‘Well, run along then and join the other children, Isabella has some marvellous games planned,’ he said, his eyes following them as they darted off.
Much to Violet and Rose’s surprise they found themselves having a good time. Many of Isabella’s friends were as poisonous as she, but there were a couple of nice girls who had the misfortune to share Isabella’s dormitory at boarding school. In fact, Violet was having such a good time apple bobbing and playing ‘stick the tail on the devil’ that it was only when Isabella announced that it was time to play sardines, and Rose gave her a big nudge with her elbow, that she remembered their secret mission.
‘Now I’m going to hide,’ Isabella announced bossily. ‘I might be anywhere in the house, except my parents’ bedroom suite on the first floor. That is locked because we are so rich and have so many valuable things, we just can’t risk leaving it open,’ she boasted. ‘Now, shut your eyes and start counting!’
As soon as the game was in full swing, Rose and Violet hurried up to the first floor and tried the door to the bedroom . It wasn’t locked! They opened it quietly, crept into the moonlit room and over to the enormous wardrobe.
‘You keep watch,’ Violet whispered to Rose, who nodded in agreement. Then, feeling like Lucy about to find Narnia, Violet opened the wardrobe and pushed her way through the Countess’s fur coats. The safe was at the back, just where the letter said it would be. It was shaped like a heart, which Violet hadn’t expected. Yuck, how tacky, she thought as she punched the letters I-S-A-B-E-L-L-A into the keypad.
But instead of opening, the safe bleeped bossily and a message flashed up on the screen.
Violet was puzzled.
‘Rose!’ she whispered. ’How do you spell Isabella?’
’I-S-A-B-E-L-L-A,’ Rose replied. ‘Please hurry up!’ She was feeling so nervous that she thought she might explode.
Violet punched in the letters again. The safe gave another unfriendly bleep.
Violet hesitated, unsure what to do. The password in the note must have been wrong. But what else could it be?
Her thoughts were interrupted by Rose whispering to her, in a quavering voice, ‘I think there’s someone coming!’
Violet froze, because she too heard a pair of footsteps.
‘What is the meaning of this?’ roared a familiar male voice.
‘I’m really, really s-s-sorry, M . . . Mr . . . Count. . . ’ Rose stammered, sounding petrified.
Violet’s heart began to thump.
‘What are you doing in here?’ he demanded furiously.
‘Er, well,’ Rose began. ‘You see . . . I was . . . er . . . just looking for . . . for a friend of mine.’
‘Which friend? Not Violet, by any chance?’
Violet shrank to the back of the cupboard.
‘No, not Violet,’ Rose squeaked. ’Absolutely, definitely not Violet. It was a new friend, called er . . . um . . . Esmeralda.’ But the Count wasn’t listening any more. He was pacing slowly round the bedroom, and Violet heard him stop in front of the wardrobe.
‘Why is this wardrobe open?’
‘Um . . . um . . . ’ Rose stuttered.
But then another voice spoke.
‘Renard!! What are you doing in here?’ the Countess squawked. ‘I need you downstairs this instant! Dinner is about to be served. Run along child!’ she hissed at Rose.
Violet sensed hesitation from Rose before she heard a scurrying of feet.
The Count hesitated too.
‘Come on, Renard! What are you waiting for?’
A moment’s pause and then he said, ‘Coming, my love.’ Violet heard him pad out of the room, shutting and locking the door behind him.
Violet let out a long, slow, sweet sigh of relief, before realising that she was now locked in the Count’s bedroom. She came out of the wardrobe and tried the door, just to be sure. Most definitely locked.
Downstairs the dinner gong sounded. Violet began to panic that she would be shortly be missed and then the Count would come looking for her and then she would be in so much trouble and everyone would shout at her and . . .
Keep calm, she told herself firmly. She just needed to think; after all, there must be another way out. And of course, there was.
The sash window slid up quite smoothly. Violet climbed out, reaching for the rickety old drainpipe that PC Green had rattled, telling herself sternly, as her courage wavered, that it had supported Isabella climbing all the way up to the roof when she had stolen the Pearl of Orient, so it would support Violet on her short climb down to the ground.
