Verity Sparks, Lost and Found Read online

  “The Woman in White,” I read. “By Wilkie Collins.”

  “It’s a mystery,” said SP. “I think you’ll like it. And these are from Judith and Daniel, with their love.”

  “These” were a pair of fur-lined gloves.

  “But where are they?” I asked. “Couldn’t they come?”

  “Verity means my sister and brother-in-law.” SP turned back to Mrs Enderby-Smarke. “My sister is not well today, so she and her husband are staying at home. Which means there are two spare places in the carriage. Perhaps you will allow Verity to choose two friends to take with us?” SP gestured to the carriage standing outside in the drive. “I have brought along Mrs Tibbins, my housekeeper, a most respectable lady, who can act as chaperone.”

  “I see.” Mrs Enderby-Smarke frowned slightly, as if she was thinking it over.

  “Oh, please, Mrs Enderby-Smarke,” I begged, but SP hushed me.

  “No, Verity,” he said. He flashed another of those smiles her way. “Your esteemed preceptress will make the correct decision.”

  Esteemed pre-what? I had to look that one up in the dictionary later – it means respected teacher. SP loved big words, and luckily, Mrs Enderby-Smarke knew what he meant. She was flattered.

  “Very well. She may choose two friends.”

  Just then we heard the clattering of footsteps coming downstairs. It was Miss Martindale and the girls heading out for their daily walk. They stopped and stared at SP.

  “Wait a moment, Miss Martindale,” said Mrs Enderby-Smarke. “I am permitting Verity to take two of her classmates on her birthday outing. Who will they be, Verity?”

  “Lottie, please.”

  “Who? Oh, Charlotte. Very well. And may I suggest Jessie as your other companion? I refer to Jessie McGryll, Mr Plush. The McGrylls have Gryll Grange, you know.”

  “Gryll Grange? The Gryll Grange?” said SP, sounding impressed, but I’d have laid a bet he’d never even heard of it. He bowed gallantly, and some of the littler girls giggled, but the Fanshawe sisters began preening and fluttering their lashes. Jessie, already moving forwards, poked Connie in the ribs as she passed.

  I’d rather take a spotted snake than Jessie, I thought. “May I invite Connie?” I asked.

  Now Mrs Enderby-Smarke was caught in a tug of war. She wanted both to impress SP and give her favourite student a treat.

  “Wouldn’t Jessie be more suitable?”

  “Perhaps,” said SP. “But it is Verity’s birthday.” He gave another of his winning smiles and she relented.

  “Very well. Consolata, you may go.”

  As the teachers and the rest of the girls filed past us and out into the cold, I saw Jessie glance backwards at me. Her eyes narrowed.

  Oh well, I thought. It’s out in the open at last. Jessie and I are enemies.

  Miss Deane and the Colonel were uppermost in my thoughts, so I was glad that Mrs Enderby-Smarke sent Connie and Lottie upstairs to change. That gave me time to tell to SP. And, most importantly, ask what on earth we should do about it.

  “Shouldn’t we contact the police? After all, the Colonel has threatened to murder someone.”

  SP thought for a few seconds. “We won’t involve the police just yet,” he said. “The Colonel has given Miss Deane until the end of next week to find the missing fifty pounds. First, Verity, tell me everything you know about the Colonel.” He whipped a notebook and pencil out of his pocket.

  “But I don’t know very much at all.”

  “Anything.”

  “He was in the Indian army. He’s lame, because he was wounded at Borabadur in ’57. He likes sport.” I tried to focus on the Colonel in his chair, hastily hiding the newspaper the day that Papa and I first inspected the school. “Perhaps horseracing. He’s not a very good teacher. All he does is point at maps and rattle off lists of dates. That’s all I know. Is that enough?”

  “It’s enough for a start. What about Miss Deane? What’s her first name?”

  “Drucilla,” I said. “She’s a very kind, good person, I’m sure of it. She’s been worried about something since I arrived at Hightop House. Last week she was looking under a mattress in one of the girl’s rooms. She’s also been searching under the hall carpet.”

  “What for?”

  “She said it was moths, but I’d already guessed that it must be either documents or money.”

