The Atomic Weight of Secrets or The Arrival of the Mysterious Men in Black (6 page)

The carriage drove them for what seemed like hours. It felt as if they went back and forth, zigzagging throughout the city. Lucy began to recite addresses as they passed the same ones periodically, first going one direction, then another. Finally, the carriage turned onto a lovely street lined with big elm trees.
They pulled up in front of a grand house that stood alone on the west side of the block, no neighbors on either side. There was an expansive lawn on either side of the house, and a stone walk that led to the front steps. “One Elm Street” was written in gold letters on a sign by the gate.

Gingerly, and with great trepidation, the children slowly descended. The driver stood by the open carriage door. He then walked around and took their bags from the trunk, set them on the pavement and then, without a word, returned to his seat on the carriage. With a flick of the wrist, he pulled the horses into a trot, and the carriage was off, the children standing alone in front of One Elm Street.

At once, they both noticed a short round woman wearing a white apron standing at the door, waving enthusiastically. It was clear she was waving at them, because no one else was around, but neither Jasper nor Lucy had ever seen her before. As she approached, they could see that the woman’s face was rosy and jolly, and she smiled at the children, arms opened wide, welcoming them. It was as if she had been missing them, as if they were returning and not arriving.

“My dears, my dears,” she said, waddling down the steps to meet them, wrapping her arms around them both. Immediately, Jasper, smothered in a giant bosom, had to catch his breath. Her arms were like a vice. “Let me look at you. I bet you’re hungry after a journey like that.”

“Who are you?” he gasped. Lucy, too, was struggling to find air. “I mean, I’m sorry, but—”

“Oh, Jasper, it is me who should apologize,” said the woman, pulling them back from her embrace and looking intently at both
children. “I’m Rosie. I’m your Rosie. I’ll be taking care of things here at home. I’m the cook and the nanny and the nurse. And whatever you need, just ask.” She smiled again and winked. “Give me those heavy bags, my darlings,” she said, picking up their bags as if they weighed nothing. For such a short, round woman, she certainly seemed to have arms of steel. With powerful arms around the two children and a bag in each hand, Rosie walked them up the path.

When they stepped over the threshold, both children let out a deep breath. They had been traveling so long, it was a pleasure to step into a house that really looked like a home. What they felt was an invitation to come in and be welcomed. And this house was filled with the most delicious aromas two hungry children had ever smelled.

“I’ve got a pot of mutton stew waiting for you two,” Rosie said to Jasper and Lucy as they stood dumbfounded in the doorway. She gave each of them another hug and shuffled them into the entrance hall. Rosie’s round, squat body, as well as the clucking sound she made with her teeth, reminded the children of a mother hen rounding up her chicks.

“Where is Mummy? And Daddy?” asked Lucy.

“They’ll be along,” Rosie said. “Here we go. Come this way.” She clucked, flapping her arms as she guided the two children into the kitchen.

“She really is a mother hen,” whispered Lucy to Jasper.

“Cheep cheep,” whispered Jasper to Lucy.

“Cheep cheep,” whispered Lucy back.

The house was lovely, with umbrellas in the umbrella stand and hats on the hatrack. The walls were clean and freshly painted in yellows and blues and warm creamy whites. And the house was full of windows, though not many facing the front. Only on the second floor did the children see sunlight shining through glass.

The rooms were furnished with comfortable chairs and sofas, nothing fussy or delicate.

Upstairs, the nursery was full of games and toys. There were blackboards covering one entire wall and, in the corner, a small, but fully functional, science laboratory. Beakers and test tubes were lined neatly in one cupboard, and goggles, aprons, and rubber gloves placed, just as neatly, on shelves in another. Stone basins, candles, and burners, and long lengths of rubber tubing and several mortises and pestles in various sizes, were on shelves as well. In short, it had everything a nursery science lab should have, if a nursery other than this one had ever been equipped with a science laboratory.

Down the hall was a bathroom. Next to the nursery were three bedrooms—one for Lucy, one for Jasper, and a small one off the far side of the nursery that belonged to Rosie. Down past the bath was a large master bedroom that clearly belonged to their parents. Peeking in, the children saw their father’s slippers and mother’s robe. This was reassuring. Surely it meant that their parents were planning to come—that is, if they had not been here already.

Rosie, they quickly learned, was a wonderful cook. She could, and would, make any of their favorite dishes—roast beef, Yorkshire pudding, roast potatoes with gravy. She could make
puddings, cakes, and custards, and anything chocolate. Over the following days, the very well-fed children became very fond of Rosie indeed.

That was a very good thing, too. It was good because their parents had not yet appeared.

“Sorry, darlings, but your parents have gone to the laboratory early this morning,” Rosie would say when the children came down for breakfast. “I think they should be home tonight in time to tuck you in.”

And then, at night, she’d say, “Well, your parents had wanted to be home before you went to your beds, but it looks like they’ve been detained. Perhaps you will see them in the morning.” Rosie would tuck the children in their beds. Then, she’d sit in the rocking chair in the threshold between Jasper and Lucy’s bedrooms, humming and knitting until the children fell asleep.

