Between the two of us, we convinced her to lie down and take a nap. She only agreed when I did as she asked and checked on Mr. Arnold one compartment away. I found the older man deep in conversation with his three mates and returned to give her these assurances. Only then did she slide down in her chair, still clutching the now-wet coat, and close her eyes.
We slid the door closed behind her, and Perkins said in his deep voice, “We are a half hour from the station, Miss Adams, and thirty of my people await us when we get there. We may have failed tae find her, but Leah and her kidnapper still have tae make it past all our officers.”
I nodded, rubbing wearily at my eyes. Something was still bothering me. “Why is Mrs. Anderson so concerned about Mr. Arnold, do you think?”
He seemed surprised. “I hadn’t given it much thought, Miss Adams, why? Does it strike ye as strange? Do you think Mrs. Anderson suspects him?”
I rubbed my eyes again. I didn’t know what to think, or who to trust. “No, that’s not it. Why would she want to keep her assailant close? That makes no sense…” He waited patiently for the reason behind my question, but the truth was, I couldn’t articulate it. It was just an unsettled feeling — which I admitted with a frustrated sigh.
He shook his head. “This is a trying case, and right now, I will admit only tae ye, I cannae see how it turns out well for wee Leah.” He suggested I head back to my compartment for our arrival, and I, having no other ideas, did as I was told.
I slid open the door to my compartment with an angry swing and slammed it shut with equal emotion. I was missing something — I knew I was!
My leather satchel had slipped to the floor again, so I tossed it back up on the shelf and stalked around the enclosed space, flipping through my notebook. The train had started to slow as I read, and the anger drained out of me, replaced by a leaden sense of failure. I stopped pacing, leaned back against the sliding door and, closing my eyes, tried to focus on that inner voice that was trying to tell me something important. The problem was all the other voices that inserted doubts and fought for control of my decisions.
The train jerked slightly and my satchel slid off the luggage shelf again to land at my feet.
My eyes snapped back open.
That was it!
I grabbed the satchel, threw it over my shoulder and went into the hallway, negotiating my way through first class. Stopping at the door right before Mrs. Anderson’s, I knocked and was asked in by the older gentlemen I knew to be within.
“Why, Miss Adams!” remarked Mr. Arnold, extending his hand. “You should sit down, the train is coming to a stop and you could injure yourself!”
I ignored his advice and instead asked, “Sir, when you found Mrs. Anderson unconscious, was her luggage on the floor beside her or up top on the luggage shelf?”
He looked surprised again but answered directly. “Why … on the floor beside her. I know because I lifted the cursed thing back onto the shelf myself. I at first thought it was that which had hit her!”
“It was!” I answered excitedly as the station came into view. We both exited the compartment and headed toward Mrs. Anderson’s compartment, outside of which stood Constable Perkins in discussion with various men.
“Constable Perkins, I hope you have enough men to cover all the exits, because I must ask you for your personal attention immediately,” I announced, trying not to sound bossy.
He took in my excited demeanor and his eyes widened. “I dinnae believe it. You’ve found her?”
“I am close, I think,” I said, hesitating and cursing James Barclay again for my lack of confidence. “But I need your help to close this case.” I turned to his men. “Please make sure to hold all passengers in their compartments until Constable Perkins tells you otherwise.”
They looked to Perkins, who nodded, and then they left in various directions.
I led him and Arnold the rest of the way to Mrs. Anderson’s compartment, where I knocked for the last time, just as the train screeched to a halt.
She was sitting bolt upright, staring out the window, and glanced up when I knocked. A look of worry ran across her bruised features as she nodded for us to enter.
“Mrs. Anderson, I have good news!” I announced, entering, followed closely by the constable and Arnold.
“Good news?” she repeated, tensing.
“Yes, I believe we have located Leah!” I said, watching her closely.
“W-what?” she stammered, turning white as a sheet and pressing her hand against her heart.
“Aren’t you pleased, Mrs. Anderson?” I asked, directing the constable’s attention to the small suitcase I had earlier examined. “We can take you to her, just let us get your luggage for you…”
Mrs. Anderson rose unsteadily as she said “NO!” but Constable Perkins had already wrestled the heavy case down to the floor with a thud.
