The Kingdom of Bones

THIRTY-THREE

When Sayers returned from the barber and the bathhouse, Sebastian was immediately struck by the change in his appearance. Even though the prizefighter’s hair had been cropped so close for the ring that there was little to be done to improve the look of it, a good shave and a sharpening up of the sideburns had begun the effect. As it grew out, he would no doubt begin to look even less of a crop-headed bruiser and more of a human being.

And not only that. The puffiness had left his features, and those cuts were already starting to heal. Sebastian hadn’t realized it at the time, but when they’d met back at the boxing tent, the fighter had been in a steady alcohol-sustained haze. Not drunk, but in the functioning state of the habitual drinker.

Without its influence, he’d become more alert. His eye had cleared, his hand was steady, and he didn’t shamble anymore. He’d touched no liquor since entering their house, and if he was suffering for it, he kept that to himself. All in all, it was as if some new sense of purpose had occasioned a return of the Tom Sayers of old.

Sebastian relayed everything that the bookkeeper had told him.

“She skipped without paying her bill,” he said. “Oakes made a point of mentioning the Pinkerton name, and the hotel people put him onto the house detective. From what he’d been able to establish, she sent her two servants to take her bags out of the back of the hotel while she was walking out of the front door like it was just another day. The doorman remembered asking her if she wanted a cab, but she didn’t.”

Sayers, clearly no stranger to Louise’s operating methods, said, “A hotel doorman knows all the cabmen. It would have made it too easy to track down the driver and find out what her destination was.”

“But the hotel did locate the carrier who picked up her baggage from around the back. He had to deliver it to the waterfront for loading onto a steamer bound for Richmond. That’s where the trail went cold. There was no Mrs. Caspar on any passenger list for that day or the next.”

Sayers strode up and down. He ran his hand across the stubble on his head.

“Richmond,” he said. “I’ve been this close and she’s evaded me before. But never with such a strong lead to follow.”

“I suppose you’ll go after her,” Sebastian said.

“I suppose I will,” Sayers said. “But not blindly. I’ll need to make a plan. Don’t worry, Sebastian. You won’t have to put up with me for very much longer.”

When they heard Elisabeth and Frances returning with the boy, Sayers waited to offer a greeting. Then he picked up the parcel with his new clothes and went to his room, leaving the family to its family business.

If Elisabeth noted the improvement in Sayers’ appearance, she gave no sign of it. She had other things on her mind. From the moment that she came in through the door, Sebastian could see that the afternoon had not gone well.

Her face was set. Frances was fussing around nervously, as if in the presence of some unstable device. In a quiet voice, Elisabeth sent Robert to the sitting room at the back of the house. He raced on up, and Frances took the opportunity to follow. Sebastian noted that the boy was carrying five new dime magazines.

“What did the doctor say?” Sebastian asked, rather dreading the answer.

“He offered Robert a place to live among the insane,” she said, and then her fury boiled over. “He is not insane!” she said. “Nor is he handicapped or retarded! Why can none of them see it? I don’t want him taken away. I just want him to have a normal life. All the pieces of a normal life are there. All he needs is someone to help him put them together.”

She would have said more, but the creak of a board reminded her that there was a stranger in the house. Sayers was pacing again, making his plans.

Elisabeth made a gesture of exasperation, then turned away.

In a low voice, Sebastian said, “At least Sayers will be gone by tomorrow. With the news I just gave him, he’ll need no urging.”

It was poor compensation, but it was all that he could offer.

“Mister Sayers is our guest,” Elisabeth said. “Tell him that he can stay as long as he likes. I wouldn’t wish to embarrass him.”

Supper was a subdued affair. Robert was excused early, but he stayed at the table, reading, his surroundings forgotten, away in the unknowable country of his unique imagination. For once, Elisabeth allowed it.

For his part, Sayers said very little. His mind seemed largely to be elsewhere, as well.

Later that night, when everyone had retired and the house was secured, Sebastian made his way up to bed and saw that a light was still showing under Sayers’ door.

He lay alongside Elisabeth, knowing that she wasn’t asleep.

Eventually, she said, “What are we to do for him, Sebastian?”

“Keep him happy. Keep looking.”

“What about London?”

“Perhaps. Eventually.”

It was all he could think of to say.

When Sebastian went downstairs the next morning, Frances was already in the kitchen. Robert was at the breakfast table but still in his nightshirt, bare feet swinging from his chair. He’d read all his new stories and was reading them again.

Frances said, “Has Mister Sayers left us already?”

“Has he?” said Sebastian. “I don’t think he has.”

“The door was off the latch and his outdoor coat is gone.”

Sebastian went to Sayers’ room and tapped on the door. After a few moments with no reply, he looked inside.

The prizefighter’s cabin trunk was still there, but it was in the middle of the floor and all closed up. The dresser had been cleared of his personal items and the bed had been stripped, with the linen neatly folded at its end.

There was a sheet of writing paper on top of the upended cabin trunk. On it in large capitals were the words TO BE SENT FOR and under that Sincere thanks for all your kindness, may God bless you all. Try not to think ill of me. That which I do is on my head alone.

He must have been gone before the dawn. And he must have been pretty quiet about it, too, because the house was small and its walls were not thick. He’d probably carried his boots to the front door in order not to make a noise on the stairs.

Well, that was that. Sebastian returned to the kitchen.

“Looks like you’ll be getting your room back, Frances,” he said. “I’ll put Mister Sayers’ trunk down in the cellar until he sends for it.”

“Oh,” Frances said. But she hardly seemed happy at the prospect of a house with no Tom Sayers in it.

Elisabeth came in then, and Sebastian gave her the news.

“Richmond?” she said. “What does he expect to find in Richmond?”

“The Madonna or the Medusa,” Sebastian said cryptically, “depending on the woman’s mood. Let’s not speak of it.”

He declined breakfast. He’d pick up something from the Automat. He needed to get to the office before everyone else; Bearce had gone to Chicago and left Sebastian in charge of the keys.

“Is this a form of promotion?”

“More of a chore,” he said. But she was right. It showed a new level of confidence from Sebastian’s employers. The night janitor was responsible for opening up the main doors of the building, but the key holder was responsible for the office suite. Store cupboards, records, stationery…even the safe where the business accounts and the more confidential records were kept.

He buttoned his waistcoat, put on his topcoat, and went to his bureau. When he rolled back the top, the keys weren’t there.

He moved a few things around. Opened one or two of the drawers. But he knew where he’d left them. No one else in the house ever used the bureau. Robert knew not to touch his father’s papers, not to mention the Bulldog revolver that he sometimes left in the locked bottom drawer.

“What are you looking for?” Elisabeth called through.

“Nothing,” he called back.

There seemed only one likely explanation, and he didn’t like to countenance it. Sayers had needed writing paper for his note. Here was where he’d look.

That which I do is on my head alone, he’d then written.

Sebastian rolled down the top with greater force than he’d intended, and set out for the journey into town.