The Mystery of the Queen's Necklace Read online

  At dinner there had been so much talk about the pickpocket and the ransacked room that Miss Trask hadn’t had a chance to tell the Bob-Whites about her research on the Hart family. They had agreed to meet in the drawing room an hour after dinner, and Miss Trask had urged Anne and her father to join them. Gregory, of course, was still at the theater. He had a small part in A Midsummer Night’s Dream and had got some good seats for his houseguests for the Saturday night performance.

  There was a fire crackling on the hearth of the pearl-gray-carpeted drawing room, and the boys were sitting rather gingerly on two beautiful antique chairs. Miss Trask and McDuff sat on a sofa, and Anne was poking the logs. Mr. Hart, as Trixie had expected, was not there.

  “I think we’ll have an interesting report for Mrs. Wheeler,” Miss Trask began, riffling through a sheaf of papers covered with genealogical ladders. “I couldn’t find much on the necklace, but starting with Will Shakespeare’s sister’s marriage to William Hart, I have just about traced the Harts to a Thomas Hart who came from London to Hanover County, Virginia, in 1690. His great-grandson, Thomas Hart of Kentucky, married a Miss Gray of North Carolina. Their third son, Benjamin, was the one who married

  Nancy Morgan, the Revolutionary heroine. In my preliminary study in the United States, I had already traced your aunt Priscilla’s line back to the same Thomas Hart. So we have a pretty convincing family tree.”

  “So Honey really is descended from Shakespeare’s sister Joan?” Mart asked.

  “Almost certainly,” Miss Trask said. “There is a ‘missing generation’ in English history—during the time of Oliver Cromwell in the 1650’s—when many records were destroyed, and genealogists trying to trace their families all the way back to Anglo-Saxon times often run into this snag.”

  “I’m sure we’re some sort of cousins,” Anne said, smiling at Honey. “Mother’s charts show a connection with the Thomas Hart who went to the States!”

  “But what about the necklace?” Trixie wailed. “Here we are, supposed to be detectives, and it’s Friday night and we have to go home on Sunday, and all we’ve done is almost lose Honey’s inheritance!”

  “It’s not too late for you to solve your mystery,” Anne said. “Wait till you see what I’ve got to show you in the castle tomorrow.”

  “Terribly sorry to intrude.”

  Everyone looked up to see Andrew Hart standing in the arched entrance to the drawing room. His voice was as formal as his customary evening attire.

  “Father!” Anne jumped up and ran to his side. “Do sit down. Miss Trask has found out the most frightful lot about the Hart family at Oxford today.”

  “Indeed.” Their host raised his heavy black eyebrows. “I take it you are planning a trip to Warwick Castle in the morning?” he said to Miss Trask.

  “Yes, Mr. Hart, that was our plan,” she replied crisply.

  Trixie grinned. Good old Miss Trask!

  “Breakfast will be served at eight then,” Mr. Hart said. “If that is satisfactory. Come along, Anne. I must talk to you immediately. There’s a great deal to be done before Monday.”

  “Can she come to the castle with us?” Trixie blurted out. “Oh, please, Mr. Hart. We could all help you get ready for the people who are coming next week.”

  “That will not be necessary,” he said. “And in any case, I’m sure you will find people to give you a guided tour at the castle. Like all of us,” he added bitterly, “they cater to tourists.”

  WarwickCastle ● 14

  SO IMPATIENT was Trixie to explore Warwick Castle that the Bob-Whites found themselves, along with Miss Trask and McDuff, standing outside the gray stone fortress several minutes before it actually opened. Anne’s father had not given permission for Anne to come with them, but Gregory had promised to drive her over as soon as they were finished with their chores.

  “Gordie’s been telling me how important women have been in the history of this castle,” Miss Trask said as they lined up with the other tourists in front of the gate. “For example, in the tenth century, it was Alfred the Great’s daughter Ethelflada who built the very first parts of the castle.”

  “Probably to defend herself from jokes about her name,” chuckled Mart. “Ethelflada!”

  “Another powerful lady in the history of Warwick was Felice,” Miss Trask went on. “Her husband went off on a pilgrimage, and for many years, during the Crusades, Felice held the fortress.”

