The Private Diary of Elizabeth Quatermain, vol. IV: Only in America
by Lady Norbert
A/N: Another chapter dedication, as promised. This one's for Siobhan, a.k.a. Stargazer, with thanks for all the pretty pictures.
8 April 1900
We have accomplished something extraordinary this morning - the lost pieces of silver have been recovered!
Following breakfast, as planned, we boarded hansom cabs and went to the White House. We took the tour again, but it yielded nothing. Mina, Henry and Nemo decided to take it a second time, just to be sure. Tom and I, having grown fairly sick of the interior of the place, decided to remain outside. There are street vendors all over the city, including many in the neighbourhood where the White House is located, and we amused ourselves by browsing their wares.
I had little heart for any sort of amusement, in truth. My mind kept wandering to that dark jail cell I visited only yesterday, and to its solitary occupant. So I was only half paying attention as I made to cross the street.
Abruptly, Tom snatched me back onto the walk, out of the path of an oncoming wagon. I had not even seen it. "Eyes open, girl," he said, releasing my arm. "I can't protect you all the time."
"That sounds like something my father would say." In spite of myself, I had to smile.
"It was something he said to me once," he replied. It was both kind and sensible of Tom to call my father to mind in this manner, and I resolved to behave more like a Quatermain.
We crossed the street together then, and separated; he went one way down the row of vendors, I went the other. As I passed his cart, one of the vendors, who spoke rather poor English, addressed me. "Pretty lady buy something?"
Distracted, I examined the items on his push cart. Flatware, mostly; odd pieces from assorted sets. I almost turned away when something caught my eye - the sun suddenly glinted on something gold, half-buried among the offerings.
"Tom!"
He came running at my call, and I held up the gold spoon. I was trembling all over with shock and hope.
"Where did you get this?" he asked the man. "Are there more?"
"Don't frighten him," I said softly. "He doesn't speak English very well. I don't think he understands that there's anything wrong."
The police were summoned, and after an hour or more, they found someone who could converse with the street vendor in his native German. Yes, he had four such spoons. No, he bought them from another man just the day before.
"It can't have been Skinner," I fairly crowed. "There's no way he could have gotten out here to sell the spoons and back into the White House in the short time he was gone!"
The officer nearest me was a bit more sceptical. "An accomplice, perhaps?"
"What accomplice? He doesn't know anyone in the city except us," said Tom. "He's never set foot in this country before."
The street vendor, according to his very puzzled testimony, had acquired the gilt spoons from another vendor, an acquaintance of his brother's, on the far side of the city. "I wondered about that," said Tom in a low voice. "Be pretty stupid of the thief to sell them to someone so close to the White House."
Tom has gone with the police to track down the other vendor; the rest of us have returned here to the Nautilus. If all goes well, we may have Skinner back with us as early as tomorrow.
9 April 1900
The second vendor spoke no better English than the first, but thanks to the interpreter, it wasn't too difficult to speak to him. According to Tom, he had bought the spoons from a young man with light brown hair. He was unaware of their cultural significance, having only been in the country for a few months, and seemed genuinely surprised (and frankly terrified) when he learned that they were stolen property. Apparently, the seller had claimed they were his own grandmother's.
From what Tom reported at dinner, neither of the vendors will be charged as accessories. But even the eyewitness description has not bought Skinner's freedom, for the police still maintain that the man with light brown hair could have been his accomplice. I suppose it is well that no one in the League matches that description.
He wishes to give the White House yet another attempt today. As I have no better ideas, I will go with him. But I am beginning to despair of ever solving this mystery.
later
I scarcely dare to believe it's true. But it is, heaven be praised. We have caught the real thief.
Tom and I went through the White House tour once again, and once again, it was a complete waste of time. We lingered in the entrance hallway afterward; I could see he was tracing Vs on his cheek again, so I endeavoured to be quiet to allow him to think.
Just at that moment, our former tour guide happened to come into the hall. "Oh, are you back again?" he asked, striding over and smiling genially. "I'm starting to take your visits personally, miss." He winked roguishly.
"Are you quite certain, sir, that you can't recall anything unusual from the day of the burglary?" I asked him, ignoring the wink.
His smile dimmed somewhat. "Still searching for clues? Sorry I can't be more helpful. Like I said, your friend was the strangest thing I saw that day."
Tom glanced at Richard thoughtfully, then caught my eye. His finger was still on his cheek, and he moved it to his lips, gesturing for my silence. "It's a shame about the lost silver," he said casually. "They say it might never be recovered."
"Yes, so I heard," said Richard, nodding.
"And they're talking about sending our friend to the state prison. All this fuss, and over what? A couple of forks?"
"Spoons."
"Oh, that's right, spoons," Tom said, nodding. "And it's not like there were so many missing, either. Three, wasn't it?"
"Four, as I understand it."
"And I'd like to know just how you understand that," Tom went on, calm as you please, "since only Harry James, the security guards, and the actual thief knew what was taken."
Richard turned white. Then he flushed to the roots of his light brown hair.
Much as I wanted to go, Tom would not allow me to accompany him when he went with the officers who arrested Richard. Instead, he sent me back to the Nautilus to alert the others to everything that happened. I was too proud of his cleverness, and too relieved that it would all soon be over, to put up much of a fight.
