The Problem of the Missing Miss (22 page)

“I could'a' kep' quiet,” Kitty said.

“You could have,” Alicia agreed. “It's all right, though. Maybe, if you could lift your hands, I could get these knots out.”

Kitty stretched out, stifling a yelp of pain. Alicia felt the cords give.

“That fat woman thought I couldn't get out, but I will,” she muttered. “Bertram once tied me up at Waltham and left me in the Haunted Tower, but I got out anyway.”

A burning hatred began to grow within her. Her O'Connell ancestors would have recognized the sensation at once: a deep-seated rage against injustice that would not be satisfied until the perpetrators were brought to book and all hurts were avenged.

With one last effort, Alicia managed to free her friend. Kitty dropped to the floor and lay quietly. Alicia began to feel about on the floor.

“Wot's that yer doin'?” Kitty asked.

“When Miss Harmon was fighting with me, I think her back hair came down,” Alicia said. “I thought I heard some hairpins fall out. In the story I read in
The Boy's Own Paper,
Prince Frederick was imprisoned by his evil, usurping uncle in a tower, and he got out by picking the lock of his prison. If I can find a hairpin, I can pick the lock, and get downstairs and find a dress, and then I can get out and get you to a doctor, and …”

“Miss Harmon said you told lies,” Kitty sniffled.

“Miss Harmon tells lies herself,” Alicia maintained stoutly. “She said that nasty old man was Mr. Dodgson, and I don't think my papa would have sent me to a person who smells bad and brings me to this place.” Alicia scratched about under the bed. Her fingers clutched her prize. “Got it!” she crowed. “Now all I have to do is straighten it …”

Kitty resumed her original thought. “Miss 'Armon ain't lyin' about France. There's a French comes 'ere sometimes, an' girls go wiv 'im.”

“But I do not wish to go to France!” Alicia cried out. “I've only just started with Mam'zelle! I don't know any French!”

“Don't matter to 'im,” Kitty said. “Miss, if you could 'elp me, I could get up on the bed.”

Alicia braced herself as Kitty pulled up from the floor. The two girls lurched across the room and fell onto the bed together.

“I have the hairpin, and I'm going to get us out of here—you and me—and then we'll see who tells lies!” Alicia said breathlessly.

She felt her way across the floor and over to the door. She had never picked a lock before, but she had never failed to do exactly what she said she would do. In the dim light from the window, she set about her task. One way or another, she was going to get out of this prison!

It took somewhat longer than she had anticipated.

The story in
The Boy's Own Paper
had made it seem quite simple: One found a long, sharp metal object (say, a hairpin) and inserted it into the lock. Then one turned, juggled, jiggled, and presto—freedom!

In actuality, Alicia discovered, hairpins were not the all-purpose tool they had been advertised. Miss Harmon's hairpin was of the easily bent, narrow sort, perfect for holding up fine-spun hair, not particularly good as a lockpick. Working mostly by touch was frustrating, and starlight was inadequate to the occasion, she decided, as she tried to peer through the keyhole. What she really needed was a lamp … and a proper lockpick … and some supper. Alicia had never before been really cold or hungry. Now she was both, and she did not care for the sensation.

Kitty had managed to fall asleep on the bed. Alicia heard her snuffles and snores. Well, she thought, I shall have to rescue both of us. Papa always said the lower orders needed guidance; here was the proof. Kitty had put herself in Alicia's hands and it was up to Alicia to take care of her.

Alicia applied herself once again to her task. With or without light, cold or warm, hungry or fed, Alicia Marbury was not going to remain in any room where she did not wish to be!

There was a sudden
click
and the doorknob moved under her hand. The door opened, revealing the narrow stairs that led to yet another closed door. Alicia cast a glance at the sleeping Kitty, then thought hard.

Kitty had alerted the police. That meant they were looking for her. So far, so good, but she could not go running about the streets of a strange place in her drawers and camisole. Nor could she get help for Kitty if she was taken up as a lunatic (the lunatic in the story in
The Boy's Own Paper
ran about in her shift) and clapped into the Asylum (another favorite prison in her favorite clandestine publication). Clearly, the most important thing she could do right now was to get decent clothing, so that she could remove herself and Kitty from this place as soon as there was light enough to see by. Then, properly dressed and identified, she could wreak her vengeance on those who had imprisoned her. It sounded like a good plan, and Alicia crept down the stairs to attack the secret door and put it into action.

