Betsy’s Story, 1934 Page 8

  “Yes, Lady Betsy?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Could you describe her?”

  “Well, she seemed rather . . . glamorous,” he began. “She had a hat with one of those large brims, you know, angled over her face. . . .” He gestured vaguely toward his head. “And she wore very dark glasses, like Marlene Dietrich.”

  I tried to shrug off my disappointment. It made sense that the impostor had gone out of her way to conceal her appearance.

  “She did have a rather unusual accent,” Mr. O’Brien continued. “Even yesterday, I thought, ‘If I didn’t know better, I’d guess that Lady Etheridge-Northrop spent some years in France.’ If only I’d spoken up—said something—”

  France! I thought wildly. What are the odds that a mysterious French woman stole the Katherine necklace right out from under us—right after Cousin Gabrielle left Chatswood Manor so unexpectedly? Oh, it’s just got to be her!

  There was not a shred of doubt in my mind that the stranger who had vanished with the Katherine necklace was none other than Cousin Gabrielle.

  Mum and I didn’t want to go to the Victoria and Albert Museum after everything that had happened, so she rang Chatswood Manor to tell Mr. Embry that we were on our way home. After that, Mum didn’t say much of anything, staring silently out the window of the train as we traveled back to Chatswood Manor. I had to find a way to tell her my suspicions about Gabrielle . . . but how? When Mum realizes that Cousin Gabrielle has the necklace, she’ll be crushed, I thought. I had to choose my words carefully.

  I reached out and gingerly tapped her arm, which startled Mum. She looked at me for half an instant as if she’d forgotten that I was there. Then, with a sigh, she wrapped her arm around my shoulders.

  “Mum,” I began. “Is the Katherine necklace really and truly gone forever? Isn’t there something we could do? Like—like—hire a private investigator or a detective or a—”

  “I suppose so,” Mum said in a distracted sort of way.

  A flame of hope flickered inside me. “That’s splendid! When we get home, we must telephone Mr. O’Brien. I’m sure the detective will want to interview him personally, so Mr. O’Brien mustn’t return to America before—”

  “This isn’t a radio play, darling,” Mum said. “Some mysteries are not destined to be solved.”

  “But—”

  “Of course, I will make inquiries about the Katherine necklace,” Mum said. “But I should hate for you to get your hopes up. That would only make the disappointment more difficult to bear.”

  “I won’t give up,” I told Mum, and I meant every word. “Even if it takes me the rest of my life to find the Katherine necklace.”

  Mum smiled wistfully at me. “If anyone could find it, I do believe it would be you, Betsy.”

  “We should—we should make a plan,” I pushed on. “Who knew that the Katherine necklace had been sold to Mr. O’Brien? Who even knew that Uncle Joseph had pawned it?”

  “That’s an excellent point, Betsy,” Mum replied thoughtfully. “Someone in England must’ve known that it was for sale to broker a deal with Mr. O’Brien during his visit.”

  “Did”—my heart was pounding so hard that I was certain Mum could hear it—“did Cousin Gabrielle know about it?”

  Mum fixed me with an intent look. “Yes,” she admitted after a pause. “Yes, I confided in Gabrielle when I was waiting for a telegram from Kate. Before I realized that someone was stealing them.”

  Gabrielle knew! I thought. She knew all about it!

  “The telegrams that started disappearing right after Gabrielle’s arrival?” I asked. “Her letter never said where she was going, did it?”

  Mum pursed her lips. I could tell that she understood what I was trying to say.

  “No. It can’t be Gabrielle. Why would she do such a thing?” Mum said.

  “Perhaps she’s always wanted one of the Chatswood necklaces for her very own,” I told Mum. “After all, she was so jealous of your necklace all those years ago. Perhaps she was just waiting until the opportunity presented itself.”

  “Though our history is long and complicated,” Mum began, “Gabrielle and I have always been bonded by blood. But perhaps she has been playing me false for all these years. . . .”

  Mum didn’t finish her sentence. She didn’t need to. Suddenly, I realized that such a betrayal from Gabrielle would make the loss of the Katherine necklace even worse for Mum. I wasn’t particularly fond of Gabrielle, but Mum clearly loved her. I wished more than anything that I could’ve shielded Mum from this terrible truth.

