by V. Penley
Eugenie looked at Mr. Styles, to see how he was taking it. He had his head tipped down.
“I did a terrible thing,” he said. “If I had known what it would be like in London, I would never have sent him here.” He shook his head, lips trembling.
Eugenie clutched his arm.
“Let’s find some place to eat,” Phillip said. “So we can get out of this traffic.”
The group stepped aside as two policemen wrestled a criminal into the station.
“But I didn’t bring no money,” Mr. Styles said, feeling his pockets.
“Never mind,” Eugenie said. “It will be taken care of.”
*
They found a bar, tucked underground on a busy street. Nestled in a corner, they sat far enough away from the crush of other patrons so that they could hear themselves think. And that’s all they did do—think. They all looked at their silverware without so much as saying a word. It was slowly descending upon them, like ashes from a fire, that they were going to leave London without having made any attempt at closing in on the man who had bought Jimmie.
They each ordered their food, with Mr. Styles asking only for water. Eugenie, behind his back, ordered a rabbit for him. And then she took out her book.
“What were you writing down?” Phillip asked her. He sat beside her.
“I was trying to sketch the map as best I could,” Eugenie said. “There was a cluster of pins at one section of the city.”
“Where?” Phillip asked and she handed him her book. Inspector Feagley yawned loudly. However, when the food arrived, he dug in without complaint.
“It looked like Covent Garden.”
Phillip’s brow creased. “I can’t believe child slavers would be living in that area.”
“Precisely,” Eugenie said. “It caught my eye immediately. If people are working out of Covent Garden, then I imagine they must be particularly well protected to be so out in the open. Powerful people of sorts.”
Phillip nodded. “Interesting. Did you catch the street names?”
“No,” Eugenie said. “But I know it was the general area.”
“Where?” Mr. Styles looked up, confused. His rabbit sat in front of him, cooked to a crisp.
Eugenie and Phillip recognized at once that Mr. Styles would be of little help. He could identify the robber, but it would be up to them to catch the man and, ultimately, to find Jimmie.
“Here, in the city,” Eugenie said, and then moved the rabbit a little closer to him. “Oh, look. They were kind enough to cook some food for you.”
Inspector Feagley ate noisily. He had ordered a pork pie, which steamed heavily, and a plate full of cooked carrots and peas. Eugenie put her book away and ate, regularly glancing at Phillip. Their minds seemed to be turning on the same axis: they were thinking about the case.
“Well, I’m done then,” Inspector Feagley said, wiping his mouth with a napkin after finishing his dish of carrots. “Quite delicious. It’s always the food I miss about London,” he said. “Nothing better anywhere. Not even in my mum’s kitchen.”
He had finished with more than the food, as well. He stood and shook everyone’s hand. “Since we have no leads, I believe I’ll head back. My work at Barnardshire is endless, I’m afraid.” Phillip laughed, but Inspector Feagley didn’t seem to mind. He told them to reach him in Barnardshire if they found anything.
“I’ll be catching the train back tomorrow,” he said and then yawned before disappearing into the street. Eugenie watched him go.
Phillip swiftly moved to pay the bill, and he and Eugenie walked out onto the street with Mr. Styles, who had managed to eat all of his rabbit, though it hadn’t improved his mood.
“Apparently, we’re finished for the day,” Eugenie said.
“I’ll follow up tomorrow with people I know in the Garden,” Phillip said. “I know all of the landlords. Or most of the them. I’m sure we’ll be able to shake out who is running an illegal business.”
Eugenie nodded.
“Can I walk you home?” he asked.
The sun had reached its apex for the day, though the weather was crisp for June.
“I think I’m all right,” Eugenie said. She tried to transition, mentally, to her duties at the school.
“I gave Detective McCloud my address,” Phillip said. “I doubt it will help.” After a moment, he said, “It’s awkward being here in London with you. I only know you from Barnardshire, you see.” He smiled—awkwardly.
