Petronella Saves Nearly Everyone Read online

Ralph ignored the proffered box of chocolates and said, "He were looking at the train schedule to London when he saw me give a message to the station master and asked me to deliver the one I brung to you. He give me a shilling, too. None of them tuppence."

  I could see that the charm of chocolates as a bribe was beginning to wane.

  James, evidently having been converted to expediency, held two shillings out to the young opportunist, who snatched them as soon as they appeared. "Those shillings are for you and another one besides if you can remember anything else about the man in the slouch hat. Was he short or tall? Did he say anything else? Did you see him get on the train? Which one?"

  "Short. Got on the London 9:23. Muttered to himself in some heathen foreign tongue. Only fing I caught was somefing like salas." Ralph held out his hand for the other shilling.

  James looked both startled and thoughtful as he handed the coin to the boy. "Salas. I wonder."

  Ralph saluted us and sprinted off in what I knew to be the direction of Upper Middle Totley-on-Wode. I remembered that the message office was just down the street from the train station, which made Ralph's information all the more credible.

  I did not have time to ask James what he wondered. We'd arrived at the end of the path, and my aunts were right behind us. Aunt Cordelia, who had not been encumbered by fashion, was in the lead. The path opened onto a lane that ran along the borders of a meadow. I recognized it as belonging to the Barrowspring Farm, leased from me by Farmer Hodgkins, as generations of his ancestors had leased it from my ancestors. The meadow was inhabited by a large bull that had chased me not three years ago when I tweaked its tail. It had been a dangerous and foolish thing to do, but I was, after all, an Arbuthnot and a Percival, and had begun an early career of adventures. The lane also ran close to the shrubberies that edged the large lawn where my coming-out party had taken place. Things were starting to fall into place.

  "Petronella," panted Aunt Cordelia, her golden ringlets bouncing from beneath her pith helmet with each breath. However, she could not seem to find the energy to say more.

  Not so Great-aunt Theophilia as she glided into the lane, looking almost as neatly attired as she had in my drawing room. I could not say the same for Crimea and Boeotia, who shot me looks of immense dislike as they tried to smooth their skirts and straighten their hats. Crimea's, with its bunches of fruit amid feathers, was especially askew and, I might add, ridiculous.

  Great-aunt Theophilia said, "Petronella. You look a disgrace and your behavior is reprehensible. If your uncle is encouraging you in—"

  "Doing her duty to God and king?" interrupted Uncle Augustus.

  "Well," breathed Great-aunt Theophilia.

  Uncle took my arm and steered me down the lane to where a tumble of logs blocked part of the road. Over his shoulder, he called, "Inspector, if you need to inspect something, then inspect these logs, if you please."

  Inspector Higginbotham, brushing leaves from his tweed jacket and followed by Sergeant Crumple, headed for the logs. "And what do we have here? It looks like a pile of logs, if you ask me."

  "Yes, sir. That it do," said Crumple. I noticed that one of his packing-twine shoelaces was broken.

  Uncle Augustus's face took on the studiously patient expression of one dealing with persons of less than normal levels of wit. "Yes, I do admit they are logs, but I do not recall seeing logs like these before. How did they get here? Where did they come from? They could be a clue."

  I agreed with Uncle. The logs had cinnamon-colored bark that hung in long strips between patches of brilliant green lichen. Sunning themselves on the pile were two Tou-eh-mah-mah butterflies, their purple, yellow, and turquoise wings illuminated against the dark bark. Suddenly something large and cartilaginous pounced on one of the butterflies and began devouring it with a gusto that rivaled Uncle Augustus's. It was a beetle like the one Uncle had swallowed, but so much larger that it would have been difficult even for Uncle to ingest this creature in one bite.

  "I say. I wonder if Maximus knows that the beetles feed on the butterflies," said Uncle, more to himself than to anyone in particular, his hands clasped tightly around Insectile Creatures. I was grateful that he was restraining himself from feasting in front of my aunts.

