“Hello, Maisie! Oi, don’t let that dog near the sausages…” It was the next day and Maisie had just run into George – the delivery boy from the butcher’s. George held the parcel with the meat delivery up over his head and pretended to glare at Eddie, who was dancing round his feet and yapping excitedly.
“Don’t tease him,” Maisie said, giggling. “You make him worse. He wouldn’t dream of even looking at a sausage if you didn’t encourage him. How’s work?”
George shrugged. “All right, I suppose. The new girl that took Sally’s place – she’s the most stuck-up thing you’ve ever seen. She acts like she’s too good to work in a butcher’s shop, she’s enough to make a cat laugh. You ought to see her waltzing around with her nose in the air. She says I smell, Maisie, can you imagine? She’s got a lacy handkerchief with lavender water on it, and she holds it up to her nose when I go past.”
Maisie shook her head disgustedly. George did smell of the shop, she had to admit, but that was hardly a surprise, and the shopgirl probably smelled of sausages and the best mince, too.
“Hey, Maisie,” George added, as he passed her the meat order. “Isn’t that Miss Lane who lives upstairs friendly with Miss Sarah Massey? The one who plays Lily in Circus Sweethearts?”
Maisie groaned. Had everyone heard of the actress except her? “Yes. Why? What of it?” she asked.
“Well,” said George. “Miss Massey didn’t go on last night. She’s had an accident. It’s in all the papers and the newsboy was shouting about it.”
“What sort of accident?” Maisie asked worriedly. “Is she all right? Was she badly hurt?”
George shrugged. “Don’t know. Anyway, I thought your Miss Lane might want to go and visit her, or something.”
Maisie nodded. “It’s kind of you.” She knew quite well that George just enjoyed passing on gossip, but then Maisie did like to gossip, too, so she could hardly tell him off. “I’ll take Miss Lane’s letters upstairs and tell her the news,” she promised him. “So have you seen her play?”
“Course I have!” George said. “Everyone’s seen it, Maisie, it’s the talk of London. I’ve seen it twice. I got a seat up at the back. It’s fantastical.” He gave her a surprised, rather pitying look. “Haven’t you seen it, then?”
“No…” Maisie muttered, going pink. “Gran isn’t keen on the theatre. She thinks it’s not proper. All that dressing up and glittery stockings…”
“Your gran’s just fussy,” George said, rolling his eyes.
By the time Maisie had put the meat away in the larder, the front door was banging closed and she realized crossly that Miss Lane had gone out – and now someone else was bound to tell her about Sarah Massey’s accident. Maisie would just have to try to catch Miss Lane later, and hope she would feel like gossiping. Maisie sighed sadly, and got on with the washing-up.
A little while after their midday dinner, Maisie heard Miss Lane coming back and talking to Sally in the hallway. She hurriedly filled the kettle and put it on the stove. It was almost tea time, if one liked tea early, anyway. And Miss Lane often didn’t eat dinner if she was busy, so it would be a kindness to take her a cup of tea…
Maisie assembled it on a tray and shut Eddie in the kitchen so that he didn’t trip her up on the stairs – he never meant to, but he was only a puppy and he had a habit of weaving in and out of feet.
Then she carried the tray up to Miss Lane’s room, and knocked hopefully.
“Oh, Maisie, you little treasure,” Miss Lane murmured, as she flung open the door. “I need that tea. I’ve spent the whole morning fussing over Sarah at her lodgings, and if you think I’m untidy, Maisie, you should see what she’s like. And her landlady isn’t nearly as nice as your gran. I haven’t had so much as a biscuit.”
“George told me Miss Massey had had an accident…” Maisie prompted, hopefully.
“Oh, yes, she had the most lucky escape, though. She was crossing the road, and she was nearly run down by a hansom cab. The cabbie said she wasn’t looking, but Sarah swears she was.” Miss Lane frowned. “Though she’s so featherbrained at the moment, Maisie, I should think it probably was her fault. Since Tarquin told her about the emerald being valuable, she just hasn’t been thinking straight, and now she’s learnt about some sort of curse on the stone, although that’s all just superstition.”
Maisie frowned. “I thought she was a star, Miss Lane. How can she get away with being featherbrained? With all those words to say, and the dancing, and the songs?”
“Exactly,” Miss Lane said grimly. “It’s that dratted boy Timmy’s fault. Well, Tarquin. Sarah’s been in such a tizzy she can hardly remember if she’s coming or going. Even before the accident, I think the manager of the theatre was getting tetchy. It’s up to him who gets the starring roles, you see, and until a few days ago, he thought Sarah was wonderful. Pretty, and she’s got a lovely voice, and charm, Maisie. That’s what made her so special. You could feel her smile all the way to the back row of the gods – that’s the bit right up at the top, dear.”
Maisie sighed. She wished Gran wasn’t so strict. Even the butcher’s boy knew more about the theatre than she did.
“But she’s still got all that,” Maisie pointed out.
Miss Lane shook her head. “She’s distracted, though. Forgetting her lines, messing up the steps in the big chorus dance number. Oh, they covered for her, but the audience could see it wasn’t right. And the charm’s gone, Maisie. The sparkle. She’s too worried to shine.” Miss Lane sighed. “It’s even worse now, of course. She’s convinced it’s all because of the curse, especially since she was nearly run over by that dratted cab. Have you heard about this curse, Maisie?”
“Professor Tobin told me about it,” Maisie nodded. “About it being bad luck to lose the emerald.”
“Yes,” Miss Lane said grimly. “So now, of course, Sarah thinks she’s probably going to die some sort of horrible lingering death.”
“So has Lord Tarquin noticed that she’s not wearing the necklace yet?” Maisie asked.
“She had enough sense left to tell him that the clasp was loose, and that she had taken it to the jeweller’s to be mended,” Miss Lane explained. “But I think that used up the last of her wits. Now she’s just a jittery mess.”
“So, what happened last night? Did they have to cancel the show?” Maisie asked anxiously.
“Oh no,” Miss Lane shook her head briskly. “No, her understudy went on instead – one of the chorus girls, who knows the role in case Sarah’s ill.” Miss Lane wrinkled her nose worriedly. “And unfortunately for Sarah, she was very good. Arabella’s a dear girl, very sweet and sensible. She was in the chorus in the last show I did at the Gadsby. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was as well known as Sarah, one of these days. The theatre manager practically kissed her after the curtain calls, so one of my other friends told me. Sarah’s been so worried about Timmy and the necklace, she hasn’t exactly made herself popular. Too many leading-lady temper tantrums – someone moved the parasol she uses in one of the dances, and then the ribbons on her shoe broke, and she made a bit of a fuss about it. And now Arabella’s there, just as pretty and no trouble at all, and she knows the part backwards…” Miss Lane sighed. “I tried to warn Sarah, but she screeched at me! And then she apologized, and then she cried. A lot. May I have another cup of tea, Maisie?”
“So you think Miss Massey might lose her part?” Maisie breathed. It was fascinating.
Miss Lane nodded slowly. “I think she might – if she doesn’t start making more of an effort to keep it, anyway.”