by V. Penley
To someone up above, the scene would have been comical. A man and a boy moved as if through a labyrinth of chairs and tables, trying to avoid two girls, each in dark frocks, who also pretended not to be following him. Around the four was a giant, filled library, where the sounds of coughs mixed with the whispers of pages being turned.
The man paused and subtly glanced over his shoulder, looking for the bull-dog looking girl. He thought he could shake her by heading East and then cutting quickly back toward the center. When he spied her, he was surprised by how close she had come.
“Come on!” he whispered to the boy, whose name he hadn’t properly learned. He tugged at his collar.
They walked East. If only he could find an opening, he would cut left. Holding the boy close, he passed several rows of seated patrons and walked purposively, as if toward the books on the wall. A librarian, sniffing, walked past him but only glanced dismissively.
Cut left, the man said, and he tugged Jimmie hard and doubled back around, slipping past seated patrons. He glanced out of the corner of his eye, spying the bull-dog girl, who stopped, caught off guard.
But when the man turned up ahead, he saw the other girl—the whiter than white one—standing in his way like a ghost.
“Bollocks,” the man whispered. One cry—“He’s got my brother”—and the gig would be up. The man felt at his belt for his knife and veered away.
The girls were good at tracking. He had to give them that. Neither girl made a sudden movement or got out of position which would allow him to shoot past. They were moving him closer to the wall, like two female wolves tracking prey into the woods.
If he didn’t find a way out in seconds he would be trapped. Delicate young girls—he would hate to knife them. And in front of so many people. He hoped the blood wouldn’t get on the books. He wasn’t a man for reading, but he had been raised to revere literature nonetheless.
“Stay quiet,” he whispered to the boy. They turned, and walked back to the bookcases.
The man wondered how he had gotten himself into this position. He had made a thousand pounds last month, just as he had made a thousand pounds the month before. It was lucrative work, and easy. In letters to his mother, he had hinted at retirement.
If he could just get out of this spot.
He stopped briefly, to look over his shoulder once more. But what he saw shocked him: it was the policemen, walking into the library with the fair-haired gentleman. He lost it.
He swore out, loudly, and pulled the knife from his belt. Shouting, he ordered Jimmie to climb up onto the second level.
All pages stopped turning, as the patrons looked up, cloudy-eyed, at the sudden commotion.
*
Eugenie had finally reached the basement, but there was no light. She didn’t know how long she would have to run to reach the next flight of steps. “Sixty-seven steps” Malveaux had written—but he was shorter than she. If she ran too far, she’d run into the stairs and fall on her face. She ran for a space and then walked quickly, her hand running along the stone wall.
When her toe stubbed the stairs, she almost fell, but picked herself up. There should be twenty-five steps to the top, which would take her to the first terrace in the Reading Room.
“Hurry Eugenie,” she whispered to herself, taking the steps as fast as she could.
*
The thief had climbed the stairs, pushing the boy ahead of him, and he shouted down to the police to stop chasing them, otherwise the boy would get it. The knife wavered at Jimmie’s throat.
“Steady boys,” Phillip whispered to the police, who walked out onto the middle of the library floor, to shout at the man to let the boy go. Phillip slipped up the steps to follow after him.
By now, Eugenie had reached the head of the stairs. She could see light pouring through the cracks in the bookcase in front of her. Her heart leaped as she rushed up to it, put her hands flat against its back, and pushed it open.
The bookcase slid forward, exactly as Malveaux had described, and she slipped out onto the terrace—directly across from child slaver. The bookcase snapped shut behind her.
He had heard the bookcase move and then watched as a woman emerged from behind it. He was frozen, his mouth open. At that moment, Phillip stepped slowly onto the terrace.
“I have a knife!” the man shouted. He pulled it away from Jimmie’s throat to wave around. “I’ll cut his throat if you don’t let me go.”
Eugenie looked across at Jimmie, whose neck strained.
Two ladies screamed from the Reading Room floor. One fainted. But the rest were curious. The librarians stood with their arms folded, not talking. None, Eugenie was sure, had seen her slip out through the bookcase, only the man across. Now she didn’t know precisely what to do, but one look at Jimmie Styles’ face told her to take it slow.
She quietly stepped to her right and continued walking, prepared to do a circuit of the library. She kept her eyes on the man.
“I’ve killed men before!” he shouted, “And I’m not afraid to do it again. If anyone wants to see this boy alive, they’ll walk out of the library and leave me alone.”
“Come down,” a police officer commanded.
Some people snickered, as if they were watching a play.
“We have you surrounded,” another officer said.
Rather than stop, the man kept walking. He looked back and saw Phillip behind him. He cussed him out.
“Come on, you garbage!” he shouted at Jimmie, wrapping his forearm around Jimmie’s throat. They ran forward.