  “It hasn’t been easy, you know,” Mum said, staring out the window as the train whisked us closer and closer to Chatswood. “Your father and I were supposed to be partners in all of this—managing the estate, raising you. How different it all would’ve been if he’d been by my side. I’ve tried so hard, Betsy, to trust my judgment. To make the right decisions—not just for myself and for Chatswood Manor, but for you most of all. I miss your father for so many reasons, but at least at the end of each day, I knew I’d done my best. And my best has always seemed to be good enough. But now . . .”

  “Mum!” I exclaimed. “Don’t talk like that.”

  “The Katherine necklace was within my reach,” Mum said, almost to herself. “And yet I’ve let it slip through my fingers, all because of my own carelessness.”

  “It’s not your fault that Gabrielle stole the necklace away from us,” I said firmly. “And you’ve done a wonderful job with—with everything. No one could’ve done better. No one!”

  Mum tried to smile at me.

  But I could tell that she didn’t agree.

  When we reached Chatswood Manor, Mr. Embry, Nellie, and Maggie were waiting for us in the great hall.

  “Good afternoon, Lady Beth and Lady Betsy,” Mr. Embry said. “Welcome back.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Embry,” Mum replied. “Has Lady Gabrielle returned?”

  “No, milady,” he replied. “Nor has she telephoned.”

  Mum’s shoulders slumped at the news. I wasn’t sure how much Nellie knew about the missing Katherine necklace, but she could tell that something was wrong. She stepped forward and reached for Mum’s valise as she said, “Welcome back, milady. I’m sure you’re tired from your journey. I’ve drawn a hot bath for you, if you’d like, and I’d be happy to bring some refreshments to your room.”

  “Thank you, Nellie,” Mum said gratefully. “That sounds wonderful. Mr. Embry, are there any messages?”

  “Lord Turley telephoned this morning about a matter of some urgency and has requested that you return his call at your earliest convenience. Lady Dandridge stopped by to secure your support for the charity drive, and you’ve been nominated as head judge for the flower show. There are some staffing matters to attend to as well, and I believe Maggie would appreciate a private audience with you.”

  I snuck a glance at Maggie, wondering what she wanted to say to Mum in private. What did I do wrong now? I wondered. I hadn’t even been home all day!

  “Finally,” Mr. Embry concluded, “I locked the day’s post in your desk.”

  Mum grimaced at all the work awaiting her. “Never mind about that bath, Nellie,” she said. “I’ll be in the library if anyone needs me.”

  Then Mum turned to me and kissed my forehead. “I’m sorry that our grand outing turned into such a disappointing misadventure, darling,” she said. “But there’s no one else in the world I would’ve rather had by my side today. Thank you for coming with me.”

  “I’m sorry, too,” I replied. “But I was glad to be with you.”

  I stood in the foyer and watched Mum walk away. Even as tired as she was, the business of Chatswood Manor wouldn’t wait. I wished there was something—anything—I could do to help.

  At dinner that night, Mum seemed even more subdued than she had been on the train. More than once, I caught her staring into space, and she scarcely touched her food. I couldn’t imagine why—I thought Juliette had truly outdone herself
by preparing salmon mousse, one of Mum’s favorite dishes. But even the small bites Mum forced herself to eat left a look of displeasure on her face.

  After dinner, I thought about going downstairs to see Juliette, but I knew she’d have lots of questions about my day in London, and I didn’t want to answer any of them. Instead, I went to my room and rang for Maggie to help me get ready for bed. Then I sat at my new typewriter for the very first time. Alone at last, all the emotions I’d tried to quash all day—the shock and outrage and deep disappointment—surged within me. I had to write; it was the only thing I could do. But I couldn’t start a new letter to my cousin—not yet. Kay would need to hear the news about the Katherine necklace from her mother.

  I placed my fingers on the smooth, cold keys. As I started to type, the keys went clack-a-clack-a-clack, slowly at first as I searched for each letter and then a bit faster as I became more familiar with their odd placement.

