The Case of the Vanishing Emerald

Home > Other > The Case of the Vanishing Emerald > Page 3
The Case of the Vanishing Emerald Page 3

by Holly Webb


  “But what’s happened to Miss Massey’s own dresser?” Maisie asked, feeling excited. She’d wanted to go to the theatre, just to see a show. She’d never, ever thought of working in one.

  “That’s the thing. Lucy’s broken her leg,” Miss Lane said grimly. “She fell down the stairs.”

  “Someone pushed her?” Gran asked, her voice full of horror.

  “No. It was cleverer than that, Mrs Hitchins. Pushing her would be too obvious. The stairs were greased. Only a little, but it was enough, if you were running down them in high-heeled dancing slippers.” Miss Lane pressed her cheeks with her hands wearily. “Lucy only came down the stairs because Sarah had forgotten her fan, you see. She had to run back and fetch it. Otherwise, the next person down those steps would have been Sarah, all in a hurry as she had a quick change before her next entrance. It was meant to be Sarah that fell, not poor Lucy.”

  “No!” Sally gasped.

  “I think so.” Miss Lane nodded. “I can’t prove it, of course. No one thought to check the stairs at the time. But Lucy’s up and down those stairs ten times a day. And she said she didn’t trip – her feet just sort of slid out from under her. That made me think.”

  “And you want my Maisie to go and work in this place!” Gran said, her voice full of disapproval.

  “Oh, Gran, please!” Maisie stood up.

  “I want someone Sarah can trust, Mrs Hitchins. A good, well-brought-up girl who can help her in her time of trouble.”

  “Hmmm…” Gran still looked doubtful, but Maisie could tell she was softening. She’d always tried her best to bring Maisie up nicely.

  Suddenly, Maisie remembered that Miss Lane was an actress, too. Not quite as much of a star as Miss Sarah, but still a very clever actress. It was the way she leaned over and fixed Gran with her dark blue eyes, and her voice went a little bit husky and slow. Gran stared back at her like a confused rabbit. “It’s her duty, Mrs Hitchins,” she said. “Maisie is so clever, and she notices things. If whoever it is tries to play any more tricks on Sarah, she’ll spot it. And she might even find that dratted necklace.”

  “Well, I suppose she might be able to…”

  “And,” Miss Lane leaned even closer, “she’ll be very well paid. Don’t tell me that a little extra money wouldn’t come in handy, Mrs Hitchins. I heard you talking to that man about the leak in the roof.”

  “I’d do my work here before I went to the theatre, Gran,” Maisie promised, staring at her hopefully. “I wouldn’t leave it all to you and Sally.”

  Gran sighed. “I suppose so. But don’t you go getting ideas, Maisie Hitchins. You’re only helping out. Just for a week or two!”

  Maisie glanced at the young girl in the plain green dress and then looked round at Miss Lane, who was following her into the dressing room. They had been told that Sarah Massey was here, but she didn’t seem to be. The girl was the only person in the room.

  But Miss Lane hurried into the room and hugged the girl tightly. “Sarah! Darling, are you all right?”

  “I suppose so,” she answered, sullenly.

  Maisie blinked. This was the famous Miss Sarah Massey? She looked about seventeen – younger than Sally. She certainly didn’t look old enough to be playing the main role in a play. And surely actresses wore silk dresses, and velvet capes, and furs? Miss Lane would never wear such a plain gown!

  The girl had been staring dolefully into the mirror in front of her, but now she turned to look at Miss Lane.

  “Nothing else has happened, has it?” Miss Lane asked anxiously.

  “No,” the girl sighed. “Except that the theatre manager came in to show me this.” She held up a newspaper, folded down to show a marked page. Miss Lane took it and started to read.

  “Sources in the theatre world have told us… Young, flighty actresses… Unreliable! Waste of money on expensive tickets… Oh, it’s just some silly gossip column, Sarah. What are you reading nonsense like that for?” Miss Lane closed the paper and flung it into the corner of the room, but Maisie noticed that she looked worried.

  “The manager says it’s about me. He says everyone in London knows that I’m demanding and horrible, and now I’m ruining the show!” She gulped and her shoulders shook.

  Maisie passed Miss Lane a clean handkerchief, and Miss Massey looked up and saw for the first time that she was there.