  “The lady who ruled the castle in the thirteenth century was named Margery,” said McDuff, twinkling at Miss Trask.

  “Not to mention a much more recent Marjorie, who served in the British Expeditionary Forces in the First World War,” Miss Trask informed him with a smile. “She was a Mayor of Warwick, too.”

  “Hey, look—a guard is opening the gate,” said Trixie.

  The Bob-Whites bought their tickets and hurried through the archway in the massive stone walls that surrounded the castle. A long, winding drive was cut through the stone, and huge evergreens towered above them on both sides, blotting out the sunlight. McDuff and Miss Trask wandered off toward the formal gardens, with the understanding that the young folks could take the guided tour.

  “We’ll catch up with you,” Miss Trask promised. “I want to get some ideas for the garden at Manor House.”

  “And ye must see the peacocks,” McDuff added, taking her arm.

  Jim whistled. “What an impregnable fortress! These walls look ten feet thick, and it looks like this driveway is the only way to get in.”

  “That wall over there rises almost a hundred fifty feet above the river,” Mart reported after consulting his guidebook.

  “Does it say anything in there about Guy’s Tower?” asked Trixie. “I’ve heard it has a secret staircase we could explore.”

  “It’s not open to the public,” Mart said after a moment’s search.

  “We can see the dungeons, though,” said Jim. “Sounds like something Trixie would go for.”

  “Let’s go to the Great Hall first,” Honey said. “Isn’t that where Anne said we’d find a clue about my necklace? Oh, I do hope she gets here soon!”

  “I wouldn’t count on it,” said Trixie gloomily. “The police haven’t come up with anything yet on the Rose Room break-in, and Mr. Hart seems angrier than ever. You know—I suppose you guys will think that I’m really getting carried away, but do you think there’s any chance that he’s the one who broke into our room?”

  “You certainly are getting carried away,” Jim scolded. “Why would he want to get such bad publicity for Hartfield House?”

  “And besides, he’s not like that,” added Honey. “Trixie, you just don’t trust anyone anymore! I know you still think Mr. McDuff is a phony. I’ll have to admit I don’t think he sounds all that sincere, either, but I’m prejudiced. I don’t want to lose Miss Trask. And I can never stop being grateful to him for saving my life.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” Trixie said darkly. “And you know what I think? That he could have pushed you off that curb himself, just so he could pretend to save you!”

  “Trixie Belden!” Honey gasped. “What a horrible thing to say! Why would anyone do a thing like that?”

  “To get in with us,” said Trixie. “That could be why he borrowed my money and then paid it back— so he could gain our confidence and get to be our guide.”

  “But why would—” Honey broke off as other tourists clustered around and the tour began.

  The tour guide was a tall Englishwoman with a booming voice. After listening to her for a minute, Trixie leaned toward Honey and the boys.

  “Do you think we could just go around by ourselves?” she whispered. “She sounds kind of boring.”

  “But these are terribly famous painters,” said Honey, waving toward the wall. “Just these few pictures must be worth thousands.”

  “And the castle is full of them,” Mart said. “Rubens, Van Dyck, Perugino, Sir Joshua Reynolds, even Rembrandt, not to mention all sorts of other art treasures. I�
��m with Trixie, though. We can get along just with the guidebook, can’t we, gang?”

  The others agreed and hung back to let the rest of the group go on ahead. They then passed through several rooms, marveling at the exquisite treasures and listening to Mart relate interesting facts from the guidebook.

  “This is all fascinating, but when do we get to the Great Hall?” As usual, Trixie was forging ahead. “Is this it?”

  Mart joined her in the doorway of an enormous room with its furnishings cordoned off by tasseled ropes. “Yep, this is it,” he said.

  The massive stone walls of the Great Hall were paneled in oak, and heavy timbers arched across the ceiling. The floor was a huge checkerboard of red and white marble. Along the wall opposite the doorway was a large collection of weapons and shining silver armor, but two of the suits of armor were only an arm’s length from the Bob-Whites, within the ropes.

  “I hope those tin suits are empty,” Trixie giggled.

  “Oh, look at the little one,” Honey cried, pointing to a child-sized coat of mail.

  “It’s just about big enough for Bobby,” Trixie said.

