The Peculiars

by Maureen Doyle McQuerry

  “Steam will change lives, Lena,” Mr. Beasley continued. “For example, look what steam has contributed to the medical profession. We still struggle with believing only those things we can see. That’s why no one paid attention to Joseph Lister when he said that something called bacteria was killing patients and that we needed to use steam to sterilize medical equipment—even the sheets the patient has been lying in. This is a new age of science.”

  Jimson’s eyes never left Mr. Beasley’s face. “‘Science dogs his every footstep, meets him at every turn, and twines itself around his life.’ That was in a copy of The Naturalist magazine. Mr. Lockyer said it.”

  “See how fortunate I was to find Jimson?” Mr. Beasley beamed, and Jimson flushed. “But what brings you to Knoster, Miss Mattacascar?”

  Lena twined her own feet around the clawed feet of the reading chair and smoothed the wrinkles from her blue skirt. “I had hoped to go to Scree. I came prepared to hire a guide and buy provisions, but an unfortunate incident on the train—”

  “Her bag was snatched.”

  “Makes it more difficult now. I would still like to go to Scree after I’ve earned some money.” She looked up and found Mr. Beasley regarding her thoughtfully.

  “Why Scree?”

  She had thought out her explanation carefully. “I’ve always been interested in it, and my father had some business dealings there when I was younger. I guess I just want to see the place for myself.”

  “Scree is not a journey to be undertaken lightly. You’re right to want a guide and to count the cost of provisions. The land belongs to no one. That’s what our government claims, even though there have been indigenous people there for thousands of years. If we didn’t look at it as unclaimed land, we’d have a difficult time justifying our actions there.” His forehead creased with concentration and his painted eyebrows dove down to his nose.

  “Several people mentioned that you are an expert on Scree and might be the perfect guide,” Lena ventured.

  Jimson’s eyebrows shot up.

  “Whom have you been talking to?” Mr. Beasley’s voice grew more cautious.

  “I met a man named Milo by the pier, and I also talked to Margaret Flynn.” She was careful to omit mention of the marshal.

  Mr. Beasley’s mouth twitched as if he was about to smile. “Margaret Flynn was a fine guide in her day. She’s seen more than most people have in a lifetime, but I can’t imagine her leaving the comforts of her business now. And Milo, he’s one of the old-timers.”

  “I didn’t know you’d spent time in Scree,” Jimson said, sounding rather left out.

  “Most of my money came from my father’s mines in Scree. They are what have allowed me my freedom to travel and experiment. I know Scree well.” He ran his finger down the bridge of his nose, considering. “Where are you staying now?”

  “I’m at Miss Brett’s.”

  He nodded.

  “But I’ve only a few more nights there, and then she has the room rented. My resources are such that I hoped you might be able to suggest some part-time employment while I find alternate lodging and make arrangements for Scree.” Lena felt as if she was asking too much. She caught Jimson’s eye, and he smiled reassuringly.

  “Well, if your mother’s a librarian, you must know books. Jimson has a huge job ahead of him and could use an assistant. I could pay you a small amount and provide you with room and board while I consider your proposition.” His eyes lingered just a moment too long on her hands, and Lena slipped them between the folds of her skirt.

  “That would be very kind.” She found her heart was hammering in her chest. A place to stay and a small salary. The marshal would no doubt be pleased.

  Jimson looked delighted. His eyes danced. “I suppose she could help me out with the cataloguing—as an assistant.”

  “Is it a deal, Miss Mattacascar?” Mr. Beasley extended his large hand again, and Lena was forced to remove her gloved hand from the folds of her skirt. He took her hand very gently in his. “An extra joint?” He looked truly interested rather than disgusted, but still Lena blushed.

  “Yes, I was born that way.”

  “And your feet?”

  She wondered how he knew to ask. Slowly she unwound them from the legs of the chair. Mr. Beasley peered down intently, as did Jimson.

  “Specially designed boots. I suspect your feet discomfort you at times, Lena. I’ve seen these traits before . . . Shall we expect you tomorrow?”

  Lena appreciated his sudden turn of conversation, even though she longed to know where he’d seen such traits before. “Yes, I’ll be here tomorrow. And thank you.”

  He waved her thanks away. “I’m grateful Jimson found you. A librarian’s daughter! That pleases me.”

