Petronella Saves Nearly Everyone (13 page)

Moriarty, however, could not help a small yelp of amazement. It was the first time I had known Moriarty to lose his composure, and I supposed we should have to inform him of my guardian's altered state, since it did not appear that Uncle would be cured anytime soon. Hopefully, Moriarty would not give notice. It is so difficult to find good servants these days.

"Dear Uncle, what did you put in the handkerchief?" I asked.

Uncle Augustus barely paid attention to what I said as he stared at the ship adjacent to the stacks of logs trailing strands of cinnamon-colored bark. He answered, but he sounded as if his consciousness was elsewhere. "Tou-eh-mah-mah insects—as evidence."

"From the logs? Does that mean that these logs are from Tou-eh-mah-mah Island?" I asked.

"It does seem likely," answered Uncle, brow furrowed in thought. "And I would think they came from that ship there, but it is not named the
Star
or the
Constanza.
The name on the prow is
Estrella.
"

Moriarty coughed, then cleared his throat. "I do not wish to seem to act beyond my position, but permit me to give you some small information in my possession. In Spanish,
estrella
means 'star."

"Then why didn't the dock master tell us the ship was the
Estrella?
" asked Uncle.

My eyes narrowed as I pondered possibilities. I said, "If my deductions are accurate, I do believe the dock master is trying to shield the kidnappers by misleading us over the name of the ship. Traitorous fiend. Do you think he was bribed?"

"You are most likely all too correct, dear niece," said Uncle Augustus. "Since the names are so similar, and the insects so abundant among the logs, we do not need to search further. The kidnappers are on that ship. Now we just need a good plan to get on board."

WHEN ONE HEARS THE WORD
plan
in conjunction with actions one is about to engage in, one might expect to find comfort in said word. It connotes care in future proceedings, and
care
connotes safety for those occupied in carrying out whatever has been devised. However, insect eating by the planner does not inspire confidence. Therefore, it was with great misgivings that I listened to Uncle's plan and agreed to participate. The only thing that gave me comfort was that Moriarty was also part of the arrangement, and I trusted his good sense to carry the day or restrain Uncle, whichever seemed necessary at the moment.

There was no one in sight on the ship, but even as we waited, the activity on the dock seemed to increase with the
rising of the sun. We decided that we must put our plan in motion without delay.

Moriarty's role was to discard his butler's jacket, remove his shirt collar, and roll up the sleeves of his white shirt. Then he was to heave onto his shoulder a wooden box that he garnered from an adjoining part of the dock and walk up the gangplank as if he were loading the ship. I just hoped no one noticed the knife-edge crease to his trousers or the shine to his shoes, which was rumored to be the result of rubbing with champagne—from my cellar, no doubt. Once on board, my esteemed butler was to snoop. If he found something, he was to alert me.

I would be waiting on the dock in case of such a contingency. Once alerted, I would contact the nearest bobby, one of whom I could see farther down the dock, swinging his nightstick. The trick was to not catch the bobby's attention until after our plan was in motion, or he might feel we were breaking and entering unlawfully and try to stop us. Technically, we were bending the law somewhat by boarding the ship without permission, but we assumed that if we saved the generalissimo and the dame and perhaps Jane, such a breach of jurisprudence would most likely be forgiven.

Uncle's part in our little drama was a bit more hazy in my mind. He, too, was supposed to board the ship, but from the
other side. How I was not sure, but it had something to do with the anchor chain, or a rope, or some such thing. It also included Uncle's newfound ability to climb, which is how he had gotten atop Lord Nelson's Column the previous evening. I watched, somewhat puzzled, as Uncle pushed off from the dock in one of the little rowboats called lighters, which were used to load and unload ships. Uncle had a spot of trouble with the oars at first. He rowed in a circle for several strokes, and then found his rhythm and neatly slipped the lighter around the nether end of the ship.

