by Dene Low
"Hello, dear cousin," said Crimea in a manner that let me know she remembered the incident of the pig's tail in much the same manner Cyril remembered the incident of the pickled herrings.
I nodded and smiled, albeit querulously.
Two unpleasant aunts and three atrocious cousins. If the Thames had conveniently flowed past my veranda, I would gladly have tossed myself in. A glance toward that sunny porch just beyond the French windows confirmed my suspicion that it was Thames-less. However, it produced the alarming sight of Uncle Augustus toe-teetering on the rail while reaching toward the heavens with a butterfly net. I was further shocked to see practically all of my serving and underserving staff similarly fitted out with nets and flitting about the lawn. Thank the heavens above that I was positioned at the opposite end of the drawing room and my relations were all facing me.
"Well?" said Great-aunt Theophilia in a richer echo of Aunt Cordelia's earlier greeting. Her lustrous curls peeked from underneath a hat that was the height of fashion, being made of a vast array of feathers and silk flowers. The hat, combined with her tailored traveling dress and exquisite figure, made Aunt Cordelia's getup fall from a state of intimidation to a state of gracelessness. In fact, my younger aunt looked rather wilted.
The jellification of Aunt Cordelia's spine served to stiffen mine. Quite cordially I said, "What a pleasant surprise to have so many of my dear ones restored to British shores so suddenly. I had word that you, Aunt Theophilia, and Crimea and Boeotia were shopping in Paris, while you, Aunt Cordelia, were, as you mentioned, in the jungles of Burma. Otherwise you most assuredly would have been invited to the party my uncle Augustus gave for my coming out."
Great-aunt Theophilia raised a lorgnette to examine me much like Professor Lepworthy might have examined one of his entomological specimens. I immediately decided that lorgnettes are more effective than monocles for giving one a superior air. Perhaps I should have to affect one when I was older and wished to intimidate relations.
"Indeed" was all she said.
I knew what she was up to with her one-word stratagems. She was endeavoring to induce me to babble. Well, she would soon find I had more of the Arbuthnot in me than that, and some Percival as well.
"Indeed," I answered and managed not to wince as I observed Uncle Augustus leap weightlessly from the rail and out of sight.
However, the necessity of refusing to babble was taken out of my hands as Moriarty glided into the room, a silver tray presented on his upturned hand. He stopped before me. On the silver tray was a note on which lay another squashed Tou-eh-mah-mah Island butterfly.
Chapter Eight
In Which the Drawing Room Becomes Crowded
OUR COLLECTIVE GAZE WAS FIXED on the Tou-eh-mah-mah butterfly much as the butterfly was affixed to the note.
There are moments when all motion is slowed so that a split second seems stretched out to a lifetime. Such interludes allow one to contemplate the meaning of life and perhaps to absorb enough of the entailing circumstances so that one may make wiser decisions than would otherwise be possible.
This was not one of those moments.
Great-aunt Theophilia lost her dignity enough to lunge toward the tray, hand outstretched. However, she clasped only Aunt Cordelia's fingers, which clutched empty air because Moriarty had moved the silver tray just enough in my direction so that I could snatch the note myself. I would have sworn Moriarty winked at me as he did so, but I discounted such a gesture as beyond my stoic butler's capabilities.
"Well," said Great-aunt Theophilia as she drew herself back and up to her former grand state.
"Hmmph," said Aunt Cordelia.
"Just read it, for goodness' sake," said Boeotia.
At that moment Uncle Augustus strolled in, impeccably turned out and looking strangely scholarly with an extremely large book under one arm that I recognized as Insectile Creatures. The tome had many more bits of waxed paper sticking out of its pages than had been there earlier, making the book bulge. What did Uncle Augustus think he was doing? The last people I wanted to know of his unfortunate condition were my paternal relatives.
