The Ondine Collection

by Ebony McKenna

  “We are closed for renovations, so it’s natural the building is not up to correct specifications,” Ma explained, her hands clasped in front of her stomach so that just her thumbs had room to wriggle – which they did, putting the world’s best fidget to shame. “Furnish us with a list and we’ll comply with everything on it.”

  “Yes, you will,” Mrs Klegg said.

  “It’s all mince,” Shambles said from Ondine’s shoulder.[36]

  They were both watching from a safe distance, so Ma and Mrs Klegg wouldn’t hear them. “The Duke would run ye out of town, so he would. More than likely that box of bangles under the floor is at the centre of it all.”

  An idea percolated in Ondine’s mind, so she re-read the newspaper obituary about the Duke’s father and made a note of the newspaper’s date.

  “I reckon those jewels are the old Duke’s secret stash,” Shambles said.

  Ondine wondered if her parents were thinking along the same lines. “Maybe you’re right about the old Duke, Shambles,” Ondine said, although she found it very hard to believe Vincent had anything to do with this. “Let’s go to the city library and see if we can find out more.” She grabbed her tattered school bag and headed for the door.

  The warm sun and fresh air cleared the dust from Ondine’s brain as she walked to the train station. Shambles clung to her shoulder. She might not be able to help the family any further with the health inspector, but if she could find some more information about the former Duke, it might give them a way to get the present Duke off their case.

  “Yer a good lass, and I like the view from here,” Shambles said with a saucy chuckle. Blushing furiously, Ondine looked down to see his point of view – the open ‘V’ in the neck of her shirt. The day felt hot already, but she quickly did all her buttons up.

  Would there be no end to this blushing?

  To think I actually missed you!

  The ancient bluestone library building frightened Ondine at first. It was so tall and dark it blocked out the sun. Her legs felt a little wobbly as she scaled the steps. With the ferret moving about on her shoulder, she felt sure someone would stop her at the door.

  “Keep still,” she whispered, but it was no use.

  A librarian approached, looked a bit startled, then settled his features and gave Ondine a smile that made his eyes crinkle all the way to his temples. “You’ll find pet care and animals in six-three-six. It’s the second row on the right.”[37]

  “Thank you, but I’m not here for that. I’d like to look at some newspapers from about thirty years ago, please. Where would they be?”

  “They’re in the archive room, but you won’t be able to take animals in there, I’m afraid. It’s a controlled environment.”

  “Um, what about if I sat outside the archive room, and you brought the papers to me? Would that be OK?”

  “Good thinking, lass,” Shambles whispered.

  The librarian shook his head. “I’m sorry, we can’t do that either. Have you got a box you could put your pet in for the time being? Otherwise you could put her in a locker.”

  “I’ll naw go in a box!” Shambles protested, but it fell on deaf ears as Ondine accepted the compromise and took a locker key. Ondine felt no compulsion to correct the librarian, because she didn’t want him paying any closer attention to her “pet” passenger.

  “Hush up. It’s for your own good.” A tingle of delight raced up Ondine’s spine. She was enjoying this.

  “Dinnae put me in the locker!” he pleaded, as she opened the ventilated door.

  “Stop whining. Just pretend you’re going in, then at the last second get in my bag and stay absolutely still.”

  Shambles had the choice – shut in a metal box or crammed into the bag. He chose the latter and kept quiet.

  The archive room smelt of naphthalene, making Ondine’s eyes water and the inside of her nose freeze.[38] Shafts of light poured through from the small windows up on high, giving the room an ethereal feel. She found the pile of newspapers and worked backwards from the date of the old Duke’s obituary, scanning for anything mentioning his name. In the months prior to his death, she found a page of court reports, and one short item that outlined a failed criminal case against the old Duke. There were lots of quotes from the old Duke’s lawyer saying they were “always confident the unconstitutional charges would be dropped”. Hope and a little bit of confusion surged in Ondine’s chest. They were on to something.

  Turning the pages back in time, they found an earlier court report.

