The Mystery of the Queen's Necklace

by Campbell, Julie

  Westminster Abbey turned out to be a magnificent cathedral, its massive stone buttresses black with age. Inside, the Bob-Whites gasped at the beauty of the gold-screened altar and stained-glass windows. The Abbey Choir sounded like a band of angels.

  After the service, the four friends walked around, looking at the engraved stones and gilded statues that lined the walls. Plaques in the floor, too, commemorated England’s famous dead. Some of the tombs were centuries old, some quite recent. Many of the names carved on them were familiar to the Bob-Whites from their classes at school.

  “It’s sort of like a cemetery right inside a church,” Honey said. “I read where being buried here is practically the greatest honor England can give to someone.”

  “Hey, here’s Chaucer,” Mart cried as they wandered into the Poet’s Corner.

  Trixie shivered at the thought of the bones of poets she studied in school being buried right under her feet. “Jeepers,” she whispered, “I’m walking on T. S. Eliot!”

  There were famous scientists, too, like Sir Isaac Newton, and musicians, artists, and statesmen.

  After Westminster Abbey, the Bob-Whites took in the nearby Houses of Parliament, with the famous clock in the tower.

  “Big Ben got hit by a bomb during the war and went right on ticking,” Mart recalled from his reading.

  “Speaking of clocks, I think it’s time we go back to the hotel,” said Trixie. “Miss Trask was sure she’d feel up to going to the Tower of London by now.”

  Their chaperon certainly had recovered, the Bob-Whites found out when they returned. She was sitting in the little flower garden behind the small hotel— with Gordie McDuff. They looked as if they’d been sitting there for some time and were old friends already.

  “Mr. McDuff has offered to show us around the Tower,” she told the Bob-Whites. “He was a tour guide before he emigrated to Canada.” Her cheeks were pink, and her bright blue eyes were sparkling.

  “Doesn’t she look pretty?” Honey whispered in Trixie’s ear.

  Trixie was too full of confusing emotions to respond. She wasn’t sure she wanted Miss Trask to look pretty.

  The Tower of London turned out to be twenty-one towers surrounded by thick walls and a moat. McDuff peppered the conversation with a multitude of names, dates, and interesting facts.

  “This group of buildings is strong enough to hold off an army,” he explained as he led the Bob-Whites and Miss Trask into the grassy space between the many towers that ringed the oldest tower. “Yon’s the White Tower. It was built by William the Conqueror, after the Battle of Hastings in 1066.” Trixie stared, awed by its age and history.

  “That’s one of the three dates I can ever remember,” Honey confessed. “That and 1492 and 1776.”

  Mart, for once, was all ears and no mouth as he kept busy taking notes. “Filling up my think tank,” he admitted cheerfully when the others teased him about his silence.

  Miss Trask, too, was quieter than Trixie would have expected. She’d always thought that Miss Trask knew a lot about history. Perhaps Miss Trask was thinking, as Trixie was starting to admit, that McDuff made an excellent guide.

  “In 1215, the Tower was held by the citizens of London in ransom for the completion of the Magna Carta,” McDuff went on.

  “The Magna Carta!” Jim was impressed. “That’s the foundation of English law—and liberty.”

  “American independence, too,” Mart said. “The rights of the people.”

  “But I thought they always had kings and queens in England,” said Honey.

  “Seems like they were always chopping off people’s heads, too,” Trixie commented.

  McDuff threw back his grizzled black head and laughed. “Ye’re right, little girl,” he told her, “as ye all will see when we visit the Bloody Tower, where they found the bones of the two little princes who were killed by their wicked uncle. We’ll also see the site of the scaffold where some of Henry the Eighth’s wives and Lady Jane Grey were beheaded. But from the time of the Magna Carta to this very day, the English people have had a say in their government.”

  “Many of the rights the citizenry fought for in 1215 were included in the Bill of Rights attached to our own Constitution,” Miss Trask added, smiling at McDuff.

  Trixie was still smarting from being called a “little girl,” when one of the big black birds on the Tower Green took a peck at her leg.

  “Yipes!” she cried indignantly. “He bit me!”

  “You’re too much of a temptation,” gibed Mart,

  “what with all the gateaux and trifles you’ve been consuming.”

