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

“I’ll stay.”

    At Madame Louisette’s we used to line bonnets with a material called shot silk. Depending on how you looked at it, it was purple or green, and if you held it just right you’d see the two colours together. I felt just like that – first one thing, then another, and sometimes all of a mixture – and although that night after supper I went to my bedroom feeling excited and happy, before I knew it I was crying. I wasn’t much of a one for crying, as a rule. Living with Uncle Bill and Auntie Sarah had knocked it out of me, for you were just as likely to get a hiding as a hug in that household. Tears never fixed anything, anyway. But I couldn’t help it.
    “You stop that, Verity Sparks,” I scolded myself. “You are a very lucky girl.”
    I had kind friends, and a job, and a home.But Mulberry Hill wasn’t home. Then, neither was Madame Louisette’s. Or – I shuddered – Uncle Bill and Auntie Sarah’s stinking rats’ nest in Racketty Lane. My real home was with Ma and Pa, and it was lost to me forever when they died. Tonight I missed them so much it hurt. I didn’t care if they weren’t my real mother and father; they were the only parents I’d ever known, and you could never hope to meet a kinder, more loving couple. My eyes filled up with tears again.
    All of a sudden I remembered Ma’s things. I kneeled on the floor, felt around in my carpetbag and brought out a patched old petticoat. I’d bundled them up inside it, in case of prying fingers at Madame Louisette’s. I took them out one by one.
    First, the ring. It was made of three intertwined bands, each of a different metal. I knew it wasn’t Ma’s wedding ring – that got sold when Uncle Bill and Auntie Sarah took me in – and I couldn’t recall ever seeing Ma wear it. Still, she’d saved it and kept it for me, and that made it precious. It was a bit too big, but I slipped it on my finger just the same.
    I held up the quilt next. It was the size of a baby blanket, made of triangles pieced together to form stars. The sewing of it was perfection, every tiny stitch even and neat. Where did Ma get such fancy material? I knew from Madame’s what fine French silks like these could cost. Another mystery.
    Last, the coin; the lucky piece, Ma called it. It was thin and battered, with a hole drilled in the top, hung on a length of red silk cord. It must be foreign money, I thought, turning it over. Or maybe not even money at all. Perhaps it was a medal of some kind. One side had the letter “V” on it, very faint, as if half rubbed off, and the other had seven little stars making a lop sided cross set inside a circle.
    I put the quilt on the bed, tucked the ring under my pillow and slipped the lucky piece on its cord over my head. The ring, the lucky piece and the quilt – my three gifts from Ma. I closed my eyes and pictured her face, not flushed with the fever as I last saw her, but smiling, like she used to. I knew Ma would be glad I was here, with a job and with friends. Feeling comforted at last, I snuggled down in the bed and fell asleep.

6
THE CASE OF THE CHINA HORSE
    I slept like a log and woke up feeling cheerful, even excited. Today I’d begin my very first investigation.
    “Now, my dears,” said the Professor over breakfast. “Let me give you some background information.”
    “The case concerns a Chinese horse, doesn’t it?” asked Judith.
    “Indeed. A very valuable horse.”
    “A racehorse?” I asked.
    “No, a figurine. That’s like a little statue,” said the Professor. He didn’t laugh at me for my ignorance, and neither did Judith. “It’s an antiquity.” He went on to explain that an antiquity is something very, very old. This one was a figure of a horse made in China over a thousand years ago.
    “Our client, Mrs Honeychurch, contacted the Confidential Inquiry Agency in great distress,” said the Professor. “She is a widow, about sixty, childless, quite rich, and living quietly with a couple of