Lost and Gone Forever (13 page)

S
omewhere between an array of water closet cabinets and a jumble of upside-down daybeds, Anna had got herself turned around and stepped off the path. Confident that she knew the way back, she had circled around an enormous bath and shower combination, had turned left at a washstand, and had stumbled over a pull toy shaped like a frog. She had sat for a moment, waiting for her skinned knee to stop hurting quite so terribly much, and when she stood up again she realized that she did not at all know the way back. Nor did she know the way forward. The path was completely obscured in both directions by wooden things of every type and sort.

“Well,” she sniffed. “This is a
fine situation you’ve got yourself into, Anna.”

She almost answered herself but did not want to appear mad, and so she set her shoulders and chose a direction that seemed promising and marched off, expecting at any moment to rediscover the path.

When the sun set somewhere behind an enormous stack of church doors, Anna stopped.

“At least it isn’t
terribly cold,” she said. “But I wonder if anything lives
in this wood and whether it is friendly. That is,
if there’s anything here at all.”

“I have wondered the very same thing,” said a voice behind her.

She turned and saw a perfectly formed little girl made of wood, holding a wooden cross that was nearly as big as she was. She was no more than two feet tall and she balanced the cross on one end in the dirt. Long tangled strings stretched from the four corners of the cross to the girl’s wooden arms and legs, which were each jointed at the middle with stout wooden hinges. Her head was a smooth polished ball attached to her body by a broomstick, and her quizzical little face and glossy hair were painted on.

“Why, your dress is painted on as well, isn’t it?” Anna asked.

The girl looked down at herself and then looked back up at Anna, but her expression did not change. “Of course it’s painted,” she replied. “I’m a puppet.”

“Are you really?” Anna said. “It’s only that I’ve never seen a puppet speak all by itself.”

“And I have never seen a puppet without any strings.”

“But I’m not a puppet. My name is Anna, which is a very proper name for a girl. And my dress is made of cotton, not paint. But I do wish my clothing were painted on. It seems ever so much more convenient.” She held out her hand, and the puppet girl steadied her cross before taking it. “And what is your name?”

“I do not have a name,” said the girl. “I have never met my puppeteer and so I have never been named.”

“But what do your friends say when they wish to get your attention?”

“I have no friends.”

“How awful.”

“But I have only been
alive for a single day and haven’t met anyone else.”

“Well, now you have met me and I will be your friend. Now we must
have a name for me to call you. You must have something you call yourself. When you are thinking about what to do next, whether to have a bit of something to eat or a spot of tea with milk or perhaps you would rather play a parlor game with another little puppet who lives down the lane and so you say to yourself, ‘Well, so-and-so, I will go to the kitchen and see what Cook’s preparing for luncheon before I decide what to do.’ What do you say instead of ‘so-and-so’ when you think to yourself?”

“What is a luncheon?”

“Oh, this is no good at all. I can see that I shall have to name you.”

“How kind of you.”

“What are puppets usually called? Punch or Judy, I suppose.”

“I
do not think I would like to be called Judy.
And especially not Punch. Perhaps you might simply call me
Marionette Puppet, since that is what I am.”

“Then it’s settled. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mary Annette. May I call you Mary for short?”

“If it makes you happy to do so,” the girl said.

“It’s only that Annette is so close to being my own name, and I wouldn’t want to get us confused.”

“Do you think you might?”

“No, I don’t think so, but it’s always best to err on the side of caution, don’t you think?”

“I cannot think. I have a wooden head.”

“But you only just now said that you were wondering something. It’s the very first thing you said to me. And wondering is much the same as thinking.”

“Is it really?”

“I believe so. Is your head entirely wooden?”

“Through and through.”

Anna leaned forward and peered at the girl’s shiny golden hair. “That must be quite helpful whenever you fall down and don’t get a knot on your head. Knots are ever so painful.”

“I am sure I wouldn’t know about that,” said the little wooden girl, “but I do worry about cracking it.”

“Well, if you can’t think, then you shouldn’t worry, either. You’re only getting the worst of it that way.”

The girl stood still and didn’t reply. Anna hated to have to carry the entire conversation herself, but she supposed she ought to set a proper example in manners for the puppet. “Are there more like you?”

“Puppets, you mean? If there are, I have not encountered them yet,” Mary said.

