The Case of the Counterfeit Criminals

by Jordan Stratford

  “Waste of time, I fear,” sighed Mary.

  “Not at all!” exclaimed Ada. “This is science. Finding nothing out of the ordinary is just as important as finding a sign saying CRIMINAL HIDEOUT. It gives us a point of information.”

  “Like your bleh spindles,” said Mary.

  “Just like that. There’s a hole in the stick, and either I put a peg in it or I don’t. In this case, here are three holes, one for each of the Sons of Whomever, and not one of them gets a peg.”

  “That’s still nothing, Lady Ada,” said Charles.

  “That’s a pattern, Charles. A pattern is never nothing.”

  “So what does it tell us, then?” Mary was frustrated, and didn’t understand why her friend was not.

  “It tells us that there is no such thing as the Sons of Bavaria. Our dognappers are using a counterfeit name.”

  “Why would grocers need a counterfeit name?”

  “Because they want to be clandestine. And because the Dognapping Grocers—assuming they are, in fact, grocers—is hardly an intimidating name. Just like Mr. Franklin. He may be harmless but he doesn’t seem so.”

  “So the Sons of Bavaria are using an assumed name to appear to be more…organized? Wicked?” Charles asked.

  “Well, it’s better than the Sons of Bacteria,” Ada said. And then she laughed and laughed to herself. Mary, not getting the joke, but eventually finding Ada’s laughter contagious, joined in. The carriage rocked with giggling all the way home to Marylebone Road.

  “I’m glad you’re pleased, Lady Ada,” Charles said as they descended from the carriage and took refuge from the rain beneath a tree. “But I must confess I’m at something of a loss here. Perhaps you see something which I myself am unable to.”

  “Right,” said Ada. “Let’s say you find a dog. You’re not a clever criminal, you’re just awful, all right? And instead of wanting to give the dog back, you want to get something in exchange for the dog.”

  “Wouldn’t most people offer a reward for the dog’s return?” suggested Mary.

  “Would they?” asked Ada.

  “Usually one might offer, yes. Although it would be improper to accept.”

  “Ah yes, but they’re awful, remember?” Ada continued, drawing out her theory. “So you wouldn’t care if it was improper to accept. In fact, you’d want more than what was usually offered. hang on, is the offer a lot?”

  “Not usually, no,” said Charles. “A token, really.”

  “There you go,” said Ada. “You’re awful, and you want a lot. So you do a little digging, and you find you’ve got the dog of a world-famous scientist, someone whom the British Museum relies upon to authenticate fossils. And these fossils fetch a lot of money….” Ada trailed off, and returned. “Do they?”

  “Do they what, Ada?” Mary asked.

  “Fetch a lot of money?”

  “I can only assume so, yes,” answered Mary. “A great deal.”

  “There you are. Scads of money. But the thing is, you’re not very clever, or very criminal. You need help. So you ask. This…,” Ada struggled, “is the big equation. We’ve been looking at the small equation; a dognapping, extortion—the bit with the counterfeit dinosaur bones. Easiest case ever. We know who did what and how and why. No, the real equation to solve, the big one, is that not-so-clever criminals are getting help to pull off clever crimes, pretending to be all manner of things for no other reason, it seems, than to get my attention. And it’s working.”

  “Whom would one ask for help in being criminal?” Charles asked.

  “The so-called cleverest girl in England, I suspect,” Ada answered.

  “Nora Radel,” Mary said, finally understanding.

  “It’s just a…a hunch,” Ada said, accepting both word and circumstance. “But let’s say not-so-clever criminals know they can call on Nora Radel, and she will tell them what to do. She devises a criminal name for them, a story, about being a fraternal organization, although I don’t understand that bit just yet. She finds the counterfeit fossil, or has it made, and puts all the variables together. And now the not-so-clever criminals have a relatively clever crime.”

  “A consulting criminal,” mused Mary. It seemed terrifying and brilliant all at once, which she supposed was the point.

  Charles nodded, but there was a shadow across his face that seemed to Mary to be unrelated to the case. She tried to inquire quietly, but he shook his head and said he must be off in search of new employment. He tipped his cap and hurried away.

