The Missing Locket
HISTORICAL SHORT STORY BY SUZAN LINDSAY RANDLE
In this story, set in 1894, Percy was not a thief and he was going to prove it!
Percy scanned the busy railway station platform.
Passengers were pouring off the train that had just pulled in. Smoke hung in the air.
His gaze alighted on the book stall, a few feet beyond the overhead sign for the refreshment room.
He would be going against the tide.
The small hand on the large clock at the end of the platform was pointing to eleven. The big hand was almost touching twelve.
He’d timed it just right.
Apply between eleven o’clock and noon, the newspaper advertisement had stated.
Percy wanted to show that he was keen.
This position would be a step up from sweeping the straw on the floor of the butcher’s shop.
He was educated, after all. Not only could he read and write better than some other fourteen-year-old boys, but he was good at arithmetic, too.
What else had the advertisement said?
Respectable boy wanted with good character.
Percy puffed out his chest with pride.
He’d never been in trouble at school, and the butcher had always seemed happy with his work.
Keeping his eyes on the clock, he began to walk along the platform.
He realised too late that a trolley laden with trunks and cases was heading straight for him.
The hat box on top of the trolley obstructed the porter’s vision.
Percy quickly stepped aside, but was still sent sprawling along the platform.
Along with him, a young girl of similar age had gone down, too.
He’d been so busy watching the clock that he hadn’t seen her.
Horrified, he quickly held out his hand to help her up before she was trampled by the other passengers.
She ignored him and instead accepted the assistance of a woman in a black coat.
Once the girl was back on her feet, the woman melted away in the crowd before either of them could thank her.
As she smoothed down her long skirt and straightened her hat, the girl scowled at Percy.
“Why didn’t you look where you were going?” she asked angrily.
“Why didn’t you?” he retorted. Percy regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth.
He looked around anxiously in case the book stall manager had overheard.
A bowler-hatted gent glared at him and someone else tutted loudly.
“I’m sorry,” Percy apologised, remembering his manners. “It was all my fault.
“I’m on my way to see about a job and wasn’t thinking about anything else. I hope you’re not hurt.”
The girl looked a little less enraged.
“Well, I seem to be all right, thank you.
“As a matter of fact, I’m on the way to start a new position myself. I was a bit distracted, too.”
Her expression softened.
“Have a good day, and good luck!”
As she walked away, Percy licked his finger to stick a lock of fair hair back beneath his cap.
He then checked his trousers for tears.
Satisfied that he still looked smart, he hurried towards the book stall.
By now the crowds had cleared and he could see straight down the platform.
To his dismay, another boy was already there before him.
Beattie unpacked her few belongings in the tiny attic room she would be sharing with another kitchen maid.
This was to be her home now that she’d turned fifteen and had to leave the Railway Servants’ Orphanage.
She sat down with a sigh on the narrow bed.
She’d managed to secure the job at the Station Hotel thanks to the training she’d been given at the orphanage.
The friends that she’d made over the years had gone their separate ways.
They’d promised to write, but Beattie felt lonely.
The rickety chest of drawers rattled as an engine chugged along the line at the back of the building.
She shuddered.
The sound of a train always reminded Beattie that her father, a goods guard, had been killed in an accident at work.
Now, in a way, the railway company was providing her livelihood as it had provided for her during childhood.
Needing comfort, Beattie reached for the locket that she wore on a chain around her neck.
It had belonged to her mother, who had passed away soon after her father.
Her heart missed a beat. The locket wasn’t there!
Frantic, she felt around her neck and stood up to check if the chain had come loose and caught on her clothing.
The catch had long been unreliable.
Finding no sign of it, Beattie burst into tears.
She had lost the only thing in the whole world that was precious to her.
She was still sobbing when Alice, the other kitchen maid, came in.
“What’s the matter with you?” Alice asked, not unkindly. “Are you missing your family?”
Beattie shook her head.
I don’t have a family.
She sniffed. “My home was the orphanage.”
“Oh, I see.” Alice sat down. “Well, this isn’t bad, as long as you’re prepared to work hard.”
“Yes, I am. I’d like to be a cook one day.” Beattie fumbled in her skirt pocket for a handkerchief.
“Not that there’s anything wrong with being a kitchen maid,” she added.
Alice observed her quietly.
“Why were you crying?”
“I’ve lost my necklace. It’s not particularly valuable, but it means a lot to me. It belonged to my mother.”