I made quick work of the straps while Mrs. Anderson stood shaking, and I opened the case.
“What the hell?” whistled Perkins as the lid popped open to reveal several large rocks, a pink dress and a blonde wig.
“Oh, oh no!” whispered Mrs. Anderson, sinking to her knees beside the damning case.
Perkins looked to me for an explanation, so I pointed at Mrs. Anderson’s bruised and bandaged face. “There was no assailant, Constable Perkins,” I said. “Mrs. Anderson pulled this case onto herself to make it look like she was assaulted. It’s why no one heard anything or saw anything. There was nothing to see or hear! There was no assault. There was no kidnapping.”
“But … why?” Perkins said, looking between the case and the sobbing woman as Mr. Arnold stooped to pick up one of the rocks with two hands and stare at it incredulously.
“Because she is about to divorce her husband,” I said with a rueful shake of my head. “And I expect she feared losing custody of their daughter. Or maybe she just wanted to cause her soon-to-be-ex-husband a measure of pain?”
I asked the last in a harsher tone, not expecting an answer, but I received one, much to my surprise:
“He deserves some pain — the bastard,” she hissed up at me.
I crouched. “Why, Mrs. Anderson? Why go through so much trouble to hide your daughter from your husband?”
She sniffed once, twice. “Alan … he … he beats me,” she whispered. I recoiled, but she continued. “It started when we were first wed, and it’s gotten steadily worse as time went on.”
She sniffed again, looking down. “When I had Leah, I had hoped it would stop — but it didn’t.” Another sniff, a gulp. “It got worse! And then last year, at Christmas … he hit Leah! So hard that she fell down the stairs.”
I glanced up at Constable Perkins, whose face reflected my shock. Mr. Arnold had dropped the rock and now covered his eyes with his hand.
“That was when I left him,” she snarled, defiantly meeting my eyes.
“Why are you here then at all, ma’am?” asked Perkins gently, crouching down beside me.
“Not by choice!” she fairly spat. “His lawyer friends drew up papers that required me to bring Leah, and the police, when I went to them, told me there was naught they could do! That was when I knew I had to do something to protect my daughter from him — permanently!”
I rocked back on my heels, turning toward Perkins with a question in my eyes. He anticipated it and answered, “My background check into Mr. and Mrs. Anderson did reveal numerous unexplained trips to the hospital and at least two occasions when police were called to the residence by concerned neighbors.”
“We live in a townhouse,” she explained, eyes wet. “They could hear my cries. But when the police arrived, every time, and it was far more than twice, my husband convinced them that I had somehow injured myself.”
Perkins shook his head. “He wouldnae have fooled me!”
“Or me!” announced Arnold angrily.
I believed her story, God help me, even after the fiasco with the Barclays. Even with the secrets my guardian kept from me. This woman was
not acting, and she felt true fear for her child, that was clear in her story and in the corroborating evidence. But what could be done? Even now the man was probably standing feet away on the platform outside!
Perkins again anticipated my thoughts. “Where is Leah, Mrs. Anderson?”
When she stayed stubbornly silent, I replied for her, “Safe,” said I, snapping the suitcase closed again, “and if we three say nothing, will remain that way.”
Mrs. Anderson gasped at my words, but Mr. Arnold was already nodding vigorously.
With my arm around her, I said to Constable Perkins, “These are your choices as I see them, sir. Either you arrest this woman for making a false allegation and hand a poor defenseless child over to a known abuser. Or we erase the events of the last few minutes and continue as if we still don’t know Leah’s whereabouts.”
Mr. Arnold moved around to stand on the other side of Mrs. Anderson, indicating his opinion on the subject. This left Constable Perkins stonily looking at the three of us, and I will admit I did not envy him his choice. I had been advised and had experienced this middle ground of justice before. I knew my decision to be one I could live with, but perhaps Perkins, with a lifetime of defending the law, could not.
A knock at the door startled us all out of our stand-off, and Constable Borgin slid open the door.