The others were also relieved to learn of Richard's guilt, and Skinner's confirmed innocence. Nemo gave orders for a celebratory dinner, and I slipped off to his room to make sure that all was orderly for his return. After that, I came back to my own room to update this diary. I do not know how long a wait we have until they come, so I must find a way to occupy my restless mind until then.
10 April 1900
Well, he seems none the worse for wear.
The rest of us were in the main chamber, taking our tea, when Tom and Rodney came back. Tom wore an expression of mild triumph, which I felt he more than deserved.
Skinner walked into the room with his arms spread and announced, quite cheerily, "I'm back! Did you miss me?"
We all rose to greet him. Everyone was smiling, and I knew the others felt a little guilty for ever doubting him. Nemo and Henry shook hands with him cordially, welcoming him home. Mina too offered her hand, I presume to shake his, but he caught it and drew it to his lips mockingly. "Ah, Mina, you have missed me, haven't you?"
"There are no words to describe the suffering," she replied dryly, disengaging her hand. He laughed, then turned to me, and I offered my hand as well. To be honest, I wasn't entirely certain what he would do with it.
He neither shook the hand nor kissed it, but merely held it for a long moment. "Kept yourself out of trouble, Bess?"
"Of course."
"Ah, it's good to be home," he said, looking around hungrily. "I did miss this place. I even missed you lot."
We sat down, and in between mouthfuls of tea and buttered scone, Skinner and Tom told us everything that had happened after Richard's arrest. Caught by his own knowledge, and identified at once by the man to whom he'd sold the spoons, the thief had confessed the crime. Skinner was released with a full pardon and an apology.
"Not only that," said Tom, looking enormously pleased, "but we met with President McKinley himself. Only for a few minutes, of course, but he thanked us for catching the rogue. Apparently there have been a couple of petty thefts in the last few months that he might have been responsible for, but this was the first big thing he did."
"What made him frame you, though, Skinner?" asked Henry.
"Happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time," he replied. "Apparently, I look odd enough that I stuck out in his notice. He nabbed the handkerchief when it fell out of my pocket - shouldn't have had it in my coat, I guess - and planted it after we went out into the hallway. When I left you all for a few minutes after the tour, it only helped his scheme."
He wouldn't tell us much about his time in jail, except that he was beginning to go stir-crazy after a time. "Those books you brought did help," he told me. "I hope you're happy, I sat there and read A Tale of Two Cities all the way through. Hope I come to a better end than that Carton chap."
After the separation of the last few days, I confess I was rather unwilling to let him out of my sight very much; the others seemed equally inclined to have him nearby. So we remained in the stateroom until well past dinner time, playing parlour games and talking of nothing important.
Today it has rained again, so we have remained aboard the ship. I admit I do not know where he has been most of the afternoon, but it feels like life has returned to what we consider normal. I have my Skinner back again.
11 April 1900
It being Sunday, I awoke and prepared for service. I retired earlier than usual last night, saying I wished to attend the early service at St. Mark's church on Third Street. We had made tentative plans to resume sightseeing in the afternoon, but the morning was quite free, and I thought the early service would be nice in that it tends to be shorter than the later services.
I was a bit taken aback when I left my room and found Skinner waiting in the hallway, dressed in a suit. "I think the others are still asleep," he said quietly. "I know you hate to go to church alone, thought I'd go along." This is quite true, and I was pleased that he remembered.
We took a cab to church, but by the time we exited, the day was growing quite warm and pleasant, so we decided to walk back along the river. It was a beautiful morning, and everything around us sparkled with that newness only spring can give.
"I don't like being on the ship too much," he confessed as we walked. "I think I was caged too long. Start getting antsy if I can't go outside. You know what I really missed? The sky."
It was a little unusual for him to be so candid about such matters, but I thought perhaps he needed to talk. He'd had precious little chance to speak to anyone for the past few days. So I let him continue in this vein for a few minutes, until he fell silent again.
We paused on the riverbank to watch a family of geese swimming past. The formation was charming; the father goose was in the front, then the four children following in a row, with the mother goose bringing up the rear. There were cherry trees along the river, the branches covered in sweet-smelling blossoms. We seated ourselves on a bench beneath one of these, and for perhaps twenty minutes or more we remained quiet. But this was the easy, comfortable calmness which is usual for us, not the stiff, awkward silence of when I visited him in jail.
The wind picked up, suddenly, and a shower of cherry blossoms rained down on us. I laughed, sweeping them from my lap; one had fallen in perfect condition, and I reached over to tuck the stem into his topmost button-hole.
"Trying to make a dandy out of me?" he asked.
"Would I do that?"
"You couldn't if you wanted to."
"Which I don't."
"Oh, all right then." I really had missed bantering with him.
We resumed our silence, watching the geese. After a while, he said, "Don't think I thanked you for coming to see me."
"I was worried about you."
"I thought I'd go mad in there, honestly."
We sat for another minute or two, then he stood. "Best be getting back, I expect. They'll be wondering where we are, probably accuse us of eloping." He grinned. "Want to?"
I dropped my parasol. "What?"
"Nothing, Bessie. Only teasing." I laughed, though I felt a strange twitching in my heart. He picked up the parasol and handed it to me, then helped me to my feet.
As we walked back toward the Nautilus, I took his arm. "I'm glad you're back."
"So am I, love. So am I."