Chapter Three: Meeting the Players
I had no idea how the rascal had talked me into it.
My stomach was gnawing at my insides, for Watson and I had decided to skip breakfast. Finding and taming the Irregulars had taken most of the time that I had hoped to spend eating. Most of the scamps had been delighted to scamper off into the alleyways to search for anything of usefulness, but there was one that refused to leave my side.
"Oh, come off it, old man," Ronald protested as I locked the door to the flat behind me. He was standing beside Watson, who was trying his best not to box the child about his ears. "I could help you out better'n this old lummox!" He pointed his thumb violently at Watson. My compatriot's ears were red with blush. I stuck the key into my pocket, and glared pointedly at Ronald.
"Little man," I began, "this 'lummox' has saved my life before, and I am not about to trade him in for a street urchin with whom I have a pact sealed with food."
"I agreed to help you out if I get food, and I mean to carry it out!" Ronald stamped his foot as if to get the point across more forcefully. I raised a singular eyebrow. "I know more about the city than you two dunderheads put together!"
"See here!" Watson had finally had his patience snapped, and he turned Ronald around to face him. "Call me anything you like, you dirty scoundrel, but I'll hear nothing out of those filthy lips to degrade Holmes, do you hear me?" I placed a hand on Watson's shoulder to pacify him.
"You and I both know that he is right, Watson. Even if we had lived on Baker Street all our lives, we would never know more about the back ways and hidden passages as our young friend does." Watson gave me a pleading look, but I stared him down resolutely. "At the moment, we must be off to Hyde Park, where our Ms. Hannah Brooke will have rounded up all of her friends that belong to the troupe." I gazed down my nose at the child who had his arms crossed defiantly. "And you, my small friend, will not interfere."
"Holmes," he started, but I held up a finger.
"While in my employ, you will call me Mr. Holmes."
"Mr. Holmes," he said thickly, "I know more'n what you give me credit for. I swear I won't 'interfere' with anythin' you two decide to do. Just let me tag along."
'Jack,' Sherlock muttered near my ear, 'through experience, I have come to learn that taking along a companion can be utterly cumbersome or of the greatest magnitude. I have a feeling that including the child may belong to the latter classification.' I stared long at Ronald's great, wide brown eyes and his smudged round face. Shrugging off something that was vaguely familiar about the face, I rolled my eyes and patted the urchin on his grimy shoulder.
"Promise me that you will stay out of my way, and that of Mr. Watson, young Ronald."
"S'long as you stop callin' me Ronald." He gave me an apprehensive sideways glance. "Only my mum ever called me that. Just Ron'll do." I looked up to see the look of loathing on dear Watson's face, and a smile pulled itself across mine.
"Fine, Ron. You will accompany Mr. Watson and myself to Hyde Park, where I will interrogate the members of Hannah Brooke's traveling thespian troupe." The park was a fair ways off, but the walk was invigorating, if the breeze wasn't a bit too icy for its own good. Watson and I hardly exchanged a word on our way there, and I had a feeling that it was because I had chosen to let Ron accompany us. But the boy kept true to his promise: he made nary a sound save for the slapping of his bare feet on the ground behind us. Finally, I turned to Watson, who was focusing on his feet.
"Have you made any assumptions on the case yet, my dear Watson?" He looked up sharply, then away again.
"I think it's too soon to make assumptions, Holmes. We don't know nearly enough about any of the players to know about a motive or even if a crime was committed."
"On the contrary," I told him with a smirk, "Ms. Brooke has given us a multitude of information in her small speech. And of course there has been a crime committed, Watson. Kidnapping most foul." Watson looked up at me, mouth slightly agape.
"Now, Holmes, don't you think that's going a bit far? Kidnapping? What made you draw to that conclusion?"
"I thought that it was painfully obvious. A man, so lovingly immersed in his work and his friends, suddenly disappears right before his chance to put his name into the world of theatre. It reeks of foul play, Watson. I am simply gathering all of these so-called thespians together to see which of them holds the key to my always elusive motive."
"Perhaps jealousy over Ms. Brooke?" Watson surmised, bringing his stubby pencil to his lips in thought, as he was prone to do. "Or the role of Hamlet?"
"One, or even both," I said, looking to where the park entrance was gaping to welcome us. "I intend to find Mr. McGuiness, be he alive and well or meeting his maker." On that ominous note, we entered the park.
