by Dene Low
James straightened his shirt front and did his duty in acknowledging the beauty of his sister. Jane said all that was proper, although I could tell she felt like scratching the actress's eyes out. I knew we would have a jolly time recounting our adventures in our rooms after the party.
"And may I also present Generalissimo Alejandro Reyes-Cardoza," said Dame Carruthers. "The generalissimo is escorting me so that he may meet all the right people. Generalissimo, Miss Arbuthnot."
"I'm pleased to meet you," I said while the generalissimo bent over my gloved hand and clicked his heels.
"The pleasure is all mine, señorita." He smiled at me so appreciatively, I felt myself blush. I was struck by the thought that if he should ever shave off his ridiculous mustache, he would nearly rival James in the category of masculine splendor.
Then Dame Carruthers surprised me no end when she asked, "Dear Miss Arbuthnot, may I ask where that most attractive uncle of yours is hiding himself?"
It was my turn to cough and need pounding on the back, which James did with more force than gallantry. I glanced about, wondering how many uncles she thought I had. There was only Uncle Augustus here, and I could scarcely call him attractive. As much as I adored him, I was always astonished at the reactions women in all stations of society had to Uncle Augustus. Although he reminded me of a bullfrog, those of the fairer sex simply flocked to him. I caught sight of my uncle by the orchestra platform and was astonished further. I could clearly see that he had stuffed both bandaged hands under his armpits and was shaking badly.
Suddenly he lunged toward the moths near the lamp hanging on the center tent pole, compelled beyond his capacity to resist. The pole toppled, and the tent billowed down on my screaming guests.
Chapter Three
In Which Dame Carruthers Is Doomed
TO HAVE ONE'S TENT FALL on one's guests at one's coming-out party could be considered a crowning cataclysm. One would be expected to be unable to hold one's head up in polite society after such a debacle. As it was, I could not hold my head up because a great deal of tent canvas was weighing it down.
Muffled screams, curses, and calls for help filled the night air. At least I supposed they did. The air was filled with something, for I was not getting enough of it myself. If I did not act soon, I would suffocate. In a most inelegant fashion I wriggled between writhing bodies and folds of fabric. Eventually, after enduring some of the most unacceptable language directed at me each time I elbowed someone accidentally, I thrust my no-longer-coiffured head out from under the collapsed tent and gasped for breath. I dragged myself out and stood gaping at the heaving sea of canvas before me.
One of the underchefs, carrying a large platter of cold roast beef, hurried toward me from the direction of the house. "Mademoiselle, what has happened?"
I grabbed the carving knife from the platter and slit the canvas in several places just as Armond, my chef, would slice the crust of a particularly tasty pastry pie. People popped up everywhere I cut, including a not-so-resplendent James.
"I say, old stick," he said when he saw the knife in my hand, "most resourceful. Thanks awfully." He clambered up and away from the still-heaving tent, took the knife from me, and set to work freeing the rest of the guests.
Once freed and in full view of each other, my guests' behavior ran the gamut from stoicism to histrionics. The Countess of Wilberforce fainted twice. (The second time was undoubtedly because not enough people noticed her the first time.) She would not have wanted them to watch her had she seen the strawberry trifle slathered down her gown and dotting her hair, although the trifle was almost invisible among her curls. The stoic ones, led by James, helped other victims escape from the debris.
One of the last to emerge was Uncle Augustus, looking dazed. Bandages trailed from his hands, leaving his fingers unfettered. A moth fluttered by, which he absently plucked from the air and deposited in his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully as he surveyed my catastrophic coming-out party.
"Oh, Uncle Augustus," I said, shaking my head. I felt as if I might weep at any moment. My perfect night was ruined.
Uncle Augustus turned toward me with the expression of a small boy caught with a sack full of wet cats ready to be deposited in his governess's bed. At least I imagine that is what a small boy with a sack full of cats would look like—my education is woefully lacking in some areas.
"So sorry." He gulped.
I shuddered.
Jane walked up to me and slipped her arm through mine. How she managed to look exactly the same as she had before the calamity, I shall never know. But then, Jane always appears to have stepped out of a band box. I was surprised to see her laughing.
