However, PC Green couldn’t quite remember where he had parked his car and while he was wandering up and down the street trying to find it, Violet spotted the Count standing on the opposite side of the road, talking intently to a man in a parked van. She crouched down between two cars, trying to get a better look without being seen. The Count glanced around nervously, as if he were worried about being watched, then handed the driver a small package. As soon as he had done so, he ran across the road and climbed into a waiting limousine that immediately drove off. The van then drove off too, past Violet. She noticed F. Orger, written on the side of it. Why did that name sound so familiar?
But before Violet could wrack her brains, PC Green walked back to her, looking very worried. ‘I think that someone has stolen my car!’
Violet scanned the street. ‘Isn’t that it?’ she said, pointing to a police car parked a little way down the road.
‘Yes! How silly am I? That would have been the third time this week I’d reported it stolen when it was parked right under my nose.’
The car was very messy and Violet had to move a book and a pile of papers from the back seat so she could sit down.
‘That’s an amazing book – I’ve just finished it,’ said PC Green looking at the book in her hand. ‘It only took me six months,’ he added proudly.
Violet’s mind was whirring with ideas. ‘May I borrow it?’
PC Green looked pleased. ‘Of course. Now, Violet, shall we have some fun?’ And with a huge grin he turned on the lights and siren and they drove the short distance to Violet’s house at top speed.
The following week was a rather trying one in the Remy-Robinson household. It was still very hot and although the weather men kept saying that it would rain, it never did. The sky just got darker and darker, the air stickier and stickier, and everyone got hotter and grumpier. Benedict was away until Thursday and Camille was working very hard designing the last few pieces of jewellery for her new collection.
And Violet? Well, the matter of the climbing figure and the missing jewel refused to stop rattling around her head. She knew she had seen someone in the garden, and she couldn’t understand why the Count had lied about Isabella’s return from boarding school and why he been so dismissive of her witness account. It was as if he didn’t want PC Green to believe a word she said, as if he didn’t want Dee Dee’s jewel to be found.
Violet spent most of her spare time in the garden with Rose discussing the crime, as it was the most exciting thing to have happened in a long time. There were two things that they were particularly concerned about.
Number One was Dee Dee. The doctors at the hospital had decided that the old lady should spend the week there and both Rose’s mother, Maeve, and Camille had been to visit her. They didn’t say much to the girls, but from overheard snippets of conversation the pair gleaned that Dee Dee was still very upset by the theft and not at all well.
Number Two was PC Green. Was a policeman who managed to lose his car three times in a week really likely to be able to solve a difficult crime such as this? Sure enough, it was only Thursday when Camille received a phone call from PC Green asking her to tell Dee Dee that he was very sorry but he was intending to close the case due to lack of evidence.
‘But he can’t just do that!’ Violet exclaimed, when her mother told her.
‘I agree, chérie, it is upsetting. I think I won’t tell Dee Dee until she has fully recovered.’
‘But there are clues! What about the red hair? What about the climbing figure that I saw?’
Camille shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Violet. Now I must get on with some work. Why don’t you go and find Rose?’
So that was exactly what Violet did, clutching PC Green’s crime book in her hand.
Later that night, Violet lay in bed, unable to sleep. How could anyone sleep, she thought, when they had just discovered the identity of a major criminal? She switched on her bedside light for the umpteenth time to look at the ‘crime solving matrix’ she and Rose had written, as instructed in PC Green’s book.
However, there was one major problem. No one believed them. When Violet and Rose showed the matrix to Norma, she looked concerned and confused. It was a very ‘serious matter’, Norma said, to accuse someone of stealing. That was also what Violet’s mother said, looking rather less concerned and confused, and more certain, that the Count and Countess would never be involved in such a thing, let alone their daughter. And it was also what Benedict said, when he arrived back from his trip, although he wasn’t at all concerned and confused, just absolutely convinced that Violet and Rose were wrong, and a bit cross that they would suggest it. Rose tried showing the matrix to her parents too but they made almost identical comments.
