Nicholas Gannon - The Doldrums and the Helmsley Curse

After a sumptuous breakfast, Archer’s grandparents went upstairs, Mr. Helmsley prodded a dwindling fire, and Archer helped his mother with the dishes. Aside from her coughing fit, she was in good spirits. Not a single person had knocked on the front door. Until someone did. Archer wasn’t sure if his mother was startled and dropped the plate or if she was furious and threw it. The dish shattered regardless, and Archer narrowly dodged a ceramic shard. His mother tore down the hall, shouting before she’d even gotten the door open.

“It’s Christmas morning! Don’t you have a fam—”

Mrs. Helmsley hushed. It was no reporter. It was a tall man in a greasy jumpsuit with an eye patch covering one of his eyes. The Eye Patch! Or at least, that’s what Archer called him. He’d met the Eye Patch twice before, but all he knew was that the Eye Patch was the captain of a ship, a friend of his grandparents’, and tremendously kind.

“Merry Christmas, Helena!” the Eye Patch cheered. “Hope I’m not disturbing you. I saw the sign. Was going to leave. But I’m here on urgent Society business. I was wondering if I might… Helena? You look a bit queasy . Don’t you remember me? It was a long time ago, but I thought the grease might…”

Mrs. Helmsley’s eyes narrowed and her forehead went splotchy. It was almost like she was trying to dig up a memory she’d killed off and buried deep in her mind.

“Cornelius?” she finally said, her voice quivering.

The Eye Patch smiled widely. Mrs. Helmsley didn’t. He seemed to know why.

“I’ll admit it wasn’t the best way to introduce myself,” he said, his smile waning. “Ralph and Rachel asked me to stay in the waiting room. And I did. But there was a pigeon, you see. It wandered into the viewing room—perched itself on his bassinet. Filthy creatures, pigeons.” Cornelius paused and looked his greasy self over. “Right . But I was only trying to shoo it away. That’s how I got the grease on his face. I tried to rub it off and, well , things sort of spiraled out of control. To be fair, you did sic those nurses on me. They nearly ran me out of Rosewood.”

Mrs. Helmsley had no response. Cornelius fished in his pockets and revealed a letter that would have been very pretty were it not spotted with grease. He handed it to Archer’s mother, who held it at arm’s length.

“For Ralph and Rachel,” Cornelius explained, wiping his hands on his chest. “Sorry about the grease. Nature of the job.”

Mrs. Helmsley glanced from the letter to Cornelius and back again. Archer wished she would say something. Cornelius was chewing his lip, his one eye looking left and right.

“I’ll just be going now,” he said, backing down the steps and nearly slipping on a patch of ice. “Sorry to disturb you. Again. And… Merry Christmas?”

Mrs. Helmsley slammed the door. “He will not become a regular visitor.”

“Was that story about me?” Archer asked as he stepped to her side.

His mother nodded gravely. “One minute you were sleeping peacefully in your bassinet. The next you were in the arms of a greasy one-eyed man. I screamed so loud the nurses thought I’d been stabbed.”

Archer suppressed his smile and stuck out his hand. “I’ll give them the letter.”

Mrs. Helmsley was all too pleased to get rid of it. “Wash up after you do.” She sniffed her hand. “It might only be grease, but it’s where that grease came from that disturbs me.”

♦ URGENT BUSINESS ♦

Archer wanted to read the letter on his way up the stairs, but he presented it to his grandparents and waited patiently as they opened and read it. Well, not that patiently. While he was trying to see through the back of the letter, he realized something was scribbled there.

Please come. The order wants to help .

Birthwhistle will not be there .

You need to tell your side before he arrives .

—Cornelius

“There’s something written on the back,” Archer said.

His grandmother flipped the letter, and he finally saw the front.

RONALD H. SUPLARD

HEAD INQUIRER

SOCIETY CODES AND CONDUCT

DEPARTMENT OF INQUIRY

RALPH AND RACHEL HELMSLEY,

IT HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO MY ATTENTION THAT YOU’VE BEEN IN ROSEWOOD FOR TWO DAYS, BUT HAVE YET COME TO THE SOCIETY. I ASK THAT YOU NOT DELAY ANY FURTHER. THERE WILL BE A BANQUET IN THE GRAND HALL THIS EVENING FOR MEMBERS WHO ARE IN ROSEWOOD OVER THE HOLIDAYS. CONSIDER THIS A PERSONAL INVITATION AND STRONG SUGGESTION THAT YOU ATTEND.

REGARDS,

RONALD SUPLARD

Grandma Helmsley inspected both sides of the letter as though she was looking for a clue. “Do we trust Suplard?” she asked his grandfather.

“We have no reason not to.”

“Then we’ll go. I wish you could come, too, Archer, but there are many—”

“Of course he’s coming,” Grandpa Helmsley interrupted. “It’s a banquet. He can bring his friends and see the Grand Hall while we attend to business.”

Grandma Helmsley frowned, but she didn’t argue.

His grandfather told him to invite his friends and then left to speak to his father. Archer hurried to his room but stopped outside the door. He couldn’t imagine going to the Society without Oliver and Adélaïde. But he hadn’t spoken to either of them since the Glubs’ party. What if they were angry with him? They had every right to be. He slunk into his bedroom, not sure he wanted to face them. But there they were. Adélaïde froze, her hands poised to leave a brightly wrapped gift on his desk.

“Oh, uh , merry Christmas,” she said. “We thought you were downstairs. We were just going to leave this.”

“We still can,” Oliver added. “If you’d prefer.”

“Please don’t,” Archer said, shutting the door. “I’m sorry. For the other night. I didn’t mean to ruin the party. I was—”

“We know you were upset,” Adélaïde said, trying to give him the gift.

Archer was reluctant to take it. “I forgot to get you something.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Oliver said as Adélaïde forced the present into Archer’s hands. “My father was right. We’ve been loafing ever since you left. Go on. Open it.”

Archer sat on his bed and unwrapped the gift. There were two things inside. The first was a half-empty box of DuttonLick’s chocolate caramel turtles.

“I might have eaten a few,” Oliver said, blushing. “But I’ll make you more. I wanted to tell you the other night—Mr. DuttonLick is having a huge party at the sweetshop, and he asked me to be his assistant. He’s going to teach me how to make chocolate.”

Oliver had gone from blushing to beaming. He’d even puffed out his chest a little. DuttonLick’s sweetshop was Oliver’s favorite store in Rosewood. And aside from Mr. DuttonLick himself, Oliver knew it better than anyone.

“You’ll be a great assistant,” Archer said, pouring the chocolates into his hand and offering his friends some.

Beneath the half-empty chocolate box was a brand-new leather-bound pocket journal.

“I thought you could use a new one,” Adélaïde explained, licking a bit of caramel from her finger. “I hope you like it. It’s from Bray and Ink on Howling Bloom Street. And look.” She leaned in and lifted the cover. “This one even has a pen holder.”

Many things in this world can rack you with guilt, but treating your good friends poorly and having those same friends acting as though it never happened at all takes the cake.