She had not been near this area since the dreadful day after the accident, when she and Mother watched while rescue crews searched for survivors. Now here she was, back again.
Now she was a survivor.
The Borden brothers had not killed her, and she was grateful, of course. But she wondered if the kidnappers were stupid men. They hadn’t killed her, and they hadn’t even tied her up! Yes, she’d been rendered unconscious, but surely the men must realize that as soon as she woke up and climbed out of the cave, she would go for the police!
She gasped in shock as a spray of cold water splashed her face. Struggling, she peered over the edge again. Rain pelted her head. The tide was coming in swiftly and waves were lapping very close to the mouth of the cave. The sharp rocks were covered now by the dark, salty ocean. Soon the cave would be filled—and the kidnappers must have known that. Not stupid after all, then—just evil to the bone. They mean for me to die out here! The terrible knowledge that she might not have regained consciousness in time gave Clara new strength. She must escape now—or perish.
Pushing away the dizzy feeling, she scrambled to her knees and slung her feet over the edge of the cave opening. She would have to walk along rocks underwater now until she could climb onto safer ground. She struggled out of the cave, gasping as freezing water closed around her ankles. She clung to the rock face and edged along, carefully feeling her way. The wind blew rain and sea spray into her eyes, and she shook her head, not daring to let go of the rock to wipe her face. Would she ever see Mother and Father again?
Clara!
She froze, listening. The kidnappers? Or someone coming to help her?
Hold on! the voice cried, and she realized with a shock that the voice pounded inside her own head. Hold on tight, Old Sock!
“Oh, no, Gideon!” she muttered through teeth clenched against the cold. “I will surely lose my grip if I see a ghost now!—and I don’t believe in ghosts anyway!” She wondered if the crack on the head had made her delirious.
The toes of her sodden high-button shoes scrabbled hard against the rock as she climbed out of the water. She grasped knobs of sea-worn rock, found little footholds in hollows. Then she heard another voice—a high-pitched cry coming from up above. Baby Helen? Had the men stashed the baby inside another cave, meaning to leave them both to drown?
You monsters, thought Clara furiously. “I’m coming, Helen!” she shouted, peering up into the falling rain. But all she saw were two screeching seagulls glaring down from their roost on the rocks above. They opened their beaks and shrieked at her. Not the baby, then, after all.
At last she reached level ground and rested on the rocks, panting and shivering in the rain. The hulking mass of the Sutro Baths was shrouded in darkness. The huge panels of glass over the domed baths must have shattered in the earthquake. She rounded the building and picked her way cautiously toward higher ground, toward the pathway leading up to Sutro Heights and out to the road. She had to find help.
She had to find Helen.
The rain slackened as she squelched along, shivering in her wet clothing, heading toward the road. In the distance, beyond the baths, she could make out a light. It must come from Cliff House, she decided, which might mean that the imposing building had not been too badly damaged in the earthquake. She knew that it would probably be a long time before people returned to the exhibitions, restaurants, and art galleries at Cliff House, but no matter. There was a light, and that might mean shelter and help on this dreadful night.
Now the rain stopped altogether. Clouds overhead began to part as Clara raced along the path. She moved as quickly as she dared with only the moon lighting her way. Satchel to Cliff House. The words echoed in her mind. Had it been the kidnappers’ plan all along to bring Helen here? What would Clara find once she reached that lighted room?
She slowed her steps. Cliff House loomed in front of her like a fortress. Were shelter and safety to be found there—or danger?
From the side of the path came a rustling noise. Then a hand shot out from the bushes and grabbed her arm. Clara’s scream split through the night and sent gulls screeching overhead in alarm.
“Shh,” hissed a voice at her side. “It’s me!” Edgar emerged from the bushes, scratched and dirty and looking more like a ragamuffin than ever by moonlight. But Clara had never been so glad to see anybody in her life and she wrapped her arms around him in a great hug.
“Get off!” he muttered, struggling out of her grip. “Thank goodness you’re all right!”
