The Secret Keepers

by Trenton Lee Stewart

  “Is he all right?” Mrs. Genevieve asked. “What has happened?”

  “You can ask him yourself, ma’am,” said Jack. “He’s right here in the room with us.”

  Reuben heard Mrs. Genevieve gasp. “Reuben,” she whispered, “is it true?”

  “It’s true,” he said. He spoke softly, but even so, she gasped again.

  “It makes one ill at one’s stomach,” Mrs. Genevieve said, “to hear you there but not see you. Let us go into my rooms, please.”

  Inside Mrs. Genevieve’s sitting room with the door closed, Reuben reappeared. He saw the poor watchmaker flinch and put a hand to her cheek. She could probably never get used to such appearances and disappearances. She wore pale yellow pajamas, house slippers, and a lightweight robe of faded red. The wrinkled skin beneath her striking blue eyes was puffy and purplish, and her face seemed drawn. She looked exhausted and unhappy.

  The sight of her evoked in Reuben an unexpected feeling of tenderness, as if they were lifelong friends, and he instinctively stepped forward to shake her hand or perhaps even hug her. But though Mrs. Genevieve nodded and shifted her weight toward him, as if welcoming his approach, she seemed too troubled and distracted to make any other gesture. Unable to check his own awkward momentum, Reuben ended up shaking her elbow. She looked at his hand on her arm and then into his eyes, and again she nodded, then shook her head. She seemed not to know how to feel.

  Reuben was aware of Jack and Penny watching them uncertainly. He felt clumsy, as if he were putting on a show. He hated being the center of attention. His words came out unnaturally stiff and stagy. “Well, Mrs. Genevieve,” he said, feeling that his smile was false though his emotion was genuine, “I’m very happy to see you, but you don’t exactly seem overjoyed to see me.”

  His words seemed to take a moment to sink in. Then Mrs. Genevieve stopped shaking her head and composed herself with a frown. She locked her eyes on Reuben’s. “This is because I am not overjoyed, Reuben. Why should I be overjoyed, knowing that you are in grave danger? If you called me from the other side of the world,” she said, “perhaps then I would be—well, I would not say overjoyed, but relieved. And yet you are here, in my sitting room. You should not be.”

  “I couldn’t go home, Mrs. Genevieve. They’re searching my neighborhood now. They haven’t figured out who I am yet—at least I don’t think they have—but my friends and I need a place to stay. I told them you would help us.”

  Mrs. Genevieve looked at Penny, who returned her gaze with a wide-eyed, expectant expression, like an orphan in an old movie hoping to be chosen. The watchmaker then looked at Jack, whose expression was polite but inscrutable. She looked back at Reuben.

  “I’ll make tea,” she said, and went to put the kettle on.

  Reuben took his backpack into the bathroom, where he pulled out the damp brown sweatshirt and draped it over the radiator. He was so used to wearing it now, with the watch snugly tucked into its right front pocket, that he felt uneasy without it. For the moment he nested the watch lightly among the clothes in his backpack, which he left partly unzipped. He would keep it close.

  Soon they were all sitting with cups and saucers balanced on their laps. Mrs. Genevieve had also brought out a modest dish of pastries. It might have been a cozy scene had it not been so tense. The watchmaker could not have seemed more uneasy, and her frown only deepened the more she learned. Reuben had deferred to Penny’s storytelling, but Jack had reminded his sister that time was precious, and so her account was remarkably brief, reduced to its fundamental details: the Meyer family with their generations-old secret, the revelation of the existence of a second clock watch, and Reuben’s realization about The Smoke.

  Mrs. Genevieve rose and set her tea on the side table. She had yet to take even a sip. “But this is incredible, what you have told me! How can it be true?” She shook her head and added, as if arguing with herself, “Yet with my own eyes I have seen what this clock watch can do. And what you suggest does explain how this man holds such power without being seen. It is because he is never seen! I have always wondered.”

  “It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Reuben said. “It’s ridiculous what he’s managed to do with that watch.”

  “But we’re going to stop him!” Penny declared, raising her chin defiantly. “That’s why we’ve come!”

  Mrs. Genevieve was stunned. “Stop him? You?”

