The Missing Boy (Lady Eugenie's School for Girl Sleuths Book 1)

by V. Penley

  “How about outside town?”

  Mrs. Styles thought a bit. “I don’t think so.”

  The Inspector nodded and made another note.

  “I should say something,” Eugenie offered.

  All heads turned in her direction. The Inspector shrugged. “If you like.”

  “There was a noise I heard, early this morning,” Eugenie said. “I should have mentioned it earlier but…well, everything was so confused. I didn’t know if it had any meaning, but now I think it might. Around dawn. It was…well, I think it sounded like a body colliding with the side of the house.”

  “Eugenie!” Marchioness Carlyle cried, as if Eugenie were admitting to the commission of a crime and not merely having heard it. “I am shocked at you!”

  “Huh,” Inspector Feagley said, turning to the Marchioness. “You think your daughter is guilty, eh?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Marchioness Carlyle said, all color draining from her face. She was standing in the doorway to the kitchen and looked ready to fall out of it.

  “Why don’t we go lie down,” the Duke said kindly, walking up to her and taking her elbow.

  “Why, yes,” she said, brightening considerably. “That would be ideal…”

  They left the kitchen, and Eugenie continued her story.

  “When I heard the noise, I rose to investigate. I went to the front door and looked out. I couldn’t see anything.” Eugenie then told the Inspector about the investigation she and Phillip had undertaken, including their discovery that the papers had been delivered to each house down the road.

  The Inspector, having heard her out, shook his head. “That’s a nice story there, Miss, and I’m happy you told it. Quite gracefully, too, I might add.” He put his pencil down. “But it don’t make much sense.”

  Inspector Feagley returned his attention to Mrs. Styles. “If he was abducted here, at Mrs. Todderham’s, then how did all of the papers get delivered? Can anyone answer me that?”

  Eugenie was somewhat surprised that an Inspector could not think of a scenario that could account for that detail. She waited, patiently, for him to work around to an answer on his own. When neither Mrs. Todderham nor Mrs. Styles spoke up, Eugenie finally did. “Perhaps he had already delivered all the papers and was on his way back when he was attacked,” she said.

  “But you heard him deliver your paper, no?”

  “No,” Eugenie said. “It was late….or rather, very early, and I had been sleeping. I heard someone. I didn’t know if he had been here before. He may have already delivered the papers on his route and then returned.”

  “Didn’t look out a window?” the Inspector asked.

  “No.”

  “Did you ask, ‘Who’s there’?”

  “Why?” Eugenie said. “I was inside. On the sofa.”

  “Well then,” the Inspector said, closing his notebook. “We’ll certainly keep an eye out for him. I don’t have any right idea how he managed to deliver all the papers on foot or why he come back here. If you have any ideas—”

  Eugenie took one look at Mrs. Styles and then stepped closer to the table. “You are not going to search now? I would think that you and your men, this afternoon, could at least canvas Barnardshire, surely.”

  “But where?” The Inspector looked around, confused. His small eyes were lodged like pebbles in their sockets, without light. “His mum doesn’t think he has any friends outside of Barnardshire. He couldn’t get very far if he left on foot. And I haven’t had a report of any suspicious characters around the village.” He raised his eyebrows, which were two bushy caterpillars. “Where else is there to look?”

  Go outside, she wanted to say. But she didn’t want to tip off Mrs. Styles to the fact that the Inspector in charge of finding her son was so clueless. She kept her voice level.

  “The first few days are critical, Inspector,” Eugenie said. In fact, she rarely solved a case if more than three days had elapsed since its commission. She sat at the table, to make sure that she was heard. The Duke by then had returned to the kitchen, after having put Marchioness Carlyle to rest, and he stood behind Eugenie, his hands around the top of the chair, instinctively knowing how to provide quiet support. It was up to the two private detectives to convince the village Inspector that he needed to begin searching for the missing boy.

  “If Jimmie was kidnapped,” Eugenie said, “then there is very little time. He and his captor could be halfway to London by now. Where we’d lose track of them, assuredly.”