  SCENE: A posh hotel. A MOTHER and DAUGHTER sit on a settee.

  PROP MAN: A door SLAMS. We hear FOOTSTEPS.

  GENTLEMAN: Allow me to introduce myself. I am the American gentleman, Patrick O’Brien. And I have something for you.

  PROP MAN: The soft OPENING of a velvet case.

  MOTHER and DAUGHTER gasp.

  DAUGHTER: The Katherine necklace! Oh, Mum, it is as beautiful as I imagined.

  I paused, frowning at the paper as I pulled it from the typewriter. It certainly looked like a page from a real radio drama, but there was something wholly dissatisfying about it.

  Then I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder. I jumped in my seat.

  “Mum!”

  “I’m sorry, Betsy. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

  My face turned red as I realized that Mum might’ve read what I’d written. I crumpled the paper into a ball.

  “Betsy! No!” Mum cried.

  “It was stupid, just rubbish,” I mumbled in embarrassment.

  “It was an excellent start,” Mum said firmly as she smoothed out the paper.

  “But it wasn’t . . . honest,” I replied, trying to express why I was so unhappy with what I’d written. “It was make-believe. Very foolish.”

  “It is what should’ve happened today,” Mum told me. “And there’s nothing foolish about longing for a different outcome. I feel very much the same way, you know. Does it help?”

  “Does what help?”

  “Writing the alternative. Using your talents to explore what could’ve—should’ve—happened.”

  I thought for a moment before I answered. “Yes, I suppose it does,” I admitted.

  “Then you must keep at it,” Mum said. “The world will be full of people who want to silence you and put you in your place. You must never let yourself become one of them. Promise?”

  “Promise,” I replied.

  “That’s a good girl,” Mum said. “And now it’s bedtime. After all, tomorrow is a very special day. You’ll want to be well rested for whatever surprises your birthday may hold.”

  My birthday! Just the thought of my twelfth birthday arriving at last—in a few hours!—made me smile, even after everything that had happened today. How would I ever fall asleep tonight?

  After I climbed between the sheets, Mum pulled the blankets over me and tucked in the sides, just like she used to do when I was small. Then she brushed my hair away from my face and kissed my forehead. Were her eyes especially shiny, or was it just my imagination?

  “Mum, stay,” I said impulsively. “Tell me stories from when you were a girl . . . stories about Granny and Aunt Kate and your trip to America and your twelfth birthday.”

  She hesitated for a moment. “My darling, nothing would please me more,” Mum finally said as she patted my hand, “but I’m afraid that I have some pressing business to attend to. And it simply cannot wait. Good night, my love. I hope your final hours as an eleven-year-old are filled with the sweetest dreams.”

  And then Mum turned off the light and slipped out of the room, leaving me alone in the dark.

  At some point in the night, I must’ve fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew I awoke with a start. Today is my birthday! I thought. It’s finally here!

  I threw off the covers and ran across the room to ring for Maggie. I didn’t want to waste a moment of my special day by lounging about in bed! But before I could reach the bellpull, there came a soft knock at the door. I must’ve slept later than I thought if Maggie had already come to help me get dressed.

  “Come in,” I called, and as soon as I spoke, the door opened. But it wasn’t Maggie after all.

  It was Mum, carrying a tray with scones and tea, a saucer of jam, and a single rose in a bud vase.

  “Happy birthday, dear Betsy!” Mum exclaimed, beaming as she entered the room.

  “Thank you, Mum!” I said. “What are you—”

  “I wanted to be the very first to wish you a happy birthday,” she replied.

  “Is that strawberry jam?” I asked eagerly as I moved toward Mum. “You know that’s my favorite. . . .”

  My voice trailed off as I got a better look at the tray. For nestled between the vase and the teapot was something entirely unexpected.

  A blue velvet jewel box.

  My heart fluttered in my chest as I stood there, blinking in surprise and utterly lost for words. Of course I knew that at some point today I would receive the Elizabeth necklace.

  But I had never expected it like this.

  Mum set the tray down on the dressing table, picked up the box, and led me over to the window seat.

