Free Into the Storm by Avi Page A

Kirkle demanded.
    â€œMy lord, does the name Matthew Clemspool mean anything to you?”
    â€œNever heard of him.”
    â€œMy inquiries have informed me that he has a business called Brother’s Keeper. On Bow Lane. In the City. Its principal purpose is to exploit the conflicts between younger and older brothers in families of wealth.”
    â€œI don’t grasp your meaning, sir.”
    â€œIf,” Mr. Pickler explained, “a younger brother wishes to trouble or push aside an older brother, he engages Mr. Clemspool. By the same token, if an older brother wishes to trouble or push aside a younger one, he also engages Mr. Clemspool.”
    From his pocket Mr. Pickler drew out the tincture of rhubarb. He held the bottle up. “This, sir, was procured for your son by this Mr. Clemspool. A chemist had advised me it contains something beyond the tincture. He suspects a sleeping potion.”
    â€œDespicable! I will have this Clemspool fellow arrested!”
    â€œHe seems to have vanished.”
    â€œI’ll track him down!”
    â€œHe is not to be traced.”
    â€œAre you implying, Mr. Pickler, that this scoundrel abducted Laurence?”
    Mr. Pickler bobbed his head and swallowed hard. “No, sir, I am not saying that.”
    â€œThen, good heavens, man,” Lord Kirkle thundered, “what are you saying?”
    â€œMy lord, you have another son.”
    â€œWhat about him?”
    â€œPerhaps, my lord,” the investigator offered, “it would be wise to ask —” He hesitated. Then, speaking more softly, he added, “Ask Sir Albert if he has had any dealings with this Matthew Clemspool.”
    It took a moment for Lord Kirkle to absorb the thought. When he had, his face turned fiery. “Mr. Pickler,” he cried, “are you fully aware of what you are saying?”
    â€œMy lord, this Mr. Clemspool informed me himself thathe helped Sir Laurence leave London and reach Liverpool. He was employed to do so, I believe, by … your elder son. Once in Liverpool I am quite sure Sir Laurence got on a ship that sailed for America — as a stowaway.”
    The blood drained from Lord Kirkle’s face. His body sagged. He would have fallen if he had not grasped the edge of the desk. Only with great effort did he pull himself up to his full height.
    â€œMr. Pickler,” he whispered in a breaking voice, “do you think my boy is … alive?”
    â€œTo the best of my knowledge, my lord. But they do not treat stowaways kindly. And … many die on these emigrant boats.” Mr. Pickler looked into his bowler, which, for security, he had retrieved from the desk. “Even if your son survived the voyage and reached America, I don’t know how we could find him.” The investigator looked up. “America is a measureless place. We have only the Robert Peel ’s destination to go on.”
    For several minutes Lord Kirkle said nothing. Then, speaking very slowly, he said, “Mr. Pickler, I thank you for your efforts. Your services are no longer required. Consider yourself dismissed.”
    Mr. Pickler was so astonished by Lord Kirkle’s words that he had no breath to respond.
    â€œLeave my home immediately , sir,” Lord Kirkle croaked hoarsely. “At once! You are not to share your speculations with anyone — anyone . If you do, it shall be worth your life.”
    â€œMy lord,” Mr. Pickler gasped, “I only beg to say —”
    â€œGo!” Lord Kirkle shouted. “Leave me!”
    Though it took every ounce of his willpower to keep from bursting into tears, there was nothing else for Mr. Pickler to do but turn toward the door. When he reached it, he paused and attempted to speak. Lord Kirkle prevented him.
    â€œYou will be well paid for your trouble, Mr. Pickler. Double your fee. I will give you a good character if asked. Now remove yourself from my house. And do not return. Ever.