  “Oh! Is this the girl, Lottie?”

  “Yes, this is Maisie. I’ve borrowed her from my landlady, just for a few weeks. And I’ve explained what’s been going on. Maisie won’t breathe a word, will you?”

  Maisie shook her head hurriedly. “Oh, no!” she whispered. She was a little daunted by the hugeness of the theatre. The backstage area where they were now seemed to be a rabbit warren of passages and little rooms and more passages, and a lot of dust, but Miss Lane had shown her the front of it, too. The theatre was all built in white stone, with gilded statues, and huge posters with drawings of the stars, and extracts from the newspaper reviews. One of them had said that Miss Massey was “a glittering comet sparkling across the heavens”. Maisie found it hard to imagine – Sarah Massey didn’t look the least bit glittery just now. She looked plain and tired, and her nose was bright pink.

  “Thank you,” Miss Massey sniffed, and managed a small smile at Maisie. When she smiled it was just about possible to see her as a famous actress, but even so… “Can you stay tonight?” Miss Massey asked. “I’ve been borrowing one of the girls who helps in the wardrobe, but the others need her, and they’ve been complaining again. I can understand why,” she added, sighing.

  “I can stay,” Maisie agreed. “I’ll stay now, shall I? And clean up for you.” The dressing room was dusty, and there were clothes hanging over chairs, and a vase of fading flowers on the long dressing table in front of the mirror. There were even a few mouse droppings in the corner of the room. But even if it hadn’t been grubby and untidy, Maisie would have made some sort of excuse to stay. There was a sense of excitement running through the dusty corridors, even now, hours before the show was due to start. And she felt sorry for Miss Sarah – she was so young, and she looked so miserable.

  “Wonderful!” Miss Lane agreed. “I have to go – I have a rehearsal – but I’ll leave you with Sarah. Maisie – you know your way home, don’t you? I’ll tell your gran you’ll be back later on.”

  Maisie nodded and stared a little anxiously after Miss Lane as she whisked away. She did know the way back, but she wasn’t used to being out so late. In fact, she was a little worried that she might fall asleep in the middle of her work, and then have to walk back later through the noisy streets…

  Miss Sarah smiled at her again, a proper smile this time. “I’ll get the doorkeeper to fetch you a cab. I can pay for it, Maisie, don’t worry. I’m very glad you’ve come. Lottie said she wasn’t sure she could get you, but if she did, you’d be the answer to all my prayers.”

  Maisie went pink. “I’ll do my best, Miss,” she said. But inside she was deciding that she had to solve this mystery. She must. It was a real case – she’d been hired to be a dresser, but Miss Lane wanted her to be a detective, too. She was almost a professional!

  “That’s it. No, even tighter, Maisie.” Maisie yanked on the ribbons and gasped. “Honestly, Miss Sarah, how can you sing with your corset this tight? You can’t even breathe! It’s making me out of breath and I’m not even wearing it!”

  Miss Sarah giggled. “You get used to it. And the dresses wouldn’t fit if I left it any looser.”

  Maisie tied the ribbons, and went over to fetch Miss Sarah’s dress for the opening number.

  “I hope you don’t mind me asking, Miss…” she murmured. “Miss Lane told me about Lord Tarquin and everything.”

  Sarah nodded. “I know. She said you thought you might be able to help me find the necklace. That you’re good at that sort of thing.” Her face clouded. “But I don’t think anyone will find it now, Maisie, it’s been missing for more than a week. I’m sure it’s been stolen.”
Sarah sighed miserably. “I made a huge fuss about it – that’s partly why everyone’s so cross with me. I threw a proper screaming fit. I don’t know what came over me. I loved that necklace, before I knew what it was. It made me think of Timmy whenever I wore it.” She gave a little laugh, remembering. “I said I’d walk out if it wasn’t found. I can’t believe I was such a shrew. I made them search everyone’s dressing room, and the stage doorkeeper still has orders to search everyone’s pockets before they leave.”

  Maisie couldn’t believe it, either. Miss Sarah was so lovely. “So the necklace really must still be in the theatre!” Maisie said hopefully.

  Sarah shook her head. “I thought so at first, but a necklace isn’t all that big. Someone could have smuggled it out – hidden in their washing, or something like that. I can’t see old Mr Jones on the door getting all the chorus girls to shake out their skirts, can you?”

