Pretty Waiter Girls Read online

Lane couldn’t help but snicker a bit as he continued setting the snacks.

  “Why my stepfather left me with you two is beyond the pale!” Helena in a fake furry stormed toward the exit.

  “Of course, if you don’t want to read the post,” Sigmund stopped her with the magic words, that represented news from the outside world.

  “What did I get?” her seventeen-year-old face beamed like a school girl’s.

  “You have the usual papers, from New York, London and Paris. A package from Professor Merryall and a telegram from the General.”

  Before Sigmund finished, Helena grabbed the package and started tearing at the knotted string, while speaking, “What did my stepfather say, is he coming home soon?”

  “I have not read it yet if you like you can read it after you investigate your new toy from the Professor,” Sigmund said, stalling the inevitable.

  She shook her shaggy bob cut strawberry blond hair, the paper had been thrown asunder, to reveal the metal case contained inside. “You read it, I almost have this opened.”

  “Certainly,” Sigmund slowly opening the telegram reading it in its entirety before looking at the smiling Helena. Her eyes expanded by the adjustable magnifying goggles she found inside.

  “These are amazing. They are Micro and Macro! Read the telegram. When is the General coming home?” She alternated between looking at her hand and looking out the window, adjusting the lenses at differing strengths.

  Sigmund began to read, “My dearest Helena. I will not be coming right home from Cuba. My men and I are being sent to the Philippines. I promise I will be home as soon as I can. Lo--”

  “Just stop,” Helena, her new toy held motionlessly, sat wordlessly on the sofa, gazing into oblivion.

  Sigmund began cleaning up the paper thrown about while opening the post. Lane did his best to busy himself about the room, not really doing anything, just being available.

  “Did you two know he wasn’t coming back?” Helena asked, her voice quivering.

  “No not for sure. The war in Cuba ended well enough, but the people of the Philippines decided they wanted their freedom, once the Spanish had been defeated. The Americans did not agree with their decision. I am sorry dear. I am sure the General had no choice.”

  “Everyone has a choice,” she went back to her silent thoughts.

  Lane poured some coffee and handed her a cup, then placed a slice of cake next to her on the end table.

  Helena shocked both men when she stated flatly, “Why doesn’t my stepfather love me?” Fighting fiercely to hold back the tears, a single drop falling into her coffee.

  Sigmund, in his standard stiff British way, pondered on how to answer that question. Lane jumped in to pick up the lead, “Aw, honey, when I was the General’s driver up until I got wounded in Wyoming all he did was talk about you. I think that’s one of the reasons he brought me here after I was shot protecting him, he felt obligated to me. I know he has always felt the deepest affection for you.”

  “Why have I never heard of this? You got wounded protecting my stepfather and in Wyoming?”

  Lane nodded, and Sigmund took over, “After your mother, the General and I spoke at great length, about how and what we might do to protect you. One of the things discussed concerned the dangers in the world, the General is in the Army, the Army fights wars, people die in wars.”

  “I am not a baby. I appreciate what happens in wars,” Helena frowned slightly, not actually understanding the horrors of war, but not wanting the older men to guess that.

  “Yes, Young Miss, I am sure you do, but you should not be required to witness them first hand,” Sigmund tried to let the conversation drop for now.

  Her melancholy passing, but now she had the two men talking, and they never opened up to her, she didn’t plan on letting the opportunity pass, while she had the chance.

  “What was my mother like?” Helena asked the surprised men.

  Lane, the more relaxed for the pair, poured Sigmund a cup of coffee, handing it to him before pouring himself one. “I never had the pleasure of knowing her,” said Lane.

  “Oh, Young Miss, you were very young when she left us. I know you have pictures of her, but the room came alive when she entered. You share her face, and hair, though she kept her hair a good bit longer, like yours used to be. She wasn’t much older than you when I first met her. It was before she met your father.”

  “You knew my father, how old are you?”

  “That is not a polite question to ask your elders,” Sigmund prepared to tell her more about her father when Helena’s maid walked in.

