Jewel of the Thames (A Portia Adams Adventure) (20 page)

Chapter Eight

P
utting aside the fact that the physical searches had been completely fruitless, there was also the problem of the passengers witnessing nothing. How was the child being hidden so thoroughly and successfully? Her description had been widely transmitted up and down the train, officially and unofficially. A silent crime, a silent victim and a silent perpetrator. I couldn’t recall a case from my grandfather’s shelves that presented such a list of obstacles.

I decided the least I could do was to sit with Mrs. Anderson. Heading to the dining car, I ordered my third pot of tea (my first three-pot problem — Mr. Holmes would be so proud) to be delivered to her compartment rather than mine. In the casebook titled “The Adventure of the Red-Headed League” my grandfather had described a particularly tense moment wherein Sherlock Holmes had turned to him and referred to the complexity of the case as a ‘three-pipe problem’. Holmes measured the difficulty of working through the clues by the amount of time it took for him to smoke three pipes of tobacco. Moving on to my third pot of tea, I silently agreed; this was a complex case indeed when measured through the consumption of our respective drugs.

When I knocked on the door, Mr. Arnold answered, looking restless.

“
Oh yes, Miss Adams, do come in, I must stretch my legs,” he said, turning toward Mrs. Anderson, who had opened her mouth to protest. “Do not worry, my dear, I am not going on a long search, just to spend some time with my friends in the next compartment. I will knock on the wall as soon as I get there, I promise.”

He whispered to me, “She has been most distraught, of course, and has not allowed me out of her sight save for a few minutes, poor thing!”

I thought that a trifle strange and said so in the same low tone.

Mr. Arnold shrugged as we exchanged places. He shut the door as he left.

Mrs. Anderson looked terrible, her face a motley range of colors and her red-rimmed eyes darting everywhere at once. Obviously the sedative had worn off.

“
Mrs. Anderson, I’ve asked for a pot of tea to be delivered here,” I said, taking the seat across from her.

She nodded, eyes still on the door. In her hands was the small pink jacket her daughter had taken off before this whole nightmare had started for the two of them. She was worrying at it, fidgeting with the buttons, running her fingers over the seams.

A knock sounded from the couch behind where I was sitting, signaling that Mr. Arnold had rejoined his friends. Mrs. Anderson seemed to tense at the knock and then, her shoulders dropping, relaxed when she realized what it meant.

“
Mrs. Anderson, I hope you know that the search continues,” I said, trying to impart some comfort but unsure what could possibly make her feel better.

She nodded again, and then started when another knock rang out — this time from her closed door. Opening her drapes, I invited the waiter in. He took his time putting down his wares, probably eager to gather some gossip for the dining car. He finally left, and I poured two cups of tea. Mrs. Anderson held hers closely, content, it seemed, to warm her hands against it rather than actually drink it.

I didn’t know what else to say to the poor woman, so my eyes strayed around the compartment to the square suitcase on the upper luggage shelf. There was one other suitcase on the shelf, but it was neatly lined up with the front bar of the shelf. This one was askew, almost precarious in its positioning. Curious, I stood up and carefully tested its weight.

“
Don’t touch that!” Mrs. Anderson said shrilly.

I jerked my hand back from the luggage in surprise, turning to her with a raised eyebrow.

“It’s Leah’s,” she said in a choked voice.

It wasn’t a big case, perhaps two feet by two feet in size, but even my slight test had revealed a surprising heft to it. I wondered how she had carried it in here. And why it didn’t go into the luggage compartment, like my own heavy valise?

“A porter must have helped you get it in here,” I remarked, sitting back down to my tea. She nodded, hugging the coat and her tea to her chest. That explained the placement of the first suitcase but not the positioning of the second. If the train had caused the luggage to move, would not both of them have moved?

Another knock at the door startled poor Mrs. Anderson to the point that the contents of her teacup slopped all over the small pink coat she had been cradling. As Constable Perkins slid open the door, Mrs. Anderson burst into tears and the poor constable looked very confused, so I did my best to comfort the woman. The stress was obviously unbearable; she was getting worse as time wore on.

Between the two of us, we convinced her to lie down and take a nap. She only agreed when I did as she asked and checked on Mr. Arnold one compartment away. I found the older man deep in conversation with his three mates and returned to give her these assurances. Only then did she slide down in her chair, still clutching the now-wet coat, and close her eyes.

We slid the door closed behind her, and Perkins said in his deep voice, “We are a half hour from the station, Miss Adams, and thirty of my people await us when we get there. We may have failed tae find her, but Leah and her kidnapper still have tae make it past all our officers.”

I nodded, rubbing wearily at my eyes. Something was still bothering me. “Why is Mrs. Anderson so concerned about Mr. Arnold, do you think?”

He seemed surprised. “I hadn’t given it much thought, Miss Adams, why? Does it strike ye as strange? Do you think Mrs. Anderson suspects him?”

I rubbed my eyes again. I didn’t know what to think, or who to trust. “No, that’s not it. Why would she want to keep her assailant close? That makes no sense…” He waited patiently for the reason behind my question, but the truth was, I couldn’t articulate it. It was just an unsettled feeling — which I admitted with a frustrated sigh.

He shook his head. “This is a trying case, and right now, I will admit only tae ye, I cannae see how it turns out well for wee Leah.” He suggested I head back to my compartment for our arrival, and I, having no other ideas, did as I was told.

I slid open the door to my compartment with an angry swing and slammed it shut with equal emotion. I was missing something — I knew I was!

My leather satchel had slipped to the floor again, so I tossed it back up on the shelf and stalked around the enclosed space, flipping through my notebook. The train had started to slow as I read, and the anger drained out of me, replaced by a leaden sense of failure. I stopped pacing, leaned back against the sliding door and, closing my eyes, tried to focus on that inner voice that was trying to tell me something important. The problem was all the other voices that inserted doubts and fought for control of my decisions.

