The Truth About Verity Sparks Read Online Free PDF Page A

there, sir.”
    “Planted,” he said. “And probably fake as well.” He solemnly wrapped it in his large white handkerchief. “Hmmm. Miss Sparks, you have been, as they say, set up. You realise that you’d most certainly be before the magistrate if that little gem was discovered in your possession?”
    I nearly lost my temper. “I ain’t stupid, sir.”
    “I wasn’t suggesting you were. I promise you that you are perfectly safe from prosecution, but I would like to ask you to assist us in our inquiries. Believe me, this Throttle affair interests us very much.” He paused. “Will you tell me now how you knew that the brooch was in Lady Throttle’s purse? Was it a form of mentalism?”
    I gawped at him.
    “What I mean is, did you notice any tiny clues in Lady Throttle’s behaviour? Did her eyes almost imperceptibly flicker towards the purse? Did she perhaps move her hands?”
    “My fingers started to itch,” I said.
    You should have seen the look on his face. “
Your fingers started to itch?
”
    “They itched something dreadful, and then I saw where the brooch was, like a picture in a book, but sort of inside my head. And my fingers … well, they sort of …” I stopped. It did sound silly.
    “Have you had itchy fingers before? I mean, when you were looking for something?”
    “No, sir.”
    “But you think that feeling the itch and finding the brooch were definitely connected?”
    “Yes, sir. Well, I don’t really know, sir.” Now I was confused. “I’m just good at finding things,” I said lamely.
    “I know. Madame Louisette told me. She’d already mislaid her spectacles and a packet of bugle beads when I called this morning.”
    “That’d be right, sir.” I laughed. “But you know, half the time I find what she’s lost before she’s even missed it. She says I’ve got the gift.”
    He was gazing at me with a funny expression, half pleased and half not.
    “A gift for finding things?” he said softly.
    “I s’pose so.”
    “And itchy fingers.” He shook his head, and went on in a different voice. “We are nearly at Mulberry Hill, my family residence.”
    I stared out of the window. The carriage turned through two high brick gateposts into a gravelled drive that led through trees and grass and more trees, but I couldn’t see a house yet.
    “Nearly there,” said Mr Plush.
    We rounded the last curve in the drive, and stopped in front of a white house with a verandah and a little tower and a climbing rose reaching almost to the third storey. It stood among garden beds, all by itself, with enough space around it to park a dozen omnibuses.
    “You live here? You must be–” I stopped myself from saying “rich as a platter o’ gravy,” for I knew that wasn’t manners. I’d seen grand houses before, of course, when I was out delivering hats, but never one with so much garden and so many trees and so much … well, space. It was like a palace.
    “Welcome to Mulberry Hill, Miss Sparks,” Mr Plush said as he helped me and Mrs Cannister out of the carriage.
    A black-and-white spaniel came tearing around the corner of the house and stopped in front of me, panting.
    “And Amy welcomes you too,” said Mr Plush.
    I wasn’t much used to dogs. When I kneeled to pat her, straightaway she licked her big pink tongue, sloppy as a wet washcloth, right across my face.
    “That’s enough, Amy! But it’s a good thought. Miss Sparks, when we get inside, I suggest you may like to freshen your attire before we partake of a little refreshment.”
    I stared at him. I think my mouth was open.
    “What is it, Miss Sparks?”
    “You talk like a book, sir.”
    “I read a lot of books, Miss Sparks.” He grinned. “But I don’t have to talk like this, you know. It’s a kind of habit, caught from my father. You’ll see when you meet him. I’ll rephrase. Would you like to have something to eat?”
    I nodded.
    “And have a wash and change of clothes?”
    “What for?”
    “Because, Miss Sparks,