  “Well, we sure didn’t come to play tennis with him,” Jack said, laughing. “We intend to take him down.” He sipped from his cup, returned it delicately to its saucer, and smiled at Mrs. Genevieve as if to express appreciation for her fine tea. He seemed entirely at ease. With a look of alarm, Mrs. Genevieve turned to Reuben, who nodded resolutely and told her about their plan. Or tried to, anyway, for after only a few words they fell into an argument, with Mrs. Genevieve insisting that taking any kind of action against The Smoke was too dangerous, and Reuben countering that he and his mom were already in danger—that this was the best way to get them out of danger—and Penny energetically (and rather wordily) chiming in that she and her brother were compelled to uphold their family’s sacred duty, were bound by legacy to fulfill a quest begun more than a century ago, were—

  “But you’re only children!” Mrs. Genevieve protested when Penny paused for breath.

  “With respect, Mrs. Genevieve, I beg to differ.” Jack, who had been listening politely all this time, rose to his feet and looked down at her, his hands set casually on his hips. With a private wink at Reuben, so subtle that Reuben almost missed it, Jack went on. “You’re right about these two, but they aren’t the ones who’ll be sticking their necks out. That’s my role, not theirs.”

  Mrs. Genevieve looked wonderingly up at him. So did Reuben. Since their arrival Jack’s manner had changed so completely that Reuben felt as if he were looking at a new person altogether—a polite and supremely confident man, an impressive and likable stranger. With that one subtle wink, he had let Reuben know that he was fudging the truth to ease the watchmaker’s fears; and with his words and his manner, he seemed likely to succeed.

  Indeed, Mrs. Genevieve, after gazing up at Jack for several seconds, at last said, “You are very young.” She seemed no longer to be arguing, only making an observation. A rueful observation, judging from her tone: what she really seemed to be saying was that it was terribly sad for a young man like Jack to be headed so soon to his grave.

  “Young and full of dreams,” Jack said with another wink, this time for her. “Don’t worry about me, Mrs. Genevieve. Believe me, The Smoke may be bad news, but compared to a lifetime suffocating in Point William, dealing with him sounds downright pleasant.”

  Mrs. Genevieve almost smiled at this, or at any rate she looked less dour. Perhaps she was amused by Jack’s bravado, perhaps relieved. Or perhaps she, too, had once dreamed of escaping the life she had. Perhaps she had such a dream even now. Who could say? Her life, Reuben realized, was more or less a mystery to him. He was just glad that she didn’t seem ready to throw them out.

  “How, exactly, do you propose to ‘deal’ with such a man?” asked Mrs. Genevieve.

  “By taking his watch!” Penny said, and because she was not in the least used to lying, she continued, “Reuben says he—” Then she caught herself, blushing, and changed directions. “He thinks you can help us figure out how to find The Smoke—”

  “By explaining where the Counselor lives,” Reuben put in. “That’s the obvious place to start.”

  “Exactly!” Penny said, excitedly tossing her hair (which, now that it was dry, had risen out and away from her scalp and looked quite exuberant again). “And after we’ve got The Smoke’s watch, we’ll expose him! Once people realize that he’s been pulling a scam—that they don’t have to be afraid of him—his whole operation will fall apart!”

  Mrs. Genevieve turned her gaze from Penny to Jack, still standing over them with a jaunty posture. “And you truly believe you can do this?”

  “I know a few tricks,” Jack sai
d with a smile. “But it’s true I have to find him first, which means I need to pay a visit to the Counselor. So you do know where he lives?”

  “Of course,” said Mrs. Genevieve. “Everyone knows of this place. I am surprised Reuben does not.”

  “I know it’s in Westmont, but not exactly where,” said Reuben. “And of course I know plenty about it. It’s supposed to be a gigantic mansion, right? With a wall and huge gates and a gang of Directions as guards—but all broken down and dark and creepy, like it’s haunted.”

  Mrs. Genevieve shuddered. “Yes,” she said with a look of distaste. “Yes, this is accurate.”

  Penny, quailing at Reuben’s description of the Counselor’s home, tugged two handfuls of hair down over her eyes, as if this might prevent her from seeing the place in her mind. But Jack only laughed and said, “I love it. Come on, redbird, would you rather the guy hung out in an office with filing cabinets and fluorescent lights? That’s even more depressing. A creepy mansion’s much better.”