  “Well done, Verity,” said SP. “You really do have a first-class brain. And you say he threatened to kill someone?”

  “Yes.” And I repeated the Colonel’s words.

  “How did Miss Deane react? Did she seem terrified? Distraught? Would you say it was a genuine threat?”

  I pondered for a bit. “I’m not sure,” I said. “Without seeing them, it’s hard to say.”

  “Is there anything else I should know?”

  “Miss Deane has taken over as the Senior class mistress from a Miss Smith. She told us that Miss Smith was ill, but I don’t believe her. SP, the more I think about it, the more I’m convinced there’s something odd going on at Hightop House.”

  Connie and Lottie appeared at the top of the stairs, and SP gave my hand a friendly squeeze.

  “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’ll get onto it straightaway. That wretched Ecclethorpe case is going nowhere. It will be a nice change to have an investigation I can get my teeth into.”

  It was drizzling when we set off from Hightop House, but by the time we arrived in the city, the rain had stopped, the wind had died down, and everything was bathed in sunshine.

  “That’s Melbourne for you,” said Mrs Tibbins, a colonial born and bred. “If you don’t like the weather, just wait half an hour and it will change.”

  Connie, Lottie and I walked along Bourke Street, following SP and Mrs Tibbins, passing bootblacks, fruit and flower sellers, tinkers, urchins selling matches and bootlaces, street magicians and newspaper boys, all noisily calling out for customers. On the road, men galloped by on horseback, draughthorses pulled heavy drays, milk carts and bakers’ carts drove by, and there was a constant stream of people in all kinds of vehicles – carts, buggies, jinkers, wagonettes, barouches, broughams and carriages – and even horsedrawn buses. When I first arrived in Melbourne, I half-expected to see kangaroos hopping along among the gum trees, and I was almost disappointed to discover shops, houses, crowded streets, banks, factories spewing dirty smoke, omnibuses, even beggars.

  “Lunch first. What do you say, ladies?” asked SP.

  “I say yes,” giggled Lottie, and SP escorted us upstairs to a smart cafe, where you could order three courses for two shillings. Once we were sitting at our table, looking at the menu, we chatted easily together – except for Connie. She shrank into the corner of our booth with her eyes downcast. Kind Mrs Tibbins tried to draw her out with questions about school, but she only became more tongue-tied. Oh dear, I thought. I’d forgotten how shy she was. But SP, without knowing it, said just the right thing.

  “Look,” he said, pointing to one of the dishes on offer. “It says Murray cod. What on earth is that?”

  “It’s a very large fish,” said Connie. “I helped my father to land one once. It weighed twenty pounds. Our neighbour said we should get it stuffed and mounted as a trophy, but we thought it was better to eat it instead.”

  “Do you like fishing, Connie?”

  “Oh, yes. Papa and I love to fish.” And she and SP had such a long conversation about lines, hooks and lures that she forgot to be shy.

  After lunch, it was time for a stroll in a more sedate part of town. The Royal Arcade, with its ceiling of cast iron and glass, its fountains and massed pots of palms and ferns, turned out to be just the place for SP to buy me my birthday present from Papa. We went into a jeweller’s shop, where I chose a plain silver chain for my lucky piece.

  “I’ve had such a lovely time,” I said. “Thank you, SP.”

  “I suppose we have to go back to school now,” said Lottie with a sigh.

  “That’s where you’re wrong, m
y child,” said SP as if he was a grandpa. “I have one more surprise up my sleeve.” He held up some red and white paper slips. “I have tickets for a matinee. We’re off to the theatre to see Miss Megsie Morton in The Lady and the Lighthouse-keeper.”

  “Are we?” Connie’s eyes were wide. “Really?”

  “Really and truly,” said SP, laughing.

  “Oh,” she sighed happily. “This day is a dream come true.”

  When we strolled out of the gold and red foyer of the Princess Theatre, the gas lamps had already been lit. My birthday treat was over.

  Once we were in the carriage, Lottie promptly fell asleep on my shoulder. Connie, on the other side next to Mrs Tibbins, had a flushed faraway look on her face and a couple of times I saw her moving her lips as if she was singing to herself. More than ever, I was glad I’d asked her to come.

