Chapter 7

That evening, just as Mr. Pike was locking up, the Earl came back to the hat shop. Lucy was alone at the counter, putting away ribbons."Miss Ward. May I show you something?"He put his hand into his coat and took out a tiny gray mitten. It was old. It was worn so thin you could see light through it. It was so small that it fit in the middle of his palm."I told you I grew up in a home for children," he said. "I did not tell you which one. It was St. Anne's, here in Millbrook, at the end of this street."Lucy held on to the counter."They called me Harry then. Just Harry. No other name. The winter I was eight, I was very ill. A fever and a bad chest. The doctor said I would not see Christmas. And one morning, a parcel was on the step, and in it were these, made just my size."He turned the little mitten over. Inside the cuff, in faded blue, was a star: five points, one point longer than the others."I wore them day and night. I would not take them off," he said. "I held on to them like they were a hand. And I lived." He looked up at her. "Two years later, a lawyer came and told me I was the lost grandson of an earl. I was taken away to a big cold house and taught to bow and taught to talk like a lord. But I kept these. I have carried this one every day for twenty-five years. And this autumn, I heard that the Blue Star had come back to Millbrook." His voice went very low. "I want to know who saved my life. Do you know, Miss Ward? Do you know who she is?"Lucy could not speak. She knew that star. She knew it better than her own face: it was her mother's star.She opened her mouth, and then she shut it. Because what could she say? That she, the girl from the hat shop, was the Blue Star? The richest lady in town had already said it. Who would believe a shopgirl over Mrs. Pratt? They would say she was lying to catch an earl. They would laugh. And worse, he might think so too."I think," she said at last, very softly, "that whoever she was, she did not want to be found, my lord. I think she only wanted you to be warm."He looked at her for a long time. Then he put the mitten back in his coat. "Good night, Miss Ward."When he was gone, Lucy climbed the stairs to her room. She did not light the candle. She knelt down by her bed and pulled out an old wooden box: her mother's sewing box. Inside were her mother's needles and her thimble and a little black notebook. Lucy had not opened it since the day her mother died. She opened it now with shaking hands by the light from the window.

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