The Case of the Diamond Shadow

By Sophie Masson

When Daisy Miller accepts an exciting new job in London with the mysterious Mrs Peabody, her old friend George Dale is more than a little jealous. But all is not quite as it seems and Daisy soon realises that there's more to this job than meets the eye.Before long the two friends find themselves in Paris and on the tail of daring jewel thief, the Shadow.Full of the glamour and daring of the 1930s, the Golden era of detective fiction, the Case of the Diamond Shadow will enchant young and older readers alike.

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers Australia
• Release date: May 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781743096512

Sophie Masson

Sophie Masson is the award-winning author of over 60 books, for children, young adults and adults, published in Australia and internationally.

Book preview

Contents

Cover

One

Two

Three

Four

Five

Six

Seven

Eight

Nine

Ten

Eleven

Twelve

Thirteen

Fourteen

Fifteen

Sixteen

Seventeen

Eighteen

Nineteen

Twenty

Twenty-one

Copyright

---

The Shadow requests the pleasure of your presence at a special

command performance of ‘Your Diamonds — Now You See Them,

Now You Don’t!’

WHERE? Your Home.

WHEN? To be advised.

COMING — READY OR NOT!

---

One

‘Look, George.’ Daisy Miller jabbed excitedly at the newspaper spread out on her lap. George Dale looked over her shoulder.

‘You mean the unrest in Germany? It’s really …’

‘No, no,’ said Daisy, impatiently. ‘This!’ She pointed to an advertisement under the news item. ‘What do you think?’ George peered at the ad, which was in rather small print.

Wanted: Competent young typist needed for secretarial work with respectable lady. Should be prepared to travel. Interest in films an advantage. Apply Thursday to Mrs Peabody, Elysian Hotel.

‘Today’s Thursday,’ said Daisy, happily. ‘So, George, what do you think?’

George laughed. ‘I think you want to apply! You know you hate working at Miss Grantley’s Typing Bureau. I don’t blame you,’ he added. ‘She’s a right old dragon.’

Daisy was hardly listening. ‘Interest in films an advantage.’ Her blue eyes widened. ‘Do you think this lady’s a film star?’

George grinned. ‘I can just see a film star advertising in the Charlton Post! Besides, it said respectable lady, didn’t it? What film star could that describe?’

‘Oh, you are silly, George! Maybe she’s a producer — or a director — or something. Who cares? The ad says be prepared to travel. Oh, George! Imagine me in London, Paris, New York!’

‘More likely to be Ludlow, Penzance and Newcastle!’

‘Don’t be such a wet blanket, George. I just know today’s going to be my lucky day.’ She got up, smoothed down her skirt and set her pull-on hat at a becoming angle on her honey-blonde hair. ‘How do I look?’

George glanced at the bright, lively face smiling at him under the hat, and the slim figure in the blue suit and fur-collared coat. ‘You’ll do,’ he said, gruffly.

Daisy smiled to herself. That was about the highest compliment George would ever pay. She looked at her watch. ‘We’ve got about fifteen minutes left of lunch. I’m going to go over to the hotel right now.’

George jumped up and walked along with her. ‘I’d better come. Someone’s got to look out for you. You’d believe what anyone told you.’

Daisy grinned. ‘Listen to the wise old Grandpa. You’re only nine months older than me, George Dale, and don’t you forget it!’

‘Well, I’m seventeen, and you’re only just over sixteen. And you’re a girl. I’ve seen more of the world, being a man,’ proclaimed George, pompously.

Daisy made a very rude face at him. ‘Honestly, George, what rot you talk! This is 1931, you know, not the Dark Ages! Girls are every bit as capable as boys. Anyway, a lot you see of the world, stuck in Miss Grantley’s storeroom! I bet I meet more people than you, in the typists’ room!’

‘But you’ve always got your head stuck in film magazines, mooning over film stars,’ said George, crossly. ‘That’s all dream stuff, fairytales! None of it is real.’

‘And I suppose the things you read in those detective magazines of yours are so much more real,’ Daisy teased. She was referring to the adventures of George’s great hero, the famous private detective Philip Woodley-Foxe, who also wrote a column in the Real Detective Mysteries magazine. ‘I bet he makes most of it up!’

