The Crafters Book Two (28 page)

She had made it here all the way from Miss Crafter’s without being detected. Now she wanted a token to prove that she had been here. If she ever told one of her schoolmates the story, she needed proof. There was no need to go off into any of the storerooms to find goods. Even the offices, situated in the center of the building, were filled with crates of merchandise just arrived or awaiting shipment.

Madeleine opened the door of her father’s room. The best things would be in here. There were several boxes crowding the heavy wooden desk. A tightly made, straw-filled box held books of some kind. Madeleine scratched away some of the straw and pulled one of them out. A Bible. Ha. That would hardly promote the image of a daring adventuress she wished to project. The same went for the old wooden cross on the wall.

The next crate held brass candlesticks. A pretty simpleton she’d look carrying around a candlestick waiting for someone to ask her about it. There must be something small and portable, yet rare and fascinating. Madeleine knew her father kept the oddities and expensive items locked in a strongbox in his desk.

As a child, she had discovered how to make the locked drawers open without a key. No man could do it: the opening in the base of the desk near the back was only the size of a child’s hand. It was barely big enough to pass Madeleine’s more grown-up one, but the lock snicked open. She rose from the dusty floor and hurried around to pull open the drawer. With a crow of success, she unearthed her quarry. Beneath her father’s leather-covered ledger was the strongbox.

The box was not heavy, and it rattled when Madeleine shook it. Amid the other noises, she heard a clinking sound within. Perhaps there was jewelry! That would suit her purposes perfectly.

The lock was a good one, which she could not open without a key. She knew her father had one, and very likely the warehouse master did, too. Her father was not a forgetful man, so his would be on his ring of keys, but the warehouse master did occasionally misplace things. She went across to his office, a smaller chamber on the sea side of the building, and searched there, feeling along the top of the wooden paneling and along the underside of chairs.

The key turned up in a very clever place. She opened the big clock which stood next to the cloak rack and peered into the depths of its cabinet. On a hook rested a square-mouthed key, Madeleine took it off the hook to test its size, and discovered it fit the winding nuts on the clock’s face. When she bent to replace it, she discovered there was another key behind it, a tiny one, hardly more than a slip of pressed metal. She carried it back to her father’s room in triumph.

She took the box from the desk and laid it under the window so the faintly wavering light of the street lamps would illumine what was within. The key fit into the lock and turned, yielding smoothly without so much as a click. Her hands trembling with excitement, she lifted the lid.

Most of the small items were curiosities carved of wood or ivory from the Spice Islands or as far away as Africa. Two of them were hideous miniature idols. She didn’t like the crude, blocky style of the carvings, and the staring eyes and protruding tongues made her quail at touching them. Impulsively, she seized the mass of necklace strands beneath them, and succeeded in turning the idols over, so they were no longer looking at her.

The necklaces were more to her taste. She sorted through them happily. The colorfully painted beads of one appealed to her, as did the smooth amber plaques of another. The trouble was that none of these were what she could wear undetected until she chose to reveal her excursion. They were all too exotic in appearance.

At the bottom of the box was the very thing she had been hoping for. A small, leather bag yielded forth a necklace of gold. The burnished beads were no larger than the ends of her fingers, but felt surprisingly heavy. Her father had brought home a little figurine of gold one day when she was a child, and let her play with it. It had been made in the shape of a woman wearing only a belted shift and carrying a long bow.

“See that, poppet?” he said. “Real gold is as heavy as lead, and it has a smooth texture like chamois. There’s nothing else like it in the world. Nothing.” He held the figurine up fondly to the light, admiring the carving. “Such graven images have caused even strong, morally sane men to give up the ways of God.”

In the center of the necklace lay a short pendant. Madeleine couldn’t make out the shape, but thought that it looked rather like a half-formed face.

The beads felt between her fingers the way the little goddess had. They were real, pure gold. This piece must surely be worth a small fortune. It would be a perfect token. She could explain to her father later on why she had borrowed it.