Before I could react, Uncle Augustus's hand shot forth in a blur and snatched the note from my fingers. In fact, he was so precipitate in his actions I'm quite certain neither Great-aunt Theophilia nor Aunt Cordelia, nor any other of my esteemed relations, registered more than the fact that the note suddenly appeared in Uncle's hand. I began to protest, remembering his previous experience with a Tou-eh-mah-mah butterfly affixed to a note, but he merely smiled reassuringly in my direction, cleared his throat, and patted the book under his arm meaningfully. He opened his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by Boeotia.
"Are you going to read the note or not? I'm simply dying to know what is in it." Her comment was greeted by a murmur of agreement from around the room. The fact that Great-aunt Theophilia did not chide her daughter for such rude behavior is evidence of the level of anticipation we all labored under.
Uncle unfolded the note. Everyone inhaled in expectation.
"Lord Sinclair and Miss Jane Sinclair," announced Moriarty.
Everyone exhaled.
Jane and James stepped into the room. Jane appeared much refreshed after her night's rest, especially since she was wearing a dainty rose blush shirtwaist and skirt, white stockings, and heeled white strappy pumps. James, of course, outshone even Uncle in sartorial splendor. He certainly made Cyril appear frumpish by comparison. I noticed that James's jacket sat exceptionally well on his broad shoulders. With some difficulty I pulled my gaze from his well-muscled shoulders to Jane's smiling face.
"Jane, darling, and James. Do come in. Uncle is about to read another note that has just arrived, we think, from the kidnappers."
"Another note?" said James as Jane leaned forward and kissed my cheek in greeting. Being greeted with a kiss by one's greatest friend is a pleasant experience, but I must admit a kiss from her brother would have been even more welcome. Alas, none was forthcoming.
Jane said, "And we have interrupted. We're so sorry. Please continue, Mr. Percival."
"He hadn't even started," said Boeotia in disgust.
"But I shall now," said Uncle Augustus. He held the note up to read. "To—"
"Inspector Higginbotham and Sergeant Crumple," announced Moriarty.
"Good morning, Miss Arbuthnot," said Inspector Higginbotham, a trifle too unctuously for my liking. His manner made me suspect something, although I could not imagine what.
"Good morning, Inspector. Sergeant Crumple," I said. "We were about to—"
"Read it!" shouted Boeotia.
"I am about to," said Uncle.
"Mr. George Grimsley," announced Moriarty.
"Ahhh!" screamed Boeotia.
Chapter Nine
In Which the Messenger Eats Chocolates
IN DEALING WITH ONE'S RELATIONS, one is often reminded of the maxim "There is many a slip 'twixt the cup and the lip." The wisdom of that saying was especially apparent in these circumstances. When one adds one's relations to the mix of kidnappers, notes, friends, acquaintances, and inspectors from Scotland Yard, one must expect the worst or fall victim to the most unseemly surprises, such as my impatient relations converging on Uncle Augustus and attempting to grab the note from his grasp before he could read it. Fortunately, Uncle's newly developed physical abilities enabled him to leap from their midst and victoriously carry off the scrap of paper to the stairs in the front hall, where he read:
Miss Arbuthnot,
You will bring twenty thousand pounds British sterling to Nelson's Column at midnight tonight. Deposit it under the death scene. Do not fail, on the dame and generalissimo will perish just as Nelson did. Come alone.
The note seemed straightforward enough, although the phrasing was a bit confusing. Did the kidnappers mean that the dame and generalissimo would die in the manner that Nelson had died, or that Nelson had died and so would the generalissimo and dame? My former governess Miss Spackering would have taken the writer t
o task for lack of clarity. However, I was more interested in the message itself.
A number of thoughts flitted through my mind, just as Uncle flitted through the shrubberies: The dame and generalissimo were alive. I hoped Parliament saw fit to fork over the twenty thousand pounds. The abductors had atrocious penmanship, which matched their grasp of grammar. Who had brought that note? And finally, James's tailor truly had done a superb job of fitting his jacket across his muscular shoulders.
