Читать книгу The Stolen Sapphire - Sarah Masters Buckey - Страница 7

SAMANTHA REACHED OUT for the brass banister and caught herself from falling down the stairs. She heard a man’s voice behind her. “Stop that, Plato!” he ordered. “Come here!”

There was a screech of protest. Then Samantha felt tiny hands grasping her hair. Suddenly, she was face-to-face with a little brown monkey, its round eyes looking appealingly into hers.

The man hurried up beside her. “Dreadfully sorry!” he said as he snatched the monkey from Samantha. Samantha turned and saw a tall, athletic-looking young man with wavy dark hair and wire-rimmed glasses. “Plato’s a naughty little fellow,” he said apologetically. “He’s always getting into mischief.”

The monkey held on to the lapels of the man’s coat like a baby clutching its mother. Chattering excitedly, the little animal turned to watch Samantha, his wide eyes examining her intently.

“Are you hurt?” asked Mademoiselle, who was waiting at the bottom of the stairs with Nellie. They had both turned around when Samantha called out, and Mademoiselle now sounded concerned.

“I’m fine,” Samantha assured Mademoiselle. “I was just surprised.”

Samantha held out her hand to the monkey, and he gently grasped it as if they were shaking hands. “Is your monkey’s name Plato?” she asked the young man.

“Yes,” he said as they continued down the stairs. “But he’s not really mine. My uncle, Professor Wharton, found him a few weeks ago in a marketplace in Central America. The other monkeys were picking on this little one, so my uncle bought him to rescue him from the bullies. Now Plato goes everywhere with us. My uncle even had a special cage made for him, but Plato prefers to be out exploring.”

Samantha realized the “odd-looking dog” that Charlotta had seen with Professor Wharton had probably been this long-tailed monkey. She smiled to herself to think that perhaps Charlotta didn’t know as much as she pretended to.

They had reached the foot of the stairs, and the young man bowed politely to Mademoiselle Étienne and Nellie. “I’m sorry that Plato disturbed you, ladies.”

“He’s sweet,” said Nellie, reaching out to touch the monkey’s soft fur. “I knew an organ grinder’s monkey that could do clever tricks. Does Plato do tricks, too?”

“Not yet,” said the young man as he opened a door labeled First Class Cabins and ushered Samantha, Nellie, and Mademoiselle Étienne through it. “Though my uncle is sure he’s very intelligent.”

Plato nodded and chattered as if he agreed with this last statement. They had entered a corridor with white walls and polished wood floors. Both sides of the corridor were lined with numbered doors, and Samantha guessed that these were the cabins.

“Personally,” the young man continued, “I think the little creature is more mischievous than clever. My uncle doesn’t agree, though, and he’s the boss. I’m just traveling as his assistant. Oh, excuse me, I haven’t introduced myself—my name’s Harrison Wharton III, but please call me Harry.”

Mademoiselle Étienne introduced the girls and herself as they walked down the corridor. “You’re their French tutor?” Harry exclaimed to her. “Why, I assumed you were the girls’ older sister. Are you from Paris? I spent two wonderful years there…”

Harry and Mademoiselle Étienne began to speak rapidly in French. Samantha caught a few words here and there—Mademoiselle Étienne mentioned that she had taught the Larchmont children; Harry talked about living in Paris—but most of what they said was incomprehensible to her.

Plato, meanwhile, peeked over Harry’s shoulder, and Samantha and Nellie waved to him. He eagerly waved his tiny hand back at them and clucked his tongue as if he wanted to join the conversation, too.

Mademoiselle stopped in front of Cabin 7. “Good day, Monsieur,” she said, and then she added with a smile, “Good day, Plato.”

Harry tipped his hat. “Plato and I shall hope to see you ladies later.”

As Harry continued down the corridor, Mademoiselle opened the door to their cabin. Inside, Grandmary’s maid, Doris, straightened her apron as she met them. She was a tall, thin, elderly woman who was quite hard of hearing. “I just finished unpacking your trunks,” she announced loudly to Samantha and Nellie. “And the Admiral says to tell you that he’ll be by at seven to take you to dinner.”