  Trixie was about to begin a hot retort when McDuff spoke up. “That’s one of the Tower Ravens, a protected species. There’s an ancient saying that when the last raven flies away, the Tower will fall. So to make sure they don’t,” he added, “their wings have been clipped.”

  “Hmph,” Trixie sniffed. “I wish they’d consider clipping their beaks.”

  There was so much to see: the ruins of the Lion Tower, so called because it was once a London zoo; the living quarters of many famous prisoners, and the messages they scratched on the ancient stone walls before they were led out to execution; the collections of weapons and medieval armor.

  “Even the horses wore armor,” Trixie giggled. “Imagine the Wheeler horses in these aluminum horse blankets!”

  Mart groaned. “That’s a coat of mail. Mail, little girl, happens to be iron—hardly aluminum, in the Middle Ages. Although,” he muttered to himself, “aluminum’s high reflectivity and malleability, as well as its resistance to oxidation, would make it a good choice—”

  “There’s an awfully long line waiting to see the crown jewels,” Honey said anxiously. “What if they close before we get a chance to see if they’re anything like my—”

  Trixie gave her a warning nudge.

  “Yes, we should go see the jewels now,” Miss Trask agreed.

  McDuff led the way, with Miss Trask close behind him, then the boys, and Trixie and Honey trailing behind. The long line of sightseers was making its way slowly around the roped-off entrance to the Wakefield Tower, where the fabulous jewels were displayed in a heavily guarded, circular glass case as big as a room.

  “You really shouldn’t talk about you-know-what in front of you-know-who,” Trixie told Honey in a low voice.

  “I know,” Honey admitted contritely. “I just keep forgetting that Mr. McDuff isn’t one of us. He’s so wonderful.”

  “He doesn’t call you a little girl,” Trixie said stiffly. Honey was taller than she was and a lot prettier, in Trixie’s opinion. She didn’t mind that, but she wasn’t about to be called a child. And it didn’t help any that Mart had noticed it, too, and was teasing her by calling her the same thing.

  “Honestly, Trix,” Honey sighed. “I don’t see how you can not like Mr. McDuff! Not when he—”

  “I know. He scooped you out from under that horrible bus.” Trixie put her arm around Honey’s waist and gave her a big hug. “Oh, Honey, I’m so glad you’re okay. And I will try to like him better.” She glanced toward McDuff and sighed.

  A large party of American tourists had pushed in between them and the boys. Jim caught the girls’ attention and pointed at a sign that was posted on the wall.

  BEWARE PICKPOCKETS, IT READ.

  The Crown Jewels ● 6

  DON’T WORRY,” Trixie assured Honey. “There’s plenty of beefeaters around to protect us.”

  They giggled at the nickname of the Tower guards, who wore bright red costumes with white ruffs, white gloves, black hats, red stockings with fancy garters, and red-and-white buckled shoes. This was the traditional uniform of the Yeomen of the Guard, McDuff had explained.

  “But why beefeaters?” Trixie had wanted to know. “Aye—well—all Englishmen are referred to as beefeaters,” their Scottish guide had said with a chuckle. “I dinna why!”

  “Indubitably because they ingest an inordinate amplitude of pulverized bovine flesh,” Mart had suggested
.

  McDuff had simply given him a puzzled stare.

  Miss Trask and the boys were reaching the large chamber where the jewels were displayed, and Trixie and Honey were almost there, when Honey gave a little squeal.

  “Trix!” she cried. “I thought I felt something sort of tugging at my bag.”

  Trixie whirled around and scanned the crowd behind them. She didn’t see anyone who looked like the man they called Gray Cap.

  “Maybe Gray Cap knows that we’d recognize him by now,” she muttered, “and he’s in disguise.”

  A rough bump from behind sent Trixie head over heels, and as she scrambled to her feet, she heard a shrill bob, bob-white!

  Honey was standing there, white as a sheet. “I—I whistled,” Honey said faintly.

  The boys were there in a split second, but it was too late. Honey’s handbag was gone!

  Honey hadn’t been able to turn around in time to see who took it, and none of the tourists around her were of much help.