  “I am sorry to interrupt, but Miss Helena has company. A Miss Minerva Smith is calling.”

  Helena gazed down at the mess she was in before saying, “My goodness, Gertie get upstairs and lay out some clothes. Sigmund can you keep her busy next door while I dress. Lane, stay away from her, she has a horrid crush on you. I don’t want you to steal all the attention,” the room became a whirl of activity as everyone jumped into action.

  Helena said, “This conversation isn’t over you two,” before bounding upstairs.

  A life-sized portrait of her parents stopped her progress at the first landing. Pausing and studying the painted faces: her mother’s framed in golden hair, her fathers with a tremendous red beard hiding most the face. She pledged, “I am going to learn about you two if it kills me.” She gazed into the only portion of her father’s picture clearly visible, his eyes, and for the first time perceived her eyes staring back.

  She then continued up to her second-floor suite of rooms where Gertie had laid out the most practical, around the house clothes, and the quickest to change into. Dressing in record time, Gertie there to help finish the outfit with a wig styled for a proper young woman of the day, matching her hair color perfectly.

  Ten minutes later she burst through the door to the lounge, making a grand entrance, as Sigmund poured coffee for Miss Smith. Minnie stood upon Helena’s arrival taking three steps to meet her. They took each other’s hands and did fake cheek kisses, both standing slightly over five foot tall. Minnie opened her mouth to speak, but Helena cut her off.

  “Wait before you say a word, I want to use my powers of deduction to determine what I can about you,” leaning back, and inspecting Minnie from a short distance.

  “This morning, you rose early. Before going to visit a grave, you had tea and biscuits and traveled here up Broadway Street by carriage.”

  Minnie stood her mouth wide open staring at Helena before she finally spoke, “My word, that is so exacting. You got almost everything right. I mean, I did sleep in late, I had a rough night and didn’t sleep well. I woke a short time ago and had toast and coffee for breakfast then came straight here right up Broadway Street in a carriage. You got it almost perfect. How do you do it?”

  “I have been studying the skills of a great consulting detective in London by the name of Sherlock Holmes. He solves cases by using his mind and deductive reasoning. One day I will master his skills. Oh, Sigmund please do leave us alone for a moment so we may catch up,” Helena turned to Sigmund, waving him out of the room.

  “I would love to read his work. Though I don’t think I have your keen mind, Helena.”

  “I will give you some of the newspapers his stories are in, they are purely amazing. Come sit down and tell me what kept you up all night,” Helena guided Minnie to the closest fainting couch.

  After they sat, and Helena made sure they both had a proper coffee. Minnie took a sip before beginning her story, “I’m not sure if I should even worry about this, but I think Missy Whitaker has gone missing.”

  “Maybe you should take a moment to collect your thoughts and start at the beginning. It might help if I had a little more of the story.”

  Minnie thought for a moment took a sip of her coffee before adding some more sugar sipped again, and when satisfied it was the perfect sweetness began.

  “Have you met Missy Whitaker?”
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  “The name sounds vaguely familiar, but I don’t think I’ve met her but maybe once.”

  “She is a few years older than us, her family lives right down the street from mine on Nob Hill. She has always been very kind to me even when I was young and not a lady, like today. I have known for some time that Missy grew wild, uncontrollable. Her father seems to be an angry man. And I would hear the two of them arguing loud enough to be heard from the street. I saw Missy in front of her house a few days ago, and she had cut off all her hair. She looked like a man, she even dressed like a man. Missy told me she couldn’t speak then, she had an appointment downtown but asked if I would come to her home yesterday, and we might share lunch. I went to visit her at the appointed time, and her father took me into his study and asked me if I knew what she was up to. He seemed quite angry and overwrought. When I told him, I didn’t understand what he spoke of, he became sullen and silent. He then told me not to worry, that Missy had gone to Hawaii for a holiday and she would not be back for some time. Mr. Whittaker became very brusque with me and had his manservant show me to the door without further comment. It was the strangest thing, I felt the blackest of moods had settled in that building, like a mausoleum.”

