The Mystery of the Queen's Necklace

by Campbell, Julie

  “Ssshhh,” Honey whispered, but it was too late.

  A plump chambermaid came bustling down the hall. “The porter says ye’re to come down now,” she said, her voice quavering with indignation.

  The two girls reached their table just in time to hear the proprietor telling the others that, owing to an unfortunate miscalculation, no accommodations were available that night. No reference was made to the girls’ behavior, but Trixie was immediately convinced that she alone was responsible for this embarrassing turn of events. If only she had kept her mouth shut and acted properly!

  “The natives of Stratford take their Shakespeare pretty seriously,” she overheard a tourist at the next table saying.

  Miss Trask overheard it, too, and after the proprietor had gone, she turned to Trixie. “We could hear you clear down here in the dining room,” she said, her lips set in a thin line. “I can’t think how you could be so rude.” She turned back to her meal and left Trixie squirming.

  “Just her youthful spirits,” McDuff said kindly. He then insisted on leaving right away to see what other accommodations he could arrange for them that night.

  Dinner was roast duckling with orange sauce, the specialty of the house, but Trixie felt too awful to eat much. The rest of the group were remarkably quiet as well, and the delicious meal was not enjoyed as it should have been.

  “You know, Trixie,” Miss Trask said, to break the silence after dinner, “you might consider that your behavior in a foreign country could lead its people to dislike all Americans. I know you’ve been feeling that the English are unfriendly, Trixie, but what about you? Have you thought about your actions from their point of view?”

  “I—I guess not,” Trixie said miserably. Honey squeezed her hand under the table, but that didn’t help much.

  Since it was late in the evening and the town was jammed with summer tourists, the only rooms McDuff was able to find were in two bed-and-breakfast houses next door to each other. After they got settled, he brushed off Miss Trask’s concern about his dinner.

  “I’ll just get a bite in a pub,” he assured her. “Perhaps ye would like to come along for a glimpse of the night life in Stratford?”

  The boys agreed enthusiastically, but all Trixie wanted to do was crawl into bed and hide her burning face. Honey, who was sharing her room, insisted on staying with her. Miss Trask hesitated, obviously torn between remaining with the girls and going out with the others.

  “Please don’t worry about us, Miss Trask,” Trixie said earnestly. “We’ll be okay.”

  “Just be good,” sighed Miss Trask.

  “One place ye don’t want to miss is the Black Swan, otherwise known as the Dirty Duck,” McDuff said as he escorted Miss Trask and the boys out the door. “That’s where the Shakespearean actors hang out after the show....”

  “I’ve been thinking,” Trixie told Honey, after they got into their pajamas and turned out the light, “about what Miss Trask said about looking at things from other people’s points of view. Well, I could start with her and McDuff—I mean, Mr. McDuff. I’ve been worrying about what if she really fell in love with him and went off to Scotland, or Canada, or wherever.”

  “Me, too,” Honey admitted. “I like Mr. McDuff a lot, but Miss Trask is, well, like my own family. I’d miss her terribly if she moved away.”

  What Honey didn’t say out loud, but what Trixie knew, was that Miss Trask was almost more important to Honey, in certain ways, than her own family. Her parents were often away on business, and before Miss Trask had come, Honey had been left in the care of a perfectly horrible governess. Miss Trask was the best of friends to all the Bob-Whites, but especially to Honey.

  “But maybe—maybe we are just thinking too much about ourselves,” Trixie said. “You know, about how much fun we have when she goes along on our trips, and how she’s always there for you when your parents are away.”

  “And how much help she is to my parents, too,” Honey agreed, “managing the estate.”

  “And even when she’s disappointed in me, like tonight,” Trixie said, “I just love her. I don’t want her to get married and go away. But if she wants to—I mean, if it would make her happy, like she seems to be with Mr. McDuff around—well---you see what I mean?”

  “Yes.” In the darkness, Honey’s voice sounded very serious. “Yes, Trix, I see what you mean.”

  Trixie’s resolution to start thinking from other people’s points of view was even stronger when she woke up the following morning. Over another delicious English breakfast, the Bob-Whites planned their sight-seeing activities for their first day in Stratford.

