by Mez Blume
“My mother saw my feelings changing. She did everything she could to keep Ramona and me apart, but we had our secret world we could run away to where no one could find us. Finally, I was sent off to follow in Phineas’s footsteps at the Royal Academy of Art. All I ever painted was her, in all the places that she loved.”
His eyes wandered to the opposite corner of the cabin, landing on the unfinished painting of a black-haired girl in a meadow of wild flowers. “You were quite right,” he said. “It is her.”
“But,” I hated to ask the question, because the next bit of the story was sure to be painful for him, “did something happen between you and Ramona? I mean, why did she leave?”
His eyes closed. “My father died, and my mother cast Ramona out. She had only ever tolerated her for my father’s sake. Ramona came to me for help. Phineas and I had bought an apartment in Bloomsbury which we shared with a few of our fellow visionary art students. She became our muse, our housekeeper, the life of our home. She also took to painting, putting all of us to shame with her natural talents.
“But I had no desire to share her with the others, and especially with Phineas who had never taken any interest in her all of our childhood days. I did not trust him. I knew if ever he discovered the power of her paintings, he would wish to seize upon it for his own gain.
“I decided the time had come. I made a profession of love to Ramona and asked her to be my wife.”
He paused and closed his eyes again. After a few seconds, I wondered if he would continue the story. Hesitantly, I asked, “And, what did she say?”
His eyes opened, but stared into the distance. “She refused me. She promised that she loved me more than anyone in the world, had always loved my goodness, my gentleness… said that I was her closest friend… her brother. She never wished to alter our relationship.
“I was furious. I knew how headstrong she could be. I would never change her mind. So, to my lifelong shame, I decided I would hurt her in return. I would show her how far from good and gentle I could fall. I threw myself headfirst into every form of reckless living – ran up debts with gambling, drinking, brawling. Oh, I was very successful in causing her pain. You should have seen the way she would look at me when I’d come crawling into the house at some godless hour. She said she would have nothing to do with me until I stopped my self-destructive behaviour.
“One night, she confronted me, and I… I…” Gabriel choked, and cupped his hand over his lips. Tears were streaming down his face, but he took in a gulp of breath and made himself continue. “I had been drinking, and I became violent. I’d never strike her. Never. But I grabbed her arm and tore the necklace from her neck: a chain with a pocketwatch. It had belonged to her grandmother and played a song that she had sung to Ramona when she was a little girl. It was precious to her, and I threw it against the floor. I smashed it in two. The little bird inside could never again sing its song.
“I was horrified at what I’d done, sorrier than I could say. It woke me from my long stupor, but too late. She ran to her room, and when I followed her, she had gone. I found only her sketchbook. The painting of the meadow lay open, the grass rippling as if a wind had just passed through it. She had gone and left me behind.”
After a long silence, I thought perhaps he had reached the end of the story. But that couldn’t be the end. “And she never came back?” I asked.
Imogen, who had been hugging her knees into her chest all the while she listened to Gabriel’s story, now unfolded herself. “That can’t be the end,” she protested. “You haven’t explained how Phineas came to have the pocketwatch… or what he has to do with any of it.”
Gabriel had been drying his face with his burgundy handkerchief, and he stuffed it into his pocket before answering. “I am sorry to say it, but that is not the end of the story, and Phineas’s part begins where mine ends. But tell me, how do you know about the pocketwatch?”
I briefly explained how we had first seen the watch at Phineas’s home and had recognised the canary’s song, then how we had later discovered at Salomon & Botts that the watch had once belonged to him, Gabriel.
“And Phineas told you he got it from a pawn shop?” Gabriel shook his head with disgust. “You shall hear the rest of the story, including the truth about the canary pocketwatch.”
22
Phineas’s Plight
I filled our cups with tea, and we sat back as he began again.
“I waited for Ramona all that day and night, and the next day and night. She did not return. On the third day, feeling helpless and wanting to make amends for what I’d done, I had the idea to take the watch to Salomon & Botts to see if it could be repaired. I left it there, and when I returned home, I was confronted by my brother. He told me Ramona had come home. That I was not to speak to her… not even to see her. I was to leave his house that very day.”