“I’m quite all right,” Eugenie said. “You and Mr. Styles here should rest up for your work tomorrow. I have to work also.”
“Ah, the school,” he said.
She nodded.
“I think I’ll put our friend here up in a hotel.”
“You’re returning to Clowdon?” Eugenie asked.
“You remembered the name,” Phillip said, smiling slightly. “No. Maybe he’ll be more comfortable alone in a hotel. Anyway, I’ll have the boys come down here for a bit. I feel as if we are very close to finding the Styles boy. It’s good that Feagley returns to Barnardshire. I’m sure we will find young Jimmie on our own.”
Eugenie thought that over. She had no idea whether or not they would get close. They didn’t have much of a lead—only a few pins placed around Covent Garden.
“I wish you didn’t have to work,” Phillip said. “It’d be fun to play detective with you in the city.”
“Sorry.”
“Do you have a telephone?” Phillip asked. “In case I need to share a lead or something?”
“No,” Eugenie said. “Sorry.”
“There’s no reason to keep saying that.”
Eugenie bit her lip. The streets were jammed with people. Perhaps most were on their lunch break, hustling to fulfill some errand. Eugenie looked at the crowd, which flowed around the three like water. Sometimes she wished she had chosen to live somewhere less crowded.
Phillip was nodding his head. “Well, I’m sure we’ll be able to keep in touch. If—,” he paused.
“What?”
“If you want to be involved in finding Jimmie Styles.”
“I’m sure Mrs. Todderham would expect me,” she said. Then she remembered. “Oh.” She reached into her trench coat. “Since you are taking the lead on the investigation, I should give you the book.”
“Thank you,” Phillip said. “You didn’t by chance put your address in it?”
“No.” She shook her head.
“Pity.” Phillip smiled. But behind the smile he was watching her intently. “How I am supposed to contact you, then?”
“I’m sure I’ll find you. Your offices in the city,” Eugenie said simply. “Enjoy your afternoon and evening.” She stepped over to give Mr. Styles a hug and then walked briskly toward her school.
Chapter Thirteen: To Catch a Thief
When Eugenie arrived back at the school, Mrs. Cabot greeted her with a cry of relief. The girls had almost driven her mad.
“I am sorry,” Eugenie said. “I shouldn’t have left you alone. And the crime I was called on to solve? Don’t get me started.”
“Your mother,” Mrs. Cabot said, sympathetically. “It is quite understandable.”
Eugenie sent a telegram to her mother, instructing that the girls be sent back to the school. The Marchioness responded, saying they were already on their way. Fortunately, they were old enough to travel on their own. And they arrived that evening, no worse for wear, with Maisie complaining that an old woman sat across from her on the train and lectured her about how to sit properly. Pippa, unsurprisingly, was silent.
Lady Eugenie’s school returned to normal business operations. Having no lesson planned for the day, she decided to improvise, drawing on her girls’ expertise to help solve the Styles kidnapping. Classes started an hour later than normal because she was so exhausted from her trip. She dressed and then explained to the class the facts of the case.
“Where should we look?” she asked.
“All over the city,” Maisie answe
red.
“If we had the time and resources we could do that,” Eugenie said. “But since time is limited, where should we look?”
“Why is time limited?” Maisie asked.
Ivie answered. “Because it is a kidnapping. You don’t think whoever bought him will keep him in the city, do you? They probably expected the Police to be shadowing them, so they will have the boy sold off somewhere soon.”
“Ivie, where would you look?” Eugenie asked.
“I’d look in Covent Garden, ma’am,” she said. Eugenie had quickly transferred her memory of her pen and ink drawing in the back of her book to a larger sheet of paper and pinned it to the wall.
“Is that where the Duke is looking?” Maisie asked.
At mention of the Duke, a flurry of chattering started up. Eugenie began to feel her face warm as she listened to it.
“Who is the Duke?” one of the girls asked.