I was left standing on the dock, holding Moriarty's butler jacket and thinking that although Uncle and Moriarty might not seem conspicuous on a dock at five-thirty in the morning, I did. There weren't any other females that I could see. Normally, one might expect to spot a few ladies preparing to board ships as passengers even this early in the morning, since many cargo ships had passenger cabins, and everyone knew that ships departed at the most awfully inconvenient times. But, as I already mentioned, I was the only person of a female physique anywhere in the vicinity. I was surprised at how vulnerable such a position made me feel. I only hoped the bobby did not think it necessary to check up on me before I was signaled by Moriarty or Uncle.

Trying to look as if I belonged on a dock, I busied myself with the enclosed wagon next to the stack of Tou-eh-mah
mah Island logs. It seemed to be a sturdy wooden wagon very like those I had seen in London and along the country roads near my estate, which were commonly used to haul whatever needed hauling. Could this be the vehicle that had transported the dame and generalissimo? The back was open, and I could see several logs piled inside as if whoever owned the wagon was going to deliver them somewhere. As I moved to one side of the opening, the morning sun shone inside. Something glinted.

I peered between the logs. Just visible was a bit of faceted, glimmering red surrounded by patterned gold. The opening in the logs was too small even for my hand. But by pushing and pulling them, I was able to widen the opening ever so slightly and ease my fingertips between the logs and retrieve the glinting object.

When I opened my fingers, there, lying on my palm and catching the rays of the sun, was one of Generalissimo Reyes-Cardoza's medals—its ruby and gold splendor slightly dulled on one side by dried blood.

TO HAVE ONE'S GUESTS KIDNAPPED
and one's bosom friend disappear is serious enough in itself. But the addition of dried blood on a medal into the mix is enough to give one pause. In that pause one is forced to solemnly reflect that what one saw as only a possibility for injury was most likely a fact. Blood is not usually present on the medals of Panamanian generalissimos unless someone has been maimed.

I scanned the ship for any sign of my avuncular relative or my butler. Nothing. It being late spring, the sun was now well up in the sky. It had been quite some time since my partners in crime had boarded the ship. At least one of them should have signaled me by now. Panic arose in my breast. To have persons kidnapped whom one does not know
at all well was one thing, but to have one's own uncle and butler, not to mention one's bosom friend, disappear was another cup of custard altogether. It was time to go for the bobby.

It has been asked, and rightly so in my opinion, "Where is a bobby when you need one?" The member of the police force who had been down the dock, nonchalantly swinging his nightstick, was nowhere to be seen. So much for Uncle's plan. Now what was I to do?

I stood indecisively next to the wagon, gripping the generalissimo's medal in my hand until its gold points dug into my palm. By now, nearly six in the morning, even more dockworkers bustled about their business loading and unloading nearby ships. Lighters and lorries floated or trundled about purposefully, while the
Estrella
remained suspiciously devoid of activity. People of one sort or another were everywhere, but not on that ship, at least not where one could see them.

I thought that perhaps I could persuade someone on the docks to board the ship with me and help me search. The generalissimo's medal might convince them that I was not insane. But then I remembered that it seemed that the dock master had purposely given us incorrect information. I wondered how deeply he was involved with the kidnappers and if their influence extended to the dockworkers. Some of
them might be under instruction to watch the ship and prevent escape. All those bustling, hustling persons suddenly seemed sinister.

I wondered where James was with his band of merry Home Office employees. Surely he should have been here by now. I scanned the dock for some sign of his handsome visage, feeling like one of the damsels in distress one reads about in Arthurian legend. Where was my Sir Galahad? Gone the way of the bobby, for all I knew, having a spot of tea somewhere cozy.

Feeling the combined Arbuthnot and Percival resolve rise to the occasion, I breathed in and squared my shoulders. It was up to me to find Uncle and Moriarty and the generalissimo and the dame, and my dear friend Jane.

It was a simple matter to sprint lightly up the gangplank and onto the ship. No one tried to stop me. Nor did they stop me from sneaking silently up the stairs leading to the bridge, which, to my relief, was empty. I must admit that although my ancestry stiffened my spine, my heart was all my own and on the edge of paralyzing fear. Even so, I forged on.

