Katie Watson Mysteries in Time Box Set

by Mez Blume

  Dobbs had been in a cheery mood ever since our carriage journey the pervious morning. With a brimming smile on his face, he had told us his whole story. He had come to meet us at noon the day before, as planned, and Miss Turvey had given him our message. Instead of waiting around – not being one to waste time – he’d sallied forth to meet us at Regent’s Park. He arrived at the Taxopholite Pavilion only just in time to see us scampering off, and then did his best to keep on our trail through the park, across the Euston Road and so on.

  “’Tweren’t easy neither,” he exclaimed. “You must’ve taken ‘bout fifty detours to get there; ‘twas like chasin’ after a jack rabbit!”

  Dobbs explained how he had learned what had happened to us from his street urchin connections – the rock-throwing boys on the bridge – who had apparently watched the whole violent scene of Wix’s attack without bothering to do anything about it. Hearing that Captain Nemo had taken us aboard the Bella Ramona, Dobbs naturally assumed, just as we had, that he meant to kidnap us. So, putting old prejudices aside, he had gone straight to Constable Smart for help.

  “The ol’ Constable didn’t believe a word of it at first,” Dobbs recounted. “We’ve not been the best o’ friends, him and me. But after I flashed him Inspector Janklow’s card ‘n’ told ‘im ‘ow I was workin’ on the Inspector’s orders, he came with me quick ‘nough.”

  And, of course, the rest we knew. Smart found Wix in the wharf. Wix claimed he had played the hero, trying to save us only to be knocked out by the vicious bargeman. And then Wix had uncovered the missing painting on board the Bella Ramona, turning him from wanted man to hero with a snap of his dirty fingers.

  We had all been taken to the police station for questioning, but every time Imogen and I tried to tell Constable Smart that Wix was lying and that Gabriel had, in fact, rescued us from him, his silly little moustache would curl up in a patronising smile.

  “There, there, my dears. Con artists like this Gabriel Webb have a great talent for confusing their victims. No doubt, he has persuaded you through trickery that it was he who rescued you from Mr. Wix. Two weak-minded, innocent young ladies are hardly a match for the workings of a criminal mastermind.”

  When Imogen had retorted that Smart would prove himself to be the one with the weak mind, the Constable had somewhat lost his tender touch. We were in shock, he said, and must be kept under his supervision until Janklow returned and decided what was to be done with us. We were given some food and a room with two camp beds, then left to wait. After an uncomfortable night on a hard cot, a policeman knocked on our door and informed us that Janklow had arrived in the wee hours. He was questioning the prisoner and would meet us for coffee in the station kitchen.

  There we waited, listening to Dobbs’s happy chatter. After a long time, he noticed how quiet we both were. “I can’t ‘elp but notice the two o’ you look a little bit… cast down considerin’ this auspisheeous occasheeon. I reckon it’s the shock ‘n’ all. But never you worry. You was never in any real danger. Not with ol’ Dobbs ‘n’ Janklow on the case!”

  At that moment, Inspector Janklow himself appeared in the doorway. The circles under his eyes had darkened several shades, but he greeted us in his usual gentlemanly manner before taking a chair and pouring himself some coffee.

  “Well well. There was our culprit, right under our noses all this time.”

  “What did he say to you?” I asked, eager to find out what Janklow thought, hopeful that he would see what Smart had refused to.

  “Nemo has confessed to the identity of Gabriel Webb. We’ve caught our man.” He smiled weakly. “By we, of course, I mean all of you. And as I understand it, special praise is due to you, Mr. Dobbs, for burying old grudges and alerting the police when you discovered the fate of these two young ladies.” He raised his coffee cup in a toast to Dobbs who beamed proudly.

  Imogen and I shared a helpless look. What were we to do? Dobbs may have been mistaken about the whole situation, but he had acted heroically. Not wanting to steal his moment of glory, I decided the best thing to do was to keep my mouth shut until I could speak to Inspector Janklow privately. I would seize the first opportunity I could find.

