Petronella Saves Nearly Everyone (10 page)

"Sir, whatever shall we do with all of these ... these..." I could see the wheels of reason turning in his brain, albeit slowly. He was probably thinking that if he protested too vehemently, he might lose customers. However, if he did not take care of the situation immediately, he might lose his other
customers. I could hear several in the dining room, most probably celebrating after an evening's entertainment in the theaters of the famed West End. I imagined they might be offended by the sight of so many less than properly attired people inhabiting one of the world's bastions of respectability.

To my surprise, Uncle acted with aplomb, decision, and intelligence. "My good man, if you have a private room where we may retire, as well as several blankets and towels, we may be assured of a solution to this sticky situation, and you will reap the gratitude of several people of consequence as well as receiving appropriate remuneration."

Uncle saw the look of disbelief on the concierge's face and added, "I can promise you that this mélange of seeming miscreants includes a duchess, a lady, a Scotland Yard inspector, and several offspring of the aforementioned aristocracy."

The mention of remuneration tipped the balance in favor of providing the private room, blankets, and towels. The concierge assumed an expression of extreme unctuousness as he proclaimed to the dripping group, "Ladies and gentlemen, if you would follow me, I have a suitable accommodation where you will be properly cared for." As he left the grand front hall, he clapped his hands at a couple of house
maids hovering wide-eyed in a doorway and said, "Towels. Blankets. The private dining room. Immediately."

The maids scurried appropriately. My relations and the Yard personnel followed the concierge dutifully and damply. They left a large dark and dank spot, slightly off center, in the front hall and a trail of wet footprints leading toward the private dining room. I mused that it would take a detective of no great ability to find us, but as my gaze lighted upon Inspector Higginbotham's dripping back, I seriously doubted whether it was a detective of any great ability who had made some of the sodden footprints in the first place. Uncle, James, and I also made our way to the dining room.

The thought of detecting brought to mind several questions left unresolved by our exploits. How did the kidnapper get to Nelson's Column undetected when so many people were searching for him? What was that creaking-door sound I had heard just before the kidnapper appeared at my side? How were we going to find Dame Carruthers and Generalissimo Reyes-Cardoza now? Was their abduction a diversion? What was I to do with all of these drenched people, many of whom were my guests? These and many other questions rattled around in my brain.

Crimea pushed by me, obviously still in a temper over her frock. "Pig's tail," she spat as she passed me. I blanched at
the mention of one of the least dignified episodes of my young life and glanced about hoping no one had heard.

As I walked by the concierge, who was holding open the door, I asked, "Would you please bring pots of hot tea and some biscuits and perhaps some sandwiches." I slipped him several pounds and saw that my consequence rose immeasurably in his estimation.

Inspector Higginbotham, now draped with a large woolen blanket, was holding forth nearly nose to nose with the similarly draped Great-aunt Theophilia. "I daresay that if not for your interference, we might have caught the man," he said.

Great-aunt Theophilia, eyes narrowed and lorgnette raised, stared the unfortunate inspector down. "And I daresay, if not for your incompetence, we might have caught the man ourselves, especially since I had got hold of the kidnapper's coat." She held up a piece of dark cloth that looked to be a coat pocket ripped from its original garment. "It did not help in the least to be suddenly sat upon by such a great oaf as yourself midfountain."

At that moment, maids and waiters entered bearing blankets and towels, as well as trays of steaming pots of tea and several plates of biscuits and sandwiches. James—bless his handsome heart—and Uncle immediately took control of the situation by passing around cups of tea and asking whether people wanted milk and one lump of sugar or two
lumps. Uncle whisked bits of paper from his book from time to time.

I watched with satisfaction. All of my guests were being taken care of—except Jane.

My hands flew to my mouth as I suddenly remembered my bosom friend, still in the dining room. I raced out the door. As I hurried toward the famous Savoy Grill, I could hear the clink of silver and crystal and the laughter of late-night revelers giddy from the kind of entertainment offered in the West End and the Savoy.