From the bridge I could see the hatch leading to the hold, but no other way to go into the lower regions of the ship. I had seen some metal doors that probably led to cabins below the bridge. It was my guess that if the victims were being held, it would be in one of the cabins on the side of the ship
facing away from the dock. Calling upon skills honed to perfection by my attempts to elude governesses, I crept down the stairs I had just ascended.

The second door opened, and three burly sailors exited, walking away from me. I slipped around and under the stairs in a trice, my unruly heart hammering. They spoke in fluid tones that I thought sounded like Spanish. I wished I had paid more attention to Miss Spackering's Spanish lessons. If I'd known that language would be of use for the purposes of espionage instead of small talk in the drawing room, I might have applied myself to my lessons more diligently. Only a few of the sailors' words made sense to me, and they all had to do with food and money. Of course, they were being sent to buy breakfast, and quite a bit of it, from what I could decipher. I heaved a sigh of relief. That meant at least three of the crew would be gone for a while.

When the sailors had rounded the corner and were out of sight, I eased along the wall in the direction of the first cabin, careful to keep my head below the round windows. Pressing my ear to the metal door, I listened. All was quiet within, although I thought I could hear a puzzling thrumming as well as feeling it through the soles of my shoes. I couldn't place the source of the thrumming, but it was definitely not human. Surely the metal would have reverberated if anyone was speaking. I could only suppose that the cabin was empty.

Sidling toward the door from which the sailors had exited, my aforementioned unruly heart leaped into my throat as I heard voices coming from inside the second cabin. This time, when I pressed my ear to the door, I could clearly hear a heated discussion taking place.

I HAVE LEARNED THAT ONE
must, when conducting espionage, be open to having one's assumptions challenged. In this case—ear pressed to door, expecting to hear the voices of known victims and kidnappers—I had my assumptions shattered.

Uncle's voice said, "Well, Don Salas, you have captured everyone, including Miss Sinclair. What have you done with her?"

A deep male voice with a thick Spanish accent, undoubtedly Don Hernando Salas, answered, "That, Mr. Percival, you shall never know. If your stupid Scotland Yard inspector could not find Pedro last night, no one shall find Miss Sinclair, either."

Another accented male voice chimed in. "Pity we had to
hide her so quickly. She is
muy bonita.
Too bad she proved to be more trouble than we cared to deal with."

If Jane was not there, where was she? My brow furrowed. The second voice sounded familiar. Where had I heard it before?

I forgot the question as another familiar voice demanded, "You must let us go. You have taken on more than you know. My husband will have the Hussars after you."

Great-Aunt Theophilia?
What was she doing here?

"My mother's right, you know. Father will go to the ends of the earth to revenge any wrongs done to his girls."

"Too right," said a little voice.

Crimea? Boeotia?
I longed to peek into the window but knew that if I did, I should be spotted.

Harsh laughter greeted these pronouncements. "Whatever we do to you will serve you right for sneaking into my suite at the Savoy," said Don Hernando Salas. "You delude yourselves if you believe that anything you say will make any difference to your fate."

"What about this?" said someone who sounded just like Aunt Cordelia, followed by a loud thump and a shout of pain.

"Vicious woman. Tie her feet to her chair," Don Hernando Salas said as if through clenched teeth.

I stifled a chuckle as I imagined Aunt Cordelia kicking Don Hernando Salas.

There was another thump and Pedro cried out. Then sounds of a struggle.

"She is tied," said Pedro. "Is my eye black?"

Were all my relations there? Had they discussed the clues and come to the same conclusion that Uncle, James, and I had been captured and brought here? Where was James?

"You are making a grave mistake if you think that by kidnapping us you can do your country any good. Our
revolution's
success is assured." The speaker could only be Generalissimo Reyes-Cardoza.

Then the ringing tones of Dame Carruthers caused the cabin door to vibrate as she proclaimed, "Mother England shall triumph. Your puny efforts will make no difference. You will only cause your own motherland much embarrassment."