  “It says here the lawyers for the Duke are challenging the ‘constitutional validity’ of the charges. Can you make sense of this?”

  Shambles peered at the newsprint, his head turning left and right as he scanned the column of text. “Aye, he’s saying he can’t be brought to trial because he’s the Duke. They’re quoting the ancient law of ‘nascut regulum’.”[39]

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I don’t know, but I think it worked.”

  Turning the pages yet further back in time, they found few mentions of the Duke, apart from the regular fortnightly list of visiting dignitaries. Almost as if the newspaper was pointedly ignoring him.

  But of course, they were looking at this with hindsight – nobody at the time knew he was about to pop his clogs. For a while Ondine became distracted with other news events, and all the photographs highlighting the bizarre fashions of the day made her snort.

  Then something caught her eye – a photograph of the old Duke and Duchess at an opening night at the theatre. The Duchess was wearing a diamond necklace that at first looked like a triangle of lace. Ondine got out her notepad and drew a picture of the necklace and the rest of the jewellery the Duchess wore. It was an old photograph, and although Ondine was no jewellery designer, she felt sure she’d seen that same piece in the box they’d uncovered under her family’s floorboards.

  “Eh, lass, didya read the rest of it?” Shambles said. “Says here the Duchess’s jewellery is on loan from the Hera Collection. Have you heard of them?”

  “Can’t say I have. Stay quiet and I’ll get the librarian to help me look it up.”

  Before Shambles could protest, she shoved him back into her bag.

  That old familiar, tingling feeling of excitement started to course through her veins. Ondine knew she was on to something, and it felt great. Now to find the librarian and gather more information.

  To Ondine’s surprise, her questions weren’t something the man had to look up. He’d heard of the Hera Collection before, and knew where the best book on the subject could be found.

  “It’s famous, but a bit before your time,” he said, reaching for an enormous book filled with colour-plate images of some of the finest jewellery Ondine had ever seen.

  “Have a look at these and try to keep your eyes in your head,” the librarian added.

  Drooling in a public library was not the done thing, so Ondine kept her mouth closed and swallowed several times in an effort to stop salivating. Page after page of incredible designs made her want to weep. There were clusters of choker necklaces, strings of pearls, glistening tiaras and stunning multi-jewelled earrings with matching necklaces. There were delicate rings for young debutantes, along with gaudy big monsters for fat old ladies with chubby fingers.

  When she turned the page her breath hitched. It was the same necklace the Duchess had worn in the old newspaper photo. Ondine put the picture she’d sketched beside the photograph and her heart started beating way too fast at the discovery. Then she took out her pencil and altered her drawing, rubbing a bit out here and there, sketching it again, and so on, until her drawing was perfect.

  Look, she had a good brain, but she just didn’t have the artistic bent Marguerite possessed, so the drawing and re-drawing took a while.[40] Eventually, she was done.

  “Thank you so much for your help,” Ondine said to the librarian as she packed her things and shoved them into her bag. A muffled “ooof” sounded from inside it,
but she coughed to smother Shambles’s grunts.

  She couldn’t get home fast enough with the exciting news.

  “ONDI, THANK GOODNESS for your perception,” Ma said when Ondine returned home, Shambles riding high on her shoulder. “Mrs Klegg would have seen that entire box of jewels if you hadn’t acted as fast as you did. And your psychic gift kicked in at just the right time. She was really very impressed with your vision, which made up for what she saw around here. Look at this: she’s given us a list of repairs and changes to make, and then we can re-open next week.”

  I was guessing, Ondine wanted to say, but she held her thoughts for a moment so she could explain what she’d learned in the library. “I need to see the jewellery. Ma, have you heard of the Hera Collection?”

  “Of course I have, every woman’s heard of it.”

  “Well, I hadn’t. Until today, that is.”

  “It was before your time, dear,” Ma said.

  A disappointed sigh escaped Ondine. Why did older people have to be so patronising about things and events taking place “before their time”? That complaint would have to wait until another day though – right now she had more pressing matters.

