Verity Sparks, Lost and Found (4 page)

Daniel and SP placed advertisements in all the major Australian newspapers. At first, they simply asked Mrs Everard Randall, formerly Miss Lavinia Ecclethorpe of Eccle Court, Yorkshire, to contact them in order to learn something to her advantage.

After a month, they placed another advertisement as well, offering a reward to any friend or acquaintance of the lady who could provide information. Still no replies. It was puzzling. If only I’d had my gift, I’m sure I could have come up with some clues. After all, last year, simply by holding a letter and concentrating, I’d been able to tell that our client’s missing son was not only well and happy, but on his honeymoon at the seaside! But there was no use crying over spilt milk. There must be someone, somewhere, who knew something about Lavinia Randall.

“Have you made any progress on the case, SP?” I asked, when Papa was safely out of earshot.

“No,” he said regretfully. “It should have been an easy assignment. But since Lavinia’s husband left England owing a thousand pounds in gambling debts, we think he might have covered his trail somehow. Perhaps he used a false name. We just don’t know.”

“You’re still placing the newspaper advertisements?”

“Yes,” said Daniel. “You’d think, by now, someone would have replied.”

“To tell you the truth, Verity, our idea of setting up a Confidential Inquiry Agency in Melbourne isn’t going so well,” said SP. “In London, we knew all sorts of people who could help us – policemen, journalists, even pickpockets. Here, we know no one. The lawyers use their own contacts, and besides, we don’t have a record of success. We just have this one case, and it seems to be going nowhere …” He broke off as Papa came through the drawing room door to bid us goodnight.

“You look splendid, Pierre,” said Judith.

So he did, in his black suit, white waistcoat and starched shirt. He had a new flower in his buttonhole, his grey hair and beard were carefully brushed and he carried a cape lined with red silk.

“You also smell splendid,” laughed Judith as she offered her cheek for him to kiss. “Cologne and gardenia, how lovely.”

“May I ask where you’re going, Pierre, looking like such a toff?” said SP.

“The Melbourne Club. Mr Rowland has invited me as his guest.”

“You and I only get invited to the Army and Navy Club – not nearly so high-toned,” said SP, looking across at Daniel and laughing.

“There’s an old Russian proverb,” said Papa, brushing an imaginary speck off his shirtfront. “The goose is no friend to the pig.” His eyes twinkled as we all tried to work out its meaning. “The English, I think, say something about ‘birds of a feather’, do they not?” He turned as he reached the doorway. “Daniel, I have not forgotten what you asked me. And Verity,
chérie
, don’t wait up. I will be late.”

What had Daniel asked Papa? I wondered. Daniel didn’t keep me in suspense.

“Pierre has lots of business contacts in Melbourne, and he’s promised to help me find a job,” he said. He looked across the table at Judith. “Rather important, now that I’m to become a family man.”

“And give up on the Confidential Inquiry Agency altogether?” I said. “What about the Ecclethorpe case? What about SP?”

“Don’t worry, Verity,” said SP. “I’ll manage.”

“But what can I do to help?” Even without my teleagtivism, I had a remarkable memory, and my powers of observation made me a most valuable assistant. At least, that’s what Professor Plush said. And since he was founder of the Confidential Inquiry Agency and expert on both detection and psychical phenomena, that should be good enough for anyone.

“Well, you see, Verity …” SP turned red and tugged at his collar as if it was too tight. “Well, as a matter of fact, I don’t … I mean, it isn’t that we don’t want you, but …”

“SP, what are you trying to tell me?”

“The fact is, Verity,” said Daniel, “Pierre isn’t keen for you to continue with inquiry work.”

I frowned but said nothing, and Daniel went on, “He hasn’t forbidden it, but …”

“But why?”

“He doesn’t think it’s suitable work for a young–”

“
Young lady
,” I said bitterly. If I heard those two words again, I was going to scream.

“Listen to me, Verity,” said SP. “Pierre has suffered greatly. His first wife passed away. He lost your mother in a fire and he thought he’d lost you as well. Then Alexander died, in the most terrible circumstances. But, amazingly, he found you again, and though it must seem like he wants to wrap you in lamb’s wool, he’s only anxious to keep you safe. Be patient with him.”

Judith patted my hand. “Pierre really does want what’s best for you.”

“Oh!” I said crossly. “Why doesn’t anyone listen to what I think is best for me?”

The three of them looked sympathetic, but I knew Papa. Kind and lovable and stubborn as an ox. There would be no more detective work if Papa was set against it.

Judith was sleepy, so soon after, they all said goodnight. I stayed in the drawing room. I was glad they’d gone, for I didn’t feel sociable any more. In fact, I was downright grumpy. Why did Papa have to meddle? First he didn’t want me to write. Then he conspired with Mrs Rowland to send me to that silly school. And now he was trying to stop me from helping SP and Daniel with confidential inquiries. Didn’t he understand that I couldn’t just sit around in a pretty dress, embroidering doilies and talking about the weather?

