The youngsters agreed that she most certainly would, and presently they set off. Corky went first and Dot followed a few minutes later, but speedily caught up with her friend. She told him that she, too, wanted to dress like a boy when watching the butcher’s shop and thought she might acquire the clothes from one of her cousins, provided they did not realise she had borrowed their things.
Corky said he could well imagine that his friend would feel a good deal safer in such a disguise but voiced the objection that her cousins would most certainly miss their clothing. Dot was inclined to argue, but when Corky pointed it out she could see that a disguise might well bring more trouble than it saved. If she returned from watching Rathbone’s shop late at night and walked into the kitchen to find Uncle Rupert or her aunt within, she could always say she had nipped out to the privy. But if she were wearing her cousins’ clothes . . . she shuddered at the thought. There would be a frightful row, she would be accused of theft . . . and then, the questions would start. She had tried to forget that her uncle and Butcher Rathbone were now friends, or at least drinking companions, but she must not put it out of her mind altogether. Uncle Rupert would only have to mention that his niece had returned home late at night, wearing his son’s old shirt and kecks, and Archie Rathbone would begin to wonder.
So she agreed with Corky that the idea would have to be shelved for the time, at least, and at this point they slid under the drooping branches of the yew tree which overhung the pavement by the church wall, and Emma joined them. Dot and Corky, familiar with the wall, told Emma where to put her feet and watched, admiringly, as the girl climbed, neat as a cat, up the wall and dropped to the ground. They followed her immediately, and all three stood quite still for a moment, carefully quartering the churchyard with their eyes, though this was not easy because the moon was at the full and a breeze had sprung up, so that there seemed to be moving shadows everywhere. Dot saw a rat sitting on a tombstone, combing his whiskers, and the dark shape of a large bird perched on an overhanging branch, and nudged Corky. ‘It’s all right,’ she whispered. ‘As soon as we move out of the shelter of the trees, that rat’ll be off. I don’t reckon there’s anyone here but us. Unless someone’s hiding in the church itself . . . and they ain’t likely to do that ’cos of the state it’s in. C’mon.’
With Corky leading, the three of them made their way round the churchyard and then across to the church itself. Dot envied Emma her long trousers when she was stung by a spiteful nettle, but soon enough they were within the walls of the church. At a nod from Corky, Dot carefully lifted the curtain of ivy and watched as Corky levered out the triangular piece of stone behind which they had hidden the necklace. ‘Good hiding place, eh?’ he whispered to Emma, handing the triangular stone to Dot and pushing his hand into the cavity. ‘Hey, I can’t feel . . . anyone got a torch? I must have pushed it further back than I thought.’
Dot was beginning to say that she had no torch when a small beam of light illuminated the wall. Emma said in a low voice: ‘I brought one, just in case. Corky, if you’d get your hand out of the way . . .’
Corky obediently withdrew his hand and they all stared into the hole which he had opened up with such confidence; then the three of them straightened up and stood back, staring unbelievingly at the cavity. The necklace had gone.
‘It’s got to be there; no one else could possibly have taken it,’ Corky said wildly. ‘Dot, your hands are smaller than mine, you’ll be able to feel right to the back. It simply
must
be there.’
Dot pushed her hand right into the gap but could feel nothing but smooth stone. She gazed up at Emma in the semi-darkness, seeing only the pale oval of her new friend’s face, unable to guess what she was thinking. Emma was their friend and ally, and both Dot and Corky had realised that it was essential to convince her that their story was true. Now, the only proof they had was gone.
The three of them stared around the ruined church as though expecting to see whoever had stolen the necklace grinning at them, but all they saw were the ruined ivy-clad walls rearing towards the starlit sky, and the pointed arches of the empty windows. After a moment, Corky said loudly: ‘I bet it were that bloody little kid! She’s always poking around, pushing her nose in where it ain’t wanted. I reckon she took it.’
But Dot shook her head. ‘I doubt if she could even reach the hole, and anyway, we hid it at night, and she’s only five. She would have been tucked up in bed long since.’ She turned to Emma. ‘Oh, Emma, we did hide it there, honest to God we did. I never said nothing to Corky, but when we were hiding it I – I kept getting the feeling that someone was watching us. I thought it were imagination – or the owl what lives in the high bit of wall at the far end of the church – but perhaps we really were being watched, and whoever was watching came and took it – the necklace I mean – as soon as we’d left. You
must
believe us, Emma.’