  The Inspector resumed a business-like air. “I would like to speak to you about the events of the past two days. Gabriel’s story does conflict rather with Smart’s.” He looked from Imogen to me. “But only after you’ve had time to recover. Smart tells me you’ve suffered a great shock, and I don’t wonder. You’ve had rather an eventful time of it.”

  “We’re fine, really,” I began, but he held up his hand.

  “You will accompany me back home. Mrs. Janklow can set you to rights before any questions need be asked.”

  Neither Imogen nor I argued. Desperate as I was to tell Janklow the truth about what had happened, I was all too happy to leave the constabulary and Constable Smart’s smug remarks behind. And anyway, going home with Inspector Janklow offered the best possibility of speaking to him in private.

  The four of us, and Betsy, walked together to Bedford Row. When we had reached the Janklow’s red door, Dobbs scuffed his shoes on the ground a bit awkwardly. “Well, guess Bess ‘n’ me’ll just be on our way…”

  Inspector Janklow frowned. “Whatever do you mean, Mr. Dobbs? You’ve had as eventful a day as any one of us, and, I might add, proved yourself a fine detective in the making. In fact, I believe a promotion is in order.”

  Dobbs’s eyes grew enormous. “You mean it, gov? Well, wot manner o’ promotion did you ‘ave in mind?”

  Inspector Janklow was giving Dobbs one of his hard but thoughtful stares. “I’ve been considering branching out from police cases and starting my own private investigations business. Mr. Dobbs, I’d like to train you up proper. You see, you remind me a mite of myself as a boy, full of potential but in bad need of cultivation. If you’re to be a decent investigator, you must first be trained up into a decent man.”

  Dobbs had stars in his eyes. “I can just see it now, gov,” he said, raising his hand and swooping it across an imaginary sign in the air in front of him. “Janklow and Dobbs, private investigators.”

  Inspector Janklow smiled wryly. “I was thinking perhaps… but I’d like your opinion on the matter… of Janklow and Son?”

  Dobbs’s starry-eyed face became confused. “I didn’t know as you had a son, gov…”

  “Well,” the Inspector looked embarrassed as he turned his hat in his hands. “I suppose I don’t as of yet. But I had hoped you might consider taking on that position as well?”

  If Dobbs’s eyes had been big before, they positively bulged as he digested what the Inspector was saying. His open mouth curled into the biggest, toothiest smile I have ever seen. Then, as suddenly, it dropped. “Inspector, it’s not as I don’t appreciate the honour of your offer, but…”

  “Well, what is it, boy?” Janklow asked with concern.

  “Fing is,” Dobbs continued, his eyes fixed on Betsy and hers on him, “I could only accept if Bess was welcome to stay with me. And as I know you’re not partial to dogs…” He glanced up hopefully, then back down again.

  Inspector Janklow eyed the the bulldog thoughtfully. He bent down so that he and the dog were eye to eye, then he spoke directly to her. “You’ll have to earn your keep, Bess. Make yourself useful in the kitchen, perhaps.”

  The bulldog panted for a moment, then shuffled up to the Inspector and gave him an enormous, slobbery lick across the face.

  Janklow stood, his face fixed in a tight grimace. “I’m sure Mrs. Janklow will be delighted to have Bess as well.”

  It was an understatement. When Mrs. Janklow came to the door, her husband presented Dobbs and said, very casually, “Mrs. Janklow, I’m pleased to inform you that Mr. Dobbs has agreed to take the name of Arthur Janklow.”

  She blinked at her husband, bewildered.

  “He has agreed to accept our proposal. Meet your new son, my dear.”

  “Oh!” Mrs. Janklow wasted no time in throwing herself on
Dobbs’s neck and crying her eyes out with joy. When she could speak again, she wiped her face and said, “Let’s get you cleaned up for dinner, my darling boy. What would you like to eat? Lamb shank? Pot roast? Pork chop? Never you mind, I’ll cook up the lot.”

  24

  Cast off

  It should have been a joyful evening. I was as happy as could be for Dobbs and the Janklows, but I couldn’t celebrate. Everything had spun out of order in my head. I had been so sure Gabriel was telling us the truth, yet there was the painting hidden on his barge. Still, whether he had taken the painting or not, I could not believe he was truly a criminal. I felt certain an innocent man had been locked behind bars while the true culprit still walked free.

