The maid’s name was Etty, and she showed no surprise at having a muddy apprentice milliner come in through the front door. She led me up the stairs with a friendly, “This way, miss.”
“What’s that?” I said, staring, when she opened the door for me. I’d never seen anything like it.
“It’s the bathroom, dear,” she said (no more “miss” now we were alone, but she spoke kindly for all that). “The hot water gets heated up in this here gas geyser – ” she pointed to a big cylindrical tin drum sort of contraption “ – and goes down a drain once the bath is finished with. No carrying cans of hot water up and down stairs in this household,” she added proudly. She turned a tap and, just as she said, steaming water gushed out.
“Strip off then, dear.”
“What?”
“So you can have your bath. Pooh! These do smell. Soaked through, they are.”
I hesitated. The truth was, I’d never had a bath in my life. A jug and basin and a washcloth was all I’d ever known.
“I’ll leave you to it then, shall I?”
I had my bath. The geyser burped and belched, and I was scared the ruddy thing might explode, but mostly I enjoyed it. I never knew you could feel so clean. Halfway through, Etty bustled in with my carpetbag.
“D’you want me to lay your clothes out?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I don’t need no one to wait on me,” I said. “Thanks all the same,” I added, in case she thought I was rude.
“Suit yourself, dear.” She shrugged her shoulders and smiled as she shut the door. “I’ll come back in a tick.”
There was a mirror in the room, and after I dressed, I looked at my reflection. I sighed. My dress was a hand-me-down of a hand-me-down, and you could tell. In this house, with everything so clean and neat and even the housemaid done up like a lady, I felt very shabby. Never mind, I told myself, you won’t be here long.
There was a knock and Etty walked in. “You finished? Good girl. Give us your bag then, and I’ll take it to your room.”
“My room?” I grabbed the bag out of her hand. This was what Cook had told me about – respectable-seeming men and women who lured young girls just like me into their clutches. I held the bag to my chest.
“Have it your own way,” said Etty, and then a smile twitched the corners of her mouth. “You know, dear, you’re safe as houses.”
“We’ll see,” I muttered.
“Come on, then. Come with me. They’re waiting for you in the library.”
Library? I didn’t want to seem ignorant so I didn’t ask.
It turned out to be a big room full of books. I never knew there were so many books. Books from floor to ceiling, and ladders so you could reach up to the highest shelves. Books the size of suitcases and tiny books in glass-fronted cases. Neat rows of books all matching in red and gold, and then shelves all mixed with fat books and skinny books and books of different colours. In the middle of the room there was a round table, piled high with newspapers and letters and, yes, more books. At the table sat Mr Saddington Plush and another gentleman. They both stood up when Etty, with a friendly nudge, sent me into the room.
“Miss Sparks,” said Mr Plush, smiling. “Allow me to present my father, Mr Saddington Plush, senior.”
I knew before he told me that it must have been his pa, for he was the spit and image of him, only a little bit stooped and the brown hair turned to grey. His moustache was real.
“Good day, Miss Sparks,” he said, taking my hand and bowing over it in an old-fashioned way. “I must thank you for giving up your valuable time to assist us in our inquiries. Won’t you have a seat? And I shall ring for tea.”
He beamed a smile at me, but all I could do was stare. Tea? He was asking me to have a cup of tea with them? At the same table and all? Didn’t he know I was just an apprentice milliner?
Young Mr Plush shoved a gluepot and some scissors and a pile of newspaper clippings out of the way. “Here we are,” he said kindly, and then whispered, “It will be all right, Miss Sparks. Don’t worry.”
Worry? Worry? I was beside myself. What were they up to, bringing me all the way out here? And as to staying the night – well, the idea! But how was I going to get back to Ma Bolivar’s? Would Mr Plush send me back in the carriage, or put me on a train? He’d have to pay my fare, I reasoned, since he’d taken me to wherever this was. I shoved my bag under the chair and sat down, very stiff and awkward, just as Etty and a younger girl came into the room carrying trays.