The train jerked slightly and my satchel slid off the luggage shelf again to land at my feet.

My eyes snapped back open.

That was it!

I grabbed the satchel, threw it over my shoulder and went into the hallway, negotiating my way through first class. Stopping at the door right before Mrs. Anderson’s, I knocked and was asked in by the older gentlemen I knew to be within.

“Why, Miss Adams!” remarked Mr. Arnold, extending his hand. “You should sit down, the train is coming to a stop and you could injure yourself!”

I ignored his advice and instead asked, “Sir, when you found Mrs. Anderson unconscious, was her luggage on the floor beside her or up top on the luggage shelf?”

He looked surprised again but answered directly. “Why …  on the floor beside her. I know because I lifted the cursed thing back onto the shelf myself. I at first thought it was that which had hit her!”

“
It was!” I answered excitedly as the station came into view. We both exited the compartment and headed toward Mrs. Anderson’s compartment, outside of which stood Constable Perkins in discussion with various men.

“
Constable Perkins, I hope you have enough men to cover all the exits, because I must ask you for your personal attention immediately,” I announced, trying not to sound bossy.

He took in my excited demeanor and his eyes widened. “I dinnae believe it. You’ve found her?”

“I am close, I think,” I said, hesitating and cursing James Barclay again for my lack of confidence. “But I need your help to close this case.” I turned to his men. “Please make sure to hold all passengers in their compartments until Constable Perkins tells you otherwise.”

They looked to Perkins, who nodded, and then they left in various directions.

I led him and Arnold the rest of the way to Mrs. Anderson’s compartment, where I knocked for the last time, just as the train screeched to a halt.

She was sitting bolt upright, staring out the window, and glanced up when I knocked. A look of worry ran across her bruised features as she nodded for us to enter.

“Mrs. Anderson, I have good news!” I announced, entering, followed closely by the constable and Arnold.

“
Good news?” she repeated, tensing.

“
Yes, I believe we have located Leah!” I said, watching her closely.

“
W-what?” she stammered, turning white as a sheet and pressing her hand against her heart.

“
Aren’t you pleased, Mrs. Anderson?” I asked, directing the constable’s attention to the small suitcase I had earlier examined. “We can take you to her, just let us get your luggage for you…”

Mrs. Anderson rose unsteadily as she said “NO!” but Constable Perkins had already wrestled the heavy case down to the floor with a thud.

I made quick work of the straps while Mrs. Anderson stood shaking, and I opened the case.

“
What the hell?” whistled Perkins as the lid popped open to reveal several large rocks, a pink dress and a blonde wig.

“
Oh, oh no!” whispered Mrs. Anderson, sinking to her knees beside the damning case.

Perkins looked to me for an explanation, so I pointed at Mrs. Anderson’s bruised and bandaged face. “There was no assailant, Constable Perkins,” I said. “Mrs. Anderson pulled this case onto herself to make it look like she was assaulted. It’s why no one heard anything or saw anything. There was nothing to see or hear! There was no assault. There was no kidnapping.”

“But … why?” Perkins said, looking between the case and the sobbing woman as Mr. Arnold stooped to pick up one of the rocks with two hands and stare at it incredulously.

“
Because she is about to divorce her husband,” I said with a rueful shake of my head. “And I expect she feared losing custody of their daughter. Or maybe she just wanted to cause her soon-to-be-ex-husband a measure of pain?”

I asked the last in a harsher tone, not expecting an answer, but I received one, much to my surprise:

“He deserves some pain — the bastard,” she hissed up at me.

I crouched. “Why, Mrs. Anderson? Why go through so much trouble to hide your daughter from your husband?”

She sniffed once, twice. “Alan … he … he beats me,” she whispered. I recoiled, but she continued. “It started when we were first wed, and it’s gotten steadily worse as time went on.”

She sniffed again, looking down. “When I had Leah, I had hoped it would stop — but it didn’t.” Another sniff, a gulp. “It got worse! And then last year, at Christmas … he hit Leah! So hard that she fell down the stairs.”

I glanced up at Constable Perkins, whose face reflected my shock. Mr. Arnold had dropped the rock and now covered his eyes with his hand.

“
That was when I left him,” she snarled, defiantly meeting my eyes.

“
Why are you here then at all, ma’am?” asked Perkins gently, crouching down beside me.

“
Not by choice!” she fairly spat. “His lawyer friends drew up papers that required me to bring Leah, and the police, when I went to them, told me there was naught they could do! That was when I knew I had to do something to protect my daughter from him — permanently!”

I rocked back on my heels, turning toward Perkins with a question in my eyes. He anticipated it and answered, “My background check into Mr. and Mrs. Anderson did reveal numerous unexplained trips to the hospital and at least two occasions when police were called to the residence by concerned neighbors.”

“We live in a townhouse,” she explained, eyes wet. “They could hear my cries. But when the police arrived, every time, and it was far more than twice, my husband convinced them that I had somehow injured myself.”

Perkins shook his head. “He wouldnae have fooled me!”

“Or me!” announced Arnold angrily.

I believed her story, God help me, even after the fiasco with the Barclays. Even with the secrets my guardian kept from me. This woman was not acting, and she felt true fear for her child, that was clear in her story and in the corroborating evidence. But what could be done? Even now the man was probably standing feet away on the platform outside!

Perkins again anticipated my thoughts. “Where is Leah, Mrs. Anderson?”

When she stayed stubbornly silent, I replied for her, “Safe,” said I, snapping the suitcase closed again, “and if we three say nothing, will remain that way.”