Violet and the Hidden Treasure Page 2

  So, Rose and Violet were surprised at the chaotic sight that greeted them as they walked into Dee Dee’s flat that afternoon.

  In the middle of the sitting room carpet was a mound of skateboards, footballs, a bike, a half-unpacked suitcase, a large pile of dirty washing, and several pairs of muddy football boots and trainers. The girls looked at Dee Dee with puzzled faces as she offered them a cup of tea and a French Fancy.

  ‘Rose, Violet, I have had a very eventful time while you two were away,’ she said. ‘I don’t know if I have ever told you about my brother, Burt? Well, perhaps not, because to be honest we don’t always get on and he’s not the best sort. But he is my family, and so is his son, Reggie – who I’m afraid rather takes after his father and as a result is being detained at His Majesty’s pleasure.’ Neither Rose or Violet knew what that meant, but they didn’t like to interrupt. ‘Reggie married a sweet girl called Jacintha and they had a son called Arthur. I have always helped them when I can . . .’ The girls nodded away, wondering how any of this was connected to the pile of mess on Dee Dee’s floor. ‘Anyway, to cut a very long story short, Jacintha has gone travelling around the world to find herself – whatever that means – and Arthur has come to stay with me while she’s away.’

  Before either girl could reply, the back door was flung open and in came the red-haired boy from the garden. He was clutching a football to his chest, as if it were a precious jewel.

  ‘And here he is!’ Dee Dee announced. ‘Art, this is Violet and Rose – who live on the garden too and are my particular friends.’

  ‘Hello,’ said Art, twirling the football on the end of his finger. ‘Auntie, do you have any food? I’m absolutely starving!’

  She passed him the plate of cakes. ‘Now, did you find some other children to play football with in the garden?’

  Art helped himself to four French Fancies (one lemon, two chocolate and one strawberry) and began to eat them as quickly as he could. With his mouth full of cake, he answered Dee Dee’s question. ‘I did play a game and everyone was nice – except this one boy who seemed really mean. Every time I had the ball he looked at me like . . .’ Then he did a perfect imitation of Stanley’s grumpy face. ‘He was a right—’ The girls burst out laughing, as Dee Dee interrupted Art swiftly.

  ‘Stanley is Rose’s brother, Artie dear. And please don’t talk with your mouth full.’

  Art flushed as pink with embarrassment as the French Fancy he was eating. ‘I’m really sorry.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ Rose said. ‘He’s not very nice to me either.’

  ‘So have you just started at Fetherington’s?’ Violet asked, pointing at his clothes.

  Art nodded, looking very unimpressed.

  ‘Poor Art didn’t have the best first day, but I’m sure it will get better. Everyone says it’s a wonderful school – and they were so kind finding him a place at the last minute,’ Dee Dee said, cheerfully.

  Art continued to look glum. ‘There’s not much sport and no drama, which are the only things that make school okay. It’s just weird things like Ancient Greek and loads of maths,’ he said to Violet and Rose, who nodded sympathetically.

  ‘Now Rose is our rising ballet star, aren’t you, darlin’?’ Dee Dee said. ‘When will they will be holding auditions for this year’s Easter show? I simply adore the Easter ballet show they do – it’s at a proper theatre in the West End and is just such a treat.’ Dee Dee explained to Art, ‘Rose kindly invited me to watch her in Swan Lake last year and she was marvellous. And this year, Rose, I’m sure you’ll get the star role!’

  ‘I think the auditions will be next week.’ Rose swallowed nervously. She wanted the lead part so much that it sent her into a panic just thinking about it. The ballet was Sleeping Beauty. Every night she lay in bed, picturing herself walking up to the notice board at school, and reading the cast list in Madame’s neat handwriting – and then the perfect joy of seeing:

  The alarm on Violet’s watch went off, breaking the spell.

  ‘What’s that?’ Art asked, puzzled.

  ‘It’s my watch alarm to tell me to go home, so I’m not late for my supper,’ Violet explained.

  And then from outside they heard the sound of Rose’s mother calling her name.

  ‘And that’s my alarm!’ Rose said with a smile.

