One day Emily was bursting with still more news for Kipper. Mr. Dobbs had said he wished he had a whittling knife and a small bit of wood so that he could carve a likeness of Clarabelle. Mrs. Quirk wished for colored wool and a square of canvas to cross stitch the picture of a kitten that would in time be made into a pillow for Clarabelle. And as for Mrs. Poovey and Mrs. Loops, well, “Mrs. Poovey wants some watercolors to paint Clarabelle’s portrait, and Mrs. Loops would like paper, pen, and ink to write a story about her! Almost all the old people want to make something that has to do with Clarabelle. Isn’t that splendid, Kipper?”
“Splendid it may be, Emily,” Kipper said, “but who got the money to buy all them things? I ain’t got ’nough, even with my delivery jobs. I don’t much like asking Pa for it, him not exactly being a millionaire nor anything like that. And you certainly ain’t got any bankroll, Emily, as I can notice. So where would it come from?”
“I do have something!” Emily blurted out. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “I—I have twenty gold coins!”
Kipper’s eyelids flew up so suddenly they almost lifted him off the floor. “Twenty gold coins? Come long, Emily, you ain’t got any such thing.”
“Yes, I do, Kipper! Aunt Twice and I hid them in—” Emily felt a firm hand clapped over her mouth.
“If you really do got any such pirate’s treasure,” Kipper said, scowling, “I don’t want any knowledge o’ where it’s hid. Suppose, just suppose someone was to take it. Who would you think done it? Why the one who knowed where it was, that’s who! But if you want to spend any o’ that loot on the old people’s paints and wool and all them things, why you just give me one o’ them coins. It’ll last a month o’ Sundays. Then you just keep the rest close hidden, and don’t tell anybody ’bout it.”
So without even telling Aunt Twice, Emily carefully removed one gold coin from its hiding place in her mattress and gave it to Kipper. Soon carving, stitching and painting, modeling, weaving and crocheting were all busily embarked upon in the upper reaches of Sugar Hill Hall. Curiously, Emily never saw a trace of any of this activity going on, any more than she saw traces of Clarabelle. And yet when she arrived upstairs, Mr. Dobbs might show her a small piece of wood that was magically turning into a kitten, or Mrs. Quirk a whole square inch of cross stitches that somehow resembled a kitten’s ear, or Mrs. Poovey a beautiful painting that came closer and closer to being Clarabelle every day.
The excitement over Clarabelle, suppressed though much of it had to be, for a while managed to take Emily’s mind off the mysteries that shrouded the mansion. But they were like ghosts waiting in the wings, as in a play, for the right moment to reappear on the stage. And whenever Emily saw her pale, harried Aunt Twice, or received a trembling, secret smile from Mrs. Plumly, the ghosts were back to haunt her. She wanted desperately to tell them both about Clarabelle, but the two already shared a terrible secret. It would be cruel to bring another dangerous secret into their lives.
Emily saw no reason, however, why she should not visit Mrs. Plumly again, as invited, and she intended to do so. But she could never be certain when it was safe to knock on the closed door so the visit had not yet been paid. Then one day as she was climbing the stairs with her bucket, the door to Mrs. Plumly’s room swung open, and Mrs. Plumly peered out cautiously, beckoning Emily to enter her room.
“I think we can feel safe for a few moments,” she whispered. “Mrs. Meeching has gone out on an errand. I have some sad news, dear child, and I felt you should know of it. Mrs. Meeching has informed me that your trunks have been lost. Lost, hmmmph!” she said, sounding remarkably like Mrs. Poovey. “Stolen, more likely!”
“Stolen!” breathed Emily.
“Yes, indeed! And you in that poor, raggedly little dress. Mrs. Meeching will no doubt inform you that they were— lost, but I want you to know, child, that I will do all in my power to see that a warm dress is purchased for you.”
A new dress could be purchased, but not Mama’s jewels! Should she tell Mrs. Plumly about them? Emily wondered miserably. No, she decided, better not. Mrs. Plumly was unhappy enough, and no need to add to her woe. The jewels were gone, and that was that. “Thank you, Aunty Plum!” was all Emily said, and she said it fervently.
Mrs. Plumly smiled. “I must say that in spite of that sad dress, you are looking so much better now, almost as if you were able to eat all the food placed on the table before you.”
“Oh, I am!” cried Emily. It was all she could do not to tell, right then and there, about the fish syrup, Clarabelle, and all the activities now taking place just above their heads. But she said nothing.
“You aren’t eating so much, dear child, that you would turn down a little cake and perhaps even a cup of tea—with lots of sugar and milk, of course!” Mrs. Plumly laughed. “Oh, the look on your face, child!”
Knowing that Mrs. Meeching was away seemed to make this visit so