  “Usually, the Elizabeth necklace is presented with great ceremony, in front of an audience,” Mum said, holding my hands in hers. “In fact, your granny received it at her birthday ball in front of hundreds of people. But so much is different this year. When you came to me a few weeks ago, so determined to cancel your ball, you opened my eyes, Betsy—as you have ever since that day twelve years ago when you entered the world.

  “Tradition is important. But not more important than family. And so when I tried to decide the best time to give the necklace to you, I realized that the best time would be when you and I could be together, alone and undisturbed.”

  Mum deftly opened the jewel box to reveal the Elizabeth necklace in all its glory, gold gleaming, sapphires sparkling in the morning sun. My breath caught in my throat. How could such a lovely thing belong to me?

  “Would you like to wear it?”

  Mum’s voice brought me back from my thoughts. Unable to speak, I simply nodded. In an instant, she draped the Elizabeth necklace around my neck. Its cool weight was something I’d been waiting to feel for my entire life.

  “The real meaning of the Elizabeth necklace is not in its precious metal or priceless jewels,” Mum continued, “but in the legacy of those who’ve worn it over the years, passing it down from mother to daughter, Elizabeth to Eliza to Liz to me, and now, my darling, to you. I hope that when you wear the Elizabeth necklace, you will find, as I did, that it connects you to all of them. I think that’s what Elizabeth and Katherine hoped would happen when they began this sacred tradition so long ago, giving their necklaces to their own daughters.”

  At the mention of Katherine, two tears spilled from Mum’s eyes, but she didn’t wipe them away until the Elizabeth necklace was securely fastened around my neck. It hurt my heart, too, to think of Cousin Kay’s upcoming birthday. How wrong it was that Aunt Kate wouldn’t be able to give the Katherine necklace to my cousin—wrong in every way.

  “Don’t cry, Mum,” I said. “I know in my heart that the Katherine necklace will end up precisely where it belongs.”

  Slam!

  As the door to my bedroom banged open, Mum and I both jumped. We turned to the door in surprise, but nothing could’ve prepared us for what we saw there.

  Cousin Gabrielle had returned.

  On instinct, my hands flew to my neck to cover the Elizabeth necklace, as if to protect it from my thieving cousin. But it was too late; she had already seen it. Her
red lips fell into a pout as she waggled her finger at Mum. “I told you to wait for me!” she scolded.

  “Gabrielle! What are you doing here?” Mum asked coldly. Her voice was strong as steel as she put her arm around my shoulders, all traces of tears wiped away and forgotten.

  Gabrielle looked puzzled. “I am here for the birthday, of course,” she said as she flounced across the room, squishing herself onto the window seat between Mum and me. “Here, little Betsy. I have brought you a present.”

  With a flourish, Gabrielle reached into her valise and, to my astonishment, withdrew a jewel box that was nearly the twin of the one I’d just received . . . except it was red, not blue. I eyed Gabrielle with suspicion. It was almost too good to be true. And yet . . . I wouldn’t know for certain until I—

  “Open it. Open it!” Gabrielle said impatiently.

  My hands were trembling as I took the box from her. I fumbled with the tarnished clasp but finally, finally, slipped the hook out of the loop and gingerly lifted the lid. It was nestled within the shiny satin folds, and I recognized it at once, though I’d never seen it before.

  Rubies glittering like embers, gold gleaming like a burnished sunset, a delicate chain, a half-heart pendant. Yes, it was the Katherine necklace, right here at Chatswood Manor, right here in my hands.

  Mum and I gasped at the same time, which made Gabrielle clap her hands as she hooted in delight. My eyes darted back and forth, looking from the Katherine necklace to Cousin Gabrielle and back to the Katherine necklace again.

  “I—I—how did—” I stammered.

  But Mum was much more direct. “What is the meaning of this?” she demanded.

  Gabrielle’s laughter died. “I have brought the girl the Katherine necklace,” she said. “It is her birthday gift.”

  “Gabrielle, you’re going to have to do better than that if you expect to receive a welcome under this roof,” Mum said. “How did it come to be in your possession?”