The Atomic Weight of Secrets or The Arrival of the Mysterious Men in Black (38 page)

When Jasper and Lucy emerged from the house, Wallace and Faye were already there in the meadow, standing next to each other, looking down at Noah. Noah sat on the grass, staring down into his lap. He looked up for a moment, then back down again.

In his hand he held a stack of cards, tied together with a pale blue ribbon that Noah seemed not yet to have untied.

“What’s wrong, Noah?” said Lucy. Noah looked up at her and then back down again. There was no funny joke or silly response. He just stared at the bundle of cards.

“What have you got there, in that ribbon?” Lucy asked. She loved ribbons.

“Postcards,” said Noah. His voice cracked mid-word.

“Where did you find them?” asked Jasper.

“They’re mine,” said Noah in a very weak voice.

“Where did you find them? They look lovely with that ribbon,” said Lucy.

“They just arrived.”

“And they were sent here?” said Jasper. “To your house?”

Noah turned over the stack of postcards. The bottom card
did not have an address. It simply said, “Noah Canto-Sagas.” “No, just to me, just my name,” said Noah. “And they came like this, all together in this bundle with this ribbon.”

“Just your ruddy name?” Faye grabbed the bundle. “What are you? The King of England?” But there it was, his name and no address, yet the stack of postcards had made it to Noah anyway.

“Why didn’t you open the package, Noah?” Jasper said.

“I just...” But he didn’t really know why he hadn’t opened the bundle of postcards. His whole life had been made up of postcards, and whenever he received them, he would immediately run to the postman and read his mother’s words, drinking up everything she said. “Okay...” said Noah. He untied the ribbon.

“Where has she been this time?” asked Jasper as Noah perused the first postcard.

“She was in Moscow, singing for the Czar and his family,” said Noah, looking at the first one. He flipped to the next. “Then in Prague, and then somewhere in Austria.” He flipped to the next. “Then she took a royal coach to the south of France...” He flipped again. “... and was riding gondolas along the waterways of Venice with Princess Elena of Montenegro earlier that month. ‘Oh, silly me, Lennie has been the Queen of Italy for three years now since she married that teeny-tiny Victor Emmanuel’... and then the Duchy of Liechtenstein, where Prince Johann II and apparently the entire population came to hear her in the park.” A smile spread over his face. “And apparently Fifi ran away and the entire population, including all members of the police force, searched the country until they found her.”

“Oh, read one to us, please, Noah! Please!” said Lucy, desperate to hear a mother’s words, even if they weren’t those of her own
mother.

“He might not want to,” Jasper said.

“Very well,” said Noah, clearing his throat. “‘Darling Noah,’” he read, speaking in a high, breathy voice that everyone assumed, correctly, to sound like his mother’s, “‘I am off to Bohemia for a most deliciously romantic engagement. Remember, I sang at the affair when the Archduke Franz Ferdinand married the Countess Sophie Chotek von Chotkowa und Wogninon? That was on the first of July three years ago. I shall never forget it. It caused a terrible stir, inasmuch as they are very much in love, and the emperor was quite livid. Sophie, you see, is from old Bohemian nobility, but not as exalted as the Hapsburgs, so she had to endure a terrible social strain in order to marry the man she loves. And the archduke would not have survived a long bout with the dreaded consumption had it not been for the ministrations, in secret of course, of his adoring Sophie. And now I shall sing for them again! It is a secret from Sophie, who knows not a thing. I will descend upon the affair from a hot air balloon! How fabulously novelesque! Long live romance! Yours ever so—Mother.’”

“Goodness, so much traveling,” Lucy said, looking at the picture of the palace on the postcard Noah handed her.

“And that’s just what she wrote on that one card,” said Noah, with decidedly less enthusiasm than Lucy. He flipped to another. “‘... and such a lovely visit with the five sisters of Greiz. Emma’s wedding was a lovely affair, and I was asked to sing a cappella...’” He handed the card to Faye, flipping to the next.

“Is she really gone so often?” said Faye.

“Yes, she is,” said Noah. “In her own way, she’s missing in action, I suppose.”

“Um, I don’t want Daisy to worry, and I’m a bit hungry and...” Wallace looked a bit anxious. He swallowed hard and quickly added, “Daisy made hot-crossed buns and apple tarts. I just don’t want her worrying.”

