with the bodies of dead debutantes being pulled out of the river. Instead, she was gazing down at the moth as if it possessed some sort of malevolent power. After a pause, she blurted out: ‘I didn’t care for this much to begin with, but now . . . You don’t think – you don’t think it had anything to do with what happened to Emily, do you?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Lil.

  Veronica muttered. ‘There’s a story about it. Something to do with a curse.’

  ‘A curse ?’

  Veronica sighed. ‘The Moonbeam Diamond is famous,’ she explained reluctantly. ‘When Lord Beaucastle presented it to me, he told everyone at dinner the story of how he found it. He’s renowned for being a traveller, you know – exploring new places, bringing back treasures. He’s supposed to be terribly brave. He used to be in the army, and he won all sorts of medals. Anyway, he told us a story about how he got hold of it during some sort of dreadful uprising in China. It was in a monastery that was burned to the ground by the rebels, and he saved it. There was a story that the diamond had magical powers – and that there was a curse upon it.’

  ‘Lord Beaucastle gave you a cursed diamond ?’ repeated Sophie in astonishment.

  ‘He said it was just superstitious nonsense!’ said Veronica defensively. ‘He didn’t believe in the curse! He laughed about it. Everyone did. He said he wanted to give it to me because it was beautiful, and special . . . and that I was too . . .’

  ‘Well, I’m quite sure he’s right,’ said Lil, in a matter-of-fact tone. ‘There’s no such thing as curses. After all, nothing awful happened to Lord Beaucastle when he had the diamond, did it? Or to you?’

  ‘But if Emily took it . . . and then she died,’ Veronica said faintly. ‘What happened to her? How did she die?’

  Sophie and Lil looked at each other awkwardly. The Sinclair’s staff had been told in no uncertain terms that the young lady who had been found in the river had met with a tragic accident, but from what Billy had overheard in Mr Betteredge’s office, the police suspected there had been foul play involved. ‘We don’t know,’ said Sophie at last. ‘All we’re sure of is that the police think she died a few days before her body was found. They believe she died on Wednesday evening, or perhaps early on Thursday.’

  ‘Wednesday?’ Veronica’s eyes widened even more. ‘But – but we’d been shopping at Sinclair’s on Wednesday! We had luncheon! Everything was completely normal –’

  Her voice faded away, and she stared down at the jewelled moth lying in her lap, her eyes wide.

  ‘Listen, whatever happened to Emily – it can’t really have had anything to do with any sort of curse,’ said Lil, directly. ‘Even if she was killed – and we don’t know for certain that she was – it’s quite obvious that the murderer didn’t know anything about the jewelled moth. It’s terribly valuable after all, and if they had known that she had it, surely they would have taken it for themselves.’

  ‘But why did Emily have it?’ asked Veronica, shaking her head. ‘Why would she take it?’

  ‘We wondered at first whether she might have taken it because she was planning to elope,’ explained Lil. ‘We thought she might need money to go abroad. But that theory doesn’t make sense any longer.’

  Sophie remembered the careful way that Emily’s dress had been mended. ‘Did Emily’s family have any money troubles, do you know?’ she asked sud
denly.

  Veronica looked bewildered. ‘Money troubles?’ she asked uncertainly, as if she had never even heard of such a thing. ‘I don’t think so. I mean, I suppose I do remember something about her brother losing money at cards, but . . .’ She broke off, as her eyes flickered to the clock, and her manner changed abruptly. ‘You have to leave now. Isabel will be down any moment. We’re expecting Lord Beaucastle.’ She got up, and went over to the small bureau in the corner, and took out a few notes from a drawer. ‘Here is your fee,’ she said rather formally, handing it to Sophie. ‘The maid will see you out.’

  ‘Phew! Well, Veronica has the jewelled moth back now, so I suppose that’s that,’ said Lil, as the maid shut the door behind them and they went together back down the steps to the street. ‘Case closed.’

  ‘But it isn’t,’ said Sophie at once. ‘We’ve just been left with another mystery – what happened to Emily Montague?’

  ‘Do you mean . . . you think we should try and find out what happened to her?’ Lil’s eyes widened.

  Sophie shrugged. It seemed so strange that the very thief they had been looking for should turn up dead, with the jewelled moth in her pocket. She couldn’t help feeling that they ought to try to find out why. But looking for a lost brooch was one thing – investigating what might well be a murder was something quite different. They would not be simply playing at being detectives any longer, trifling with a society girl’s missing jewellery. This was something far more serious.

  ‘We still have no real idea why Emily stole the moth,’ she said at last. ‘And if she was killed, then by whom – and why? Who would want to murder a debutante?’

  Lil nudged her with her elbow. ‘Look,’ she said. While they had been talking, an impressively shiny motor had pulled up outside, driven by a uniformed chauffeur. A smart gentleman in a silk top-hat was getting out. ‘That must be him – Lord Beaucastle himself.’