Eugenie opened her mouth, but it was Maisie who answered: “He’s very handsome. We played a game at his castle but lost. The he invited us to eat and we had—”
“Maisie,” Eugenie warned. “We are focusing on child kidnapping right now, not on our trip to Barnardshire, though the two are related.”
Maisie crossed her arms. But the other girls looked at each other, their eyebrows raised. They were interested in who the Duke was, and what they had all eaten…
“Pippa.” Eugenie looked toward the back of the classroom. “How should we go about investigating the people in Covent Garden?”
Pippa swallowed. “First we need their names.”
“Correct.”
“And then we need to go to their place of business. Or wherever they are hiding the boys.”
“How will we find out their names?”
“We should ask someone who works in the stores there,” Pippa said.
“How?”
All the girls were silent. Pippa scanned the desk in front of her but couldn’t come up with an answer.
“I know,” Maisie finally said.
Eugenie nodded. Hopefully, more details about Duke Phillip wouldn’t come spilling out.
“We can pretend that we are looking for our brother. We will pretend that we have lost him.”
The girls leaned in closer. They sensed what was about to happen: a field trip.
“Go on.”
Maisie stood to address her fellow classmates. “What we have to do is go into the store, each of us, two at a time, and cry out, ‘My brother! Has anyone seen my brother! We brought him shopping with us but have lost him!’” The girls laughed at their dramatic class mate. “And when they ask what he looks like, we say, ‘Oh my mum will be so angry if we don’t get home.’ And then we say again, ‘Have you seen my brother?’ And we describe what he looks like, after lots of tears and things.”
She turned to Eugenie for help on what Jimmie Styles looked like.
“Twelve or thirteen. Short. With a cowlick in the front.”
“So we say, ‘He’s about this high, with a cowlick in front. Twelve years old.’”
“Can we do this?” Ivie asked Eugenie.
“Yes,” Eugenie said.
“When?”
“I guess…I guess right now.” And Eugenie went downstairs to talk to Mrs. Cabot.
*
They gave the younger, First Form girls an early lunch and locked them into the school with strict instructions not to let anyone in and to hang out of the windows if the building caught on fire.
“I do hate leaving them alone,” Mrs. Cabot said. She had taken off her apron and put on a more appropriate housecoat to play her role as a mother taking her daughters shopping.
“We will be gone an hour at most,” Eugenie said. She had divided the six girls into three groups. Ivie and Celeste would go with Eugenie while Mrs. Cabot would walk with Edwina and Elizabeth. Pippa and Maisie wouldn’t need an adult, since Maisie had grown up on the streets and could handle herself. Outside on the sidewalk, Maisie had once again given her classmates instructions on how they were to pretend to be looking for their brother.
“Thank you, Maisie,” Eugenie said. “Now get names and write them down if you have to. We’ll meet back here in one hour.”
Maisie and Pippa ran off, excited, while Mrs. Cabot moved slowly across the street with Edwina and Elizabeth, holding each girl’s hand. Eugenie, Ivie, and Celeste went in the opposite direction, coming into the Garden from the East side.
It was a drizzly, miserable day, and Eugenie pulled the collar of her rain coat up high to her chin. She wondered if this was a good idea but then checked herself. At worst, the girls would get fresh air for an hour. And maybe she could uncover some helpful bit of information to give Duke Phillip, when she saw him next.
As she and the girls walked along the sidewalk, Eugenie could see, off in the distance, a familiar face coming toward them. It was a boy, about ten. He looked certainly familiar…
Cecil!
She recognized the ears sticking out and a slim suit and tie he wore. He walked along distractedly, looking down at the ground as if he was lost in thought. But as they passed, he eyed her briefly—a flash of recognition—and Eugenie nodded discreetly. Why, he certainly was well trained. Had Eugenie not known who he was, she would never have guessed that he was currently canvassing.
Cecil swiftly disappeared, and Eugenie and the girls stood outside the first shop.
“Who wants to go in?” Eugenie asked.