“We should eat,” said Noah, who knew very well that hungry was not the only thing Wallace was feeling. Noah suddenly felt foolish and selfish for complaining about his mother. At least he had a mother. And whatever complaints Noah had about his mother, her postcards were at least a reminder that she was somewhere. “Sorry, Wallace, I mean, because you’re hungry. I should have—”

“I am,” Wallace said defensively. “I haven’t eaten since Miss Brett’s breakfast.”

“Wait!” Faye grabbed Wallace’s arm. “Noah, this card was sent in August and it’s already October. What are the dates of the other postcards?”

Noah flipped through. “August 17, September 1... Here’s one about presenting a bouquet at the opening of the Constantinople-Baghdad Railway in Ankara. That was September 5.”

“So someone has been holding these cards,” Faye said with great suspicion. “Someone prevented these from being mailed—or, at least, prevented them from being delivered.”

“You mean someone is keeping Noah’s mummy, too?” asked Lucy.

“Well, they know she’s trying to contact Noah,” said Faye, determination in her voice. “These postcards are proof that your mother doesn’t know. She doesn’t suspect foul play.”

“But if they don’t want me to know, or her to know where we are,” Noah said, “why do I have these now?”

“And how did he get them?” asked Lucy.

Faye was about to give an answer when she realized she didn’t have one. “He received them, but someone had held them,” said Faye. “He received them, even though his mum never put his address on the card. That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes me dizzy,” said Lucy.

“That’s because you haven’t eaten,” said Jasper.

“None of us has,” said Noah.

“So let’s decide what we’re going to do,” said Jasper.

“Well,” said Faye, indignantly. Even her stomach was betraying her. “I’ll just have to walk to Cousin Katharine’s and explain.”

“We’re all going,” Jasper said, putting his hand on her arm. “We’re not going to let you go on your own.” Faye looked into Jasper’s eyes and he let go of her arm—not because she glared at him, but because she almost smiled.

“How would you carry everything?” asked Lucy.

“You’ll need our help,” said Noah.

Faye had to admit she would need help. “Well, all right. We’ll think better after we get some food in our noisy bellies. Who can think with all that racket, anyway?”

“After we eat, we should all meet here with our satchels,” said Jasper. “Do you have the address, Faye?”

“Yes,” said Faye, rummaging in her pockets. She pulled out an old yellowed card. “This is from Aunt Susan. She sent it years ago for my mother’s birthday. I kept it because of the painting on the front. It’s an eagle soaring on the wind. The address is Seven Hawthorn Street.”

“A hawthorn is a tree,” said Lucy, excitedly. “It can’t be far.”

After filling their bellies, the children set about devising their plan. They were going to find Seven Hawthorn Street and talk to Faye’s cousins. But first, they had to be sure the nannies would not follow.

“You’ll have to do it,” moaned Lucy. “I can’t bear to do it myself.” Her fingers, nails nibbled to the quick, received the brunt of her anxiety.

“I’ll do it,” said Jasper.

The plan was simple. Each child would tell their nanny they were going to the other’s house. Faye would say she was going to Noah’s, Noah would say he was going to Wallace’s, and Jasper would say he and Lucy were going to Faye’s.

But Lucy was miserable. Having a memory like hers, Jasper often thought, was like carrying the truth of the world in your head. Lucy could not bear dishonesty. And it especially pained her to fib to people she loved.

Even so, the children went ahead with the plan. Soon, with great care and sneakiness, they all met, hidden by some of the shrubbery near Noah’s house.

“Do you think the men in black know that your cousin is in the neighborhood?” asked Jasper. They were counting down the minutes until the next black carriage would pass. They wanted to know exactly how much time they had, because they were not moving very fast with all of the bundles.

“They could not know,” said Faye. “We haven’t seen them in years. We have different names. My mother probably has a
relative in every city in the world.”

In one fell swoop, the children made a dash as soon as the black carriage turned the corner. They ran until they were hidden by the trees lining the street of the next block.

“The houses look empty,” Jasper said as they walked more slowly down the next block. It was true. There were no signs of life in any of the neighboring houses.

Most of the journey was spent running and dropping and reorganizing the blanket-wrapped packages. They were heavy and awkward and cumbersome to carry. The house was about seven blocks away, but it felt a lot farther. At least Lucy knew exactly where the street was.

