by Dene Low
Inspector Higginbotham came directly to the point. "Yes? Your message, Lord Sinclair, said that you had more information."
James motioned for me to come forward. "Thank you for seeing us, Inspector. We followed your example after you left and looked for more clues and discovered these not far from where you found the ruby. We thought you should have them."
I drew the tiara and peso from my handbag and placed them on the inspector's desk. "Dame Carruthers was wearing that tiara when she was abducted."
"And the coin is from Colombia," Jane chimed in.
The inspector picked up both items and turned them over several times, his mouth pursed in thought. Finally, he said, "These do establish that the dame and generalissimo were there, and the state of the tiara indicates a struggle." He heaved a sigh. "They do not, however, establish who the kidnappers are."
"Petronella! Augustus!" My aunts' voices rang down the hall.
We all stared at one another in horror. Aunts are devastating enough in one's home, but to have them invade Scotland Yard is a desperate situation indeed. Inspector Higginbotham put his forehead on his desk for a moment, as if attempting to draw fortitude from within. So it was that when Great-aunt Theophilia and Aunt Cordelia pushed their way into his office, followed by Cyril, Crimea, and Boeotia, the inspector was able to stand and greet them with more dignity than I thought possible under the circumstances.
"Aha!" Great-aunt Theophilia said upon seeing us. "We thought we'd find you here. Augustus, you simply must not allow Petronella to gallivant among the lower classes in this manner. It is most unseemly."
Boeotia, safe behind her mother's skirts, stuck her tongue out at me, while Crimea looked especially satisfied with my plight.
The inspector strode from behind his desk to shake both aunts' hands. "Why, Lady Worffingdon and Lady Farworthy, how delightful to see you again so soon. I'm sorry I'm not able to offer you seating accommodations, but as you can see, we're rather cramped at the He waved a hand at our group and then at the additional relations.
Aunt Cordelia sniffed. "You should see the taxis in Burma."
I counted ten people in the smallish office. Not bad, but not a record, either. I'd read in the Times that some Oxford students had stuffed twenty-eight of themselves into one of the red telephone boxes that had begun to appear on the streets of London.
Great-aunt Theophilia raised her lorgnette and gazed at the inspector as if to cow him. Indeed, he seemed to shrink a little. "Inspector Higginbotham, I demand to know what you are doing with my niece."
The inspector looked astonished. He spluttered, "I'm doing nothing with your niece, Lady Worffingdon. She came here of her own accord."
"And just what do you intend to do about Petronella delivering the ransom? That is not a proper activity for a young girl of good family," said Aunt Cordelia, her monocle screwed firmly in place.
Both aunts glared at the inspector, who held up his hands in surrender as he retreated behind his desk.
A voice came from the doorway, which was completely blocked by my beloved relatives. "If that's you there in your office, Inspector Igginbotham, you're to go to Mr. Berwick's office immediately."
Inspector Higginbotham rolled his eyes heavenward as if in supplication. "Please excuse me." He squeezed himself as best he could between us and out the door, emerging into the hall rather like a bar of soap that squirts from between two wet hands.
He was gone only a minute or two before the previously heard voice announced from the doorway, "If there's a Miss Arbuthnot in there, her presence is requested in Mr. Berwick's office."
"I'm here." I wriggled through my relations and made it out nearly unscathed, except that Crimea deliberately tripped me so that I fell against James, who caught me to his magnificently broad chest before setting me upright once more. I almost thanked her.
My arms still tingling from the contact with James's hands, I presented myself in Mr. Berwick's office. Thank goodness it had several chairs, because I suddenly found myself rather tired and wishing for a cup of tea. Not surprising, considering what had taken place over the last twenty-four hours. Mr. Berwick waved me toward the seat next to the one Inspector Higginbotham occupied, and I sat.
"So you are the young lady at whose coming-out party Dame Carruthers and Generalissimo Reyes-Cardoza were abducted." Mr. Berwick sounded hearty and grandfatherly, in the manner a man of his age might speak to a deaf three-year-old. He even smiled at me in a grandfatherly way.