  ‘Well, then you must hurry along, girls. But I am so pleased you’ve met Art – and you must make sure you come back very soon and tell me all about your holidays.’

  The girls promised to return, and dashed home in opposite directions for supper.

  One Saturday morning at the beginning of February, the Remy-Robinsons were eating breakfast together. Violet was sharing a stack of banana pancakes with Pudding, Camille was eating a bowl of mango, and Benedict was munching away on a piece of toast and marmalade while he read the newspaper.

  ‘Oh dear! That’s very sad,’ he suddenly announced.

  ‘What?’ Camille and Violet asked in unison.

  ‘I’m afraid, Violet, that your friend the Maharajah of Bochir has died. There are pictures here of his magnificent funeral.’ Benedict showed them the article in the paper. There was a picture of the Maharajah as a young man with the Maharani sitting on his shoulder, and then photos of his funeral with crowds of people dressed in white, together with a parade of elephants.

  ‘That is sad,’ Violet agreed, feeling upset. ‘He was a very nice man.’

  ‘It says that he died peacefully in his sleep,’ Benedict went on. ‘And he was ninety-two, which is an extremely good age. And then it goes on to say that he was a very eccentric man and, true to character, he has left a very unusual will.’

  ‘What’s a will?’ Violet asked.

  ‘A will is a bit like a letter in which you say what you want done with all your things when you die,’ Benedict explained. ‘Your friend the Maharajah has left everything, with the exception of some money he’s given to his niece and various servants, in the charge of the Maharani, who is a cockatoo! And the bird has to decide who gets the Maharajah’s fortune. This is the Maharani sitting on his shoulder, presumably?’

  ‘That’s right,’ Violet said. ‘Do you remember I told you about her? She scared away the monkeys for me. She’s amazing.’

  ‘Amazing she may be,’ her father replied. ‘But perhaps not the best choice to be left in charge of a fortune, which is estimated here to be – wow, an awful lot. It says that the Maharani holds the “secret” to the hidden treasure. I wonder what that means?’

  ‘Your godmother Celeste will know what is happening,’ Camille said. ‘We can ask her, although I think that at the moment she is in the South Pole, photographing penguins.’

  ‘Oh, Pudding, you’ve eaten all my pancakes,’ Violet exclaimed crossly, looking down at her empty plate. Pudding slunk away guiltily, his tummy gently swaying beneath him.

  Celeste arrived in London a few days later. She was on a very short stop-over on her way to Greenland, and, over a glass of champagne, she filled them in on all the news.

  ‘Poor Hari. He is very worried about money because he completely relied on the Maharajah. Now he is using his own money to pay for the orphanage, but he can only afford to do that for a couple more months.’

  ‘Oh dear! And what’s all this about the cockatoo holding the “secret” to the treasure?’ Benedict asked.

  ‘Well, people are saying she knows how to find the fortune, but the bird has not spoken a word since the Maharajah died,’ Celeste replied. ‘Angel – who, by the way, is absolutely hopping mad about not being left the whole fortune – has been telling the newspapers that there have been several kidnap attempts on the bird. Everyone is so concerned that the Prime Minister of India has set a time limit – if the Maharani does not speak by the beginning of April all the money will go to the government.’

  ‘Gosh,’ Camille said. ‘That’s when Easter is this year, isn’t it? Not long away at all.’

  ‘Who is looking after the Maharani?’ Violet asked Celeste.
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br />   ‘Rajesh was named as her guardian in the will, so she’s in safe hands at least.’

  Violet nodded in agreement. Rajesh would be kind to the Maharani, but the poor thing must be missing the Maharajah dreadfully. And what would happen to the orphans if she didn’t speak soon?

  A couple of weeks later, on a dark and stormy night – which also happened to be Valentine’s Day – Violet, feeling cosy in her bedroom, was getting ready for bed. She was talking to Pudding, who was curled up on her pillow as usual, when the doorbell rang. Camille and Benedict had gone out for dinner so Norma was babysitting. She was making a special Valentine’s cake for Ernest and was just in the middle of a tricky piece of icing. She called out to Violet to see who was at the door, and said that she would come in a moment.