Somewhere in the distance, the Old North Church’s bells rang the hour, and the other, younger church clocks joined in the chorus. Madeleine realized that she had been gone a long time. She tucked the necklace in its bag into her pocket, and slipped out of the building, locking the door and replacing the key in the water barrel.

She slipped back into the school and undressed in the cupboard, slipping her nightdress on. She bundled her clothes untidily into her clothes cupboard and rocked the door gently into place until it looked as if it was closed.

The next morning she wore the gold necklace openly to class. It aroused so much attention among the other girls that Miss Crafter asked her to put it away.

“Such expensive baubles are out of place during school hours,” she said. “If you care to wear it when you dress for dinner, you may.”

“Yes, Miss Crafter,” Madeleine said, outwardly obedient. Inside, she was most satisfied by the reactions to her token.

It was exclaimed over by the others at teatime.

“It’s just like your hair,” ten-year-old Priscilla said, admiringly.

“Where did you get it?” Rose asked teasingly. “A lover?”

Madeleine smiled coyly. She enjoyed being the center of attention. She wanted to tell all about her secret trip, but a little voice told her not to. Instead she said, “I got it from my father. He has a trading company, you know, a most prosperous business. He obtains curiosities from all over the world.”

“Where’s this one from?” one of the other girls begged.

“I can’t recall,” Madeleine said airily. “I have so many things from so many places. This may be from China, or the Indies; I don’t know. My father hasn’t told me.”

* * *

The Reverend Mr. Gentry was very agitated when he and her mother came to take Madeleine out for a drive at the weekend, and took her home for, a special tea. She hid the necklace under the clothes in her cupboard, hoping to bring up the matter to him while they were out, but she couldn’t find a good moment to mention it. The mood never quite seemed suitable. The weather was chancy, which she knew always put him in a temper.

“Your father is much upset,” her mother said, during a moment alone when Mr. Gentry went upstairs to have a smoke in his den. “Someone broke into the warehouse and stole a very valuable piece from his office. He has asked everyone, but no one can remember the last time it was seen. A gold necklace. There’s some history behind it. The man who found it went mad and jumped, overboard into the sea. He was drowned. Your father considers the necklace unlucky.”

Guiltily, Madeleine elected to say nothing. She would simply have to put the necklace back, very quietly, and hope she was as clever and, as fortunate about not being caught as she was the first time.

* * *

When Mr. Gentry returned his daughter to the school, he requested a private word in the parlor with the headmistress.

“You’re doing wonders, Miss Crafter. Madeleine’s learning something! The girl actually recognized a few quotes of poetry I threw her way while we were out. I’m impressed. But judging from some of the stories she’s told us, it sounds like she’s scarifying some of the other students. Miss Crafter, you’ll have to scare the devil out of her to make her stop. The love I have for my only chick doesn’t blind me to her domineering streak. Far from it. By the way, how have her secret sojourns been going?” He laid a finger beside his nose in a conspiratorial fashion.

“Quite uneventfully, Mr. ‘Gentry,” Miss Crafter replied. “Since I wrote to you, she has not come back under the weather from any party. The hostesses all responded most kindly to my notes begging them to look after her at their affairs, and chaperoned her as if she were a daughter of their own. My servant John has seen to it that no harm befell her on any of her transits to or from a house. Her secret life appears to be making her a trifle less abrasive. Her self-satisfaction has kept her from striking out against the more humble members of our household, and I believe she is finding friends among the rest of the students. In any case, her secret journeys have meant that she has learned to clean her own boots, if only to keep one of us from inquiring how she got mud on them in the middle of the night.”

“Well, well,” Gentry said, laughing. “I see no reason why she shouldn’t go on attending her parties, if it’s doing as much good as all that.”

* * *

The affair of the necklace preyed on her mind so much during the following week that Madeleine couldn’t find the heart to kick up a fuss during classes. Miss Abigail regarded her new pupil warmly, hoping that Madeleine had finally settled down to being a part of the school. She said as much to her sister as they sat before the fire one evening with the mending.