"Yes, sir." I was bewildered by his tone.
Mr. Berwick held up the ransom note that had been delivered to my house. "You are also mentioned on this note." He beamed at me. What was he getting at?
"Yes, sir. It is addressed to me." I was trying not to be annoyed at being treated like a child.
The odious man waggled his finger at me, still beaming. "That's not all. You are also instructed to be the one to deliver the ransom money to the base of Lord Nelson's Column."
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from saying something I would regret. I managed to smile back at Mr. Berwick through clenched teeth. "Yes, sir."
"Well, this won't do. It won't do at all."
I blinked. "What won't do?"
Inspector Higginbotham cleared his throat. "What Mr. Berwick is saying is that not only would it be dangerous for you to be the one to deliver the ransom, it could cause repercussions internationally if you botched it."
I blinked again. Botched it? Astonishing. Taking a deep breath, I said, "Do you have some idea that I want to deliver the ransom?"
"Well, you are a sixteen-year-old girl. Life must seem a romantic romp at your age," said Mr. Berwick. He smiled sympathetically. I was taking a dislike to his smiles.
"I can assure you that I have no intention of delivering the ransom," I said. Indeed, I could think of nothing I would like to do less than be a puppet whose strings were being pulled on the one side by Scotland Yard and on the other by kidnappers.
Now it was the turn of Mr. Berwick and Inspector Higginbotham to blink in surprise. Mr. Berwick exclaimed, "But you must. There is no one else to do it. They will be watching for you in particular."
"Then why did you say it wouldn't do and repercussions and all that?"
"We were only alluding to the possibilities of danger to convince you of the seriousness of the situation, and then we were going to explain our contingency plans," said Mr. Berwick, obviously resenting the way I was not following the prescribed script.
At that moment the horde pushed their way into Mr. Berwick's office. Great-aunt Theophilia demanded, "Now what are you doing with our niece?"
Inspector Higginbotham shrank back in his chair. Mr. Berwick, however, stood. Towering over my aunt, he said, "My good lady, whoever you are, we are trying to convince your niece to do her duty in a matter of importance to Mother England."
The aunts looked taken aback, and my estimation of Mr. Berwick rose.
"Well," said Great-aunt Theophilia.
"Just what exactly do you intend our niece to do? You have not even asked for our permission," said Aunt Cordelia, her chin jutting in such a pugnacious manner that she reminded me of Officer Dudworth.
Uncle Augustus stepped between my aunts and Mr. Berwick. "If there is any permission to be asked, it will be of me. I am Petronella's guardian, after all."
Aunts and Uncle glared at one another. Cyril gave a rather hysterical giggle. However, it was Crimea grinning at me as if immensely pleased with my dilemma that decided me.
"Ahem," I said, and all eyes swiveled in my direction. "I believe the decision ultimately rests with me. I have decided to deliver the ransom."
Chapter Fifteen
In Which More Than One Is All Wet
WHEN ONE HAS BEEN RASH enough to commit oneself to performing a risky task in the service of one's country, quite outside of one's experience, one is at the mercy of all kinds of irrational thoughts while waiting to perform said task. For instance, I thought of my relations' violent disapproval of
my decision, the protests of James and Jane, that Uncle Augustus tucked into Insectile Creatures a centipede he found in the corner of Mr. Berwick's office, and that the cloak supplied to me by the Yard to ward off the chill of the night was at least ten years out of fashion. Fortunately, not many people would see me wearing it, since I was to deliver the ransom at midnight.
I now stood at the base of the statue of Charles the First across from Lord Nelson's Column on Trafalgar Square as the pea soup that is London fog swirled about me. Through the thick mist I could faintly see glowing circles of light; they were the street lamps surrounding the square. My hands felt cold even through my gloves, mostly from apprehension.
Although I couldn't see it, I knew that near the closest edge of that square, across from where I stood, reared the tallest Corinthian column in the world, of which we English are justly proud, and on top of that column stood the statue of Lord Nelson—he who had saved Britain from Napoleon at the Battle of Trafalgar. I hoped he could, figuratively speaking, help save us again—this time from another enemy trying to destroy Mother England.
