by Van Reid
The door to the tavern room opened, startling Winnie, and Percy Beal poked his head in. “I’ve got Fuzz’s beer,” he said, looking around for the man. From outside somewhere there came the doleful sound of Hankie’s nose.
“Fuzz is gone,” said Winnie. “Give it here.”
25. The Fateful Reinforcement of the Family Spark
On Friday night, the twenty-eighth day of May 1897, the regular patrons of the Faithful Mermaid were in the tavern room—among them, tall Jefford Paisley, whose ham-sized fists were blessedly attached to an amiable nature and whose often glowering features masked a placid temperament; retired Captains Broad and Huffle, whose combined trove of lore and fable regarding their adventures among the coasters would exhaust volumes; the Todd brothers Tom and Patrick (who weren’t related) and Catcher Gowdy, all three of whom worked the west docks; and Emry Pinbrock, who ran the mail stage from Portland to Portsmouth. There were others besides and a small cadre of respectable laundrywomen nursing small beer in the corner. The tavern room was cheery with friendly voices.
That evening, the older members of the Spark family were at their customary chores. Mother was in the kitchen with Minerva rolling biscuits for tomorrow’s breakfast. Betty and Annabelle were seeing to customers while Davey poured the beer and ale and stout. Timothy was overdue, and Bobby, who had been sent to look for Timothy, was nearing a similar state of absence. Thaddeus paced about abstracted by worry.
Thaddeus himself had come from a large and largely unstructured family; he had been a fairly autonomous soul by the time he was seven or eight. He knew some of what his boys were up to and didn’t know if he wanted to know the rest. Portland was not a very dangerous place for a kid who kept his brains about him and looked before he leaped, but things did happen, and Thaddeus was fretting some. He went to one of the front windows of the Faithful Mermaid and frowned at his own reflection. It was seven minutes before the hour of eleven, as we have reason to know.
“That’ll be the boys,” said Thaddeus with some relief at the sound of the backdoor and Mabel crying, “Watch your dirty feet in my kitchen!,” then, “Good gracious sakes alive! I thought you were Thaddeus!”
Thaddeus keened an ear. A different sort of commotion rose from the kitchen. There was the voice—the rumble, really—of a grown man, and Mother sounding uncertain as she asked a question. Thaddeus exchanged glances with Davey as he moved to the back of the tavern. The kitchen door swung open suddenly, almost striking him, and his middle son, Bobby, almost ran into his father’s arms.
“Whoa there, Newt! You’re heading for the woodpile!” declared the father with a short laugh.
Bobby came almost to Thaddeus’s shoulders. His face was red with exertion and excitement, and he held his father at arm’s length and spewed forth a torrent of words, all resolved to catch Thaddeus with the same agitation. “You told Timothy to watch Mr. Thump and he and Mailon have gone and saved him and his friends from Winnie Peel’s and I found them following Mr. Thump and I went over with them and we got Mr. Thump and his friends down through Hemple’s kitchen and Fuzz Hadley and his boys came within a fleabite of catching us—!”
“What?” said the father in his high-pitched voice. His voice, in fact, had almost left him at the thought of Fuzz Hadley within thirty yards of his boys. “What?” Thaddeus picked his son up and set him aside, then barreled past the door into the kitchen. “Timothy!” he almost shouted. “I told you to keep an eye on the man, but I thought you knew enough not to—”
Thaddeus fell silent. Minerva stood with a rolling pin poised over tomorrow’s biscuit dough, and Mother, with flour up to her elbows, had her hands on her hips; they peered from Thaddeus to one of the men standing at the back of the room. Timothy looked more delighted than daunted, and, behind him, Mr. Thump and two other gentlemen (by their clothes, if not the state of their clothes) looked only daunted and dazed. Mailon, somehow, had gotten himself inside Mrs. Spark’s kitchen.
“Jumping Jehoshaphat!” said Thaddeus. “What’s been happening?” The three gentlemen jumped at the sound of his voice. Their clothes were spattered with mud, and even torn in places, and they hadn’t a hat among them. “Good Godfrey! You gentlemen look like three weeks and a gale.”
Thump and his companions were visibly shocked to hear it.
