The Case of the Somerville Secret
Page 15
“She wasn’t when I left. She probably went somewhere with one of the other girls.”
“Probably,” said Miss Fizdale. “Though I must say I don’t approve of that—going off without letting anyone at home know. Tell her mother—or yours—to speak very severely to her about it!”
“Yes, Miss Fizdale. I will.”
He left. It was interesting that Miss Fizdale had mentioned his mother as well as Sara’s; interesting but not surprising. Because it was Verna who had made the arrangements for Sara to attend the dancing school, and of course it was she who was paying for it. But where was Sara? Had she gone off with one of the other girls? Or had she gone home by a different route from the one she usually took, so that he had missed her? In any case, she’d undoubtedly be home by the time he got there.
But she wasn’t. Verna looked up from the note she was writing when he came in.
“Well, that was quick,” she said.
“I hurried a bit. Is Sara here?”
“Why, no. Wasn’t she at the school?”
“No. Miss Fizdale said she left at the usual time, about four o’clock. Perhaps she went off with another girl, one of her friends.”
“She wouldn’t have done that without letting her mother know.”
“Maybe she did.”
Verna shook her head. “If she had, Mrs. Wiggins would have said something about it when we told Annie we were going to wait for our tea.” She looked thoughtfully at Andrew and stood up. “I’ll ask her to make sure but, in the meantime, call Fred. I’ll go over to the school with you.”
He nodded, went out and had Fred bring the carriage around. They both looked at Verna when she came out of the house, wearing a hat and pulling on her gloves.
“She didn’t say anything to her mother. Take us to Miss Fizdale’s, Fred.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He shook the reins, started the horses down the driveway.
“Is she worried?” asked Andrew. “Mrs. Wiggins, I mean?”
“Not really. I told her not to be.”
“But you are.”
“A little. This isn’t like Sara.”
“No, it’s not.”
They didn’t tell Fred to hurry, but they didn’t have to. He put the horses into a fast trot, and a few minutes later Andrew was tugging at the bellpull for the second time. Miss Fizdale must have looked out the window when she heard the carriage stop for when the little maid opened the door again her mistress was with her.
“Good afternoon, Miss Tillett,” she said. “Are you here about Sara too?”
“Yes. She’s still not home and she didn’t say anything to her mother about going anywhere. Are you sure she left at the time she usually does?”
“Well, I didn’t actually see her leave myself …”
“I did,” said Miss Caroline who had joined Miss Fizdale again. “And she left when all the other pupils did, just a few minutes after four.”
“Alone?”
“Yes. I came out to get one of the girls who was staying on for some special work with Miss Fizdale—Maria Milanovitch—and Sara was talking to her. When I said Miss Fizdale was waiting for her—Miss Maria, I mean—Sara left.” She was crumpling a handkerchief, dabbing at her mouth with it. “You don’t think anything’s happened to her, do you?”
“Well, we are a little concerned.”
“I’m sure there’s no reason to be,” said Miss Fizdale without much conviction. “I’m sure she’ll turn up very soon.”
“I’m not as sure of that as you are,” said Verna. “But thank you.”
She and Andrew went back down the steps.
“I don’t like this,” said Andrew.
“I don’t either. If I were a proper citizen of our time, believing that this is the best of all possible worlds, I’d say, ‘This is London, center of the empire and a place of law and order. I’m sure nothing has happened to her and I’m not even going to think about it, much less worry about it until … let’s say dinnertime.’ But, as you know, I’m not a proper, average citizen, and I don’t mind creating a disturbance when I think there’s a good reason for it. So—” She stepped into the landau. “Fred, take us to Scotland Yard.”
“Yes, ma’am,” said Fred, and closing the door, he got back into the box, shook the reins and started the horses south toward the Yard.
“Are we going to talk to Inspector Wyatt?”
“Yes. I suppose we could go to the local police, but I believe in going to the top if I can. And besides, he knows Sara.”
“Yes. But it’s getting late. He may not be at the Yard.”
“If he’s not, I’m sure they’ll know where to reach him.”
But apparently Wyatt had not left yet. The desk sergeant wrote Verna’s name on a slip of paper, gave it to a constable and suggested that she and Andrew sit down on the benches on the far side of the reception room. A few moments later Wyatt came down, followed by Sergeant Tucker.
“Hello,” he said. Then after a quick glance at her face, “I gather this isn’t a social call.”
“No. We’re worried about Sara.”
“Oh? What happened?”
Verna told him, and Wyatt listened intently.
“What’s the name of the woman who runs the dancing school?”
“Miss Fizdale.”
“Address?”
She told him, and Sergent Tucker wrote it down in his omnipresent notebook.
“All right. Go home and tell Mrs. Wiggins there’s no reason to be concerned—at least, not yet. The sergeant or I will stop by sometime this evening and let you know if we’ve anything to report.”
“Thank you.”
Mrs. Wiggins was in the sitting room with Verna and Andrew at about ten o’clock that night when Matson opened the door and announced Wyatt. The inspector studied their faces, they studied his, and all of them knew the answer at once. Nevertheless, the questions were asked.
“I gather there’s been no word from her,” said Wyatt.
“No,” said Verna. “Have you found out anything?”
“No. Sergeant Tucker stopped by at the Wellington Road police station, and between us we made enquiries at the local hospitals. She’s not at any of them, and the local police don’t know anything.” Then, as Mrs. Wiggins covered her face and Verna put her arms around her, “I’m not going to say you mustn’t worry, Mrs. Wiggins. I don’t know how you can help it. But I’m sure I don’t have to tell you how I feel about Sara. If it’s humanly possible to find her, get her back safely, we’ll do it.”
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About the Author
Born in New York City, Robert Newman (1909–1988) was among the pioneers of early radio and was chief writer for the Inner Sanctum Mysteries and Murder at Midnight—forerunners of The Twilight Zone that remain cult favorites to this day. In 1944 Newman was put in charge of the radio campaign to reelect Franklin D. Roosevelt. He was also one of the founding members of the Radio Writers Guild, which became the Writers Guild of America.
In 1973 Newman began writing books for children, most notably the Andrew Tillet, Sara Wiggins & Inspector Wyatt mysteries. The series takes place in Victorian London and follows the adventures of two teenage amateur detectives who begin as Baker Street Irregulars. Newman has also written books of fantasy, among them Merlin’s Mistake and The Testing of Tertius. His books based on myths and folklore include Grettir the Strong, and he has published two adult novels.
Newman was married to the writer Dorothy Crayder. Their daughter, Hila Feil, has also published novels for children and young adults. Newman lived his last days in Stonington, Connecticut.
All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the auth
or᾿s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 1981 by Robert Newman
Cover design by Jason Gabbert
ISBN: 978-1-4976-8598-7
This edition published in 2014 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.
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