  “It belonged to the son of the Earl of Leicester,” Mart informed them. “He was nicknamed ‘The Noble Imp.’ ”

  “I bet he was a cute little boy,” Honey said.

  “Somebody didn’t think so.” Mart grinned ghoulishly. “He died—probably by poison—before he was even a youthful eight years old.”

  “Please, spare us the details,” Honey implored. “Hey—come over here,” Jim called. He was standing by one of the windows in the castle wall, outside the roped-off area, looking down at the river far below.

  “It’s beautiful!” Honey exclaimed.

  The rough water of the falls frothed and sparkled in the sunshine. Even Trixie was spellbound for a minute—until she remembered their quest.

  “Did anybody see anything in the Great Hall that reminds you of the necklace?” she asked. “Oh, I wish Anne would get here!”

  “Let’s look hard,” Honey suggested.

  “It couldn’t be anything connected with the collection of armor, could it?” Jim asked.

  “Let’s see.” Mart consulted his booklet, “They have the supposed sword of the redoubtable Guy of Warwick, and the Saddle and Cloth in the Tudor colors of green and silver that belonged to Queen Elizabeth. Also, the helmet of a crusader, a knight in fifteenth-century German armor on a horse in English armor, the helmet of Oliver Cromwell, the leg piece and gauntlet of the Black Prince—”

  “It couldn’t be anything like that,” Trixie said impatiently. “What else is there?”

  “Well—there’s that huge metal caldron called Guy’s Porridge Pot. It was used to cook up meals for all the troops back in the fourteenth century—”

  Trixie shook her head gloomily.

  “The marriage chest of Isaac Walton?One of those wood carvings?”

  “No, no. Even if there was any jewelry, we couldn’t get close enough to see it.” Trixie wrinkled her forehead, thinking hard.

  “Something in one of the tapestries, or a painting?” Honey asked. “Maybe it was a picture of a necklace that reminded Anne of mine?”

  “Honey, you’re a genius!” Trixie spun her around with a big hug. “Look!”

  She pointed excitedly at a portrait of Queen Elizabeth the First on the wall directly opposite them, hanging above the collection of armor and carved chests. She wore her crown and coronation robes of brocade and ermine, and carried a scepter in her left hand and the jeweled globe called the Queen’s Orb in her right.

  “So? She’s wearing the crown jewels,” Mart said. “We saw them already in the Tower of London.”

  “Strain your eyes and look around her neck,” Trixie squealed.

  A heavy gold necklace, glittering with huge jewels, hung in a wide circle around the royal shoulders.

  “It looks exactly like mine,” Honey said incredulously. “Oh, Trix, it can’t be!”

  “I wish we had some binoculars,” Mart grumbled. “This must be what Anne was talking about,” Trixie said. “She knows this castle inside and out.”

  “Watch out, Trix,” Jim said suddenly.

  Trying to get a closer look, Trixie was pressing up against the rope that cordoned off the furnished area of the Great Hall. Before she knew what was happening, the old rope broke, and Trixie crashed into the nearest knight in armor. With a loud clank, they both landed on the checkered marble floor!

  Her face flaming, Trixie scrambled up with as much dignity as she could muster. The others asked her if she was hurt, and she shook her head.

  “Trixie strikes another blow for international relations,” Mart sighed.

  The stout, red-faced castle guard who appeared didn’t see anything funny about Trixie’s little spill. Trixie expected a stern lecture, but the guard merely glowered at her and began setting up the armor.

  A crowd of curious tourists had gathered, accompanied by the tall Englishwoman who was giving them the tour and who was properly indignant at Trixie for leaving her group.

  Her freckled face was still pink, but Trixie forgot all embarrassment at the sight of Anne Hart rushing down the hall.

  “Oh, Anne, if only you’d got here two minutes sooner,” Trixie groaned. “I was trying to get a closer peek at that portrait of the queen over there. That was what you wanted us to see, wasn’t it?”

  “Righto. Don’t you think they’re a lot similar?” Anne’s dark blue eyes sparkled with excitement, but she kept her voice low. They were surrounded by tourists, and the Englishwoman was shepherding them along to the next room.

