by Libi Astaire
Mr. Melamed was silent. If the right time ever came, the General himself should be the one to answer that question.
After supper, Rebecca Lyon showed their visitor to the guest room that had been prepared for her. In other circumstances, Sarah would have looked about with delighted wonder. She had never before seen such sparkling white linens or thick blankets, nor was she used to the luxury of a fire burning in her bedchamber. Even the nightdress that lay upon the bed seemed much too rich to sleep in, since it was trimmed with lace. But her heart was too filled with worry to be distracted by such mundane pleasures.
Rebecca noticed the girl’s lackluster response. “Is something not to your liking, Miss Krinkle? Perhaps you would like another pillow?”
“Thank you, Miss Lyon. I am most grateful for the kindness of you and your family. I am just a little tired.”
“My room is next to yours. If you should require anything during the night, please do not hesitate to knock on my door.”
Rebecca went to her own room. However, she was still brushing her hair when she heard coming from the other side of the wall the sound of Miss Krinkle sobbing. Returning to the guest room, she put her arm around Miss Krinkle and tried to console her.
“God willing, we will find your brother. You must have hope.”
“I am trying to be hopeful, Miss Lyon. But what if Berel is dead?”
“You must not think that. I am sure General Well’ngone and his boys will continue searching until they have found him. Mr. Melamed will not give up either.”
Sarah began to cry again. “It is all my fault,” she said, in between her sobs. “If I had not been so stubborn … If I had not insisted that I could take care of Berel by myself, perhaps this would not have happened.”
“I am sure that no one blames you, Miss Krinkle. You acted as you thought was right.”
“Would you have allowed Mr. Melamed to put your brother in an orphanage if, God forbid, you had lost your parents?”
Rebecca was silent for a moment. The truth was that she had a stormy relationship with Joshua, her younger brother, and more than once she had thought the Jewish orphanage would be an excellent place for such a troublesome sibling. Yet in her heart of hearts she knew she would not really wish to part with him, and so she said, “Of course not. But it is a great responsibility to raise a younger sibling. Have you no relations at all, Miss Krinkle?”
“I have an aunt—my mother’s married sister—who lives in the West Indies. My father’s family is in Prague. Those places are so far away, and I do not know these people. How would I know that they would take care of Berel? My parents hoped that Berel would become a scholar, even a rabbi. And he could, he is so very clever. What if the people who took us in refused to give Berel an education? Not everyone can easily afford to pay a tutor, and since Berel is not their son they might not want to assume the expense.”
“Did you explain all this to Mr. Melamed?”
Sarah shook her head. “We are so very poor. I am certain he would tell us that we must be practical and not aspire to things beyond our reach.”
“I can promise you nothing, Miss Krinkle, but I do think you should inform Mr. Melamed of your parents’ wishes. It is a serious thing to respect the wishes of the deceased, and Mr. Melamed is not as unfeeling as he may sometimes seem. But for now you need your rest. You may be called upon to perform some task in the morning, something for which you will need all your strength.”
For the first time Sarah smiled. “I did promise myself that I will give Berel a box on the ears, when I find him.”
“There, you see—you will want to be well rested for that!”
The clock had already chimed two when General Well’ngone straggled into the library of Mr. Melamed, who was reading by the still-smoldering fire.
“We couldn’t find him, and the boys are frozen to the bone.”
Mr. Melamed closed his book. “We shall resume the search in the morning. There is food for you and the others in the kitchen.”
The butler showed the youngsters downstairs, to the kitchen. Mr. Melamed went over to the library window, which overlooked the street. He could see nothing in the inky darkness. His only hope was that the solicitor would be able to shed some light on the matter in the morning.
VI.
“What do you mean, the child is missing?” Mr. Horace Barnstock jabbed the tip of his pen in the direction of Mr. Melamed. “Come to the point, sir. I am busy man.”
“Did Berel Krinkle come to your rooms yesterday, or not?” replied Mr. Melamed, who could also assume the demeanor of the stern man of business when he chose.
“Of course, he came here.”
