“It shouldn’t really be that difficult. After all, you still want to be a young girl. But I think it’s harder to do that than it is to turn you into an old lady, or a delivery boy. Hmmmm… What would you say is the most noticeable thing about Maisie?” she asked Alice suddenly.

  “Her hair?” Alice answered, gazing at Maisie with her head on one side. Maisie’s hair was red and curly. It was hard to miss.

  “Exactly. So we definitely have to deal with that. I suppose your gran would have forty fits if we dyed it?” she said to Maisie.

  “I think she might faint,” Maisie agreed.

  “A wig then.” Miss Lane opened a cupboard, humming happily to herself, and proceeded to lift out various hair pieces. “We can’t go too far away from your natural colour, Maisie, or it’ll look wrong. Brown, maybe. Or strawberry blonde. Try this, you’ll see what I mean.” She slipped a black wig over Maisie’s own hair, tucking away the wispy bits, and brushed it into place.

  Alice burst out laughing, and Maisie peered into the little hand mirror Miss Lane was holding out.

  “Ugh!” she squeaked. The black wig made her look half-dead, like some dreadful vampire creature.

  “You see,” Miss Lane said, chuckling. “Now try this one.” The next wig was a dark blonde, much closer to Maisie’s own red hair, though still different enough.

  Miss Lane eyed her thoughtfully as she tweaked and pulled. “Oh yes, much better,” she purred. “Just a minute, Maisie.” She seized a pencil out of her huge cosmetics case, and drew freckles over Maisie’s cheeks and nose. “There!”

  Maisie looked nervously into the mirror, and caught her breath in surprise. There was another girl looking back at her. It really was very odd.

  “Would you recognize me?” she asked Alice.

  Alice frowned. “Well, I might. But only because I know you. No one else at Miss Prenderby’s will.” Then she glanced at the little clock under the mirror and gasped. “It’s a quarter to one! We have to get back, before Miss Prenderby decides to inform the police. Let’s go now, Maisie, come on!”

  Gran had found an old wicker basket that looked quite like the one the cats had been carried away in, and the two girls set off back to Russell Square, accompanied by furious mewing.

  Alice looked tired and rather shabby, with greyish marks on her pretty muslin frock, and dusty shoes. But then she needed to look like she had been wandering the streets all morning.

  Miss Fleet opened the front door, rather than one of the maids, which showed how Alice’s disappearance had thrown the school into a flurry. She seemed to be about to tell them that whatever it was, she couldn’t possibly deal with it now, when she noticed Alice and shrieked, “Oh, Alice! Where have you been?”

  As Alice stepped into the hallway, all the girls in the house seemed to pop their heads round doors to stare. But then Miss Prenderby appeared, and they melted away as fast as they’d arrived.

  “Alice. We have been very worried about you,” Miss Prenderby said, her voice icy with disapproval.

  Alice wilted, hanging her head, and Maisie coughed politely.

  “And you are?” Miss Prenderby enquired, still disapproving.

  “Milly Tatham, ma’am. I found Miss Alice in Oxford Street. She was lost, poor thing. One of her kittens isn’t well…”

  “I thought he was missing home,” Alice added, remembering her part in the story. “And that if we could just go there for a little while, it might perk him up. But then I couldn’t quite remember the way, so I tried to come back to the school and I got so lost. This kind girl brought me back. I’m so sorry if I’ve worried you, Miss Prenderby.” Then she added, “I hope you didn’t telegraph my father, he’d be upset if he knew I’d got lost.”

  Miss Prenderby eyed her crossly, but Alice stared back looking innocent, and eventually the headmistress turned to Maisie. “We are most grateful,” she said, although she didn’t really sound it.

  “If you please, ma’am, is that clock right?” Maisie asked, staring worriedly at the grandfather clock in the corner of the hall.

  “Five minutes slow,” Miss Prenderby told her, raising one eyebrow.

  “Oh…” Maisie sighed, and let her shoulders sag.

  “Whatever’s the matter?” Alice asked, and Maisie could see that she was trying not to giggle. Alice really was a terrible actress.

  “It’s nothing, Miss. Just that I was on my way to be interviewed for a job, when I found you. I’m too late to go back now. They’ll have given it to someone else.”