  "Here is something of real interest," said Inspector Higginbotham, who had wandered down the lane a few feet. All of us converged on him. He waved us back. "Now don't destroy the evidence. Look at the wagon ruts. Not so unusual for a country lane, correct? But look at what I found in one of the ruts." He reached down and then held out his hand, palm up, to display a glittering ruby. "The generalissimo had rubies in his medals. Am I correct?"

  Uncle, James, Jane, and I nodded.

  Uncle pointed to the ruts, which we all studied obediently. "Excellent clue, Inspector. Notice how the impressions stop just where you found the ruby, and the ground next to them is scuffed with footprints. It is possible that a wagon was stopped here, the logs were unloaded, and the generalissimo and dame were loaded into it and transported away."

  We all turned toward the inspector to see what he thought of Uncle's brilliant deduction.

  The inspector shrugged, his attention trained on the ruby in his hand. "Perhaps. It's of no consequence how they were transported. What is important is that the ruby establishes the presence of the victims at this spot. I must report our findings to my superiors and see what can be done about the ransom."

  "But what about me? I'm supposed to deliver it," I said.

  The inspector ignored my comment as both he and Sergeant Crumple stumped off in the direction of Upper Middle Totley-on-Wode in order to take the train to London and the Yard.

  I almost called them back, since I felt somewhat responsible for the kidnappings. Then I decided that they obviously did not feel I was responsible for anything, which was a bit disheartening.

  "Well," huffed Great-aunt Theophilia. It appeared to be her favorite expression today. She seemed about to say something else, but at that moment further crashings in the woods caused us to turn in that direction. One of the undergardeners, followed by Thomas and the others of his staff, stumbled out into the lane. When they saw us, they nearly fell over each other in their hurry to reach us, making Crimea and Boeotia jump back in alarm.

  "Miss! Miss! We didn't find more butterflies, but we did find these." Into my hand the undergardener placed a glittering, although bent, tiara that I recognized as having been worn by Dame Carruthers on the night of her doom and a coin that I didn't recognize at all.

  "What kind of coin is this?" I held it up to the sunlight to read the inscription. "Why, this is a Colombian coin. It says it is a peso," I exclaimed.

  "Is it worth a chocolate, anyway?" asked the undergardener.

  Chapter Eleven

  In Which a Diversion Is Discerned

  WHEN ONE HAS BEEN THE center of attention for a considerable amount of time, to be treated as inconsequential, as the inspector had treated me, has the effect of bringing one rather low. Was it possible that I was not as clever as I had been led to believe? Perhaps I was no better than Georgie Grimsley—perish the thought—who was chattering with Cyril. It turned out that they were schoolmates. I hoped Georgie did not feel that Cyril's visit gave him an excuse to grace us with his presence on a continual basis.

  "Here now," said Jane, slipping her arm through mine as we walked back to the house. "That inspector obviously has an overinflated sense of his own worth. He will find to his sorrow that he should have listened more carefully to you and your uncle."

  James joined us. "What pomposity. I'm afraid that inspector reminds me all too much of certain people I know in government."

  I smiled at my friends, my heart eased by their comments, even as it palpitated quickly at having James so near. "We do have some rather interesting clues that he took no notice of, do we not?" I asked.

  Back in my drawing room, the remaining horde soon set to feasting upon the crumpets, tea cakes, and tea that I had asked Moriarty to supply. While James, J
ane, and I ate—and Uncle snacked surreptitiously—we sat at the far end of the table and examined our collection of clues.

  Besides serving us lunch, Moriarty had also been good enough to acquire several glass jars with stout lids, which we arranged on the table. In the jars we placed the beetle, the remaining butterfly, and strips of bark from the logs, to which were attached chrysalises. We rather hoped that more butterflies might hatch. The beetle could obviously see the butterfly in the container next to it because it kept throwing itself against the side of its bottle, just as Uncle had thrown himself against the glass cases in Professor Lepworthy's office.

  Next to the bottles we also laid the Colombian peso and the bent tiara and a scrap of paper on which was written the word ruby. Altogether we had accumulated a fair number of interesting items, but I failed to see how they could lead us to the dame and generalissimo.