“Do you know where he went afterward?”
“How should I know?” Mr. Barnstock thought for a moment, and then he flung down his pen on his desk. “Blast the boy! He was supposed to have gone straight home. I had work for the sister, important work that he was supposed to return to me. This is most inconvenient.”
“May I ask the nature of the document?”
“No, you may not.”
“We are speaking of a child who has gone missing—after visiting your establishment.”
“I had nothing to do with it, if that is what you are implying Mr. …” the solicitor glanced down with distaste at the visiting card that had been brought into him before the interview. “… Melamed.”
“Yes, but the document might have some bearing on the incident.”
“I cannot see how. Still, I suppose you could have a point.” Like most citizens of London, Mr. Barnstock preferred to keep his distance from the city’s Bow Street Runners—those rough-and-tumble officers of the law who were often far too zealous in their attempts to quickly close a case and collect their fees. The solicitor therefore rifled through some papers on his desk until he found the page of notes he was looking for. “This is confidential, of course,” he said, looking across the desk at Mr. Melamed
“Of course. My interest is the boy.”
“The document to be copied was for a bill of sale. Lord Liverwood wishes to buy an elephant and take it to his ancestral home in Kent.”
“An elephant?”
“He saw the beast being paraded around at the Frost Fair and decided he must have it for his estate. Are you familiar with Lord Liverwood?”
“No, I am not.”
“If you were, you would not be surprised. Last year he asked me to draw up an agreement for a hermit.”
“A hermit?”
“Apparently it was all the rage to employ one, at least for a certain type of gentleman.”
“For what purpose?”
“The person was a sort of curio for Lord Liverwood and his guests, I suppose. The terms were in the agreement. Lord Liverwood had a hut built for the person and provided the man with food and clothes. In return, the hermit had to agree to live in the hut and not speak with any of Lord Liverwood’s guests. I believe the man also had to agree to grow out his hair and not bathe during the time of his employment.” Mr. Barnstock noted his visitor’s astonishment and added, “Lord Liverwood is rich as Midas, bored as the devil and crazy as a loon—but harmless, mind you. I cannot imagine him hurting a fly, and certainly not a child.”
“Was he here when Berel arrived?”
“Yes, that is why I am telling you that Lord Liverwood is not your man. His head was full of his elephant. I doubt he even noticed the child.”
“Was anyone else here?”
“Only Arthur.”
“Your clerk?”
“And my son. He’s another one with not too much upstairs, but a father must provide for his children. Although I cannot imagine what will become of the practice after I am gone.”
Mr. Barnstock went to the door and called for Arthur. The young man sulked his way into the room.
“Arthur, this gentleman is seeking the whereabouts of young Berel Krinkle. Did the boy happen to mention where he was going to, after he left here?”
“My time is too valua
ble to spend it talking to messenger boys, Father.”
“Perhaps he mentioned meeting someone at the Frost Fair?” asked Mr. Melamed.
“If he did, he was talking to the wall, for I did not hear him.”
Arthur sulked back to his desk.
“I am sorry I cannot assist you further, Mr. Melamed. Send word when you hear something.”
“I will.” Mr. Melamed was about to depart, when he turned back to Mr. Barnstock and said, “One final question, sir, if I may.”
“Yes?”
“What happened to the hermit?”
“Eh?”
“Is the hermit still living on Lord Liverwood’s estate?”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been there.”
After leaving the solicitor’s rooms, Mr. Melamed instructed his coachman to take him to the Thames. The Frost Fair was still in progress, and it took Mr. Melamed some time to find General Well’ngone in the throng.
“Any luck, General?” he asked, when he finally did see the owner of the familiar bicorne hat.
The General shook his head. “No one remembers seeing Mr. Krinkle.”
“I suppose there were many boys about yesterday, just as there are today.” Mr. Melamed glanced about the hastily set up fair grounds. It would be highly unlikely that anyone would take note of a boy like Berel. “Was there no one else that the two of you spoke to, other than Mr. Lyon?”