Of course, none of this shook the girls’ absolute belief in their theory, but they could see that much as they loved their parents and Norma dearly, they were going to be of no use at all in getting back Dee Dee’s jewel.
It was clear to Violet as she lay in her bed that evening that she, Violet Remy-Robinson, would have to take matters into her own hands (with, hopefully, some help from Rose). Her first step would be to go and see PC Green the very next day. As a policeman surely he would take their deductions seriously?
By a stroke of luck, Violet and Rose’s school, St Catherine’s, was located just a couple of streets away from the police station, so it seemed obvious to Violet that by far the simplest way to see PC Green was to slip out of school. But, of course, this was far easier said than done, as St Catherine’s was very keen on security. There were entry phones, buzzers, locked gates and bolted doors at every turn. And not so much, Violet often thought, to keep people out, but to keep the children in. Escaping would be a little like escaping from prison.
Violet met Rose the following morning before school for an emergency pow-wow in the quietest corner of the school cloakroom. By then Violet had already thought, plotted and pondered, coming up with three plans. As Violet explained them, Rose’s eyebrows drew together in a concerned knot, because as much as Rose wanted to help, she couldn’t help but think of the terrible telling-off they would get if they were caught.
Despite Rose’s concerns, there was no time to waste, so that very morning, Violet attempted Plan A.
‘I have to go to the dentist,’ Violet announced with total confidence to her form teacher, Miss Tucker, after the first lesson.
Miss Tucker looked surprised. ‘I don’t have any record of that in the register. Did your parents tell the school?’
‘Oh, yes, definitely. I brought the note in and gave it to the school secretary myself.’
Miss Tucker thought for a moment. Violet was usually honest and trustworthy. ‘Okay,’ she replied. ‘You’d better go downstairs and wait for your mother in the hall.’
Violet nodded, grabbed her coat and darted out the door before Miss Tucker could change her mind. Rose mouthed ‘good luck’ to her as Violet passed her desk.
Miss Brisk, the school secretary and guardian of the buzzer to the front door, was on the telephone. Violet waited for her to finish, hopping from one foot to the other, as she sometimes did when she was nervous. And then, just as Miss Brisk was putting down the phone, something deeply annoying happened. The headmistress, Mrs Rumperbottom, came out of her office. Her beady eyes fixed upon Violet.
‘Violet,’ she said suspiciously. ‘How can we help? Shouldn’t you be in class?’
Violet’s courage took a large dip. She hadn’t reckoned on dealing with scary Mrs Rumperbottom.
‘Well, you see, I think, I mean, I am meant to be going to the dentist, and er. . .’ She could feel herself going pink as she began to stumble through her carefully rehearsed lie.
Mrs Rumperbottom held up her hand for silence. ‘Miss Brisk, do you have a letter from Violet’s parents about a trip to the dentist?’
Miss Brisk shook her head. ‘No, Headmistress, I’m afraid not.’
‘I see,’ Mrs Rumperbottom replied slowly, drawing out each syllable. ‘It appears, Violet
, that you are mistaken. You will not be going to the dentist today, so I suggest that you return to your classroom as quickly as your little legs will carry you.’ And Violet had no choice but to abandon Plan A and stomp back up the stairs to her classroom.
At breaktime, Violet and Rose tried Plan B.
Dorothy MacStew, the school cook, was nearly as fierce as Mrs Rumperbottom, so the two girls approached the kitchen door with some nervousness. First break happened to coincide with the daily food deliveries, and, as they gingerly pushed open the swing doors, they could hear Mrs MacStew shouting at the butcher.
The poor man stood with his head bowed, as she lectured him on the many faults his sausages displayed. He was delighted to see the small figure of Rose coming towards them, interrupting his telling-off.
Rose positioned herself so that Mrs MacStew was facing away from the back door and began to nervously deliver her speech about her mother having decided that Rose was allergic to gluten so could she have a special lunch, please?