  Mrs. Pollet’s husband, Arthur, drove her the three miles back to Knob Knoster in a buggy. The trees were dressed in autumn finery, and she enjoyed the ride, but she knew that by the end of the month nights in Knoster would be cold with the wind off the sea. She needed to reach Scree before winter, when travel would be almost impossible over the unpaved, snowbound roads.

  By the time she arrived, it was late afternoon. She had arranged to meet the marshal at the Parasol. He had promised to buy her dinner, but Lena knew that his real interest was in what she might have discovered at Mr. Beasley’s house. The problem, she reflected as she made her way to the tearoom, was that she liked Mr. Beasley. Instinctively. There was nothing about her initial impression that had made her wary. It would be difficult to think of him engaging in devious work. Eccentric, maybe—she thought of his eyebrows—but not devious.

  The sun was sinking by the time she pushed open the door of the Parasol. Marshal Thomas Saltre was already waiting to greet her. He stood up as she came in. Lena noticed that he had slicked down his sandy hair and waxed his mustache. He wore a frock coat with a low-cut vest and looked as respectable as any businessman out to dinner.

  “Miss Mattacascar, I have a table for us here in the tearoom.”

  Lena was glad he had reserved a place in the tearoom rather than in the dark and noisy public house. She was tired, and gratefully accepted the offered chair at one of the small tables in the back of the room.

  “I hope you enjoyed your visit to Mr. Beasley’s house. I hear it is an interesting place.”

  “It is. Mr. Beasley is very”—she searched for the right word—“inventive. And his library is the best I’ve seen. You’ve never been inside his house?”

  The marshal’s face clouded. “Alas, I’ve never had the opportunity. My father knew Beasley, though, when he was a younger man traveling the world. I met him first when I was four or five years old.”

  Lena wanted to ask him how his father knew Mr. Beasley, but the same freckled young waitress who had served her the day before arrived at their table.

  “We have two dishes,” she announced. “Mutton or pork. Same as in the public house tonight. Soup’s oxtail or barley, your choice.”

  Lena settled on barley soup followed by a dish of roast pork. This would be the first proper dinner she’d had since arriving in Knoster. She felt quite grown-up dining in the tearoom with a gentleman.

  “Did you notice anything unusual in the house? Perhaps you could describe it to me.”

  He doesn’t waste any time, Lena thought. She did her best to describe the eclectic building, with its many balconies and cupolas. But it was only when she began to describe the solar generator that his interest perked up.

  “What does he use it for?” the marshal asked around a sloppy mouthful of roll.

  Lena averted her eyes in distaste. “I don’t really know. I got the feeling that it was just to show that it could work. Everything in the house is unusual. It would help if you told me what you want me to look for.”

  “I don’t want to bias the witness.” He smiled, charming and urbane once again. “Just tell me everything you notice, just like you are doing now. Lena, you’re my eyes inside that place.”

  As they were finishing their
dinner, Lena told him the most interesting news of all. “Mr. Beasley has offered me a job and lodging until I can save enough money for Scree.”

  The ends of the marshal’s waxed mustache curved upward and he ran his hand through his oiled hair, creating a forest of spikes. “That’s good news—very good news indeed. Better than I could have hoped for. But I shouldn’t expect less from such an intelligent and charming young lady.”

  Lena blushed. “I doubt that I’ll be coming into town very often. Most of my work will be in the library.”

  He looked pensive. “At least let me promise you a visit to the Pleasure Dome?”

  Lena tried to keep the excitement from showing in her face. She didn’t want the marshal to think she could be so easily bought. Besides, she had not yet asked the one question that compelled her visit.

  “In fact,” he went on, “it is open this evening. The carousel shuts down when the summer crowds disappear. I have to admit a fondness for it myself, but I hate to go alone. This may be one of our last opportunities?” He phrased his statement like a question and shot Lena a beseeching look.

  “Well, I suppose I have the time.” Lena bit the inside of her cheek to hold back a smile.

  The marshal pulled back her chair and took her arm.

  Like much of Knoster, the Pleasure Dome had seen better days. The sea air had faded the gilt sign, and one of the cupids had dropped his bow. But the organ music was lively, and Lena could hear it from out on the street.