“Only the gentleman who gave us the pencil. He spoke to us.”
“Do you know who he was?”
“I never saw him before in my life.”
“You did not remove anything from his pockets, something by which we could identify him by?”
The General was about to protest his innocence when he suddenly smote his hand against his forehead. “His was the fob that got me in trouble with Earl. I relieved the gentleman of his seal yesterday.”
“Where is the fob now?”
“At the pawnbroker’s, unless it’s already been sold.”
Mr. Melamed removed a banknote from his pocketbook. “Get it back, General.”
General Well’ngone hurried off—and in his hurry his feet flew out from underneath him, causing him to fall face first upon the ice. A crowd quickly gathered around him and began to point and laugh, which only added to his embarrassment. His mortification increased when he looked up and saw, standing in the circle of bystanders, Miss Sarah Krinkle.
Gathering up what was left of his wounded pride, the General reached for his hat, which had landed nearby, and placed it upon his head, before rising to his feet. He then broke through the circle and went on his way, without giving the laughing young person a second look.
“Perhaps we should not have laughed,” said Miss Lyon, who had accompanied Miss Krinkle to the Frost Fair. Miss Krinkle had not been able to sit at home and do nothing, and so the two young ladies, who were being chaperoned by Meshullen Mendel, had come to the river to make their own investigation.
“General Well’ngone is helping Mr. Melamed find your brother,” Rebecca added.
“Oh!” Sarah Krinkle looked round. “I’ll just say a word to him.”
When she caught up with the young man, she said, “I hope you are not hurt, General Well’ngone.”
The General gave her a look of disdain and continued to walk on.
“I am most grateful for all you are doing to help find my brother,” said Miss Krinkle, following after him. “Truly I am.”
“You have a strange way of showing it.”
“Please forgive me for laughing. It was childish of me, and wrong.” When General Well’ngone continued to walk, she said, “Have you never done anything wrong, General, something that you later regretted?”
At last he stopped and turned to look at her. “Miss Krinkle, my entire life I have been doing things that are wrong. Now, when I am trying to do something right, what do I get? Laughed at.”
“And if I were to tell you that I promise I will never laugh at you again, would you forgive me?”
General Well’ngone shrugged and stuck his hands deeper into the pockets of his greatcoat. “I suppose so. Good day, Miss Krinkle. ”
Mr. Melamed did not linger at the Frost Fair. Instead, he drove to Mayfair and the home of his friend and business associate, Mr. Arthur Powell, the younger son of Lord James Powell.
“Liverwood? I know him, of course, though I cannot say he is a great friend of mine.” Mr. Powell cast a knowing glance at his visitor. He knew that Mr. Melamed never asked about members of the English aristocracy, unless he had a good reason.
“Would you be agreeable to paying him a visit?” asked Mr. Melamed.
“What has he done?”
“Bought an elephant.”
Mr. Powell laughed. “Yes, that sounds like Liverwood. Still, I do not see why his latest antic concerns you or me.”
Mr. Melamed explained about the missing boy. “Lord Liverwood was one of the last people to speak with the child, at least that we know of. There is a chance he might have seen the boy afterward. It is a slender chance, I know. But, frankly, I am at a loss.”
Mr. Powell had no objection to the proposed visit. Lord Liverwood’s London home was not far from his own residence, and so he and Mr. Melamed set out on foot. A short while later they were informed that Lord Liverwood was at home and would be pleased to receive them, and they were shown into a drawing room.
Lord Liverwood was seated at a table upon which sat a Chinese puzzle box. He was happily pushing at various panels upon the sides of the box, hoping to discover the secret of how to open the object.
“Join me, do,” he said, motioning to his visitors to come to the table. “I have been trying to discover the correct sequence of movements since breakfast. Perhaps you, Powell, will have better luck.”
“It is a pretty thing,” said Mr. Powell, admiring the various patterns of inlaid work. After sliding a few panels in and out, he said, “I hope you have not stored anything valuable inside the box, Liverwood. You may never see it again, if you have.”
