Big Honey Dog Mysteries HOLIDAY COLLECTION

by H. Y. Hanna

  “That walking stomach on legs is mine,” said Biscuit’s Missus with a wry smile, nodding at the Beagle.

  “And Ruffster and Tyson belong to other friends,” said Olivia. “They were busy today so we offered to bring their dogs along with ours, for the picnic.”

  “They look like great friends,” said Irina, smiling as her eyes roved over the dogs. “And they are very good with my Mishka. He has not had much chance to make friends, poor thing, cooped up here with me all the time.”

  “It’s an amazing place to be cooped up in, though,” said Olivia, smiling as she gestured towards the ceiling.

  Irina returned the smile. “My father built this house for my mother. He modelled it on a very famous building back in Russia—the St Basil’s Cathedral—which is one of the most beautiful structures in the world. It was built by Ivan the Terrible and legend says that he blinded the builder when St Basil’s Cathedral was done, so that it could never be recreated. Going to visit the cathedral was one of the few things my mother could remember from when she was a little girl.”

  “Your mother was Russian?”

  “Yes, her name was Anastasia, but she left Russia when she was just five years old. She never forgot her country, however, and so my father built this house especially for her, so she could have her own little piece of Russia right here.”

  Olivia sighed. “How romantic.”

  Irina gave a sad smile. “You are too polite to say, but I know you can see from looking around that the house has been suffering. It was amazing once, you know, filled with beautiful things. I remember as a little girl the wonderful parties my parents used to give—the music, the dancing, the ball gowns, the chandeliers... Even after I grew up and left home, I always felt like I was entering a fairy tale whenever I came home to visit. But then my mother got sick and died. It broke my father’s heart. I came back here to live, to look after him, but he was lost without her. He became ill himself and died a year later.”

  Mishka whined softly.

  “I’m so sorry,” murmured Biscuit’s Missus.

  Irina reached out to stroke Mishka’s ears. “It was only after my father’s death that I found out the terrible truth. He had made some bad business decisions and he owed other people a lot of money.” She looked around the bare walls, her eyes filled with pain. “I have been trying to do the best I can. I cannot work very well anymore because of my hands.” She looked down at her gnarled and twisted fingers, curved with a claw-like stiffness. “I have been crippled by arthritis. So slowly, slowly, over the years, I have had to sell most of the old paintings and antique furniture and other things of value... but still, it is not enough.” Her voice broke on a sob. “I have been sick with worry. They... they gave me until this Easter weekend. If I cannot pay off the debts by the first day after Easter, I will lose this house and Mishka and I will have nowhere to go.”

  “That’s awful!” cried Olivia.

  “Haven’t you got family or someone who can help you?” asked Biscuit’s Missus.

  “No, I am alone,” said Irina. “There is no one.” She hesitated. “There is one thing... oh, but I am silly even to think about it.”

  “What is it?” asked Suka’s Boy excitedly.

  “Hush, darling, it might be private,” said his Mother.

  “No, it is OK,” Irina smiled. “I feel like you are all good friends already. I would like to share this with you. Anyway, you may think it is just a silly old woman’s dream...” She paused and looked around at all of them. “But if it is true, then it could be the miracle that would save me and Mishka!”

  Honey pricked her ears. She remembered what Mishka had said about a lost family treasure. Was Irina going to tell them about it at last?

  FOUR

  “COME. I THINK IT IS best if I show you.” Irina stood up slowly and, leaning heavily on Mishka, moved towards one of the doorways. Everybody followed and Honey found herself walking down a long, dark corridor. Eventually they came to a doorway which led into another big room. This one had many bookshelves standing in a row down both sides of the room and some deep, leather armchairs tucked into the corner. A library, Honey thought, inhaling the musty scent of old paper and leather. On the far side of the library, a painting hung on the wall. Irina came to a stop in front of it and they all gathered around, gazing up at the picture. Biscuit raised his nose and sniffed curiously.

