Chapter Twenty-Three
(Meg is surrounded by a ton of clothes and toiletries, trying to fit it all into one suitcase and one carry-on bag.)
Meg: You'd think packing for a ten-day trip wouldn't be this hard! Only one suitcase and one carry-on for a teenage girl's ten-day trip to France? ARE THEY INSANE?
RAEB: What do you need more than one bag for, anyway?
Meg: Erm, clothes, shoes, room for souvenirs in the suitcase…
RAEB: Meg, you've got like… fifteen shirts in there.
Meg: Yeah, so?
RAEB: You're only going to be gone for ten days.
Meg: Weather is unpredictable! I have long-sleeved AND short-sleeved shirts!
RAEB: You're… prepared.
Meg: To the readers: this is the last update on my story before I leave for my trip. Yes, the story is actually supposed to continue after this chapter. This really has turned into a LONG story. Well, Rose needs some sort of resolution. You'll see what I mean.
Rose made it to Madame Jiang's den without further incident. Getting into the actual flat was the difficult part. At first she went in the wrong door and found herself in a dark room filled with couches, upon which a dozen or more people dazed off into space, their opium pipes hanging limply from their lips or at their sides. The air was close, and Rose was starting to feel somewhat lethargic. Her every movement slowed down, as if she was trying to walk underwater.
She looked around, scanning the room for the landlady. She tripped and fell on a sailor, who hardly blinked and did not even move. She slowly got off of him and continued her search.
"You want a chair?" a female voice with a broken accent said.
Rose turned around in the direction of the voice. A Chinese woman in her early forties, with sharp features and a stern manner stood behind her, arms folded.
Rose shook her head and mumbled, "No."
The woman narrowed her eyes at the girl. "Then what you want, eh? No place for you."
Rose was speechless. She just handed the woman the key to Ratigan's flat.
The woman inspected it. Her eyes grew wide. She looked at Rose, sizing her up, and then around at the patrons in her den. Then she went back to examining the key.
"Where you get this, eh? I never see you before. I don't take in thieves."
"I… I was sent ahead, to prepare his room for him."
The woman regarded her suspiciously. After a moment's deliberation, she grabbed Rose's arm and pulled her away from the customers in the den, up three steps into a small, foul-smelling kitchen, and then to a side hallway. Rose could see a flight of stairs going up into the second story.
"Stay here," the woman commanded, ascending the stairs.
Rose looked around her. The hallway was small; it looked like it was hardly wide enough for Ratigan. There was a small door leading out into the street, and a tattered rug after that. Besides that, and a small window a few feet away from the door, there was plain wall with chipped paint. The only light in the hallway came from the streetlamps across the river, so Rose could not make out what color it was. But she supposed it was not important.
The woman came back down the stairs. "What your name?"
"Eh…" Rose wondered if she should use an alias. "Sarah Rogers."
The woman raised an eyebrow. She slapped the key on the palm of her hand. "When he be here?"
"I don't know."
The woman continued to stare at Rose. She was really starting to get nervous. What if she would not let Rose into the flat?
"Follow me." She went up the stairs again. Rose followed close behind her.
They reached a landing. The woman passed four old, fragile wooden doors to another set of stairs. At the top of this set they found a small landing, with one door.
The woman held the key in front of Rose. "When he come, tell Madame Jiang. Never come back into my den, you hear?" With that, she left.
Rose stared at the key, then at the door. After a few moments she let herself in.
There was a candle lit on the table nearby. Rose set the suitcase down and picked the candle up. She first inspected the door, locked it and then bolted it shut. Then she moved on to the rest of the room.
She saw immediately that it was sparsely furnished. A bed against the opposite wall, a washstand and dresser next to it, the table and one chair, and a stove comprised of all the furniture in the room. There were two windows with the drapes closed. Rose saw nothing else of interest.
She went to the dresser pulling out the drawers in an attempt to make sure that she was in the right flat. This plain room was so different from Ratigan's tastes that she was sure she was in the wrong place. But the drawers were empty. She looked under the dresser, and then under the bed. She even looked in the stove. Nothing. No clue to the owner's character or personality.
Rose sat on the edge of the bed. She looked expectantly at the door, then at her hands.