Beattie looked at the floor, hoping to see the locket lying on the thin rug.
“Are you sure that you brought it with you?” Alice questioned.
“I’m positive. I was wearing it over my blouse, just for the journey,” Beattie recounted. “One of the other passengers, an old lady, remarked upon it. She said it looked fetching.”
Beattie frowned as she recalled what had happened.
“There was a boy on the platform. He wasn’t looking where he was going and he knocked me down.
“I wasn’t hurt, but I wonder if my necklace might have fallen off then.”
She sat upright.
“Do you think I might be allowed to go back and look for it?”
“Not right now. I was sent to fetch you to meet the housekeeper and learn your duties,” Alice replied.
“You’ll probably have to wait until your afternoon off.
“If you’re lucky, someone will find it and hand it in to the lost property office.”
Alice sprang off the bed.
“Now get changed into your uniform. We’d better not keep Mrs Andrews waiting.”
Beattie stood up. She wore a plain dress, apron and mob cap.
At least she hadn’t put a hole in her new black stockings when she fell.
“This boy,” Alice murmured thoughtfully, turning her head as they descended the stairs. “Do you think he knocked into you on purpose?
“It might have been a trick. I hear a lot of that goes on at the station.”
It took a moment for Beattie to realise what she was implying.
“You mean he might have stolen my necklace?” she cried.
She followed Alice with a heavy heart, doubting if she’d ever see the boy or her locket again.
And to think she’d even wished him luck!
Percy strutted into the station in his new jacket and a cap emblazoned with the company name.
He was ready for his first day at the book stall.
To his relief, Mr Newton, the manager, had taken on both boys who had applied.
Percy told his father, who worked as a clerk, that his ambition was to one day manage the book stall at a big London terminus.
Euston, perhaps, or Liverpool Street. He wanted to make his parents proud.
Although the hour was early, the station was alive with activity.
The morning papers had arrived and needed to be sorted as fast as possible.
Some would be delivered to customers who lived locally, while others were set out on the counter.
Percy was given a rectangular wicker basket, filled with newspapers and magazines.
Mr Newton showed him how to put the strap over his shoulder.
He instructed him to walk up and down the platform whenever a train came in, calling out the names of the publications for sale.
That was easier said than done, he soon discovered.
Each train’s arrival and departure brought another rush of people.
All he could do was try not to get lifted off his feet and carried along with them.
Percy was terrified that he would drop the coins being thrust at him out of carriage windows or spill his entire load.
In one of the quieter moments, he remembered the girl with the sandy hair and freckles that he had collided with when he came to apply for the position.
He wondered how she was getting on in her new job.
Beattie sat down on her bed, took off her shoes and rubbed her sore feet.
Working in the hot and busy kitchen was tiring and the hours were long.
She’d never seen such marvellous creations. She’d been taught plain cooking in the orphanage.
This was her first afternoon off.
Beattie was so worn out that she was tempted to just lie down on the bed and go to sleep.
But she was still upset by the loss of her locket.
She changed into her own clothes, put on a coat and hat and left the hotel by the staff entrance.
It only took a few minutes to walk to the station.
Beattie went straight to the lost property office and enquired about her necklace.
“It’s a small gold locket on a chain,” she explained.
There’s a photograph of my father inside and an inscription on the back.
“It says ‘To Sarah from Edward’. Sarah was my mother.”
The clerk consulted his ledger then shook his head.
“I’m sorry, miss. Nothing of that description has been handed in.”
Crestfallen, Beattie thanked him and wondered what to do next.
Alice’s theory was starting to sound more plausible, but she couldn’t go to the police without any evidence.
She found herself retracing her steps back to the platform.
She knew the locket was unlikely to still be lying there: the station was cleaned every night.
She walked as far as the book stall.
A boy was changing the contents bills that advertised the headlines in the latest editions.
He stood up and stepped back to admire his own handiwork.
When he turned around, Beattie came face to face with the boy who’d bumped into her.
“You!” she exclaimed.
He seemed equally surprised to see her.
“Good afternoon,” he stammered. “Are you looking for a magazine?”
She looked at him with a suspicious gaze.
“No, I’m looking for a locket. It’s gold with an inscription on the back.
“I might have lost it when you bumped into me the other day. Did you pick it up by chance?”
He furrowed his brow.
“I don’t remember seeing it at all.”
As Beattie continued to stare at him, a look of panic crossed his face.
“Surely you don’t think that I took it? I wouldn’t do a thing like that, I swear!”