Violet inched down the drainpipe as it wobbled, jumping the last bit and landing softly on the grass. Violet tried to walk casually back into the house. But she bumped straight into the Count, his fangs gleaming in the moonlight.
‘Violet! How funny, I was just talking about you with your little friend Rose. Where did you get to? Surely you weren’t looking for Isabella outside?’
‘Oh . . . yes! That’s exactly what I was doing,’ Violet replied, wide-eyed with innocence. ‘I thought she might be in the garden shed.’
‘What garden shed?’ the Count asked sceptically.
‘Oh, you know, the shed over there,’ Violet waved vaguely. ‘Now I must go and find Rose. . .’ She tried to dart away, but the Count was too quick for her. He grabbed her arm roughly and lowered his head, snarling in her ear.
‘I am watching you. Very closely.’
‘Is there a problem, Count?’ Violet turned to see her father appear, looking concerned at the scene before him.
The Count put on a fake smile and started to stroke Violet’s hair, making her shudder. ‘None at all, I was just checking that my favourite little girl was having a lovely time. Now let us all go and have supper.’
Rose had saved Violet a seat next to her.
‘Did the Count catch you?’ she asked nervously.
‘No, but I escaped through the window and he found me outside. He definitely suspects something,’ Violet said. ‘I can’t believe the password is wrong. They must have changed it.’
She looked around for the pumpkin person, but they were nowhere to be seen.
The Count stood up and began making a long speech about how marvellous Isabella was, boasting on and on about her academic achievements and her sporting prowess. There was a polite round of applause and then the Count began on the Countess; her beauty, her fabulous taste and skill in renovating their house (with no mention of Violet’s father, who smiled politely as he listened), how witty and clever she was. Blah blah blah, thought Violet. He finished by saying, ‘So please, ladies and gentlemen, raise your glasses to Coraline, my one and only love, my Countess. You hold the key to my heart.’ And he winked at his wife, who looked like the cat who’d got the cream.
‘To Coraline!’ everyone chorused politely, half-heartedly raising their glasses.
‘That’s it!’ Violet whispered to Rose, who looked thoroughly confused. ‘“Key to my heart!” The safe was in the shape of a heart . . . which means the password has to be Coraline. I have to have one more go, for Dee Dee.’
Rose looked petrified at the idea of returning upstairs. ‘It’s okay, I’ll manage on my own,’ Violet said kindly. Rose was about to say that of course she would help, but they were interrupted by the Count making an announcement.
‘Now you must all come outside to see the stupendous firework display that Coraline has created so cleverly.’
Perfect, thought Violet. Now all she had to do was hang back from everyone and nip back up the drainpipe. But the Count had obviously had a word with Isabella, who marched over to Violet.
‘Violet, sweetie, come and watch the fireworks with me,’ she said in the falsest voice imaginable, grabbing Violet’s hand so she had no choice but to follow.
They stood right at the front of the crowd. Speakers had been set up and loud music began to boom out of them, as the sky was lit up with the multi-coloured plumes of rockets. Rose appeared by Violet’s other side, giving her an idea of how she might escape
from Isabella, who was still holding her hand in a crushing grip . . .
‘Aitchooo!’ Violet pretended to sneeze. ‘Aitchoo!’ Isabella looked at her with distaste and allowed Violet to let go of her hand to blow her nose. Just then a mass of rockets went off, lighting up the sky.
While Isabella was distracted, Violet leaned over to Rose. ‘Please, take her hand so she thinks it’s me.’
Rose nodded in response and did as she had been asked. Isabella was so taken with the fireworks that she didn’t notice Violet tiptoeing away.
Violet ran to the side of the house and shinned up the treacherous drainpipe. She was nearly at the top when it suddenly gave a dreadful lurch. Looking down, Violet saw the Count at the bottom of the drainpipe, his face a picture of rage. As the next round of fireworks lit up his deathly pale face, he took the drainpipe in both hands and pulled. The drainpipe shook violently before entirely coming away from the wall. Violet gasped, preparing herself for a terrible fall, when something unexpected happened . . .