  McDuff shook his grizzled black head. “They’re very clever, these pesky thieves,” he said worriedly. He obviously felt somewhat responsible. “I should have taken care of ye,” he kept saying. “I’ll notify the police as soon as we’ve left the Tower.”

  “It’s a good thing your mother sent that cablegram this morning,” Trixie said to Honey as they moved on toward the crown jewels.

  Mrs. Wheeler had cabled Honey to be sure to leave the necklace in the hotel safe at all times. “I’ve been in touch with the appraiser, and it may prove to be more valuable than we at first thought,” the cable had said. The Bob-Whites knew that Honey had followed her mother’s instructions, so they weren’t sure why Honey still seemed so upset.

  “Did you have much money with you?” Jim asked. “No, but”—tears welled up in Honey’s hazel eyes— “I—I’m afraid Mother’s cable was in my handbag.” Jim gave a low whistle. “Then if Trixie’s right and that fellow you saw in the Wax Museum is following us, now he’ll have all the more reason to keep following us.”

  The four Bob-Whites stared at each other in dismay, and McDuff looked puzzled. “What fellow is that?” he asked Miss Trask.

  “I don’t believe for a minute that there’s anyone following us,” she said firmly. “London is notorious for pickpockets.”

  “No matter how many pickpockets there are,” Trixie said, “it sure seems strange that they’re all picking on us.”

  “It is a coincidence,” Miss Trask agreed.

  The two girls kept their eyes open for signs of the gray pickpocket, but all was forgotten when the Bob-Whites passed the great glass rotunda filled with the crown jewels. There weré magnificent crowns sparkling with precious gems, jeweled swords and golden spurs, scrolled bracelets and ivory scepters, purple velvet and ermine caps set with diamonds and pearls, and the huge Koh-i-noor diamond from India.

  “This diamond has been worn at the coronation of three queens since Victoria,” McDuff told them. “It’s said to bring bad luck to a man, but good luck to a woman.”

  Well, it sure brought bad luck to Honey, Trixie thought. She could have looked at the jewels for another few days, but there was a long line of tourists behind her.

  “I didn’t see any necklaces,” Honey protested as McDuff led them out of the Tower and back to their hotel.

  “Ssshhh,” Trixie warned her. Then she saw that she didn’t need to worry. McDuff was too busy talking to Miss Trask to hear what Honey said.

  Trixie overheard part of his chatter—“that’s a bonny blue dress that ye are wearing”—and grimaced. She could see for herself that Miss Trask was wearing one of her sensible navy blue suits. It was attractive, of course, but not “bonny.”

  The upshot of his chat with Miss Trask was really something to worry about, however, at least for Trixie. After McDuff had left them at the hotel. Miss Trask turned to the Bob-Whites.

  “Guess what,” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Mr. McDuff has consented to be our guide for the rest of the trip. He’ll hire a car and drive us to Stratford tomorrow. In case anything goes wrong with the car, he says he’s an experienced mechanic, and I really wasn’t looking forward to driving on the wrong side of the road. He knows a great deal about Stratford, too. Oh, children, aren’t we lucky?”

  Children, Trixie fumed. She never called us that before.

  The others were delighted. “That’s wonderful,” Honey said.

  Jim was a little surprised, he told the others later, that Miss Trask would want a chauffeur. Miss Trask had gone to bed, and their brothers had stopped in the girls’ bedroom for a late-night snack.

  “I mean, Miss Trask loves to drive,” Jim went on, “and she’s a better mechanic than just about anyone else I know.”

  “I’ve been wondering...” Trixie hesitated, then frowned. I've been wondering if I should tell them what I’ve been wondering, she thought. Especially Honey, who thinks McDuff is so absolutely fantastic. And Honey is probably right. She very often is right. But still...

  “I bet you guys didn’t know that my sister turns into a pumpkin every night around this time,” Mart was saying brightly.

  Trixie snapped to attention. “That’s better than being a pumpkin all day long,” she retorted. “What I’ve been wondering is, did you see the newspaper tonight?”

  “Don’t tell me you’ve been reading the newspapers!” Mart smote his freckled forehead. “On summer vacation?”

  “A detective has to keep up with the press,” Trixie said virtuously. “To tell the truth, I was just talking about the headline on the front page.”

