Nancy Springer - Enola Holmes and the Boy in Buttons

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Ello, Miss Meshle! cried Joddy, the boy in buttons who greeted me at the front door of Dr. Ragostins stately edifice. Blushing, he then babbled, Excuse me, I mean, um, good day, Mrs. Jacobson.

I had been known to him by those names, and more, during the year I was evading my brothers Sherlock and Mycroft Holmesbut those times were no more.

Both of those persons are as fictitious as Dr. Ragostin himself, Joddy, I responded with a smile, handing him handing him a bundle of new textbooks I was carrying done up in a strap.

Accepting this in his usual lackwit manner, Joddy gawked up at mefor he had seldom seen me all summer, he probably did not understand what I meant by fictitious, nor did he quite know what to make of my sudden appearance in a blouse, a skirt, and a plain straw hat, the simple garb of a scholar. Um, would yer care for tea, Mrs. Jacobson? he ventured.

You will observe that I need no longer disguise myself by wearing a wedding ring, Joddy, I replied with a smile as I stripped off my gloves. But I had always liked the boy, so I made myself stop teasing him. I am here simply as myself from now on, and my real name is Enola Holmes. You may place the books on my desk. Yes, I would love some tea, thank you.

Seating myself in the desk chair, I took a deep breath of satisfaction, surveying my familiar small kingdom in the vestibule outside the double doors leading to the office of the great Dr. Leslie Ragostin, Perditorianthe fictitious finder of the lost whose business I, myself, had founded. But, at the moment, I intended to locate no missing persons; I came here simply because it was conveniently proximate to the Womens Academy where I was beginning my studies, whereas my lodgings at the Professional Womens Club were much farther away. This comfortable nook, in the boardinghouse I had bought with the money my mother had purloined for me, was perfectly situated to accommodate me between my morning and evening classes.

I opened my textbook of geometry, and from a pocket in my skirt I drew forth my new toys, a compass and protractor. I anticipated that I would quite like geometry, for I loved to draw, and I was to learn a new way of drawing.

I was delightedly making equilateral triangles within circles upon foolscap when Joddy returned with quite a fancy tea tray: a wrought silver strainer full of loose tea leaves balanced on an exquisite cup and saucer with matching creamer and sugarbowl. Joddy poured, then settled the quilted cozy over the teapot to keep the water hot. From so much porcelain and such decorum, I deduced that my arrival had caused some excitement among the servants.

Do ye require a fire, Miss Meshle? Joddy asked, as taut as a bird dog on point.

Miss Holmes, I corrected him. It felt so good to use my very own name. From now on and forevermore I am Miss Holmes. No, I do not need a fire; it is not cold. And yes, I answered the unspoken question that was causing him (and doubtless the others backstairs) such anxiety, I shall be coming here every day for a while.

His plump-cheeked young face relaxed; he was very nearly tricked into smiling.

The next day I required a fire, for there was a sudden chill in the air. For a few days the weather continued thus, alternately balmy and frosty, and Joddys nose started to runto my annoyance, for he tended to wipe it on his sleeve. I had just purchased him a handkerchief when one day I arrived, but the boy in buttons was not Joddy. How very odd, for he wore Joddys absurd uniformPrussian-blue jacket with big pearl buttons in close parade down the front, matching blue trousers with white piping down the sides, hat for all the world like a little blue cake with white trimming. For a horridly unsettling moment I thought that someone had taken Joddy and somehow emaciated him overnight, for the uniform hung upon him as if on a skeleton, and his thin, thin face resembled Joddys somehow.

This boy in buttons ducked his head and blushed; I suppose I was staring at him. Paddy, maam, he said to me with a bobbing attempt at a bow after he had shut the door behind us. Joddy be unwell.

My mind groped for understanding. Your name is Paddy.

Yes, maam. I mean yes, Miss Olmes. His voice, like his body, was far thinner than Joddys.

You are Joddys brother?

A bit younger an im, yesm.

And youve come to take his place because he is sick.

Yes, Miss Olmes.

Do you understand your duties? How heartless of me, when I should have been inquiring as to the extent of Joddys illness.

Yes, maam, recited Paddy. I am to sweep the pavement an the front steps an the like. Tend the front door an polish the knob. Look after the vesty-bule. Fetch an carry.

By then I had noticed that he had already lit the fire in the hearth by my desk, and I became more amiable. Graciously accepting his offer of tea, I settled at my desk and started exploring the mysteries of phi upon special paper printed all over with tiny squares. Being thus immersed all afternoon, I took no further notice of my boy in buttons until it was time for me to go. As he opened the door for me, I gave him a smile and a penny, saying, Youve done very well, but when you get home, please tell Joddy I hope he feels better soon. Paddy would leave later, after helping serve dinner to the lodgers.

I spent a comfortable night in my room at the Professional Womens Club, a safe refuge where no men were allowed on the premises. Then, at the Academy the next morning, some of my classmates made overtures of friendship, inviting me to take luncheon with them. So it was not until the afternoon that, pleasantly anticipating a nap on the sofa, I approached Dr. Ragostins office.

On the front step of the stately house sat such a boy as I had seen many times in the East End, a street Arab with bare feet, ragged knickers, and a thin, torn jacket, hapless with his head on his knees, his shabby cap hiding his face.

Such a young vagrant did not belong in my part of London. But as I hesitated before him, uncertain whether the cook would have hysterics if I brought him into the kitchen and gave him something to eat, he raised his head to face me, and I gasped.

It was Joddy!

Joddy, with wet, red eyes, his nose a fountain of greeny-yellow mucus.

Joddy, I exclaimed, you should be home in bed!

In a clotted voice he inquired, Paddy?

Why, Paddy did quite well!

But e dint come ome.

A pang seized me as I realized that Joddys eyes were tearful and his voice thick not just from illness, but from emotion. He was here on my doorstep, and he had been waiting for me all day, to inquire about his brother.

Paddy did not return home yesterday evening? I demanded rather stupidly, as he had just told me so.

I caint find im anywhere. Joddy spoke in the dull tone of one driven almost past tears to despair. Me mum is that upset.

Utterly shocked, I told him, Wait here. Ill be back straightaway. I lunged up the steps and through the door, flung my books on the floor, and ran to the kitchen, where I seized cheese out of the crock and bread from the pantry, loading my pockets.