Hounds of Autumn (24 page)

Chapter 40

A
t last, Chloe was alone. After holding the door open for Giles, she sat down in Ambrose’s old room. She had considered going to her own rooms, but that made locating her too easy. After Alexander had left for the doctor, the chaos had died down and she found herself able to slip away unnoticed.

All of Ambrose’s personal belongings were gone except for a few books and pages of notes which had all been collected together into one lonely pile. The bed had been stripped and remade and the room had been aired out. It was an empty guest room once more.

The door to Ambrose’s dressing room had been left ajar and Giles darted inside. Chloe opened the door to find that Mr. Frick had already packed up all of her husband’s clothing. A moment later, she was startled by the familiar scent of Ambrose’s shaving soap. She stood without moving, wanting both to stay and to leave.

Miss Haynes opened the door that connected her room to her husband’s and stopped short just as she was about to gather the books and notes from the table.

“There you are. Were you looking for something?” Miss Haynes said.

“I just came here for some quiet. It’s mad downstairs.”

“All the servants are talking about it. How are you feeling?”

“I’m all right.” She turned to the cat. “Come, Giles.” The cat obeyed and she closed the dressing room door.

“When you have some time, Mr. Frick needs to see you,” said Miss Haynes. “He has been in the study most of the morning. I’m helping him pack up a few things.” She picked up the items on the table.

So much for solitude. Chloe crossed the hall and found Mr. Frick setting sample slides into their cases. From the way he turned and squinted at them, it appeared that he was arranging them in alphabetical order. The accompanying microscope case was closed and set on top of other boxes. He took one slide to the window and held it at arm’s length, then adjusted the distance, trying to read it.

“I can take care of those,” said Chloe.

Mr. Frick nodded and she finished up the slides. She had to make sure that Mr. Frick had a comfortable per annum amount to support himself once they returned home. He had been an experienced older valet when Ambrose had hired him decades ago. It would not be fair to ask someone of his years to find new employment. She would have to check with Ambrose’s solicitor to see if Ambrose had made any arrangement for him, and if not, she would see to it herself.

“I would like to leave the slides for Robert,” said Chloe. “And the microscope as well. It’s not as if I will be needing them.”

“As you wish, mum.”

The room felt wrong. Her laboratory items were untouched and still scattered in the disarray into which her work space always seemed to descend. Her tools and materials were like artifacts from a different life. Most of Ambrose’s things were packed into crates stacked one upon the other. His side of the room felt nothing like him anymore.

Mr. Frick stacked the last of the slide boxes and set the stack on top of the microscope box before turning to face her.

“There is the matter of the steamcycle that I wished to discuss with you,” he said. “We need to arrange its transport to the railway station, but it is too large to have it crated and hauled.”

“I hadn’t thought of that. Of course, someone needs to drive it. I can take it into town tomorrow.”

Mr. Frick nodded, relieved. She wondered if he had somehow thought that he or one of the other servants would be required to drive it into town. She imagined Mr. Frick, goggled and leaning over the handlebars as he rode.

“Also, there are some items of the master’s that you may wish to go through.” He gestured toward the desk where a stack of papers and envelopes sat in a neat pile. “I’ve gone through them myself, and you could take them all to his solicitor if you wish. Some require a response and others are related to financial matters.”

Yes, she was heir to a fortune. The thought was a lead weight inside her. She should be pleased, if not with the money itself, then with the lifelong independence it would purchase for her. But it felt like ill-gotten gains. The fortune of a dead man.

“I will go through them myself,” she said.

Mr. Frick busied himself with other things and she sorted through the various papers. Two letters were in reference to printing some of Ambrose’s papers in a scientific journal. She set those aside. She could contact one of her husband’s colleagues in London and ask them to see to the posthumous publication. It would honor Ambrose to let his life’s work educate a few more people after his death.

There were letters from friends in London, and one made her pause. It was from a Mr. Brian Graves. Something about it stopped her. A thought was close, but she could not grasp it. It was like a rubber balloon, hovering just out of reach.

She had to think. It had something to do with sitting at Ambrose’s bedside. He was delirious and he had said something.
Graves
. At the time, she had thought that he feared for his life, considering the doctor’s indiscrete reference to Josephine’s death.

This was one of the letters that she and Ambrose had received when they met Beatrice, Dora and Robert in town. She pulled the letter from the envelope.