“Ramona wanted you to leave?” I asked, unable to believe she would cast out someone so dear to her, even after what he had done.
“I do not believe it was her wish,” Gabriel said. “I have my theory...”
“Go on,” Imogen urged him.
“I believe Phineas must have discovered Ramona just as she returned from the painting. Perhaps he blackmailed her. Perhaps he was very winsome and confidential and promised he would keep her secret safe. Either way, he saw to it that no one should have Ramona but himself. Not because he cared for her, but because he saw her as the key to his fame and fortune. You see, while we called our little artistic society the Round Table, it was always clear that Phineas considered himself our leader. He imagined himself ruler of some mystical kingdom of the past. When he discovered Ramona’s talents, he would have seen a way of turning his dream into a reality.
“He turned all our other friends out of the house after I left. No one ever saw Phineas anymore, except coming to and leaving his exhibitions with a beautiful woman on his arm. Some called her his muse. He grew very famous and inconceivably wealthy. How he made his fortune almost overnight was a great mystery to everyone… except to me.”
“How did he do it?” I asked.
“Ramona helped him to paint his masterpiece, The Wedding Feast. Critics said he must have travelled back in time to the Golden Age of Chivalry in order to paint such a life-like scene.” Gabriel gave a mirthless laugh. “If they only knew how close they were to the truth, and who really deserved the praise.”
I had to interrupt again. “But Ramona wouldn’t stand for having her talents used just so Phineas could get rich. She wouldn’t allow it. I’m sure of it.”
“You are right,” he said. “She did not like what she saw Phineas becoming.”
“How do you know?” Imogen asked.
“She sent me a message saying she was sorry for all that had happened. She had taken care to destroy all that remained of her special paints, and she was going home. She hoped I would forgive her. Me… forgive her.” He rubbed his hand across his forehead.
“So that’s when Phineas lost his fortune,” I said, remembering the articles I’d read.
“Yes,” Gabriel answered. “He nearly lost everything. He was hardly seen for many, many years. Then, a year ago, out of the blue, he announced he was producing a new series of paintings that would put all his past work to shame. Overnight, his fame and fortune returned a hundredfold. I had to know why, so I spied on him. Little did I know he had hired a spy of his own.”
“Tobias Wix,” I said.
Gabriel nodded. “To frighten me, he had Tobias discover where I lived. He broke into my barge and stole my two most prized possessions: On the Steps of St. Paul’s and Ramona’s pocketwatch.
“I was enraged. From then on, I watched Phineas all the more carefully, never letting Wix see me. One night, I got a cab and followed behind his carriage to St. Paul’s Cathedral. I got out of the cab and watched in the shadows as Phineas alighted from his carriage, then helped a young woman alight. She wore a cape, but her hood was down, and I could see her face in the moonlight.
Beyond a shadow of a doubt, it was Ramona!
“She looked just as I remembered her, unchanged by all the years, though Phineas and I had both gone grey. Then Phineas, Ramona and Wix approached the cathedral and disappeared, right before my eyes. I could not see where they had gone. But the carriage remained, and so I waited for them. After an hour, Phineas and Wix returned alone. I waited all night. Ramona never came. I watched Phineas like a hawk for weeks after that. Every few days, he would go to St. Paul’s, disappear as he had before, then return shortly afterward, sometimes carrying a bag he hadn’t had with him before. But never accompanied by Ramona.”
He finished. My mouth was hanging open, speechless. Dread weighed stone-heavy in the pit of my stomach. “You don’t think he would have…”
“No, Miss Watson. I don’t believe Phineas killed her.”
I let out a breath of relief.
“My brother may be a monster, but he is not a murderer. And besides, he only ever acts in his own interest. It is very much in his interest to keep Ramona alive. At least, that is what I say to myself for comfort. But I do believe it. After all, there is at least one good, alternative explanation for Ramona’s disappearance.”
