by Kirby Larson
Audie cleared her throat, attempting to send a mental message to the world-famous magician.
“I meant, I wonder,” Houdini continued, “if the young ladies would do me the honor of their presence at my home. Mrs. Houdini promises a lovely tea.”
Audie slipped her arm through Bimmy’s and then addressed Cypher. “Shall we go? All this commotion has me absolutely famished.”
Mr. Houdini gathered them all into his grand parlor at West 113th Street. A fire crackled in the fireplace, and Mrs. Houdini—“Call me Bess!”—had set out plates of small sandwiches and cookies. Audie sampled one of each, sharing bites with Bobby and Min.
“So, my darling,” Mrs. Houdini, Bess, began. “Your grand illusion was even grander than initially planned.” She patted her lap and Bobby leapt into it. She did not seem to mind the tan hairs the dog was shedding all over her black velveteen skirt.
“I guess I’m more powerful than even I imagined.” Mr. Houdini threw his head back and barked a laugh. “I have apparently disappeared an assistant elephant keeper, a scientific genius, and one young elephant.”
Audie attempted to hide her reaction to this observation by reaching for a dainty chintz teacup and sipping thoughtfully.
“Do they need finding?” Cypher cast a curious glance Audie’s way. “I have an idea of where I might start.”
Audie coughed.
“No, no.” Houdini shook his leonine head. “No need.”
Audie could not help but admire the way the flames reflected off the magician’s dark, wavy hair.
He continued. “After all, Helmut was provided with funds sufficient to compensate the Shuberts for their investment in Baby.” Though he would never speak this thought aloud, Houdini did not think it a coincidence that the envelope had contained fifteen hundred dollars, the exact amount he had paid Theo Quinn for designing the Vanishing Elephant illusion.
“And do the Shuberts feel adequately reimbursed?” Cypher inquired.
“They have been overcome with remorse about purchasing the baby elephant in the first place,” Houdini said. “Though such a change of heart seems quite unlike them.”
Min paused in her toilette and mer-rowed. Audie had a fairly clear notion of the source of the Shuberts’ changes of heart. “Good puss,” she said, sharing a chunk of Jarlsberg with Min.
“Still,” said Cypher, “there are many mysteries yet unsolved with this case.” He wasn’t sure how Mr. Pinkerton was going to react.
“Mysteries are the essence of life!” Houdini smiled warmly at Audie, who, though deeply familiar with the details of the case of the vanishing baby elephant, was as yet unaware of an important bit of information.
There had been a third envelope left behind. Mysteriously, magically, Houdini had found it tucked under Bobby’s collar. The enclosed letter vowed to take certain secrets to the grave, as long as its writer was allowed to start a new life. Said letter had been signed with initials only: TQ.
“It would be such a relief if the Shuberts didn’t get another one,” Bimmy said. “Elephant, I mean.”
Audie had engaged in quite the stern discourse with herself on this very topic. Saving Baby would not prevent the capture and mistreatment of other elephants. But one had to start somewhere, didn’t one? “Wouldn’t it be wonderful if all wild creatures were allowed to remain wild?”
“Our little friend is quite the philosopher,” Houdini commented to Cypher.
“Oh, but I am very poorly read on that topic,” Audie demurred. “I promise that philosophy shall be one of the first subjects I study when I arrive home.” Home. The word was as sweet on her lips as one of Beatrice’s canelés. New York had proved a thrilling adventure, but now that Baby was safe, and their other mission successfully, though unconventionally, discharged, her thoughts turned toward Miss Maisie’s School and her fellow Waywards.
“We’ll start for Swayzee soon.” Cypher seemed to grasp Audie’s longing.
“I hope not too soon,” Houdini said. “I’m treating you all to front-row seats at tomorrow night’s show.” The mahogany grandfather clock chimed the hour of midnight. “Or rather, this evening’s show.”
“Might we take a rain check on that kind offer?” Audie enjoyed the combined look of surprise and dismay on Bimmy’s face. She could almost read her friend’s mind: Are you mad? How could you turn down such an invitation?
“I thought we weren’t to leave for another day.” Bimmy found herself feeling quite peevish at her dear friend. After all, when again in their Wayward lives would they have the opportunity to see the great Houdini perform? And front-row seats at that.