  Imogen felt as gloomy about the whole thing as I did, so we kept to ourselves as much as we could, not wanting to put a damper on the family’s happiness.

  Mrs. Janklow spent the afternoon cooking up a feast between blowing her nose, wiping her eyes, and beaming at Dobbs as if he were the sun itself and she were basking in its rays.

  I hoped I might speak to the Inspector after dinner, but a post boy came to the door with a letter for him and he promptly disappeared with it into his study. To pass the time, we offered to help Mrs. Janklow tidy up, but she insisted we go upstairs and get some rest in the spare bedroom, which was now to be Dobbs’s room.

  Neither of us had any intention of resting, though. We couldn’t have if we wanted to.

  “What are you going to tell him?” Imogen asked, sitting cross-legged on the bed with her chin in her hands while I paced back and forth across the tiny room.

  “I don’t know, exactly. But Gabriel shouldn’t be in prison. I’ll tell Janklow how it was Wix who attacked us and Gabriel who saved us… and that we know Wix is working for Phineas.”

  “Are you going to tell him what Gabriel said about Phineas and Ramona disappearing into St. Paul’s?”

  I thought for a moment. I did not want to tell Janklow anything that sounded too far-fetched, or he would think we were just being fanciful. Yet if it was the truth…

  “I’m not sure,” I answered. “If only we knew what Phineas was really up to, and could prove it.” I rubbed my forehead as if that would spark an idea. “What could he have done with Ramona?”

  Imogen bit her thumbnail, thinking. “Gabriel had a point,” she said at last. “It wouldn’t make sense for Phineas to hurt her if she’s the key to his fortune. Besides, what would he paint? She’s the subject of every single picture.”

  I closed my eyes, searching my memory for every detail of the paintings. The Lady of Shalott gazing from her tower window. It had been just like my dream of Ramona and the canary, locked away, as if someone had put them both in a cage.

  “I think Phineas is keeping Ramona prisoner in the Middle Ages,” I said, and felt sure I’d struck the truth.

  Imogen was frowning. “There’s just one gaping problem with that,” she said. “If Ramona is stuck in the past, how is Phineas travelling back and forth without her? I couldn’t have travelled through those paintings if I hadn’t been touching you. How is he managing it?”

  I dropped down onto the bed beside her and chewed my lip, stumped. I shook my head. “I don’t know, but there must be a way. Maybe Gabriel knows something.”

  “Well good luck getting any information from him. He’s in jail for theft and kidnapping, remember?” Imogen let herself fall back onto the bed with a dramatic crash.

  I stood up. “That’s why we have to speak to Janklow. We have to convince him somehow that Gabriel is innocent.”

  Imogen shook her head. “Gabriel is right, you know. Janklow is never going to buy the true story.”

  “Maybe not all of it, but we’ll tell him as much as he can handle.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Come in!” I called.

  It was Dobbs.

  “We were just about to come down–” I began, then noticed how tense and red his face was. His ears glowed like hot coals. “What’s wrong, Dobbs?”

  “The Inspector’s ‘ad a letter,” Dobbs answered without looking me in the eye. “Not sure who from, but he don’t seem all too pleased about it. Says he wants to speak to you both straight away.”

  “We’ll be right down,” I forced a smile. Why did I feel seasick?

  We found Janklow in his study, a piece of paper gripped in his hand. His face appeared more creased and tired than I’d ever seen it.

  “Come in,” he said in a strangely flat tone.

  Imogen and I looked at each other apprehensively but came forward to his desk as he’d asked.

  “I believe, Miss Humphreys, that I should pay a visit to your aunt after all that has happened. You have, I hope, informed her that you are safe?”

  “I… um…” Imogen gulped. “Yes, I sent her a message yesterday.”

  “Hmm.” Inspector Janklow’s nose twitched. “And shall I inform the Misses Turvey as well?”

  My heart sank. Janklow offered us the letter he was holding. I took it and, silently, we both began to read.

