The Baker Street Boys - The Case of the Stolen Sparklers (6 page)

All was quiet and peaceful as the house settled down for the night, but Queenie was missing the other Boys and couldn’t sleep. As she lay wondering what they were all doing, and how they were getting on without her, she heard someone talking quietly on the stairs. There was a giggle that sounded like Violet’s, followed by a deeper, man’s chuckle. Curious, Queenie slipped out of bed and crept across the room. Easing the door open, she tiptoed to the top of the stairs and peered down to the next landing. Below, she could see Gerald standing with his arm round Violet’s waist, whispering something in her ear. Violet shook her head and pushed him away – though not very hard – as he tried to kiss her. Then she gathered up her long skirt and turned to climb the stairs, giggling again.

Queenie just managed to duck out of sight and scurry back to bed before Violet came in. She pulled up the bedclothes and lay quietly while the older girl undressed, humming happily to herself. Queenie recognized the tune of the popular song, “Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer, do”. As she closed her eyes, more of the words ran through her mind: “It won’t be a stylish marriage, we can’t afford a carriage…” And then she was asleep.

Queenie slept solidly until the alarm clock woke her at six the next morning. Sleepily, she turned it off and tried to remember where she was and what she was doing there. Seeing Violet still asleep in the other bed brought everything back to her in a rush.

“Ooh,” she groaned under her breath, “the blinkin’ fires!”

Fighting to keep her eyes open, she poured cold water from the big china jug on the washstand into the bowl and splashed it on her face. Then she struggled into the brown dress, stuffed her hair under her mob-cap and staggered downstairs to start her duties for the day.

The kitchen was cold and dark in the dim early morning light as Queenie busied herself with cleaning out the ashes from the range and raking them through the bars into a bucket. The fine grey dust caught in her throat and made her cough, and she crossed the room to get a drink of water from the big brass tap. As she filled a mug at the sink, she looked out through the window. Someone was leaning on the black iron railings above, looking down into the kitchen. It was Wiggins.

“What you doin’ here at this time of day?” Queenie asked him when she had unlocked the kitchen door and gone outside.

“That’s a nice welcome and no mistake,” he grinned as he climbed down the stone steps from the street. “Polly said this was the only time I could be sure of finding you on your own to talk to.”

“Did she, now? You can tell her she can swap places again any time she likes.”

“You ain’t having a good time, then?”

“I got a nice bed to sleep in. And the grub’s good – we had steak and kidney last night, and there’ll be bacon and egg and sausages for breakfast this mornin’. But I don’t like bein’ nobody’s servant, and I do miss the Boys.”

“We all miss you.”

“Miss my cookin’, more like. What did you have for supper last night? Anythin’ good?”

“Wasn’t too bad, considering. Turnips and cabbage.”

Queenie sniffed. “Bet my little brother didn’t like that. How’s he behavin’ his self without me to keep him in order?”

“All right,” Wiggins grinned. “For Shiner.”

“Hmm. How long you reckon this is gonna take? Only I don’t think I can stand too much of it.”

“Depends. Have you found anything out yet?”

“Yeah, I got a lot to tell you. But I’ll have to be quick.”

“Go on, then. I’m all ears, as they say.”

Queenie took a deep breath and told Wiggins everything that she had seen and heard the day before. He listened with great interest, and let out a low whistle when she finished.

“Blimey,” he said. “Sounds like they’ve all got something to hide!”

“Yeah,” she replied. “’Cepting her ladyship.”

Wiggins shook his head. “Don’t be too sure about that. She ain’t all what she seems, neither.”

“No!” Queenie was quite shocked. “How d’you make that out?”

“Sparrow’s been asking about her in the theatre. Turns out she ain’t really posh at all – her old man was a cabbie.”

“I can’t believe it. She’s a real lady through and through…”

“It’s all an act. Honest. Going by what Sparrow found out, she used to be a wonderful actress when she was on the stage. Sounds like she still is. So keep your eyes open and watch out for her.”

“Right, I will.”