The maître d'hôtel met me at the entrance to the dining room with a disdainful expression. I knew it was unusual for an unescorted female to enter the Grill, especially at this hour. Drawing myself erect and gazing down my nose at the man, I said, "I am joining the party of Miss Sinclair. Please take me to her."

The maître d'hôtel gave a slight bow. "I regret to inform you that Miss Sinclair left some time ago in the company of Don Hernando Salas."

HOW DOES ONE TELL ONE'S
bosom friend's brother, and the object of one's desire, that said friend has disappeared? Even more important, where
was
Jane? Was she safe? My heart raced faster than I could hasten back to the private dining room.

"James. Jane. Jane. James," I gabbled as I grasped James's arm and drew him away from where he was coaxing Boeotia into eating a biscuit instead of wailing.

"What are you trying to say, old twig?" James patted my hand on his arm in a brotherly fashion. Even in these direst of circumstances I could not stop my traitorous heart from fluttering at his touch.

I forced myself to concentrate on the task at hand. "Jane. She's not in the Savoy Grill."

"Can't that girl follow simple instructions? I shall have to talk to her about gadding about by herself in London. It just isn't done." James frowned.

"She was not alone when she left," I said. "She left the Grill with Don Hernando Salas."

James's face drained of all color. He grasped me by the shoulders as if he would shake me. "Salas! This is terrible. He's a dangerous man."

At that moment, Uncle Augustus approached us, carrying the pocket pinched by Great-aunt Theophilia, as well as his book
Insectile Creatures.
"I think we may have found a clue, or rather, two clues." Great-aunt Theophilia and Aunt Cordelia followed him.

"It was I who pulled the pocket from the scoundrel," Great-aunt Theophilia said proudly.

James and I gaped at Uncle and my aunts. In light of Jane's disappearance, I had forgotten, and I suppose that James had as well, that our original quest had been to find Dame Carruthers and Generalissimo Reyes-Cardoza.

I shook my head to clear it. "Not now, Uncle. Jane has disappeared. She may have been kidnapped, too. She was taken from the Grill by Don Hernando Salas. We must go search for her."

James said, "Wait. Perhaps these clues are doubly important. It is likely that Don Hernando Salas has some connection
with the kidnappers of the dame and generalissimo. There can't be too many international kidnappers infesting England at the same time."

Uncle laid the heavy book on a nearby table, extracted three small sheets of waxed paper from it, and spread them out. From the still-damp pocket he withdrew a large beetle like the one he had ingested and two tiny insects that looked like some kind of fly. He laid each insect on its own piece of waxed paper and then leafed through the book.

Uncle's hand hesitated over a bit of waxed paper that contained a particularly fat moth, but he managed to resist. When he came to a page two-thirds of the way through the book and pointed, James and I leaned over to look.

"As you can see, these two smaller insects from the pocket are a type of small fly found only near the piers of the river Thames. Right there in the book." Uncle's finger tapped a drawing of a fly.

James straightened up. "So the man has been at the docks. That means we are looking for a Colombian ship berthed at the docks along the Thames," said James, thereby demonstrating that his shoulders are not the only well-muscled part of his body.

"It must be a cargo ship that has been there for at least several days, which would explain how the foreign-looking logs came to England," I said, not to be outdone.

James stared at me as if I had said something brilliant, which I had. Then he struck his forehead with his right palm. "Of course. Our intelligence said something about Don Hernando Salas having just returned from a long visit to Colombia."

"Then if Jane is with Don Hernando Salas, she may very well be where Dame Carruthers and Generalissimo Reyes-Cardoza are as well," I said.

Across the room Cyril suddenly leaped to his feet shouting, "I will not have cucumber sandwiches thrust down my back." He dashed after Boeotia, who uttered a squeal and dived under one of the tables. Behind the two of them Crimea smiled with satisfaction. Aunt Cordelia marched over to Crimea and brought her umbrella down on her elder niece's head with a
thwunk.

Great-aunt Theophilia swung around just in time to see Aunt Cordelia's umbrella connect with Crimea's head. Grabbing her walking stick, Great-aunt Theophilia rushed after Aunt Cordelia. Aunt Cordelia faced her with raised umbrella. "No, you don't, Theophilia. I won't have your spoiled chits bothering my Cyril again."