  “The Duke. The one before the one we’ve got. Shambles and I have been to the library, and we’ve got the goods on him. The old Duchess borrowed pieces from the Hera Collection. One of them looks like this,” Ondine said, showing her mother the drawing she’d made of the necklace.

  They didn’t waste any time heading to Ma and Da’s bedroom, where they found Cybelle and Marguerite sitting on the bed, trying on jewels and giggling like toddlers.

  “Margi, stand up now,” Ma commanded.

  The eldest obeyed, her eyes downcast in shame at their discovery. The glittering jewels on her neck practically danced in the sunlight. Excitement bubbled in Ondine as she took in the delicate necklace around her sister’s neck.

  “It’s the same one all right,” Shambles said. “Looks good on her, too.”

  Chapter Eight

  A few days later, Ondine was none the wiser about the fate of all those lovely jewels. “Tell me again why the Hera Collection won’t go public?” Ondine asked her mother as they rolled out the new carpet for the dining room.

  It had been a crazy time. In the last week Ma had taken it upon herself to make contact with the Hera Collection and organise the safe return of the jewels. The cash, on the other hand? Nobody needed to know about that, so it found its way into the deposit box under the kitchen floor.

  “They didn’t want to go public because the old Duke and Duchess are no longer with us, and the present Duke’s family is one of their best customers,” Ma declared.

  “Haaalp!” Shambles yelled as he fell over backwards under the carpet roll.

  “But the Duke stole from them, or at least, his dad did,” Ondine said as she grabbed Shambles out of harm’s way. A good thing she’d acted so quickly, otherwise he would have ended his days as a nasty lump under the new carpet.

  Only a few metres of carpet to go and they’d be finished. In this room at least.

  “That’s very true,” said Ma. “But the present Duchess is photographed wearing their jewels, just as the old Duchess was, and by doing that she becomes a walking advertisement for them. They still make their money selling to people who aspire to be like the Duchess. By returning the jewels on the quiet, we’ve spared Hera a public scandal.”

  Spared the Duke’s family from messy criminal charges more like, Ondine privately fumed.

  “Did they let us keep any of it as a reward?” Cybelle asked, hammering the carpet tacks into the corners of the room to keep the new flooring steady. “Surely not all of it was theirs?”

  “Surely it was,” Ma said, adding a heavy sigh for emphasis.

  Tears pricked the back of Ondine’s eyes. All that beautiful jewellery, gone just as fast as it had come into their lives.

  “But that’s not fair! They could have left us some of it, as thanks for saving their reputation,” Marguerite complained as she and Thomas moved another table into position. Despite the hard work, Marguerite’s long dark hair looked glossy and wavy. Cybelle’s bob looked neat and tidy. Ondine? Her hair hung in messy string-tails and the top of her scalp felt greasy.

  “I’m afraid not. They couldn’t risk somebody recognising the pieces on any of us. Imagine if we wore them to a public event. We’d be in jail for theft faster than you could say ‘that’s not fair’.”

  “Because we’re not the kind of people who are allowed to wear it. Are we?” Ondine said, clenching her hands in frustration.

  That’s all life seemed to be lately. One frustrating event after another.

  “But why did you have to give it all back then?” Cybelle moaned, doing a very good job of sounding coherent considering she had a dozen carpet tacks in her mouth.

  “Pfft! I didn’t give it all back. D’you think I’m stupid?” Ma said, having a good chuckle at her daughters’ expense.

  Anger and jubilation roiled in Ondine. Anger that their mother had told them a whopping great fib. Jubilation that there were still a few nice pieces somewhere in safe keeping.

  “You were winding us up, weren’t you, Ma?” Ondine finished rolling the carpet out. Then she trimmed off the extra length with a sharp knife. A few more tacks from Cybelle and they’d be done for the afternoon. Not much left on Mrs Klegg’s list now.

