The Truth About Verity Sparks by Susan Green Read Free Book Online Page A

can’t think what you mean. Surely our business is concluded. My maid put the wretched thing in my purse. It was found and that’s the end of the matter.”
    “But what of Miss Sparks?”
    “Miss Sparks? Who is Miss Sparks? I’ve never heard of her.”
    “Miss Sparks is here in the room with us, Lady Throttle.”
    She reddened slightly. “The girl, you mean.”
    “Yes, the girl. This girl. You were quite happy for this girl to be tried and found guilty of theft. You were quite happy for her to go to prison. And when your plot failed, you took your spiteful revenge. You had her dismissed from her place. Do you know what that can mean for a young girl in a city like London? Do you, Lady Throttle?” The Professor’s voice got louder and louder. He rose to his feet, looking very tall and stern, a bit like a hellfire preacher I once saw in the street, only better dressed.
    “It’s … it’s nothing to do with me,” she said faintly.
    “I think it is.”
    “Not at all,” she said, rallying. “I shall tell all my friends. I have many friends, Mr Plush, and you’d better believe it. Rest assured you and your son will never find any clients again. Lady Archcape was the one who recommended you to me. Just wait until I tell her.”
    “Just wait until I tell your husband,” said the Professor.
    Her rosebud mouth fell open and her eyes bulged slightly. The chocolate box fell to the floor. “What do you want?”
    “I want our fee, I want you to pay your bill to Madame Louisette’s, and I want Miss Sparks, should she so choose, to be reinstated in her place of employment.”
    “That’s … that’s blackmail.”
    “No. That’s justice, Lady Throttle.”
    “But I haven’t got any money,” she wailed.
    “Economise, my dear lady.”
    “Economise.” She said the word so savagely she almost spat. “I know all about economising. Growing up in mended gowns and retrimmed hats and always moving to cheaper lodgings and grimier streets.”
    “Save the tragic tale for a sympathetic audience,” interrupted the Professor. “We will accept our fee in instalments, and I am sure Madame Louisette would be happy if you commence paying your account.”
    Her beautiful face was now all crumpled up and red. “You won’t … you won’t tell …”
    “Our service is completely confidential, Lady Throttle,” said the Professor, bowing, and the three of us left the room.

    “It’ll be funny being back at Madame’s after this,” I said as we walked to the waiting carriage.
    “Back at Madame’s? Whatever do you mean?” said the Professor.
    “Just what you said back there at Lady Throttle’s. She’s going to talk to Madame and restate me, or something. So I can go back to work there. Isn’t that what you meant?”
    “Yes and no,” said the Professor. “Naturally, I want Lady Throttle to withdraw her threats to your former employer. But, my dear young friend, I think you could be of inestimable value to us in our investigatory endeavours.”
    I must have looked blank again (it happened dozens of times a day at the start, until I got myself a vocabulary) and SP rephrased his father’s words so I could understand.
    “We need you, Verity. We’ve got a new case, and we think you can help us solve it. Won’t you please stay with us a little while longer?”
    “Your amazing memory, not to mention your, ah,
itchy
fingers, would make you a most valuable assistant. And we really do need a female operative. A sharp-eyed young girl would make all the difference to some of our inquiries,” said the Professor. “We would provide you with accommodation and a wage of … let me see … how does twenty pounds a year sound? With a dress allowance. Would that suit? Unless, of course, you wish to return to Madame Louisette’s. Do you?”
    I thought about the cold early mornings. The omnibus drivers who wouldn’t stop and the snooty clients and the stuffy workroom. The pricked fingers and the eyestrain.
    “No,” I said.