“I don’t think so, Abby,” Miss Amanda opined. She pulled a needleful of thread through the rip in the hem of a linen sheet. “I believe she may have something on her conscience.”

The effect of wearing the necklace had been so successful the first day that Madeleine began to wear it all the time. She knew that the mistresses disapproved of her wearing it during lessons, but she felt a twinge whenever she tried to leave it off. A little voice within her chided her as she touched the clasp, telling her not to leave it behind in her room.

The servants might steal it,
the voice whispered.

“Certainly they wouldn’t,” Madeleine argued, weighing the chain in her hand before slipping it into its bag. “They’d have their characters blotted for all time. They’d never get another job as house servants in Boston. They might as well go and cut sugar cane in Jamaica.” Madeleine quashed the little whine firmly.

Then one of the other students,
the voice insisted.
They’re all envious of your treasure.

“Even if they are, they couldn’t conceal it,” Madeleine said, taking the chain out of its leather bag and replacing it about her neck. She admired the effect in the glass. The shining, yellow circlet was very fetching on her. “It’s mine now.” She had entirely forgotten about returning it to her father.

Yes, mine;
the inner voice said.
All mine.

Thereafter, Madeleine kept the necklace on her at all times or by her when she was bathing. Gradually, she became unwilling to have the others play with it or pass it around as she had before. With the fledgling skill of needlework she had. acquired under Miss Letitia’s careful tutelage” she made a small bag of cloth for it, and wore it under her skirts at all times when she wasn’t permitted to wear it on her neck. The bag reposed at night under her pillow. Clutched in her hand, it gave her a certain kind of comfort, but the little voice continued to preach, distrust.

* * *

Over the course of the next few days, odd things began to happen around her; though never to her. One morning on the way to breakfast, one of the other girls, Deborah, made a sly comment about Madeleine’s ineptitude in math class as she started down toward the dining room. Madeleine was just about to retort, when Deborah slipped and fell down the stairs.

She shrieked, unable to stop, until she tumbled in a heap on the landing. Exclaiming, the other girls raced down to her.

“Something nudged me from behind! Mad Maddy must have pushed me,” Deborah said. She, tried to move her ankle, and her face screwed up in pain.

Miss Amanda appeared at the bottom of the stairs and rushed up to the group.

“What happened here?” she demanded.

“Madeleine pushed me down the stairs,” Deborah began, and caught Miss Crafter’s glance. “Well,
something
hit me in the back, and I fell.”

“Under what circumstances would she have done such a thing?” Miss Amanda asked.

Deborah grew shamefaced. “Well, I’d just made a little jape at her expense, but to resort to violence—!”

“I never,” Madeleine protested. “I swear by the Bible and the Constitution of the United States that I was nowhere near her when she fell.”

“Don’t swear, Madeleine,” Miss Crafter cautioned her. “Can anyone substantiate that?”

“I can, Miss Crafter,” Rose said. “Maddy was near me, more than an arm’s length from her. Deborah simply fell.” Her hand described the arc of Deborah’s inelegant descent.

“She’s going to need cold compresses,” Miss Amanda decided, after examining the ankle. “It will be all right in a few days. It isn’t broken. There, that will be a lesson to you, girl, not to make sport of others. It may be that your own conscience tripped you up.”

“Yes, Miss Crafter.” John, the manservant, appeared, and Deborah was helped, with difficulty, back to bed.

Deborah was confined to her room for three days until Miss Crafter pronounced her fit again. Miss Abigail visited her in the afternoon to give her a reading assignment and to hear her recitation of a French fable.

It was only the first of the accidents that seemed to occur around Madeleine. Miss Letitia skidded and slipped on a perfectly dry floor in the schoolroom when she made a derogatory comment about Madeleine’s progress in algebra.

“I think Mad Madeleine’s found a guardian angel,” Daisy, one of the younger girls, suggested.

Part of friendship is play, and the others were beginning to be frightened of the run of bad luck that befell people who did or said anything ill to Madeleine, even in fun. They began to leave her alone. Having lately become accustomed to having friends, Madeleine felt lonely and bereft.