  “I could not bear to sell this one,” said Irina. “It came with my mother from Russia. It is of my grandmother—my mother’s mother—when she was young.”

  Honey stared up at the oil canvas. It showed a dark-haired young lady with a slight smile, sitting on a red velvet chair by a window. She was wearing a long dress with a low, scooped-out neckline and around her throat was a necklace with a beautiful red pendant. She was also holding something in her hands... Honey tilted her head... It looked like an egg? But nothing like the eggs she normally saw in the fridge back home—or even the chocolate ones she saw every Easter. This egg seemed to be covered in gold swirls, with jewels decorating its surface. Honey wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or the way they were painted, but the egg and the red pendant in the painting seemed almost to glow. You could almost imagine that they were sparkling right here, in the library.

  As if reading her mind, Olivia gave an exclamation and leaned towards the picture. “Wow, I thought those were real for a moment.”

  Irina smiled. “Those were the two great treasures in my mother’s family. The ruby necklace and the Fabergé egg. You know, of course, that Fabergé eggs are one of the most valuable treasures in the world. Every Easter, the Russian tsar used to give a Fabergé egg as a gift to his empress—the only other people who possessed them were a few wealthy families who got them on private commission. My mother’s family were related to the tsars so they were one of the few who had a Fabergé egg. They had many treasures... but the egg and the ruby pendant were the most valuable.”

  “Where are they now?” asked Suka’s Boy eagerly.

  Irina’s face clouded over. “Nobody knows. There was a terrible time of chaos and violence in my mother’s country during the early twentieth century, called the Russian Revolution. Many people died. Many of those with big houses and beautiful things had their homes destroyed and all their families killed. But some of them managed to escape. My grandmother couldn’t leave, but she found a way for my mother to escape Russia with her nanny. They disguised my mother as a peasant child, so nobody would suspect, and the nanny helped to smuggle some things out with them when they left. One of those things was this painting, rolled up and hidden inside a loaf of bread.”

  “Oh... not the treasures?” asked Suka’s Boy, disappointed.

  Irina shook her head. “The nanny was injured while they were trying to escape and she didn’t live long after they arrived in this country. My mother was adopted by a kindly couple, but the only things she had with her were this painting, her favourite toy, a few ornaments the nanny had been carrying, and a letter from my grandmother.”

  “But... if the treasures have been lost, why did you say that they could save you?” asked Olivia.

  “I never saw the letter from my grandmother when I was younger,” said Irina. “My mother never talked about her past life in Russia. Well, I guess she was only five years old when she left so she didn’t remember much. It was only after she died that I found the letter from my grandmother, when I was going through Mother’s papers.”

  She leaned forwards, her eyes suddenly excited. “In the letter, my grandmother mentions the Fabergé egg and hints that it too was smuggled out of the country. I never got the chance to investigate further because my father took the letter away and wouldn’t talk about it. But a few years after he died, I found the letter again, hidden in a drawer, and I have been puzzling over it ever since. I’m sure my grandmother must have left a clue about where the Fabergé egg is hidden. If only I could find it!”

  “That would be amazing,” said Biscuit’s Missus.

&nbs
p; Irina nodded. “Fabergé eggs are priceless—they were handmade from gold and jewels and other precious materials. It took over a year to make one and each was a unique design, with a ‘surprise’ inside. Many were lost during the Russian Revolution. If a ‘lost’ one were to turn up now, it would be worth millions and millions!”

  Wow, thought Honey. That would be more than enough to save this house and free Irina and Mishka from their debts forever.

  Ruffster turned to Mishka as the humans continued to discuss the letter. “Have you looked for this Fabby egg, mate?”

  The Black Russian Terrier shuffled his paws. “Many, many times. My Miztress and I—we have been over this house from bottom to top. But still, we cannot find a clue.”

  “What about that letter from the grandmother?” asked Suka.

  “It is a strange letter,” said Mishka. He looked up. “Ah, my Miztress is going to show it.”