“Ah, tea!” said Mr Plush senior, as if it was a surprise. After all, it was him that had rung the bell. He lifted the lid of one silver dish. “Anchovy toast.” And then the other. “Teacakes.” He rubbed his hands together. “Bon appétit, Miss Sparks.”
“Beg pardon?”
“He hopes you’re hungry,” said young Mr Plush.
Well, I was, and they were as well – those gentlemen really could tuck it away – but after we’d taken the edge off with toast, cakes and tea, Mr Plush senior got down to business. Very serious, he was.
“Miss Sparks, on Saturday we thought that Lady Throttle had made a silly mistake. Today, we realise that she has attempted to use us for her own purposes, and we don’t like being used. We don’t like being treated as fools. And we most especially don’t like seeing an innocent person hurt by the selfish machinations of others. Is that not right, SP?” Without waiting for an answer, he went on. “Lady Throttle has made a grave mistake, my dear. She mistook my son’s youth for naivety and thought she could use him to blame you for the theft of the brooch. When her plan went awry, she sought revenge by getting you dismissed. Perhaps she thought that no one would care what happened to a milliner’s apprentice, but we do, and we would like to see justice done. Do you understand?”
I nodded. It was a lot of words, but I got the sense of it.
“Miss Sparks, since we feel in some way responsible for your regrettable predicament, we would be honoured if you would stay with us until we have – what is your term for it, SP?”
“Cracked the case,” he said, grinning. “You see, Miss Sparks, I don’t always talk like a book.”
“Mrs Cannister you have already met, but my daughter Judith and my sister Mrs Morcom reside here at Mulberry Hill as well, so you will have no lack of female chaperones.” He twiddled with the ends of his moustache. “And there’s Etty and Cook and Sarah and little Jemima, the scullery maid. Females galore, in fact.”
I added them up in my head. A housekeeper, a cook, two maids and two ladies made six in all. It seemed Etty was right. I would be as safe as houses.
I bobbed a curtsey. “I would be very happy to stay, sirs. Thank you very much.”
“And I believe, Miss Sparks, that you may be able to help me.” Mr Plush senior beamed that lovely smile at me again.
“Help you, Mr Plush?”
“SP tells me you are very good at finding things. Your employer, Madame Louisette, swears by you. My son tells me that you attribute your discovery of the brooch to itchy fingers.” I could feel myself blushing. I searched Mr Plush senior’s face for signs that he was laughing at me, but he seemed perfectly serious. “May I ask you to put your powers to the test?”
“Do you mean you’ve lost something, sir?”
“My meerschaum.”
“Pardon?”
“My favourite pipe. Meerschaum is a clay mineral, hydrous magnesium silicate, and often used to make ornamental pipe bowls.”
“I see.” I didn’t quite.
“Meerschaum is German for sea foam.”
My fingertips began to tingle, ever so faintly. And then I did see. I had a kind of picture inside my head, but not of sea foam or clay or even of a pipe.
“Is there a purple silk cushion in the house?” I asked. “With tassels?” My fingers were really itching now, and I found myself heading for the door.
“With or without tassels, I have no idea,” said Mr Plush senior. He gave me a curious look. “Why do you ask?”
With the two of them following, I went down a corridor, through a set of doors and down another corridor. More doors. “I think it’s in here,” I said.
“But I never smoke in there. Almeria would have my hide. Ah well, Miss Sparks, if you say so.” He opened the door for me.
Once again I didn’t know what kind of a room to expect, but I tell you now what I wasn’t expecting. A snake! Thick as a drainpipe and so long that it was wound twice round the potted tree in front of us and draped three feet on either side.
I stifled a scream. “It’s a … it’s …”
“She’s a diamond python,” said Mr Plush senior. “Morelia spilota spilota. Her name is Cleopatra.” He smiled and stroked her, and she reared up so that her head was level with his. “Beautiful isn’t she?” he said admiringly. “Pure muscle. I say, Miss Sparks, are you all right? You’re awfully pale.”
“It’s … it’s …” Another snake. On the floor. Right near my foot.
“That’s Antony,” said young Mr Plush.
Suddenly Antony stirred. His tongue flickered out, and for the first time in my life, I fainted.