“Where’s Helen?” she asked, relief at seeing him turning to dismay as he shook his head.
“You had her, last I saw,” he said.
Clara’s eyes filled with tears. She blinked them back. “The men knocked me unconscious and left me on the rocks to drown. I escaped, but I didn’t see Helen—”
Edgar pulled her off the path. They knelt behind the bushes that formed a screen between them and the palatial Cliff House. “At least you’re safe,” he said huskily. “That’s something.”
“How did you know to look for me here anyway?” she asked, staring at him in confusion.
“I didn’t know for sure,” Edgar said in a low voice, “but the paper you’d found with the baby said something about Cliff House. It was the only clue, so I told the police. I had to try to find you.” He shifted in the bushes. “I mean, you’ve been helping me out, so it’s only right …”
“You mean the police know we’re here?” whispered Clara. “Well, where are they then? We’ve got to find Helen!”
Edgar sounded puzzled. “I haven’t seen anybody—though I was sure they’d be here. Maybe they’re still looking after your mother—”
“Mother is hurt?” cried Clara. “Edgar, tell me what happened!”
“Sshh!” He glanced around nervously. “You ran off, and those men knocked your mother to the ground and took off after you. Your mother had a gash on her forehead, and Hattie stayed with her while I ran for the cops. By the time I found one, blood was streaming down your mother’s face, but all she could talk about was how you’d rescued the baby and she was so proud of you … It wasn’t till the cop found a cart and driver to carry us back to your house that we all realized you and Helen never made it home. Your parents were frantic.”
Clara could imagine. And no doubt Mother would somehow blame Father for this calamity, too. She felt a terrible urgency to be out of these bushes, to be searching for Baby Helen. But Edgar was chattering on, relating his account of events, and she could hear the same nervous note of shock in his voice that she’d noticed that first day in the park.
“Yeah, your parents were crazy, and the cop was all upset, too, because he’d counted on finding you and the baby there! See, he said, the Forrests’ housekeeper had come to the station to report that they’d received a ransom note. The note said to bring a suitcase of money directly to Cliff House at midnight if they ever wanted to see their baby again! Then the cops came straight to the park to tell the parents, and they all went back to the police station.”
“You mean the Forrests were right there at the police station while we were fighting off the Borden brothers?”
“Exactly,” Edgar said. “And once I told the cop about the note with the baby, he wanted to get back to the station right away to get the Forrests and head out for Cliff House. Hattie was going with him, and I wanted to, too. But—can you believe this?—the cop just thanked me for my help and told me to stay with your parents!”
He snorted—a loud sound in the quiet darkness. “The cop said, ‘Stay where you’re safe, lad! We’ll find them ourselves!’” Edgar sniffed. “Well, soon as they left for the station, I took your bicycle from the shed and made my way here on my own.” He shook his head. “Sure was hard, though, with the road all torn up from the quake.” He reached into the middle of the thicket. “See? Your bike’s stashed right here.”
Clara didn’t care about the bicycle; she cared about the baby. She glanced around uneasily into the darkness tha
t surrounded them. “So you think everybody’s hiding around here somewhere, waiting for midnight?”
“Yup—the police, the Forrests, Hattie—maybe my old Uncle James to boot!” Clara could see Edgar’s nervous grin in the moonlight. “We surely lead an exciting life, don’t we?”
Clara reached for his hand in the darkness, and he did not pull away. “Listen,” she said, “if we knew where the police and the Forrests were hiding, we could go to them. But we don’t know where they are, or even if they’re really here.” Surely every officer on the force was needed for fighting fires and halting looters and helping the injured. How many policemen could be spared to stake out Cliff House at midnight? She and Edgar didn’t even have a pocket watch to tell them when it was midnight. “We can’t just stand here,” she told Edgar. “We’ve got to search for that poor baby!”
“Not a poor baby—she’s rich!” Edgar corrected, his voice giddy.
“So she is,” Clara retorted, “and that’s how this whole mess began.” Then without another word, she darted off down the path as fast as her shaky legs would allow, keeping to the shadows. The light inside Cliff House drew her like a beacon.