  “I have to see Shakespeare’s house,” said Mart. “What about you, Trixie?”

  “You go ahead,” Trixie said. “I have other plans.”

  “Other plans?” her brother hooted. “Like getting us evicted from another hotel in Stratford?”

  Miss Trask shook her head at him. “What did you have in mind, Trixie?” she asked kindly.

  “Well, I’m not exactly sure. I just don’t want to be a typical Yankee tourist today,” Trixie said. “I want to—oh, just walk around.” Trixie couldn’t explain what she meant. It would sound too corny. She wanted to meet some real live English people and get to be friends with them. Also, she wanted to keep her eyes peeled for clues about the Hart family and Honey’s necklace. Often, she could spot things on her own better than she could when she was with a group. And all the worrying about McDuff had been distracting her from the real purpose of their trip—to follow the trail to Honey’s English ancestors. She was determined not to fail at that.

  “Want me to come along, Trix?” Jim asked.

  That was a real temptation, and knowing Jim wasn’t mad at her about the previous night made her feel good, too. “Thanks a lot,” she said, “but if you came along, all I’d do is talk to you all day.”

  “Well, you’re certainly not going to wander around all by yourself,” Miss Trask said briskly.

  Eventually it was settled that Trixie and Honey would do a little exploring on their own while McDuff took Miss Trask and the boys to see some of the chief tourist attractions.

  “We’ll save Ann Hathaway’s cottage,” McDuff promised. “You girls won’t want to miss the place where Shakespeare’s wife lived before her marriage.”

  “I like small towns like this, where you can walk everywhere you want to go,” Honey said as the girls set off along Waterside Street, on the banks of the Avon.

  They passed the Royal Shakespeare Theatre, and she commented, “Mr. McDuff knows how to get tickets even in the tourist season. Miss Trask says we’ll try to go tomorrow, when Macbeth is playing.” Trixie knit her brows in an evil leer. “ ‘Double, double, toil and trouble,’ ” she chanted nasally, doing her best to imitate Shakespeare’s three witches. “ ‘Fire burn and cauldron—’gleeps!”

  Carried away by her dramatic fervor, Trixie had nearly crashed into two elderly English ladies. At least, she was pretty sure they were English. Wouldn’t you know, she scolded herself. Just when I’m reciting Shakespeare through my nose! They probably think I’m making fun of him, like those people did last night.

  But apparently they didn’t. Both the ladies smiled, and their nice brown eyes were twinkling. Trixie held her breath. This was her chance to get to know the English point of view!

  “We were wondering,” she said, “uh—we were wondering—” Trixie’s mind went blank. What a time to be tongue-tied!

  Honey came to the rescue. “Our friends have gone to see the sights,” she explained. “Trixie and I were just looking around.” Both girls introduced themselves and smiled their friendliest smiles.

  “Have you been in the museum?” the short, stout lady asked.

  Yes, Trixie decided, they were English. She could tell from the way they said been—as in string bean.

  The tall one pointed her umbrella up the steps of the building they were standing in front of, right next to the Theatre. “My sister means the Royal Shakespeare T
heatre Picture Gallery and Museum,” she explained. “With your interest in Shakespeare’s plays, you shouldn’t miss it. You have an excellent voice, my dear!” she told Trixie.

  Trixie turned bright crimson.

  “Sister is a speech and drama teacher,” the stout woman said.

  “And most of my pupils are afraid to open their mouths,” the tall one chuckled.

  The two women couldn’t have been friendlier. Before Honey and Trixie realized what was happening, they had accompanied the girls into the gallery, where there were portraits of Shakespeare and the characters in his plays, paintings of scenes from his works, and costumes and jewelry worn by famous Shakespearean actors and actresses.

  The Misses Elizabeth and Mary Tweedie, as they introduced themselves, beamed delightedly as the girls exclaimed over the treasures. Natives of Stratford obviously believed that anything to do with the Bard belonged to them.

  “It was so nice meeting you,” Honey said warmly as they came out of the gallery.

  “Oh, yes!” Trixie blurted. “We were dying to meet some real English people and not just do the regular touristy things.”