  “Thank you so much,” I said to SP. “It’s been a day to remember.”

  We arrived back at school in time for supper. As we entered the Seniors’ sitting room, all the girls, except Jessie, looked up at us from their sewing. Miss Deane was reading aloud. She put her book down and smiled at us.

  “Did you have a good day, girls?” she asked.

  “Do tell,” cooed the Fanshawes like a trio of doves. “Did you see anyone fashionable?”

  “Yes, do tell us,” said Miss Deane, pouring our cocoa. “Where did you go? What did you see?”

  “We went to the theatre to see Miss Megsie Morton,” said Connie, still bubbling over with happiness. “And she was divine!”

  Just then, Jessie broke in with a loud yawn.

  “I’m so sorry, Connie,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Do go on,” she added, not meaning it one bit. “What were you saying?”

  Jessie had pricked Connie’s bubble of joy, and she couldn’t be coaxed to speak again.

  8

  A RIGHT ROYAL PAIN

  I got another letter from Papa yesterday, and I have already sent off my reply. I’m afraid it was not very interesting. While he is travelling with Mr Rowland in the back country of Queensland, looking at mines and having all sorts of adventures, I am doing lessons. And except for Miss Deane’s classes, they are rather boring.

  I can’t tell him about the really interesting part of my life here at Hightop House, because I know he would worry. After all, young ladies don’t mix with thieves and potential murderers.

  I had a note from SP this morning. He is going to be away from town for a few days, and he wanted to know if there was anything I needed to communicate. There is not. I have been watching Miss Deane and though she seems rather out of sorts, she does not appear to be unduly disturbed. And as for the Colonel, he goes hobbling about the school, patting the heads of the little girls as usual and reeling off lists of dates in class. I find it hard to believe that he is a potential murderer. I have begun to wonder if I misheard him.

  SP is catching the train to Ballarat. At last, there is some good news about the Ecclethorpe case. Mrs Randall’s old cook replied to the advertisement. Apparently, after moving from Melbourne with the debt collectors after them, the couple settled in Bendigo under the name of Carrington. Then a year later they moved to Ballarat, and resumed their real name. A few years ago, Mr Randall accidentally shot himself while cleaning his pistol, leaving a widow and a new baby. What a terrible tragedy. I am sure poor Mrs Randall will welcome the news from her father. And SP and Daniel can collect their fee.

  For literature with Miss Deane, we are studying The Tempest by Shakespeare. We have been acting out some of the scenes. Miss Deane chose Connie to play Miranda, the heroine, but cast Jessie in the role of Caliban, who is a kind of monster. Jessie was furious. I was cast as Ariel, a sprite. I do enjoy Miss Deane’s classes.

  One good thing is that at last Jessie has stopped teasing Connie.

  On Thursday evening after tea, I found out why. It was because she’d decided to start on me.

  We Seniors were in our sitting room, all except Connie. She was downstairs practising the piano. Mrs Enderby-Smarke was planning one of her soirees for the following week and since Connie was by far the best musician in the school, she was the main accompanist. Miss Deane was with Miss Martindale and Mrs Enderby-Smarke was supervising the Seniors. If you could call it that. She ignored the rest of us girls, and was all over Jessie like a rash.

  “Your needlework is beautiful, my dear,” she said with one of her ghastly smiles. “It’s the best in the school.”

  “Thank you, Mrs Enderby-Smarke. I do try.”

  “Oh, my dear! You’re so modest. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to finish that tablecloth you’ve been embroidering. The one with the blue daisies. I want to use it at the soiree. One of our guests, Mrs Drome, is an exquisite needlewoman. She will be most impressed with your work.”

  “Oh, surely not,” said Jessie. “I’m just a girl.”

  “Yes, indeed,” said Mrs Enderby-Smarke. “I’ve never seen such beautiful stitchery.”

  It was absolutely sickening, and would have gone on, except that Louisa, trying to join in, offered to fetch Jessie’s basket for her.

  But Jessie snapped at her and got it out herself.

  “I was just trying to–”

  “Try to mind your own business.”

  How interesting, I thought. Even Jessie McGryll gets sick of being sucked up to.

  But I was wrong. For Alice flattered and fawned until I was sure even Jessie must have felt embarrassed.