“Clara, wait!” Edgar hissed behind her.
But she did not stop. There was no time for waiting.
CHAPTER 13
SHOWDOWN AT CLIFF HOUSE
Clara hurried on, with Edgar right behind. The towering bulk of Cliff House loomed above them in the darkness, lit only by the glow in one window.
It was a spectacular building, an eight-story gingerbread mansion with four corner towers and a center steeple rising up into the moonlight. The house was decorated with crenellations and spires like a castle. Clara had been there several times with her family and on school trips, sitting out on the balcony where, for a dime, you could look out at the magnificent view for as long as you liked, eating ice cream from the concession stands. Inside, people enjoyed afternoon tea in the parlors, drinks in the bars, wedding receptions in the lunchrooms, dances in the ballroom, and tours through the art gallery. Those who could afford to dined in the fine restaurant—where, Clara remembered, Edgar’s Uncle James had worked. And where Denny, Hattie’s boyfriend, had first met the Borden brothers.
During the daytime the roiling ocean, the towering cliffs, and the barking seals out on Seal Rocks presented visitors to Cliff House with amazing views. It had always felt like an elegant, friendly place to Clara. But now, at night, Cliff House did not feel the least bit friendly. Clara and Edgar crept together along the pathway at the side until they were standing just under the ground-floor window that shone with flickering yellow light.
Clara breathed into Edgar’s ear, “I wish we knew who was in there.”
“Boost me up,” whispered Edgar. “I’ll peek inside. And maybe I can open it.”
“Whoever’s in there didn’t go in by the window,” Clara whispered back. “Let’s try the doors.”
“This place feels like Dracula’s castle,” murmured Edgar, glancing over his shoulder as they tried first one basement door, then another. “Gives me the creeps.”
Clara was shivering hard as she tugged on the handle of the third basement door. The huge door yielded to her hands, and she edged it open. “All right, we’re in!” She beckoned to Edgar, who crept after her into darkness.
They had to wait a moment for their eyes to adjust to the lack of moonlight. They were in a long hallway; this they could make out by the faint light that flickered through the window of the closed door on their right. Tall white letters were painted on it: OFFICE. Clara pressed herself against the wall and sidled along until she reached the door. She could hear murmuring. Deep voices.
Fear coursed through her like a wave. Her hands felt clammy. Her wet clothes stuck to her like a cold second skin. She knew who was in there: the Borden brothers. The men who had injured her mother, overpowered Clara, ripped the baby from her arms, knocked Clara unconscious. The men who had carried her to the rocks and left her in the cave to drown.
Now they were waiting for their ransom money. But was the baby with them?
Clara wished she knew what time it was. She wished she knew for sure that the police were nearby. Where is everybody? she thought desperately.
Edgar crept closer to the office door. “This hallway is so dark,” he whispered. “I bet they can’t tell we’re out here.” He peeked through the door’s window.
Clara held her breath and moved forward so she could see, too. She stifled a scream at the sight of the two kidnappers only a few feet away. One was seated at a large wooden desk with his feet propped casually on a pile of papers. The other—Sid, the one with the jagged scar—lounged in a leather armchair facing the big window wall. What a good thing Edgar hadn’t tried to climb up to look into the window—illumined by moonlight, he would have been seen by the men for sure! Clara’s heart thudded at the thought.
There was no sign of Denny. But there on the desk next to Herman’s booted feet lay a bundle wrapped in Mother’s shawl. A bundle that lay frighteningly still. Clara could barely draw breath. Was Helen dead? Had these monsters killed her?
Clara and Edgar waited for what seemed like hours, hovering silently outside the office door, keeping watch through the glass. The lamplight flickered. The kidnappers chatted to each other in voices so low that Clara could make out only a murmur. Herman tapped his long fingers restlessly on the desktop and checked his watch. Sid rose several times and walked to the window to stare outside. Then he sat back in the armchair.