“Yesterday this was a plain empty field with nothing in it except grass and dirt and old stumps and bugs. Before that it was a huge place filled with trees, and Peter and I played here every day with a little boy who was our best friend. But then men came with saws and wagons and took all the trees away to make other things out of the wood. I suppose you must be made from one of the trees that was here before. All of the wood must have become homesick and come back again to the place it was born.”

Mary looked all round her at the furniture and tools and flooring. “But I wasn’t born. I was made. Who made me?”

Anna shrugged. “I don’t know.” She looked up at the sky. The moon had risen above the coatracks, and stars were visible in the deep blue overhead. “I do miss Peter,” she said. “I’m trying to find him, but I’m afraid he’s lost.”

“I will help you,” Mary said.

“Oh, will you?”

“Yes. You are my first friend.” Anna imagined she could see her smile, but her painted face did not move. “And perhaps we will find the puppeteer along the way.”

“The puppeteer?”

“The one who made me. I need someone to hold this.” Mary hoisted the joined beams of her cross onto her shoulder.

“I’m sure we shall find them both,” Anna said. She slipped her hand under Mary’s elbow, and they walked together into the darkness of the wood, Mary dragging the tail end of her cross, which left a long, ragged mark in the dirt behind them.

—R
UPERT
W
INTHROP
,
FROM
The Wandering Wood
(1893)

S
ir Edward Bradford had been up before the sun and had dressed quietly in the dark, careful not to wake Elizabeth. She hadn’t been sleeping well lately. He swiped imaginary dust from the surface of his mahogany desk. It had been difficult to get the desk moved from Great Scotland Yard, but Sir Edward could not imagine his office without it. Still, it was much too large for the cramped room, and his visitors’ knees were smashed up against the other side of the desk. Claire Day and Inspector Jimmy Tiffany were clearly uncomfortable, but were doing their best to appear at ease.

“Are we waiting for Mr Hammersmith?”

As if on cue the door opened, slamming into the back of Claire’s chair, and Hammersmith poked his head into the office. “They told me I was expected.” He had purple smudges under his eyes and Sir Edward wondered whether the lad had slept.

“Come in, Nevil,” Sir Edward said. He waved his hand as Hammersmith navigated the end of the desk. “Watch the corner there.”

Hammersmith bowed slightly in Claire’s direction and shook
Tiffany’s hand before sitting and placing a slim file folder on the desk in front of him.

“Good, we’re all here,” Sir Edward said. He raked his fingers through his white beard. The empty left sleeve of his jacket was pinned to his shoulder, and the head of the tiger that had taken his arm was mounted on the wall above him, a constant reminder to others that the commissioner was still quite capable despite his loss.

“Claire has good news,” Hammersmith said. He was fidgeting in his seat with barely controlled excitement.

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Tiffany said, “but your news should wait a minute or two.” He smiled at Claire. “We have some good news of our own. Commissioner, you should tell them.”

“Yes, of course,” Sir Edward said. He indicated the telephone on his desk. “Yesterday I received a call. It was . . . um, it was Walter Day on the other end of the line. Walter called me.”

“Are you sure?” Claire stood up and leaned over the desk as if she might hear him better. “Are you positive it was Walter?”

“I believe it was. He didn’t say his name, but I recognized his voice.”

“What did he say?”

“He asked for help.”

“Did he tell you where he was? Was he calling from the department store?”

Hammersmith cut in. “Why did he need help?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Sir Edward said. “He rang off almost immediately. But the point is, he’s alive.”

“I knew that he was.” Claire felt behind her for her chair and lowered herself into it. “I always knew.”

“Why did you ask about a department store?”

“That’s our news, sir,” Hammersmith said. “Claire saw him.”

“You saw him?” Tiffany’s eyes widened. “He was at a shop somewhere?”

“Yesterday,” Claire said. “He was at Plumm’s. On an upper level, talking to someone.”

“Who? Who was he talking to?”

“Where is Plumm’s?”

“One at a time, please,” Claire said. “Plumm’s is the new place on Moorgate. I went there to research my new book and he was there. I was certain it was him, but I only saw him for the briefest of moments. I’m afraid I . . .” She trailed off, embarrassed.

“Is there a way to . . .” Hammersmith motioned at the telephone. Inspector Tiffany nodded. He reached out and tapped the phone’s receiver.