A hand shot out of the open bedroom window, grabbed her and hauled her into the room.
All Violet saw was a flash of pumpkin suit as the person who had helped her ran out the door, whispering, ‘Be quick! Very very quick!’
Violet dived to the back of the wardrobe. She punched C-O-R-A-L-I-N-E into the keypad. The door of the safe swung open, revealing Dee Dee’s brooch sitting right in the middle of it, on a purple velvet cushion. With shaking hands Violet shoved the brooch into her pocket and scrambled back out of the cupboard.
But she was too late.
‘What precisely do you think you’re doing?’ The Count was standing over her. He bent down so his face was right next to hers.
‘Um. . .’ Violet hesitated for a moment, horribly mesmerised by his face so close to hers.
‘I think you had better give me back my brooch, don’t you?’ he said, menacingly.
Images span through Violet’s head like a film: Dee Dee weeping, surrounded by packing cases; the Count and Countess toasting each other, before diving into an enormous swimming pool together. And suddenly Violet was no longer scared of the middle-aged man, covered in melting makeup, who stood before her. No, she was furious with him.
‘It’s not yours, it’s Dee Dee’s and I’m getting it back for her. I know what you did. You got Dee Dee out of the way by giving her a theatre ticket, then you got Isabella to steal the Pearl. Then Mr Orger made a copy which you gave back to Dee Dee instead of the real jewel!’
The Count looked panicked for a moment, but he quickly pulled himself together. ‘That’s quite an accusation, Violet. I suppose you can prove it?’ he sneered.
‘Why else would you have been talking to Mr Orger the day after the Pearl was stolen? Why else would you and your horrible wife have been toasting him the other night? And most importantly, why would you have Dee Dee’s brooch in your safe?’
‘How do you know it’s not my brooch?’ the Count asked. ‘How do you know I did not see Dee Dee’s jewel and love it so much that I had it copied, from memory, by my friend Mr Orger, as a present for my wife? Because that’s my story and I’m sticking to it! So be a good little girl and give me back my brooch and we’ll say no more about it.’
Violet had no intention of doing any such thing, but the time for words was over. She made a run for it.
‘Not so fast!’ the Count cried, lunging at her and grabbing her by the ear.
‘Owww!’ Violet shrieked, giving him a good kick in the shins.
‘You little beast!’ he roared. ‘Now give it back or I’ll really hurt you!’ And he twisted her ear so the pain was excruciating.
At that precise moment the bedroom door opened and Rose ran in, accompanied by PC Green and another couple of men, all looking extremely solemn.
The Count let go of Violet very quickly, but not quite quickly enough.
‘Count, what on earth were you doing to Violet?’ PC Green asked him, looking alarmed.
‘Um, well,’ began the Count, floundering around. ‘We were just . . . er . . . playing a game, weren’t we Violet?’
‘No, not really,’ Violet replied.
The Count swallowed hard. ‘Rose, sweetie, I cannot believe you tried to involve the police in such a matter. Inspector Green, I can explain everything—’
But the policeman interrupted him. ‘It’s back to PC Green and Rose didn’t call me, she just showed me where you were. These gentlemen are from Scotland Yard’s Incredibly Serious Crime Squad. There is a most suspiciously irregular issue with some business dealings of yours, apparently.’
One of the other gentlemen stepped forward. ‘Count Du Plicitous, I am arresting you on the extremely strong suspicion of serious fraud and money laundering. You do not have to say anything – and in fact I would suggest you don’t – but phone your lawyer immediately and get him to meet us at the station. Cuff him up, PC.’
The Count turned even paler and rivulets of sweat and makeup began to slide down his face.
Violet saw her chance and she jumped in.
‘PC Green, you might also want to ask the Count exactly what he is doing with the Pearl of the Orient in his safe?’
The policeman raised his eyebrows questioningly at the Count. The Count smiled ingratiatingly back at him. ‘As I was explaining to you, dear Violet, it is not the real Pearl of the Orient, but a copy I had made for my darling wife.’