  “Oh, what a pity,” Alice sighed, and tried not to look too hopefully at Miss Prenderby.

  “What sort of position were you seeking?” Miss Prenderby asked slowly.

  “As a housemaid, ma’am. My previous lady, she’s not well and she’s going to live with her brother, so she’s given all of us notice, you see. We’re to leave as soon as we can.”

  “Do you have references?” Miss Prenderby asked.

  Maisie pulled out a neatly folded letter and handed it over.

  Miss Prenderby read it, frowning. “It so happens that one of our maids has recently been dismissed. Hmm. You had better go and speak to the housekeeper. Take her downstairs, please, Miss Fleet.”

  Maisie managed one quick, delighted glance at Alice, before she hurried after Miss Fleet towards the servants’ quarters. She could hear Miss Prenderby’s chilly voice echoing after them as they went.

  “Alice, would you carry those animals upstairs and release them, please. The screeching does not mix well with Marianne’s flute practice…”

  Maisie had never realized before how lucky Sally, the maid at 31 Albion Street, really was. She had her own nice room, with a wash stand, a wardrobe and a comfortable iron bedstead, with good clean sheets, several blankets and a quilt.

  At Miss Prenderby’s, Maisie (who was trying very hard to think of herself as Milly) slept up in the attics, under the roof, next door to Lizbeth and the kitchen maid. The attics were freezing, even though it was April. And Lizbeth had told her that in the summer they were roasting hot. The tiny rooms were furnished with an odd mixture of cast offs, and the beds were dreadfully lumpy.

  The housekeeper, Mrs Elkins, was quite nice, but the cook was horrible. Mrs Albert made delicious food, but the kitchen was not a pleasant place to be. Anyone who got in her way was likely to be thumped over the head with a ladle, and Lizbeth said that she had once bashed Luke, the boot boy, so hard with a colander that Luke ended up wearing it as a necklace. Maisie was not entirely sure that she believed this, but seeing Mrs Albert throwing a fit about burnt porridge that morning, she had almost been convinced.

  The maids spent as much time as possible above stairs, trying to stay out of Mrs Albert’s way. Maisie decided it was quite lucky that the pupils at the school were so untidy – it meant there was always something to clear up. It was also good because Maisie wanted to stay as close to the girls as possible, so she could be on the lookout for anything suspicious.

  “Milly!” A small girl appeared in front of her, and Maisie frowned to herself, trying to remember which one she was. She looked only about five years old, so she must be Lucie – the baby of the school. Maisie thought back to the two little girls who had come in to see Alice on her first visit to the school. Yes, this was Lucie.

  “Can I help you, Miss Lucie?” she said.

  “I’ve torn my pinafore,” the small girl whispered to her, seriously.

  “Oh dear…”

  “Will you mend it for me?” Lucie pleaded. “I’ll get in trouble, otherwise.”

  Maisie nodded. It probably wasn’t part of her job to mend the girls’ clothes, but she’d finished dusting Miss Prenderby’s china figurines and she would rather stay out of the kitchen. And it was only a straight tear in the little girl’s cotton pinafore.

  “My workbox is in the schoolroom,” Lucie told her hopefully. “We all have to have one, but Miss Fleet says my sewing looks like a black beetle wandered across my work…”

  “I’ll come and sew it up,” Maisie told her. “I’ll sit in the window seat, and you tell me if you see Miss Fleet or Miss Prenderby coming, then I can duck behind the curtains.”

  Lucie giggled delightedly at this masterly plan, and on the way to the schoolroom she fetched two of her other little friends to help her stand guard. The girls had lessons in the morning, and mostly amused themselves in the afternoons with music practice, extra dancing lessons and ladylike things such as embroidery, so the schoolroom was empty. Maisie settled herself in the window seat, and started to stitch up the tear.

  “Oh, you’re very good,” Clarissa told her admiringly, and Arabel agreed. “Tiny stitches. Better than Florence.”

  “Florence, was that the last maid? Did you get her to do your mending then?” Maisie asked, smiling.

  “Yes, she was never mean to us. Lizbeth snaps sometimes, if we get in her way, but Florence was sweet.”

  “So why did she leave?” Maisie murmured, biting off a new length of thread.

