General Well'ngone In Love (4 page)

General Well’ngone pondered the sad truth of
this statement with a heavy heart.

IV.

Sarah tried to convince herself that she was
not worried. She even left her station at the window, where she had
been standing for more than a half hour, and took up some mending.
As she jabbed the needle and thread into the place where one of
Berel’s shirts had gotten a tear, she told herself there were a
dozen reasons why her brother might have been delayed, even though
the rumblings of his stomach usually brought him home in time for
supper. Perhaps Mr. Barnstock had some work for her, and he was
waiting to hear from his client before he could hand Berel the
papers. Perhaps an elderly member of their community had fallen on
the ice, and Berel was helping the person get home. There could be
so many reasons, yet in her heart Sarah could not believe in a
single one of them.

She set aside her mending and returned to
the window for the dozenth time, and looked up and down the street.
As the shadows lengthened and turned their little home a gloomy
gray, her thoughts also took a darker turn. Perhaps it was Berel
who had fallen and was now lying on some street, ignored by all who
passed him by. He might freeze to death, if someone did not take
pity upon the child and bring him home.

For the first time since her father had
died, she knew what it felt to be utterly alone. Until this hour,
she had been so busy working and cooking and trying to make their
home cheerful that she had not had time to brood and properly mourn
for her father. Now, she looked over to the place where her
father’s bed had stood during those final days. Even in his
weakened state, when he was no longer able to speak, her father had
given her a smile, a squeeze of the hand, to let her know that he
was still there watching over them, protecting them from harm.

She took down from the
shelf the
Book of Psalms
that had belonged to her mother and tried to
read. That is what her mother had done, when someone in the family
was ill or when her father could not find work. But Sarah was too
anxious to concentrate on the words. She felt herself drawn once
again to the window.

Out there, somewhere in London, Berel was in
trouble. She was sure of it.

The Evening Service at the Great Synagogue
had come to an end. Mr. Melamed was speaking with a fellow member
of the synagogue when he saw a person wrapped in a shawl making her
way across the slippery pavement of the courtyard. From experience,
he knew this probably meant someone was in need of his assistance.
On such a cold night he could imagine that a poor family required
fuel for a fire, or perhaps money to pay a physician’s fee.

“
Mr. Melamed, may I have a
word with you?” asked the person.

When they were inside the synagogue
building, and the person had removed the folds of the shawl from
her face, Mr. Melamed was surprised to see that it was Sarah
Krinkle who had sought him out.

“
Miss Krinkle? How may I
be of service to you?”

Now that she was standing before Mr.
Melamed, Sarah felt her cheeks grow red. It was hard for her to
admit that she required his assistance, after her insistence on the
day of her father’s funeral that she needed none.

“
It is Berel,” she managed
to say. “He has not come home. It is not like him to stay out in
the street after dark. I am worried that something may have
happened to him.”

Mr. Melamed was silent. As one of the
wealthiest Jews in the city and a person with social connections
that extended to the upper reaches of London society, he had
considered it his duty to take on a leadership role in the Jewish
community. Indeed, he enjoyed being of service to others and had
found that by immersing himself in communal affairs he could keep
at bay, at least most of the time, the loneliness he continued to
feel even though it had been several years since his wife had
passed away. But there was one task he disliked immensely, and that
was being asked to find a missing person. He was not God, and he
was not a magician. He could not see into every building and
alleyway and spy out every lost soul. He therefore felt quite
helpless when confronted by a worried family member, who usually
came to him as their last hope.

Yet he could not say any of this to the
young lady standing before him. He therefore said, instead, “We
must hope your brother is safe, Miss Krinkle. Perhaps he has only
lost his way. It can happen, especially after dark.”

Mr. Lyon had been standing in the entryway
and had overheard their conversation. “Is it Berel Krinkle you are
speaking about?”

“
Have you seen him?” asked
Mr. Melamed.

“
I saw him earlier this
afternoon at the Frost Fair.”

“
The Frost Fair?” asked
Miss Krinkle.

“
There was no harm in
that, I assure you, Miss Krinkle. The freezing of the Thames does
not occur very often, and any boy would want to see it. I took my
family to see the Fair this afternoon.”

“
Was he with anyone?”
asked Mr. Melamed.

“
Yes, he was with General
Well’ngone.”

“
General Well’ngone!” the
young lady exclaimed. “I told him to never talk to that awful
person again!”

Mr. Melamed gave a sigh of relief, certain
that the mystery of Berel Krinkle’s disappearance had been solved
and grateful that the solution had come about so easily.

“
Miss Krinkle, I suggest
you go to Devonshire Square with Mr. Lyon, where I am sure Mrs.
Lyon will be happy to receive you. I shall go to Gravel Lane, where
I shall hopefully find your brother safe and sound.”

“
I wish to go to Gravel
Lane with you, Mr. Melamed. I must give Berel a box on the ears
that he’ll never forget.”

“
What you do when you get
your brother home is your private matter,” said Mr. Melamed, trying
not to smile. “But Gravel Lane is no place for a young lady. You
may either go home and wait for your brother’s return there, or go
to Devonshire Square and wait at the Lyon home.”

“
I suggest Devonshire
Square, Miss Krinkle,” said Mr. Lyon. “Supper is waiting for us,
and I am sure a bowl of hot soup will be very welcome on this
bitter night.”

Gravel Lane was not a pleasant place to
visit by day; darkness only made it more sinister and dismal. The
first time Mr. Melamed had visited the street, he had not been sure
he would ever emerge from it alive. Yet he had required the
services of the Earl of Gravel Lane more than once to solve a crime
affecting some member of the Jewish community, and so he was now
familiar with many of the denizens who called that sad thoroughfare
home and could approach the place without feelings of unease.

