Verity Sparks, Lost and Found (8 page)

“Really and truly,” said SP, laughing.

“Oh,” she sighed happily. “This day is a dream come true.”

When we strolled out of the gold and red foyer of the Princess Theatre, the gas lamps had already been lit. My birthday treat was over.

Once we were in the carriage, Lottie promptly fell asleep on my shoulder. Connie, on the other side next to Mrs Tibbins, had a flushed faraway look on her face and a couple of times I saw her moving her lips as if she was singing to herself. More than ever, I was glad I’d asked her to come.

“Thank you so much,” I said to SP. “It’s been a day to remember.”

We arrived back at school in time for supper. As we entered the Seniors’ sitting room, all the girls, except Jessie, looked up at us from their sewing. Miss Deane was reading aloud. She put her book down and smiled at us.

“Did you have a good day, girls?” she asked.

“Do tell,” cooed the Fanshawes like a trio of doves. “Did you see anyone fashionable?”

“Yes, do tell us,” said Miss Deane, pouring our cocoa. “Where did you go? What did you see?”

“We went to the theatre to see Miss Megsie Morton,” said Connie, still bubbling over with happiness. “And she was divine!”

Just then, Jessie broke in with a loud yawn.

“I’m
so
sorry, Connie,” she said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt. Do go on,” she added, not meaning it one bit. “What were you saying?”

Jessie had pricked Connie’s bubble of joy, and she couldn’t be coaxed to speak again.

I got another letter from Papa yesterday, and I have already sent off my reply. I’m afraid it was not very interesting. While he is travelling with Mr Rowland in the back country of Queensland, looking at mines and having all sorts of adventures, I am doing lessons. And except for Miss Deane’s classes, they are rather boring
.

I can’t tell him about the really interesting part of my life here at Hightop House, because I know he would worry. After all, young ladies don’t mix with thieves and potential murderers
.

I had a note from SP this morning. He is going to be away from town for a few days, and he wanted to know if there was anything I needed to communicate. There is not. I have been watching Miss Deane and though she seems rather out of sorts, she does not appear to be unduly disturbed. And as for the Colonel, he goes hobbling about the school, patting the heads of the little girls as usual and reeling off lists of dates in class. I find it hard to believe that he is a potential murderer. I have begun to wonder if I misheard him
.

SP is catching the train to Ballarat. At last, there is some good news about the Ecclethorpe case. Mrs Randall’s old cook replied to the advertisement. Apparently, after moving from Melbourne with the debt collectors after them, the couple settled in Bendigo under the name of Carrington. Then a year later they moved to Ballarat, and resumed their real name. A few years ago, Mr Randall accidentally shot himself while cleaning his pistol, leaving a widow and a new baby. What a terrible tragedy. I am sure poor Mrs Randall will welcome the news from her father. And SP and Daniel can collect their fee
.

For literature with Miss Deane, we are studying
The Tempest
by Shakespeare. We have been acting out some of the scenes. Miss Deane chose Connie to play Miranda, the heroine, but cast Jessie in the role of Caliban, who is a kind of monster. Jessie was furious. I was cast as Ariel, a sprite. I do enjoy Miss Deane’s classes
.

One good thing is that at last Jessie has stopped teasing Connie
.

On Thursday evening after tea, I found out why. It was because she’d decided to start on me.

We Seniors were in our sitting room, all except Connie. She was downstairs practising the piano. Mrs Enderby-Smarke was planning one of her soirees for the following week and since Connie was by far the best musician in the school, she was the main accompanist. Miss Deane was with Miss Martindale and Mrs Enderby-Smarke was supervising the Seniors. If you could call it that. She ignored the rest of us girls, and was all over Jessie like a rash.

“Your needlework is beautiful, my dear,” she said with one of her ghastly smiles. “It’s the best in the school.”

“Thank you, Mrs Enderby-Smarke. I do try.”

“Oh, my dear! You’re so modest. If you don’t mind, I’d like you to finish that tablecloth you’ve been embroidering. The one with the blue daisies. I want to use it at the soiree. One of our guests, Mrs Drome, is an exquisite needlewoman. She will be most impressed with your work.”

“Oh, surely not,” said Jessie. “I’m just a girl.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Mrs Enderby-Smarke. “I’ve never seen such beautiful stitchery.”

It was absolutely sickening, and would have gone on, except that Louisa, trying to join in, offered to fetch Jessie’s basket for her.

But Jessie snapped at her and got it out herself.

“I was just trying to–”

“Try to mind your own business.”

How interesting, I thought. Even Jessie McGryll gets sick of being sucked up to.