On the other side of the door, business was brisk at Miss Harmon's. Several eminent and respectable gentlemen had presented themselves, given Miss Harmon their bona fides, and been allowed to escort the young ladies upstairs. The Madam pocketed the bills and coins discreetly, while Miss Harmon dispensed tea and biscuits in the parlor. The atmosphere was almost homelike; none of the vulgarity of Church Street here. None of these girls could possibly be harboring a vile disease, or hiding a blackmailing pimp in a cupboard. Any of the gentlemen who had ideas of disturbing the tranquility of the atmosphere were quickly deterred by Madge Gurney, who was as muscular as any male bouncer, and twice as terrifying. Miss Harmon's was safe, clean, and reasonably priced. What more could a seeker of very green fruit wish?

By the time Alicia had mastered the lock of the secret panel, it was nearly midnight. Every one of the bedrooms was occupied, and there were several gentlemen down in the parlor who had either completed their mission or were waiting their turn.

Alicia saw a tall girl leave one bedroom, just as a plump, fair one went into another with a stout man in evening clothes. The empty bedroom seemed to be the obvious place to begin her search for clothing, even though the dark girl was a good two inches taller than she. At least she could find something to cover Kitty with in the bedroom.

With that, Alicia eased out of the secret door and tiptoed into the hall. Before she could reach the empty bedroom, she heard footsteps. Someone coming! She grabbed for the nearest door, opened it, and stared, appalled.

She saw a bed, and on the bed lay the blond girl, with a fat man on top of her, his huge buttocks moving up and down, while he grunted and panted and wheezed. The blond girl's eyes were closed; her face looked blank, as if she were imagining something quite far away from what was happening to her.

Alicia could not even scream. She gazed at the sight, horrified yet fascinated. The blond girl's eyes opened and caught hers. “Go away,” the blond girl mouthed. The man didn't seem to know anything. His attention was entirely on what he was doing to the girl.

He let out a high-pitched squeal. Alicia echoed it.

The man was jolted out of his self-induced trance. He heaved himself off the blond girl, so that Alicia could view his entire frontal display: red face, white shirtfront, bulging bare belly, and something damp dangling below. She backed out of the doorway, looking for a means of escape. Back down the hall, to the attic? Unthinkable! There were the stairs—she forgot her clothing, or lack of it. In a mad panic, she darted down the stair, still shrieking with horror at what she had just seen.

The cozy mood of Miss Harmon's parlor was shattered by her entrance. The waiting gentlemen were startled out of their wits by this howling creature with red hair flying in all directions, scampering about in her drawers and camisole. Miss Harmon nearly dropped a teacup. The doors upstairs opened as Gertie, Lizzie, and Susanne and their partners for the moment emerged to see what was going on. In the parlor, Helen and Deb started to giggle nervously as the gentlemen rose and sought the door.

Alicia was totally unaware of the disturbance she was causing. She grabbed the closest girl, who happened to be Victoria, and yelled, “There's a man upstairs—”

“I know,” Vicky said, trying to evade Alicia's thrashing arms.

“He made noises!”

“It's all right, that's the way they do.” Victoria had no idea who this creature was, but she was adept at soothing the new girls into accepting the nasty things that went with the fine clothes and good food at Miss Harmon's.

“But …” Alicia screamed again. Mrs. Gurney appeared in the doorway of the parlor.

“Wot?
How
…?” She took in the sight of Alicia on the loose and Miss Harmon petrified and made the decision: “Get 'er!”

Helen whooped happily and gave chase, with Deb right behind her. Lizzie dodged around Madam, getting tangled up in the large woman's larger bustle, while two gentlemen edged around them to get out of what had become a madhouse.

Alicia darted around the room, looking for a way out, clambering over chairs and sofa, upsetting the tea tray in her flight. Helen hopped after her. Gertie took in the scene, then launched herself after the runaway who had interrupted her best customer. Alicia evaded both of them by careening off the small table that held the prize aspidistra in the front window. The plant crashed to the floor, sending potting soil in all directions over the Oriental carpet. Two gentlemen who had just arrived suddenly decided to find their amusement elsewhere and departed before anyone could convince them otherwise.