“I did what you told me, Daddy,” said Timothy before anyone else could speak (and, in fact, everyone else seemed speechless).
“And what’s this about Wmnie Peel?” said the father. He glanced to his wife; she would not be happy to have that woman’s name invoked in her kitchen.
“They were upstairs already,” explained Timothy, pointing at the men behind him, “the three of them, and Bobby went over to Hemple’s and snuck up the balcony. Fuzz and his gang were on their way, so I climbed up the back shed at Winnie’s and got round to the window.”
“Timothy!” said his horrified mother.
“Why didn’t you come and get me?” demanded the father.
“There wasn’t time. Bobby and Mail on were with me,” finished Timothy, as if this answered for everything.
“However did you get them out?” wondered Betty, who had come into the kitchen with Davey and Annabelle.
“I took them over the roofs,” explained Timothy, “down through Hemple’s, and Bobby and I led them out the alley, through Missie Burns’s, and roundabout from there to shake Fuzz’s gang.”
“Well, there,” said Mr. Spark, looking pale. “‘All’s well that ends,’ they say.” His wife looked as if she considered the situation neither ended, nor all well, and that she would have plenty to say before long. Thaddeus scratched the top of his head. “Well, Mr. Thump—” he said.
“Thump?” said Mrs. Spark.
“It was a close thing, from the sound,” said Thaddeus, “Winnie Peel has a reputation for luring men to her rooms, where Fuzz Hadley waits for them. They’re likely to be found down on the wharf, those men, next morning, in a heap with a headache and not their wallet, if you see what I mean, and not many a man will go to the cops to tell them where he’s been.”
Thump did not entirely appear to see what Thaddeus meant.
“Mr. Thump?” said Mabel Spark again. Though she had never met the man, she held him in great esteem for having rescued her Uncle Gillie from a life in prison, but she was struck with disappointment to hear of his patronizing an establishment like Winnie Peel’s.
“I beg your pardon,” said Joseph Thump, and he introduced himself and his friends to the woman of the house. “We are the Moosepath League.”
“Well,” said Mabel, instead of “Hello” or “Glad to meet you.” She suspected that Messrs. Ephram and Eagleton had led the good Mr. Thump astray and declined to shake their hands.
“When Timothy and I visited you this morning, Mr. Thump,” said Thaddeus, “I couldn’t have guessed that we’d venture to reciprocate before the day was out. I don’t care to have my boys over there to Danforth Street, but I’m glad everyone is back in one piece.”
“We are very grateful, sir,” said Thump. “And what an extraordinary thing that your son was at the window!” It seemed a terrific coincidence.
“And this little fellow,” said Ephram. He indicated Mailon, who would liked to have gone unnoticed. No one made him go outside, however.
“It was a curious business,” Eagleton was saying.
“Clearly those rough fellows were attempting to get between us and our purpose, Mr. Spark,” said Ephram. The family was astonished that he would mention such purposes before them. Mabel Spark made a choking sort of noise.
“Yes,” said Thaddeus, and, red to the ears, he looked at his feet. His wife would have a conniption fit.
“How were you all climbing out the same window?” began Annabelle indelicately, though her voice trailed off as the thought coalesced. “If one of you—” she said, and she fell silent.
“Annabelle!” said the mother under her breath. She waved a flour-covered arm and was going to usher all the children from the kitchen or M
r. Thump and his friends out the door.
“The three of them were up there all at once,” said Timothy, the very image of innocence with his broad, freckled face and tousle of blond hair, but the declaration stopped everyone.
Mabel lowered her arms and betrayed a less than seemly curiosity. “The three of them?”
“It did seem proper,” said Ephram quietly.
Thaddeus’s eyes went wide, and his wife’s mouth hung open. Annabelle let out something like a laugh. Bobby thought an explosion was pending, and he looked over his shoulder to see how close he was to the door.
“Unfortunately,” said Eagleton, “we never got what we came for.”
“She may have had no intention of giving it to us,” said Ephram wisely
One could have cut the encircling silence with a knife, but Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump seemed unaware.
“It has occurred to me, Ephram,” said Thump.
“Yes, Thump?”
“Eagleton?”
“Yes, my friend?”