George’s green eyes flashed. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about!’ He rubbed at his ginger hair. ‘I’ll have you know he is the greatest private detective in the world! He worked for years at the Surete in Paris, and at Scotland Yard, and with the New York detectives! Now he’s come back to Britain and opened his new agency, and it’s already famous! Lots of really well-known people have used his services. Plus there are photos, and everything. It’s all true.’ He glared at Daisy’s unrepentant, impish face. ‘Anyway, here we are so you’d better stop saying silly things if you want to impress this Mrs Peabody person.’

The Elysian was the grandest hotel in Charlton Wells, the spa town where Daisy and George lived. At the reception desk, a very superior sort of person, whose hair shone like patent leather, raised his eyebrows at them.

‘Yes? May I help you?’

Under his scrutiny, Daisy was immediately conscious that her smart suit was in fact a cheap imitation of a famous brand, and that her hat was a couple of years old. She coloured. ‘I’m … er … here for Mrs Peabody. I mean, for the job. It said to come here …’

‘Whom shall I say is calling?’

‘Er … my name’s Miller, Daisy Miller. I’m from Miss Grantley’s Typing Bureau.’

The superior person turned to an underling. ‘Call through to Mrs Peabody’s suite. Tell her a young person named Miss Miller, from a typing bureau, is here, about the job.’ He turned back to them. ‘Please take a seat in the lounge.’ He looked haughtily at George. ‘You may wait there, sir, till your friend returns.’

‘As if he’s doing me a big favour,’ said George to Daisy, later, when they were sitting in the lounge. ‘Look at him, still watching us as if we’re going to make off with the silver or something. Can’t stand that sort of person!’

‘Mmm,’ said Daisy, absently. ‘I wonder if …’

‘Miss Miller?’ They turned. A rather grim-faced woman, dressed all in black, was standing behind them.

Daisy’s heart sank. Was this Mrs Peabody? She looked worse than Miss Grantley! ‘Er … yes, I’m Daisy Miller.’

‘I am Irene Taylor, Mrs Peabody’s personal assistant.’ Her grey eyes narrowed. ‘You are very young.’

‘Oh, not so young,’ said Daisy, hastily. ‘And very, very competent.’

‘We’ll leave that to Mrs Peabody to decide, shall we?’ said the maid, tartly. ‘You had better come up, then, Miss Miller.’

‘Good luck,’ George mouthed at Daisy’s retreating back, before settling down to read the newspaper.

Two

Mrs Peabody was staying in the Elysian’s best suite which was on the second floor. The sitting-room into which Daisy was ushered was bigger than two rooms in her own house, and lavishly decorated in white and gold. Irene Taylor waved Daisy towards a sofa. ‘Wait here, please.’

Left alone, Daisy picked up a magazine from the coffee table. It was Stars and Pictures, a film-fan weekly she often read. Daisy leafed through it. Oh! There was a new Frankenstein movie coming out. Daisy shuddered. She and George had seen Dracula a few months earlier and she had been scared stiff. George, of course, had claimed he hadn’t been frightened at all, but she knew that was bunk, she’d seen how pale he was when they filed out of the cinema! Daisy was engrossed in a story about the young film star Olivia Marlow, who’d been given the famous Blue Moon Diamond by her lover, the Prince of Luxenstein, when the door opened abruptly and a loud voice said, in an Australian accent, ‘So you’re the girl who’s come about the job, eh?’

Startled, Daisy dropped the magazine. She stared. She couldn’t help it. The woman who stood in the doorway was short and round as a butterball, and dressed entirely in green — a fashionable but ugly green silk pyjama suit, green slippers, a long string of green beads, and green-rimmed dark glasses. She was heavily made-up and on top of her bobbed red hair sat a kind of green turban. Peabody by name, peabody by nature, thought Daisy, with an inward giggle. She looks just like a big fat green pea bursting out of its pod!

‘Well? Are you going to answer, girl? Or looking to catch flies, with that open mouth of yours?’ snapped Mrs Peabody.

Daisy swallowed. ‘Sorry … Mrs Peabody, yes, I’ve come about the job, my name is Daisy Miller, and I …’

‘Oh, stop fussing. Come over here, let me see you properly.’