  “Yep, I saw that,” Jim said. “It was a story about this tourist racket, where these con artists get poor kindhearted suckers to lend them a couple of quid—”

  “Till the Exchange opens on Monday, ” Trixie finished triumphantly. “There! You see? That s exactly what McDuff did to us.”

  Honey did not agree. “Just because there are con men doesn’t make Mr. McDuff one,” she began reasonably. Then, in one of her rare displays of temper, she demanded, “Why don’t you just admit that you haven’t liked him right from the start, Trixie Belden? I—I’ll bet you’re jealous!”

  “Jealous?” Trixie blazed back. “Why on earth would I be jealous?” It made her feel miserable to fight with her best friend, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself. And she knew Honey must be feeling just as awful. Honey hardly ever got mad.

  “Because everybody else likes him so much,’ Honey fumed. “That’s why! And because you’re afraid Miss Trask is going to m-marry him!”

  “Marry him?” Trixie hooted. “Jeepers, Honey, she only just met him!”

  Mart and Jim exchanged looks and slipped back to their room, apparently unwilling to add to the tension already brewing.

  Trixie hardly noticed they were gone. Her feelings were all churned up. She was terribly ashamed of herself for getting mad in the first place, and wondering how she could possibly be mad at Honey. Honey was only being loyal, the way she was to all her friends. And McDuff was certainly being friendly to them all.

  But something inside Trixie kept her going. The more she wanted to stop, the more she couldn’t. And Honey seemed to be having the same problem.

  “You know, Trixie,” said Honey, “I was going to give that five pounds to him, but, oh, no! You were so afraid he’d catch a glimpse of my necklace. I’ll pay you back your old five pounds. I’ll even give you ten pounds. I happen to think that what he did was worth a lot more than that. He risked his life for me!”

  All of a sudden, Trixie didn’t feel angry anymore. She reached for Honey’s hand. “I wouldn’t trade you for a million pounds,” she said, and they both burst into tears.

  “Thank goodness the boys left when they did,” Honey sniffed as they got into their pajamas and brushed their hair. “Oh, Trix, I just hate fighting.”

  “Me, too,” Trixie said. “Especially with you.”

  Even with peace restored, it still took Trixie a long time to fall asleep. She couldn’t
seem to get rid of her suspicions. It wasn’t just the five pounds I lent him, she was thinking. Miss Trask gave him twenty pounds to hire us a car tomorrow!

  Trixie punched her pillow and turned it over and over. We’ll never see that man again. I’m sure of it, she thought indignantly. At the same time, she was almost hoping he wouldn’t show up in the morning. She didn’t particularly want him along on their trip.

  Of course—she pounded her pillow again—that would be an awfully expensive way to get rid of him. Maybe Honey was right. Maybe she was jealous.... No! That was utterly ridiculous. Still, she couldn't think of any other good reason not to make the effort to like the tall Scotsman....

  If he showed up.

  The Maroon Saloon ● 7

  SO, WHERE’S MCDUFF?” Trixie demanded, the minute Miss Trask and the Bob-Whites had finished breakfast the next morning. They were sitting at their table in the little hotel, making plans for their last day in London.

  “Your manner of referring to Mr. McDuff leaves something to be desired,” Miss Trask said dryly. “And as to his not being here yet, he told me not to expect him until noon. He is anxious to get his English money at the Exchange before we leave London. He wants to pay you back, Trixie. After that, he plans to go to the Auto Hire to rent us a car, and he has also kindly offered to check with the police again, concerning Honey’s handbag. He has a lot to do.”

  “Oh.” Trixie felt like a balloon that had just been pricked by a pin.

  “Would that you evinced such alacrity and celerity every Monday morning,” Mart teased her.

  “I don’t know about celery, but I am dying to get to Stratford,” she said impatiently. “I have a hunch that’s where we’re going to solve the mystery of Honey’s inheritance.”

  “I’m with Trix,” Honey said loyally. “And besides, the sooner we get out of this city, the better.”

  “I’m glad to see you two are on speaking terms again,” said Jim, “but I don’t understand why you want to leave. We haven’t seen half the sights yet.”