But they ran toward Eugenie. The reading room was circular, and with both Eugenie and Phillip on either side of him, it was only a matter of time before they closed in.
Eugenie’s heart began beating rapidly. If the man reached her, what would she do? She didn’t have a knife in return. And she knew couldn’t fight him. She had run up to the terrace thinking she could direct the police to the man’s location, not confront him personally. But there was no way to turn around now.
Looking around, she took a giant book off the shelf and held it protectively in front of her body. It would have to do.
Phillip walked methodically after the man and Jimmie, his hands loosely at his sides.
“Let the boy walk,” Phillip said. “I know the police will not look on kindly if he is hurt.”
“Bugger off!” the man shouted.
You could hear a pin drop. Only the floorboards beneath them creaked.
At fifteen yards, Eugenie began to suspect that she would have to rush the man. What I will do, she told herself, is strike the knife with the book, at full arm’s length.
“Put down the knife and let the boy go,” Phillip commanded. The policemen made similar commands.
At ten yards, Eugenie was sure that he would strike her with the knife. She winced, imagining the blade slicing into her skin. You could survive one stabbing, if the attacker didn’t hit vital organs.
“You can’t escape,” Phillip said. “You might as well surrender. There are police on the floor who will arrest you for buying children. Don’t add homicide to the mix.”
At five yards, the man stopped, looking around wildly. For some reason, he reached back and pulled books from the shelf, throwing them weakly onto the floor. Eugenie stopped. And Phillip stopped. Each were only a couple steps from all coming together.
With nowhere to go, the man gripped Jimmie. Behind him the bookcase curved without any spot to hide. Eugenie looked down at her hands and realized she was squeezing the book so hard that she had warped the cover.
“Go to hell!” the man yelled.
Suddenly, he dropped the knife and let go of Jimmie’s hand. Frantically, he swung a leg over the bannister and then lowered himself down, until he was dangling. However, he didn’t fall. Instead, he clung to the bannister, apparently afraid to let go.
“Help me!” he shouted, and the police ran to the spot beneath him.
Eugenie and Phillip ran up to him, but not before Maisie re
ached him. She had gained the first-level terrace after Phillip and had been following closely behind. She now pushed in front of the adults and hiked up her skirt. Positioning her boot over the man’s white knuckles, she braced herself to step down and crush his fingers.
Patrons suddenly started shrieking as the man hung in the air—and the danger had passed.
“Maisie,” Eugenie whispered, placing a hand on her pupil’s shoulder. The man looked up at the two of them with his brow furrowed. His lips stretched across his teeth.
“Help…” he whispered.
“Maisie,” Eugenie said again.
“I want to crush his hand,” the girl said.
“But we can’t,” Eugenie said. “Now we have to let the police handle this.”
“Why?” She put the sole of her foot against his knuckles and moved it around.
“Detectives work in the service of the law,” Eugenie said. “We find the criminals so that the police can arrest them.”
“I want the law to punish him,” Maise said. She pressed down slightly.
“And they will,” Eugenie said. “We simply have to—”
Before Eugenie could do anything, and before Maisie could slam her foot down on the man’s hands, he slipped.
A fresh shriek rang in the air as the body fell toward the ground, arms flailing.
Rather than catch him, the Metropolitan Police scattered, allowing the body to hit the ground flat on his back. Eugenie, Phillip, and Maisie looked down over the bannister, to see if he was alive.
He had fallen less than five yards and sat up slowly, dazed. The police formed a circle around him, letting the man mutter to himself, before one hauled him up to cuff him.
Someone sniffed behind Eugenie. Jimmie Styles, backed up against the books, broke into tears, his face crumpled like a piece of paper. Eugenie instantly gathered him in her arms and tried to comfort him, while Phillip pumped Maisie’s hand, encouraging her to join his detective school for gentleman sleuths.
All the patrons stood at attention as the Metropolitan Police marched the man out of the reading room. They broke into cheers.
When the man had been placed into the paddy wagon, Eugenie, Phillip, and the children returned to the library’s floor.
“Well done,” Inspector McCloud said, meeting them just outside the library. “I watched the whole thing and was impressed.” He then turned to Eugenie. “You rather emerged out of nowhere,” he said, his face quizzical.
Phillip spun around. “Yes,” he said. “How did you do that? Materializing out of thin air? If I didn’t know better, I would say you flew up to that terrace. Like a bird or something.”
“Another time,” Eugenie said. She ran her hand up the back of Jimmie’s neck. “Now we should worry about getting this boy home.”
Chapter Fifteen: Goodbye, for Now
A gloved hand knocked at the black door to the graystone building north of Soho. It was the building with the plaque stating, “School for Girls.”
No one opened on the first knock, so the gloved hand knocked again. Finally, it knocked a third time, insistent. The man looked for a bell but couldn’t find one. He raised his hand for a fourth knock when the door opened.