Mrs MacStew seemed to find this extremely irritating, but both she and the butcher were so distracted they didn’t notice Violet creep towards the back door.
Yes! Violet thought. This is going to work!
But just at that moment, the baker arrived at the back door, as he too had been summoned for a good telling-off about his rolls. He rang the bell, and Mrs MacStew looked over to the door.
‘Violet!’ she bellowed.
Violet froze and slowly turned around, ready with explanations. But Mrs MacStew wasn’t interested. ‘Get back to the playground! And you too, Rose! Please tell your mother that if she wants you to be gluttenous free she will have to send in a packed lunch!’
Disastrous. That was the only word to describe the escape attempts so far. So Rose and Violet went into a huddle in the playground and contemplated the tricky and dangerous nature of Plan C.
‘Are you sure this is a good idea?’ Rose asked Violet anxiously.
Violet paused before answering, as she too was feeling less than sure. But then she thought of Dee Dee and nodded with all the enthusiasm she could muster.
After they had finished their art lesson, the two girls hid themselves in the toilet, listening to the rest of their class hurtle down the stairs towards the dining room for lunch. When all was quiet, Violet eased up the toilet window and climbed out, with Rose gripping tightly onto her upper arms as she lowered herself down onto the rusty old fire escape. Violet whispered goodbye, then ran as quietly as she could down to the first floor of the building.
Bleep bleep. The alarm on Violet’s watch sounded, warning her that lunch finished in two minutes.
Oh no, she thought, I’m taking too long.
And she had just reached the really tricky bit – getting from the fire escape to the high wall by the alley. And the gap was much wider than she had thought.
Holding onto the fire escape railings, Violet stretched out as far as she could, but she was still a way off. She couldn’t jump – it would be impossible not to lose her balance. But there was no time to go back, and in a minute everyone would finish lunch and she would be found, clinging to the back of the building. She began to panic. How could she reach just a bit further? And then, looking down and seeing her school tie, Violet had a brainwave. Quick as a flash, she untied it from her neck and knotted it around the railings. Grasping the tie, she leaned right out and s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g as far as she could she just managed to step safely onto the wall. The lunch bell rang out and everyone flooded into the playground, just as Violet lowered herself down into the alley and scampered off towards the police station.
PC Green seemed to have been promoted; he had a smart office and Violet noticed that everyone was calling him Inspector Green. He was delighted to see her, or, to be more accurate, was delighted until she showed him the crime-solving matrix when a cloud seemed to settle over the policeman’s face. Before Violet had finished explaining, he interrupted her brusquely.
‘Violet, I have to tell you that I find your accusations against the Du Plicitous family quite preposterous.’ Violet tried to protest but he held up his hand to quieten her, his face reddening with anger. ‘I could spend hours telling you how wrong you and your matrix are, but I haven’t the time because I have lots of important police work to do. So I will just say that the main reason that it is all totally ridiculous is that this very morning the Count came to see me to say that he had found the Pearl of the Orient in a flowerbed outside Mrs Derota’s flat and had returned it safely to her. So, Violet, what do you think of that?’ he challenged triumphantly.
Violet was so amazed by this news that she didn’t know what to say. But that didn’t matter because there was a polite tap on the door. A young policewoman appeared.
‘Sorry to bother you, Sir, but I thought you might be interested to know that St Catherine’s has just reported a missing pupil,’ she said, looking pointedly at Violet.
‘Oh dear, Violet,’ PC Green smirked, full of mock sympathy. ‘You seem to be in rather a lot of trouble, don’t you?’
It was a little before midnight when Violet finally stopped crying and fell asleep.
Camille had had to leave work to collect Violet from the police station, and the memory of her mother’s concerned, embarrassed face was enough to make Violet prickle with guilt. Mrs Rumperbottom had met them at the police station and told Camille how horrified she was by Violet’s escape and that she would be suspending her from school. And worse still, Mrs MacStew had told on Rose, and she too was to be suspended for helping Violet. Since term ended the following week, the school had no wish to see either of them until September.
