The Icarus Plot

by Jenny Schwartz

  The Icarus Plot

  Jenny Schwartz

  Ivana March runs a very special toy shop in the heart of Victorian London. The last person she expects to see enter it is an earl. Not that she has time to entertain him. Someone is stealing children, and the street kids whisper tales of a “Metal Man”. Ivana must find the monster, rescue the children, and if the earl really wants to help, he can come with her. Only, no one warned her she’d have to venture to places better left unexplored. A good thing, then, that the new Earl of Somer is a noted explorer. When the two of them join forces, what could possibly go wrong?

  Long short story or short novella. A satisfying lunch-hour escape, if you don’t mind visiting an abandoned, reportedly haunted bedlam.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Note from the Author

  Chapter 1

  “She’s a little girl. Five years old, if that, and you’re not going to look for her? You’re not a man, you’re a mouse. A worm.” The woman’s gaze seared all the men in the room, even Andrew who had just entered the police station.

  The sergeant behind the desk took a step back before remembering his position. “I’m sorry, miss, but street children do wander off.”

  “Wander off!” She made a low sound, almost a growl, then spun on one neatly shod foot and strode for the door.

  Andrew moved out of the way, lifting his hat automatically. The vision in blue cotton never noticed. The door banged shut behind her.

  “Cor blimey,” a prisoner being charged expressed the sentiments of the room.

  “May I help you, sir?” The sergeant concentrated on Andrew.

  “Yes. In private, if that’s possible?”

  “Certainly, sir.”

  Ivana March ignored the light drizzle that was typical summer weather for London. By rights it should have steamed when it hit her because she was boiling mad. Her parents were right. The police were no more than lackeys for the rich. Give them a real problem, like a little girl stolen from the people who loved her, and they didn’t want to know. No, not them. They were happier directing traffic and taking bribes.

  “Nincompoops.” Her own guilt made her anger all the hotter. If only she’d listened to Sammy. But the street children who hung around the markets were talented liars, and Sammy was the most skilled of the lot. When he’d told her of the “Metal Man” who stole children while they slept, she hadn’t believed him. Now silent, solemn-faced Janey was gone.

  Ivana inhaled deeply, and coughed. Although she was half a mile from the Thames, the river’s stench carried on the wind. Low tide. The foul stink reminded everyone that this was summer and fevers cooked in the unhealthy crowding of the city.

  How on earth was she to find one monster in the stews of London that bred monsters by the hundreds?

  She reached her toy shop and automatically gave the key the sharp twist needed to move the complicated lock. In the window, a teddy bear and a porcelain doll faced each other over a child-sized picnic basket. A red wagon was stacked high with books. The pressure pad under the welcome mat triggered a mechanical trill of notes from “Greensleeves” as she entered.

  Reluctantly, she turned the “closed” sign to “open” and left the door unlocked. Playing the role of shopkeeper grew tiresome. She’d achieved all and more than she’d hoped for in starting the toy shop, and now its daily demands irked her.

  She dropped her lace shawl behind the counter and hung her straw hat on a hook just inside the back room which served as her kitchen. She lived above the shop. Then she contemplated the telephone. To save Janey she was about to call in all the favours she’d accumulated over the last five years.

  The police sergeant tugged at his moustache. “It’s an odd thing, my lord.” His eyes bulged a bit.

  Andrew was becoming used to the phenomenon. In the short time he’d been Earl of Somer he’d discovered that the title threw people. Perhaps he didn’t look like an earl? Given that the last earl, his very distant cousin Henry, had resembled a toad, perhaps his problem was in looking too tall and healthy. If that was the case, his height would remain, but the worry of sorting out the vicious tangle Henry had made of his affairs would soon ruin Andrew’s health.

  “A lost boy,” the sergeant continued. “Miss March was just in inquiring after a lost girl.”

  “Yes, the coincidence occurred to me.” The very help the sergeant had refused Miss March, Andrew was determined to acquire for himself. “Although the boy would be nine, a few years older than the girl.”