“I’ve already talked to Sarah, the girl at the exchange. Twice. She doesn’t remember where the call originated. A dead end, I’m afraid.”

“I receive one telephone call in a month and that girl can’t remember anything about it,” Sir Edward said. He sighed and shook his head.

“Would you mind if I talked to her?”

“Nevil, I already said I—” Tiffany broke off and waved a hand at Hammersmith. “Do what you want.”

“I don’t doubt you,” Hammersmith said. “I only meant—”

“It’s our first real clue in a year,” Sir Edward said. He smiled at Hammersmith. “You want to follow it. I understand, and so does Inspector Tiffany. Isn’t that right, James?”

Tiffany nodded, but his jaw was clenched.

“You may speak to Sarah,” Sir Edward said. “But it’s not necessarily a good use of your time.”

“We have to do something,” Claire said. “You have to keep looking. Go to Plumm’s. Walter’s alive.”

“Of course, Mrs Day. Nobody’s proposed that we stop looking. If anything, this prompts us to redouble our efforts. I’m putting the entirety of the Murder Squad on this case today. Most of the men knew Walter well and will recognize him on sight. I apologize to you, Mrs Day. We’ve let the search dwindle over these past few months, and that’s regrettable.”

“Sir,” Tiffany said, “with all due respect, and you know how much I’ve wanted to recover Inspector Day, but we have so many other cases, we’re already worked to the bone.”

“I’m afraid that will always be the case, Inspector.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that I was unwilling or that I haven’t already spent long hours searching.”

“Of course not. Nobody here thought you were unwilling to help.” In fact, Sir Edward was sure everyone else in the room disliked Tiffany and questioned his willingness to do anything other than the letter of his job, but he was a good policeman. “But with the certainty that Mr Day is still very much alive, now is the time to strike, to bring to bear all of our expertise, all of our manpower, all of our determination to recover our missing comrade, don’t you think?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Good. That’s settled.”

“How can I help? What can I do?”

“You, Mr Hammersmith, in addition to having been a very good policeman yourself, were Mr Day’s closest ally here. You’ve stayed with the case all this time and have the most knowledge of it. My men are at your disposal.”

Tiffany jumped to his feet. His chair tipped backward, but didn’t fall. The space was too narrow, and the top of the chair wedged against the wall and pushed against Tiffany’s knees so that he had to
bend forward and lean against the desk, undermining his dramatic gesture. He pointed at Hammersmith.

“He’s not . . . He’s not Scotland Yard. He’s not . . . I’m sorry, Hammersmith, but you’re not a policeman now. I don’t even know what you are or what you do with yourself. You have a shopfront somewhere. You don’t command . . . Well, sir, he can’t hold a command.”

Sir Edward smiled and paused long enough for Tiffany to sit back down and compose himself.

“He can hold any command I give him, Mr Tiffany. Unless he would prefer not to. I know it’s unusual, so I’ll leave it to you, Nevil. All I want is to see Mr Day back here, safe and sound. Whatever gets us that result.”

Hammersmith stood, carefully, and paced around the scant two-foot-square area of the office that wasn’t filled with desks, chairs, and people. He looked like a dog chasing its tail. “If it’s all the same to you, sir,” he said, “I’d rather Tiffany have the command.”

“Very well. But I’d like you to share your files and any findings with him, if you’re willing.”

“Of course, sir.” He placed a hand atop the file folder on the commissioner’s desk. “I’ve summarized my findings of the past year. I’m afraid it’s not much.”

“Every little bit, my boy. And, Tiffany, let’s make a plan to divide the city up so we can start the search as soon as possible. We’ll start with this department store at the center. I don’t want Day slipping through our fingers again.”

Tiffany nodded and stood, more carefully this time. He motioned to Hammersmith, and the two men left the office. Sir Edward asked Claire to stay behind for a moment.

“I owe you an apology, Claire. We should have looked harder. Damnit, we practically gave up on Walter. Pardon the language.”

“I know you did your best. As Mr Tiffany said, my husband wasn’t your only concern.”

“No, he wasn’t. But he was one of our own.”

“Was?”

Sir Edward shook his head. “No, you’re right. You’re right. He
is
one of us. And we’ll find him now.” He leaned forward and spoke more quietly so that Claire could barely hear him. “We will find him. I promise you that.”

Claire opened her mouth, then closed it and smiled at the commissioner. She turned and left the office and shut the door behind her.