The Key to Finding Jack by Ewa Jozefkowicz (i can read books TXT) 📗

‘True. We’ve gathered lots of information, now we need to sift through it to see which bits are useful and to try to somehow fit them all together – that’s the hard part. But we can do it. I know we can.’ I thought of mine and Jack’s detective partnership and how positive he always was about us finding a solution to every riddle.

‘Hey, I was right about Finny, or should I say, Mr Shane Finnegan – another S.F. Shall we speak to him today? I found out on the school website that he teaches orchestra until 5 p.m. I can message my mum and say we’re going to After School Club and get her to pick us up at 5.30 p.m. That way we can catch him before he leaves. What d’you reckon?’

‘Sounds like a plan.’ I didn’t feel hugely hopeful about speaking to him, but Keira was so enthusiastic that I couldn’t say no.

Later that morning we had English and I was relieved that we were continuing our detective crime fiction. When I was writing Lady Abigail and Margot’s story, I forgot about everything else. It was as though the rest of the world didn’t exist. Mrs Emmett caught my eye and gave me a reassuring smile, but she said nothing and I was grateful to her.

I was glad to dive back into my writing.

Lady Abigail sat in the corner of the dark sitting room. One of the maids scuttled in every half hour or so to ask whether she would like the fire lighted, but she told them firmly that she did not. She felt that she no longer deserved the comfort of light and warmth. She should have held Margot’s hand in the crowd. She should have kept a better eye on her.

Margot had always been such a badly behaved girl, not like her friends’ daughters. She would get into trouble by playing tricks on some of the other children, she’d rip her best Sunday clothes when climbing trees and would get lost in public places because some curiosity had taken her fancy. But this time was different. The disappearance wasn’t Margot’s fault. It was clearly the fault of her abductor, who had only left the bell symbol as a clue.

When she saw it there, pinned to the inside of the beret, Lady Abigail’s first thoughts flew to Edwin and Louisa Bell – old friends of her husband’s who lived off Thames Street. They’d been nearly as wealthy as the Jacksons themselves a few years ago, but had lost their fortune when Edwin’s brewery went under and were now almost bankrupt.

They had been extremely kind to her when her husband died, and Lady Abigail refused to believe that they could have anything to do with her daughter going missing. But after getting the police on the case, she felt utterly useless, and she thought that the Bells were worth a visit, if only as friends to confide in. Although they were younger than her, Margot had always enjoyed playing with the Bell girls, Georgina and Stephanie.

As she pulled her coat around her and made her way slowly in the direction of Thames Street, she realised guiltily that she hadn’t even visited Louisa since the family had fallen on hard times, six months ago now. How easy it was to forget people when they no longer made an appearance at your dinner parties.

When her old friend opened the door, Lady Abigail almost didn’t recognise her. Louisa looked so much thinner, the colour drained from her cheeks. The house was in the process of being packed up – there were crates, trunks and bags everywhere.

‘Oh Abigail, how good of you to visit. I apologise for the mess. We’re moving to Welwyn, you see. It’s a country cottage and all that we can afford at the moment. What brings you here?’

When Abigail told her the news about Margot, Louisa’s eyes narrowed with concern.

‘Margot’s gone?’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know what we would have done without her these past few months.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Bringing her old clothes for my girls to wear, helping me do the laundry and carry the groceries home when we let Mary go. She even packed some of these crates for us.’

‘Margot did this?’ asked Lady Abigail. ‘You mean, my Margot?’

‘Yes, you didn’t know? Please let me know if you hear any news. I will be worried sick.’

Before she could stop herself, Lady Abigail pulled out the red beret from her handbag and pointed to the tiny drawing of a bell pinned to its inside.

‘It must be a message from whoever’s captured her,’ she said. ‘But the bobbies haven’t found any clues.’ She could feel hot tears stinging her eyes.

‘The bell is on the Elliott coat of arms, is it not?’ asked Louisa. ‘Though I can’t see how they would have anything to do with this.’

‘Maybe they know something? Anything is worth a try.’ She jotted down the address in the notebook she always carried around in her purse and set off once more into the snowy streets.

‘Right. Your writing time is now up,’ said Mrs Emmett. ‘You can continue at home. I’ve had a quick look at our intranet and can see that one story is a favourite – the story of the lost girl, Margot. Felicity, do you want to carry on reading? I think a lot of us are keen to hear what happens next.’

I shook my head. I couldn’t bear standing in front of the class. ‘I’m sorry – not today, if that’s OK. Maybe next lesson?’ I mumbled. ‘I need to tidy up a few bits of the story.’

‘No problem,’ said Mrs Emmett quickly. ‘Who would like to volunteer?’

A girl called Vera, who was new, raised her hand and we listened to her murder mystery set in the middle of the Sahara Desert.

‘Come on, read your story,’ said a quiet voice behind me. I