  “Unfortunately, my lord, the problem of locating a street kid…uh child…remains. They’re notoriously wary of policemen. You could say that they see us as their natural enemies.”

  “I understand, but surely as your men go about their business they could look for the boy, perhaps question some people?”

  “To tell you the truth,” the sergeant spoke with sudden determination. “Your best chance of finding the boy is to speak with the lady who just left. Miss March.”

  Andrew certainly wasn’t adverse to speaking with Miss March. In a temper, her beauty had been remarkable. It was like standing near an electricity machine and feeling the sparks flying off. But the matter was urgent and couldn’t be delayed for dalliance.

  The sergeant leaned forward. “It seems the lady already has the trust of the street children. They came to her with their story of a lost girl. She’ll be able to ask and get honest answers about a boy matching your description. She may even know of him. Because I believe you’re right, sir. The street kids don’t venture out of an area they’re familiar with. They’re like all the people around here. They stick to the area they know. Why, there are families here who have never crossed London Bridge.”

  Andrew thought that over. “Well, sergeant, I came here for your assistance, so I’d be a fool if I ignored your advice. Do you have Miss March’s direction? Which charity does she work for?”

  “Charity?” The sergeant smiled. “Bless my soul. She’s no do-gooder. Miss March owns a toy shop.”

  Andrew stared. He’d assumed by the discreet quality of her clothes and her accent that she was a well-born lady devoted to charity work. “A toy shop?”

  “Yes, my lord. Puck Lane. Next door to Orvill’s Bookshop.” He added directions. “You can’t miss it.”

  The tinny tinkle of “Greensleeves” greeted Andrew when he walked into the toy shop. The single room was long and narrow and grew progressively darker the further he walked. Peripherally he noticed the floor space filled with toys, games and sporting equipment, but the focus of his attention was Miss March. She stood at a telephone, evidently listening to someone, but her gaze tracked him. He became self-conscious as to the location of his elbows, ridiculously awkward in a manner he hadn’t been since adolescence.

  “Thank you, Lucy. I have a customer. A man.”

  A strange comment to add, he thought.

  But it must have served its purpose because Miss March replaced the receiver on its brass hook without further conversation.

  “May I help you?” She moved away from the telephone and stood behind the counter. She didn’t look wary or nervous, but she definitely wasn’t welcoming.

  He sighed for his idle thoughts of dalliance. “Miss March, perhaps you remember me from the police station?”

  “No.”

  “My name is Andrew Grier, Earl of Somer.” He presented her with his card. Their fingers brushed: his gloved, hers ungloved. “The police sergeant said you might be able to help me with a problem. It seems we’re both looking for
a lost child.”

  Miss March glanced at his card, then tapped it against the counter. Her fingers were slender and well-kept, the nails trimmed short. “Not to be rude, my lord. But why would the Earl of Somer be looking for a child?”

  Andrew had already realised on the walk to the shop that he’d have to give her a reason. Now, seeing the suspicion in her blue eyes and hearing the note of refusal in her voice, he knew he’d have to tell her the whole sorry tale.

  “I recently, and unexpectedly, acquired the title of the Earl of Somer on the death of my distant cousin, Henry. I also became responsible for the estate and for settling the remarkable mess Henry had made of his affairs. I believe he wasn’t entirely sane.”

  She blinked.

  Most people didn’t admit to possessing crazy relatives. In this instance, it was the only excuse for Henry’s behaviour. Andrew ploughed on. “I discovered that Henry’s man of affairs was systematically swindling him. I have my own solicitors looking into the situation, but a private matter turned up.” His hands clenched. It had been in his last interview with the repulsive McHugh, Henry’s man, that he’d learned the depths of his cousin’s villainy. “It seems my cousin had an illegitimate son.”

  “Many well-to-do men do.”

  Her cynicism smarted. “Not me, I assure you.”