“Thank you!” Samantha answered at the top of her voice. Doris smiled and nodded as she left the room.

Samantha looked around. “Jiminy!” she exclaimed. “This is how I always thought a ship’s cabin should look.”

On Samantha’s first voyage with her grandparents, they had sailed on a large, modern ship, the S.S. Londonia. The trip had been wonderful, but Samantha had felt almost as if she were steaming across the ocean in an elegant hotel.

The Queen Caroline, however, was a much smaller, older ship. It was clean and neat, but, as the Admiral had said, there were no modern frills. Every inch of space in their cabin was carefully used. Bookshelves and a wooden table were built into the walls. Straight-backed chairs flanked the table, and just above it, a porthole let in light and offered a view of the choppy waves outside.

“It’s very nice,” agreed Nellie, a little uncertainly. “But where do we sleep?”

“Voilà!” said Mademoiselle Étienne, smiling. She gestured toward a door on the left that blended into the wood paneling. Then she motioned toward a door on the opposite side of the room. “And my bed is there.”

Samantha and Nellie opened the door to their bedroom. It was so small that Samantha felt as if she’d stepped inside a giant cupboard, but the neatly arranged space had its own porthole, a closet, built-in drawers, and a pair of berths—one upper and one lower.

“I’ve always wanted a bed like this,” Samantha said as she climbed to the upper berth. She ran her hands over the soft, red woolen blankets. They smelled like ocean air. “Haven’t you?”

“I’ve slept in bunk beds before,” Nellie admitted as she climbed up the ladder, too. “But they weren’t nearly as nice as this!”

First the girls sat on the top berth, leaning over so that they wouldn’t hit their heads on the low ceiling. Next they looked into the drawers where Doris had put away their things. Samantha found Clara, her Nutcracker doll, and Nellie took out her doll, Lydia. Then both girls brought out the books Aunt Cornelia had given them as bon voyage presents.

“Oh, it’s Treasure Island!” Samantha exclaimed as she unwrapped her book. “It’ll be easy to imagine that I’m on the ship with pirates!”

“I got Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland!” Nellie reported. “Aunt Cornelia knew I wanted to read it.”

Holding tight to Treasure Island, Samantha looked longingly at their bunk beds. She wanted to curl up on the top berth and read until it was time to get ready for dinner—but she was sure Nellie would want that berth, too. Samantha hesitated. Then she had an idea. “You can have the top berth for the first half of the trip,” she offered. “Would you mind if I had it for the second half?”

“I wouldn’t mind at all,” Nellie said as she sank down on the lower berth. “But I’d rather take this bed first.”

Samantha noticed that Nellie looked pale. “What’s wrong?”

“I think…” Nellie glanced out the window at the churning seas, then groaned and buried her face in the pillow. “I think it’s the ocean!”

At exactly seven o’clock, the Admiral knocked on the cabin door to escort the ladies to the dining room. Mademoiselle Étienne opened the door. “Ah, Samantha,” she said, smiling, “it is your grand-père.”

“Grand-père!” the Admiral exclaimed. He looked very distinguished in his black evening suit and topcoat. “Why, I like the sound of that even better than ‘the Admiral.’”

“Bonsoir, Grand-père!” Samantha said with a polite curtsy. She was wearing a crimson satin dress, white lace gloves, and her new black high-button boots, all polished and shiny. But she was the only one in the cabin ready to go out for dinner.

“Please excuse us, sir, but Nellie and I both have the mal de mer,” Mademoiselle Étienne explained to the Admiral. “I think it would be best if we did not go to dinner tonight.”

“Well, Samantha, your grandmother is a bit seasick, too, so it will be just the two of us,” the Admiral said. He bowed and held out his arm. “Shall we go?”

Samantha felt elegant as she walked up to the main deck with her grandfather, her gloved hand resting lightly on his arm. They passed by the first-class dining room, which looked dark and deserted. The Admiral said that, since there were only about a dozen first-class passengers on this voyage, they all would be eating in the Captain’s own dining room.