She reflected that the room had no trace of Ratigan's personality because he did not want anyone who came upon it to know that it belonged to him. Yes. That was it.
Rose fingered the locket nervously. She looked at the 'R' inscribed on it.
She had often wondered what it meant. Ratigan surely did not buy the locket for her. It seemed like he gave it to her on an impulse rather than through planning. So why did it have her first initial on it?
The locket looked rather antique, actually. Perhaps it had belonged to a relative, a sister, perhaps. A friend? A sweetheart?
Rose realized how little she knew of Ratigan's personal past. Perhaps there was someone he was pining for. And maybe she did not fit into his equation.
Maybe he would go to Rachel Dunlap on the dirigible, and leave her here to face the police, or to rot.
Maybe he only wanted to get rid of her.
Maybe she was not worth coming back for.
Stop it!
Rose felt so weak and helpless. What would she do if he did not come back?
How could she bear to live?
She lay down on the bed and cried.
The next morning was dreary. A heavy fog lay upon the city.
Rose did her best to occupy her time, but there was really nothing to be done. The room, so plain and simple, was also painfully sterile, so it did not need to be cleaned. She would never open the valise; it was not hers to go through. She had her dress from the Jubilee still on. A coral pink, Rose knew it would stand out dreadfully on the streets in the East End. She wondered where she could get a replacement.
Rose went to one of the windows and stared out at the street below. She could hear a paperboy from a distance, shouting out recent news. Probably about the Jubilee. She did not want to hear it.
The morning dragged on.
Rose decided around nine o'clock that she would go out. She did not expect Ratigan to be back soon anyway. Perhaps he could not get Basil off his tail yet.
She solved her clothing dilemma by bribing Madame Jiang's youngest son, a boy of fifteen, with the bracelet Ratigan had given her. She had some loose change, but she knew she would need it to buy food if Ratigan did not show up for awhile. The bracelet would look very suspicious to anyone else.
The boy ran off, and Rose returned to her room. Three quarters of an hour later the boy returned with a plain dark brown dress and a black cloak with a hood. It was exactly what Rose needed to blend in with the rest of London.
Twenty minutes later Rose was walking rapidly through the fog, meeting dark, strange faces who paid no attention to her. She watched each face, suddenly afraid of being discovered by someone like Basil… or missing someone like Ratigan.
It started to drizzle. Rose pressed on with rapid steps, towards The Rat Trap. She wondered if she could retrieve her own possessions before the police got there, if they were not already there.
She got within fifty yards of the place before she saw the first Mouseland Yard member. She slipped behind a crab trap and stared through the bars at the activity around the pub.
Some Yardies were standing around talking to each other. A lot of them kept running in and out of the building, while others kept carrying things out of it. Rose watched some reporters talking to a few detectives. She recognized a few familiar Yard faces. Several neighborhood boys stood father away, eyeing the activity with great interest.
Her eyes trailed back to the policemen carrying things out of the pub. She saw a few kegs, a few packed boxes, and then… her trunk!
Rose felt her stomach sink. All her ties to her lost home were in that trunk: the two old, ragged dresses Giovanni had left her, as well as her copy of A Tale of Two Cities. Not that she needed those things. They were just a part of who she had once been, a past she had once remembered.
As easy as it is to want to forget one's past, it is not always easy for one to go through with forgetting it. You feel as if a part of you has died with that past, a part which can neither be replaced nor restored.
Rose felt as if she had truly lost her identity. That trunk and those articles were no longer hers. Here she was, once again starting anew. Now she was nameless; another face in the crowd, another person taking up space. If she died now, would anyone know? Would anyone care?
Ratigan cares, she told herself. Ratigan will come to you because he cares for you.
She walked along the street, trying to focus on her errands. She needed food for the flat. She wanted only enough to last her a few days, in case she had to leave the hideout in a hurry.
Despite the light rain, there were still quite a few mice roaming the streets in their black coats and umbrellas. Rose joined the crowd, allowing herself to be sucked into it wherever it wished to go.
People talking, breaking off, joining in… Rose hardly paid attention to those around her. She went about her business.
After leaving a bakery, she found a paperboy crying out the headlines.
"Napolean of Crime fails to take throne at Queen's Jubilee! Basil of Baker Street reveals plot of regicide!"
