Petronella Saves Nearly Everyone (11 page)

There was no need to knock on the door, since it was opened wide, thereby ruining any hope I had of getting warm in a cozy parlor. When James and I entered, Uncle was already in conversation with a harassed-looking gentleman amid the bustle of several serious men who were likely government officials.

Uncle saw us and said, "James, there you are. Come here and let Chumpy tell you what has happened. Petronella, you come along as well."

As James and I approached the home secretary, I could not help but notice that his nose was rather long and pointy. Try as I might to concentrate on what he had to tell us, my
attention kept wandering back to his nose. I blinked and tried harder to focus on what the man was telling us.

Sir Alastair was saying, "And there it was—King Edward hung in effigy on the gates of Buckingham Palace. Most distressing. It was a rather good likeness, though, if I do say so myself."

"How dreadful," I said.

"Too true, dear. It's likely to kick up a bit of a dust in the newspapers. Pity. We're having enough trouble keeping the lid on things over the disappearance of Dame Carruthers and Generalissimo Reyes-Cardoza," said Sir Alastair.

"That's why we're here, Sir Alastair," said James. "We think we have a clue." James indicated to the home secretary to follow him into the parlor, where indeed there was a cozy fire. We settled around a small table near the fireplace, and I sighed with relief at the warmth that began to spread through me.

"Look what was found this evening in the coat pocket belonging to one of the kidnappers." James motioned to Uncle, who drew his folded handkerchief from his own pocket and laid it out on the table to display the flies.

Before he could explain what they were, Uncle Augustus said, "Show them what was attached to the effigy, Chumpy."

Sir Alastair drew a piece of note paper from his pocket and laid it next to the beetle and flies on Uncle's handkerchief. All of us craned forward. James and I gasped. On what looked like much the same type of paper as the notes we had received were written the words "Death to the aristocracy." The words were horrible enough. But what made us gasp was the Tou-eh-mah-mah butterfly affixed to the note.

ALTHOUGH UNCLE AUGUSTUS WAS MY
dearest relative, I could not help but be a trifle annoyed with him. I was quickly learning that when one's loved one has an alternative source of nourishment, he often forgets to be concerned with one's sustenance in spite of his affection for one. In other words, compulsions take precedence over relations.

I was famished. I had eaten nothing since tea nearly eight hours earlier. Uncle, on the other hand, kept starvation at bay by sneaking snacks from between the pages of his book and stealthily ridding the home secretary's parlor of two or three spiders found in the near proximity of the fireplace, as well as several dead flies from the windowsills. At first, I was alarmed that someone might notice his predations, but his hands moved so rapidly that even I, who knew what he was perpetrating, saw only a blur. I did rap his knuckles, though, when I caught a motion out of the corner of my eye and one of the London dock flies disappeared from James's handkerchief, which was still spread out on the table.

"Ouch!" cried Uncle, holding his knuckles. He frowned at me.

I frowned back at him, looked pointedly at the remaining insects, and shook my head in warning.

"It was only one and there's still another," Uncle hissed at me so the others could not hear. "The flies from the sills are so dried out they're hardly satisfying. I just wanted to see if the sea air gave those dock flies any more flavor."

"But they're clues. How are we going to find Jane and the dame and generalissimo if you eat all the clues?" I hissed back.

He pouted. "But you already know what they are and where they come from. It can't hurt to have tried just one."

He sounded so wounded that I relented. "Look, dear Uncle, over there by the curio cabinet. Some moths have come in the front door and are flying about the gaslight."

Uncle's face lit up immediately. Humming what he probably thought was an innocent tune, but which I recognized as one sung by Weems the underbutler when he'd come back from the local tavern near dawn one morning, Uncle sidled over to the curio cabinet and leaned against it nonchalantly.
When I looked in his direction again, the moths were gone. At least
his
hunger was being satisfied.

Mine, on the other hand, was not. My stomach rumbled in alarming fashion. If I had been less of an Arbuthnot or a Percival, I probably would have felt faint as well.