Nervously, Daisy went closer.

‘Hmm. Nicely turned-out, even if your outfit is not the best quality. Can’t afford better, eh?’

Daisy turned scarlet. ‘Mrs Peabody, I …’

‘No shame in that. Started out modestly meself. Married into money, ha-ha, would recommend that to any young girl on the up and up. Now then, how fast’s your typing, girl?’

‘Fifty words a minute, Mrs Peabody. Miss Grantley says that I …’

‘Miss Grantley?’

‘She’s my … er … my boss. She owns a typing bureau in town. Miss Grantley’s Typing Bureau, it’s called.’

‘Most original name,’ observed Mrs Peabody.

‘It’s not far from here, in Short Street. I can get a reference from her.’ For the first time, Daisy’s mind flashed to what Miss Grantley might say. Well, too bad. She’d cross that bridge when she came to it.

‘Why do you want to leave?’

‘Um … I would like to … to have a change, and …’

‘Why?’

This was not going at all the way Daisy had imagined. She faltered, ‘The advertisement … it spoke of travel, and … and being interested in films … I love films … and I thought it sounded exciting, and …’

Mrs Peabody cut her off. ‘What’s your family like?’

Daisy stared. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I mean, are your parents poor? Do you have dependent brothers or sisters? You’re very young, aren’t you? And you’re well-spoken. So why aren’t you still at school?’

Daisy blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘I am not that young. I am over sixteen,’ she said stifflly. ‘I don’t have any brothers or sisters. I live with my mother. She is an Australian by birth, like you, Mrs Peabody, and …’

‘Where from?’ asked Mrs Peabody, sharply.

‘Melbourne, ma’am. She …’

‘Ha! I’m a Sydneysider myself. Well then, go on with your story! When did she come to this fair country?’

Daisy felt annoyed. How impatient Mrs Peabody was! But she went on politely. ‘She came to England when she was eighteen, on a trip with her aunt … and then met my father and stayed.’

‘Ha!’ said Mrs Peabody again. ‘A pretty story, that.’

Daisy rushed on, ‘Right now, Mother works in Gabriela’s, in High Street. And I’ve been working for a year now, since Miss Grantley took me on as a trainee. My father’s dead, you see, and we lost all our money in the stock market crash two years ago so we …’

Mrs Peabody peered at Daisy. ‘So you have to earn your living. Good. I don’t want a spoilt miss who doesn’t know what work is. What will your mother say if you go away?’ Daisy wished Mrs Peabody would take off her glasses. It made her nervous to be stared at by a pair of blank dark lenses. ‘Go away, Mrs Peabody? To Australia?’

‘No, no, no. But I have business in London directly, and I travel a good deal. You have to be prepared to cut the apron strings, if you want to work for me.’

Something thickened in Daisy’s throat. She thought of her mother’s plans and dreams for her. ‘I think my mother would be happy for me,’ she said, softly. ‘But I …’

‘I’m compiling a book,’ interruped Mrs Peabody. Her tone became warm, almost confiding. ‘Not my choice, you understand. It’s a vow I made to my late husband on his death bed. My husband owned a very successful jewellery business with branches in Sydney, Melbourne and London, which is why we travelled here a lot. But his heart wasn’t in it. That was in films. Well! Over the years, he made hundreds and thousands of notes about motion pictures. He even managed to interview a few visiting film stars. There are at least thirty scrapbooks. I promised him I’d sort through them and compile a proper book. Trouble is, I have very little interest in the film world. And I type like a tortoise! Alfred’s been dead these five years and I’ve settled in England now, like your mother. But I’ve never found a satisfactory typist to help me carry out my vow, though God knows I’ve tried.’ She peered at Daisy. ‘You look like you might do. You’re young. You can be taught. And you’re a film fan. You won’t get bored, like the others. I’ll check out that reference of yours, mind!’

Daisy was bewildered, but said, gamely, ‘The book … it … er … it sounds very interesting indeed.’

‘Rather you than me,’ said Mrs Peabody. ‘Now, I’m a rich woman, Miss Daisy Miller. Very rich