  “Charles has lost his employment, it seems,” said Mary as she and Ada approached the house.

  “What?” asked Ada.

  “His job. He doesn’t have one anymore. Because of us, I suspect. Or, rather, because of his always taking time away to help us.”

  “What was his job?”

  “I seem to recall he worked at the boot-polish factory. Gluing the labels on.”

  “That sounds…um…”

  “It is, or was, rather,” said Mary.

  “Well, he won’t miss that much.”

  “It’s not the job, Ada. It’s the money. Ordinary people have to work, to make money, to support their families.”

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” admitted Ada, and felt bad that she hadn’t.

  “Well,” assured Mary, giving Ada’s arm a squeeze. “We shall have to come up with something for him. Perhaps Peebs can help.”

  Ada nodded. She was unused to the idea of Peebs being helpful, but he’d proven himself to be so on at least two occasions. perhaps he could make it three.

  As the girls had hoped, Mr. Franklin awaited their arrival on the steps to the house. In a gesture that under other circumstances would have appeared rude, he opened the door, looked up and down the various corridors that led to the entrance, and then turned back to them and nodded.

  They slipped into the house, having forgotten, for a moment, that they were in disguise, until Anna arrived from the kitchen and goggled at them. All three looked at one another comically.

  A bark rang out, and the trio turned at once to the source of the sound—Charlemagne, in the parlor. There, inside the house, stood two people, a man and a woman, painted like dolls, clearly attempting to kidnap the pug.

  All involved were trying not to draw attention to themselves, with the exception, of course, of the dog. Anna, Ada, and Mary froze, within bolting distance of the front door, and likewise the would-be dognappers stood stock-still.

  “Tick,” said the unusually painted woman.

  “Tock,” said the man, with the same white powder and round red circles on his cheeks.

  It struck Ada as a curious thing to say. However, the only thing it occurred to Ada to say in reply was “AAAAAAAH!” at the top of her lungs, while charging toward the couple.

  The doll people panicked and threw the small dog at the trio of maids. Ada stepped on her too-long dress and fell to the floor, but Mary caught Charlemagne in midair. The pair of puppets pushed Anna into Mr. Franklin, opened the front door, and were on their way before Ada found her feet.

  There was a further commotion outside as the fleeing duo ran straight into and knocked over an arriving Peebs, who was hurled into a hedgerow. Mr. Franklin set Anna to rights, then immediately dispatched himself to render assistance to Peebs.

  “Good heavens,” said Mary. “What was that all about?”

  “Dognapping,” said Ada. “Attempted. She got my message.”

  “Who got what message?” asked Anna, quite disturbed.

  “Sons of Bavaria,” Ada explained. “By way of my archnemesis. They think we have the real Tray. Miss Anning’s dog. It means the plan is working.”

  “But who were those tick-tock people?” Mary asked. “They’re not the Sons of Bavaria that Miss Anning described, bearded men with their sleeves rolled up and no discernible accent.”

  “No, but I’ve seen them before, out the window,” Ada said. “Eyeing up the place. They’re part of her plan; I’m sure of it.”

&nb
sp; “Part of whose plan?” asked an imperious voice.

  Gran stood disapprovingly, flanked by two footmen.

  “Certainly not, I hope, a plan to impersonate my servants and insinuate yourself in this house, Miss Godwin,” Gran continued. “And certainly not a plan to extricate yourself from your bed rest, Ada. And you, Miss…”

  “Anna, ma’am,” said Anna.

  “I should dismiss you from service altogether, were we not so miserably shorthanded here. But I trust this is the last you shall aid and abet Lady Ada in her excitability.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said Anna, who curtsied and shuffled out of the room.

  Peebs arrived, followed by a silent Mr. Franklin, still brushing boxwood from his coat.

  “Here is your dog,” said Mary, handing Charlemagne over to Lady Noel. “We rescued him.”

  “From whom?” Gran demanded.

  “Intruders, Lady Noel. Bent on the abduction of your beloved animal.”

  “Nonsense,” insisted Gran. “I’ve had a footman stationed at every entrance in the event of an escape attempt. The only intruder, Miss Godwin, is yourself. My servants shall show you out.”

