The frustration of her life built up inside her while she hopelessly tried to make her fingers move into the correct position to hit the notes as she slowly worked with the violin.
“Dammit!” she shouted preparing to throw the violin towards the door when she spied Sigmund leaning against the frame watching her. Her face turned crimson as soon as she realized someone witnessed her outburst, “I must apologize, Sigmund, I can’t understand why I can’t learn to play the violin like Sherlock Holmes.”
“Could it be possible that he is a fictional character, and Sherlock Holmes never did anything that Arthur Conan Doyle didn’t write for him to do. We are not characters in a book our actions tend to take a good deal longer than they do in novels. Are you sure nothing else is bothering you?”
“Everything is bothering me. We have run around like chickens with their heads lopped off, no closer to finding Missy or her family, than on Friday. Three days went by, and we found nothing. I feel I understand even less about my mother and father now than when we started even though it seems everybody we meet knew them. I always thought the world was so perfect and all I see is pain and sorrow whenever we leave the estate. Right now, I want to cry until I can’t cry any longer, but I don’t know what to cry for or who to cry for. I want to do something like Missy did to help people, but I have no idea what!”
“May I suggest the first step would be to arrange a building for the Chinese Girl’s School? You promised to find a building for them.”
“Yes, Sigmund of course. I’ve been so wrapped up in everything I forgot about that. Could you please find a suitable building that can be secured for the Chinese Girl’s School?”
“Of course, I will see to it, Mistress.”
She thought a moment about her epiphany of other people cleaning up her messes and here she found herself asking Sigmund to fix her problems, to clean up her mess. At her realization that she had fallen into old bad habits, she let out a primal scream, causing Sigmund to jump and Lane to come rushing down the hall.
“Is something wrong?” Lane asked sticking his head into the room.
Sigmund shook his head slowly, “No, I believe it is merely a realization that life is complicated, am I correct Mistress?”
“Before you walked in I realized that I do nothing for myself, I’m lazy and spoiled and I need to change that. Yet before I even leave the room, I am asking you to fix another one of my problems, am I ever going to take control over my life?”
“Mistress, do you know the most important thing your grandfather ever taught me?” Sigmund asked. Lane losing interest headed back down the hall to search for food.
Helena shook her head no, dropping on the sofa her violin and bow still in her hand.
“He told me for someone to be successful they must work at least a hundred hours a day.”
“That’s impossible, there are only twenty-four hours in a day, everyone knows that.”
“This is why successful people hire others to work for them, it’s how capitalism works. You have people that work for you to do things that multiply your time. What you need to do is to learn how to effectively use the resources at your disposal.”
Helena sat there mutely listening to what Sigmund had to say.
“Do you know how to find a building? Or to rent a building?”
She shook her head no.
“Neither do I. We could sit down, we’re both smart enough to learn how to do it. It would probably take us a week maybe a fortnight, but we could learn it. Then we could go out and do it for ourselves. Does that sound very efficient?”
She shook her head no.
“Neither do I, so we hire someone that already has the knowledge to do that work for us. They can spend the hours while you and I focus on something else.”
“Thank you, Sigmund, that makes sense. I will try to think of that next time I lose my temper. That doesn’t help you find something, we’ve no clue where to find Missy. I think she’s alive. I think she’s being held near water in a dark, pitch-black cell. That could be anywhere on the docks, it could be anywhere on the coast of California.”
“True. What can we do about it?”
“I think Mister Holmes would use a seven percent solution to help sharpen his mind to find what he is missing.”
“Mistress that is a story, in my experience people who use narcotics rarely improve their life. May I make another suggestion, that doesn’t involve you, needles, and cocaine?”
Miss Helena rolled her eyes Sigmund simply didn’t understand her, “Of course, what is your suggestion?”
Sigmund reached into his right vest pocket and pulled out the strangest looking gold rod with a red tassel. “Follow me if you please.”
Intrigued, Helena pushed herself off the couch and followed closely behind Sigmund as he walked up the stairs to the landing to stop in front of Helena’s parent’s picture.
An inpatient Helena asked, “Yes?”
Sigmund took the golden stick, glanced around to ensure they were unobserved, then reached about eye-level on the right-hand side of the gilded frame inserting it into a cleverly disguised slot. Once the key found home, Helena discerned a distinct click, followed by a louder clunk as the