It was immediately apparent where the action had taken place the previous night. The area of the clearing was still littered with the garbage of at least one hundred or so audience members. From what I could see, they had either to stand or sit on the grass, for there were no apparent benches on which to sit. Then, standing all in a straight line, were the players. They ranged from young to old, tall to short, thin to wide. All assortments stood before me, all in an arrangement of clothing. The first ones to catch my eye were a group of four little brunettes, all standing closely together and silently weeping. If my assumptions were correct, then those four had the same dark brown hair of Mr. McGuiness.
"Oh, Mr. Holmes!" Ms. Brooke was amongst us, and grabbed my hand in a frighteningly strong grip. I smiled through my teeth, wondering why everyone had to grab my hand so forcefully every time we met. "I found everyone except dear old Bertha Shaw and her son Robbie. I'm so sorry Mr. Holmes-"
"Quite all right, Ms. Brooke," I said, patting her hand. "Already you have exceeded my expectations. Would you be so kind as to walk with me and introduce all of your friends to Mr. Watson and myself?" Ms. Brooke nodded, her lips clenched tightly. Her great blue eyes moved across my face, then to the form of Watson, then down to the minute body of Ron. He smiled, removed his tatty hat from his mess of black hair and did a slight bow.
"And who is this fine, upstanding gentleman?" Ms. Brooke asked, giving her hand to the miniature urchin. Ron took the proffered hand and pecked his lips against it.
"M' name's Ron, Ms. Brooke. I'm Mr. Holmes'... er... Assistant." I could see his eyes flick to mine for a nod or anything of the sort. I was unmoved.
"Young Ron is accompanying me, and has given his word not to interfere with either myself, Mr. Watson, or any of your troupe." I gave Ron a look that told him of the seriousness of this statement he had given. "Now, Ms. Brooke," I said as I moved toward the line of people, "would you please introduce me to your troupe-mates." There was a long line of minor roles, and I tried to keep all of the names separate in my head. There were a few that were distinctive, including Marjorie Binns, a mother figure amongst the troupe, and Gerald Heyman, Mr. McGuiness' closest friend who had taken the case to Scotland Yard. But it was the four children with whom I was most eager to speak. Children are young and careless, their minds virgin to the corruption of the world, therefore a prime vessel of knowledge. Especially the youngest ones.
"These four," Ms. Brooke said with the slightest catch in her throat, "are David's sisters. Alice is the youngest at six, then Anna at nine, Sara at 14 and finally the eldest, Joan, who is just 16. They were the closest to David, closer than I have ever been to him." I looked the four of them over, taking all of them in. Alice, who was dressed in a man's suit that was at least three sizes too large for her, was trembling slightly as she stared up at me. She clung to her eldest sister Joan for support. Joan's eyes were lidded and untrusting at first glance. Sara, whose dark brown hair was in a tight braid, had young Anna in her lap, staring as we approached. I glanced behind me. Watson's fingers were clenched tightly around his notebook, and his knuckles were a pale white.
"I see," I said as my eyes washed over all four of them again. I knelt down next to Alice, the smallest. "No need to fear, little one. I promise that I will try my hardest to find your big brother." Alice's doe-colored eyes blinked rapidly, and I could see Joan's hands grip her sister more tightly.
"She hasn't spoken since David went missing," Joan said with an edge in her voice. I looked up at her from my kneeling position. Her eyes were bent in anger. I rose, staring at her through level eyes.
"Have I offended you somehow, Ms. McGuiness?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Her eyebrows tilted down at an even more furious angle.
"I have no reason to like you, Mr. Holmes."
"Not even the fact that I am going out of my way to find your brother?"
"Joan!" A hissing voice came to my right, and I could see Sara glaring at her older sister. "You don't have to alienate everyone that tries to help us!" Joan whirled on her sister, eyes ablaze.
"How much of a chance do you think this boy has of finding him? We're his sisters! We should be out looking for him, not sitting on our asses like a pack of sick dogs!" Alice started to sniffle, and tears started pouring down her cheeks.
"Stop yelling!" Sara growled in a low voice. "You're scaring Alice and Anna."
"They should be scared!" Joan shrilled. "David is gone, Sara! If we don't find him, we won't have anyone left in the world to look after us!"
"Holmes," Watson whispered at my side, but I quieted him with a raised finger, interested in the girls' harsh words.
"Joany," Anna said in a quiet voice.