  “Gryll Grange is the most splendid property in Victoria, I’m sure,” said Alice.

  “It is very splendid,” agreed Jessie as she sewed blue daisies on the tablecloth.

  “Your Papa and Mamma are among the most important people in the whole colony. And then there’s your brother, Robert,” said Alice. “Everyone says he is so aristocratic.”

  “Do they?” said Jessie, pretending to be surprised.

  “But of course.”

  “Well, after all, we McGrylls are descended from Mary Queen of Scots.” Jessie tossed her head so that her black curls jiggled.

  “How romantic,” said Alice. “I just adore Mary Queen of Scots.”

  “Does that mean you’re related to the Queen?” asked Jemima, breathlessly.

  “Why, yes,” said Jessie as if the thought had only just occurred to her. “So it does.” Alice, Jemima and Louisa looked at her like a pack of puppy dogs.

  Alice just happened to be re-trimming her hat, and a couple of minutes later Jessie said, out of the blue, “Why don’t you give that to Verity? I hear she’s quite a professional with millinery.”

  Our eyes met.

  “Isn’t that true, Verity? Weren’t you apprenticed in the hat trade?”

  All eyes in the room were on me. Even the three Fanshawes looked up from their novels and craned their long necks in my direction. How did Jessie know? Oh. It must have been Lottie.

  I didn’t answer.

  Jessie said, “Cat got your tongue?” And she tittered.

  Now, the titter is just about the lowest form of laughter. It’s right down there with snickering and smirking. You don’t titter because you’re happy – you do it to tease. But I wasn’t about to give Miss Jessie any satisfaction.

  “It’s quite true,” I said. “I was a milliner’s apprentice.”

  “You’re very lucky that Mrs Enderby-Smarke allowed you here,” said Alice. Jessie must have told her to twist the knife. “Or doesn’t she know of your low connections?”

  “According to my informant,” said Jessie. “You delivered hats all around the streets of London, slept in an attic and ate in the kitchen.” She paused. “With the servants.”

  I suppose Jessie thought the other girls would shrink away from me as if I had smallpox. And certainly Jemima and Louisa cast shocked glances in my direction.

  But Emily Potter showed her true colours. She said firmly, “So what? I don’t care. I like Verity,” and went back to her sewing as if nothing had happened.

  However,
it was the Fanshawe girls who really surprised me.

  “Why, Verity,” said Laura. “You’re a heroine!”

  “Yes,” said Grace, excitedly. “Just like Prunella in The Purloined Princess.”

  “No, more like Alathea in Duchess in Disguise,” said Annabelle.

  “But how did your father find you?” asked Laura. “Do tell. Did you have a signet ring, like Edwina in Whose Inheritance?”

  “Or a talisman? Do say it was a talisman,” begged Grace.

  “No, no,” I said, laughing, and told them the same severely edited story that I’d told Lottie. They were beside themselves with delight.

  “Mother says our heads are full of nonsense from novel reading,” said Annabelle. “But this will prove to her how very instructive they actually are.”

  The other two nodded, beaming at me, and I sneaked a look at Jessie. She was fuming. Her little scheme had fallen flat.

  “It was Lottie who betrayed you,” she said. “What do you think of your friend now?”

  “Lottie was only telling the truth.”

  “What’s the truth?” asked Miss Deane, coming through the door. “What are you girls talking about?”

  “Nothing, Miss Deane,” said Jessie, quickly, but Laura, Annabelle and Grace blabbed out the whole story.

  “I see,” said Miss Deane. “Well, that explains it, Jessie.”

  “Explains what, Miss Deane?”

  “The fact that Charlotte Rowland has been crying all afternoon. She missed dinner. She’s made herself positively ill.”

  “Oh no,” I said. I stood up. “Can I go to see her, Miss Deane?”

  “Of course.”

  Poor Lottie. She was lying in her bed sobbing.

  “Verity,” she wailed. “Did Jessie … did Jessie … did she tell you she knew about … about the h-h-hats?”

  “Yes, Lottie.”

  “She made me tell her, she made me …”

  “Hush, hush,” I said, stroking her hot forehead. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not ashamed of my past. Please don’t fret.”