By this time, Vicky and Miss Harmon had recovered their senses. Vicky joined Madam at the door to the parlor, while Miss Harmon followed the last of the gentlemen to the front door, murmuring something about a minor disturbance, and how this did not happen often. She returned to the fray, her face set in grim lines of utter rage and bafflement.

Alicia spied an opening and headed for the parlor door. The other girls were on top of her like a pack of hyenas, clawing and scratching. Madam Gurney's massive form blocked the doorway. Alicia found herself engulfed in black silk and red flannel.

The Madam shook the other girls off Alicia and held her by one arm, while Miss Harmon shut the door behind the last of the night's customers. King Street was now empty, except for two constables trying to look inconspicuous.

The word would get out. There would be no more business tonight. She turned back to Alicia.

“Upstairs,” Miss Harmon gasped. The Madam grimly hauled Alicia back up the stairs, through the hall, up the secret stair and into the attic room. This time she tied her firmly to the bedpost, and shook Kitty awake.

“Downstairs, you!” Madam snarled. “Your mate just destroyed the parlor. There's work for yer to do, and it's 'er fault!” Kitty was dragged off to clean the parlor, leaving Alicia breathless, alone, and more frightened than she had ever been in her short life.

The parlor was in a shambles. Teacups had been overturned and smashed, and shards of china littered the figured carpet, mingling with the dregs of the tealeaves and remains of biscuits. The chairs and ottoman had been overturned in the chase. The aspidistra lay in the ruins of its pot. The girls were hysterical, alternating between curiosity at the new arrival and panic at her wild appearance.

Miss Harmon shouted, “Quiet!”

The hubbub died down.

“That was … a new girl,” she said, trying to maintain her usual icy calm. Her voice betrayed her, several tones higher than her familiar alto purr. “She is not used to our ways, yet.”

“She will be,” Helen giggled.

“They're all gone,” Mrs. Gurney reported. “And there's coppers outside, taking down names.”

Miss Harmon smoothed her hair with a trembling hand. “I shall speak to the constables,” she said. “Girls, you may retire. Madge, put out the lights. We are not open for any more business.”

“After that ruckus, we'll be lucky to be open at all,” the Madam grumbled. A knock at the door proved her wrong.

Madam opened it, reluctantly prepared to deny entry. On the steps were Inspectors Wright and MacRae. “What do you want?” Madam asked truculently.

“We received a complaint,” Inspector Wright said smoothly. “There was some sort of disturbance.” He tried to edge his way in.

Madam blocked their way. Miss Harmon behind her said, “One of my young guests had a nightmare, no more. I shall see to it that she does not eat Welsh Rarebit before retiring. Is there anything else, Inspector?”

“I suppose not. Good night, Miss Harmon.” The two policemen moved away. Madam slammed the door shut behind them.

The girls straggled up to their bedrooms, still excited by their adventure. Miss Harmon stood in the ruins of her parlor, breathing deeply, struggling visibly to maintain her composure.

Madge came back into the parlor and surveyed the damage. “Give her back,” she stated. “This whole venture was a mistake, from the minute the Guv'nor came up with it. Give 'er back, and no questions asked.”

Miss Harmon's eyes narrowed to slits. “No,” she said.

The Madam shook her head sorrowfully. “Mrs. J. won't like losing the business.”

“It's not a matter of business now,” Miss Harmon said. “I've gone too far to stop.”

“It's not 'er pa, is it?” Madge asked shrewdly. ‘Cause if it is, I say, that girl's more trouble than she's worth. Send 'er back to 'er pa—and good riddance!”

“Never!” Miss Harmon declared. “Monsieur LeBrun comes on Monday, and she goes with him.”

With that, she stalked out, leaving Madam Gurney to turn down the gaslights and shake her head at the perversity of the modern generation.

CHAPTER 21

Sunday dawned, with its grim reminder that the pleasantest of British weekends was liable to be dampened. The evening mist of Saturday had settled into a deadly gray drizzle that shrouded Brighton's fanciful architecture in wisps of fog and discouraged all but the hardiest from venturing out onto the Esplanade.