Emma began to speak but Corky cut across her. ‘It were imagination, you little idiot,’ he said scornfully. ‘I felt exactly the same and who wouldn’t? We were hiding away stolen property what could have a man sent to the gallows. And it’s a pretty creepy place, a ruined church at night. No, I reckon that kid followed the trail of trodden grasses over to the church. She could pile the fallen stones up, I suppose, to make her tall enough . . .’ As he spoke, he took the triangle of stone and pushed it back into the cavity, then withdrew it again and peered inside once more as though he was expecting the necklace to reappear, Dot thought, with an inward grin.
She was about to say so, when Emma gave an exclamation. ‘Don’t worry, Dot, of course I believe you. I know what happened,’ she said excitedly. ‘It came to me when I saw Corky pushing the stone back into place. Didn’t it occur to either of you that it fitted far too snugly? I mean, the emerald necklace is pretty substantial, it takes up quite a lot of room. I think that you put the necklace safely away, and when Corky pushed the piece of stone back it must have hit the necklace and pushed it even further into the wall. Dot, I know you’ve had a good feel around already, but you were feeling for the necklace, not for a little hole. Can you put your hand in again, queen, and see if there’s some sort of gap at the back?’
This time, it was the work of an instant for Dot to thrust her hand into the crevice and to withdraw it again, nodding vigorously as she did so. ‘There’s a gap all right; it’s only a couple of inches long and not even an inch high, I shouldn’t think, but it’s quite big enough for the necklace to have slithered through. Oh, thank the Lord! I couldn’t help thinking that those men might have seen us, might have got the necklace back . . . and might be planning to kill us off so’s we couldn’t gab to the scuffers. Phew, wharra relief!’
Emma smiled at her, a flash of white teeth in the darkness, but Corky gave a moan of despair. ‘Oh, but you haven’t thought, Dot,’ he said. ‘We need that necklace, you know we do, and if Emma’s right, we’ll have to pull the perishin’ wall down to get it back. It ’ud be dead dangerous because we’d likely bring the whole building on our heads if we started dismantling this wall.’
‘Yes, you’re right,’ Dot said, much crestfallen. ‘Still, at least we know where the necklace is, and if we can’t get it, no one else can.’ She turned to the older girl. ‘What do you think we should do now, Emma?’
‘I think we should all go home and get what sleep we can,’ Emma said decidedly. ‘There will be a simple way to get the necklace back, I’m sure of it, but standing shivering in a ruined church isn’t going to bring ideas flocking, exactly. For instance, we could try hooking it out with a bit of bent wire, or – or something of that nature. But for now we’ll have to concentrate on other things, such as working out who Rathbone’s partner in crime can be – this chap we know only as Ollie. And watching Rathbone is one thing we meant to do anyway, necklace or no necklace, so we might as well get on with it. It would have been nice to have had definite proof in our hands, but remember, we’ve still got definite proof, we just can’t reach it at the moment.’
‘We don’t know for certain that it hasn’t been stolen, though,’ Dot was beginning, but Emma took her hand and began to lead her out of the church, saying as she did so: ‘Yes, dear little Dot, we do know for certain. Don’t you understand? Corky pushed that piece of stone back into place, level with the rest of the wall; if there had been
anything
behind it, he wouldn’t have been able to get the stone flush with the wall again, d’you see?’
Dot heaved a deep sigh of sheer, blissful relief. Emma was undoubtedly right. ‘Oh, Emma, you are so clever,’ she said joyfully. ‘Why, if someone
was
watching – and I’m sure now that nobody was – they could only have done what we’ve just done – pulled the stone and found nothing behind it. They would assume we’d taken the necklace away with us . . . and come to think of it, it was dark, so they wouldn’t even have known what we were trying to hide.’
‘And since there weren’t anyone watching, all we’ve got to worry about is how we’re going to fetch the necklace out when we need it,’ Corky put in. ‘Look, my shed is just round the corner and I’m dead tired; will you two girls get home safe if I leave you here?’