Dear Mr. Sullivan,

I am pleased to hear from you once more. It is good news that you are enjoying your stay with your family in Dartmoor, although the appeal of the place has always eluded me personally. However, I am sure that the plant life is distinctive and I hope you will find many fascinating specimens to add to your collection. May your trip be intellectually profitable, my friend.

The questions in your letter left me surprised, but I will answer them. First, my wife has been in good health and has not had any serious illnesses in recent memory. She is sitting near the fire at this moment, and sends her greetings to you.

And secondly, as you know, my son did indeed work for the Aynesworth family in the position of tutor for the youngest son. He enjoyed his time there and found the boy to be a quick study, if a bit serious for his years.

Now to the difficult part. Brian Junior was released from his position without warning. He keeps his own counsel and has not indulged my requests to know why he was forced to leave. He is a grown man and owes no obedience to me, though it bothers me that he was visibly distressed after his return home and was out of sorts for weeks.

I am glad to report that he is much recovered and has secured a position with a good family in the city. His mother is pleased to have him living so close by.

There was more, but Chloe set down the letter. She needed to speak with Robert.

She located him in his garden, hoeing an empty row at the far end. The garden seemed recovered from its former destruction. The plants were all upright and the one closest to her even had some new shoots. Robert was wearing gardening clothes and his knees were damp and dirty. He leaned on the hoe.

“Come back again?” he said. “I don’t see Giles with you.”

“I left him in the house. I was unsure what he would do if faced with the sight of all these fresh plants.”

“I’ve gotten everything back to the way it was, more or less. But I would appreciate you not bringing him anywhere near here, if you can help it.”

She crossed the distance between them. “Do you have a moment?”

“Certainly.” He leaned the hoe on the fence.

“I want to thank you for helping Ambrose. I know you worked long and hard to find out what was making him sick, and then you tried to find out what we could do about it. I just want you to know that I am grateful.”

All of a sudden, he found his shoes fascinating. “It was nothing. And anyway, I couldn’t save him.”

“No one could. But it was certainly not nothing. You helped check his vitals, watched over him and you gave him medicine. More importantly, you maintained calm and reason in the face of death. I think you have the makings of a fine physician one day.”

The boy became a deep shade of pink and fidgeted with a button on his coat. Chloe would not press him further.

“But I wanted to ask you something else too. About your tutor, Mr. Graves.”

“Oh, what about him?” His expression was wary. “My father is still trying to find another tutor for me.”

“Did Mr. Graves get along with your family?”

“Well enough. Ian didn’t like him, but then Ian doesn’t like much of anyone. Alexander and my father thought he was adequate. Father did not like him teaching me any medical things, because he worried about my interest. He thought I should be content to learn about naval battles and military campaigns.”

“And Dora? Did she like him?”

“I suppose.”

“Did she like him a great deal?”

“How should I know?” He grabbed his hoe. “It was no concern of mine.”

“It would be if it caused Mr. Graves to have to leave.”

“He left because his mother had taken ill.” He gave her a look that dared her to contradict him. “He had to tend to her.”

“Is that what your father told you?”

“He had no reason to lie. No reason.” He grabbed the hoe, strode off and threw himself into hoeing the empty row, breaking up the earth clods with vicious efficiency.

“Robert, wait.” She followed him.

“What?” He did not pause or look up.

“I’m sorry. I am. For everything.”

He raised his head and looked long and hard at the back of the house. “If you will excuse me,” he said.

She felt terrible as she walked back to the house. She hated having to question Robert like that. No boy should have to live in a house riddled with intrigue, lies and death under its roof.

The mechanical creature on the moor was not the only hound in this place. The house was filled with hounds, vying and conniving for power, dominating and indulging in seductions. There was violence between the brothers and there were secrets, betrayals and forbidden things. And somewhere in the pack was a murderer.

Poor Robert, living among these creatures. She should not have pained him with difficult questions. But then a new thought came, a dark feeling of ruthlessness and sharp intensity. If the questions hurt him, there was no helping it. The truth had to come out, even if it caused pain.

The dark thought faded and she thought about turning back, but still there was nothing she could say to him. Nothing could help or ease the next years he had to spend here. She hoped he was able to study medicine some day, but if he was dependent upon his father, he had no choice in the matter. He was the youngest of three sons. He had neither title, property nor money.

She had money now. How much, she did not know. But perhaps it was enough to pay for university. She tucked the thought away for later, after she discussed things with Ambrose’s solicitor in London. She went to look for Miss Haynes in the house and found her mending a set of stockings.

“Tomorrow, we need to go to the dress shop in town,” