Chalmers,” I said. “May we see Jimmy’s room?”
“Well …” She stopped, looking worried. “I suppose so.”
I was off before she’d finished, up one flight of stairs and then the next. On the top landing I paused. My fingers were itching and I could see that little horse clear as day. A beautiful horse he was, already saddled, standing poised and graceful with one hoof raised, waiting for his rider.
“Wait, Miss Sparks!” It was Mrs Chalmers, puffing, followed by the Professor. “That one is Jimmy’s room.” Her face was white. “I’ve already searched,” she whispered. “Even in the bed.”
“Is James your grandson, Mrs Chalmers?” asked the Professor. He spoke very gently.
“Yes, sir. My daughter’s boy. She died of the cholera last summer.”
I rubbed my hands together, wincing a bit, for by now my fingers felt just like I had chilblains. I couldn’t see the little horse any more; I could see bars. Perhaps Jimmy’s room had once been meant for a nursery and there were bars on the windows.
Mrs Chalmers opened the door. “Have a look, if you want.”
The bars weren’t on the windows but on the cot. My fingers stopped itching. I kneeled at the end of James’s cot, lifted a loose floorboard and there was the Tang horse in a bed of straw. I held it up into the light. He had been well stabled. There was not a chip or a crack on him.
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs Chalmers. “I asked him and he said no. He’s never told me lies before.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she brushed them away and said in a business-like tone, “Well, thank goodness it’s found. But Miss, how did you know?”
“I saw how mad on horses he was. And I used to hide my treasures,” I said. “There was a loose floorboard under my bed too.” Even though it wasn’t the whole story, it was quite true.
I handed the horse over to the Professor, for now that my hands weren’t itching, they felt so weak that I was scared I’d drop the blessed thing. We trooped down the stairs and into the drawing room, and Mrs Chalmers went outside to get Jimmy. He came in, clinging to his grandmother’s skirts, but when Mrs Honeychurch asked him if he knew where the missing Tang horse might be, he shook his head.
“Don’t know no Tang,” he whispered.
“Then what’s this?” asked Mrs Chalmers, pointing to the china horse in the Professor’s hands. She was close to either tears or temper, I could tell, but her face changed when the little boy spoke.
“That’s Mazeppa,” he said, surprised. “No one asked me ’bout Mazeppa.”
“Jimmy,” she said sorrowfully, but Mrs Honeychurch began to laugh.
“You know that it was very wrong of you, don’t you, James, to put Mazeppa in your stable without asking?” said Mrs Honeychurch. “Everyone was so worried about him. Please put him back.”
“Yes, ma’am,” whispered James. He took the horse from the Professor and placed it carefully on the shelf. “Lovely, he is.” He stroked its shiny brown back. “Lovely.”
Mrs Honeychurch sat a few seconds, thinking. “James,” she said. “You may have him.”
Jimmy stared at her.
“He’s yours.”
“What do you say, Jimmy?” prompted Mrs Chalmers.
Jimmy stammered out his thanks, but Mrs Honeychurch wasn’t listening. The Major had hold of her hand, and she was staring into his eyes like he was Romeo and Prince Charming all in one. We tiptoed away.
“It just goes to show,” said the Professor to Judith and me when we were back in the carriage.
“What, Father?”
“There is such a thing as a happy ending.” He dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief, and then blew his nose very hard. “Touch of hay fever,” he explained, then turned to me. “Well done, Verity. Perhaps we should add matchmaking to our prospectus.”
7
A MEETING OF THE SIPP
When I look back to all the things I learned in those first few months as an Assistant Confidential Inquiry Agent, it’s a wonder my brain didn’t burst.
First,
“Well …” She stopped, looking worried. “I suppose so.”
I was off before she’d finished, up one flight of stairs and then the next. On the top landing I paused. My fingers were itching and I could see that little horse clear as day. A beautiful horse he was, already saddled, standing poised and graceful with one hoof raised, waiting for his rider.
“Wait, Miss Sparks!” It was Mrs Chalmers, puffing, followed by the Professor. “That one is Jimmy’s room.” Her face was white. “I’ve already searched,” she whispered. “Even in the bed.”
“Is James your grandson, Mrs Chalmers?” asked the Professor. He spoke very gently.
“Yes, sir. My daughter’s boy. She died of the cholera last summer.”
I rubbed my hands together, wincing a bit, for by now my fingers felt just like I had chilblains. I couldn’t see the little horse any more; I could see bars. Perhaps Jimmy’s room had once been meant for a nursery and there were bars on the windows.
Mrs Chalmers opened the door. “Have a look, if you want.”
The bars weren’t on the windows but on the cot. My fingers stopped itching. I kneeled at the end of James’s cot, lifted a loose floorboard and there was the Tang horse in a bed of straw. I held it up into the light. He had been well stabled. There was not a chip or a crack on him.
“Oh, dear,” said Mrs Chalmers. “I asked him and he said no. He’s never told me lies before.” Tears welled in her eyes, but she brushed them away and said in a business-like tone, “Well, thank goodness it’s found. But Miss, how did you know?”
“I saw how mad on horses he was. And I used to hide my treasures,” I said. “There was a loose floorboard under my bed too.” Even though it wasn’t the whole story, it was quite true.
I handed the horse over to the Professor, for now that my hands weren’t itching, they felt so weak that I was scared I’d drop the blessed thing. We trooped down the stairs and into the drawing room, and Mrs Chalmers went outside to get Jimmy. He came in, clinging to his grandmother’s skirts, but when Mrs Honeychurch asked him if he knew where the missing Tang horse might be, he shook his head.
“Don’t know no Tang,” he whispered.
“Then what’s this?” asked Mrs Chalmers, pointing to the china horse in the Professor’s hands. She was close to either tears or temper, I could tell, but her face changed when the little boy spoke.
“That’s Mazeppa,” he said, surprised. “No one asked me ’bout Mazeppa.”
“Jimmy,” she said sorrowfully, but Mrs Honeychurch began to laugh.
“You know that it was very wrong of you, don’t you, James, to put Mazeppa in your stable without asking?” said Mrs Honeychurch. “Everyone was so worried about him. Please put him back.”
“Yes, ma’am,” whispered James. He took the horse from the Professor and placed it carefully on the shelf. “Lovely, he is.” He stroked its shiny brown back. “Lovely.”
Mrs Honeychurch sat a few seconds, thinking. “James,” she said. “You may have him.”
Jimmy stared at her.
“He’s yours.”
“What do you say, Jimmy?” prompted Mrs Chalmers.
Jimmy stammered out his thanks, but Mrs Honeychurch wasn’t listening. The Major had hold of her hand, and she was staring into his eyes like he was Romeo and Prince Charming all in one. We tiptoed away.
“It just goes to show,” said the Professor to Judith and me when we were back in the carriage.
“What, Father?”
“There is such a thing as a happy ending.” He dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief, and then blew his nose very hard. “Touch of hay fever,” he explained, then turned to me. “Well done, Verity. Perhaps we should add matchmaking to our prospectus.”
7
A MEETING OF THE SIPP
When I look back to all the things I learned in those first few months as an Assistant Confidential Inquiry Agent, it’s a wonder my brain didn’t burst.
First,
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