"This is the most splendid party I have attended in simply ages. It will be all the thing to talk about for six months at least. Everyone will have to claim to have been here if only to top everyone else's stories of how they barely managed to escape with their lives. We must keep an account of the stories and notice how they grow with each telling. It will keep us vastly amused."
I managed to smile a little. "Even so, one does not like to be the provider of such stories, no matter how entertaining." But I did feel better. Jane has that effect.
Uncle Augustus appeared to recover his spirits as well. He flitted into the shrubbery after another moth, seemingly without a care in the world except the pursuit of dinner. As it happened, I was beginning to feel the first pangs of hunger myself, having been deprived of the strawberry trifle and punch.
"I cannot find Dame Carruthers or Generalissimo Reyes-Cardoza. We must find them soon. My superiors in the Home Office will have my head if anything happens to him," James announced quietly as he came toward us.
At that moment I noticed a piece of paper nailed to a nearby tree and illuminated by the fairy lights strung about the garden. James and Jane both looked in the direction of my gaze.
"By George. I wonder..." said James, and we all approached the tree as if hypnotized.
Rather shaky handwriting wobbled across the paper, spelling out an ominous message:
Dame Carruthers and Generalissimo Reyes-Candoza are in our power. You will follow the directions that will come to you exactly or they will be doomed.
At the bottom of the page was a purple and turquoise splotch with wings and feelers.
"What is such an unusual butterfly doing affixed to the paper?" I asked James and Jane, pointing to the splotch.
At that instant, Uncle Augustus leaped between us and the tree. His right hand, trailing bits of bandage, snatched the butterfly from the message. He swallowed it in one gulp. Then, without so much as an apology, he leaped back into the shrubbery and vanished.
Chapter Four
In Which There Is an Inspector in the Garden
ALTHOUGH ONE MAY HAVE STACKS of money, not to mention an impeccable social position, there are times when one wishes for the homely pleasure of encircling parental arms. Such was the case when I surveyed the scene of the crime in the brightening dawn while being interrogated by Scotland Yard. I only hoped Inspector Higginbotham and his lackey Sergeant Crumple did not notice, as I did, the occasional rustle of bushes or the swaying of tree branches, which could only mean that Uncle Augustus was breakfasting.
"My dear Miss Arbuthnot, it would help immeasurably if we could speak to your uncle. Not only is he your guardian, but we've been told that he is also the means by which the tent collapsed. Pray tell us where we might find him," said Inspector Higginbotham, his jowls swinging below his chins with each syllable. If Uncle were a bullfrog, the inspector would surely be a bloodhound. Fittingly so, I might add.
I had visions of Uncle Augustus popping up from the petunias to capture a tasty morsel and became instantly certain that Inspector Higginbotham should not talk to my unfortunate relative. How could I explain such a circumstance? What would society have to say? Besides, I would not care to see Uncle Augustus hauled off to prison, or worse, to Bedlam, simply because he had a penchant for insects. 'Twould be most unfair and uncomfortable
as well, for both Uncle and myself. I was having enough trouble trying to think of how to explain Uncle Augustus's condition to James and Jane, as I should have to once the detectives from Scotland Yard had gone. The two of them were already drawn to stare at said bushes and trees in bewilderment instead of paying attention to the interrogation, and besides, they had seen Uncle devour the insect on the note.
However, I could not betray him to the Yard. Several alternatives to producing Uncle to the detectives presented themselves to my mind. I could faint, but I was quite sure that James would take sadistic pleasure in waving a burned feather under my nose if I did, and burned feathers are immensely unpleasant. No, fainting would not do. I could make up some story about Uncle having gone missing at the same time as Dame Carruthers and Generalissimo Reyes-Cardoza, but Uncle was not mentioned in the note, and James and Jane might let it slip that they had seen him since. The other ideas were equally worthless. Instead, I decided to tell the truth ... of a sort.
"I'm sure my uncle Augustus will be with us shortly. He is currently searching the grounds," I said. Indeed, the hawthorn bushes at the entrance to the maze moved suspiciously, and I caught a glimpse of a formally attired leg disappearing behind them. I moved slightly to one side so that the inspector would have his back to the hawthorns in order to look at me.
"He's more'n likely in cahoots wiv them kidnappers, thet's wot I fink," said Sergeant Crumple.