  Helena sat leaning back fingers bridged in a spire pressed to against her lips, listening to the story as she envisioned Sherlock Holmes would.

  After thinking for a moment Helena began to softly speak, “Minnie, that is quite a story, but--” before she finished the sentence. Sigmund bust into the room like he had been listening at the keyhole.

  “Young Miss, may I speak with you for a brief moment out in the hall? It is of the utmost importance.”

  Helena sat in shock at Sigmund’s impertinence. She stood with a slight huff, “Excuse me one moment Minnie, while I find out what Sigmund requires.”

  Once Helena left the room, Sigmund closed the door behind her, and she let into him, “How rude,” she hissed.

  “I realize this Miss, and I apologize, but I wanted to stop you before you said something you might not be able to take back.”

  “I know what I was supposed to say. I was about to tell her that ‘I was sorry for Missy’s disappearance but there was no way I could possibly get involved.’ The general would never approve.”

  “I appreciate that, and I think this time if you want to, of course, it would be good for you to help your friend and discover if maybe we couldn’t find out what happened to Miss Whittaker.”

  “But what will the general say? Surely he would never approve of something so adventurous.”

  “Your stepfather is on his way to the Philippines. This matter should be taken care of swiftly, much quicker than it will take for your hair to grow back out. Besides didn’t you remind me this morning that you are no longer a child? Lane and I will be with you.”

  “This is completely my decision?”

  “All yours. I don’t mind spending the summer teaching you self-defense, but there comes a time when every bird must leave the nest, if even only for a couple of days.”

  Helena had the distance from the hallway to the fainting couch where Minnie waited to think. Did she want to take the responsibility of finding another human being? What if she failed? Then she thought about her father’s eyes staring down at her from the portrait and pondered what wonders and adventures he had seen in his life. His eyes looked exactly like her eyes, she decided

  She opened the door with a flourish, not even walking the few steps into the room and announced, “Minnie, I was about to tell you, I was much too busy to take on such a frivolous case. However, Sigmund just informed me that my calendar has opened. I would be happy to find your missing Missy.”

  Snob Hill:

  Once Minnie had been reassured and shown out the front door, Helena took charge.

  “Lane get Bessie ready, we’re going to town looking for adventure, right after I change,” Helena felt happier than she had in a very long time. Still sad that her stepfather wasn’t coming home, but she anticipated a distraction that would occupy her for at least for an hour or two. Gertie picked one of her stylish pink dresses with a matching lace parasol and an excessively floppy hat she would tie to her head and not lose her wig and bonnet during the ride into town.

  Bessie was ready long before Helena. The metallic clink, and the whoosh of the beast heard clearly from Helena’s room, as she added her final touches to her ensemble. Looking in the mirror one last time, she pondered how much older she looked and how she saw the image of her mother looking back.

  She rushed down the stairs as best she could in her flowing dress and moderately high heels. Lane and Sigmund waited for her next to Bessie, both dressed in duster jackets, sporting ivy hats with goggles for the adventure. Bessie was eager to go; the brass shined, the mahogany polished, a rare beautiful steam-powered carriage. Another gift from her friend and inventor whom she liked to call the Professor. Lane climbed to the driver’s seat, while Sigmund held the small door open for Helena. She grew positively excited beyond words.

  They left the estate’s gate which pierced the low wall that surrounded the property and headed down Broadway Street towards the city proper. Lane had already lit the oil burning lamps so when they hit the wall of damp fog, they could at least partially tell where they traveled. Even with the lights, Lane slowed Bessie for safety sake. Visibility was still less than a quarter of a mile.

  “I never seem to remember the fog being this unusually thick,” Helena raised her voice over the hissing and the clacking of the steam piston driving the automobile.

  Sigmund said, “Oh, I have seen it much worse. You are accustomed to being on the hill. The fog is always less the higher you go,” a smile on his face, like the fog brought back fond memories.