Mist-muffled footsteps sounded next to me, and my heart shuddered in alarm.
"Hello, old egg," said James from near my ear.
"What are you doing here?" I whispered, my heart fluttering both from the unexpectedness of his presence and his presence. Through my cloak, I could feel the warmth of his arm against mine.
"Scouting about a bit. Did you know your aunt, the Duchess of Worffingdon, and her two offspring are armed with walking sticks over by the plinth supporting King George's statue?"
I groaned.
"Oh, it doesn't stop there. Your aunt Cordelia is bravely holding down Sir Charles Napier's plinth on the opposite corner, only she has an umbrella. She says the end is quite sharp."
"And Cyril?" I asked.
"Cyril is cowering next to the base of the empty fourth plinth. I don't think he likes fog. He keeps sniveling."
"What about the inspector?"
"Inspector Higginbotham and Sergeant Crumple keep slinking from plinth base to plinth base trying to convince your relations to leave or at least hush. You can imagine their lack of success. There is no sign, however, of your uncle." James sounded a trifle worried over the last bit.
I was worried too. "Not knowing where he is does little to calm me, and neither does knowing where my other relations are. I might have guessed they would try something like this. I am surprised you found anyone in this pea soup. However, you haven't mentioned Jane."
"I've ensconced her safely in the Savoy with a late supper. She is supposed to be holding a table for you and me to which we can retire once this muddle is quite finished."
"However did you convince her to stay away from such an adventure?"
James chuckled, although his voice hinted at grimness. "She insisted. When I checked in at the Home Office, I was told that Don Hernando Salas is supposedly meeting an accomplice from the Colombian embassy at the Savoy Grill tonight. Jane's determined to overhear their plans. I only allowed her to stay because she should be safe enough surrounded by other diners."
"At least she'll have dinner," I said disconsolately, thinking of the weak tea that had been my repast at the Yard, where I had spent the evening while being briefed on my role in delivering the ransom money. "I only hope I can find my way in this fog to Nelson's Column at the appropriate time."
"I wish you could be persuaded to join Jane."
I wished I were with Jane as well, but I would not like James to know. He would think me a wet goose. I was damp and shivering from the cold, but I was not a goose. "The note specifically stated it was I who should deliver the money." I pushed against the satchel at my feet with my toe, feeling its solidity, a firmness made possible by several bundles of good English pounds. "Oh, where is Uncle? It's impossible to properly worry about oneself when one's dearest relation is running amok in London. There can't be many insects for him to find in this weather."
"It's a pity we lost him. He'll turn up," said James. I didn't know whether to be comforted or to laugh insanely at the number of odd situations where Uncle might turn up.
Big Ben began to bong midnight, sounding ghostly and far away.
"It's time." I picked up the satchel and nearly toppled over under its weight. "Off to the column and the depiction of Lord Nelson's death. Rather fitting, isn't it?"
"I'll come with you," said James.
"No. The note said only I was to come."
"They'll never see me in the fog."
The thought of James keeping close steadied me immeasurably. "Wait a few seconds and follow me, then, but stay far enough away so they don't see you."
Under the weight of the satchel, I staggered like a drunken man across the road and to the column, past the statues of lions at its base. I deposited the satchel just under the plaque depicting Lord Nelson's sagging body supported by his friends. My heart pounded from the effort and fear. I did not like being unable to see what was around me. If only I could see who was coming, I might not have been so afraid. I heard a creak as if a door opened and I waited, puzzled. Where was a door in Trafalgar Square close enough to hear it creak?
A stirring of air brushed my cheek as if someone had moved quite close by. I spun about, breathless. Something brushed my other cheek. I whirled in that direction.
"Where are you? I brought the money." I sounded quite faint, not at all like the heroine I imagined myself to be.
A low voice with a foreign accent said near my ear, "Give me the money.
"Where are the dame and the generalissimo?" There. I sounded much more firm. I stepped back a little from the satchel.