Audie pressed her lips together, barely able to keep the good news to herself any longer. “That is true. But you have plans. Other plans. Pressing plans.”
“I do?” Bimmy looked completely bewildered.
Cypher stifled a yawn. “We must take our leave.”
Audie rose from her seat. “Thank you so much for the tour of your lovely home and for the delicious hors d’oeuvres.” She curtsied to the Houdinis. Harry and Bess. And Bobby.
Cypher and Bimmy also expressed their gratitude for the Houdini hospitality.
“I can’t thank you all enough.” Mr. Houdini reached for Bimmy’s ear. “Why, look what I’ve found!” A small blue box appeared in his hand. He repeated the same feat with Audie. Upon opening the boxes, the girls discovered tiny sterling silver keys, imprinted on each stem with T & Co. in delicate script. Each key dangling from a glittering silver chain. Mr. Houdini winked. “A souvenir to remind you of the Greatest Escape Artist in the World.”
“As if we could ever forget you!” Audie promptly donned the sweet souvenir from Mr. Tiffany’s store.
Bimmy hesitated. Around her neck was hanging the locket given her by her mother, a memento of the first time she’d performed in the Family Dove act, sans net. It was a treasure she never, ever removed, not even while bathing. Bimmy dreaded offending the great magician so she lifted the chain from the blue box. It was shorter than Audie’s. “A bracelet,” she exclaimed, doubly grateful.
“A magician is trained to notice things.” Mr. Houdini bowed.
Bimmy kissed his cheek. She would never forget this kindness.
As coats were gathered and movements made toward leaving, Bobby hopped down from Mrs. Houdini’s lap. Bess opened her arms and gave each girl a hug. “You’ve always a place to stay when you come to New York,” she whispered in Audie’s ear. “You and your friend. You and any of your friends.”
Arm in arm, the Houdinis escorted their guests to the front door. “And now for my final trick of the evening!” Houdini waved his handkerchief. “I will make three lovely people disappear!”
Audie glanced down the hall behind the magician. “Three people and one cat,” she added, smiling as Min led Bobby on a scrabbling chase through the house. She had no worries for Min’s safety, though she was fretful about Bobby’s pride.
The next evening, Cypher opened the door so the girls could exit the taxicab. “Here we are,” he said.
“But where is here?” Bimmy stepped onto the sidewalk. “And why?”
“Be patient.” Audie took Bimmy’s hand and led her through the front door of the Hotel Belleclaire and into the toasty-warm lobby, bustling with an assortment of performers from a very particular circus brought across the Atlantic to celebrate the birthday of one of John D. Rockefeller’s grandchildren. The tyke was mad for the big top, and Mr. Rockefeller was mad to keep his grandchildren happy. The expense of transporting the circus and a goodly portion of its performers for one night’s entertainment was nothing to the richest man in the world.
In the lobby, the air was charged with anticipation, as if something grand was in the works, something more than a birthday party.
Bimmy’s face was a question mark for a full minute as she stood at the edge of the crowded room. Then two figures gracefully stepped through the archway from the elevators.
“Mama!” She flew to the first of the figures. �
�Papa!”
Audie’s joy for her friend leaked out both eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Dove could not stop hugging and kissing their beloved daughter. Audie was completely satisfied. All the subterfuge had been worthwhile, even though Bimmy and her mother and father would have but one evening together. It was heartwarming to see them all so happy. To see Bimmy so happy. Our Audie was such a gracious soul that she didn’t for a moment begrudge Bimmy what she herself would never have: a family reunion. After a glance at Cypher, Audie removed a second handkerchief from her pocket. “It looks like you could use this,” she said.
“This city is so dirty.” He dabbed at his eyes. “All that ash and soot.”
They watched the tender scene a few moments more.
“Shall we leave them to get reacquainted?” Audie suggested. “I’m famished.” She led the way back to the waiting cab and provided the driver with directions she’d gleaned from a certain steely-eyed purveyor of pickles. The long and bumpy ride was well worth the look on Cypher’s face when he opened the door to an out-of-the-way and uniquely ethnic restaurant and was ambushed by the scents of cardamom and turmeric and ginger.
The owner greeted them warmly in Farsi. Cypher beamed as they were led to a table in a quiet corner.