  Violet ran downstairs and, as Norma had taught her to do, looked through the spyhole in the front door to see who was there. And when she did, she couldn’t believe her eyes. For there, sheltering under an enormous umbrella, was Rajesh and a very grumpy-looking Maharani. Violet opened the door immediately.

  ‘Rajesh! Whatever are you doing here? You must come in out of the rain.’

  ‘Please, Miss Violet, will you look after the Maharani? I have taken her away from Miss Angel because she is being so cruel to her and also I think it is not safe for her in Bochir. Miss Angel keeps talking about dangerous criminals trying to kidnap the Maharani. Please, no one will ever think to look here. It will just be for a month and then I will return. Now I must leave in case I am being followed.’

  And with that, he thrust the shivering, wet cockatoo at Violet, together with a tin of Fortnum and Mason fruit and nut mix.

  ‘That is the only food the Maharani will eat,’ Rajesh explained.

  Violet took both without really thinking and, before she could protest, Rajesh ran out to a waiting taxi which immediately drove off.

  When Norma arrived a moment later, she found Violet looking confused, holding a cockatoo and a pale green tin.

  At that moment, another taxi drew up and out got her parents. When they saw Violet and the Maharani they were as amazed as Norma. Questions hit Violet from all sides.

  Just to add to the general chaos, Pudding also appeared, looked horrified and let out an almighty hiss. The Maharani gave an exaggerated squawk and buried her head in Violet’s neck, which made Pudding even more furious. ‘I’m with Pudding on this,’ Benedict announced, and stomped back into the flat.

  As Violet had no way of contacting Rajesh, the Maharani had to stay. But oh dear, Benedict and Pudding did find the cockatoo very annoying. The bird decided Violet’s bedroom was her new home, evicting a furious Pudding and using the end of Violet’s bed as a perch. She then refused to leave that room. The heating had to be turned up full all day, otherwise she made a sort of squawking and shivering noise which Benedict, who worked at home, found more irritating than being boiling hot. So he started wearing shorts and a T-shirt instead of his usual suit, with Pudding (who was secretly pleased about the heating) sitting all over his drawings in his office.

  Violet loved having the Maharani to stay, but did feel bad about Pudding. She tried to be totally fair, spending equal time with each of them, and she lectured both of them about learning to get on. It didn’t work. And the rest of the time she spent trying to persuade the Maharani to talk. It was so important for the orphans, she explained patiently to the bird, but the Maharani just turned the other way and sulked.

  Only Camille remained as serene as ever. And the Maharani loved Camille almost as much as she loved Violet, and would allow her to stroke and pet her, while Benedict and Pudding looked on, fuming.

  It was only a few days later when Violet had another unexpected visitor.

  ‘Surprise!’ Angel exclaimed, tottering unsteadily on the doorstep in high-heeled furry boots. Ignoring Norma, who had opened the door to her, she kissed Violet extravagantly on both cheeks. ‘How are you, Violet darling? I thought I simply must look you up since I was in London and we got on so amazingly well at the New Year’s Eve party.’

  Violet was speechless. A bewildered hello was all she could manage in reply, as Norma escaped back to the kitchen.

  ‘Well, aren’t you going to invite me in?’ Angel asked, peering over Violet’s shoulder into the flat.

  Violet hesitated. She couldn’t let Angel see the Maharani, who was in her bedroom with the door wide open. But Violet couldn’t very well refuse Angel without seeming very rude. So she found herself replying, ‘Er, yes of course. Can I get you a drink?’ she offered, leading Angel into the sitting room.

  ‘I would love a Coke,’ Angel replied, flopping down on to the sofa, nearly sitting on Pudding. The cat let out a cross miaow and leaped out of the way just in time.

  Angel eyed Pudding with distaste.

  ‘I’m, like, totally allergic to cats, so would you mind moving it out of the room?’

  Oh drat, Violet thought, but she tried very hard not to look annoyed.

  ‘Of course, that’s fine. I’ll be right back.’

