The Truth About Verity Sparks Read Free

confidential inquiry agent, and Lady Throttle has called me here today, in great distress.” He paused, and she let out a long, shuddering sob. “Let me take down a few details.” He whipped a little notebook and a pencil from his top pocket.
    “Your name?”
    “Verity Sparks, sir.”
    “The name Verity,” he said, looking down at me all serious and stern, “comes from the Latin
veritas
, and it means ‘truth’. I hope you intend to be truthful, Verity?”
    “Yes, sir,” I said. Pompous ass, I thought.
    “Your age and employment?”
    “Thirteen, sir. I’m an apprentice trimmer at Madame Louisette’s.”
    “Who are your parents?”
    “Thomas and Elizabeth Sparks, sir.”
    “Where do they live?”
    “They’re dead, sir.”
    “We don’t need her pedigree,” interrupted Lady Throttle. “Search her.”
    “Just a few more questions.” He turned back to me. “After your parents died, where and with whom did you reside?”
    “Beg pardon, sir?”
    “Who took you in?”
    “Auntie Sarah and Uncle Bill.”
    “Tell me about your uncle and aunt, Verity.”
    “They run a used-clothes stall. Auntie Sarah couldn’t keep me, and so I got apprenticed to Madam Louisette.”
    “When did you last see them?”
    “Christmas time, sir.” Only for a few minutes though. Auntie Sarah had a black eye, and that meant Uncle Bill was back on the grog. I didn’t want to cause any trouble, so I’d given her a quick kiss and gone away.
    Lady Throttle stamped her foot, and Mr Plush turned to her. “There is method in my questioning, as you will see. What is your uncle’s name?”
    Oh, no, I thought. So this is where Mr Plush was leading. “Bill – I mean William – Bird, sir.”
    “Aha!” Mr Plush got out another notebook and flipped through the pages till he found what he was after. “Just as I thought,” he said. “Are you aware, Verity, that he is a notorious fence?”
    Lady Throttle was wide-eyed. “A fence? Whatever do you mean, Mr Plush?”
    I tried to look as blank as a sheet of paper, but I knew. We used to have visitors, lots of them, coming at all hours with parcels and packages for Uncle Bill. Money changed hands, no questions asked, and then they’d go away. So I knew about Uncle Bill all right, but I wasn’t going to tell Mr Saddington Plush.
    “No, sir,” I lied. “He’s an honest man, he is. He’s no fence.”
    “Fence is thieves’ slang for a receiver of stolen goods, Lady Throttle,” he explained.
    “Stolen goods.” Lady Throttle was shrill. “A rookery of thieves! A den of criminals! Thank God we were not all murdered.” She shot me a glance that’d poison a snake. “It is all clear to me now.”
    “Verity Sparks, I propose to you that you have stolen Lady Throttle’s brooch, with the intention of passing it on to your uncle, the notorious fence, William Bird. What do you say to that?”
    “I say I haven’t done it, sir.” I tried to speak loud and strong, but I felt like a rat in a trap, and it came out as a whisper. They’re fitting me up, good and proper, I thought.
Who done it?
That bony old maid, Crewel? I stole a glance at her, and she met my eye, cold as an icicle. Then again that little smirk. Something was going on.
    My fingers began to itch. It was annoying, and I rubbed them together, but it only got worse. They were stinging now, worse than a wasp bite. What was wrong with them? Lady Throttle was saying something but I couldn’t hear what it was. The only thing I could think of was my itchy fingers, and then …
    “The brooch is in Lady Throttle’s purse,” I gasped. All eyes turned to the embroidered bag on her bureau.
    Lady Throttle almost fell off her chair. “What nonsense.”
    “It is,” I insisted. In a flash I’d seen it, clear as day.
    Mr Plush turned to Crewel. “May I have Lady Throttle’s purse, please?”
    “You may have no such thing, Mr Plush!” Lady Throttle was red in the face. “This creature is simply trying to delay the