‘I think we both know that’s a lie,’ Violet said.
‘Well prove it then!’ the Count bellowed.
‘Count! Really!’ reprimanded PC Green. ‘Shouting at a little girl! Now, Violet we have heard these accusations before. Do you have any proof this time?’
Violet thought for a moment. She didn’t really have any proof at all . . .
‘If you fetch Violet’s mother she will be able to tell you if the brooch from the Count’s safe is the real one or not,’ Rose said, ‘and if it is, we will all know he is lying.’
Violet grinned at her friend.
PC Green sent Rose off to find Camille and Benedict. They returned a few moments later.
‘Violet!’ they cried in unison. ‘We have been looking for you everywhere! What is going on?’
‘Plenty of time for explanations later,’ PC Green said, a little sternly. ‘Now, madam, could you please tell us if this is the real Pearl of the Orient or a fake?’
Camille took the brooch in her hand and held it up to the light, turning it slowly this way and that. After a minute or two, she took a deep breath. ‘It is real,’ she announced. ‘It is the Pearl of the Orient. One of the most valuable pieces of jewellery in the world.’
Everyone gasped, except the Count, who began to babble. ‘Gentlemen, I can explain everything. Please come and have a drink. I have some very fine triple malt whisky, or perhaps you prefer apricot brandy? Or peach schnapps? Please, I am sure we can sort this out.’
The men from Scotland Yard were having none of it.
‘Cuff him, Green! This minute!’
The Countess and Isabella appeared just at that moment. An intense period of shrieking began as the Count was led away to the waiting police car.
PC Green turned to Violet. ‘You were right all along, Violet, I’m sorry that I didn’t believe you. Most impressive. Perhaps you should be adding amateur detective to your many other skills, as the Count suggested?’
‘I couldn’t have done it without Rose’s help. She was really brave,’ Violet told him.
‘Good teamwork, girls.’ The policeman nodded approvingly. ’Now I need to take this brooch back to Mrs Derota.’
‘Oh, please can we take it?’ Rose asked.
‘I think that would be okay, just this once,’ he replied with a smile, then wished them all a good night.
The girls searched for the pumpkin person to thank them for their help, but they had vanished.
The Countess was busy wailing in a corner with Isabella, and it seemed the wrong time to thank her for a lovely party, so instead Violet and Rose made
their way out of the house and went to knock on Dee Dee’s door.
‘Happy Halloween!’ they chorused when she opened the door.
‘Aren’t you supposed to say “trick or treat”?’ Dee Dee said. ‘Though I have to admit I’m all out of sweets, my doorbell has been ring-a-ding-dinging all night. I’ll have to take a trick. Do your worst!’
‘Okay,’ Violet said. ‘Close your eyes and put out your hand.’ And Violet placed the Pearl of the Orient on her outstretched palm. Much later that night, when the moon had worked its way across the clear autumn sky, two couples met in the garden.
The first was Pudding and Lullabelle who sat happily together on the lawn.
And the second couple was Norma and Ernest, who were having a brief, whispered conversation. Ernest was dressed in his normal clothes and he had nearly managed to get all the orange makeup off his face and hands. They stood in the shadows and congratulated themselves that everything had worked out so well. For Dee Dee Derota, they both agreed, was a very nice lady.
About a week or so later, if you had happened to be standing outside one of the very smartest jewellers in Bond Street, you would have seen two ladies get out of a taxi and be ushered into the shop and to a small room upstairs.
Dee Dee and Camille were paying a visit to one of the most expert jewellers in the world, Senõr Los Dideron.
There was a long silence while the Senõr examined the jewel thoroughly. And then he came and knelt down in front of Dee Dee.
‘Thank you Madame, for showing me the most wonderful piece of jewellery I have ever had the pleasure of seeing in all my life.’ He said in his thick spanish accent. ‘If I die tonight, I will die a happy man.’
Dee Dee let out a long and loud whoop of delight.
Violet and the Pearl of the Orient Page 5