  “Steam carousels are quite popular in Europe. Knoster is lucky to have even this small version. Now, shut your eyes.” The marshal patted her hand and waited for Lena to follow instructions. He led her through the painted wooden door. Music surrounded her.

  “You can open them now.”

  Lena gasped. In the center of the building was a rotating platform. Horses, ponies, pigs, and gondolas in bright colors circled around a large pipe organ. A handful of men and women rode in the gondolas, and a scattering of children rode the painted animals. A center pole painted blue with silver stars supported the draped fabric of the ceiling. The marshal followed Lena’s gaze. “The pole in the middle is a chimney so that the smoke and steam can escape. The steam engine is under the platform.” He turned to Lena, searching her face with his pale blue eyes. “Shall we ride?”

  Lena could only nod. A bright yellow horse with a wreath of red roses around its neck caught her eye. But maybe she would have to sit in a gondola like the other adults.

  “I prefer the animals, myself,” the marshal said as he paid for their tickets. “As soon as it stops, we’ll claim our mounts. Unless you’d prefer a gondola?”

  “Oh no, a horse is fine with me.” Lena watched for the yellow horse to circle around again.

  When the music stopped, the marshal placed his hand under her elbow. “Choose your animal and I’ll help you up.”

  Lena walked directly to the yellow horse. She noticed that even the littlest girls rode sidesaddle. She tried to place a foot on the narrow wooden stirrup, but her long foot slipped. In one swift motion the marshal put his hands around her rib cage and lifted her onto the horse’s back as if she were no more than a child. Lena gripped the brass pole with both hands and then bent to smooth her skirt over her legs.

  The animal next to the horse was a blue pig with an apple in its mouth. The marshal looked at it skeptically. “Not my first choice, but it will do.” He threw one leg over its saddle just as the music began again.

  The platform rotated. The horse bumped up and down. Lena was flooded with happiness. The platform rotated more slowly than she expected, but it didn’t matter. She was riding a carousel. “This is wonderful!”

  Next to her the marshal bobbed up and down on the blue pig. “I’m happy to show you a good time, Miss Mattacascar. And I do think it would be beneficial if we could meet on a regular basis.”

  A flush spread across Lena’s cheeks. Why did the man confuse her so? Feeling cheered by a good meal and the carousel ride, she smiled and nodded.

  “I shall devise a way to communicate with you, so that you can report back on any strange happenings at Beasley’s.”

  Again Lena nodded. She couldn’t imagine that there would be much to report. They circled the room a fourth time. The question she had been avoiding all evening niggled at the back of her mind, burrowing like a worm into her pleasure. She would wait until the ride was through.

  When the organ stopped and the platform stilled, the marshal helped Lena from the horse. His hands were strong and warm. She couldn’t resist giving the shining yellow neck a pat.

  “I’m afraid I must see you back to Miss Brett’s now. I need to make an early start tomorrow.”

  Reluctantly, Lena allowed herself to be led outside away from the color, the bright lights, and the music. She cleared her throat. “Thank you for this evening. I’ve always wanted to ride a carousel.”

  The marshal nodded. “The pleasure has been all mine. It isn’t often I get to spend an evening in such charming company. The life of a lawman can be quite lonely.”

  Lena glowed under his approval. They walked a few moments in silence. “In what capacity did you know my father?” The question popped out more easily than Lena expected, but she found that her heart was beating very fast. She squeezed her hands together as they walked.

  The marshal continued along in silence for some time, his hands clasped behind his back. “It’s not necessary for children to know everything about their parents. It’s enough to say he was a wanted man.”

  “But I’m not a child any longer and—”

  “No, Miss Mattacascar, you definitely are not.”

  Again Lena found herself blushing.

  “Perhaps we will speak of it at some future time. I wouldn’t want to be accused of giving you bad dreams.”

  Infuriated, Lena felt all the excitement of the evening drain away. He was treating her like a child, no matter what his eyes said. The mournful boom of the foghorn punctuated the marshal’s attempts at conversation. Lena walked in silence.

  As they approached Miss Brett’s porch, the marshal put a hand on her arm and stopped. “Let’s leave it at this, Miss Mattacascar. Your father was trouble from the day he was born. He could also charm the skin off a snake. You are well rid of him. We can’t choose who our folks are, but you can help me with Beasley, who is likely of the same ilk. Think of it as your duty. I’ll be in touch.” He lifted one of her long hands to his lips and stopped just short of kissing it.

