Vanishing Girl

us the next day. He said that he felt saddened by the child’s plight, but that if he interceded on his behalf, he would have to do the same for every such boy in London.”

“That’s ridiculous,” says Sherlock loudly. He lowers his voice. “How many London children need that kind of special help?”

“The lord also offered a few opinions. He said that God has a plan for us all, and only helps those who help themselves.”

“I hope God has a plan for Lord Rathbone … at the end of his boot.”

Irene takes Sherlock’s hand and he doesn’t pull back.

“But that wasn’t the end of our visit to Belgravia.”

“Our?”

“I accompanied father. Victoria was there. She had visitors, a few friends our age. She seemed anxious to appear fashionably interested in her inferiors, especially someone connected to my father and the work he does – she has her father’s political instincts. So we girls talked. Then … she showed me her home.”

“She what?”

“She showed –”

“How much of it?”

“Everything.”

“Everything? You have seen every last room in the Rathbone mansion … the one that was just robbed?”

“Correct.”

“Tell me. Don’t leave anything out.”

As Sherlock listens to her detailed account of the kitchens, the drawing room, the dining rooms, the observatory, the ballroom, the servants’ quarters on the upper storeys, and even the bedrooms – their exact locations, points of entry, and their size – he clearly remembers what he so admires about this girl. Yes, she is attractive in her own way, with that shining blonde hair and those big brown eyes … but her brain, oh what a brain. Were she a boy, what a detective she would make!

Finally, her account draws to a close.

“Thank –”

“I am not finished, Sherlock. You should know about the servants, too.” And off she goes again, describing all nineteen of them, from scullery maid to butler: how they are dressed, their ages, and their appearance. One in particular stands out for the boy: a young dark-haired footman, tall and very thin, only employed there on busy days.

“And what of Lady Rathbone?” asks Sherlock.

“She spoke to us when we arrived. I noticed the resemblance to Father immediately. Folks always say to me that I shall want to marry a handsome man because my father is good looking. That is true, by the way – I will. But I must say that Lady Rathbone received a remarkable amount of the family comeliness indeed. She really is breathtakingly beautiful and so much younger than her husband. Her eyes are still a little cloudy, but striking nevertheless. We didn’t see her for long. She barely said hello. Father says her snobbery has to do with her upbringing. She feels the need to play at being the upper-class lady in every way. She married above her station, you know, beauty for money and position.”

“Always convenient.”

“There are rumors though.”

“Rumors? About what?”

“Father said she was rather wild when she was young. Not a crime, in my mind. It is said she loved a man, a dashing sort, but a drinker and not of her social standing. She was from country squire people and he was barely middle class. It is said she had more lovers than just him, and he had more than her. But they accepted that in each other. Then Rathbone saw her at a ball and was smitten. He had to have her and had the means to get her. She went without complaint, and he had her vision healed, of course.”

“So the rumors are just about her past?”

“No. It’s more than that. These days, she still disappears from time to time. She was gone once, about five years ago, for six months or more. On a vacation, it was said. But I’m not sure Lord Rathbone cares, as long as she returns. She lives her life … and he lives his.”

“And what about the lord? What sort of chap did he appear to be?”

“Exactly as he seems in public, as far as I can tell. He is big and brash, without a tender bone in him.”

“And Victoria?”

“She had just returned from school in India. In fact, she had been abroad for several years and hadn’t been home for more than a few days. She said her parents told her that they felt she’d changed so much that they barely recognized her. She laughed at that, said her parents hardly ever saw her all the years she lived with them from birth in London anyway, that she was raised to be ‘seen and not heard, and barely even seen,’ that her mother, often away, was ‘still half blind,’ and her father hadn’t spoken to her from closer than the far end of their ‘mile-long dining room table’ more than five times in her whole life. But she said that had its advantages…. That was when I played a card.”

“You what?”

“Well … the advantages she spoke of had to do with her father giving her anything she wanted whenever she wanted, whether she asked him from India or sent a servant down the hall. That was his way of loving her, if it can be called that. A stable of horses? A dozen new dresses? Such things have always been hers for the asking. My father had just come out from seeing her father when she was telling me this, and he looked terrible. I knew what had happened. So, I played my card … I told her about little Paul and about what we were asking Lord Rathbone to do for him. And she, trying to impress me and my father, did what I hoped she would do.”

“Which was?”

“She said she would speak to Lord Rathbone for me. And she said not to worry about it for another minute: all she had to do was ask and he would comply. He had never refused her before, didn’t dare. She said she would say she wanted it as a present. When we were going out, just to be sure, I asked a stable boy in the drive about Victoria and her father. He grinned and said: ‘Whatever Miss Rathbone wants, our Lord provides.’”

“So, why didn’t she do it?”

“Because the moment we left their home, she went to her room to dress, to take her carriage to Rotten Row. And within an hour –”

“She was kidnapped.“

As Irene lowers her head, Holmes thinks he should hug her. But he can’t. He needs to say something that shows he cares. “How is Paul?”

“He is getting worse.” Her voice cracks. “He is so small and helpless. He is going to die just like my – When I visit him and hold his hand, it is limp. You know, he had a full and proper name when he came to the workhouse, but the other boys took to sneering at him, calling him Dimly. And as if to spite them, spite them all, he will only respond to that name. Call him Paul Dimly, and he will look at you with those swollen, fading eyes. Anything else and he just stares down.”

Irene looks like she is about to sob. Sherlock doesn’t know what to do again. Putting his arms around her would indeed be best. But he can’t. Better to seek a solution.

“Victoria Rathbone has been home for three weeks now, Irene. Why isn’t she responding to you?”

“I don’t know. She just won’t see me. Her father won’t see my father, either. Sherlock, they tell me Paul can barely find his gruel bowl when he eats now. Mr. Barnardo thinks his sight won’t be recoverable soon … he thinks he has about two weeks.”

Two weeks left.

“Help us help the Rathbones, Sherlock. Help me. Time is running out. If the thieves are found, everything will go back to normal. Lord Rathbone will see Father and Victoria will speak up for us.”

She leans closer to the boy.

“If you could actually solve this, Sherlock … and let it be known that we were supporting you, the Rathbones would be truly indebted to us … and my father would be the same to you.”

“I will try,” he says tenderly.

She beams at him. “What if we did this together?”

I thought as much.