  Irina was unlocking a drawer in the writing bureau next to the leather armchairs. She drew out a stiff piece of paper, yellow and faded, and laid it carefully on the table for everyone to see. Honey and the other dogs wriggled between the humans and peered at the letter. The words were written in a thin, spidery handwriting and there were ink blotches everywhere which made it even harder to read.

  “I don’t read Russian very well, but I am lucky that my grandmother wrote the letter in English. I think perhaps she hoped it would make it harder for most people in Russia to read it, if my mother and the nanny were caught,” Irina explained, as everybody crowded closer to read it.

  My darling Anastasia,

  I fear that I can no longer keep you safe so—much as it breaks my heart—I must let you go. Nanny will look after you and I fervently hope that after the fighting is over, I may find you again.

  Much has been lost in these terrible times but I hold on to the desperate hope that some treasures might be saved. You are, of course, my greatest treasure, my darling child, but there may be other treasures that could help you in a time of need. The egg by the royal jeweller, Carl Fabergé, with its hidden surprise inside, was always your favourite—your own little “matryoshka”—but it must lose itself for you to be reunited. In northern countries old grannies never insult their own. Remember that.

  I hear them coming now. I will leave this letter and the portrait with Nanny, so that you may have something to remember me by. Do not forget me, my darling. May God keep you safe and speed you on your way.

  Your loving,

  Mamochka

  Honey read it twice through, trying to find a clue in the sentences as to where the Fabergé egg might be hidden.

  “This is like something from one of my Boy’s storybooks!” Suka said next to her, her blue eyes wide with excitement. “It’s even better than Hansel and Gretel. This is like the best Easter egg hunt ever!”

  “I don’t smell any clues,” said Biscuit, sniffing the letter intently.

  “Maybe Irina’s wrong and the clue isn’t in here,” said Ruffster. “Maybe she put it somewhere else.”

  “No, the hidden message must be here in this letter,” said Suka. “Irina’s grandmother wouldn’t have had time to leave a clue anywhere else. We’ve just got to work it out.”

  As Suka stepped closer to the letter to read it once more, Honey looked around. She realised that they were alone. The humans had drifted out of the library and gone back to the living room. She could hear their voices, still talking, fading away in the corridor.

  “Howling Hyenas!” cried Suka suddenly, looking up from the letter. “I think I’ve got it!”

  FIVE

  “WHAT? WHAT?”

  They all gathered around Suka.

  The Husky turned to Mishka. “This bit in the letter... where it says ‘your own little “matryoshka”’—what does that mean?”

  “It is a kind of doll,” said Mishka, sitting back on his haunches. “A Russian doll. It is made of wood and looks like a fat little sausage, with a picture of a woman’s head painted at the top and her dress in the round bottom part. But she has no arms or legs. You can open it.”

  “Open it?”

  “Da. Yes, when you open the two halves of the doll, there is another doll inside, exactly the same but a bit smaller. And then when you open that, there is another one even smaller inside. And another. And another. They are each inside one another.”

  “But why would the grandmother call the egg a matryoshka?” asked Ruffster.

  “Perhaps because Fabergé eggs also open and contain something inside, a bit like a matryoshka doll,” said Mischka.

  “Suka, what are you thinking?” asked Honey.

  The Husky nudged the letter with her nose. “I think Irina’s grandmother must have mentioned matryoshka for a reason. Maybe it’s the clue! Can you remember what Irina told us about what her mother and the nanny were carrying when they escaped from Russia?”

  “Bread,” said Biscuit.

  Ruffster rolled his eyes. “It was the paintin’ rolled up and hidden in a loaf o’ bread. And the letter... oh, and the nanny carryin’ some stuff.”

  “Yer forgetting the toy,” said Tyson.

  “Yes, exactly!” Suka wagged her tail. “Irina said her mother was carrying her favourite toy. Maybe that was a matryoshka doll! If we can find her toy, maybe we’ll find the egg hidden inside it or—”

  “The mother’s toy was not a matryoshka doll,” said Mishka. “It was a soft toy—a little black dog. I know because my Miztress still has it. She keeps it on her bed. She says it reminds her of me.”