Lord Liverwood laughed with delight. “What about you, sir? Would you care to test your wits against this devil?”
Mr. Melamed took the box and duly began to try to discover the box’s secret.
“My friend has a bigger puzzle to solve,” said Mr. Powell. “A Jewish boy, a member of his community, has gone missing.”
Lord Liverwood clucked his tongue to show his sympathy.
“I believe you saw the boy yesterday at Mr. Barnstock’s rooms, and later at the Frost Fair. You gave him I pencil.”
“Did I? It is very possible.”
A young gentleman entered the room. Lord Liverwood called out to him, “Lennox, do you remember seeing a boy at the Fair?”
“There must have been dozens of boys on the river, Uncle.”
Lord Liverwood introduced his nephew to his visitors. Mr. Melamed noted that Mr. Lennox appeared to be in his late twenties. Whereas the uncle was round and jovial, the nephew was lean and reticent.
“These gentlemen say we gave the boy a pencil.”
Mr. Lennox gave a slight smile. “You are always generous to everyone, Uncle. Perhaps you did.”
After pouring a glass of sherry for himself, the young man went to an armchair placed before the fire and began to read a newspaper.
“The boy was not alone,” said Mr. Melamed. “He was accompanied by a young man wearing a military greatcoat and a bicorne hat. Perhaps you remember him.”
“A bicorne hat?” Lord Liverwood thought for a moment. “You mean, the boy in fancy dress? I do remember him! Did I not say that I must purchase a bicorne hat, Lennox, for when I am next invited to a fancy dress ball?”
“Perhaps you did,” the young man replied politely, but without enthusiasm. “Perhaps you did” seemed to be his answer to most things his uncle said.
“Did you happen to see the two boys later?” asked Mr. Melamed.
“I do not think so. I wanted to show Lennox my elephant.” Lord Liverwood
suddenly raised his hands to his mouth, and then he burst out laughing. “It was supposed to be a surprise,” he said, when he had recovered. “Some Indian fellows were parading an elephant at the Fair, near Blackfriars Bridge. It was quite a remarkable sight. So I bought it.”
“The bridge?” Mr. Powell politely inquired.
The question set Lord Liverwood into a new paroxysm of laughter, which lasted for several minutes. After wiping the tears from his eyes, he said, “I do not know when I have laughed so much. I bought the elephant, sir. I shall be the first to have an elephant, I am sure.”
“What do you intend to do with it, sir?” asked Mr. Melamed.
Lord Liverwood’s face turned blank. The nephew put aside his newspaper and came to the older man’s rescue. “My uncle loves nothing more than to amuse his friends. Is that not so, Uncle?”
“That is correct,” said Lord Liverwood, his face once again brightening. “And an elephant will be most amusing.”
“Now if you will excuse us, gentlemen, in a few minutes my uncle has an appointment with his physician.”
“Did we learn anything?” asked Mr. Powell, when he and Mr. Melamed were once again on the street.
“It does not seem so,” replied Mr. Melamed.
“I feel sorry for Liverwood. He has all the money in the world, his title and estates are among the best in England, and I suppose he enjoys his life, but he is really just a child. He cannot make intelligent use of all he has been blessed with.”
“Did he ever marry, or have children?”
“No.”
“Then Mr. Lennox is his heir?”
“Yes, I think so.” Mr. Powell glanced over at his friend. “What are you thinking, Melamed?”
“I am thinking it must be very hard for Mr. Lennox. His uncle appears to be in excellent health. It may be a very long time until he inherits.”
Mr. Powell, who was a younger son and therefore knew what it was to wait, laughed. “Do not start inventing mysteries where there is none. You have enough to do with finding the boy. What do you intend to do next?”
“I wish I knew.”
VII.
Although General Well’ngone and the pawnbroker had done business together on numerous occasions, it was part of the charade that when that business took place in the front of the store they pretended to be only slightly acquainted. The General therefore took his time examining the cheap trinkets on display, before he said, as if by afterthought, “It is really a fob seal I’m after. Have you any, sir?”