I looked up at Papa’s portrait and sighed. And then sighed again. The picture had been painted by our dear friend, the artist James Tissot, and given to Papa as a gift. Mr Tissot had caught Papa as no one else could. He looked noble, wise and kind, like one of those big lions in Trafalgar Square.

There was a soft knock at the door. “Do you need anythin’ else, miss?” asked Kathleen.

“Warm milk, please,” I said.

I didn’t wait up, but somehow I couldn’t sleep until Papa came home. I was wide awake anyhow. I went over and over what SP had said to me, about the tragedies in Papa’s life, and the terrible events that brought us together.

“The trouble with you, Verity Sparks,” I scolded myself, “is that you are much too fond of having your own way. It won’t hurt you to do what Papa wants for a change. A school for young ladies isn’t exactly prison.”

And perhaps a change from mystery and mayhem would do me good.

I heard the front door open, and Papa’s shoes clicking on the tiled floor. His footsteps sounded on the stairs and the creaky corridor floorboards. He stopped outside a few other doors until he found mine, and I nearly laughed out loud. That’s what comes of having such a large house, I thought.

“Papa?”

“Yes,
ma fille
. I’m making sure that you’re safe and sound.”

“Papa, I have made my decision. I would love to go to Hightop House Academy for Young Ladies.”

“Oh, Veroschka, I’m so glad. You will learn lots of new things and make many friends. And whatever you do, I will be very proud of you.” He blew me a kiss and shut the door.

Oh, Papa! Then and there I promised myself that I would make Papa’s life easier, not harder. And if all it took was a term at an exclusive girls’ school, why not?

Now, you mustn’t think I’m ashamed of my past – of being adopted by Ma and Pa Sparks and working as a milliner’s apprentice. Because I’m not. But considering Papa’s plans for my social success at Hightop House, I began to wonder whether I’d told Lottie Rowland too much.

Lottie was just eleven years old, with a mop of curly black hair, big brown eyes and an irrepressible smile. You wouldn’t guess that she’d nearly died of scarlet fever and only now was well enough to start school. She’d had a lonely time in the past year, poor thing. At our first meeting, when she and Mrs Rowland had come to Alhambra for afternoon tea, she cuddled up next to me as if we’d known each other always.

“You and me are going to be best friends, I know we are,” she whispered.

“Verity, why don’t you show Lottie your dolls?” suggested Mrs Rowland.

Dolls? I’d never had any. Besides, I was nearly fourteen. But I took Lottie to my favourite place in Alhambra. It was a little tower up on top of the house. Mrs Morcom said it reminded her of a chamber-pot, but I wasn’t artistic so what it looked like didn’t bother me. It was breezy and private, and the view across the bay was wonderful. But Lottie wasn’t interested in the view.

“Let’s tell each other everything about ourselves,” she said. “I’ll go first. My name is Charlotte Victoria Rowland and I’ve got a dog called Muffin and a canary called Pip, and I like reading – don’t you? – and I’ve got a brother called Bertram …” She prattled on, and ended up with “… and my best friend is
you
.”

“Thank you, Lottie,” I said. I couldn’t help smiling at the childish way she spoke. I hadn’t had a girlfriend since I’d shared the attic room with Beth at Madame Louisette’s, and Lottie was very sweet.

“Your Papa sounds foreign,” was her next remark.

“That’s because he was born in Russia.”

“Ooh,” she said as if I’d told her he was a cannibal.

“He’s lived in France and Germany and Canada as well.” And I used a phrase I’d heard from SP, which I thought summed up Papa very well. “Papa’s a man of the world.”

“He’s frightfully rich, isn’t he? Oops!” She put her hand over her mouth and giggled. “Mamma says it’s rude to talk about money, but you know, the grown-ups do it all the time.” She looked me up and down and then said suddenly, “But
you
don’t sound foreign. Why not?”

I laughed. “Because I’ve lived all my life in London.”

“With your mother?”

“Yes, and no,” I began. “My mother died when I was a baby …”

Mrs Morcom had recommended that only trusted friends be given the whole story, but just then her good advice flew out the window. I was only up to my apprenticeship at Madame’s when I realised my mistake. Lottie was sympathetic. Very sympathetic. Just in the wrong way.

“You had to live above a shop? You had to eat in the kitchen? Oh, you poor thing.” She shuddered. “Dear, dear Verity! How horrible it must have been for you. How could you bear it?”

“It wasn’t so bad. Madame was always kind to us girls,” I said. “We got paid on time. We were well fed, not like some. And the other girls were very nice.”

Lottie caught my tone and she said quickly, “How loyal you are, Verity. Please, go on.”

I gave only the sketchiest account of my time with the Plushes, not mentioning Alexander or the Confidential Inquiry Agency. I also left the subject of teleagtivism well alone. I completed my biography with a happy ending.

“… and it turned out that the Professor’s friend Mr Savinov was my father.”

“Just like a fairytale. You’re so brave, Verity.”

“There wasn’t much else I could do.”

“I would have
died
.” She squeezed my hand. “I’m so glad we’re friends, aren’t you?”

I returned the pressure of her hand. “I’m glad too,” I said.