  “Now I see why you Americans think we English are reserved,” teased Miss Elizabeth, her brown eyes twinkling. She was the speech teacher. “I don’t suppose you would care to have luncheon with us?”

  “Oh, do,” Miss Mary urged. She was the stout sister and very talkative. “We belong to the Hall’s Croft Club, you know. They do delicious luncheons. If you’re going to be in town for any length of time, you can join the club for just a few shillings. In any case, you’ll be wanting to see Hall’s Croft. It was the home of Shakespeare’s daughter Susanna and her husband, Dr. Hall. It’s a delightful home, furnished with antique—”

  “You’ll turn these nice American girls into sightseers yet,” Miss Elizabeth interrupted, chuckling. “Why don’t we just start with luncheon? I’m sure they must be hungry.”

  At the mention of food, Trixie was immediately famished. Fortunately, Hall’s Croft was only two blocks away from the museum and gallery.

  Miss Elizabeth recommended the roast leg of lamb, with mint sauce and new peas, and the two girls were happy to follow her advice.

  “English food is wonderful,” Trixie said between mouthfuls, and Honey agreed. For dessert, they chose fresh raspberries, which started Trixie off on Crabapple Farm. The Tweedies seemed fascinated by everything she said.

  “And where are you staying while you’re in Stratford?” Miss Mary asked.

  “Funny you should ask,” Trixie said sheepishly. “Temporarily, we’re split up in two different bed-and-breakfast places. We were going to stay at the Shakespeare Hotel, but, er, we got thrown out.”

  “Oh, Trixie,” Honey protested. “Miss Trask said it wasn’t that at all. They just found out they didn’t have room.”

  Trixie told the two women the whole story, and by the time she finished, they were red in the face from laughing so hard.

  Miss Elizabeth dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I wonder,” she said, “if you would be interested in staying at a country place. A friend of ours is opening up his home to tourists. It’s not far out— less than a mile from the center of town. It’s hard to find rooms at the height of the season, but Andrew Hart has just renovated his home, and I believe it’s opening this week. It’s an awfully nice place.”

  “Did you say Hart?” Trixie’s spoon clattered to the floor, and Honey’s eyes were enormous. “H-a-r-t?”

  “Why, yes, dear,” Miss Elizabeth said. “They are calling it Hartfield House.”

  “Gleeps, Honey,” Trixie said. “We’re on the trail!”

  A Hostile Host ● 9

  JUST WAIT till we tell them the news!” Trixie’s blue eyes danced with glee as she plunked herself down on the bench where she and Honey had arranged to meet Miss Trask and the boys.

  “The Belden-Wheeler Detective Agency is on the job,” Honey crowed, plopping down beside her.

  “Right—while they’re off sight-seeing.” Trixie wrinkled her freckled nose.

  “I would like to see some of the sights,” Honey admitted. “It was fun in London, but I think I’m going to like it even better here. The Tweedies were so nice that I hated to say good-bye to them.”

  “We only have till Sunday,” Trixie reminded her. “Your mother is coming to pick us up Sunday morning, and it’s Tuesday already.”

  “I can’t believe it,” Honey said. “As somebody or other once said, time sure flies when you’re having fun!”

  “Well, it’s kind of slowing down right now,” Trixie said impatiently. “I’m dying to tell Miss Trask and the boys about Hartfield House. Where are they?” Trixie and Honey looked around the grassy park on the riverbank. They knew they had the right bench, in front of the theater.

  “I think I see them coming—way down the river,” Honey said. “There—see the tall one with red hair and—yes, there’s Mart, too. But where’s Miss Trask?”

  “Elementary, my dear Honey,” Trixie said sadly. “She’s with McDuff.”

  “I thought you liked him better now.” Honey looked troubled.

  “Well—maybe I do, and maybe I don’t. But do you want Miss Trask to go off with him forever and ever?”

  “No, that would be awful,” Honey said in a small voice.

  “Sorry we’re late,” Jim called. “You should have gone with us. We saw—”

  “Shakespeare’s bed!” Mart exploded.

  “Well, I bet it’s not as comfy as the beds we’re going to sleep in tonight,” Trixie said excitedly. “What would you say to the Hartfield House?”

  “Hartfield House?” Jim’s green eyes were puzzled. “Where’s that?”