Life at One Elm was, all things considered, quite pleasant. The children found their laboratory to be very well stocked. The nursery had building blocks and puzzles and toys. Behind the house was a lovely and rather vast meadow that seemed to open only onto the four houses that made up their block. There were never any other people around, and the trees and the houses blocked the view from the street, so Jasper and Lucy could play for hours, undisturbed. They would imagine a ship that could take them to the moon, and ponder how many layers of metal sheathing they would need. Sometimes, Jasper would make propellers from the long grasses, and he and Lucy would experiment by dropping
them from different heights. And of course, every meal was delicious. Days were spent doing what they liked, and evenings were warm and cozy. It went along like this for quite a while, until Lucy realized something on the way to breakfast one morning.

“It has been seventeen days since we have seen Mummy and Daddy.”

Jasper was stunned. He knew it had been a while, but over two weeks? He couldn’t believe it.

“Sorry, darlings, but your parents have gone to the laboratory early this morning,” said Rosie as she prepared hot porridge with sweet cream, brown sugar, vanilla, and butter. She dribbled maple syrup over the whole thing before she scooped it into the bowls and placed them in front of the children. “I think they should be home tonight in time to tuck you—”

“It’s been seventeen days,” Jasper said, cutting off the familiar morning announcement.

Rosie gasped. Clucking her teeth, she gave the children a quick half-smile. “Must fetch the juice,” she mumbled as she scurried off to the kitchen. It seemed to take forever for Rosie to return. In fact, Rosie still hadn’t returned to the dining room by the time the children finished their porridge. They could hear her banging around in the kitchen, clucking and squawking to herself, but about what, they could not discern.

After their juiceless breakfast, Jasper and Lucy went back upstairs to the nursery. As they passed their parents’ bedroom, they both stopped at the door and looked inside. Everything was perfectly neat and orderly. The bed was made without a wrinkle. Daddy’s slippers were placed neatly next to his bedside table. Mummy’s glass jug of water sat, full, on hers. In fact, everything
was so neat and orderly that it looked as if no one had been there for days.

Maybe even seventeen days.

The rest of the day was a busy one for the Modest children. All afternoon, Jasper and Lucy formed a plan. Lucy found some copper wire in the carriage house. She cut a length of it using Rosie’s sewing shears. Jasper used the musket from an old tin soldier he had found in one of his pockets. He uncoiled the tin thread that made up the barrel, tying it to the lock on the door. Lucy stole into the pantry and took a thimble of vinegar and salty brine. Jasper cut the end of his leather shoelace. Before lunch, they had made a working battery. It wasn’t a terribly strong battery, but it would nonetheless serve their purpose. It only needed to be strong enough to ring a very small bell.

“What time did Mummy and Daddy come home last night?” Lucy asked Rosie when they were seated at the table for lunch. Jasper gently caught Lucy’s hand as it headed, fingers extended, toward her mouth.

“Oh, I wouldn’t know,” Rosie said as she placed a plate of kippers in front of Lucy. “I was long asleep myself, I’m sure.”

“What time did you go to sleep?” Jasper asked, taking a bite of his lunch and trying to sound casual, as if this was an inconsequential, everyday question.

“Well...” Rosie looked up as if to remember, but then shot a glance sideways at Jasper, who dodged it by examining his kippers. “Let’s see, then... Must have been by ten o’clock. Had a
bit of darning to do last night. Might have been a bit later.”

“Just wondered, that’s all,” Jasper said when Rosie gave him an inquiring look. “Lovely kippers, Rosie. Yum.”

After their meal, Jasper and Lucy attached the end of the copper wire spool to the doorknob in their parents’ room. They ran it under the carpet in the hall and between the table and chest in the nursery and up along the side of Jasper’s bed. Jasper wrapped it around the bedpost and attached it to a small bell.

“Let’s test it,” Jasper said.

Lucy ran down the hall. Jasper waved from his doorway. When Lucy closed the door of their parents’ bedroom, which completed the circuit, she squealed with delight. With Jasper’s door open, she could hear the tiny tinkle of the bell on his bedpost. Their device had worked.

That night, after a supper of roast quail and parsnips, a savory tart of sautéed potatoes and leeks, then vanilla custard topped with candied oranges, Jasper and Lucy got into their nightclothes as usual.

“Well, your parents wanted to, well, it is a fact that they wanted to be home before you went to your beds, but it looks like they’ve been detained. Perhaps you will see them in the morning,” Rosie said as she settled into the rocking chair and began to hum.

Within moments, Jasper snored loudly, and Lucy let her breath become even and repetitive.

“My, the little darlings must have been exhausted,” Rosie said to herself. She went to their beds and tucked them in, giving them each a peck on the forehead.

As soon as Rosie’s footsteps had clip-clopped down the stairs, padding along the marble floor below, Lucy climbed quietly out
of bed.

“Jasper?” she called in a whisper.