  Suka’s ears drooped. “Ticks! I thought I’d got it...”

  “No, wait, Suka, you might still be right,” said Honey. “The matryoshka doll might not have been the toy that Irina’s mother was carrying—but it might have been with the things that Nanny was carrying.”

  “But she was just carryin’ bits o’ junk,” protested Ruffster.

  “Nyet. No, not junk,” said Mishka. “Ornaments. Small beautiful things.” He stood up suddenly, his black eyes excited. “Yes, you are right. Perhaps there is a matryoshka doll amongst her things!”

  “Does Irina still have Nanny’s things?” asked Honey.

  “I think so. She showed me once. She keeps them with some old clothes. But it is in the attic.”

  “Can we get up there?”

  Mishka trotted to the library door. “Come. I show you the way.”

  HONEY HAD NEVER CLIMBED so many stairs in her life. Mishka led them up through the stories of the rambling house, higher and higher, until at last they were climbing a narrow flight of wooden steps that were so steep they were almost like a ladder.

  Tyson bounded up the steps without a second thought, followed by Biscuit huffing and puffing, then Ruffster and Suka. Honey started to scramble up, then realised that her paws were actually bigger than each step. She slipped, missed, and fell, smacking her chin onto one of the steps.

  “Ow!”

  A low rumbling sound came from Mishka. Honey realised the Black Russian Terrier was laughing.

  “I have big paws also. It is not so easy for us big dogs. But you will get used to it. I have been up and down many times since I was a puppy. Come, I show you.” Mishka started up the stairs, carefully placing each paw sideways along the step, so that it fit better onto the surface.

  Honey followed, trying to copy him, and found that by placing her paws sideways, it did make it easier to get a grip. She had to twist her body to the side, so it made going up a bit awkward, but gradually, she got the hang of it. She was nearing the top when she suddenly wondered how she was going to come down again later. Just thinking about it made her feel dizzy—and she quickly pushed the thought from her mind. She wouldn’t worry about it now. The attic first, she told herself.

  The stairs ended at an open doorway. Honey stepped through and found herself in a large, dark room. There was a feeling of great space above her and, when she looked up, she saw a round wooden roof arching high over her head, supported by wooden beams. We’re insid
e one of the onion domes, she realised. Here and there, shafts of light were seeping in through the cracks and gaps in the wooden roof. Honey pricked her ears, thinking for a moment that she could hear a faint rustling. She squinted up into the dark recesses of the roof. Did she just see something move, up between the wooden beams?

  Nothing. All was quiet.

  She must have been imagining things.

  Honey looked back down. Her eyes were acclimatising to the dim light now and she could see more clearly. This was obviously the place for things that time forgot. The room was filled with old chests and trunks and cardboard boxes. An ancient cheval mirror stood in the corner, the glass yellow with age. Honey sneezed as the smell of dust and mould tickled her nostrils. She sneezed again. There was something else. A strange scent she had never smelled before. She glanced at Biscuit, wondering if he knew what it was. Nothing usually got past that Beagle nose. He was standing with his nose raised, sniffing the air intently, his brow wrinkled in puzzlement.

  “Biscuit?” Honey whispered. “What—”

  “It is over there!” Mishka said, looking eagerly across the room at a woven cloth bag sitting on top of a large leather trunk. “My Miztress put Nanny’s things in that bag.” He started towards it.

  “Wait—” Honey started to say as Ruffster, Suka, and Tyson followed him, but it was too late.

  Before they had gone a few steps, there was a sudden shriek from the air and a black shape swooped down towards them.

  SIX

  “LOOK OUT!”

  Honey ducked as something swerved past her ears with a soft whoosh. She whirled around, trying to peer into the dark.

  Something swooped down on her again.

  Whoosh.

  She yelped and twisted, but still she couldn’t see what it was. She looked wildly around. It was terrifying that something could come up behind her like that and she could hear nothing.