Benedict had been waiting when they got home, looking very angry. Apparently the Count had already heard about Violet’s accusations – no doubt from PC Green, Violet thought – and had rung her father up, shouting so loudly that Benedict had had to hold the telephone away from his ear. The Count had ranted about how deeply offended he was to be suspected of such a thing, saying that he had a good mind to fire Benedict. If there were any further accusations he would make sure Benedict never worked again. Violet’s parents were so upset that they had asked her to write a long, grovelling letter of apology to the Du Plicitouses.
Only Norma had been of any comfort. She had made Violet tomato and cheese pizza for supper and later, when she brought Violet some hot milk to help her sleep. ‘Mrs Derota is a very nice lady and your friend,’ she said kindly, giving Violet’s arm a gentle squeeze. ‘You tried to help her; nothing wrong with that.’ But Violet wouldn’t listen, and she cried and cried.
It was unfortunate that Violet wasn’t aware until later the next day that Mrs Rumperbottom’s visit to Rose’s house hadn’t worked out quite as the headmistress had expected. It might have made Violet feel better.
Rose and her mother, who was rather like an older version of Rose, had seen Mrs Rumperbottom coming up the stairs to the house and had hidden in the bathroom. Therefore, it was Rose’s father, who answered the door to the headmistress. Robert Trelawney was a very successful lawyer and so, fresh from court and still dressed in his wig and gown, he demanded to know the case against his daughter and when it was presented to him, he was most unimpressed.
‘As a criminal barrister, Mrs Rumperbottom, I am a man who deals in hard facts and proper evidence and not what I would call, at best, flimsy assumptions. It would appear, Mrs Rumperbottom, that you are proposing to suspend my daughter for asking Mrs MacStew for a gluten-free lunch, which is not, as far as I’m aware, a crime – if it were, surely half of England would be in jail? Now am I missing something?’
It was not often that Mrs Rumperbottom was at a loss for words. In fact, she was so stunned that when she did open her mouth and try to speak, no words would come out. Rose’s father held the front door open and ushered her out.
‘I’m delighted you agree with me,’ he said. ‘So you’ll be seeing Rose tomorrow morning as usual. A pleasure as ever, Mrs Rumperbottom. Do call again whenever you wish. Good nig
ht.’ And he slammed the door behind her.
The next morning, Violet’s godmother, Celeste, arrived to stay between visiting the Chilean Salt Plains and the Norwegian Fjords. On seeing everyone’s grave faces, and Violet’s red puffy eyes, she asked what on earth the matter was. She listened to the tale solemnly, but when it was over, a slight smile could be seen lurking around her mouth.
‘Oh, dear. It sounds terribly serious,’ she said, in a tone of voice that implied she didn’t think that it was serious at all. ‘But I also think it displays a certain spirit and a sense of justice in Violet and Rose, which are both very good character traits.’ She gave Violet a crafty wink. ‘And, as far as school goes, at least Violet was not expelled from the school for doing something really, really bad like locking her geography teacher in the stationary cupboard for six whole hours, so the poor woman nearly had a nervous breakdown, n’est-ce pas, Camille?’
For some reason which Violet didn’t understand, her mother went bright red and gave Celeste a furious look.
This made Celeste smile even more and Benedict gave a guffaw of laughter. At that moment, Norma walked in with a tray piled high with bacon and waffles for breakfast and a good mood was restored in the Remy-Robinson household.
Celeste pulled a bottle of champagne out of her backpack.
‘I feel a toast is called for.’ Pop! The cork exploded and a fountain of fizz was slopped into the grown- ups’ glasses, with just a splash added to Violet’s orange juice. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please raise your glasses to a glorious summer, to the return of Mrs Derota’s brooch – which will hopefully now be kept in the bank rather than the biscuit tin – and to Violet, who didn’t get expelled from school, only suspended, unlike—’ But Celeste couldn’t continue, because Camille had firmly clamped her hand over her mouth.
Violet and the Pearl of the Orient Page 3