  She stared at him for a long moment, then nodded. “My apologies, sir.”

  “Henry’s son, Samuel, was born nine years ago to an opera dancer. The woman died in childbirth. It would have been in keeping with Henry’s character to ignore the baby, but for some reason he ordered McHugh, his man of affairs, to arrange to have the child fostered. McHugh found a Mrs Ledbetter from Holly Street who agreed to raise Samuel for a monthly payment. It seems she undertook this for a number of unwanted children.”

  “A baby farm.” Miss March inhaled sharply. “Iniquitous. Am I to assume Mrs Ledbetter lives in the nearby Holly Street?”

  “She did. Unfortunately, she died two years ago. The children she’d been fostering scattered onto the streets. My cousin’s man of affairs continued to make the payments—but diverted them to his own account.”

  “I hope you prosecute him.”

  “My solicitors are working on it. But my concern is to find the boy. The police sergeant believes the boy wouldn’t have gone far from where he was raised. The sergeant also suggested I seek help from someone the street children trust.”

  “Which is why you’re here.” Her rigid posture relaxed. It would be too much to say she smiled at him, but she no longer seemed braced to send him on his way. “I think it’s admirable that you’re searching for your cousin’s child, but to be frank, it will be hideously difficult to determine which boy among the hundreds of street boys he is. Even age isn’t a true guide since poor nutrition and unhealthy conditions stunt their growth.”

  “Miss March, do you remember that I confessed I feared my cousin was crazy?”

  Her fine blue eyes widened. “I do. Are you saying the child—”

  “No, no. The child is normal, as far as I know. But I want you to understand that Henry was abnormal. McHugh, his man of affairs, was angry to have his embezzlement discovered and to face prosecution, and in his anger he shared the scene in which Henry arranged Samuel’s foster placement.”

  “Your cousin involved himself personally?”

  “He was apparently concerned by the same issue you raised. That of identifying his child. According to McHugh, Henry warned Mrs Ledbetter that she needn’t try to fool him. He then.” Andrew stopped. He had to force himself to continue. This was information Miss March needed. “Henry took a red hot poker and branded his baby’s face with an ‘X’.”

  “Dear heaven.”

  “It is appalling,” he said explosively. “I’m ashamed to be even distantly related to the man. It is no good saying he was addicted to drink and opiates. He was an evil man.”

  “An ‘X’.”

  Andrew shook off his rage as Miss March’s tone registered. “Do you know a boy with an ‘X’ on his face?”

  She twisted his calling card between her fingers. “My lord, what do you intend to do with the boy?”

  “I thought a good school, a farming family to look after him during the holidays and enough money to establish himself in life once he is adult.”

  “It won’t be that easy. Street children are wary. If the boy has survived to…did you say nine years old?”

  He nodded.

  “Then he’ll have been used to looking after himself. He mightn’t take kindly to being whisked off into a new life.”

  Enough was enough. The boy was his responsibility. “Miss March, if you know where Samuel is, you must tell me.”

  Her mouth set in a stubborn line.

  “Miss March.” A skinny lad burst into the toy shop, towing a larger boy puffing in his wake. “Kelly found a drunk who saw the Metal Man carrying off Janey last night. Kelly says as how the man was carrying Janey down Hookbone Alley. Here, mister, leave off!”

  But Andrew gripped the boy’s shoulders, staring down at his face. “Samuel?”

  The boy had a rough “X” branded on his left cheek.

  Chapter 2

  “Here, mister! Let me go.” Sammy aimed a kick at the Earl of Somer’s ankles.

  “No, Sammy.” Ivana hurried around the counter. “Don’t kick him.”

  The boy lowered his foot, but continued to squirm. His friend Kelly retreated out of the earl’s reach and stared, open-mouthed.

  “Please release him, my lord.” Ivana put her own hands on Sammy’s skinny shoulders, pushing aside the earl’s loosening grip. She pulled the boy to her.