  “The Hartfield,” Honey stressed.

  “What gives?” asked Mart. “I didn’t think Valentine’s Day was for another couple of months.”

  Trixie and Honey looked at each other and grinned. “We’re talking,” said Trixie, “about the H-a-r-t-field House, recently opened for tourists by Andrew H-a-r-t. And if you’ll tell us where Miss Trask is, we’d better go make reservations for tonight.”

  “Terrific!” Jim applauded. “Bird dog Trixie is on the scent!”

  “Not to mention hound dog Honey,” Mart said. “But I still—”

  “Well, where is she?” Trixie interrupted. “Where’s Miss Trask?”

  “I think she and Mr. McDuff went on a boat ride,” Jim said. “They said they’d meet us at The Cobweb for tea.”

  “The Cobweb.” Mart smacked his lips. “That’s number one in my gourmet guidebook to a gastro-nomical gratification.”

  Well, we just ate,” began Trixie, exchanging glances with Honey. “But you know me....”

  “Let’s go!” agreed Honey.

  On the way, the girls brought Jim and Mart up-to-date on their new friends, the Tweedies, and the boys filled them in on their tour through Shakespeare’s many haunts.

  “We saw some sights, too,” Honey said, and she went on to tell about the museum and gallery. “Brian would love Hall’s Croft,” she concluded. “After lunch, we went through Dr. Hall’s dispensary, where they have old medical instruments and a journal of his cases and how he cured them.”

  “We’re still seeing sights,” Jim pointed out. They were approaching a row of black-and-white Elizabethan buildings on Sheep Street, and one of them had a sign that read THE COBWEB.

  “Right—a sight for sore stomachs,” Mart quipped.

  The moment they went through the door, they were surrounded by mouth-watering cakes and confections of every kind, which were for sale behind a counter on the lower floor. Upstairs, the Bob-Whites slid in behind a gleaming oak table near an old brick fireplace. As they started reading the menus, there was no sign of Miss Trask or McDuff.

  “Let’s just go ahead and order,” Mart said.

  “The Cobweb could catch fire, and Mart would still say, ‘Let’s go ahead and order,’ ” Trixie teased.

  “I thought ‘tea’ meant tea and mayb
e some cookies,” Honey said, looking over all the selections on the menu.

  “Biscuits,” Jim corrected her. “In England, cookies are called biscuits.”

  “Then what are biscuits called?” Trixie asked.

  “I think they’re called something like scones,” Jim said doubtfully.

  Before they had that matter settled, a comfortably plump waitress appeared to take their orders. “Wot’ll y’ ’ave, duck?” she asked Honey.

  “No, thanks. I think I’ll have Welsh rarebit,” Honey said, “and a pot of tea.”

  Her three friends burst into giggles, much to Honey’s bewilderment. Her manners, on occasions such as this, were as elegant as her mother’s. What on earth was so funny?

  “Oh, my sides,” Mart moaned. “Help! I’m going to split!”

  “She was calling you duck,” Jim managed to explain, “not asking you if you wanted any.”

  “And ’ow about you, luv,” the waitress said to Trixie.

  Trixie stifled a chortle. She didn’t want to provoke another international incident. “I’ll have a selection of gateaux,” she decided, “please.”

  Jim ordered the same, and Mart said, “I’ll have tongue salad, and the finger sandwiches, and a sausage roll, and some pastries, and—”

  “Mart,” Trixie protested, “this is tea, not Thanksgiving! Ease off!”

  It was their waitress’s turn to giggle, and she was still chuckling when she returned with their food.

  “ ’Ere y’ are, ducks,” she said. “Injoy!”

  Halfway through the meal, McDuff and Miss Trask appeared. They sat down at a table nearby, and Miss Trask leaned over to speak to the Bob-Whites.

  “I’m sorry to keep you waiting,” she said. “You see, we were rowing—and somehow I lost my oar. I’ve never done anything so clumsy in my life. It just floated away, and Gordie and I had quite a time getting it back.”

  Gordie! Trixie and Honey looked at each other in horror, and Mart’s sandy eyebrows shot up half an inch. They had barely recovered from that shock, when they received an even greater one.