  The little girls looked at each other doubtfully, as if they weren’t sure they were supposed to talk about it. Then Lucie leaned close to Maisie and whispered, “They said she was a thief. But I don’t believe it! Florence was nice!”

  “She was,” Arabel agreed. “And she was always scared of Miss Prenderby, and even Mrs Elkins the housekeeper. I don’t think she’d have dared to steal anything! She was terrified of getting into trouble.”

  Maisie nodded. She had thought that too. “So what got stolen then?” she asked.

  “My gold bracelet,” Clarissa said, sadly. “It was on my dressing table, in its little box – and then it was gone. Miss Prenderby said I lost it, but I really didn’t. Papa gave it to me, I took good care of it always.”

  “Lots of things. Marianne’s best silk sash,” Lucie added. “Frederica’s silver hairbrush.”

  “But the day before yesterday, Bella’s new kid gloves disappeared,” Arabel explained, “and she made such a fuss! She said Florence had been in her room – and of course she had, it’s her job to clean the rooms! But Bella swore she’d seen Florence poking about in her things. And Marianne and Frederica agreed with her. So Miss Prenderby dismissed Florence.”

  Maisie shook her head. “Sounds like I’d better not get on the wrong side of Miss Bella.”

  “Oh no, don’t!” Lucie agreed. “She’s horrid. She’s mean to us all the time.”

  “Because we’re the littlest,” Clarissa told her. “She shook you, didn’t she, Arabel? When you spilled the milk at breakfast.”

  “But can’t you tell someone?” Maisie asked, frowning.

  Arabel shook her head. “No, because Bella is one of Miss Prenderby’s favourites. She’s been here for so long, and her mother and father are terribly rich. They send her lots of nice things. Bella gets shown off to all the parents of new girls, because she’s so pretty and always has lovely dresses.”

  “But she never ever goes home,” Clarissa pointed out. “Because her parents are in – where is it? Vienna or Paris or somewhere. I wouldn’t like that, even if they do send her all those presents. She even has to stay at the school at Christmas.”

  Maisie shivered. That did sound awful.

  “What are you little ones doing gossiping in the corner?” someone asked nastily, and Arabel and Clarissa jumped backwards so quickly they ended up sitting on Maisie’s lap. Maisie had been half hidden by the curtains anyway, in case any teachers came in, so now Bella couldn’t see her at all.

  “Nothing…” Lucie said, but her voice wobbled.

  “Secrets, Lucie?” Bella purred. “I think I had better tell Miss Prenderby that you’re plotting something.”

  “I’m not!” Lucie wailed. “I hate you, Bella! You’re mean all the time, and no one likes you, so there!”

  “You little cat!” Bella snapped, and she snatched one of Lucie’s long curls, and yanked it, so that the little girl burst into tears.

  “Leave her alone!” Maisie snapped, pushing the curtain aside and glaring at the older girl. “She’s only little! And she didn’t do anything to you.”

  “She’s a rude, ill-mannered, little brat,” Bella said sharply. “And who are you? The new maid, I suppose. Well, you won’t last long here if that’s how you talk to your elders and betters.”

  “You were bullying her,” Maisie said, trying to sound calm. She would be a lot more careful if she actually needed her job at the school. Lizbeth and Florence wouldn’t have been able to answer back like this. Maisie could go home as soon as she’d solved the mystery. She shivered. If her job truly depended on keeping a whole schoolful of quarrelling girls on her good side, she wouldn’t last a week.

  Bella smirked at her, and tugged Lucie’s hair again – so hard that Maisie was worried she might actually pull it out.

  “Stop it!” Maisie hissed, and smacked Bella’s hand away. The older girl was so shocked she actually did let go, and she stepped back, staring thunderstruck at Maisie. Then she turned round and stalked out of the schoolroom. The look on her face was poisonous.

  “You slapped her!” Clarissa whispered, wide-eyed.

  “You really did,” Arabel agreed, in case Maisie might not have noticed.

  “Thank you, Milly!” Lucie squealed, throwing her arms round Maisie’s waist and hugging her tightly.

  “I’d better finish mending your pinafore,” Maisie murmured. And if Bella had gone crying to Miss Prenderby, she had better finish it soon. She might get the sack before teatime.