Farther down the hall, the Admiral opened a door labeled Private Dining Room. He ushered Samantha into a warm room that smelled temptingly of roasted turkey. A large round table filled most of the room. Silverware and crystal glasses gleamed on the table, which was covered with a delicate lace tablecloth laid over a starched linen cloth. The only illumination in the room came from the center of the table, where several candles burned in the branches of a silver candelabra.

Light from the candles danced on the faces gathered around the table. A distinguished-looking man with steel-gray hair and a short beard stood up as Samantha and her grandfather entered the room. “Admiral Beemis!” he said, smiling. “It’s good to see you again after all these years, sir. I’m honored to have you and your family aboard my ship.”

“Jolly good to sail with you, Captain Newman,” declared the Admiral as the two men shook hands. The Captain introduced the Admiral and Samantha to Mr. and Mrs. Billingsley and Charlotta, and Samantha took a seat between her grandfather and Charlotta. Then she heard a clamor near the door.

Samantha looked up and saw Harry with a much older man, who she thought must be his uncle. Both men wore wire-rimmed glasses and formal dinner jackets with white bow ties, but unlike Harry, who was tall and handsome, Professor Wharton was short and round. He had pink cheeks and was bald, except for a fringe of white hair above his ears.

A blond man in a tweed jacket was following close behind Harry and his uncle. “Excuse me, Professor Wharton, I’m Jack Jackson, reporter for the New York Daily Journal,” he announced in a rapid-fire voice. “I booked a ticket on this ship just so I could do a special story about the Blue Star sapphire. I have a couple of questions for you—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Jackson, my uncle is about to have dinner,” Harry said stiffly, towering over the reporter.

The reporter pulled out his pencil and notepad eagerly. He was small and wiry, and he reminded Samantha of an energetic terrier. “This will take just a few minutes,” he assured Harry. Then he turned back to Professor Wharton. “Sir, what about the Blue Star’s history of bringing bad luck to whoever carries it? Will its bad luck follow it across the ocean?”

Captain Newman nodded to a steward, who stepped forward and grasped the reporter’s arm. “This dining room is reserved for first-class passengers only, sir.”

“I’ll talk with you later, Professor,” the reporter called over his shoulder as the steward escorted him out of the dining room.

Professor Wharton and Harry took seats across the table from Samantha. She wondered where Plato was, and Harry seemed to read her mind. “Plato felt a bit under the weather,” he told her. “We had to leave him in the cabin.”

“Yes, he wasn’t himself at all, poor little fellow,” agreed the Professor, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “I wouldn’t have guessed that a monkey would become seasick. Fascinating how human they are, isn’t it?”

Two stewards in white jackets began serving the dinner’s first course, a steaming clam chowder. Samantha had never tried clam chowder before and she took her first sip cautiously. “This is delicious,” she said.

“It’s not bad,” Charlotta agreed. “Where’s your sister Ellie?”

“Nellie,” Samantha corrected her. “She’s not feeling well.”

“Many people don’t do well on ships, especially at first,” said Charlotta authoritatively. She took another spoonful of chowder. “How old is Nellie?”

“Eleven, like me.”

Charlotta studied her. “You don’t look like twins,” she said.

“We’re adopted sisters.”

“Adopted?” Charlotta echoed. She continued to ask questions until Samantha had to explain how Nellie, Bridget, and Jenny had been adopted by Uncle Gard and Aunt Cornelia.

“Your aunt and uncle adopted servant girls?” Charlotta looked shocked.

“They’re not servants now—we’re all a family,” Samantha said, feeling increasingly uncomfortable with the conversation. She was glad when the stewards brought in the turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce. As she bent over her plate, she heard Mrs. Billingsley ask the Professor, “Is it true the sapphire brings bad luck wherever it goes? How thrilling!”

“No, Madam,” the Professor said, shaking his head so hard that his glasses shifted. “That’s all entirely foolish superstition.”