Rose stopped, curious. She decided that she was now ready to read the accounts of the Jubilee. Perhaps she could get an idea of where Ratigan had headed and when he might come back to the flat.
She approached the boy with money in hand. He handed her a newspaper; she paid him. She folded it up and put it under her arm. She would wait until she got back to the flat to read it.
She had proceeded only a few steps when the boy cried out, "Showdown on top of Big Ben! Ratigan falls to his death!"
Rose stopped dead in her tracks. She took the newspaper in her hands. Moving under an overhanging canopy so the paper would not get wet, she opened it with trembling hands.
CHAOS AT JUBILEE! Ratigan Attempts to Murder Queen! Basil of Baker Street Saves the Day!
Rose read on. Ratigan… robot Queen built by blackmailed toymaker… Basil on the case of kidnapped father… Professor kidnaps daughter and escapes in his dirigible… Showdown on Big Ben… RATIGAN FALLS TO RIVER BELOW!
She was numb with shock. This could not be. He was supposed to meet her back in the flat, his secret hideout… How could this happen?
Rose reread that line. She reread the paragraph. She reread the article up to that line. Then, when it failed to help her, she read the rest of the article.
Basil falls… is saved by his superior genius… no trace of Ratigan found. Experts say there is no chance of survival… most likely died on impact with river, and was washed downstream… Basil to be honored once he recovers from his many wounds…
She gripped the paper. Her vision was blurred from tears that she would not allow to come out. She began to stride quickly, only wanting to go back to the flat, go back and find Ratigan there, waiting for her…
She pushed roughly past people, past the unfamiliar faces, the cold personages who rejoiced in the news that their torment from Ratigan was over, that they were finally safe…
She hurried on. He would be there, he had to be there! What was she to do? How was she to live? How could she go on if he was not there to give meaning to her life?
It was not true, it could not be true!
Rose pressed on with a fury that she did not know herself capable of possessing. People cried out indignantly when she pushed past them. She ignored them, only wanting time to think, to sort out her confusion, to read the paper, and only read of his embarrassment at the Jubilee, not the defeat on top of Big Ben.
In what seemed like years later she was back in the empty flat, standing in the middle of the room with the paper in her hands.
She stared at the Queen, at Basil's smug face. She crunched their faces into a ball.
She cried out like a wounded animal, threw the paper down, and began to kick over the table, the chair, the firewood for the stove. The sheets, the mattress, were ripped off the bed, the empty drawers pulled out of the dresser.
And when she was done several minutes later, she sank to the floor amidst the furniture and the sheets. All her energy was spent. Her head hurt, as if it was in a vice that was slowly being tightened.
Then she saw the valise. It must have opened during her battle with the empty room. A few things were scattered about, but most of the articles remained within the suitcase.
She crawled over to the suitcase, to a leather-bound volume peeking out from amidst the papers and the neatly-pressed shirts and packets of money.
She moved the papers and read the title on the spine: Jane Eyre
He kept this novel in his valise, his emergency valise? What did it mean? He had been Rochester in their coded messages; she had been Jane.
Had he loved her too?
Rose could not take any more surprises. She broke down and wept.
Lizz: I feel sorry for Rose!
Ratigan: I feel sorry for me! You fan-crazed girls just LOVE to write about that infernal incident called the Diamond Jubilee…
Meg: Awwww, someone's humiliated!
Ratigan: How would you like it if I let your whole school know about these ridiculous stories you write? That you're obsessed with a DISNEY ANIMATED MOVIE?
Meg: Grrr… you sort of got me there. High school isn't the best place to express a love of Disney unless you're wearing one of those tight-fitting T-shirts with Tinker Bell on them that say 'Naughty.' But school's out, so you'll have to wait until my senior year.
Ratigan: Or… (evil grin)
Meg: 'Or' what?
Ratigan: That's for me to know and you to find out.
Meg: THAT'S IT! (grabs passport and luggage) I AM GOING TO FRANCE TO GET AWAY FROM YOU! So long, sucker!
Ratigan: Don't forget to write.
Meg: Yeah, I won't forget to write… your death wish!
Ratigan:Hah! I have connections everywhere. You just wait…