At that moment a roar erupted from my relations and the Yard personnel as they stood at the base of the staircase vy ing for Uncle Augustus's attention. I, on the other hand, signaled Moriarty to meet me by the front door. Then I caught the attention of Jane and James and motioned to them to join us.
"Yes, miss?" asked my butler.
"Where is the messenger who delivered the note?"
"Anticipating such a question, I took the liberty of apprehending the young person. He is in the care of Thomas the gardener and several undergardeners in the arboretum, awaiting questioning, miss."
"Excellent." My friends and I were halfway out the door when Moriarty presented me with a large gold foil box of chocolates in the shape of a heart. Uncle Augustus had given it to me as a birthday gift. Fortunately, Uncle had chosen it before his unfortunate episode with the beetle; therefore it was from one of the finest chocolatiers in London.
Moriarty explained, "Excuse me, miss, but it occurs to me that the young messenger might be more persuaded to divulge information if he were sweetened up, as it were, by chocolates administered at propitious moments, rather than by threats."
"Do you mean that we're to bribe him?" asked James, on the verge of outrage.
"Naturally," I said as I tucked the gold box under my arm. "And if chocolates aren't enough, I intend to try money."
"Or tears," said Jane. "Tears work quite well on most males. Even you, dearest brother. This is, after all, a crisis of international consequence and requires the utmost diplomacy."
As Jane and I strode in the direction of the arboretum, I heard James mutter, "I'm not sure chocolates and tears are among the Home Office—approved methods of interrogation."
Jane and I ignored James's comment as being unworthy of reply. The male of the species can be astonishingly out of touch with reality at times.
The sight that met my eyes when we arrived at the arboretum was a pitiful one indeed. Thomas the gardener and his minions stood around a small, tearful, uniformed boy. I recognized the uniform as belonging to the messenger service in the nearest town—Upper Middle Totley-on-Wode.
I dropped to one knee in front of the boy in order to be at eye level and said, "Thank you for bringing the message. What's your name?" I opened the box of chocolates.
The boy's attention was immediately caught by the brilliantly colored foil-wrapped candies amid other tempting chocolates in little cups. "Ralph," he answered with a sniff. Before he could rub his nose on his sleeve, James thrust a white handkerchief into the urchin's hand, and Ralph obediently wiped his nose, although his attention remained on the chocolates.
"Ralph. That's a nice name." I offered a milk chocolate crème to the little fellow, who immediately stuffed it into his mouth before eyeing the rest of the candy. I held a chocolate-covered caramel just out of his reach. "Who gave you the message to deliver to me?"
Ralph's fingers stretched toward the chocolate. "Don't know him."
"Was it someone in the messenger office?"
"Naw."
"So you were not given the message at the office. Where did you get the message?" I waved the caramel a bit to keep his attention on it.
"Foreign bloke at the train station." He snatched the caramel and popped it into his mouth.
Jane proffered a butter crème. "Was he a foreign gentleman with a blond goatee, a wart on his nose, a plaid umbrella, and a high, squeaky voice?"
The boy rolled his eyes and laughed at Jane's ridiculous description, his mood evidently much improved by the chocolate. "Not likely. More like a black mustache and slouch hat. Is voice weren't real high, neither—kind of breathy-like, though you were dead on bout the wart. But it were is boots what caught me eye. They was mucky, wif pretty bugs on em like this one ere." He reached into his uniform pocket and produced a Tou-eh-mah-mah butterfly, quite dead and rather squashed, but with the "Phui" still plainly inscribed on its wings.
When I reached for it, Ralph held it away until I popped a cherry cordial chocolate into his mouth. Then, to my surprise, the butterfly was lifted from my hand by Uncle Augustus. I had not heard him approach. His new physical prowess was quite extraordinary. Uncle usually galumphed like an elephant.
"Well, niece, what do we have here?"
"Don't eat it!" My protest died on my lips as I rose to my feet. Everyone but Uncle, James, and Jane looked at me oddly.