"The papers have said that Mr. Holmes has done wonderful things before," Sara offered.
"I don't trust him as far as I could hit him with a cricket bat. He's got as much chance of finding David as Hannah does." Joan's eyes, and her whole body, turned to me again. "What do you say to that, Mr. Holmes?" I smiled, unaffected by her biting words.
"Only that David was abducted by someone that he is very close to, and the kidnapper used a four-wheeled vehicle to relocate his prisoner. Also, that the kidnapper used a thick length of long, tightly coiled rope to bind Mr. McGuiness' arms and legs. Upon further inspection, I am sure that I could identify the type of vehicle used to abduct your Hamlet." Joan stood before me, her eyes still aflame with hate and passion, but at a loss for words or movement. In the pause, I turned to Watson, whose face was as flushed as if every drop of blood in his body had relocated to his cheeks.
"Did you catch all that, Watson? It is vastly important, and I would hate to forget it." I was about to walk from the four sisters, when Sara grabbed a hold of my greatcoat's sleeves and bunched it into her fist.
"Mr. Holmes," her voice came, thin, "could I please speak to you alone?" I blinked a few times, then smiled.
"Of course, Ms. McGuiness, I could hardly refuse you, with the death grip you have on my arm." At once, the grip was released, her face a mix of emotions.
"I'm so sorry, Mr. Holmes, it's just... everything that's been happening..." I took the hand that had been gripping me forcefully and squeezed it softly.
"Tell me everything you know, young McGuiness, and I shall try my hardest to help you." I released her hand and patted her affably on the shoulder. Her face twitched into a sad smile. I turned to Ron, who seemed to have been drinking in the whole conversation.
"Ron," I caught his attention, "would you be so kind as to entertain Ms. Anna McGuiness while I speak with her chaperone?" Anna slid from Sara's side and sidled over to where Ron waited to intercept her. "Watson," I hissed, grabbing his attention, for he had been dully staring without purpose at us.
The closest tree proved to be enough shelter for Ms. Sara McGuiness to spill her story to us. I held my hand to my chin in thought as I observed her and her words. She was dressed in period clothes, most likely to match those on stage.
"Ms. McGuiness," I started, but she stopped me.
"Please, call me Sara. There are far too many Ms. McGuiness' here to drive one mad." I smiled and gave a sidelong glance at Watson, whose face had not overcome the onslaught of blush.
"Sara," I said with a grin, "is it true that you have never acted since Mr. McGuiness joined the troupe?" She stared and blinked for almost a minute before answering.
"Y-yes, that's true. I hand out the pamphlets with the given circumstances." It was my turn to question her words.
"Excuse me, what?"
"Given circumstances," she said, as if she'd had to explain it many times before. "The information in the play set down for you by the playwright. It is always helpful, especially in Shakespearian plays." I logged this away in my memory, and allowed the girl to continue.
"Ms.- ... Sara, would you kindly explain why you pulled me aside?"
"I know that my sister Joan is unwilling to help you, but that doesn't mean that I won't go through whatever it takes to get David back. Joan would do the same, but she hasn't really trusted men since..."
"Since?" I prompted.
"I don't really like to mention it, but late one night, after a play, Jane was assaulted by a stranger, and he would have done most terrible things to her if David hadn't been there to save her." She paused, and I could see tears in her eyes. "I really don't think that we could live without him." Taking a deep breath, she continued. "Last night, I was dressed as you see me, handing the given circumstances to the audience members as they arrived. David approached me then, and asked me to keep a sharp eye for anyone who looked disreputable." I looked up sharply, but did not interrupt.
'He expected the attack,' Holmes muttered lowly in the back of my mind.
"Then he disappeared, probably to put on his makeup. When I went to find him, I could see him talking with a man that I had never seen before. They were both standing against a great black car."
"Could you identify the car if it were shown to you?" I asked.
"Possibly," she said, glancing about her nervously. "David soon saw me, and approached, telling me not to worry about the stranger, that he was an old friend, and- Mr. Holmes, are you feeling quite all right?"
As soon as she had said it, I could feel my head beginning to swim, and the world was full of soft, swirling lights, and pain in my abdomen. I could hear Watson's voice, and I felt his hands grab me before I could fall backwards. Off in the distance, I could hear Watson's voice calling out:
"Hurry! Get Mr. Holmes something- anything!- He hasn't eaten since-"
And I was gone into darkness.