Free Escape From Home by Avi

her son.
    Lord Kirkle held out a hand. Albert gave him the card he had been holding. His father looked at it.

    â€œThe fellow’s name is Pickler,” Lord Kirkle informed his wife. “Phineas Pickler.”
    Lady Kirkle grimaced. “My dear, he’s not Irish, is he?”
    â€œI don’t care.”
    â€œWho was it who recommended this man?” she asked.
    â€œLord Mulling.”
    His wife nodded. “Then he’s sure to be trustworthy,” she said.
    Lord Kirkle frowned. “Albert,” he said, “show the man in.”
    Albert exchanged a look with his mother. She nodded. “Yes, sir,” the boy said, and stepped from the room.
    Lady Kirkle sat very erect. “My dear,” she said, “we all want Laurence home again. To think otherwise is positively wicked. At the same time—for Albert’s sake, for his sisters’ sake, for Laurence’s own sake, I might add—the season is about to begin. We must avoid scandal.”
    â€œBeatrice, I want the boy found!” Lord Kirkle repeated.
    Lady Kirkle took the measure of her husband with care. Then, very quietly, she said, “My dear, the cane.”
    Starting, Lord Kirkle snatched up the broken cane and the cravat and flung both into the fire. Just then the door opened, and Albert ushered Mr. Phineas Pickler into the room.
    Mr. Pickler was a small potbellied man of some forty years. A smooth egg-shaped face with a sharp chin and pointy nose as well as round, slightly protuberant eyes helped give him the look of a sparrow. Indeed, the jacket he wore was of striped browns, his vest and trousers of brown checks. His boots were brightly polished. In well-manicured hands rested a brown bowler.
    â€œMy lady, my lord Kirkle,” Albert announced, “may I present Mr. Phineas Pickler.”
    Mr. Pickler bobbed a bit of a bow—as if he were picking up crumbs—first to Lady Kirkle, then to his lordship. “My lady. My lord,” he said. He spoke softly, without emotion. Lady Kirkle was relieved to find the man looking so mild.
    Lord Kirkle, meanwhile, struggled to find the proper words with which to begin. “Mr. Pickler,” he finally said, “you have been recommended to us by Lord Mulling.”
    Mr. Pickler bobbed his head again. “Lord Mulling has been kind.”
    â€œRecommended,” Lord Kirkle continued, “as a man of discretion, with singular skills in … emergency family matters. We appreciate your willingness to come upon such short notice.”
    Yet again Mr. Pickler bobbed his head. Then he cocked his head and waited.
    Lord Kirkle, feeling ashamed, mopped his brow. “The fact of the matter is, our younger son, Sir Laurence, aged eleven, has”—Lord Kirkle swallowed hard—“has removed himself from this home.”
    â€œI am deeply saddened to hear it, my lord.”
    â€œAnd,” Lord Kirkle continued, “I have reason to believe—it sounds preposterous, I know—that he is trying to leave England for … for America.”
    â€œAmerica …,” Mr. Pickler echoed.
    â€œYes, quite. I … We want him found and brought back. As soon as possible. This evening.”
    â€œOf course.”
    Lord Kirkle cleared his throat. “You seem to have some, what shall I say, experience in these matters of finding, returning … the young, and so forth. Eh, what?”
    Once again Mr. Pickler nodded. “I have been allowed to be of use, sir.”
    Lady Kirkle leaned forward. “Mr. Pickler, we wish everything to be done with the utmost discretion.”
    The man placed his bowler over his heart. “The sole mission of my life, my lady, is to please.”
    â€œBut I want him home!” Lord Kirkle burst out, pounding his table with a fist, causing Lady Kirkle, Albert, and Mr. Pickler to start.
    â€œWell, sir,” Lord Kirkle challenged. “Can you do it?”
    Mr. Pickler looked into his