  “You say this because you have not seen it,” said Mrs. Genevieve with the same disagreeable look. “Regardless, one cannot simply ‘pay a visit’ to the Counselor, Jack. He does not receive uninvited guests. One must be summoned.”

  “We’ll see about that. If you’ll just tell me—” Jack began.

  Penny interrupted him, looking out from behind her hair. “Wait, you’ve seen it yourself, Mrs. Genevieve?”

  Mrs. Genevieve hesitated, then nodded. “I have seen this place, yes. Only yesterday I have seen it. I was summoned, you see.”

  “What!” Reuben cried. “Why?”

  Mrs. Genevieve sat down again. She rubbed her eyes. She looked so tired. “The Counselor summoned many proprietors from here in Middleton,” she said quietly. “He wished personally to question everyone about their encounters with you, Reuben. Or in my case, the lack of such an encounter. The Counselor told me that he found this very strange. By this he meant suspicious, I knew.

  “I told him it was not so strange. My shop, after all, does not sit on Brighton Street, unlike the other places you visited. The Counselor seemed dissatisfied with my answer. His manner was very alarming. He gave me threatening instructions and sent me away.”

  “Instructions?” Jack said.

  She looked at him bleakly. “He told me what I must do if Reuben ever did come to my shop.”

  Reuben’s heart had begun to race; he wasn’t sure why. “What’s that, Mrs. Genevieve?”

  “What do you suppose?” Mrs. Genevieve said, her face grim. “I was instructed to keep you here by whatever means necessary, secretly call his men, and detain you until they arrived.”

  Reuben’s mouth went dry. Mrs. Genevieve had closed her eyes and was slowly shaking her head. She looked like someone trying to awaken from a bad dream. His eyes flashed to Penny and Jack. They looked like people who had just realized that their own bad dreams were about to come true.

  Then Jack was on his feet. He grabbed Penny’s hand and pulled her up, too. “Is there a back way out of this place, kid?”

  “I—I don’t think so.” Reuben was watching Mrs. Genevieve, who had opened her eyes at the sound of sudden movement and seemed surprised by the expressions of high alarm on all their faces. But why would she be surprised? Reuben blurted out what he hoped was the truth: “She hasn’t been stalling us, Jack. She would never do that.”

  Mrs. Genevieve’s eyebrows shot up. “Is this what he suggests? That I have trapped you?” She looked indignantly at Jack, who was stepping briskly to the door into the shop. “A horrible thing!”

  “So you were just making tea?” Jack pressed his ear to the door. “You didn’t happen to put anything special in it? I noticed you didn’t take a drink yourself.”

  “What is this you are saying?” Mrs. Genevieve cried, rising shakily to her feet.

  “Everybody, calm down,” Reuben said, trying to calm down himself.

  Jack had opened the door a crack and was peering out into the shop. He took Penny’s hand again and looked at Reuben. “We should go. Right now, Reuben.”

  It was the first time Jack had ever used his name. Disconcerted, Reuben stood up. He took a step toward Jack, then looked at Mrs. Genevieve, who was shaking her head. He felt frozen with confusion.

  Mrs. Genevieve snatched her teacup from its saucer with such violence that tea slopped over the brim, running over her fingers and dripping onto the floor as she raised the cup to her mouth. Her eyes fixed on Jack’s, she drank off the tea in three gulps and clapped the cup back down onto its saucer. Reuben would never have imagined she was capable of such reckless movement.

  “That doesn’t prove anything,” Jack said. “For all we know you stirred something into our tea and not your own.”

  “Jack,” Reuben protested, “why would she have told us if she really did it?”

  “You know her, maybe, but I don’t. Her motivations are beside the point. I’m keeping Penny safe. Are you coming or do I have to put you over my shoulder?”

  “Jack,” Penny said, pulling on her brother’s hand. “Jack!” He glanced down at her, and Penny gave him a look that Reuben couldn’t read. She pointed at Mrs. Genevieve. “Look at her, Jack. She didn’t do it. Just think for a second and you’ll realize it’s true.”

  Jack frowned. His eyes darted to Mrs. Genevieve, who looked as if a stranger had shoved her for no reason. A stranger she’d been trying to help.