  From her Italian leather handbag, Jane produced a small pad of paper and a pencil. "Perhaps we should make a list of what we know about the case."

  "Tip-top idea, old flesh and blood," said James. "We should put them into categories—one category per page. First two, of course, should be Dame Carruthers and the generalissimo."

  Getting into the spirit of things, I said, "Another page could be the man who gave Ralph the message."

  "And another could be the wagon. Transportation is important, in spite of what the inspector thinks," added Uncle Augustus.

  When we had finished adding items to our lists, we surveyed the pages laid out on the table in front of the bottles.

  "Have you noticed how the majority of the clues are related to Colombia and Panama?" I said. "It would seem other than Dame Carruthers, everything hinges on those two countries."

  "Although Dame Carruthers does appear to be important as leverage to get the twenty thousand pounds," said Jane.

  James smacked his forehead with his palm, nearly propelling his hirsute splendor into oblivion. "Of course! It's staring us in the face, and we never saw it."

  "It?" I hissed, trying not to attract the attention of my relations or Georgie Grimsley, who, I deduced from the way he kept smirking at me, was flirting outrageously with Crimea in order to pay me back for ignoring him. Poor girl. Georgie Grimsley's attentions were a heavy price to pay for interfering uninvited in international relations.

  "Yes, what do you mean?" asked Uncle Augustus. "Are you privy to some information from the Home Office that pertains to this case? Can you tell us?"

  "Perhaps I can. It's really no secret," said James thoughtfully.

  "It?" hissed Jane and I in unison. I was suddenly in sympathy with Miss Spackering, my former governess, for insisting on clarity regarding pronoun referents.

  "The kidnapping is a diversion. At least I think it is." James grinned at our shocked and outraged expressions. "Although we know the Colombians are probably happy to have Generalissimo Reyes-Cardoza in their clutches, there is more at stake now than capturing a rebel officer."

  Light dawned. "Of course—the canal and all. So why do they need a diversion?"

  "Britain is siding with the Americans, of course, because we need the canal. One of the communiqués I saw from the Colombian ambassador threatened retribution if we don't change our policy."

  "But what could a poor nation such as Colombia do to Britain?" asked Jane.

  "I'm not sure, but if we are concentrating our national attentions on finding Dame Carruthers and Generalissimo Reyes-Cardoza, they may be able to put something in place while we aren't looking."

  "It makes sense," I said. "If they wanted to do serious damage, they would have asked for more than twenty thousand pounds. Such a sum would hardly impoverish Britain."

  "The question is, how can we stop them?" said James.

  "No one will believe us unless we have more evidence," said Jane.

  James stroked his manly chin thoughtfully. "If only we knew more about the man who gave Ralph the message. Then I would have something concrete to report to my superiors."

  A half-formed plan popped into my head. I consulted my watch and then caught Moriarty's eye and nodded. When he came over, I said quietly, "Please have Bumbridge bring the carriage around. We'll be going to the train station."

  Now it was James's turn to look puzzled. "What?"

  "Shh," I warned. "We will leave this room one at a time and go in different directions so we do not attract the attention of the relatives, and then meet outside the front door. The same train that took the Colombian to London has had time to get there and come back and be ready to go to London again. Jane and I used to escape from our governesses for a few hours by riding back and forth on that train, so we know the schedule. We can search the cars for more clues as we ride."

  Chapter Twelve

  In Which an Eye Is Blackened

  AS I SLIPPED OUT THE servants' entrance and around to the front where Bumbridge—almost as fine an example of efficiency as Moriarty—waited with the carriage, I mused that nothing I'd ever experienced in my short life was as exhilarating as escape. Miss Spackering had been a praiseworthy and astute governess, but she was no match for my Arbuthnot-and Percival-bred skills at evasion—skills I had employed in my childhood with regularity and success. I often thought fondly of an ancestor I strove to emulate who had not only managed to escape from Cromwell's forces, but had also ingeniously freed himself from the Tower of London when the Royalists returned to power and imprisoned him because of a misunderstanding. They later apologized when he rode into London with his personal army.

