Alexander Graham Bell: Master of Sound #7 (12 page)

By eight o’clock, Maisie’s distress had faded to a dull ache in her chest. Almost a dozen fancy people filled Mrs. Duckberry’s drawing room, sipping French wine and talking in their British accents. The swirl of velvet and smoke, of beards and ringlets, worked to distract Maisie from her troubles. She talked to Mrs. So and So (who also knew Phinneas Pickworth) about Newport and New York City, as if she, too, were a member of
high society. Most of the things Mrs. So and So mentioned in those places were long gone, but Maisie nodded and smiled as if they weren’t, and picked up a word of Mrs. So and So’s in the process:
indeed.
The way it worked was when Maisie had no idea what someone was talking about, she smiled, nodded, and said “Indeed.” It seemed to mean yes, no,
and
maybe.

Now Mrs. Someone Else was talking about the poor street children of London. Unfortunately, Maisie did know a little something about that situation, but she chose to stick with what worked best: Smile. Nod. “Indeed.”

Mrs. Someone Else pointed her little pointy chin in the direction of a dark-haired bearded man who looked like all the other dark-haired bearded men.

“He knows something about it, doesn’t he?” Mrs. Someone Else said.

“Indeed,” Maisie said, wondering if he ran one of the workhouses or did something in government.

“Have you read them yet?” Mrs. Someone Else asked.

Maisie nodded.

“Which ones?” Mrs. Someone Else continued.
She kept her eyes on the man, but Maisie knew she was talking to her.

This was the first question that one of Maisie’s now practiced responses wouldn’t answer.

Luckily Mrs. Someone Else liked the sound of her own voice so much that she answered her own question.

“I especially liked
David Copperfield
,” she said.

“
David Copperfield
?” Maisie repeated. “I just saw that performed in Edinburgh.”

“By him?” Mrs. Someone Else said, pointing her chin at the man again.

Maisie studied the man’s face, on the off chance that Professor Bell was standing right in front of her at Mrs. Duckberry’s house.

“No,” she said finally.

The man turned then, as if he felt them staring.

“Mr. Dickens!” Mrs. Someone Else said, as if she’d just noticed him. “What a delightful surprise!”

To Maisie’s delight, Charles Dickens smiled, nodded, and said “Indeed.”

If there was one thing Maisie had learned since she’d moved to Elm Medona, it was that there were
a lot of things she didn’t know. However, even she—a mediocre reader and a bad historian—had heard of Charles Dickens

One Saturday between Thanksgiving and Christmas, her mother had taken Maisie and Felix to Providence to see
A Christmas Carol
at the Trinity Repertory Theater. Apparently they did the show every year.

“A holiday tradition!” their mother had said with forced cheerfulness, waving the tickets at Maisie and Felix.

Being their mother, of course they had to watch two different film versions of the story, too, one with Albert Finney as Scrooge and the other with George C. Scott. She even dug up a cartoon version with Mister Magoo playing Ebenezer Scrooge. Frankly, much to her mother’s disappointment, that one was Maisie’s favorite.

“I have a great idea,” their mother had said. “We’ll read the story out loud together! Won’t that be special, sitting in the Reading Room and, well, reading?”

Maisie groaned. “Seriously?”

But Felix thought it was a great idea. He loved
the story, with the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present, and Future taking Scrooge through his life and showing him how sadly it would end if he didn’t change his miserly ways.

“We could each read different parts,” he proposed with so much excitement that Maisie groaned again.

Their mother’s eyes looked bright. She grabbed a pad and pen and began to list all the characters.

“Let’s see, I’ll read Fen and Mrs. Cratchit and—”

“I want to be the Ghost of Christmas Present,” Felix said. “And Tiny Tim!”

“Oh please,” Maisie muttered. “Please let’s not do this.”

Luckily, their mother had to work late so many nights that the plan got waylaid. But thinking of how excited Felix had been about it made Maisie wish they had read the story out loud, that he had been able to be the Ghost of Christmas Present and Tiny Tim.

Even more, as she stood between Charles Dickens and Mrs. Someone Else, Maisie wished that Felix was here right this minute. He’d be able to say all kinds of smart things to Mr. Dickens. After all, he actually liked to read. And once he realized that they
weren’t all going to sit in the Reading Room every evening and read the thing out loud, he found a musty copy of it in the Library and read it himself.

Yes
, Maisie thought as Mr. Dickens nodded and smiled at Mrs. Someone Else,
Felix should be here with me
.

Just as she had that thought, the maid appeared at the entrance to the drawing room and announced:

“Mrs. Duckberry, the Bells have arrived.”

It took Maisie a moment to realize that the Bells were
her
Bells, Aleck and his grandfather.

And that with them, in dresses like the one Maisie wore, stood the Ziff twins.

At the same moment, Hadley realized that Maisie was standing gawking at her.

“Maisie!” she cried.

The two girls ran into each other’s arms.

“What in the world happened to you?” Maisie managed to whisper.

“We got lost in that awful fog,” Hadley said. “You have no idea what we had to do.”

“Well, well, Aleck,” Grandfather Bell said. “If it isn’t your little friend.”