It took all of nineteen minutes.

“That was easy,” said Jasper, catching his breath, letting his package rest against his legs. They stood in front of the house.

“And I thought I was the funny one,” said Noah, leaning over to catch the stitch in his side.

Faye hurried up to the front door. She knocked. And waited. Then knocked again. A small boy of about four years old answered the door.

“I didn’t know Katharine had any children,” Faye said, bewildered. “In fact, I didn’t know she was married.”

“Mommy!” the little boy screamed. “There are very big children at the door and they don’t know me!”

A lovely woman in a bright yellow dress came hurrying out from what was most likely the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her apron, her face dusted with flour.

“May I help you?” asked the woman in a pleasant voice. The little boy hid behind her skirt, thumb firmly planted in his
mouth.

“You aren’t my cousin Katharine,” Faye said.

“No, I am not,” the woman said, still smiling.

“I’m very sorry,” Faye said, collecting herself. “I was looking for—”

“Of course,” the woman said, smiling. “I’m sorry, Katharine does not live here.”

Faye’s heart sank.
How stupid,
she thought. How could she have been so foolish as to expect her family to still be living there? It had been her fault, leading them here, giving them hope, making them believe. It had been her stupid pride that had made her believe she would be the one to save everyone. Now they were standing there with nowhere to go.

And they felt helpless. Would they be captured by Reginald Roderick Kattaning? Would they ever see their parents again? Heads down, their burdens suddenly impossibly awkward and unbearably heavy, the children turned to leave.

“Wait, dears,” called the pleasant lady. “You’re looking for
Seven
Hawthorn, aren’t you? You see, this is
Nine
Hawthorn.”

Five hearts skipped five beats.

The woman smiled and continued. “Many people make that mistake. I keep meaning to fix our address plate. That English ivy is a terror. I can never keep it under control. It grows over everything, including the address and, on top of that, one of the numbers is broken.”

Faye looked at the house number and saw that, indeed, the ivy was covering part of the number, and the big chip really did make a “7” out of the “9.”

“So, there still is a Katharine?” asked Lucy. “And a number
seven?”

“That’s the house there, next door,” the smiling woman said, pointing. “There is indeed a Katharine. She’s a teacher, I believe. Is that who you’re looking for?”

Faye nodded again.

“Well, I saw her not long ago, watering the daffodils in the front garden. She should be home, dear.”

They all thanked the woman and, carrying the suddenly less awkward and quite manageable bundles, hurried next door.

On the porch was an elderly man in a large chair. The man was snoring away, emitting large snorts, his chin moving his white beard as he mumbled, and his great moustache fluttering in the wake of his snorfling, threatening to find its way into his mouth.

Faye ran up the steps to the porch and knocked loudly on the door. Noah walked over to the man, curious to see whether or not he would in fact inhale his grand moustache.

The door was opened by a very elderly woman. Faye knew this was not Aunt Susan, because Aunt Susan had died years before. She also knew it was not Katharine because Katharine was not at all an old lady.

“Yes?” the old woman said.

“I’m looking for my cousin Katharine,” said Faye.

“The bishop ain’t to be disturbed,” she said, wagging her finger inches from Noah’s face. Noah sheepishly returned to the doorway, having clearly invaded the space of the sleeping old man.

“That’s Uncle Milton!” said Faye with excited recognition.

“‘The bishop’?” Jasper asked Faye softly.

“Uncle Milton was a bishop,” she whispered back. Louder, she said, “I’d like to see Cousin Katharine, please.” She tried to give a smile to the grumpy old lady. It didn’t seem to work.

“Not here,” said the woman with a prominent Irish lilt. “You her students?”

“No, I’m her cousin,” said Faye.

“Don’t look like her,” the woman said, suspiciously.

Faye’s hand went to her face. With her dark olive skin and, of course, her accent, colored with Indian and British pronunciations, she really didn’t look or sound anything like Katharine.

“My mother is Gwendolyn—”

“Ah, the one what’s gone and moved across the sea,” the woman said knowingly. “Went and married that foreigner, ain’t it?”

How this Irish woman, with a voice like a grouchy leprechaun, could consider someone
else, anyone
else, a foreigner was beyond Faye’s understanding.