  “They couldn’t be exactly the same,” Honey murmured, “because Queen Elizabeth would never have worn fake jewels.”

  “Your necklace could be a copy,” Trixie said. “But what would they have made a copy for? If we could figure that out—”

  They had reached the next roped-off chamber, and Trixie was drowned out by the powerful voice of their guide. “This is the Red Drawing Room,” the Englishwoman said. “It is paneled in red and gold, and....”

  Trixie wasn’t listening. “Imagine having a necklace just like Queen Elizabeth’s,” she whispered, squeezing Honey’s hand.

  The tourists passed from the Red Drawing Room to an even larger one, paneled in cedar. It was magnificently carpeted and filled with priceless antiques.

  “Gleeps!” Trixie said. “It has five chandeliers!” She was bug-eyed. The Wheelers and Di Lynch’s family both were extremely wealthy, but they couldn’t begin to furnish rooms like these. “I’d sure hate to have to live here, though,” she said. “You’d never know when you’d go crashing through the ropes!”

  “I’d take Crabapple Farm any day,” Honey agreed. She smiled at Trixie.

  “The beds don’t look too comfortable, either,” added Trixie when they reached the State Bedrooms.

  “Oh, look,” Honey cried. “Just look at that adorable doll’s furniture—over by the fireplace. That cute little sofa and those armchairs are covered with tapestry just like the big ones.”

  “Actually, they were all samples of Louis-the-Sixteenth furniture sent from France, to obtain orders for the full-sized furniture,” Anne said, “but I’ve always hoped some little prince or princess got to play with them.”

  “It’s so fascinating to see all these treasures from different periods of history and different countries— all in one place,” Honey said.

  “And not all jumbled up together in glass cases, the way they are in the museums we visit on field trips at school,” Trixie agreed. “It’s much more fun to explore a castle. And speaking of exploring, I’m dying to go up in one of those dark towers. I’ve seen enough furniture!”

  The number of sightseers in the castle had increased, and as the Bob-Whites made their way through the passage toward the courtyard, Trixie had a sudden urge to look behind her. That was when she caught sight of an old familiar figure.

  Jim was walking beside her, and she clutched his arm. “Jim! Look! Th
ere’s Gray Cap!”

  “Where?” He swung around, but not in time. The figure had disappeared.

  “Oh, why am I the only one who ever sees him?” Trixie wailed.

  “Are you sure it was Gray Cap?” Jim asked.

  “Sure, I’m sure. Hey—everybody!” She waited impatiently for Mart, Honey, and Anne to join them. “I saw the pickpocket back there in the crowd. He must have ducked behind a column.”

  “Right,” Mart said. “I saw him, too.”

  “You did?” Trixie gasped. “Well, then, come on— let’s catch him!”

  A large group of tourists had emerged from the shadowy castle halls into the courtyard. For a moment, the Bob-Whites were blinded by the bright sunlight, and then Trixie saw the man again.

  “Look! He went into that tower!” She pointed to the tower at the northeast corner of the battlements.

  Miss Trask and McDuff came up just then, and Trixie hastily filled them in. “Mart saw him, too,” she said excitedly. “He’s still following us.”

  “But what can we do about it if he is?” Miss Trask asked practically. “We could never prove it’s the same man that took Honey’s handbag in the Tower of London. Not that I believe for a minute that that man has followed us all the way from London.”

  “But Mart took that picture of him,” Trixie insisted, “in the Stratford market square. And we’re just positive he’s the one that ransacked the Rose Room. He’s after Honey’s necklace!”

  “Marge tells me ye two lassies have quite a record as girl detectives,” McDuff said. “But what do ye propose to do with the man if ye catch him?”

  “Well, we could confront him,” Trixie said. “We could let him know we’re onto him. What are we supposed to do—just let him go free?”

  “Ye have a point there,” McDuff said thoughtfully. “But I thought this necklace ye’re referring to is locked up in the safe at Hartfield House.”

  “It certainly is,” Miss Trask assured him. “And there it will remain till Mrs. Wheeler comes to pick us up tomorrow morning.”

  “However,” McDuff continued, “I see no harm in trying to flush this little fox. I promise ye I’ll give him a talking-to he won’t soon forget. Come along, then. We’ll muster our troops.”