“That’s a good girl. Hello, what’s this?”

He stared at the wall behind Queenie. Just above her head was a white handprint. He reached out and touched it, then examined his fingers.

“What is it?” Queenie asked. “Looks like flour.”

Wiggins considered it for a moment, then shrugged.

“Yeah, it is,” he said. “Never mind that. Listen. I need to get inside the house to take a look-see for myself. There could be clues that Lestrade and his coppers have missed.”

Queenie looked doubtful. “They was very thorough,” she said.

“I don’t care about that. I gotta see for myself, like Mr Holmes would.”

“How will you manage that, then?”

“You’re gonna help me.”

“I can’t do that!”

“Oh, yes, you can. I’ve worked it all out. This is what I need you to do…”

Shiner and Rosie took up their posts watching Mountjoy House again during the morning. Shiner grumbled that he was losing money because the street was so quiet that he hardly had any customers, but Beaver assured him they were doing important work. He reminded Shiner how he had helped to solve the mystery of the Ranjipur Ruby by spotting that the villain’s boots were old and needed mending. Pleased that Beaver remembered his part in that case, Shiner reluctantly agreed to stay put.

Rosie was losing money too, but she was determined to do everything she could to help Polly. And in any case, she wanted Queenie back at HQ as soon as possible. She’d missed being seen off to Covent Garden in the early morning – and even one day of Polly’s cooking was one too many. So as soon as she had come back from the market and tied up her posies and buttonholes, Rosie had hurried out to the street. Beaver and Gertie were already there with Shiner, and Beaver quietly told her that Wiggins had a plan. They were all to be ready for it. In the meantime, Rosie was to go on patrolling with her tray of flowers, and keep her eyes open for anything suspicious.

Nothing happened for an hour or more, and then the front door of the house opened and a youngish man came out, looked around and set off along the street. He was smartly dressed in a dark coat with a velvet collar, his hat tilted at a rakish angle, and he was swinging an ebony cane with a silver knob.

“That must be Mr Gerald,” Beaver whispered to Gertie. “I’ll follow him and see where he’s goin’. You back me up so you can take over if he spots me.”

Gerald walked past Shiner with barely a glance, which disappointed the young shoeshine boy, who prided himself on being able to judge a man’s character by his boots and had hoped for a chance to get a proper look at this man’s. But the dandy stopped to look at the flowers on Rosie’s tray, and flashed his teeth at her in a smile.

“What are you doing here, my dear?” he greeted her. “We don’t usually get flower girls in this quiet street.”

Rosie thought fast. “No, sir,” she replied. “That’s why I thought I’d give it a go.”

“Hm. Clever as well as pretty.” He treated her to another, rather oily smile, picked up a red carnation and sniffed it. “I’ll take this one.”

He handed over two pennies, slipped the flower into the buttonhole on his lapel, and continued on his way. Keeping their distance from him and each other, Beaver and Gertie trailed after him as he sauntered along the street and round the corner. The three of them were hardly out of sight when Sparrow strolled round the corner at the other end of the street, wearing a very ragged jacket, and leant casually against the wall. When Queenie appeared briefly at a window on the second floor of the house, he gave her a surreptitious thumbs-up. She saw him, returned the signal and disappeared again. All was quiet for several minutes, then there were shouts from inside the house. Queenie reappeared at the window and flung it open. Clouds of thick brown smoke billowed out.

Sparrow slipped back round the corner. A few seconds later a familiar cry rang out: “Sweep! Swee–eep!” and a barrow came into sight, piled up with brushes and sacks. It was pushed by a young chimney sweep, his too-big tailcoat hanging loosely from his shoulders, his face blackened with soot but still recognizable, to anyone who knew him, as Arnold Wiggins, leader of the Baker Street Boys. His even younger assistant, trotting alongside the barrow and clearly enjoying playing a part, was Sparrow.

“Swee–eep! Sweep!” Wiggins cried again, very loudly, as he approached Mountjoy House. As he did so, the basement door opened and Violet came hurrying up the steps and called him over. Parking the barrow outside and leaving it in Sparrow’s care, he followed her down into the kitchen.