  “My apologies. I didn’t anticipate finding the boy so easily.”

  “I ain’t done nothing wrong,” Sammy said.

  “Sssh. The earl knows that,” she soothed.

  “He’s an earl?” Kelly pointed with a dirty thumb. “Whoo-ee.”

  The Earl of Somer grinned faintly. “That seems to be the general response. I don’t look like an earl.”

  “People don’t expect to see an earl hereabouts.” Or to encounter one who wasn’t top lofty, she added silently.

  The Earl of Somer seemed capable of laughing at himself. His long face was bony, full of character rather than refined elegance. Hazel eyes looked out eagerly at the world from beneath muddy brown eyebrows. His nose showed signs of being broken at some point in the past. It had set with a slight crookedness. His mouth was wide and when he smiled, the easy-going expression revealed strong white teeth.

  There was no similarity between him and Sammy who was short and skinny with black hair and nearly black eyes, sallow skin and a thin mouth that kept its secrets. The whole idea that the two were related was incredible, and yet…

  “Sammy,” she said. “Can you tell me the name of the woman who raised you before she died? Your foster mother?”

  “Missus,” Kelly said. He picked up a ball and bounced it off the floor. “Missus, we all called her. She was an old witch.”

  Ivana hadn’t expected to get any useful information from Kelly. Sammy was the brains of the outfit. She kept her eyes on him. “Do you know her real name? What did the rentman called her?”

  “Mrs Ledbetter,” Sammy said.

  The earl’s sigh sounded loud in the shop. He hitched up the knees of his trousers and crouched, bringing himself nearer to Sammy’s height. It was an unexpectedly empathetic gesture.

  “Just a minute.” Ivana released Sammy and went behind the counter. She fished a coin out of the till. “Kelly, go and buy us all fruit buns from the baker, please. Two each.”

  Kelly caught the coin and ran out.

  Ivana caught the earl’s eye. “Kelly is a good boy, but he tells everyone everything he knows.”

  “He’s a gabmouth,” Sammy said. “Miss March, about our Janey.” He tugged at her sleeve.

  “I haven’t forgotten. I promise we’ll find her, Sammy. But there’s a very important reason the earl’s here and you need
to listen to it. It concerns you.”

  “Me?”

  “It seems we are cousins, Sammy.”

  For once, Sammy’s sangfroid deserted him. “Nah.” He giggled a shrill sound of nervous disbelief.

  “It’s true. My cousin was your father. He’s now dead and I’m responsible for you.”

  “I never met my father. Missus said as how he didn’t want me and she said my ma was dead.”

  “I’m afraid your mother did die when you were born and as to your father, it’s his loss that he never met you. I don’t intend to make the same mistake. You are part of my family, Sammy. I’m going to see that you go to a good school and are trained in a respectable trade so you can support yourself.”

  Sammy backed away, leaning into Ivana.

  She stroked his hair and put a hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, Sammy. I believe the earl is sincere. He is offering you a way to get off the streets. You’ll sleep safe and eat well and be able to do all the things you dream of.”

  “I like the streets,” he said fervently.

  “No, you don’t.” Ivana smiled. “Think of how horribly cold you are in winter. How your toes go blue and get frostbite, how your tummy hurts with hunger. You want to leave all that behind.”

  “But what about my mates? I can’t leave them behind. Not Kelly and Jack and Emily. What about Janey?” It was a wail.

  “I’ll find Janey,” Ivana promised.

  “You won’t. Not without me,” Sammy said. “And who’ll take your back? Who’ll look out for you? The Metal Man is dangerous. He’s not like Bruiser Bill.”

  “Bruiser Bill?” the earl queried.

  “She kicked him in the nuts, then pushed him in the horse trough.” Kelly was back with the fruit buns. “Then when he came out of the trough all dripping wet and with a knife in his hand, she had one of her nifty gadgets in her hand and the knife went flying from his hand to her gadget.”