  The Inspector looked at her with a smile. Eugenie realized he wasn’t lazy or difficult, merely confused.

  “I suppose I should ask around,” he said. “In town.”

  “Indeed,” Eugenie said. “Please do.” She bit her finger as he gathered his stuff. “And do you have the names of his friends?” she asked.

  “Oh no,” Inspector Feagley said, sitting back down. “I suppose I should get those.” He turned to Mrs. Styles and asked her to begin.

  *

  “I’m afraid we’ll have to solve this on our own,” Eugenie said, as she and Phillip watched Mrs. Todderham and Inspector Feagley walk outside with Mrs. Styles.

  The mother had given the Inspector a long list of names of Jimmie’s friends, although she insisted that they probably had no idea where her son had been since they were school friends and her son hadn’t been to school in two years. Eugenie, with sharp insight, had noticed that one person had not been mentioned as possibly knowing where Jimmie had gone: his father, Bertie. In fact, Mrs. Styles never once mentioned Bertie to the Inspector at all.

  A tender spot, Eugenie thought.

  “He seems like a nice enough man,” Phillip said, standing close beside her. “But very clumsy. I’m sure he is used to finding missing house cats and responding to burglaries in which table linen has been stolen. I hope this isn’t past his capabilities.”

  “What are you two talking about?” Marchioness Carlyle asked. She had come back out of the bedroom and stood with one hand on her stomach and another resting on the door frame.

  “The missing boy,” Eugenie said, but her mother looked disappointed by the answer.

  The Marchioness laughed. “As you can see, our dear Inspector is really quite useless. Two left feet and no brains.” She gave another laugh, but then her face became serious. “I presume you two can locate him?”

  Phillip answered. “We will soon find out.”

  Chapter Ten: The Trip to Town

  The Inspector walked back to town while the Marchioness took afternoon tea with Mrs. Todderham and Mrs. Styles. Eugenie and Phillip returned outside, first to the bicycle.

  Phillip crouched down, and Eugenie did her best, in a ladylike manner, to decline, side-saddle, beside him. Unfortunately, she lost her balance and had to put her hand in the dirt.

  A minute passed quietly, and then Eugenie asked, “What are you looking for?”

  “Any sort of mark or dent,” Phillip said. He moved his fingertips lightly over the bicycle’s frame. For a man, he kept his nails terribly neat. Eugenie looked down and saw that her own thumbnail hadn’t been clipped in a while.

  Phillip pulled the bike away from the wall. “There might have been a struggle, while he was on the bicycle. But I only see common nicks and scratches.” He ran a hand across the wheel. “The tire has perfect pressure also.”

  “Meaning?”

  “It wasn’t ridden for very long.” He stood and dusted off his hands. “A tire like that must be pumped nearly every day to stay inflated. No doubt, this was ridden only to Mrs. Todderham’s and then ditched here.”

  “And so he must have delivered the papers by hand.” Eugenie could not piece it together. Why would the boy walk all the way down to the end of the road? “I don’t understand the thump that I heard.”

  “Maybe it wasn’t Jimmie Styles,” the Duke said. “It might have been someone else who fell against the side of the house.”

  “A struggle you mean?”

  “Possibly.”
r />   They went around the side of the cottage. Marchioness Carlyle was snooping, looking out the window at them with a hopeful expression. Eugenie waved her arm—a slashing gesture that meant Go away.

  Phillip, who didn’t notice, mildly studied the side of the cottage. The stones looked no different on this wall than on any other, or at least it appeared that way to Eugenie. However, if there were clues to be found on the wall, she wanted to be the one to find them. But as she looked and looked, the wall yielded nothing. Instead, it seemed to throb. She was staring too hard.

  “I don’t see anything,” she said, somewhat embarrassed. She imagined that Phillip would pipe up with some comment—a detail that she had overlooked.

  “Me neither,” he said, and scratched his chin.

  “Perhaps I heard something that wasn’t there,” Eugenie said. “It wouldn’t be the first time, I’m afraid.”