  “Well, it’s not as much fun driving in the fog as it is when we have a nice warm day,” Lane shouted over his shoulder as he swerved around the slower wagons.

  As they passed through the dense fog, Helena understood why simpler people believed that monsters inhabited the night. She watched the workers and the ordinary people going about their everyday lives bundled against the damp mist, and saw a wraith over there, a vampire here, and on the other side of the way, a specter. All only ordinary people going about their mundane business in their everyday lives, or at least she thought so. Heading down the peninsula, the buildings begin to turn from two and three-story townhouses into five and six-story skyscrapers. The upper floors of the taller buildings still obscured, Helena noted that the fog, gave the illusion the neighborhoods were equal.

  They made a right on Van Ness Avenue, to bypass some of the steeper hills, then made a left on Sacramento Street. As they climbed Nob Hill, the sun found them again. Just over the crest, and ironically overlooking both Chinatown and the Barbary Coast, set the Whitaker mansion.

  They timed their arrival soon after lunch, so it wasn’t too great of a social faux pas to show up uninvited, and unannounced. Helena figured this should be the last place anyone had seen Missy. This must be the place to start the investigation. Helena didn’t have a clue to go on, she didn’t know what Missy looked like, but she grew determined to find her.

  “I will go announce your arrival, Miss, you don’t need to stand waiting on the stoop like a commoner.”

  “No Sigmund, I think I will go to the door, follow if you must, but it would be too easy for them to leave your requests unanswered. I feel they would find it much more difficult to say no to me. No respectable house would leave a young lady standing on the front steps, am I correct?”

  “I must admit Young Miss, in this instance your logic is impeccable. Lane and I will wait here if you are in any need merely callout and we will be there in an instant.”

  Sigmund exited the automobile lending a hand for Miss Helena to step down. Once down she opened her lace parasol to protect herself from the June sun as any lady of refinement would. She never noticed Lane do a quick check of his enhanced naval revolver, and Sigmund checked to see if hi
s gas operated automatic pistol rested in its hog-leg. Strangely both gifts from the Professor.

  Helena inspected the facade of the house, searching for any indication of dread, or malaise that Minnie said bore down upon the house. She felt nothing, the house sat like an ordinary four-story townhouse, very similar to the adjacent townhomes surrounding it. No dark cloud appeared overhead. Lifting the knocker and handling the weight, it seemed more substantial than usual. Not sure if it was her, she rapped three solid knocks on the heavy door, that sounded bizarrely muffled as they landed.

  The door opened with a deliberate creaking movement, had it been night, or foggy, the sound of the door opening would have been more foreboding. However, the bright sun seemed to make everything outside the house gay.

  Her mind changed when she caught a glimpse of the person opening the door. The man, not much older than Sigmund, seemed that life weighed heavy on his shoulders, his skin the color of the gray fog blanketing the city below with charcoal circles enhancing the bags under his eyes. Helena took a step back into the brighter sun to soak up some of its cheerfulness.

  “May I help you?” the cadaverous butler asked.

  “Yes sir, please tell Master Whitaker, that the lady of the Brandywine estate calls upon him,” Helena said while offering her calling card adroitly removed from her handbag while she spoke.

  The butler took the calling-card inspecting it with dead eyes for its authenticity. Convinced the card was real, he opened the door wider motioning for Helena to come in. “If you would be so kind to wait in the study, I will check if Mister Whitaker is accepting visitors.”

  She said, “Thank you,” bracing herself, she crept into the frigid confines of a building that felt of death and decay. She was led to a room down the hall from the front door, the walls adorned with bookshelves. While she waited, she inspected several titles on display, some of which she had finished, some she wished to study, and some she’d never heard.

  Her senses on edge, she heard the footfalls coming down the hall before the door moved. When the older man came through the door, whom she assumed to be Missy Whitaker’s father, she was surprised her tactic worked. The man her eyes fell upon stood in no better shape than the Butler. Something horrible tormented this house.