The answer came to me. “She went through a painting,” I said.
He nodded. “And we know of at least one painting in St. Paul’s through which she might have travelled.”
“The Wedding Feast,” I answered.
Imogen stopped massaging her temples. “Wait a second. You said Phineas stole On the Steps of St. Paul’s from your boat. Are you saying it was Phineas who hung it up in the place of The Wedding Feast? You had nothing to do with it?”
“You have the right of it, Miss Humphreys.”
I was on my feet before I knew it. “We have to get word to Janklow right away.” I was looking around as if I might find a telephone handy. “He thinks you did it. He’s looking for you this very minute, and all the while Phineas is getting away with… with…”
“Yes, Miss Watson,” Gabriel nodded. “You see the trouble, don’t you? We don’t know exactly what it is Phineas is up to. We have nothing to go on except our belief that Ramona has escaped through a magical painting. Imagine how that will sound to your inspector friend.”
I gritted my teeth in frustration. “But if Phineas should disappear,”– my head reeled at the thought – “we’ll never be able to find her. We should send word to him immediately.”
I swung my shawl over my shoulders and made for the door, but Gabriel called out, “We are miles from London, Miss Watson. You have suffered an attack today and it is dark. You and Miss Humphreys should get some rest and wait for daylight.
“You can’t keep us here,” Imogen said, rushing to her feet, ready for a fight.
Gabriel held out his hands for peace. “You are not my prisoners, Miss Humphreys. Of course I cannot force you. I only advise you to wait. Get some rest. This is a dangerous business you are about, and you have enemies on your trail. I cannot navigate tonight, but tomorrow I will find a safe place to moor and accompany you to send a message to the inspector.” He winced and massaged his leg.
Imogen looked at me with uncertainty. This whole business was so strange; everything I thought I knew had changed in the last few hours. We had discovered Gabriel Webb only to find that we’d been hunting the wrong man. Phineas had been the perpetrator all along… had had us followed, attacked by that monster Wix. Phineas had taken Ramona away.
I glanced at Gabriel. He had lit a pipe and silently stroked Alpheus’s head. Hours ago, I’d never have trusted him, but the tears in his eyes when he had said how he loved Ramona were genuine. I believed what he said: he would do anything to help her.
“Ok,” I said. “We’ll get some rest and go with you tomorrow.”
Gabriel told us where to find blankets and cushions and we settled down in front of the fire. Gabriel retired to the back cabin and left us to rest. Imogen still looked uneasy, but within minutes, her eyes closed and her breathing turned soft and steady. The barge rocked gently; the fire crackled. For all the thoughts spinning around in my head, in spite of the ache in my arm where Wix had gripped it, my eyelids could hold out no longer.
Galloping. Galloping. I am on horseback, riding across flat land. A stone tower covered in vines breaks the landscape. I approach, but I cannot reach the tower. A moat separates me from it. Then, I hear something. A beautiful, sweet, sad song. Before I know it, I am floating, weightless, up and up. The music grows more audible as I ascend. Then I stop.
I am peering into a tiny window, into the eyes of a beautiful lady. She looks at me and smiles as if she knows me, but her eyes are so sad. On her finger, a little golden canary is perched. The music is coming from its tiny beak.
It finishes its song and takes wing, flying for the window, for freedom! But it cannot get out. The window is barred. I cling to the bars and pull with all my might, but they will not budge. The canary returns to its perch on the lady’s finger. Her sad eyes meet mine again, then she turns away.
I realise I am too late, just before I begin to fall…
I sat up with a gasp, relieved to discover that I was not plummeting to the ground after all. It had all been a dream. An extraordinarily real dream.
Alpheus’s toenails clinked across the barge’s floorboards. I twisted around to look for Gabriel.
The curtain to the back cabin pulled back, and he stuck his head in. Seeing me awake, he smiled and pulled the curtain back further. “Hope you slept well, Miss Watson. Tea?”