  Violet whizzed off, clutching a grumpy Pudding. She didn’t dare check on the Maharani in case it set her off squawking. So she just delivered Pudding into the kitchen, quickly explaining who Angel was to Norma and asking that she please, please keep Pudding in the kitchen and away from the Maharani. A Coke can and a glass in her hands, she returned to the sitting room at top speed, shutting the door behind her.

  ‘So, sweetie, what have you been up to?’ Angel asked, grabbing the Coke and ripping the top off it.

  Violet never knew what to say when people asked her that.

  ‘Um, you know, school and stuff,’ she replied. ‘I am really sorry about your uncle’s death.’

  Angel shrugged. ‘He was like really, really old. The real tragedy is how badly he has treated me. I’m sure you have heard, it has been in all the newspapers.’

  Violet nodded politely, saying, ‘It’s terrible for the orphans too, I know. My godmother said—’

  ‘The orphans?’ Angel interrupted. ‘The orphans are used to being poor. I’m not. When I think of all the years I have selflessly neglected my career as an actress to be his companion! I had top Bollywood directors begging, literally begging, me to star in their films.’ She gave a long sigh and took a big gulp of Coke. ‘Anyway, I know this must seem a strange question to ask, Violet darling, but I don’t suppose you have seen the Maharani, have you?’

  Violet felt herself go bright red as Angel looked at her intently. Violet hated lying, but she knew that, at moments such as this, it was entirely necessary. So she gave it her best shot.

  ‘No, no, not at all,’ she replied innocently. ‘Isn’t she in India with Rajesh?’

  Angel was looking at Violet very suspiciously. ‘No, Violet, she’s not. She was with me, but then Rajesh kidnapped her, bringing her to England. He said it was to keep her safe, but I’m sure he just wants the fortune for himself.’

  Violet was about to defend Rajesh and say that she thought that the Maharajah had left the Maharani in his care, but she stopped herself. She just shook her head and repeated that she hadn’t seen Rajesh or the Maharani.

  ‘Okay. Well, I think I’m done here,’ Angel said, getting to her feet.

  Violet opened the sitting-room door and ushered Angel out into the hall, just as Pudding was escaping from the kitchen. Oh dear! It was like watching an accident happen in slow motion. Pudding took one look at Angel, turned and ran the other way into . . . you guessed it, Violet’s bedroom.

  Angel raised one eyebrow at Violet. ‘Are you sure you haven’t seen the Maharani?’ she asked, in not a very nice way.

  Violet thought very, very quickly.

  ‘Oh, no, no, that’s not the Maharani. That’s er . . . er Desdemona, my very own cockatoo. I got her because I loved the Maharani so much. She and my cat hate each other – it’s a nightmare!’ Violet gabbled.

  ‘Can I meet her?’ Angel asked slyly.

  ‘Er, afraid not, no, she’s terribly shy and can be quit
e vicious too. She might go for your eyes or claw your face,’ Violet replied quickly.

  ‘I see,’ Angel said thoughtfully before adding briskly, ‘Thanks for the drink, Violet. See you around.’

  Phew, thought Violet, shutting the door behind her. I’m glad I got away with that.

  There was great excitement among the garden children. Someone had moved into the house that had once been lived in by the Du Plicitous family. All anyone knew was that she was a woman with long hair who always wore dark glasses and a lot of make-up. Apparently she never came into the garden and she had only been glimpsed through the windows. Lydia spread the rumour that she was a witch with the magical power to turn people to stone, while Matthew decided she was a reclusive movie star who had had plastic surgery that had gone terribly wrong, whilst Violet thought maybe she was the Count’s long-lost sister who had been held captive for years by bandits in South America but had recently escaped. Art, who had been fully absorbed into the ‘midders’ group in the garden (even managing to get on with Stanley), spun an elaborate tale that she was a dangerous con-artist on the run from the police. Stanley terrified all the littilees (and some older children), with an incredibly gory tale of her being a flesh-eating zombie, who roamed around the garden at night looking for prey. The woman, he said, had been satisfying her appetite with small mice and birds, but it was only a matter of time before she munched on the cats, and then, when she had eaten all of those, it seemed logical that she would turn to small children.