  “Actually, Lady Noel, if I may—” Peebs began.

  “You may not” was Gran’s decisive reply.

  Mary was on the verge of tears, her plans overthrown and herself being barred from her friend’s house twice in as many days.

  Ada reached out and gave Mary’s hand a squeeze.

  As she walked past Peebs, Mary dared not meet his eyes lest she burst into tears.

  “Don’t give up,” whispered Peebs.

  Moments later, Ada was yet again in her nightdress, and Anna sat on a chair, removing the pins from her uniform.

  Peebs knocked on the door and was admitted. Upon seeing Anna, he gave her a courteous nod, which she returned.

  “It seems,” he said to Ada, “that your grandmother has decided that my tutelage is not too exciting for you, so that is precisely what you are to be subjected to.”

  “What?” asked Ada crossly.

  “I’m boring, so I am to be your punishment.”

  “Makes sense,” Ada agreed.

  “Steady on,” said Peebs, slightly insulted.

  “No, she’s just like that,” said a resigned Ada. “Where’s Mary?”

  “Mr. Franklin was directed to escort her home, personally.”

  “Oh,” said Ada sadly. “How are you here?”

  “How, Lady Ada?”

  “Banished. All my father’s friends. And my mother wrote that you were to be banished, specifically.”

  “Ah, well,” Peebs chuckled. “Lady Noel neglected to ask my name. She has thus far referred to me as ‘Mr. Peebs’ and has not as yet discerned my actual identity, nor would this seem to be a priority. Too boring even for her, it appears.” He smiled.

  “Miss Anna,” continued Peebs, “was this your doing, the scheme to introduce Miss Godwin into the house by way of subterfuge?”

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Shelley,” said Anna. “Subterfuge?”

  “Sneakiness,” said Ada.

  “Ah,” answered Anna, “I’m afraid, sir, the answer is yes.”

  “Well-done, then,” said Peebs with a smile. Anna blushed a little.

  “Enough!” said Ada. “We’ve got to stop the acquisition at the museum, and it’s tomorrow! With or without Miss Anning’s approval.”

  “Why?” asked Peebs. Ada made a face. “No, please don’t misunderstand me. I know why. And I applaud your sense of justice in the matter. Science itself is the prey here. But insofar as Miss Anning is concerned, are her interests not served by her playing along and seeing the return of her dog?”

  “I’m…she was…” Ada was frustrated. She knew what Peebs was asking, but she was too angry to find the words. Not angry at Peebs, but at Gran for placing her under house arrest. Angry at Miss Anning for not believing in her. Angry at herself for not being clever enough to find a way around this situation.

  “She was,” Peebs began, “a girl, like you. A girl of science, who has become a woman of science, and made a remarkable contribution, as you hope to. And her reputation is that of your future, and it is this you seek to defend.”

  “Oh!” said Anna, impressed at this insight. Ada merely harrumphed.

  “Sons of Bavaria,” Ada said. “What do you know?”

  “Well, Miss Mary has briefed me that they are the alleged organization behind Miss Anning’s dognapping. However…”

  “Yes?” asked Ada.

  “Well, there appears to be some sort of jest involved, a reference to the Bavarian Illuminati. I mean, if one is to pretend to have a vast conspiracy behind oneself, one can hardly choose a more suitable pedigree.”

  “Explain.”

  “Well, the Bavarian Illuminati were a very real gathering of intellectuals that began in 1776. They opposed what they felt were corrupting influences on government, and their ideals influenced the French Revolution. Although the society itself was outlawed and officially disbanded before that—the government not liking their tone at all—many pretenders since have claimed to be among their members, or to be from a secretly surviving part of the society itself.”

  “But?”

  “Such claims are undoubtedly spurious,” Peebs concluded.

  “Spurious?” asked Anna. “Oh,” she said, realizing she properly ought not to be listening. “Pardon me.”

  “Spurious,” said Ada. “Counterfeit. As fake as those ichthyosaur bones.”

  “Indeed, Lady Ada,” said Peebs. “I suspect someone is having you on.”