The inspector stiffened and bent a look of disapproval on his junior officer. "You will keep such thoughts to yourself, Crumple."
"I think the intrepid Sergeant Crumple has come up with a most intriguing idea. Please do not reprimand the man for doing his duty, dear Inspector Higginbotham," Jane simpered as she fluttered her eyelashes at the superior officer and then at the junior. "Don't you think so, James?"
Both James and I stared in surprise at Jane's sally into the fray.
James seemed at a loss. His majestic brow furrowed in that endearing way he has when he is puzzled. Even in my extremity, I could not help but notice his charms.
Inspector Higginbotham harrumphed a few times and muttered something about "dear Miss Sinclair" under his breath, but he was clearly pleased by Jane's attentions. Sergeant Crumple turned crimson and could only stare at his much worn shoes, which appeared to have been tied with packing twine.
"My darling sister, surely you jest," James said.
"Not in the slightest, dear brother." Jane continued, "You do mean, of course, that Miss Arbuthnot and her uncle staged the coming-out party entirely for the purpose of kidnapping Dame Carruthers and Generalissimo Reyes-Cardoza, did you not, Sergeant Crumple?"
James was more bewildered than ever. "But Dame Carruthers and Generalissimo Reyes-Cardoza were not even on the guest list. How could it have been planned?"
"Yes, not only were they not on the guest list, I wonder how they heard about my party," I said as I nervously paced back to where Jane was standing so that Inspector Higginbotham must turn to attend to us. Uncle was now on his hands and knees following some repulsive creature along the garden path near the fountain, not far from the collapsed tent directly behind the inspector. Fortunately, Crumple was busy staring at Jane with a look of dismay. It was obvious, even to him, that Jane's explanation and therefore his accusation were absolutely ridiculous.
"Exactly," said Jane.
"Ahem."
We all focused on James, who had gone nearly as red as Sergeant Crumple.
"I'm afraid I must confess that I invited them," said James, ruining his hirsute splendor as he clasped his hair in both hands. "My superiors at the Home Office put me in charge of entertaining the generalissimo and ensuring his safety, and I thought he would be safe at Miss Arbuthnot's party. I will be in terrible trouble at the news that he and Dame Carruthers have disappeared."
Sergeant Crumple grabbed James by the arm. "Oi've got im, Inspector. No need to look furver. E probly as gambling debts and needs the ransom money. Wot have ye done wiv 'em?" He gave James's arm a shake.
"Here, here. Give off, man," said James as he disengaged himself from the overzealous officer. "Because I invited Dame Carruthers and Generalissimo Reyes-Cardoza to the party does not mean I am the one responsible for their kidnapping. Rather, it means that one of them must have mentioned their attendance at the event to the perpetrators, thereby presenting the perfect opportunity for them to be snatched away. Besides, I have no gambling debts. That would be most reprehensible."
But the good sergeant was not to be done out of a suspect so easily. "And wot, may I ast, would be the motiff for them to be snatched, as you say?"
"Yes, just what would be the motive for kidnapping, if it were not for ransom?" asked Inspector Higginbotham.
With an air of disdain, James dusted off the sleeve that had been crumpled by Crumple. "Actually, if you had been following the rumblings of current affairs, you would know of the problems over the Suez Canal that could halt British trade by sea with our colonies in the East."
I furrowed my brow in incomprehension. "What does the Suez Canal have to do with Panama's rebellion against Colombia? And what does dear England have to do with either?" The inspector, sergeant, and Jane looked equally befuddled.
James answered, "Because of trouble with the Suez Canal, we have need of the construction of the Panama Canal by the Americans to ensure British dominance of the high seas, and that won't happen unless the Panamanians win their independence from Colombia. There, I fear, is your motive. We are dealing with a tangled web of international intrigue."
Chapter Five
In Which the Aberration Is Explained
IT IS AN ESPECIALLY PAINFUL experience to explain to one's dearest friends that one's uncle has become an aberration. Jane did not easily come to terms with Uncle Augustus's propensity for devouring disgusting creatures, but James was immensely helpful. Once the Yard detectives left, he offered to help me capture Uncle Augustus, who had been flitting happily in the shrubberies all night and morning gorging himself on who knew what.