“Are you a sweep?” Mrs Ford asked, staring at him across the big table, where she stood next to Mr Harper.

“Yes, missus,” he said cheerfully. “At your service.”

“Where’s the regular sweep?”

“Charlie’s took sick today, missus. So I’m looking after his round for him.”

“You seem very young,” said Mr Harper.

“I’m not as young as I look, guv’nor. We sweeps is all short, you know. On account of when we used to have to climb up inside the chimbleys.”

“Huh! A likely tale.”

Mrs Ford chuckled and looked kindly at Wiggins. “You’re a cheeky monkey and no mistake.”

“I do my best, missus. Don’t cost nothin’ to be cheerful, do it?”

“Quite right,” she said. Her eyes twinkled and she gave him a motherly smile.

Mr Harper cleared his throat noisily. “You’re quite sure you know what you’re doing?” he asked.

“Oh, yes, guv. Served my time with Charlie, I did. Learned the trade from him.”

“Excuse me, Mr Harper, but please can we get on?” Violet butted in, hopping from one foot to the other and looking agitated. “That chimney’s smoking something awful. Her ladyship’s room will be covered in smuts and I’ll have to clean it all up.”

“Sounds like you got a blockage,” Wiggins said.

“But we only had the chimneys swept a month ago,” Mr Harper snapped.

“Ah, in that case,” declared Wiggins, tying to sound as though he knew what he was talking about, “it probably ain’t a question of soot. It’s most likely birds.”

“Please,” Violet repeated. “Whatever it is, can we hurry up and do something about it?”

“Yes, yes,” Mr Harper said tetchily. “Show him where it is.”

Violet led Wiggins out of the kitchen and up through the house to Lady Mountjoy’s room, where they found Queenie standing guard over the fireplace. Smoke continued to pour into the room instead of going up the chimney.

“Right, what we got here, then?” Wiggins said, peering through the dense smoke and winking at Queenie. “It’s like a proper London pea-souper in here, ain’t it. ’Cept the fog’s usually outside the house.”

“Never mind making jokes,” Violet snapped. “Do something about it. Quick!”

Wiggins ambled over to the fireplace, bent down and peered up the chimney.

“Can’t see no daylight,” he announced. “Yes, that’s a blockage right enough.”

“Can you fix it?”

“I’ll need a number two brush for that.”

“Well, have you got one?”

“Course I have. On the barrow. Why don’t you nip down and tell the lad to bring it up here?”

“I’m not running up and down stairs for you,” Violet snorted. “Victoria can go.”

“Who?”

“That’s me,” Queenie said, glaring furiously at Violet.

“Victoria, eh?” Wiggins tried to keep a straight face. “That’s a posh name.”

“Yes, isn’t it.” Queenie flounced out of the room and hurried down the stairs.

Left with Violet, Wiggins looked around the room, taking everything in.

“This is nice,” he said. “Who sleeps in here, then? Is it yours?”

“This is Lady Mountjoy’s room.”

“Lady Mountjoy? Where have I heard…? Oh, yes. Ain’t this where you had that robbery?”

“How do you know that?” she demanded.

“News travels fast among tradesmen,” he said, tapping the side of his nose. “But am I right?”

“Yes. From this very room, as it happens.”

“Well, I never.” Wiggins put on a look of surprise. “Was there much took?”

“I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind.”

“Go on. You can tell me. I dare say it’ll be in all the papers, anyhow.”

Violet pursed her lips, then the temptation to share the exciting events of the past few days became too much for her. She spoke quietly. “All her ladyship’s precious jewels. Including the famous Mountjoy tiara, what can’t be replaced.”

“And they was all in this room?”

“In that satin jewel box over there on the dressing table.”

Wiggins strolled over to look more closely.

“Don’t touch anything!” Violet warned him. “I don’t want anything else to clean. The girl that took them left a dirty mark on the drapes.”