  “Fishy,” said Ada.

  “As you say,” said Peebs. “And a supposedly ancient fish at that! But with the acquisition tomorrow, and your grandmother’s footmen covering all the exits, I cannot see a way around the matter.”

  “Here,” said Ada, plucking an envelope from under her pillow and handing it to Peebs.

  “What is this, Lady Ada?” he asked.

  “A last resort,” Ada answered. “Go to the acquisition, and swap this out with the letter Miss Anning wrote to authenticate the bones. And be clandestine.”

  “And this document here would be…?”

  “A forgery. A fake. Counterfeit. I copied Miss Anning’s handwriting, pretending to be her. It says the bones are as fake as this letter really is. Only this one tells the truth.”

  “Spurious!” said Anna proudly.

  “A false letter that tells the truth, rather than a real letter that tells a lie,” said Peebs. “Remarkable.”

  “Well, as I said, it is our last resort,” said Ada. “Until I come up with a…um…first resort.”

  Peebs considered this for a moment and nodded. “I shall attend the acquisition tomorrow. This much I can promise.”

  Ada pretended she had stopped listening and submerged herself in her book. Peebs excused himself and left.

  Ada waited ten full seconds, counting as slowly as she could, which wasn’t very.

  “Anna,” said Ada intently. “Seamstresses.”

  The morning of the acquisition, Mary, her stepsister (and sometime Wollstonecraft detective) Jane, and a wan-looking Charles arrived at the museum by carriage. They stepped out into the chilly drizzle onto the crunch of wet gravel, which was busy collecting small puddles in hopes of putting them together.

  Under the portico of the old building was a damp Peebs, who doffed his hat to the girls and shook Charles’s hand.

  “I say, young Master Dickens, are you altogether well?” he asked.

  “I…I skipped breakfast, is all, Mr. Shelley, but thank you for asking.”

  Jane and Mary looked nervously at one another, Jane’s curls getting frizzier in the wet.

  “Should we wait for Allegra?” asked Jane. “Is she coming?”

  “Can she?” asked Mary.

  “That is entirely up to Mrs. Woolcott now,” said Peebs. “But the acquisition is starting soon.”

  “I wish Ada were here,” said Mary. “I’m unsure of what
to do.”

  “Lady Ada seems certain that once this envelope,” said Peebs, holding it up, “is read in place of the real one, the Sons of Bavaria will show their hand. We must be ready.”

  “But we don’t know what that means,” protested Mary. “We don’t know precisely what they will do, and we don’t know what to do when they do it. It doesn’t seem much of a plan.”

  “It does seem like poking a hornet’s nest,” added Jane. “How can we be sure that will help us recover the dog?”

  “Ada does like an experiment,” agreed Charles. “I think we must trust in her plan, and see it through.”

  There was quite a throng gathering outside, waiting for the doors to open and for the acquisition to begin. In fact, it was difficult to see, through the sea of hats and umbrellas, precisely who was in the crowd, though on occasion it was possible to make out a stand of bearded men with aprons, their sleeves rolled up like grocers’. One held a lidded wicker basket, slightly larger than a breadbox, as though he were about to make a grocery delivery or attend a picnic.

  “Peebs,” asked Jane, “is there any chance whatsoever of Ada making it out of the house?”

  “I fear not, Miss Jane,” said Peebs. “Lady Noel has every door well guarded.”

  “Every one she knows about, anyway,” mused Mary. “The museum doors are opening. We should go in.”

  The crowd compressed itself through the doors and down the long, package-cramped hallway to the auditorium, where the acquisition was to take place. Many of the crates were under tarpaulins, like lumpy ghosts of camels and elephants. It created a landscape of uncertain forms, and so with each step Jane and Mary and Charles and Peebs entered uncertain territory.

  There was quite the hubbub, given that it was a weekday, but all manner of onlookers were in attendance. Workmen, who had labored to load and unload the crates, and were curious as to their contents, rubbed shoulders with bored Society ladies with little else to amuse themselves. Journalists jostled enthusiasts of the natural sciences, and trod on the toes of plotting villains and intrepid detectives alike.