“That the lady did not have what we were looking for.”
From what he had heard about Winnie Peel, Thaddeus was pretty sure that she did, and almost said as much. He clamped his mouth shut. He didn’t know that he’d ever been within a street’s width of the woman, but the eye is long and his ear was good. A man did not run even a respectable tavern and not get wind of people like Winifred Peel.
Eagleton had gripped his friend’s shoulder. “We will yet find Mrs. Roberto, Thump,” he said. “Perhaps the police can help us.”
“The police?” said Davey, who had just entered with a tray full of mugs.
“Mrs. Roberto?” said Thaddeus. The name rang familiarly in his head.
Ephram looked to Thump for his friend’s consent, then with arms behind his back he stated, “It was our object, you see, to discover the whereabouts of Mrs. Dorothea Roberto. We have reason to believe that she is in some danger. Miss Peel approached Eagleton outside the Portland Theater during intermission and intimated that she knew where we might find the lady.”
“Now, hold on, there,” said Thaddeus. He scratched the top of his head again, so that the Moosepathians had the impression that he was encouraging thought by these exertions. “Do you mean to tell me that you went to Winifred Peel’s to find out about this ... Mrs. Roberto?”
“Yes,” said Ephram, as if he thought this had been apparent from the beginning.
“Mrs. Roberto!” said Davey, and respectfully. Bobby tugged at Davey’s sleeve and queried his brother with a look.
“We are quite concerned for her,” said Eagleton. “And I must say, the events of this evening have not gone far to relieve our minds.”
“By some means,” said Ephram, “those ... gentlemen suspected our suspicions. I would not speak ill of anyone, nor harbor misgivings of people not properly met, but I must wonder if the entire business weren’t—” and here the thought seemed so dire that he almost whispered, “deliberate.”
“The balloonist!” said Davey.
“What?” said Annabelle.
“The balloon woman. Mrs. Roberto.”
“Mrs. Roberto!” said Thaddeus, his high voice carrying over the general murmur. He was struck by sudden visions of a summer day and bright blue skies and white cotton clouds, gay crowds and laughter and cannon shot and fireworks, and, of course, the lovely, almost regal Mrs. Roberto dressed (as advertised) in her attractive suit of tights, leaping from the basket of the ascended red, white, and blue balloon, and her magnificent red, white, and blue parachute blooming above her, and her graceful form floating some thousands of feet like an angel to the grass and the band and the cheering people below. “Mrs. Roberto!” he said again.
“Fuzz Hadley’s gang?” wondered Davey aloud.
“Oh, the dear woman!” said Mrs. Spark, horrified.
But Thaddeus had to have the entire business put straight before him. “Are you telling me, Mr. Thump,” he said, “that you and Mr. Ephram, here, and Mr. Eagleton didn’t go to Winifred’s in search of—well, er, favors?”
Thump considered the question but didn’t get very far with it.
“Didn’t you hear them, Father?” said Mabel to her husband. “They were searching for Mrs. Roberto, having realized she was in trouble, and Winifred Peel led them to believe that she could help them find her, and Fuzz Hadley and his gang set upon them, and it’s clear as day that Fuzz has the poor woman somewhere, or plans to put her in dreadful circumstances!”
It was an extraordinary speech and might have come from one of the books that Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump had read in recent months. (As it happened, Mrs. Spark had read some of them herself.) The members of the club were riveted; they themselves had hardly dared put the situation in such definite terms.
Understanding that a crisis was nigh, tall Jefford Paisley had poked his gloomy countenance past the tavern room door and now he stepped into the kitchen to listen. No one realized he was there until he let out a low whistle. Thaddeus exchanged glances with Jefford. Neither of them would put such doings past Fuzz Hadley and his gang.
Thaddeus wouldn’t put much past them, in fact. “Some kidnapping scheme,” he said. “Or blackmail, perhaps. It’s terrific! Mr. Thump, you are a knight. And your friends.”
“The dear woman,” said Mabel again, piping a tear. “To perform before royalty, and now this.” It made the gentlemen look aside.
Betty wiped the flour from her hands. Minerva rolled up her sleeves as if she were ready to tangle with someone.