“I will,” Ivie said, with sufficient seriousness.
“Are you sure?” Eugenie asked. Celeste, who cried every day for the first month that she was at school, would have been Eugenie’s first pick. “Remember that you are frantic because your brother has run off.”
“I know,” Ivie said.
“Well then. Celeste and I will stand over here.” Eugenie and the girl walked across the street to the other side, where they waited for Ivie to dip into the store. She emerged no more than fifteen seconds later and crossed the street, looking depressed.
“What is it?” Eugenie asked.
“I couldn’t do it,” Ivie said.
Eugenie squeezed Celeste’s shoulder, and the smaller girl bound across the road and rushed into the shop. She emerged a minute later with what looked like the shop owner, who stood with his arms folded and looked both ways up the road. Celeste, her hands in her hair, was the perfect actress.
When the shop owner shook his head, Celeste ran off to the left, and then slowly worked her way around to where Eugenie and Ivie stood after the shop owner had retreated into his store.
“He’s seen plenty of boys of that description,” Celeste said.
Eugenie winced. She was afraid of that.
“We’ll have to try another store,” she said, and the group moved further on.
After visiting a dozen or so shops, they had no real lead. Some owners, like the first, said that the Garden was overflowing with 12-year old boys with cowlicks. Others claimed not to have seen anyone they didn’t know by name. Still others didn’t want any noise in their shop, and shooed Celeste out before she could make her pitch. All in all, they were making no progress.
“My feet hurt,” Celeste finally said. Covent Garden was now jammed with people, being mid-day. “Can we rest?”
“Yes, let’s,” Eugenie said. She looked around for a place to sit, but nothing was available. Accordingly, they stood by a store and Celeste rested her back against the brick front. She lifted one foot up, wincing, to take the pressure off the heel, and then returned that foot to the ground before lifting the other.
Eugenie thought it was about time for them to return to the school to meet the others when she glanced through the front window of the store where they were resting. She almost cried out with a start. Phillip was standing at the counter, talking with the shop owner.
A woman stood beside him as well. She had a sketch pad propped up in front of her and was drawing or writing something. She stood at an angle, so that someone on the sidewalk could al
most see her face…
Eugenie took a step forward, to get a better look through the window.
The woman wasn’t unattractive. Rather tall. Slender. She wore a conservative skirt and blouse, but no hat. In fact, her hair was somewhat loose. She had a single hairslide in the back but not all of the hair was in a bun. Some strands hung down to her shoulder, untamed.
Could this be Miss Castlefork? Eugenie tried to remember the Marchioness’s description. “A mousy little thing.”
Mousy?
Little?
This didn’t look like her at all. Suddenly, Phillip turned, as if to look out the front window, and Eugenie almost fell backwards. Ivie looked at her mistress with confusion, but suddenly Phillip and the woman were out on the sidewalk, standing a mere foot from them.
“Hello,” Eugenie said, her voice high. She smiled at Phillip and then quickly looked at the woman, whose mind seemed elsewhere. She held a portrait in her hands.
“Oh, hello!” Phillip said, his voice full of honest surprise. “Terribly good fortune to find you out like this during the day. We have news.”
The woman listened to Phillip and then smiled at Eugenie. Phillip took the picture from her and eagerly held it out to Eugenie. “I think we might have found him.”
“Oh…” Eugenie looked at the picture—and then back at the woman.
At that moment, Maisie and Pippa came running up.
“Oh!” Maisie said. “Good Duke,” she said. “I know you.” She pressed her body against Eugenie’s skirts and smiled up at Phillip.
Once all of the girls realized that this was “the Duke,” they gaped and jostled to stand in front of him, to get a better look. Phillip smiled warmly at them, without embarrassment.
The woman, however, didn’t like the attention. Or she had an appointment elsewhere. Because she said, “I need to go,” and then leaned in, kissing Phillip’s cheek before walking off. Instinctively, Eugenie looked over her shoulder, to watch the woman disappear.