  With my good humor restored, I accepted my hat, my Italian gloves, and my favorite French crewel-embroidered handbag from the ever-thoughtful Moriarty, who handed me up into the carriage. There I found Uncle snacking on delicacies previously hidden in Insectile Creatures. At least he was doing so in privacy. I pretended not to notice as I placed the tiara and peso into my handbag. We were joined by Jane and then, soon after, by James.

  James puffed a bit as he entered the carriage. He mopped at his brow with another of his snowy handkerchiefs. "I say, your pith-helmeted aunt gave a good account of herself while chasing me through the kitchen. I barely managed to give her the slip by detouring through the dairy."

  Just as the carriage horses accelerated into a trot, I heard a faint "Petronella!" Through the carriage window I viewed Aunt Cordelia vigorously brandishing an umbrella on the front steps. Bumbridge, efficient as ever, cracked his whip and the horses broke into a canter. I settled back against the squabs, satisfied that we would not be followed for quite some time. According to my watch and what I knew of the train schedule, we should be pulling out before any of the horde could reach the station.

  "Do you really think there will be any clues on the train?" asked Jane.

  "It's entirely possible, old stick," said James. "After all, Ralph did say the fellow's shoes were mucky, and I don't expect the railroad will have had time to clean the floors yet."

  "We may also get some information from the stationmaster. He might know where the Colombian intended to leave the train. Then we could ask people at that stop if they have seen him," I said, trying to ignore the crunching coming from Uncle's corner, next to me.

  "Capital idea!" exclaimed James. Then his magnificent brow darkened. "But I shall do the asking. It is all very well for the two of you to collect clues in the safety of the countryside, but quite another matter for you to brave the dangers of the unsavory side of London."

  Jane and I did not deign to answer him. We merely glanced at each other, one eyebrow raised. If James only knew of some of the escapades his exemplary sister and I had experienced in the safety of the countryside, he might not be so complacent about our going into London, after all. I was reminded especially of the time Jane and I had loosed a large number of garden snakes among the participants in the village sack race. The resulting race times were admirable, although the number of people who saw the end of the race was much diminished from what it had been at the beginning. I do not believe that the record set t
hat day has been bested since.

  The carriage slowed enough for me to hear the familiar midday village sounds of Upper Middle Totley-on-Wode. Just as I had predicted, a train rested in front of the station, with clouds of steam rising, pointed in the direction of London. We ascended the platform, where the stationmaster rushed to greet us.

  "Why, Miss Arbuthnot. Mr. Percival. Lord Sinclair. Miss Sinclair. What can I do for you?"

  "Hello, Mr. Drake. Do you recall a foreign gentleman in a slouch hat who bought a ticket to London this morning?" asked James.

  "Very well. Don't get many foreigners in these parts."

  "Then you'd remember where he was going?"

  "Bought a ticket to Charing Cross Station, he did."

  James produced some money. "Thank you. We'd like four tickets to Charing Cross Station."

  The train was mostly empty, as was normal for a midday run to London, so we had our choice of compartments and ample opportunity to search.

  Since we had chosen a compartment in the middle of the train, I said to Jane, "Would it be all right if Uncle and I search from here to the rear of the train, and would you and James search the front?"

  "Certainly," said Jane, and James nodded agreement.

  I would have enjoyed having James as my partner no end, or even Jane, but I also felt responsible for Uncle's safety and decorum. The last part of the train it would have to be, since I had to be my Uncle's warden. At least, the rear of the train was usually more sparsely occupied, so there would be less chance for him to publicly misbehave.

  After searching three compartments, one thing became profoundly clear—British trains are by no means insect free. Uncle and I did not find remnants of Tou-eh-mah-mah butterflies or beetles, but we did find a surfeit of spiders, flies, ants, and all sorts of other insects. I concluded that I would never be able to travel in public transport again without checking corners and crevices. In one compartment, in particular, a large number of ants that were blithely feasting on the remnants of someone's sack lunch became picnic fare for Uncle.