Dot and Emma assured him that they would be fine and set off for the wall. Dot found herself almost relieved to be back on the pavement once more for it was so late that no one was about, and she had realised, when Corky had spoken, that she was very tired indeed.
The two of them set off along the street. ‘D’you want me to see you home?’ Emma asked. ‘I don’t think anyone will interfere with you whilst we’re together, but my way is probably quite different from yours.’
Dot decided that she would be better by herself, in fact, though she thanked Emma for her thoughtfulness. ‘I keep in the shadow of the walls and dodge about a bit,’ she explained. ‘No, you go off, Emma, and we’ll come round to your shop at six tomorrow evening, same as tonight.’
Emma turned away with a quiet word of farewell, then turned back. ‘I know where Corky lives now,’ she said, ‘but what’s your address, queen? Only I might need to get in touch with you urgently.’
‘I live at six, Lavender Court, which is just off Heyworth Street,’ Dot told her, ‘only I ain’t often at home. Still, once we get this rota worked out, you’ll find me hoverin’ outside Rathbone’s most of the day, I expect.’
Emma nodded. ‘I won’t come round unless there’s an emergency,’ she promised. ‘See you tomorrow evening, around six.’
Emma found her walk home through the dark streets by no means as trouble-free as she had expected. There were several drunks about, and since she had no desire for a confrontation she spent some while dodging in and out of alleys and keeping clear of any doorway in which a man – or sometimes a young couple – seemed to have taken up residence. At first, the street lighting was poor, but the nearer she got to the city centre the better it grew, which was a comfort. There were more people about as well, and she felt a good deal less conspicuous. Folk were hurrying away from cinemas and theatres and towards the many public houses whose welcoming lights streamed across the pavement on almost every corner.
Church Street, when she reached it, was not busy at all and she walked along it slowly, pretending to look in windows as she passed. She reached her own shop, went to hook out the keys from her pocket, and remembered that she had only brought the back door key. Drat, she thought crossly, and lingered in the doorway for a moment, wishing she had had the forethought to detach the front door key from the bunch before deciding it was too heavy to cart around all evening. But since she had not done so, she had no alternative but to retrace her steps and go down the jigger which led to the back of the shop. This, naturally, was unlit by gaslights, and after the brilliance of Church Street it looked very dark indeed; so dark that she hesitated before turning down it. Then she scolded herself. There could be nothing to fear, and unless she wanted to sleep on the pavement she had to go down it to reach her own little yard. Once inside, she would go up to the flat, make herself a hot drink, and go straight to bed.
Slightly reassured at the thought of such a peaceful end to what had been a rather exciting evening, she went softly along the jigger, checking the gates until she came to the one she knew to be her own. She opened it quietly, crossed the yard, fished out the key to the stockroom door and began to try to fumble it into the lock, but even as she did so, she heard the gate behind her creak. She turned round, thinking that she could not have latched it properly, and saw a dark figure coming towards her. She gave a squeak and tried harder to unlock the door, but even as the key turned the figure leapt upon her, bearing her to the ground, and a voice in her ear said: ‘You nasty, thievin’ little tyke! What d’you think you’re doin’, sneakin’ around here in the dark? Breaking and entering can put you in prison for years, let me tell you. And don’t think I’ll not inform the police, because that’s exactly what I shall do.’
‘Get off me,’ Emma said, her voice rising. ‘This is my own property and – and you’re trespassing. How dare you attack me . . . I must be bruised all over. And as for informing the police, that’s just what I shall do the minute you let me go.’
‘Ah, but I’m not going to let you go,’ her attacker said grimly, hanging on. ‘As for this being your property, pull the other one, it’s got bells on! I happen to know the owner and you aren’t . . .’
Emma gave a convulsive wriggle and kicked out; she had temporarily forgotten her disguise and was about to explain when her foot caught the door of the stockroom, which she must have unlocked without realising it, and it swung inwards. The man gave a crow of triumph and hauled her over the threshold, then fumbled for the light switch. He turned it on and heaved Emma to her feet, saying breathlessly as he did so: ‘The owner of this shop is a very pretty young lady, whom I happen to know very well indeed, and you are . . . you are . . .’