“Yes, please.” I crawled out from under the blankets and got to my knees, squinting towards the window where a hazy beam of sunlight spilled through. “What time is it?”
“It is yet early. The river froze over in the night, but the sun will soon take care of that. We should be on our way by–” He stopped mid-sentence, a look of concern darkening his face. Alpheus had raised his head and was sniffing towards the door. Then he began a low growl, the hackles spiking up on his neck. Next, Billy Bones began to squawk restlessly, “Scurvy dogs! Scurvy dogs!”
Imogen sat up, her eyes wide with terror. The next thing we knew, the barge was shaking from heavy footsteps climbing on board. Someone was pounding on the door and shouting, “Open up in the name of the law!”
What followed was mass confusion. Gabriel limped for the door, but before he could open it to let them in, three policemen with clubs burst through, knocking Gabriel to the floor. One of them pushed him down face forward and began tying his hands behind his back.
Imogen and I were on our feet, both screaming for them to stop, that they were making a mistake; but the other two policemen rushed for us, grabbed us firmly by the shoulders and drove us outside, lifting us and setting us down, still struggling, on the ice-solid ground.
I stopped struggling and froze. Dobbs was standing on the towpath beside Constable Smart. My first feeling was relief to see his familiar face, but then came confusion. What was Dobbs doing there with the Constable?
My confusion turned to horror when another figure stepped out from behind the two of them. It was Wix. He wore a wicked, self-satisfied grin and was mumbling away to Constable Smart. “I sees this Nemo fella goin’ after these two innocents, an’ I says to meself, I says, ‘Wix, no good could come o’ this.’ So I steps in, see, and tries to ‘elp the girls only to ‘ave my ‘ead bashed in by that good-fer-nuffink criminal.”
The police appeared actually to be listening to this rubbish, and when Imogen and I tried to protest that it wasn’t true, they hushed us up. “Easy now. You’ve had a shock. You’re safe now. There, there.” Their mollycoddling was infuriating.
Dobbs rushed forward when he saw us, anxiously asking if we had been hurt. I could hardly hear a word he said, though. My attention kept being drawn away by Wix. He still had the policemen’s full attention, and was oozing a lot of hot air.
“I reckon ‘e’s ‘iding more than stolen children in that barge of ‘is. Why, I’ve often ‘eard these bargemen will ‘ide
fings under the deck boards. I’d check if I was you.”
“Go on,” the Constable ordered. “Check under the deck.”
Gabriel had been dragged out of his barge. He watched the officer take a crowbar and pry up the boards of the boat that was his home. He showed no emotion, just looked on wearily.
“There is something under here, all right,” the policeman called out. Next minute, with the help of his fellow officer, he had pulled out a large scrolled-up parchment. The two men unravelled it for all to see.
I felt like an electric shock zapped through my body. It was The Wedding Feast. Everyone, including Gabriel, beheld it in shocked silence. Everyone, that is, but Wix.
“See there! Wot did ol’ Wix tell yer. Can’t trust ‘is kind.”
“Shut up, you,” Constable Smart pushed Wix aside as he came closer to inspect the painting. When he stood up again, he had a look on his face like he’d just won the lottery. “Someone send word to Janklow immediately. And help these young ladies into the carriage before they catch their deaths!”
We were practically hoisted into a carriage. Dobbs and Betsy hopped in after us and the door slammed shut. As the horses started off and we rumbled over the gravel towpath, I turned in my seat. The back window was frosted over, but I could just see the policemen shoving Gabriel into the back of another carriage. It had bars over its windows.
23
Janklow & Son
“‘Peeping Tom discovered in ladies’ swimming bath caught and thrown into pool’… ‘More ice accidents for skaters on Thames’… ‘Woman gives man sound thrashing at ball for treading on foot and refusing to apologise’… Ah! ‘Ere we are.” Dobbs flicked the front page of the freshly-printed Illustrated Police News. “‘Missing painter reappears as notorious St. Paul’s thief and kidnapper, see page four.’ Let’s see if it mentions Bess ‘n’ me!”