  Lena’s breath caught.

  With a bow, the marshal disappeared down the foggy street, leaving Lena seething, sad, and utterly confused on the doorstep.

  Once in her room, she filled a basin with warm water to soak her aching feet. While her feet soaked, she wrote a postcard with a picture of the opera house to her mother and Nana Crane, describing Knoster the best she could, telling them about the magical carousel and that she had found a temporary job as a librarian. She knew that would please her mother.

  When she was finished writing, she lay back across the bed. What had her father done? The question was an itch she couldn’t keep from rubbing. She had a right to know. And how dare the marshal say her father was trouble since the day he was born! Why, the marshal hadn’t even been alive then!

  Mr. Beasley would be sending a buggy for her right after breakfast. She packed her few things, making sure to again fasten the last of her money and the letter from her father to the inside of her chemise. Then she readied herself for morning.

  She didn’t like being in the role of a spy, but what if Mr. Beasley was breaking the law? What would Jimson say if he knew? She was surprised by how good it had been to see him again. It was nice to see a friendly face. Her thoughts wandered, and she slept.

  EAVESDROPPING LENA AT FIVE YEARS OF AGE

  Darkness. I jerked to wakefulness. Mother was screaming. I clutched Rudy, my stuffed dog, to my chest. “It’s all right, Rudy. You’re safe with me.”

  “What have you done, Saul?
What did you do?” Mother’s voice rising in octaves.

  “Be quiet or you’ll wake the neighborhood!” Poppa’s voice, slurred, sharp.

  “Because if it’s what I’ve heard, I’ll leave you. And I’ll take Lena, and you’ll never find us again.”

  “Don’t listen to the old cow. What’s in the past has nothing to do with you and Lena.”

  There was a long wail like a teapot come to full boil. I covered my ears, Rudy fell into the covers, but still I could hear the cry.

  “Shut up or I’ll—”

  Then I couldn’t hear anything more, because I was crying. The next day Poppa got me out of bed, whistling “Camptown Races” while he made breakfast.

  “Your mother’s not feeling well today. Another one of her headaches. I thought you and me could go out to the park, grab a bit of sunshine.”

  “Don’t you have to go to work?”

  “I’m taking the day off to spend it with my favorite girl.”

  It was nice to have Poppa all to myself. Last night’s terrors were gone, and I tied a fresh red bow around Rudy’s neck.

  LENA WAS DELIGHTED TO BE TRAVELING THE COAST ROAD AGAIN. The sun had shown up for her journey, making everything look fresh and new. She had her very first job and felt that she was well on her way to being an independent woman. It was amazing how the promise of employment could lift one’s spirits, Lena thought. Even her vague unease about spying on Tobias Beasley had evaporated with the sun. If there was anything strange going on in Zephyr House, she would discover it. The view from the two-person buggy was better than from the confines of the coach. Arthur Pollet was a quiet man, and Lena was able to revel in the passing landscape and the salt wind in her face.

  This time Mrs. Pollet greeted her with a curt nod and then led her up the polished stairway to a second-floor bedroom that Mr. Beasley had set aside for her. The room looked out over the apple trees just beyond the kitchen garden. If Lena stretched far enough, she could catch a glimpse of the sea. Unlike the simple room at Miss Brett’s, this room was filled with heavy furniture made out of dark wood. A four-poster bed commanded the space. Against one wall was a wardrobe with a mirrored door that would easily hold her clothes. Its feet were cleverly carved lion claws. A small ladies’ desk and chair sat under the window. Lena assessed her reflection in the long mirror, wondering if she looked the part of an assistant librarian. Her hair was wound in a braid and pinned tightly to the crown of her head. She wore her long gray traveling skirt and a striped high-necked bodice. Professional, Lena thought, just like something her mother would wear to work at the library, but a little more modern. She smoothed charcoal-gray gloves over the length of her fingers and exhaled slowly. It would be important to notice even the smallest details as she made her way to the library. Feeling like a detective, she tucked a small notebook and pencil into her pocket and retraced her steps to the main hall.