  Dear Sir,

  I wish to express my profoundest gratitude to you for recovering what was stolen. That painting remains the greatest work of my life, and posterity is indebted to you for rescuing it from unworthy hands. I say this in writing because, after receiving my knighthood, I will be away seeing to my affairs abroad for some time. You will not hear from me, but whatever reports may arise that I have abandoned my public, pay them no heed. I am merely exerting my talents in some new arena. The artist must follow his muse wherever she takes him, after all.

  In my absence, I leave my good name in your trustworthy hands. None better, I am sure.

  To that effect, I wish to express something that concerns us both, namely the two young ladies rescued from my poor brother’s clutches when the painting was recovered. I was alarmed to learn that these two young ladies were among your informants, for I have reason to suspect that they are more than they pretend to be and may even be employed by my wayward brother (it pains me to say that the lunatic asylum may befit him better than a prison). I have ascertained from Miss Agatha Turvey that they are lodged at her Hostel for Girls of Good Character on Long Acre. I am not sure these girls fit that description.

  One could hardly blame even a man of your superior wit if these young ladies have already taken you in, for youthful charms can be so very beguiling. But I issue this word of caution: Do not take them into your confidence. You never know to whom they may be answering. Do not the Scriptures warn us to take care, for one knows not whether he may be entertaining angels? May I humbly posit that, in the case of these two seemingly-innocent girls, one does not know whether he may rather be entertaining demons in angelic disguise.

  I trust that you will act in a reasonable manner with this information, for you are, admirably, a man of great Reason.

  I remain faithfully,

  P.W.W.

  Imogen burst as soon as she’d read the letter, “But Inspector, it’s all a lie–”

  “Is it all a lie, Miss Humphreys?”

  “Well… almost all. It is true that we’re staying with the Turvey sisters and not with my aunt, but–”

  “This is just the trouble,” Janklow cut her off without raising his voice. “How am I to trust you as associates if you have been telling me fabrications?”

  “Please, Inspector,” I was surprised to hear my own voice shaking. “We want to tell you everything. The whole truth. If you’ll just let us.”

  “I should dearly like to hear it, Miss Watson.”

  “I’m not sure you will like it, though. It’s a little… hard to believe.”

  Janklow frowned. “Miss Watson, the truth is always reasonable.”

  I did my best to steady my breathing. Then I told him, starting with all that had happened the previous day, and how Gabriel had really rescued us from Wix. I told him Gabriel’s story, what he had seen at St. Paul’s. And then I even dared to tell him what Gabriel believed to b
e the explanation for Ramona’s disappearance. “We think he’s right, because…” Janklow had listened impassively to my entire explanation, but I still had trouble voicing the words, “because Imogen and I… we came to 1885 the very same way. Through a painting. In fact, through the very painting that appeared there that night. That’s why we were running from St. Paul’s after the Mass on Christmas Eve. The painting brought us there, right to the scene of the crime. And then we met you, and… well, you know the rest.”

  When I had finished, he just looked at me. Only then did I notice some sort of emotion in his eyes. It wasn’t anger. It was as if a battle were going on inside his own head, though I could only see faint flickers of it from the outside. Finally, he let his eyes drop to his desk.

  “I must confess, Miss Watson, that I have never been more… disappointed.”

  I felt like I’d just received a punch to the stomach, and there was more to come.

  “You might at least do me the courtesy of being honest now. But I blame myself.” He pointed one of his long fingers at his own chest. “I, a grown man and professional detective, should never have involved children in such matters. I do not believe you to be, as the letter suggests, demons in disguise. Misguided, perhaps. And as I have no evidence that you conspired with Gabriel Webb in his theft–”

  “But Inspector, please–”

  “Let me finish, Miss Watson. As there is no evidence of conspiracy, I will not press charges this time. But from this moment, every connection between us must be severed forever. And I plead with you to sever all connections with that imprisoned man, for next time, I will not be able to look the other way. There shall be serious consequences.”

  For the first time that day, I really did feel in shock. “Inspector,” I pleaded, “Won’t you at least look at the evidence for our side of the story? What if we really are telling you the truth?”

  “No matter how much I wish to believe you, Reason forbids me.”