I stayed rooted to the spot for another minute, trying to make sense of what I had overheard. What had the notice from the Anthropological Society said? I scanned my memory. I had read it in its entirety. It was to announce a meeting—a meeting that would have taken place last night. I felt sure this was “the society” Fairchild had spoken of—the one whose public notice had been the start of all the trouble in town—and it must be that Fairchild’s dire prediction referred to some dastardly plan of theirs. I marveled at the realization that the stuffy old butler had risked his own neck to infiltrate the group and bring news of their doings to the master. What an unlikely hero he seemed—quiet, straitlaced Fairchild. And what would the master do with this information? Did I even want to know? My curiosity had already led me into matters far over my head. I had denied my fears of the night before, but this was all too real and could not be denied; there was trouble in this seemingly peaceful place.
I returned to my bedroom, washed, and dressed in fresh clothes. My toilet completed, I reached to the desk for the locket I had placed there the night before.
It was gone. My mother’s silver locket, my prized possession, vanished.
I searched frantically, anywhere it could have fallen, anywhere else I could conceivably have put it—even though I was certain I had left it on the desk—but it had truly disappeared. My sense of loss was bottomless and desolate. I thought of losing my mama all over again. This was my talisman to remind me that she was watching over me. Along with the loss went all the carefully constructed arguments with which I had convinced myself that no one had been in my room last night. Someone must have been in my room, right there, only a few steps from my bed, so close they might have almost reached out and touched me, and they had taken Mama’s locket. My defenses shattered, I gave way to tears.
I could have cried the day away, but the hallway clock struck the quarter hour and I knew I had no time. I splashed my face with water and dried it, checking my appearance in the mirror, wondering what to do next. Could I go to the master about the locket? Surely the theft would prove that I had not just imagined the presence in the night, and yet I, still the newcomer, shrank from the prospect of telling him there was a thief in his household. The mistress, then? She seemed much more approachable, and it was she who managed the servants. Perhaps she would handle the matter with more understanding.
Only then did it occur to me that a solution might be looking me in the face. “Mirror,” I said as I rapped smartly on the shiny surface. “Mirror. Do wake up. It’s urgent.”
My reflected image was obliterated by dark, churning clouds. I knocked again. And again. Finally a dim outline of the carnival-mask face appeared, as if it were too much effort to create a full picture.
“What is the password?” came the surly response.
I cast about for the answer, but could remember only that it was something short and silly. “I don’t have time for nonsense. Wake up and pay attention.”
“Come on, give it a guess. This is the only fun in my humdrum life.”
“Mirror,” I said, “I must know who was in my room last night.”
“Oh?” the supercilious voice drawled. “Do you mean you want me to SPY on someone?”
“I just want you to tell me who was in my room meddling with my things. That’s not spying.”
“I beg to differ. You want me to tell you someone else’s whereabouts and what they were doing. That is unquestionably spying. If anyone else asked me where YOU were and what you were doing, you would certainly call that spying.”
“Well, yes, of course, but I—”
“It’s no use asking me. I simply cannot function in such a way. It’s not in my household enchantment. The mistress wouldn’t have it.”
“But wait! It surely is not spying to tell me where an object is. Where is my locket? Just tell me that.”
“Oh, lost objects. That’s different. For that we have a special custom: the riddle.”
“For Heaven’s sake, can’t you just give me the answer?”
“Quiet. I’m thinking.…”
I sank my head in my paws, clutching fistfuls of fur and counting to ten, then twenty.
“Let’s see.… Floor … door … more,” the mirror droned on. “No, too literal. I need a metaphor, or perhaps an allegory. Hmm. Something that collects shiny things … maybe a raven. Something, something a raven. But what rhymes with raven?”
“It doesn’t have to rhyme!” I interjected. “Can’t you hurry up?”
“These things can’t be rushed. The hints must be subtle, yet tantalizing. You want a riddle of quality, don’t you? This is a specialty of mine, and I’ll tell you right now, it’s going to take some time.”
“How much time?”
“Oh, days! Five or six, I should think. I’ve had a few cases that took longer than that, but they involved the metaphysical.”
