Pretty Waiter Girls

Light Music:

Light Music:

A few hundred feet higher in elevation on the slopes of Pacific Heights stood a rather substantial estate that looked over their grounds, then a cemetery, the Presidio and finally, the Golden Gate and the bay. The fog cleared at this elevation, allowing a clear indication of where the sound of someone dreadfully trying to learn a violin version of ragtime clearly distinguished. It came from the manor house.

Helena, half dressed in fencing gear, worked hard at perfecting her fingering technique and failed, along with failing at bowing and hitting the correct notes. Lane, the driver, whom some might describe as a long tall drink of water, set out some late morning snacks, ignoring the painful notes as they crashed into his ears.

Helena began talking to herself as if reading or writing a script. “The morning room in Helena’s estate on the north slope of Pacific Heights overlooking the Presidio. The room is luxuriously and artistically furnished. The sound of a violin is heard in the adjoining room,” at which she stops playing—before the dead down the hill began leaving their graves.

“Lane is arranging afternoon tea on the table, and after the music ceases, the petite Lady Helena gracefully enters.”

“Did you hear what I was playing, Lane?” Helena began with a fake British accent.

Lane answered, “I didn’t think it polite to listen, miss,” his Texas drawl evident.

Helena continues, “I’m sorry for that, for your sake. I don’t play accurately—anyone can play accurately—but I play with wonderful expression. As far as the violin is concerned, sentiment is my forte. I keep science for life.” Helena waits for some recognition of her wit. She is disappointed when none comes. “Lane, do you even know what that is from?”

Lane thinks for a moment before answering, “I am sure I don’t, miss. Should I learn the song?”

“Not the song, the words! You don’t know, do you? Only the best writer of all time!”

“I believe that ragtime should be played on a piano, young miss,” with a perfect upper-class British accent, Sigmund commented as he entered the room. Attired in a fencing jacket, which barely covered his barrel chest and his street clothing below, he carried the morning post.

“Sigmund, you’re British. Do you know the words?” Helena asked.

“I am sorry, I do not. Should I?” Sigmund answered.

“Of course, you should! It is from Oscar Wilde. He is your countryman, after all.”

“Oh no, miss. I am sorry, but you are mistaken. He is Irish, not British.”

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 fury, 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 that of a school girl.

“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 had grabbed the package and started tearing at the knotted string while speaking, “What did my stepfather say? Is he coming home soon?”

“I had 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 blonde hair as the paper was thrown asunder to reveal the metal case contained inside. “You read it. I almost have this opened.”

“Certainly.” Sigmund slowly opened 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 but 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 an end table.

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

Sigmund, in his standard stiff British ways, was lost 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 decided concerned the dangers in the world. The General is in the Army, the Army fights wars, and 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 since she now had the two men talking, and they never opened up to her, she didn’t plan on letting the opportunity pass while she had a chance.

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

Lane, the more relaxed of 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 on her.”

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 father’s with a tremendous red beard hiding most of his 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, she 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 constantly 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, only to find Sigmund pouring coffee for Miss Smith. Minerva 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. Minerva 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 discover about you,” leaning back and inspecting Minerva from a short distance. “This morning, you rose early. Before going to visit a grave, you had tea and biscuits. You traveled here up Lombard Street by carriage.”

Minerva stood with her mouth wide open as she stared 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 Lombard 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. His name is 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 Minerva to the closest fainting couch.

After they had sat, Helena made sure they both had a proper coffee. Minerva 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 in the beginning. It might help if I had a little more of the story.”

Minerva thought for a moment as she took a sip of her coffee before adding more sugar and sipped again. When satisfied it was the perfect sweetness, she began.

“Have you met Missy Whitaker?”

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

“She is a few years older than we are, but 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 all the time. And I would hear the two of them sharing words 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 that I didn’t understand what he spoke of, he became suddenly sullen and silent. He then told me not to worry about it, that Missy had gone to Hawaii for a holiday, and she would not be back for some time. He became very brusque with me and had his manservant show me to the door without further comment. It was the strangest thing. While in the house, I felt the blackest of moods had settled in that building, no longer a home but more like a mausoleum.”

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

After thinking for a moment, Helena began to softly speak. “Minerva, 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. However, more than a manservant, she considered him a good friend. Helena stood with a slight huff. “Excuse me one moment, Minerva, while I find out what Sigmund requires.”

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

“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 her.”

“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 where she stood with Sigmund to the fainting couch where Minerva waited to make up her mind to think. Did she want to take the responsibility of finding another human being? What if I fail? 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, “Minerva, 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 help find your missing Missy.”