Mrs. Billingsley, a plump woman who was wearing an impressive diamond necklace, looked a bit disappointed until Harry spoke up. “Surely, Uncle, you will admit that the Blue Star sapphire has had a long and, ah, interesting history.”

The Professor put down his knife and fork. “Well, yes,” he confessed, pushing his glasses back up on his nose. “It’s quite shocking how many people have committed crimes to obtain the Blue Star. A merchant is said to have killed his brother over it. And a princess paid a fortune for the Blue Star and then disappeared quite mysteriously. And, of course, the whole reason the Blue Star ended up in a graveyard halfway around the world was because—”

The Professor suddenly noticed that all other conversation at the table had stopped. Everyone was listening intently to him. His cheeks turned even pinker. “But this is hardly a suitable topic for dinner, especially with children present,” he apologized. “The jewel’s real importance is historical. It was prized by kings and it’s a symbol of a great culture, just like the pyramids of the Egyptian pharaohs or the crown jewels of England.”

I wish I could see it, Samantha thought longingly.

Mrs. Billingsley voiced her thoughts. “Professor, we simply must see this magnificent stone,” she pleaded. “Where do you keep it—in a vault somewhere?”

The Professor patted the breast pocket of his dinner jacket. “Madam, I carry the Blue Star with me at all times.” Then he picked up his knife and fork again. “Now, however, is not the time for a display—we must give all our attention to this fine dinner.”

Captain Newman steered the conversation to other topics. But after dinner was over and the stewards had removed the last dishes from the table, Mrs. Billingsley brought up the jewel again. “Professor,” she implored, fingering the diamond pendant on her necklace, “do you think you might now be able to give us all the tiniest peek at the Blue Star? It would be such an honor to see it.”

“Well…” the Professor hesitated.

“What’s the harm in it?” Mr. Billingsley urged. He was a stout man with small, close-set eyes. He looked around the circle of faces at the table and smiled broadly. “Surely you can trust all of us here.”

“Very well,” the Professor agreed. He didn’t seem too reluctant, and Samantha guessed that he enjoyed showing others his prized possession. “Harry, please lock the door,” the Professor directed. “I don’t want anyone to come in.”

As Harry followed his uncle’s instructions, Professor Wharton stood up and removed a small, dark green box from his breast pocket. Holding the box cupped in one hand, he pulled out his key ring and unlocked the box with a tiny key. Samantha bent forward in her chair as Professor Wharton carefully placed the closed box in the center of the table, right beneath the flickering lights of the candelabra.

The Professor stepped back for a moment. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced dramatically. He paused, reached forward, and lifted the lid of the box. “The Blue Star.”

There was a gasp around the table, as everyone leaned forward to see the shimmering blue sapphire. The radiant jewel was almost as big as a polished chestnut, and it caught the candlelight and glowed against its bed of dark velvet.

“Look closely, and you can see the star within it,” the Professor advised.

Leaning even farther toward the gleaming jewel, Samantha saw a distinct pattern within the stone, like a tiny starfish caught in blue ice.

For a few moments, there was a tense silence in the room. Then Mrs. Billingsley asked in a choked voice, “How—how much would it cost?” She was staring at the stone as if transfixed.

“It’s not for sale,” Professor Wharton said curtly.

“I collect fine jewels myself, and I know that anything can be bought,” Mr. Billingsley protested. “It’s just a question of price. What’s your price, sir?”

Samantha was shocked by Mr. Billingsley’s rudeness, but Harry answered him politely. “That may usually be the case, sir. But my uncle is determined that the Blue Star be given to a museum.”

“Indeed I am,” said Professor Wharton. He retrieved the box, and closed and locked it. “A treasure like this should be shared with the whole world,” he declared as he slipped the box back into his innermost pocket. “And I intend to personally hand the Blue Star to museum officials in London.”

“Since the stone is so valuable, why don’t we put it into the ship’s safe?” suggested Captain Newman.

Harry coughed significantly. “According to legend, anyone who carries the Blue Star will suffer bad luck,” he explained. “Of course, it’s a foolish superstition, but my uncle and I nonetheless feel it’s our responsibility to carry the stone ourselves.”