James dashed to his home and soon returned with an old straitjacket he said came from his Eton days. "Straitjackets were all the rage at the time," he told me, although I could not imagine what use they would have been for schoolboys. But perhaps it was better that I could not imagine it, considering what I do know of boys, James in particular.
"Whatever the case, I am grateful you have it now. I last heard Uncle Augustus crashing about in the arboretum. Let us hope he is still there so we might apprehend him," I said, following a trail of broken twigs among the privet hedges, evidence of Uncle's nocturnal depredations. I carried a pillow slip, which I hoped to sling over my unfortunate relative's head while James garbed him in the straitjacket.
"I must say you've held up rather well, old potato." James smiled at me. My traitorous heart flip-flopped, and I wondered if I should ever be free of my obsession with him.
A clatter, as if small pebbles were being dislodged, sounded on the other side of a hydrangea, followed by a most vulgar belch.
"Shh." I held my finger to my lips. James and I nodded to each other, and we went our separate ways. I crept around one side of the hydrangea while James skulked around the other.
Uncle Augustus was in the act of jovially breakfasting on an anthill, a look of complete contentment on his countenance. "Aaargh!" he shouted as I threw the pillow slip over his head. A shower of ants flew from his fingers and scurried away. I hoped they were cognizant of the fragility of their fate and suitably grateful at being freed.
James leaped forward, deftly slipped the straitjacket onto Uncle's arms, and had him trussed up in a moment.
My opinion of James was further improved when he picked up Uncle Augustus as if he were light as a feather and carted him off to the morning room, where Jane was partaking of some dry toast and weak tea to steady her nerves.
James deposited Uncle on the sofa and sat on him, ignoring his protests. In reality, Uncle Augustus was no lightweight, so for James to heft him about
so easily made me wish I had gone to Brighton last summer with the Sinclairs when they had invited me. Then I could have watched James cavorting in the sea using those estimable muscles. If they invited me again this summer, I would be sure to go.
"I do thank you both for aiding us in our time of need," I said to James and Jane. I mournfully observed my dear relative as he struggled with his bonds. "I don't quite know what to do, what with the dame and generalissimo kidnapped and Uncle in such a state. I have no faith in the Yard solving this mystery. The detectives who came to investigate seemed like veritable simpletons. And poor Uncle..." I waved my hand feebly in his direction. There really was no need to explain further.
Jane put down her teacup with a tiny clink that bespoke a certain resoluteness. "I have been thinking of a solution. It is quite possible that we can gain assistance with both problems at the same source. James, did you not have a profes sor of entomology who was something of a world-famous authority?"
"Brilliant idea," said James. "For a sister, you are not half shabby. Professor Lepworthy would be just the ticket."
***
"PREPOSTEROUS!" SHOUTED PROFESSOR Lepworthy, his toupee sliding to one side of his monstrously shiny bald head. He swung around in his desk chair to retrieve a book from the case behind him, and the toupee slid back, coming to rest only slightly askew.
"Of course Uncle Augustus's condition is preposterous," I said rather acerbically, and James and Jane agreed with me.
"Not your uncle Augustus. He is not what is preposterous," retorted Professor Lepworthy, rapidly thumbing through the volume he had just retrieved and tossing it aside. His toupee dipped over his left eye as he twirled in his chair and reached for another book. When he swung back toward his desk, the hairpiece settled in place once more. I wondered if he'd had the hairy mop specially trained.
"Not Uncle Augustus?" Jane and James and I chimed together.
Professor Lepworthy stopped thumbing and shouted, "Aha!" Then he stuck his nose quite close to the book and stared intently. "No, indeed. Your uncle's condition is quite common in the outer marshes of Tou-eh-mah-mah Island, off the coast of Panama. The antidote is simple, actually. He must steep one of those beetles in a mixture of crocodile dung and the juice of the anaphtile plant and then drink the whole concoction while rotating on his rump and singing "Kwop-a-phah-mee" in twelve-tone the entire time. The only real difficulty is in finding a suitable anaphtile plant. It has to be one with flowers shaped like the Egyptian god Anubis, or the antidote will not work. It is my contention that the presence of a flower in the shape of Anubis is definitive proof that the Egyptians settled parts of the Americas."