A breathy chuckle. "Come back tomorrow ni ght at the same time. I will count the money, and if it is all there, I'll leave the directions here at the base of the column."
The fog swirled as if someone had left.
"Wait!" I called, only to hear a whooshing noise as if someone had leaped a great distance. There was a thud. A shout. Uncle Augustus? Then a tremendous splash and another shout. Great-aunt Theophilia? Then several splashes and much more shouting. Aunt Cordelia? Crimea? Boeotia? Cyril? No, not Cyril. Inspector Higginbotham? Sergeant Crumple? It seemed that James and I were the only ones still dry.
Chapter Sixteen
In Which a Friend Goes Missing
WHEN ONE OBSERVES ONE'S ESTEEMED relations, as well as representatives of Scotland Yard, standing dripping wet in the grand foyer of the Savoy at one o'clock in the morning, one has cause to reflect that the power to intimidate is somehow lost when the intimidators are soaking wet and shivering pitifully. It seems that in the thick fog, various aunts and cousins and Yard detectives had forgotten entirely about the fountains that had been placed strategically in Trafalgar Square in order to discourage rioting. I decided that whoever came up with the plan to build fountains in the name of crowd control obviously understood what I was just observing—that wet and shivering people lose threat value.
After listening to all the garbled accounts, it became clear to me that Uncle Augustus had leaped from the top of the column onto the kidnapping conspirator and bowled him into aunts and cousins and detectives, knocking the lot in a domino effect into one of the fountains. Unfortunately, in the melee that followed, the kidnapper had escaped. However, he left the rather soggy, still-full satchel amid the pennies that tourists on holiday had thrown into the fountains.
My attention was brought back to the Savoy Hotel's front hall by my cousin Crimea crying, "Mummy, just look at my new frock. And I was going to wear it to Jessalyn St. John's garden party. I don't care if England has problems with international transport. I'm not ruining any more frocks."
Boeotia's wailing drowned out her older sister's protestations. "I don't like playing tenpins, let alone being a tenpin."
Aunt Cordelia glared at the two girls as if they were unworthy of being Arbuthnots on their mother's side. I noticed that Uncle Augustus, still carrying Insectile Creatures under his arm, was the only one,
besides myself and James, who was not dripping on the rich Savoy carpet—a fact that the hand-wringing night concierge also noted. He approached Uncle Augustus.
"Sir, whatever shall we do with all of these ... these..." I could see the wheels of reason turning in his brain, albeit slowly. He was probably thinking that if he protested too vehemently, he might lose customers. However, if he did not take care of the situation immediately, he might lose his other customers. I could hear several in the dining room, most probably celebrating after an evening's entertainment in the theaters of the famed West End. I imagined they might be offended by the sight of so many less than properly attired people inhabiting one of the world's bastions of respectability.
To my surprise, Uncle acted with aplomb, decision, and intelligence. "My good man, if you have a private room where we may retire, as well as several blankets and towels, we may be assured of a solution to this sticky situation, and you will reap the gratitude of several people of consequence as well as receiving appropriate remuneration."
Uncle saw the look of disbelief on the concierge's face and added, "I can promise you that this mélange of seeming miscreants includes a duchess, a lady, a Scotland Yard inspector, and several offspring of the aforementioned aristocracy."
The mention of remuneration tipped the balance in favor of providing the private room, blankets, and towels. The concierge assumed an expression of extreme unctuousness as he proclaimed to the dripping group, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you would follow me, I have a suitable accommodation where you will be properly cared for." As he left the grand front hall, he clapped his hands at a couple of house maids hovering wide-eyed in a doorway and said, "Towels. Blankets. The private dining room. Immediately."
The maids scurried appropriately. My relations and the Yard personnel followed the concierge dutifully and damply. They left a large dark and dank spot, slightly off center, in the front hall and a trail of wet footprints leading toward the private dining room. I mused that it would take a detective of no great ability to find us, but as my gaze lighted upon Inspector Higginbotham's dripping back, I seriously doubted whether it was a detective of any great ability who had made some of the sodden footprints in the first place. Uncle, James, and I also made our way to the dining room.