  “Nor the last,” Phillip said. “I am quite surprised by the fact that all of the newspapers were delivered on the road. I can’t see how that could have been done by foot. Perhaps someone gave him a lift.”

  “You mean someone that he knew?”

  “Right.” Phillip nodded. “Someone could have given him a lift to deliver the rest of the papers. Perhaps they promised to bring him back to Mrs. Todderham’s to get the bicycle.”

  Lady Eugenie nodded, considering the rightness of it. “Perhaps the person who gave him a lift knew him. Inspector Feagley really did not inquire as to who Mrs. Styles knew—her circle of friends. He asked only about the childhood friends.”

  “And only because you mentioned it,” Phillip said. Eugenie smiled wryly.

  “The kidnapper could come from the parent’s circle of friends,” Eugenie said.

  “Quite right.” Phillip absentmindedly dragged his hand across the stone wall of the cottage. “I think we need to go into town.”

  “To speak to Mr. Styles ourselves?”

  “To ask around. Perhaps the Inspector is already headed in that direction, yet I doubt it.”

  “We should bring the children,” Eugenie said. “For extra eyes and ears.”

  *

  They took Phillip’s car. Eugenie and Phillip sat with Pippa in the front, while Maisie, elbows out, sat in the back between the two boys. To make room, Phillip had swept the papers and books onto the floor. Eugenie was pleased to see that Maisie rested her feet on Mrs. Castlefork’s novel.

  The ride was uneventful, only a mile into town, but Phillip drove slowly, so that the wind didn’t get in anyone’s face. When they finally reached Barnardshire proper, it was a shock, because nothing had prepared Eugenie for it. There had been land and trees and then, suddenly sprung up, a tiny hamlet.

  Though home to fewer than a thousand people, Barnardshire had nevertheless grown large enough to maintain a high street. Eugenie looked around, ignorant of whether the town had always been so poor or if its poverty was a recent invention. All the buildings seemed rickety, leaning one way or another, as if in conversation with its neighbor. Sickly trees stood at attention in dirt gardens, and the sun didn’t seem to shine on the town although there were few clouds.

  “Is this Barnardshire?” Eugenie asked. She was surprised that the Marchioness would choose to live near such a frayed community.

  Pippa looked up at Phillip, who answered neutrally, “Yes.”

  Eugenie tried to imagine living here but was quite unable. She wondered where people bought their food, where they got married. It looked like a far-flung outpost to an isolated part of the Empire, or a town in the Wild West of America.

  She saw right off where they did their banking—at the one solid building, which sat like a squat bull dog in the public square. It wore its name—“Bank”—boldly, in block letters. Phillip glided the car on by, and Eugenie watched as a man with rust-colored hair and a beard stepped outside and stared, dazedly, at the procession.

  There were no other motor cars in Barnardshire. None. Consequently, Eugenie could understand the stares. Instead of motor cars, people still had buggies. Outside of the pharmacy, a horse and buggy waited for its owner to come outside, whereas another buggy, coming toward the motor car, bore the name of the pharmacy on its side, as an advertisement.

  Duke Phillip honked in greeting, foolishly, which served only to scare the horse.

  “Oh dear,” Phillip said, swallowing, as the horse bucked and reared. The owner’s face, twisted in fear, glared through the window at the Duke.

  “Don’t come into the village often?” Eugenie asked.

  “Often, actually,” Phillip said. “I never can remember that machines which are familiar to me serve to scare other people.”

  “And horses,” Eugenie said.

  Pippa looked up with curiosity at her teacher’s face.

  I am too obvious, Eugenie told herself. She decided to be professional, so she said, “We should find where Mrs. Styles lives. We’ll have to ask around, since we didn’t get that information from Mrs. Styles herself.”

  As they drove along, they passed the Inspector, standing on another stoop, as he enjoyed a glass of beer, one hand tucked into his waistband.

  “A hard afternoon,” Phillip said.

  “Very.”

  “Who is that?” Maisie cried out, secretly elbowing one of the boys, who made a face.

  “It’s the man responsible for finding Jimmie Styles,” Eugenie said. “He’s on break.”