“Sir, Crown Prosecutor Anderson is demanding to see his wife,” explained the younger constable. Perkins’ back was still to the door, with the three of us — Arnold, Anderson and myself — facing it, so only we saw the senior constable grit his teeth.
“You can escort Mrs. Anderson t’see Crown Prosecutor Anderson, but I want you tae stay with them the whole time,” he said finally.
I squeezed her shoulder, still unsure of what Constable Perkins was going to do, and she turned fearfully toward me. Then I gave her a hug, whispering in her ear as I did so. “Say nothing, stick to your story. If it all comes out, it all comes out, and it will do no more harm than has already been done.”
She wilted in my arms at my words and I had to help her to the door and pass her on to Constable Borgin. The door slid closed behind them as I opened my mouth to ask after Perkins’ intentions, but he spoke first. “I want tae know where Leah is, an’ I want tae know how ye discovered her, Miss Adams, and I want tae know now.”
I looked at Mr. Arnold, who just pursed his lips, and I realized it was up to me.
“The truth is that all I have is theory, but I believe it to be a good one,” I hedged, “and it starts with Mr. Arnold.”
“I have a feelin’ your theories are uncommonly correct, Miss Adams. Tell us on the way tae Leah,” said Perkins, opening the door and ushering me out into the hallway.
“Once I realized that Mrs. Anderson had inflicted those wounds upon herself, I was left with some answers to some key questions,” I said, leading the way. “Leah didn’t scream, because her mother was never beaten, that much was clear. So when did Leah disappear? Well, obviously not after her mother knocked herself unconscious. Somehow Leah was not in the compartment. Sometime between meeting Mr. Arnold and Mr. Arnold discovering Mrs. Anderson on the floor, Leah left the compartment.”
“I follow ye, but how? By herself?” answered Perkins, right at my heels.
“By no means. She was walked from her mother’s compartment to where she is right now by Mrs. Anderson’s accomplice,” I said, weaving around two conductors. “I think I may have even seen her being led in this direction when I was in my compartment. But the key is who saw her and who did not. It is why Mr. Arnold was never permitted to join the search. He was the only one on the train, other than Mrs. Anderson, who knew what Leah looked like.”
Perkins interrupted. “We all had a description!”
“You had the wrong description — as evidenced by the dress and wig we found in the luggage, sir,” I corrected. “And I am betting even the birthmark was fabricated by Mrs. Anderson in order to further confuse our searches.”
“But then I was working under the same conditions as any of you,” said Mr. Arnold from the back of our little group. “I too knew Leah to be a blonde child in a pink dress with a red birthmark. If that was all for show, I would have been hard-pressed to recognize her!”
By now we had arrived at our destination in third class. I stopped, slightly out of breath, and turned toward Mr. Arnold and Constable Perkins. “Well, let’s test that theory, shall we, gentlemen?” I slid open the compartment.
Inside sat a woman I had interviewed a few hours earlier, in the exact same position as before, with her son’s sleeping head resting on her lap.
Mr. Arnold entered the compartment, glancing around, at first not understanding. Then finally he gasped when he took a good look at the child. The woman, realizing she had been found out, tensed, her hands balling into fists.
“This … this is Leah Anderson,” Arnold managed to stammer, pointing at the child in the woman’s arms. “Her hair is dark and short, and the poor thing is dressed like a small boy, but it is her, I would swear to it, Constable.”
“We searched this compartment twice,” Perkins said incredulously, “but we were looking for a blonde girl with a birthmark … not a sickly boy with dark hair.”
“Exactly,” I said, taking a moment to look out at the platform to see a huge man in a tailored suit yelling at the crowd around him. That must be Mr. Anderson, I thought, shaking my head as Mrs. Anderson was escorted to his side. She was a brave woman; despite the fact that he dwarfed her by a stone and a foot, she still allowed herself to be placed in front of his terrifying ire.
“How did she get here?” Perkins demanded from the woman seated in front of us.
The woman looked down at the sleeping child then back up at the constable.