The Earl was at home when Mr. Melamed
called. Indeed, the young man seldom left his underground dwelling,
miserable though it was. He was the organizer of his followers’
activities, while General Well’ngone was in charge of operations in
the field.

“
It is always a pleasure
to see you, Mr. Melamed,” the Earl drawled, mimicking the mincing
accents used by the upper crust of London society. “I hope you will
excuse the chill in the air. You know how difficult it is to
adequately heat these old ancestral homes, I trust.”

The Earl started to laugh at his little
jest—for although his abode may have been a palatial dwelling
during the times of good Queen Elizabeth, the large rooms were now
known primarily for their smell and damp. But he was quickly seized
by a fit of coughing.

“
You should attend to that
cough, Earl,” said Mr. Melamed, “unless you intend to cheat the
gallows by dying of influenza instead.”

The Earl had taken out a dirty handkerchief,
and after wiping his face he waved it in Mr. Melamed’s direction.
“I do not intend to die before my time, Mr. Melamed. Someone must
attend to the re-distribution of wealth in our fair city.”

“
In all seriousness, Earl,
is your business so bad that you cannot afford a larger fire on
such a cold night?”

“
Every business has its
cycles. The cold has been so bitter that it has numbed the fingers
of my boys, preventing them from doing their work. I’ve had to give
them a holiday, and we must all economize until we see better
times.”

“
I hear that some of your
boys went to the Frost Fair,” said Mr. Melamed, turning the
conversation to the topic that had brought him to Gravel Lane.
Although he had no affection for the Earl, he knew that these
preliminary exchanges—which the Earl considered to be opportunities
to show off his wit—were part of the price he must pay to receive
the Earl’s services.

“
Surely, there is no harm
in that,” replied the Earl, looking shocked at the thought that
anyone might think such as thing. “Surely you will not begrudge a
few hours of amusement to a poor orphaned boy.”

“
Not at all. In fact, it
is a poor orphaned boy that I am trying to find. By any chance did
Berel Krinkle join you and the General for supper?”

The Earl’s ears pricked up at the mention of
the name Krinkle. “Why would you think that?”

“
Berel Krinkle was seen in
the company of General Well’ngone at the Fair.”

“
And now you think I have
enticed him away from his home and intend to force him to join my
brotherhood of thieves. Really, Mr. Melamed, by rights I should
have you shown to the door for insinuating such a ridiculous thing.
But my humble abode is at your service. Look through every cupboard
and under every chair. If you find anyone named Krinkle hiding
there, do let me know.”

Mr. Melamed knew that the Earl of Gravel
Lane had his faults—a propensity to assume airs, being one of
them—but experience had taught him that the Earl was not a liar.
The young man might choose to not divulge information in his
possession, but he would not deliberately twist the facts.

“
The boy has gone missing,
Earl. And it’s too cold a night to spend it wandering in the
streets of London. General Well’ngone may have been one of the last
people to see him. If you have no information about the child’s
whereabouts, I would like to speak with the General.”

“
I will see if he is
available.” The Earl went over to the mantelpiece, where a bell was
sitting. He gave the bell a vigorous ring and a child answered the
call. “Tell the General that Mr. Melamed is in the drawing room and
wishes to speak with him.”

When the General entered, the Earl explained
the situation. The Earl then added, “Where did the two of you part
company, General? I hope it was not on Duke’s Street.”

“
Of course not,” replied
General Well’ngone. “I gave you my word, Earl, didn’t
I?”

“
Then when did you last
see him?”

“
At the Frost Fair. He
said he had to be getting home. So after we were done writing in
the book ...”

“
What book?” asked Mr.
Melamed.

The General’s cheeks turned red.

“
Was Miss Sarah Krinkle at
the Fair?” asked the Earl, looking none too pleased.

“
No!”

“
What does Miss Krinkle
have to do with the two of you, if I may ask?” Mr. Melamed was also
looking none too pleased at the mention of the young lady’s name in
such disreputable surroundings.

“
General Well’ngone thinks
he is in love with Miss Krinkle,” said the Earl, with a
smirk.

“
I never said
that!”

“
What exactly are your
feelings towards Miss Krinkle, then?” asked Mr. Melamed. He had
never thought of General Well’ngone in terms other than being a
thief, and he was now pleasantly surprised to find out that the
youngster might possess finer sentiments—sentiments that possibly
could be molded into a better sort of life.

“
I can’t say that I have
feelings, Mr. Melamed, at least not any I can put a name to. I just
think that if I were to ever marry, I should think that a young
lady such as Miss Krinkle would do very well.”

“
I see. But what does Miss
Krinkle have to do with this book you mentioned?”

“
I thought that since she
could not see the Fair herself, she might like something from the
Fair as a remembrance. The booksellers were selling these little
empty books that were made special for the Frost Fair, and so I
bought her one.”

“
And what did you write it
in?”

The General looked even more uncomfortable.
“Do I have to say?”

“
If we can find the book,
it might lead us to Berel’s whereabouts.”

“
It wasn’t much. Berel
isn’t much of a speller, and so I didn’t want to overtax
him.”

“
Mr. Melamed is not
interested in the spelling capabilities of either you or Mr.
Krinkle,” said the Earl. “Just tell him what you had the boy
write.”

“
I just told him to write
‘To Miss Krinkle, with my compliments.’”

“
And then Berel wrote your
name?” asked Mr. Melamed.

“
Not exactly. Berel and I
decided it would be best if it just said ‘A Friend.’ And then Berel
said he had to leave. I spotted my boys standing by one of the toy
stalls and I went over to them.”

“
You did not see Berel
speaking to anyone else?”

“
Not after I left
him.”