Clara figured the baby couldn’t be dead. Why would the men just be sitting around with a dead body on the desk, she asked herself wildly. That wouldn’t make sense. But if Helen was alive—why was she lying so deathly still?
Hang on, Old Sock.
The thought filtered into Clara’s head as if Gideon had spoken. She felt obscurely comforted, though she knew it must be just her imagination. She wished he were here with her, though. Gideon always knew what to do next.
She and Edgar jumped away from the door when they heard the chug of an automobile outside. Help is here! Clara thought gladly, but Edgar hissed, “Hide!” And so they darted down the long hallway and crouched in the deep shadows of a stairwell. Peering out, they could see the basement door opening. A young man wearing a dark suit and bowler hat stepped inside. He held a lantern. In the pale light they could see that he carried a satchel.
It’s not the police, Clara realized. Could it be Denny? Or—could it be Lucas Forrest, the baby’s father, arriving at midnight as the ransom note had specified? Clara watched from the shadows as the man set the satchel down just inside the basement door. Then he slowly moved outside again, letting the door close behind him.
Isn’t he even going to look for his baby? wondered Clara. She couldn’t understand it. She wanted to run after him, grab his arm and make him come to the office to rescue little Helen. She actually took a step forward, but Edgar pulled her back.
None too soon, because the office door opened and there was Sid—or was it Herman? Too dark to see a scar—but whoever it was held a revolver. The man strolled casually into the hallway.
Clara pushed herself hard against the wall. She had the most oppressive feeling of danger, as if a heavy weight were pressing down on her. She prayed he would not look their way; she prayed that the shadows would hide them.
Then, with a grunt of satisfaction, he grabbed the satchel and turned back to the office.
It was several minutes after the door closed behind him that Clara and Edgar dared to edge back down the hallway to peer through the office door. Clara gasped at the sight of the two triumphant men gleefully stashing wads of money into their pockets and coats. The satchel stood open on the desk next to the baby.
There must be a way to get that baby away from the men. Clara felt desperation rise in her, and a terrible longing to burst into tears. The shock of the earthquake, the fear of fire—these were nothing compared to the terror she felt now. Earthquake and fire were forces of nature.
But the ruthlessness and greed of men who would stop at nothing—these were the forces of calculated evil. Clara bit the inside of her cheeks, willing herself not to make a sound. She couldn’t overpower the men; she had found that out already. But when they left, perhaps she could follow them.
Or would it be better to leave now, while the men were busy with the money, and try to find the police? But what if the police weren’t anywhere out there at all?
Clara’s thoughts were in a whirl, but one thing was certain. She would never leave Baby Helen with the kidnappers.
Then Clara heard a little sound outside the basement door. A tiny scrape. A footstep. And then the creak of the door … opening just a crack.
She and Edgar pressed back into the shadows. Clara could feel Edgar trembling against her. Had the kidnappers heard? But, no, a bark of laughter came from the office. And then one of the men blew out the lamp.
The office door opened and the kidnappers stepped into the hallway. Was the baby with them? It was too dark to see without the light.
But suddenly there was light—as the basement door burst open and two policemen stepped into the hallway, revolvers drawn. Behind them stood the man in the bowler hat, lantern held high.
“Halt! Police!”
“Hey!” shouted Sid—or was it Herman?—in furious surprise. The other twin, quicker than his brother, turned to run down the hallway, right past Clara and Edgar. Clara saw that he was clutching the baby. Helen’s head lolled sideways.
“She’s dead,” breathed Clara, and she knew that she and Edgar would probably be next. The shadows wouldn’t hide them now.
“Not dead,” whispered Edgar as the baby let out a little moan. “Drugged!”
“Stop right there or we’ll shoot,” ordered the older officer, pointing his gun at the men.
“Not with this baby in my arms, you won’t,” snarled the man holding Helen. Clara could see Sid’s scar quite plainly now. He and his brother edged down the hallway, away from the police, toward the children’s hiding place in the stairwell.
The Strange Case of Baby H Page 9