  “No… I suppose not,” Maisie agreed. “But Miss Sarah, what about Lord Tarquin? Does he still think it’s at the mender’s?”

  “He’s gone to visit his father.” Sarah gulped and pressed her hands against her heart, as though it was fluttering with panic inside her. “He’s gone to tell him about me. That he wants us to get married. His father’s bound to be dreadfully shocked. Actresses aren’t the sort of person that a duke usually marries.” Her voice rose to a wail again. “And then next week, when he gets back, I shall have to tell him the truth about the necklace and he won’t want to marry me any more, anyway!”

  Maisie patted her hand sympathetically. “You never know. We might still find the necklace before then.” But she couldn’t feel very hopeful. As Sarah said – the necklace was probably long gone.

  “Sarah! Have you heard?” A very pretty girl a little older than Miss Sarah was peering round the door, her face worried.

  “No… What is it, Arabella?”

  Maisie watched anxiously as the colour drained out of Miss Sarah’s face, leaving her yellowish white, her hands gripping the back of the chair so tightly the bones showed.

  “What’s happened?” she whispered, her eyes huge, and darker green than ever.

  The girl by the door looked uncomfortable. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that. I just saw it, and—”

  “What?” Sarah almost screamed it, she was so wound up, and suddenly Maisie could understand the stories Miss Lane had told her about the actress’s tantrums. She was scared, all the time. No wonder she lost her temper.

  “Someone’s thrown red paint all over the posters at the front,” Arabella said quietly. “And broken the glass. It’s just about everywhere.”

  “Oh…” Sarah said quietly, sinking down into the chair. “Just my ones, I suppose?” she added in a bitter little voice. “My reviews are smashed? And my picture?”

  “Yes,” Arabella admitted, looking down at her hands. “I shouldn’t have said…”

  “I had to find out some time.” Sarah buried her face in her hands. “They’ll sack me. I know they will,” she gasped. “The publicity. It’ll be in the papers. It’s the necklace. That’s what it is,” Sarah choked out. “I’m cursed. It won’t stop! Not till I’m dead, probably!”

  Maisie stood watching worriedly, wondering if she should comfort Miss Sarah, but Arabella had already hurried in and was kneeling by her chair. “Of course they won’t! The theatre manager wouldn’t be so stupid. You carry this show, you know you do.” Arabella hugged her. “It’s that horrible old stone,” she said. “It has to be.” And when she caught Maisie’s eye in the mirror, she looked scared. “I’ve got to go, Sarah, I need to get changed and do my hair.”

  A moment later, she stood up and patted Sarah’s shoulder awkwardly. “It’ll be all right, I’m sure it will.”

  “So you’ve told her about the necklace, too?” Maisie asked thoughtfully, as she closed the dressing-room door.

  Sarah sniffed, and nodded. “A lot of people know now. Rumours fly round here. But I told Arabella myself. She found me crying, after Timmy had told me about the necklace, and who he really was. I had to explain. Arabella was lovely about it – so excited for me. She said she was sure I’d find it again soon, and we agreed that the curse was only a silly story. It couldn’t be true. But then after that all the awful things started to happen, and it is true! It is!”

  Maisie looked at her with concern. She really did seem to believe she was cursed, and Arabella had believed it as well. Maisie didn’t believe in curses. But both of the older girls had looked terrified.

  “I don’t think a necklace could break glass, Miss,” Maisie said matter-of-factly. “Even if it is cursed. Or throw red paint everywhere. I don’t think this is a curse at all. Of course, it’s a real pity about the necklace, and we’ll have to do our best to find it. But all the accidents, and Lucy falling down the stairs – that’s real. It isn’t a ghost, or bad luck or fate. You’ve got someone trying to scare you silly. We just need to find out who. And you’ve got me to help you…”

  A little later, whilst the play went on, Maisie slipped out of Sarah’s dressing room and into the chorus girls’ room. There was something burning in the stove. She walked over and opened it. Grabbing a singed piece of fabric from inside, she tucked it inside a handkerchief and stuffed it into her apron. Then she clanged the door shut, wincing as her fingers burned on the hot metal. She whisked out of the dressing room, ducking quickly behind a clothes rail that was standing in the passage. She could hear running feet pattering on the stairs and someone was laughing. Maisie held her breath, shaking her sore fingers as the chorus girls poured past her into their dressing room, ripping off their feathered headdresses, ready for the next change.