But I was wrong. For Alice flattered and fawned until I was sure even Jessie must have felt embarrassed.

“Gryll Grange is the most splendid property in Victoria, I’m sure,” said Alice.

“It is very splendid,” agreed Jessie as she sewed blue daisies on the tablecloth.

“Your Papa and Mamma are among the most important people in the whole colony. And then there’s your brother, Robert,” said Alice. “Everyone says he is so aristocratic.”

“Do they?” said Jessie, pretending to be surprised.

“But of course.”

“Well, after all, we McGrylls are descended from Mary Queen of Scots.” Jessie tossed her head so that her black curls jiggled.

“How romantic,” said Alice. “I just adore Mary Queen of Scots.”

“Does that mean you’re related to the Queen?” asked Jemima, breathlessly.

“Why, yes,” said Jessie as if the thought had only just occurred to her. “So it does.” Alice, Jemima and Louisa looked at her like a pack of puppy dogs.

Alice just happened to be re-trimming her hat, and a couple of minutes later Jessie said, out of the blue, “Why don’t you give that to Verity? I hear she’s quite a professional with millinery.”

Our eyes met.

“Isn’t that true, Verity? Weren’t you apprenticed in the hat trade?”

All eyes in the room were on me. Even the three Fanshawes looked up from their novels and craned their long necks in my direction. How did Jessie know? Oh. It must have been Lottie.

I didn’t answer.

Jessie said, “Cat got your tongue?” And she tittered.

Now, the titter is just about the lowest form of laughter. It’s right down there with snickering and smirking. You don’t titter because you’re happy – you do it to tease. But I wasn’t about to give Miss Jessie any satisfaction.

“It’s quite true,” I said. “I was a milliner’s apprentice.”

“You’re very lucky that Mrs Enderby-Smarke allowed you here,” said Alice. Jessie must have told her to twist the knife. “Or doesn’t she know of your low connections?”

“According to my informant,” said Jessie. “You delivered hats all around the streets of London, slept in an attic and ate in the kitchen.” She paused. “With the servants.”

I suppose Jessie thought the other girls would shrink away from me as if I had smallpox. And certainly Jemima and Louisa cast shocked glances in my direction.

But Emily Potter showed her true colours. She said firmly, “So what? I don’t care. I like Verity,” and went back to her sewing as if nothing had happened.

However, it was the Fanshawe girls who really surprised me.

“Why, Verity,” said Laura. “You’re a heroine!”

“Yes,” said Grace, excitedly. “Just like Prunella in
The Purloined Princess
.”

“No, more like Alathea in
Duchess in Disguise
,” said Annabelle.

“But how did your father find you?” asked Laura. “Do tell. Did you have a signet ring, like Edwina in
Whose Inheritance
?”

“Or a talisman? Do say it was a talisman,” begged Grace.

“No, no,” I said, laughing, and told them the same severely edited story that I’d told Lottie. They were beside themselves with delight.

“Mother says our heads are full of nonsense from novel reading,” said Annabelle. “But this will prove to her how very instructive they actually are.”

The other two nodded, beaming at me, and I sneaked a look at Jessie. She was fuming. Her little scheme had fallen flat.

“It was Lottie who betrayed you,” she said. “What do you think of your friend now?”

“Lottie was only telling the truth.”

“What’s the truth?” asked Miss Deane, coming through the door. “What are you girls talking about?”

“Nothing, Miss Deane,” said Jessie, quickly, but Laura, Annabelle and Grace blabbed out the whole story.

“I see,” said Miss Deane. “Well, that explains it, Jessie.”

“Explains what, Miss Deane?”

“The fact that Charlotte Rowland has been crying all afternoon. She missed dinner. She’s made herself positively ill.”

“Oh no,” I said. I stood up. “Can I go to see her, Miss Deane?”

“Of course.”

Poor Lottie. She was lying in her bed sobbing.

“Verity,” she wailed. “Did Jessie … did Jessie … did she tell you she knew about … about the h-h-hats?”

“Yes, Lottie.”

“She made me tell her, she made me …”

“Hush, hush,” I said, stroking her hot forehead. “It doesn’t matter. I’m not ashamed of my past. Please don’t fret.”

“You’re n-n-not angry?”

“Not at all.”

“You’re sure?” Her eyes were red and swollen from weeping, and her voice was hoarse.

“I’m sure.” I kissed her cheek. “Would you like me to sit here with you for a while?”

“Yes, please,” she whispered. “And will you hold my hand?”

A couple of minutes later she was fast asleep.