A moustachioed man standing at the far end of the counter looked up.
Beattie presumed that he was in charge of the book stall.
“Is everything all right, miss?” he enquired. “Can I help you?”
Beattie hesitated.
She couldn’t accuse the boy without proof, and now she felt that he was probably telling the truth.
After all, he’d hardly have risked something so foolish right by the place where he was going to work.
“Everything is fine,” she assured the man.
The next afternoon, Mr Newton asked Percy to mind the book stall.
“I’m just going to get some change,” he told him. “I won’t be long.”
Pleased to be trusted, Percy stood at the counter.
He was still kicking himself for not asking the girl for her details in case he found her locket.
His first customer was an old lady.
While she was deciding which book she wanted to borrow next, a younger woman in a black coat also came to the book stall.
Out of the corner of his eye, Percy noticed her pick up a new volume.
She turned it over in her hands. They were encased in purple gloves.
He hoped that he could make a sale to this customer.
Having made up her mind, the older lady demanded his attention.
By the time Percy looked around again, the other lady had gone.
He thought no more about it until the end of the day, when Mr Newton was checking the stock.
“We appear to have one volume fewer on the stall than has been accounted for,” he informed the assistant manager.
Percy’s heart began to thump. Was it his fault?
Had the young woman with the purple gloves walked off with it while his attention was diverted?
Mr Newton sighed.
“More pilfering, no doubt. The railway police do their best, but they can’t see everything.”
“I was talking to the station master today about this very problem,” he shared. “We must be on the alert for anything suspicious.”
Feeling guilty, Percy kept quiet.
The rest of the week passed by without further incident.
One day, while they were waiting for the evening papers to arrive, he let his gaze wander.
People were milling around on the platform.
Another young woman was wearing purple gloves, he noticed. Perhaps they were the latest fashion.
Or was it the same woman who had come to the book stall?
She was walking alongside a man that Percy assumed to be her companion.
He watched as she reached to take his arm.
But she slipped her hand inside his jacket and extracted his wallet. The man hadn’t even noticed!
Stop, thief!
Percy cried out, darting forward.
The man realised what had happened.
“Hey, you there!” he called to the woman as she pushed through the crowds. “Help, police!”
Keeping the thief firmly in his sights, Percy heard a whistle blow as he quickened his pace.
He chased after her with the policeman in pursuit.
Out on the station forecourt, a horse took fright as they dashed past the waiting hansom cabs and into the delivery area.
The woman dodged around a pile of wooden crates and disappeared into a narrow tunnel.
Percy and the policeman followed.
Somewhere in the distance, a door slammed.
At the end of the tunnel, Percy emerged into a dimly lit passageway.
He glimpsed a flash of the woman’s skirt as she turned the corner.
Going through a doorway, he found himself inside a large kitchen.
There were cries of “watch out” and the crashing of pans.
Percy skidded into one of the kitchen maids, knocking a dish of boiled potatoes out of her hands.
As the potatoes rolled around on the floor, he blinked to see a familiar freckled face glaring at him.
Standing side by side in the housekeeper’s office, Percy and Beattie didn’t dare look at one another.
While the policeman had arrested the thief, Percy stopped to help Beattie pick up the potatoes.
They now knew a bit more about each other.
Mr Newton was sitting beside Mrs Andrews.
A third chair was occupied by a detective from the railway company’s police force.
Mrs Andrews didn’t look very happy.
“I hope someone can enlighten me as to why such mayhem occurred earlier in the hotel kitchen,” she complained. “For a start, what were you doing there, young man?”
Before Percy could reply, the detective came to his rescue.
“He was helping one of my men to catch a thief,” the officer replied. “She works here in the hotel – a chamber maid by the name of Eliza Smith.”
Mrs Andrews frowned.
“And that’s why you deemed it necessary to search her room?”
“You should both be glad that we did,” the detective remarked. “Judging by what we found, she’s been stealing from the hotel and the book stall as well as the passengers.”
He turned to Beattie.
“I understand one of the stolen items belongs to you. It will be returned to you in due course.
“I suggest you have the catch repaired.”
Then he gave a proud smile to Percy.
“It was your sharp observation and quick thinking that led to the thief’s arrest. I shall recommend a small reward.”
As Mr Newton nodded approvingly, Percy knew exactly what he would do with that reward.
He would buy a new clasp for the chain on Beattie’s locket.
It would be a sign of their new-found friendship.
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