James also thought nothing of food because he had no need to. He had imbibed two or three cups of hot, sweet tea and devoured several sandwiches and biscuits at the Savoy while I had been inquiring after Jane. At the moment, however, he was using one of those contraptions invented by Mr. Alexander Graham Bell to contact the dock master. Lying open before him was a set of London dock charts with numbered berths.

The home secretary stood nearby, beaming proudly at the way his telephone was being put to good use. "Harrumph. What a modern miracle. When they diddled over the cost of its installation in my residence, I told Parliament that it should come in handy someday. How I shall laugh in Lord Bertram's face."

James held his hand up and waved it at us. "Hush! I can't hear."

Sir Alastair seemed suitably chastised as he crept over to my side. He whispered in my ear, "The only problem is that you have to have someone on the other end who also has one of those contraptions, or they're no use
at all. Inconvenient, what? I can hardly think they will catch on."

"Yes," said James. "Ships that came from Colombia or elsewhere in South or Central America docked within the last fortnight. Yes, yes. I know Colombia is in South America. That is why I said
elsewhere.
" He rolled his eyes in our general direction as if to say he was speaking to an idiot. My heart fluttered. Even while rolling his eyes, James was still a feast for mine.

James listened for several seconds to the tinny voice coming from the earpiece of the telephone. The voice seemed excessively agitated. James continued in a much more conciliatory tone. "Yes, sir. I understand that it is difficult to think properly at this hour of the morning." He listened again. "What's that you say? There are five ships at the docks that have recently come from that area?"

The tinny voice grew louder.

James wrote furiously on a piece of paper thrust under his pencil by the home secretary. "Yes, I have a pencil. And which ones have specifically come from Colombia? Two? The
Star
and the
Constanza?
At the Royal Albert Dock? Thank you very much. Please do go back to bed, and may you enjoy what is left of the night." He gently placed the earpiece back into its cradle on the telephone.

I was excited. "The
Star
or the
Constanza.
They must be
on one of those two ships. Now we only have to find a way to get them off." My excitement died as I considered possibilities. "Oh, dear. I don't suppose we can simply barge in with hundreds of government personnel and take them back. They could be killed."

James turned to the home secretary. "Sir Alastair, how many men could you muster in the next hour? I have the beginnings of a plan, and by the time the men are here, I shall have it completed."

Uncle Augustus wandered over to our little group. "Chumpy, old friend. I'm sure that James's plan is quite brilliant, but while you are rounding up your contingent, I think I'll wander down to the docks for a bit of a reconnaissance mission. By the time you and your men come, I may be able to offer some additional information."

At that moment, Sir Alastair's butler entered, followed by two footmen, all of whom were bearing trays with tea and several plates of sandwiches. My stomach rumbled audibly at the sight of so much food. However, I could not help but stare at Uncle suspiciously. What kind of reconnaissance did he intend to conduct down on the docks? I should never let him go there by himself. I glanced longingly at the tea and sandwiches and then back at Uncle, who had a look that seemed to say he was hiding his true intentions. Knowing Uncle as I did, I would be a fool to let him go. But I was so
hungry. Food or Uncle? Food or Jane? Food or Mother England?

I sighed deeply. "Uncle, I am going with you." My stomach rumbled, but I ignored it. I am an Arbuthnot, after all—and the Percivals are no slouches, either.

"Dear girl," protested Sir Alastair. "That would be most unseemly. Young ladies simply don't ... don't ... gallivant."

I began to see why he was called Chumpy and wondered if he was acquainted with my aunts. However, I smiled sweetly. "And what could be more decorous than a young lady's guardian, er ... guarding her on her way home after an evening's gaiety? Uncle Augustus would look much less suspicious walking along the docks with me on his arm. We could pretend he is giving me a tour or a lecture on the benefits of foreign travel for one's education."

James guffawed. "At four o'clock in the morning? Young ladies don't stroll about the Royal Albert Dock at four o'clock in the morning, even with their guardians." Although James's laughter irritated me, he looked absolutely endearing, with a dark shadow of beard just beginning to appear. I longed to stroke his cheek to feel its roughness even as I longed to punch him in the jaw for being so obstructive and medieval. This was no longer the 1500s, when King Henry could lock up his female acquaintances at will and chop off their heads whenever he pleased. This was a new century—
the 1900s—when females could be the equal of any male—a sentiment I heartily agreed with.