“We should go to the police,” said Davey.
Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump had been considering this, and there was a general stirring among them.
“Have you any evidence?” asked Thaddeus.
“We have our suspicions,” said Ephram. “Though it seems obvious now that she is in danger.”
Thump looked fit to burst.
“What led you to think it in the first place?” asked Annabelle, who was a wise girl.
“Thump found her card in his pocket,” said Eagleton. He leaned forward to stress his next remark. “It was very mysterious.”
“We had our doubts,” said Ephram, “but then Miss Peel approached Eagleton and said she knew where Mrs. Roberto was.”
“Actually, what she said—” began Eagleton, but Thaddeus was already thinking aloud.
“Why else would they have lured you to Winnie Peel’s with the promise of bringing you to Mrs. Roberto? Suspicious is what suspicious was. Clearly, that was an attempt to get you out of the way. It’s a wonder you weren’t murdered outright.” This caused some gasps, not the least from the three gentlemen. “But the police won’t touch it unless you have some hard sign,” said Thaddeus, who seemed, to the Moosepathians, anxious to leave the authorities out of the matter. “They’ve no love for Fuzz and his men, but it’s their word against yours. And though I hate to say it, going to Winnie Peel’s will not put you in a favorable light with the cops.”
“Thaddeus, we have to do something,” said Mabel.
“Yes, yes.” He waved a finger in the air to indicate that he was on the case. He paced the floor and everyone watched him, Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump following his movements as if they were keeping track of a tennis match. “We’ll ask around,” he said, speaking to himself.
“I’ll go with you!” said Timothy.
“You will not!” declared Mabel. “You’ll go upstairs.” She gave Timothy a swat on the posterior that was wholly inappropriate for such an adventurer. “And you be careful where you ask around,” she said to Thaddeus.
“We can’t wait till morning,” he said. “Jefford?”
“To be truthful, Thaddeus,” said the tall fellow, “you might ask no further than your own ordinary.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Captain Huffle knows her, I’m sure. He was her pilot, last Independence Day, in Freeport, dressed as Uncle Sam.”
“Captain Huffle,” said Mabel Spark simply. She was picturing the man, who sported a fine white beard, as
Uncle Sam in Mrs. Roberto’s balloon.
They all hurried into the tavern room and surrounded the table where sat Captains Broad and Huffle. “Were you really Uncle Sam?” asked someone, and another said, “Where does she live?” and finally Thaddeus vocalized a birdlike stutter in his high pitch that grew louder till everyone else went quiet.
The two old salts looked no more dismayed than might he implied by squinted eyes and exceedingly straight postures. Captain Broad, by his own report, had been surrounded, at distinct moments in his life, by all manner of pirates, headhunters, and deadly creatures. Captain Huffle was not far behind on this count and was purported to have talked himself out of being executed by a Chinese warlord without so much as raising his voice above the level of polite conversation.
The old seamen were naturally curious, of course, to be encircled in this fashion; Jefford Paisley and the Spark family were watching Captain Huffle with great fascination, and behind them were three fellows dressed in fine, if hard-used, attire. One of these looked remarkably like their host, and all three hung upon the moment with expressions of extraordinary suspense. Further hack in the ranks were the Todd brothers, Tom and Patrick (who were not related), stage driver Emry Pinbrock, and the other late-night patrons of the Faithful Mermaid.
“Boys, howdy!” said Captain Huffle.
“It does remind me of the time I sneezed a gold tooth out of my head on Penalty Street down at Bangor,” said Captain Broad.
“Did you?” said Captain Huffle, though perchance he had heard the story before.
“Sneezes often come in threes, you know,” said Captain Broad, “and there were some who gathered about to see what I would produce next.” He was explaining this without taking his eyes from the crowd.
It was a comfortable place, the tavern room of the Faithful Mermaid; the ceiling was not high so that the smoke of pipes and cigars fogged the upper atmosphere and muted the light of the lamps; certain corners of the room looked dark and remote enough to encourage a satisfactory drowse. Ephram, Eagleton, and Thump might have spent some moments taking in these strange surroundings had they not been so intent on Captain Huffle and his purported knowledge of the endangered Mrs. Roberto.