  Jack’s features slowly relaxed. He eased the door closed. “Right,” he said, and sighed. “Okay. Mrs. Genevieve, I owe you an apology.” He crossed the room to stand before her. “I’m sorry. I hope you’ll understand.”

  They regarded each other, Jack’s expression serious but mild, Mrs. Genevieve’s one of barely suppressed emotion. She was trembling. They were looking directly into each other’s eyes. After a few moments, she gave the slightest of nods. Jack took her by the arm.

  “You should sit,” he said gently. Mrs. Genevieve let him help her onto the sofa, his arm steadying her.

  Somewhere in Reuben’s tumult of emotions and jangled thoughts was a sense of renewed wonder at the change in Jack’s manner.

  Jack glanced over at Reuben. “I think you’re safe to put that away for now, kid.”

  Reuben looked down at the watch in his hand. He’d snatched it from his backpack without thinking, had been holding it at the ready. His fingers still squeezed the winding key. Slowly he relaxed his grip and put the watch away again.

  “One cannot decline the Counselor’s summons,” Mrs. Genevieve told them when she had calmed down. “I tried to do so, but his men took me by the arms and compelled me to go with them. It was…” She frowned and shook her head.

  “It was awful for you,” Penny said, finishing the watchmaker’s sentence. “I’m so sorry.”

  “No kidding. Sounds like you’ve been through the wringer,” said Jack, and Reuben nodded in agreement.

  “To be put through a wringer,” Mrs. Genevieve muttered, “would, I think, be better.”

  “And yet you’ve said nothing to them,” Jack observed. He sounded impressed.

  “Of course not!” Mrs. Genevieve said, and her blue eyes flashed. “How could I call myself a watchmaker otherwise? I treat clocks carefully and with respect, and they do their business elegantly. It should be the same with people! But these men, they intrude, they force others to do their bidding, they operate according to some secret design, at the whim of their secret leader. They are the opposite of everything I value!”

  “So that’s why you didn’t want to give them the watch?” Penny asked. “Even though you were afraid?”

  “It is one reason,” Mrs. Genevieve said with a significant glance at Reuben, who felt his chest tighten. She had risked—was still risking—so much for his sake.

  Jack asked her about the visit. He wanted to know about guards, the arrangement of the room, anything at all that Mrs. Genevieve could tell him. He didn’t like surprises, he said; the more he knew, the better. (Which was true, but it
was also true that Reuben had earlier explained to Jack and Penny what he would need to know.)

  And so Mrs. Genevieve described how the Directions escorted her from the Counselor’s limousine, up the steps and through the mansion’s front doors, across a cavernous entranceway, and finally into an empty office, where she was told to wait. And so she did, sitting in an armchair opposite a desk, breathing slowly to calm herself, and fanning herself with a newspaper she took up from a side table. Jack asked her about the armchair, how big it was, whether it was the only one, and how many side tables there were.

  A look of understanding appeared on Mrs. Genevieve’s face. “I should have realized this sooner! You need such details because you intend to enter this room using the clock watch, which makes you blind.”

  “Possibly,” said Jack in a casual tone. “It depends on how things develop. I just want to be prepared for anything.” This was another half-truth told for Mrs. Genevieve’s sake. Or half of a half-truth. The actual plan was for Jack to be admitted to the mansion on a pretense while Reuben accompanied him unseen. Reuben would need a place to stand or sit without being tripped over, naturally; and after Jack had made his exit, Reuben would remain behind as an invisible spy.

  “This is very dangerous, what you suggest,” Mrs. Genevieve murmured. “To be invisible for only fifteen minutes at a time—how do you handle this risk?”

  Both Jack and Penny cast looks at Reuben, who, as it happened, had not told them about the watch’s time limit yet, though he’d known he would have to eventually. Sheepish, he avoided their eyes. Why hadn’t he mentioned it, anyway? Because it was a weakness, he thought. Was anyone ever in a hurry to reveal their weaknesses?

  Jack, meanwhile, without missing a beat, shrugged off Mrs. Genevieve’s concern and pressed her for more details. They all listened carefully as she described the room: a desk with an office chair for the Counselor and two armchairs for visitors, a side table for each armchair, an enormous empty fireplace to the left, and a cabinet against the wall, just to the right as she entered.