Uncle surprised me by saying, "It would most likely be for the best if Petronella did accompany me. Two pairs of eyes are better than one. It is just getting light, and soon the sailors and dockworkers will be up and about, and I should welcome Petronella's help. Come, dear."

"Coming, Uncle." I grabbed a handful of sandwiches in a most unladylike manner, determined to eat them in the carriage on the way to the docks. Then I followed my uncle out the door of the parlor only to be halted in midstride by the sight of my own esteemed butler, Moriarty.

I blinked and blinked again, afraid that my hunger and lack of sleep were giving me hallucinations. What was my butler doing in London? Moreover, what was my elegant butler doing in London looking as though he had been dragged through a hedgerow backward and breathing heavily as if he had just completed a marathon?

Moriarty bowed exquisitely and presented a small white envelope. "For you, Miss Arbuthnot."

Then he fainted.

I immediately knelt by Moriarty's side, reached into the pocket of his coat, and withdrew the Vile Vial. Swiftly unstopping the small cobalt blue bottle, I waved it under Moriarty's nose. His entire body went rigid. His eyes flew open.
He leaped to his feet gasping and clasping his throat with both hands while he staggered about the room.

I smiled with secret satisfaction. Just deserts. I popped the cork back in the bottle with a slap of the palm and handed him back his smelling salts. "There you go, Moriarty. Your salts did the trick ... as always." My butler was still choking and unable to reply, but I could tell he got my meaning quite well.

James held up the envelope that Moriarty had delivered. On the outside of the envelope was affixed a small butterfly.

Uncle Augustus peered over my shoulder as we all stared. Then Uncle and James and I said together, "But that is
not
a Tou-eh-mah-mah butterfly."

TO HAVE ONE'S BUTLER APPEAR
suddenly at the home secretary's residence at four o'clock in the morning was unsettling, but not so unsettling that one could not eat. I took a bite of sandwich while Uncle opened the note. "Why, it's addressed to Petronella, and it says that if she does not wrap five thousand pounds in brown paper and deliver it to the base of Big Ben by noon, the generalissimo and the dame will be blown to smithereens."

"
Smithereens?
Hardly sounds like a word a Colombian would use," said James.

I took another bite and chewed while I ruminated on the contents of the note. Five thousand pounds is quite a bit of money, even for me. Still, the amount seemed odd. There had been twenty thousand pounds in the satchel, as was demanded in the first ransom note. Why did they now ask for only five thousand? I took another bite of sandwich and noticed for the first time that it was roast beef with a bit of pickle. Happily, I like roast beef. Unhappily, I detest pickles. I ate it anyway.

James took the note from Uncle and carried it over to the table where the note from the effigy rested. "Look. The handwriting is completely different, and so is the paper."

Uncle, thumbing through his
Insectile Creatures,
halted on a page and pointed with his index finger at an illustration that did indeed look like the butterfly on the envelope. "See here. That butterfly on the note has no connection whatsoever with Colombia or Panama. It is a common Wood White, or
Leptidea sinapis,
most often found in English and Welsh woodlands."

"Upon my word, these kidnappers are becoming bilingual as far as butterflies go," said Sir Alastair.

"Not bilingual, by George," said James. "This note was not written by the kidnappers."

I considered James's statement. "Moriarty. How did you come by this note, and however did you find us?" I asked before starting in on a chicken sandwich.

Moriarty, still recovering from the effects of the Vile Vial, looked up from where he had been sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands. "It was tacked to the front
door. Someone pulled on the bell, and when I answered I found it."

The attention of everyone in the room riveted on my butler.

"And at what time did you find the note?" I asked.

"It was at eleven-thirty, Miss Arbuthnot, when the bell rang. I had just wound the clock in the front hall as is my custom every evening at eleven-thirty." Moriarty tugged his clothing into place as he rose from the sofa, evidently feeling more like his butlering self by the minute.