After their lovely many-coursed meal—Audie was particularly fond of the morgh polou—and on the cab ride to pick up Bimmy, Cypher thanked Audie over and over for finding the Persian restaurant.
“It was lovely, wasn’t it?” she asked. “Though I think I do prefer Beatrice’s baghlava.” She sighed. “I can’t wait to get home to her. Can you?”
Cypher made no answer, and it was too dark for Audie to see him blush.
Audie entertained Miss Maisie, Beatrice, Cook, and the Waywards with a card trick Mr. Houdini had taught her. They were most amazed at her ability to predict which card they selected.
“Why would anyone ever need to travel to town to see a show?” exclaimed Cook. “Not when our own Audie can prestidigitate with the best of them!”
“Mais oui!” agreed Beatrice.
Audie decided not to dash their illusions about her talents by revealing the secrets she’d learned from the great magician.
“And don’t forget Bimmy’s juggling prowess,” Violet added.
“Say, maybe we could put on a variety show of our own.” Audie shuffled the deck of cards. “Raise money for a good cause.”
“Our chocolate supply is running low,” Miss Maisie commented. “That would be a good cause.”
“Or maybe the Circus Orphans Society,” suggested Audie, tactfully refraining from any comment on Miss Maisie’s self-concern.
“Charity begins at home.” Miss Maisie pressed her point while fiddling with the butterfly brooch pinned to her bodice.
“I like the idea of helping the Circus Orphans,” said Bimmy.
“You would,” Divinity interjected before popping a madeleine into her mouth. She chewed and swallowed. “Actually, I like the idea of helping the Circus Orphans, too.”
“That’s the spirit!” Audie encouraged. Divinity’s actions had certainly revealed that old dogs could learn new tricks. But Audie, Bimmy, and the triplets had been sworn to secrecy; they were never to reveal a word about Divinity’s generous gift. It seemed a shame, but Audie would honor the eldest Wayward’s wishes.
At that moment, the bonging of chimes reached them from the front hall. “We’ll answer it,” the triplets called. Violet, the spunkiest of the three, reached the door first and pulled it open.
A complete stranger stood there. A complete stranger, yet someone whose face was familiar to each of the triplets, it having been featured prominently in many national newspapers.
It took Violet an instant to put two and two together. She whispered in Lilac’s ear, who whispered in Lavender’s, who, upon hearing, skidded down the great hall back to the kitchen.
“Audie!” she called, barely able to contain her excitement. “There’s someone here to see you.”
Had I known that the terrific folks at Scholastic would want a second story about Audacity Jones, I would never have ended the first book where I did, implying that the world-famous magician Harry Houdini would be part of Audie’s next adventure. Let this be a lesson to you: Always do your research! You see, Audacity Jones to the Rescue is set in the first month of 1910. It would seem logical that her next story would take place shortly after that. However, 1910 found our dear Mr. Houdini pursuing his passion for aviation … in Australia. I was sick at heart when I realized this, as there seemed no feasible way to get Audie down under. Further, today’s kids, if they know Houdini at all, know him as an escape artist, not an aviator. All was lost.
But as Audie herself says, “If it’s not splendid, it’s not the end.” After I panicked and cried on her shoulder, my gifted editor, Lisa Sandell, suggested giving myself permission to turn down the volume on the history portion of Audie’s escapades. It was brilliant advice, freeing me to focus on fun rather than facts. To borrow from Harry himself, “My brain is the key that sets me free.”
I allowed my imagination to be the key to unlock the story you’re holding in your hand. You will notice there are no dates mentioned, though I am imagining 1910 New York City, with its pushcarts, the Sixth Avenue El, and the Hippodrome. These are all elements of that time period’s scenery, as were the Hotel Evelyn (which truly was where many vaudevillians stayed) and the Hotel Belleclaire.
A bit about vaudeville: While motion pictures did lead to the virtual demise of this form of entertainment, much silver-screen talent was drawn from vaudeville’s stage. Archibald Leach actually was part of an English comic acrobatic team, though he is better known by his stage name, Cary Grant. You may not recognize any of these names, but I bet your grandparents will: Charlie Chaplin, Ed Wynn, and Bert Lahr (the Cowardly Lion in the 1939 film The Wizard of Oz) are all movie stars who got their beginnings in vaudeville. Though the world of theater did in many ways reflect societal attitudes, I like to think that Bimmy would have been welcomed at the Hippodrome, a place where one’s abilities were what counted, not race, religion, or sex. That belief stems from my research, exemplified by an anecdote from No Applause—Just Throw Money: The Book that Made Vaudeville Famous by Trav S.D., which reports that when, in 1911, the entire cast of Ziegfeld Follies threatened to walk out rather than appear with the African-American performer Bert Williams, Flo Ziegfeld reportedly said, “Go if you want to. I can replace every one of you, except the man you want me to fire” (page 11).