"Compared to your toad of a son, my chits, as you call them, are paragons of virtue," shouted Great-aunt Theophilia, walking stick held forth in accusation.

James took my arm. "We have to go. I must tell the home
secretary what we've learned and get help looking for Jane."

I decided to throw hostessing duties to the winds in favor of national security, friendship, and the opportunity to have James's arm through mine and went with him.

"I think I'll come with you." Uncle hastily followed us, eyeing the feuding aunts with trepidation.

AS A YOUNG GIRL, ONE
imagines all sorts of marvelous adventures. As for myself, I had imagined a number of episodes that included riding in a carriage in the middle of the night. All of them had been of a romantic nature. A few of them had fog swirling about the horses and past the carriage lamps. Several had included James at my side. The James in my imaginary adventures had held my gloved hands fervently in his and had let sweet compliments fall like ripened plums into my shell-like ears. I imagined leaning toward those firm, well-shaped lips that were speaking the fruity tributes until my own lips nearly touched his. At this point I could imagine no further, having not had the experience of being kissed. But one can always hope.

However, at the moment, James—sitting in the carriage
next to me with the fog swirling past the windows—ignored me as he fumed. Once or twice he punched his fist into his open palm. Sometimes he muttered. I thought I heard him say, "Why was I fool enough to leave her?" At least twice he said, "Where could she be?"

I must admit my thoughts were the same. I am also ashamed to admit that I was just the tiniest bit disappointed that my first experience at night with James in a carriage occured under these circumstances. For one thing, I never thought Uncle Augustus would sit across from us, absently pulling slips of waxed paper from
Insectile Creatures,
extracting the contents, and chewing contemplatively.

Truth to tell, I was too overwrought by Jane's disappearance to care that Uncle Augustus accompanied us. Whatever possessed the girl to leave the safety of the Savoy Grill with Don Hernando Salas? He sounded like one of the characters in those lurid novels by Millicent Pinktowers that my governesses had never let me read, but that I had found under their pillows just the same. I'd never actually cared to read one. But from the large number of books accumulated by various governesses, I knew Miss Pinktowers was a prolific and popular authoress. At the moment, though, I could not have cared less what the characters were named in any of Miss Pinktowers's lurid novels. I just wanted Jane back safe and sound.

Another element of adventure that I had not taken into account was the cold, which caused me considerable discomfort. I should have known that fog, romantic as it might seem, would be damp, dismal, and decidedly nippy. I was certainly aware of it now as I huddled on the hard seat of the carriage, longing for the comfort of my own bedroom and fireplace and wondering if Jane was doing the same. Unfortunately, I could not expect the home secretary to have a warm fire going at this hour of the morning. He and all of his servants were probably snugly in bed, where they ought to be.

Therefore I was surprised when the carriage pulled up in front of a brightly lit building, with purposeful men striding in and out of the front doors.

"I wonder what has happened?" James said as he exited the carriage and helped me down the one step.

"Looks like old Chumpy is in a spot of trouble," said Uncle Augustus, joining James and me on the sidewalk.

"Chumpy?" James and I said together.

"Sir Alastair Dibb, the home secretary. You know him, don't you, James? Working for the man and all?" Uncle pushed at something with the toe of his shoe. I did not want to know what it was. At least he did not pick it up, although he did pat
Insectile Creatures
rather absently.

"Sir Alastair? Of course I know him," sputtered James. "But Chumpy?"

"Naturally. We were at school together. Eton and all that. Then Cambridge. Well, let's see what kind of a faradiddle old Chumpy has got himself into this time. He never was one to stay out of trouble for long. I remember the time he got his nose caught in the headmaster's faucet." Uncle Augustus mounted the stairs to the home secretary's front door, leaving James and me looking at each other incredulously.

James gave a rather doubtful chuckle. "Sir Alastair's nose in a faucet. Unbelievable." He also went up the front steps, and I followed.