  Eugenie thought the Inspector noticed her as they passed, though he would have been looking through the bottom of the glass.

  Though sleepy, Barnardshire was not deserted. Along the sides of the street women walked with blankets wrapped over their heads, their eyes turning shiftily toward the motorcar, which moved at a crawl. Other women wrapped blankets around their shoulders, with either their heads bare or an old hat on top. In between the buildings young boys ran, playing in the dirt. They, too, stopped and stood with hands shading their eyes to watch the Wolseley pass.

  “I guess we have failed to quietly steal into town,” Phillip said.

  “The children, at least, will be unannounced,” Eugenie said. The heads of the boys in the back barely poked up over the windows.

  Phillip parked the car before a tavern, beside a horse which eyed them warily. Everyone trundled out of the car to begin their investigation.

  “Now children,” Eugenie said. She gathered them near the fender. “I want you to fan out. Speak to the other children and make friends. Find out what you can about Jimmie Styles. No detail is too irrelevant. I’m afraid you can’t let on that we are performing an investigation, so don’t write any information down. But remember everything.”

  “Ma’am?” Maisie asked.

  “Yes.” Eugenie had almost turned around to join Phillip, who stood at the front of the car.

  “Who’s in charge?” Maisie asked.

  “Excuse me?”

  “Of the group.” Maisie had her chin sticking out. “Who is the leader of the four?”

  “You, Maisie,” Eugenie said, as Maisie swelled with pride. “Do not let me down.”

  “I won’t,” she said.

  *

  The four children ran off down the street, headed toward the boys who had been playing in between the buildings. Standing on the boarded sidewalk, Eugenie and Phillip tried to find a place to start. “Somehow we need to find the Styles house,” Phillip said. “And I honestly don’t even know where to begin.”

  The tavern was dark and inviting, with one of the few signs around. The other buildings were nondescript. Eugenie was puzzled as well. “This is not a town given to using signage.” There were no names on the houses, and no addresses. The house could be anywhere.

  “You’ve come here before, though, correct?” Eugenie asked.

  “For business,” Phillip said.

  “Then we should stop into a business,” Eugenie responded. “Someone should know something. This town is not very large.”

  “Let me go in here and ask,” Phillip said. He nodde
d toward what appeared to be a store of some sort beside the tavern. An elderly gentleman, in a dark cloak, stood on the stoop with a splinter of wood in his mouth. He was using it with his tongue to poke between his teeth. As they approached the door, the man spat—but away from them. Nevertheless, he spat—a crude, unwelcoming gesture.

  Eugenie gathered up her skirt in her hands and kept her posture erect. She could rely on her breeding if need be.

  The man turned a dirty face toward her as she walked past. She nodded, curtly, and he smiled, toothless. He looked harmless. One could never tell.

  Inside the store, three men sat around the counter, laughing as they entered. Eugenie could smell the beans and grain before her eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness. Scales and tin cans crowded the shelves and a burlap sack with a slit in its side spilled grain onto the floor beside the counter. Eugenie stayed close to Phillip, who stopped short of the counter and removed his hat.

  “Can I help you, sir?” the man sitting on the highest stool asked. The other men dragged their eyes over Eugenie, then looked with respect at Phillip.

  “I am looking for a man who lives in town,” Phillip said. “I wonder if you can help me find him.”

  The man shrugged. “Small town,” he said. “I’m certain I know everyone here.”

  “Mr. Styles,” Phillip said. “Bernard.”

  “Bertie,” Eugenie said, then wished she hadn’t.

  One man laughed at seeing a man of Phillip’s obvious standing be corrected by a woman. But the man behind the counter—the owner—showed a different expression.

  “Bertie Styles?”

  “Yes,” Phillip said. “I need to speak with him, if you can point me in the right direction.”

  “Well, he’s not welcome in this store, I can tell you that much.”

  Eugenie heard the anger in the man’s voice clearly and flinched. Phillip remained his cool self.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t hoping to bring him to meet you.”

  “Good,” the man said. “If I saw him, I’d have him arrested on the spot.”