Mrs. Duckberry clapped her hands in delight. “Now we have a real reason to celebrate,” she said. “You’re all reunited! Didn’t I tell you it would work out, darling?”

“You mean Felix is here, too?” Rayne asked.

The adults in the room had all stopped talking, mesmerized by the three American girls’ reunion.

“He isn’t with you then?” Maisie asked.

Hadley shook her head no.

“If we found your friends,” Mrs. Duckberry said optimistically, “then we will find Felix, too. Meanwhile, I have a beautiful lamb dinner about to be served in the dining room.”

The guests took their cue and, chatting together again, moved into the dining room.

But Maisie and the Ziff twins hung back.

“It’s been awful,” Maisie told them. “We were taken to a workhouse, and I think Felix was sent out to clean chimneys.”

“We met some children who earn money by raking the bottom of the Thames and selling what they find,” Rayne said, her voice a mix of disgust and wonder.

“Oh, Maisie!” Hadley said. “I was so glad we had
our rain boots on! There was broken glass and nails everywhere—”

“But we did find a few pennies,” Rayne added proudly.

Hadley opened the small ivory colored purse she had over her arm, carefully tugging its drawstrings and reaching inside.

“For you,” she said to Maisie.

She opened her hand and dropped a quarter-size piece of milky-blue sea glass into Maisie’s open palm.

“Technically,” Hadley said, “I guess it’s
river
glass.”

“So pretty,” Maisie said, holding it up so that the light from the gas lamp made it seem to glow.

None of the girls had noticed that Aleck stood in the doorway the entire time they talked. He stepped into the room now, clearing his throat with a big “
Ahem”
to announce his presence.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop,” he said when they looked up at him, surprised.

He didn’t wait for them to respond.

“But this is a travesty,” Aleck continued. “Four American children, working in the streets of London. Mudraking. Selling goods. Cleaning chimneys. Mr.
Dickens might very well put this in one of his novels.”

“And Aleck,” Maisie said, “Felix has disappeared. Even Mrs. Duckberry couldn’t find him.”

Aleck’s eyes teared at her words. Maisie remembered how gently he’d pressed his lips to his mother’s forehead when he spoke to her so that she could make out the words he was saying by feeling how his lips formed each one.

“You are a kind person, Alexander Graham Bell,” Maisie said softly.

Aleck took Maisie’s hands in his, and when he did she swooned ever so slightly.

“Maybe Grandfather can help,” he said.

“Oh, Aleck. Do you think he would?” Maisie said.

“At least he’ll try. I’m certain of that.”

Now it was Rayne who
ahemed
.

“I think we need to join everyone at dinner,” she said.

Awkwardly, Aleck released Maisie’s hands.

“Yes, yes,” he said, hurrying toward the door. “I think we should.”

Hadley held Maisie back from following.

“How many girls can say that Alexander Graham
Bell has a crush on them?” she whispered. “This is a grand adventure, Maisie.”

Usually Maisie would dispute a claim like that—she never thought a boy had a crush on her. But the way he’d turned his brown-eyed gaze on her, the way he’d held her hands and didn’t let go…

“Yes,” Maisie agreed, linking her arm in Hadley’s. “This is a grand adventure.”

Now if only they found Felix, it would be perfect.

“Just dreadful,” an old woman named Mrs. Peacock was saying as Maisie slid into the seat beside her.

Mrs. Peacock had loose, wrinkly skin that trembled as she spoke. It was hard for Maisie not to stare at the folds of Mrs. Peacock’s neck wiggling. Also, she wore so much face powder that Maisie could see the line beneath her chins where it stopped, and a perfect circle of very red rouge on each wrinkly cheek.

“The boy literally fell from the chimney onto the hard stone floor. Blood everywhere. Everywhere, I tell you,” Mrs. Peacock said.

“He’s lucky to be alive,” Mrs. So and So said.

“Lucky?” Mrs. Somebody Else said, aghast. “He’ll
be back in another chimney as soon as he’s able. These children have no future. No hope. Isn’t that correct, Mr. Dickens?”

“There’s always hope,” Grandfather Bell blurted out. “What we need is social reform—”

Mrs. Peacock leaned closer to Maisie, who had started picking at the slab of bloody lamb on her plate.

“The climbing boys have it the worst of the lot,” she said in a stage whisper. “And this one was a new boy apparently. First day on the job.”

“Possibly his last,” Mrs. So and So butted in. “I mean, perhaps he’ll be crippled now. Or worse.”

Mrs. Peacock
tsked
. “The strangest thing of all,” she said, her wrinkles shaking like mad, “is that it turns out the boy is an
American
.”

“What?” Maisie, Hadley, Rayne, and Aleck said in unison.

Maisie got to her feet.

“Are you sure?” she asked Mrs. Peacock.

“Of course I’m sure. I saw him, didn’t I? He landed in my basement, didn’t he? He dropped from my chimney—”

“Where did they take him, Mrs. Peacock?” Mrs. Duckberry asked urgently.

“How would I know?” Mrs. Peacock said. “He isn’t my responsibility, is he?”

Mr. Dickens shook his head, whether out of disgust or concern Maisie couldn’t tell.

“A climbing boy?” he said in his deep voice. “They took him to the pauper’s hospital in the East End, no doubt.”