“We know everything, ma’am,” I counseled gently. “We found the wig and the dress. Even now, Mrs. Anderson is outside with her husband.”
The woman closed her eyes briefly, and then opened them. “I met Mrs. Anderson in first class as we arranged … we took off Leah’s wig and dressed her like a boy. We told her it was a game,” she explained haltingly. “Then Leah and I ran back and jumped on the train in third class with tickets I had purchased beforehand.”
“Why is she still sleeping?” I asked, putting my hand on the girl’s forehead.
“Opium in her milk,” she answered, eyes on Perkins. “We felt it was more plausible that the child be explained as sick rather than try to keep her quiet.”
Perkins ran his hand over his bald head. “What is your name, ma’am? How are you connected to all ’o this?”
“Mrs. Layton is my name,” she said, stroking the child’s head. “I am a friend of Mrs. Anderson’s mother, and I am helping them to ensure that that man out there never strikes this sweet baby ever again.” At her words, I looked at Perkins for his reaction. He was a good man and flinched a bit.
“You cannot send the child back to that man, Constable!” said Arnold, shaking his head.
“Please, you must help us!” begged Mrs. Layton. “Nothing can be done to save Mrs. Anderson, poor girl, but we can still save her daughter … please!”
“There are ways to do this, Constable, please,” I said, adding my voice to their entreaties, wishing Constable Brian Dawes was here to help me and wondering at the same time if he would agree with my interpretation of the law.
But Perkins hung his head before saying, “My conscience aside, I cannae willfully lie tae this father. This is a crime. This whole endeavor has been criminal, and I cannae condone it, no matter how justified it is.”
He turned toward the door, no longer able to face us. “I go now t’speak to the man. Ye should follow the crowd and speak to the constable at your door. I believe it is Tooms. He will escort you to us.”
So saying, he walked out of the compartment, shoulders hunched.
Mrs. Layton tenderly kissed the top of Leah’s short-cropped head, and then we helped her stand, draping the child over her so that her head rested comfortably aga
inst the woman’s shoulder. Mr. Arnold sadly placed the boy’s cap over the sleeping child’s head, and I led them out of the compartment into the stream of people being shepherded off the train.
I wracked my brain for an escape route, but there was none to be found. Besides, Perkins knew the truth now and would be honor-bound to pursue Mrs. Layton and myself if we by some miracle did make it away from here. As we neared the steps to the platform where a constable stood checking passengers, I could hear Mr. Anderson threatening violence to any and all a few yards away. From my raised vantage point, I could see the large man berating Constable Borgin and shaking Mrs. Anderson by the arm as he yelled.
She wasn’t even struggling despite the pain he was obviously causing her, but Constable Perkins finally got to her side and managed to pry the man’s hand off her arm, pulling her behind him to speak to Mr. Anderson directly. Mr. Anderson could have played American football — that was how big he was, with huge, meaty hands and massive shoulders. The man had to be at least two hundred pounds, and his face and neck were crimson with anger. He was sweating from the exertion of yelling and waving his arms around; his baldpate and the dark hair over his ears sheened with it.
Whatever Perkins said to Anderson obviously incensed him more, because the man actually shoved the constable backward, to the surprise of the policemen gathered all around. A few more minutes of negotiating did nothing to lower the man’s temper, and it didn’t even seem he was listening to Perkins, just railing on about the stupidity of the entire force and the weakness of his useless wife. He bellowed that when he found his daughter he would never allow her out of his sight again, and never allow his wife to be trusted with her alone again, and pointed a meaty finger at the woman even as she stood behind Constable Perkins. Her head was lowered, poor thing, well used to this level of abuse, I was sure.
I gritted my teeth, wondering how I could hand this poor child into the hands of such a man, when Perkins turned away from the terrifying man, made eye contact with me, and nodded once.
I didn’t even hesitate. I put my arm around Mrs. Layton and said to the constable in front of me, “Constable Tooms, we need to get Billy to a doctor right away, he’s been ill for the whole trip. Can you help us, please? Constable Perkins told me you would see to our hasty departure.”
Jewel of the Thames (A Portia Adams Adventure) Page 19