  “You really smacked Bella?” Alice whispered to Maisie the next morning, as Maisie put down a rack of toast in front of her at breakfast.

  “How did you know about that?” Maisie asked, frowning. She hadn’t had a chance to speak to Alice the day before.

  “The little ones have told everybody!” Alice pointed out. “They’re still all giggly about it. And Bella is in the worst mood ever.”

  “I know. I’m surprised she hasn’t told Miss Prenderby on me,” Maisie muttered.

  “She probably thinks she’ll get into trouble for being mean to Lucie. But Maisie, I’m absolutely sure that she’ll do her best to pay you back. Be careful, won’t you?”

  “Miss Fleet’s watching,” Maisie murmured, passing on to the next group of girls.

  The young teacher was eyeing them disapprovingly. The maids weren’t supposed to chatter with the pupils.

  “Come to my room later!” Alice breathed, out of the corner of her mouth.

  After breakfast it was Maisie’s job to tidy the girls’ rooms, though there were so many that some of the work would have to wait till after lunch, especially as she and Lizbeth would be called down for other things like answering the front door, and carrying morning tea. But it meant that she could go and talk to Alice quite easily, just by deciding to tidy up her friend’s room first.

  “You’ve been ages!” Alice complained, jumping at Maisie as soon as she opened the door and pulling her into the room.

  “I can’t talk for long, Alice,” Maisie warned, starting to make Alice’s bed, which was tricky with Snowflake curled up in the middle of it, and the kittens playing hide-and-seek in the sheets. “There’s a lot to do.”

  “I know.” Alice went round to the other side of the bed and tried to help. She was actually making the bed harder to straighten, but Maisie didn’t want to tell her so. “Listen, Maisie, this is important. First of all, you really must watch out for Bella. She’s still got a face like a thundercloud, and I’m sure she means to do something horrible to you. And second, Monsieur Allan comes this morning – the dancing master,” she added, when Maisie looked confused. “I do think he’s awfully suspicious, Maisie. So can you try and have a look at him? Perhaps he’s the thief.”

  Maisie nodded. “I’ll try.”

  Alice beamed at her. “Don’t worry. I have a plan!”

  Maisie was making Arabel’s bed when Arabel herself dashed in. “There you are, Milly! You have to come down to the music room at once. Alice knocked over a vase of flowers while practising the polka, and there’s water all over the floor.”

  “Oh, did she indeed?” Maisie muttered to herself. Alice’s plans always seemed to spell trouble. Still, at least she would get a good look at Monsieur Allan.

  Maisie could see what Alice meant about him as soon as she crept through the music room door with her mop. He was ludicrously tall and thin, and he was wearing the skinniest trousers Maisie had ever seen. She supposed this was to make dancing easier, but he looked quite ridiculous, especially as he’d added a very fancy waistcoat. And he had the strange pointy eyebrows that Alice had mentioned, as well as the world’s teensiest moustache, like a slug perched on his upper lip. It was all Maisie could do not to giggle.

  Monsieur Allan beamed at her and waved her at the puddle of water, before he went on drilling his class in their steps.

  Maisie couldn’t nose too openly, as Miss Fleet was there playing the piano, but she wasn’t quite sure why Alice found him so suspicious. Yes, he was rather odd-looking, and his French accent was much thicker than Madame Lorimer’s. He sounded as though there were several bees tucked into his sunken cheeks – every time he said anything he managed to put extra zs into it.

  “And ze steps again! And zis time with ze happiness!”

  But that didn’t make him a thief.

  After a few minutes of watching the class while she mopped, Maisie decided rather sadly that Alice might not like Monsieur Allan simply because she didn’t shine in his dancing classes. She kept mixing up the steps, so that the dancing master had to push her and her partner back into the right place.

  “Ah! Eeet eees eleven o’clock! Ze class is feeneeshed. Au revoir, Mesdemoiselles.” Monsieur Allan swept a deep, graceful bow and mopped his damp face with an embroidered handkerchief.

  Miss Fleet hurried the girls away to change out of their dancing slippers, and Monsieur Allan and Maisie were left in the studio. The dancing master was tidying up the silk scarves and tambourines that the girls had been using for their country dancing. Maisie scurried around and picked them up for him – there seemed to be scarves trailing all over the furniture.

 

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