“Oh!” I cried. “You are useless! Just useless!” I turned my back on the mirror and marched out into the corridor. After a moment’s thought, I determined to find the mistress and enlist her aid. Down in the kitchen I asked Betsy where and when I might find Mrs. Vaughn, and she offered to take me to her as soon as she finished clearing the breakfast dishes. My stomach seemed tied in knots and I was sure I could not eat, so I waited, standing by the door, tapping my shoe impatiently on the tile floor until Betsy came to lead me away. She brought me to Mrs. Vaughn’s morning room and left me there without inquiring what business I had with the mistress, but with the encouraging whisper, “Go on, then. She’s not at all gruff like the master. She’s a dear, she is. Just knock.”
Mrs. Vaughn answered my knock with her soft, melodic voice, bidding me come in. She seemed surprised to see me, but welcomed me warmly. She sat at an exquisite little escritoire, made of some very dark wood with inlaid designs of mother-of-pearl. I thought how well the room suited her, from the vase of peach-colored mums to the framed photos of Teddy and of three other little cubs sitting on the mantel. I knew immediately who the three little cubs were. Suddenly I didn’t know how to begin.
“How are you settling in, dear?” she asked. “Is your room satisfactory? I chose it because it’s near the nursery and the schoolroom. This place is so big and sprawling; I know it takes some getting used to.”
“I’m sure it’s the nicest room I’ve ever had, madam. Thank you. And Teddy is a joy. He’s been making me feel quite at home.” We continued with such small talk for some minutes before she gently asked me if there was anything on my mind.
“I’m afraid there is, madam, though I hate to trouble you with it.”
“You can come to me with anything, my dear,” she said. “Now, tell me what’s bothering you. Is it serious?”
“It is to me, madam. You see, someone was in my bedroom last night, and this morning I found that my locket was missing from where I had set it on my desk. I’m afraid someone’s taken it,” I said, tearing up. “It’s not very valuable as such things go, but it’s quite precious to me, as it was my mother’s. It contains the only picture I have of her and my papa.… I don’t want to accuse anyone, madam, but I think it must have been someone in the household.”
I paused. Her expression was shocked, dismayed, even guilty, and I suddenly wondered if I had done the right thing in coming to her.
“Oh no!” she said. “Oh dear. This is entirely my fault. I should have said something, but I didn’t want to frighten you off. I really had hoped there would be an end to it. Forgive me, dear. I should have told you to keep your door locked.” She took an embroidered handkerchief out of her sleeve and pressed it to her forehead.
“Why? What is it?” I asked, concerned now that something was seriously wrong, and wondering what sort of danger I should have locked my door against.
After her initial outburst she seemed to suddenly regain possession of herself. She fell silent and turned slightly away from me, as if she did not want to meet my eyes.
Finally she answered, “Let me take care of this, my dear. Please don’t ask me to explain. It’s just that, well, there are things that have gone missing—just little things here and there—and I have an idea.…” She paused. “I think we may yet find your locket, but it may take time. Would you trust me to handle this in my own way? Just not mention this to anyone?”
I was somewhat taken aback. It was clear that she had a notion of who was responsible for the disappearance of my locket. It was equally clear that she was hiding something—and yet she was asking me to put all my faith in her. What did I really know of her? Her gentleness and sensitivity were obvious, but would she shrink from accusing anyone for fear of giving offense? All I really knew of her was that she had raised a fine young cub, and contemplating this, I decided that was reason enough to trust her.
“All right, madam, if you think it best,” I said.
“Thank you, dear. Please believe that I won’t rest until we’ve found it.”
“Yes, madam. Thank you.”
“Is there anything else I can be of help with?” she asked. “How is Nurse treating you? She can be terribly moody at times.”
I was temporarily struck speechless while I quickly assessed how to answer the question. Was Nurse’s frequent intoxication taken for moodiness, then? I could not tell Mrs. Vaughn what I knew, but I thought that if I inquired carefully into Nurse’s behavior, I might gain some helpful insight into the badger’s dreadful personality.
“I’m afraid I have gotten off to rather a bad start with Nurse,” I said. “I believe she has taken a dislike to me.”
“Ah, yes. I was afraid of something like that. You mustn’t mind it, you know. It’s just that she has always been so very possessive of Teddy. I do believe there are times when she even resents my relationship with him, and now she must relinquish him to your care for much of the day. Quite likely she sees you as a rival for Teddy’s affections, or even as a threat to her position, though we have assured her that she will always have a place with us. I hope she has not been rude to you?”