Lady Eugenie had been breakfasting with Mrs. Cabot as her girls slowly moved about upstairs, performing their chores and bathing. She had risen to answer the door on the second knock, but managed to turn the handle only as the third landed against the wood.
It was still rather dark out, though lightening the entire time. Summer was coming, at some point. The gaslights were still on along the street, and a random person or two moved about. But Eugenie didn’t look at them. She looked at the man standing before her.
“Duke Phillip,” Eugenie said.
Phillip stepped back down to the street and removed his hat. “I knew I would find the school if I kept walking,” he said. “Is it too early for a visitor?”
“Quite,” Eugenie said. The muscles in her face strained from the effort not to smile. She wore a simple house coat with a nightie underneath—her typical morning wear; and she had assumed that the visitant would be a salesperson or perhaps a parent of one of her girls, come to pay tuition early. Had she known it was Phillip, she would have changed, which was why it was terrible that he was here. She didn’t want to change her morning routine.
“You’re out rather early,” Eugenie said. “Is Parliament open yet? I imagined Lords of Parliament liked to go over their correspondence from constituents before deciding how the nation should be run.”
“But we already know what our propertied constituents think,” Phillip said. “And in any event I’m not in Parliament. I haven’t been elected yet.”
“Canvassing for votes then?” Eugenie asked, and Phillip laughed.
“Not my borough, I’m afraid.”
Eugenie said nothing. It was cold—surprisingly cold, though. She wanted July to arrive—and new things.
“I stopped by because I wanted to thank you,” Phillip said.
“For what?”
“For your help with the investigation. You were not called into Barnardshire to find Jimmie Styles, but you stayed anyway. You and your two girls. We could not have found him without you.”
“You were not called to help, either,” Eugenie said. “I think my contribution was on par with yours. Nothing less.”
Phillip let the remark pass, as a man carrying milk bottles walked toward them and then down the road. A woman came up the street in another direction. With a glance over her shoulder, the woman took in Phillip’s sharp profile. Eugenie smiled at the woman, to hurry her along.
Phillip waited until she was out of earshot. “I was so impressed, in fact, that I wanted to see how you conduct a lesson.”
“Or to steal more of my students.” They both laughed. “I heard you making an offer to Maisie, but I’m afraid you can’t have her. I broke the news, and she’s upset but will pull through.”
“Perhaps I can learn some new teaching techniques instead.”
“The school doesn’t start for another hour. And how did you find me?” Eugenie was sure she had not given Phillip her address.
“Since you didn’t leave your address with Mrs. Todderham, I’ve been wandering the streets,” Phillip said. Eugenie smiled despite herself. She somehow doubted Phillip wandered the city to find her. “I happily stumbled upon a building with the plate ‘School for Girls’ on it, so I took a chance.”
“I don’t believe you,” Eugenie said.
For a minute Phillip said nothing. “Do let me in,” he said, and put his foot on the stoop.
Eugenie looked down at him, standing there on the bottom step, looking like a little boy; the look of expectation on his face heightened his youthfulness. She wanted to ask a question about Miss Castlefork—ask if he had gone to visit her yet. But then she realized that there was no need. He had come to her doorstop first.
Eugenie played her fingers along the edge of the door. She felt a bustle behind her, and Mrs. Cabot cried out, “Who is there? At the door?” She wedged her way through, expecting to see a beggar harassing Lady Eugenie and playing on her sympathies. But it was a man: a quite dashing man, as well.
“Good morning,” he said, lifting the hat again.
“Morning, sir,” Mrs. Cabot said. “I-I had thought it might be someone with delivery for groceries.”
Phillip held up his empty gloved hands. “Sorry. I bring only myself.”
“Mrs. Cabot,” Eugenie said. “This gentleman caller has an interest in our school. He is the master of a school for boy detectives.”
“Oh,” Mrs. Cabot said. “A competitor.”
“I’m hoping to learn the ropes,” Phillip said.
“And I was just telling him that we don’t accept gentlemen callers. Not at this time of the morning.”
Mrs. Cabot watched the exchange closely. She hadn’t seen her employer this happy to talk to someone at such an early hour.
Phillip coughed. “I had hoped there
might be a business exception.”
“What do you think, Mrs. Cabot?” Eugenie asked. “Does he look like a respectable businessman?”
Mrs. Cabot smiled. Something was happening, she didn’t know what. It was best to get back to her chores. “It was nice to meet you,” she said, and stepped back inside.
“Let me come in,” Phillip said.
“Not today,” Eugenie replied. “I’m afraid I have to prepare my lesson. Detection before business, at least at this hour.”
“Fair enough,” Phillip said, and took his foot off the step. “Goodbye, then. For now.” And with that, he removed his hat once more to bow before walking down the street.
**THE END**
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