  In unison, Marguerite and Cybelle rolled their eyes in frustration. Getting a straight answer out of their mother would be impossible now, because Ma knew how much they’d wanted to keep some of those trinkets and baubles for themselves.

  “On to important business,” Da said as he entered the room. He and Chef manoeuvred the piano into its corner in the dining room. Everyone moved out the way to let them get it into place. Shambles leapt onto Ondine’s shoulder.

  Ma brushed down her skirts. “We re-open tomorrow for lunch. I’m thinking perhaps with the new opening, we could give the place a new name.”

  “What’s wrong with the old one, Mrs G?” Thomas asked.

  “Nyeh, it’s too dull,” Ma said. “It doesn’t do anything for me any more. What do you think, Josef?”

  “I think the present name is fine,” said Da. “Everyone knows where The Station Hotel is – it’s across the road from the station.”

  “How about The Jewel?” Cybelle said with a wicked gleam in her eye.

  “Or The Crown?” Marguerite said.

  “I know. What if we call it The Duke and Ferret?” Ondine said.

  They all laughed at that.

  “You know what? That has a pretty good ring to it,” Ma said. “And it could prove a handy insurance policy. The Duke wouldn’t dare close down a pub named in his honour. Good thinking, Ondi. You truly have the gift.”

  With that, her mother kissed her affectionately on the forehead and surveyed the improvements. “It all looks grand. Well done, everyone.”

  LATER THAT NIGHT, ONDINE tried to sleep, but her brain would not switch off. Back in her own room again, she had no one to talk to. She took a walk down the darkened hall to see if Cybelle was awake. Judging from the rollicking snores, her sister was deeply out of it. There was nothing for it but to chat with Shambles, simply because he would be up for a natter when nobody else would. But where was he? The kitchen seemed the logical place, and indeed, that was where she found him, licking cold fat off a dirty frying pan.

  “Ye’ve come to take me to bed, lass?”

  Did he have to be so cheeky all the time? “You should be in the laundry. Everyone else is asleep.”

  “So why are you up?”

  A heavy weight pushed her shoulders down. “It’s Ma. I’m trying to work out how to tell her I don’t have the gift.”

  “Sure you’ve got the gift, so you do,” Shambles said.

  Maybe some warm milk would help. Ondine set about making herself something comforting. The drinking chocolate’s around here somewhere. “I don’t have the gift,” she protested, her head starting
to throb with confusion. It wasn’t right to mislead her mother. If Ma got the idea into her head that Ondine really was psychic, she might send her back to Summercamp and Mrs Howser. “I’ve just been saying the first thing that comes into my head. That’s not being psychic, it’s just blurting things out.”

  “But they’re the right things, so they are,” Shambles said.

  Frustration made Ondine clench her teeth, but she resisted the urge to grind her back molars into powder. “Well, maybe I’m just ... smart. I mean, is that so far-fetched? Why does it have to be some extra power? Why can’t I be the smart one instead of the psychic one?”

  “It really bothers you, doesn’t it, lass?”

  Taking a few breaths, Ondine sorted her thoughts out. Too right it bothered her, for more reasons than she could say. Perhaps because the entire psychic concept left her feeling like a liar and a scam artist. She knew plenty of people who had the gift for real, but she wasn’t one of them. And another thing. If people said she was psychic, they’d want more of it, and eventually it would all unravel because they’d find out there was no more to give. They’d find out she was a fraud.

  It didn’t feel right to foster a lie.

  “You’re a smart girl. You’ll work it out,” Shambles said.

  THERE WAS NO TIME TO think about anything the next morning, as the entire family – which now encompassed Thomas – set about readying for the lunchtime re-opening. Chef and Cybelle were little more than a blur of work in the kitchen; Thomas and Da polished the new beer glasses and steins; Margi, Ondine, Shambles and Ma made up the guests’ beds on the second floor.

  In a flash of black, Shambles darted under the bed they were working on.

  “You’ve run under every bed up here. I didn’t put the jewels anywhere you could find them, you know,” Ma said.