It’s hard to imagine making an elephant disappear. But Harry Houdini really did accomplish that feat, at least once. I couldn’t verify if he performed the illusion more times than that; reports vary. But I was able to confirm that he had help from fellow illusionist Charles Morritt, an Englishman who had created a successful vanishing donkey illusion. When Houdini was seeking a respite from his physically demanding escape tricks, he looked Morritt up and they concocted a plan to vanish an even larger creature. Morritt evidently designed the illusion, which was first performed at the Hippodrome on January 7, 1918. Houdini did indeed make Jennie disappear, but the audience was not as enthralled as I describe in Chapter Thirty. This was mainly because the theater was so enormous, very few people could see what was happening. But Jennie did vanish that evening (temporarily). And though both men took the secrets of this trick to their graves, Jim Steinmeyer has written a fascinating book on the topic, Hiding the Elephant.
Since this is my story (and Audie’s!) to tell, I decided to replace Charles Morritt with my own scientifically inclined assistant to the great Houdini, Theodora Quinn. I created her as a way to honor the many women who have contributed to all facets of the arts and sciences, but have never received recognition for their efforts.
And, finally: Captive baby elephants were called punks in this time period, and training techniques were cruel. To my knowledge, there were no elephant sanctuaries in the United States in the 1900s. But I wish there had been. A portion of my author’s royalties for this
book will be donated to The Elephant Sanctuary in Hohenwald, Tennessee.
Most of my adventures take place on the page, and none of them would happen without some wonderful and generous people. My cousin Shawn O’Donnell, amateur magician and restaurateur extraordinaire, opened his magic library to me, sharing wonderful tomes, old and new, including the book on sleight of hand that Audie takes on her journey. The Bowery Boys (www.boweryboyshistory.com) transported me to the New York of the early 1900s; beware of tuning in to their podcasts because they are extremely addictive. Silver Sister Jennifer Holm jumped in to help with some New York City historical research, as did Pamela Ryan and Laurel Snyder (I think they may have been procrastinating instead of writing).
I am blessed with a family that makes me laugh and brings unending joy. Esme, Audrey, Eli, and babies-to-be remind me what it’s like to be a kid, and also remind me to take time to act like one once in a while (who ever thought Grandma Kirby would go to a video arcade?). I am one lucky mom to have Quinn and Matt, Tyler and Nicole in my life; thanks, all. And Neil: I owe you big time for everything, including all the Winston-sitting.
I am grateful to be part of a talented and caring community of writers, without whom I would lose heart. Special thanks to Karen Cushman, Mary Nethery, and the Butterfly Sisters (Susan Hill Long, Barbara O’Connor, and Augusta Scattergood). Fist bump.
I have gotten my agent, Jill Grinberg, into so many tight corners, yet she does nothing but smile and say it will all work out; she may have inspired Audie’s basic life philosophy. Katelyn Detweler, Cheryl Pientka, and Denise St. Pierre all have Jill’s back and thus mine. Special thanks to Eva Beller, Jill’s mother-in-law, for help with the Yiddish words.
My Scholastic family supports me in so many ways; I can’t believe my luck. Huge thanks to: Jennifer Abbots, Julie Amitie, Lori Benton, Ellie Berger, Bess Braswell, Michelle Campbell, Caitlin Friedman, Antonio Gonzalez, Rachel Feld, Emily Heddleson, Lindsey Johnson, David Levithan, Christine Reedy, Dick Robinson, Lizette Serrano, Tracy van Straaten; Olivia Valcarce; Alan Boyko, Janet Speakman, Robin Hoffman, and the whole Book Fair gang. Thank you, Carol Ly and Brandon Dorman, for another irresistible cover. And my darling editor, Lisa Sandell, deserves an unending supply of chocolate and adult beverages for putting up with me.