Rather than eating the insect, Uncle extracted a slip of waxed paper from Insectile Creatures, which he still carried. Then he folded the paper over the butterfly and deposited it between the pages of the book, where several other bits of paper enveloping insects were still ensconced.
"Sir," said one of the undergardeners as he stepped forward holding out his hat, in which I could see the flash of brilliant purple wings. "I caught one just like it near the woods."
"Petronella!" I heard Great-aunt Theophilia call as she picked her elegant way across the lawn. "What do you have there? Why are you all out here?" Behind her trailed Crimea, Boeotia, and Georgie Grimsley in conversation with Cyril, and behind them came Inspector Higginbotham and Sergeant Crumple.
Aunt Cordelia matched Theophilia step for step. "Really, Petronella. You do make it difficult to protect you in these dangerous circumstances. If I were your guardian, I would keep you safely in the house," she shouted.
"Luckily she isn't your guardian," whispered Jane in my ear.
"Right, but she'd like to be in charge of my fortune. The last thing I need is that horde following me about," I whispered back. I turned to the undergardener. "In which part of the woods did you find the butterfly?"
"Over there, miss."
Hoping to escape my inveterate relatives and other investigators, I headed in the direction he indicated, only to see the horde moving to intercept me. I changed course and so did they, following me rather like the tail of a comet, strung out as they were. I sighed. Evidently, everyone was determined to follow me no matter which way I went.
Feeling safer among friends, I returned to my place near Ralph, who looked expectantly at my chocolate box. Then I noticed that Thomas the gardener and his staff were also looking expectantly at the box. An idea formed in my head.
"Let's all search the woods. Anyone who finds more of these butterflies or any clues as to where they come from will get chocolates," I said.
Thomas and his staff took off at a run.
I held Ralph by the hand and asked, "Kind sir, would you be so good as to accompany me? I have some more questions to ask you."
He nodded.
"Are you inviting us as well?" asked James. I noticed that the morning sunshine glistened on his brilliantined locks and brought into relief his excessively handsome physiognomy.
"With all my heart," I said before I could stop myself. Then I bent to offer Ralph a chocolate, hoping to hide the resulting blush.
"Petronella!" my aunts cried in unison. They were nearly upon us.
Uncle glanced at the approaching horde with something like panic on his face. "Follow me. I have an idea."
My small band of conspirators and I scrambled after Uncle Augustus as he headed off in a slightly different direction from the gardeners. A glance over my shoulder told me that the horde veered in his direction right behind us. Were we never to be rid of them? Probably not until they found some reason to depose Uncle as the guardian of my fortune. I could only hope that once we were in the woods we could give them the slip.
Chapter Ten
In Which Logs Are Not Inspected
I SOON REALIZED TO MY dismay that on
e's carefully acquired sense of fashion, meant to assist one while navigating the jungles of polite society, has little worth when navigating the woods of one's estate. Sleuthing requires a more appropriate wardrobe than ruched shirtwaists with lace insets, S-bend corsets, and high-heeled pumps—the corset especially made it difficult to breathe deeply. As I stepped over fallen branches and disengaged my delicate voile and lace skirts from brambles, I found myself coveting Aunt Cordelia's khakis, something I heretofore had not thought possible.
Additionally, I could only suppose that Uncle led us this way because he had explored it during his predations on winged and multilegged creatures the previous night. I was also dismayed to hear the sound of my esteemed relations crashing through the woods behind us.
"Where're we going and whotcher want to know? I got to get back to the message office or Mr. Smiff will have me ead," complained Ralph, evidently suffering from a belated case of work ethic.
Puffing slightly from the exertion of clambering over a fallen tree—although I might also have been a bit breathless because James had helped me—I asked Ralph, "Was the foreign gentleman at the train station waiting for a train, or had he just arrived?"
Ralph screwed up his face in an apparent effort to think, while James helped Jane over the fallen log. We had reached a clearing and could just see Uncle Augustus disappearing along the path ahead of us. Our way now unimpeded, we sped up, trying to catch up with my dear uncle.