  As soon as they were all inside, Maisie darted back into Sarah’s dressing room along the passage.

  “Maisie, where have you been?” Sarah said, looking round at her anxiously. “I need you to help me put the finale dress on. Oh, my goodness, what have you done to your hands? You’re covered in black stuff! Don’t come near my dress like that!”

  “I won’t, I won’t. I’ll wash them. I’m sorry, Miss Sarah.” Maisie hurriedly washed the ashy streaks off her hands in the bowl of hot water she’d brought in for Sarah earlier on.

  Sarah sighed. “You look like you’ve been grubbing about in a fireplace or something.”

  Maisie smiled at her. “I was in the chorus girls’ dressing room, Miss. I wanted to look round while there wasn’t anyone there, you see, while they were all on stage, and the dressers had gone to get a cup of tea. I didn’t want anyone knowing that I was snooping about, that way they won’t know to mind their tongues while I’m around.” She pulled the little bundle out of her pocket, wrapped in her shamefully grubby handkerchief. “Look, Miss. Don’t come close enough to mark your dress, though.”

  Sarah peered over at the scraps of burned fabric and wrinkled her nose disgustedly. “Whatever is it, Maisie?”

  “It’s a pair of gloves, Miss. What’s left of them.” She twitched at the fabric and held it up closer. “Can you see the red paint?”

  “The posters!” Sarah gasped.

  “Mm-hm. I found them in that big old stove in the chorus girls’ dressing room. Whoever did it wore gloves, and then they burned the evidence in the stove. Or tried to. I took them out of the back of it.” She smiled at Sarah. “Do you still think it’s a curse, Miss?”

  Sarah nibbled her bottom lip, staring at the stained gloves, as though she’d never seen anything like them. “Maybe not,” she admitted. “Perhaps you’re right and someone is trying to scare me.” Her face seemed to lighten as she smiled and the worried lines along her forehead smoothed out a little. “I suppose whoever it was knew how much theatre people believe in things like that.”

  Maisie nodded. “It has to be someone from the theatre, Miss. This theatre. If it wasn’t, they could have just thrown the paint around and run away – there would be no need to come inside. This is definitely someone who you know. They belong here.” She placed the handkerchief-w
rapped bundle carefully on one of the shelves and started to help Sarah into the huge, flouncy dress. “There has to be someone here who doesn’t like you very much, Miss.”

  Sarah laughed sadly. “That doesn’t narrow it down a lot, Maisie. I got picked out of the chorus a year or so ago to take a part in Mermaid Girl, and that led to this show afterwards. A lot of the girls thought it should have been them that got chosen. I hoped they’d come round to the idea, but they still hate me for it. And people like Edward Hart and Millie Morrison, who have the other main parts, they think I’m just a jumped-up chorus girl who got lucky, so they can’t stand me, either!”

  Maisie sighed. “Well, at least it’s not a curse, Miss. If it’s just some spiteful dancer, we’ve got a chance of stopping them, haven’t we?” She looked thoughtfully at Sarah in the mirror, as she began to do up the line of tiny buttons. “I might go visiting the chorus dressing room again, Miss. When they’re there, this time.” Her smile widened. “And if I moan a bit about how mean you are, Miss, and how you threw a bottle of scent at me, maybe they’ll tell me things.”

  “I did not!” Sarah gasped. “Oh – oh, I see, Maisie. I’m being stupid. You’re very good at this, you know. But not scent. No one would believe that, it’s too expensive. Face powder, maybe.”

  “It looks as though you have been throwing the face powder around,” Maisie said sternly, looking at the dressing table. “It’s everywhere, Miss.”

  “I’m sorry, Maisie.” Sarah frowned. “I’ll try to keep it tidier. I can’t think how it got like that. I’m sure I didn’t spill it.” She undid the pretty glass jar, and lifted out the powder puff, fluffing it into the loose powder, ready to dab it over her face before she went back on stage.

  Maisie watched her, gazing thoughtfully at the drifts of powder scattered over the bench, then she let out a little squeak of dismay and snatched the powder puff, just as Sarah peered into the mirror and held it up to her face. “Don’t!”

 

‹ Prev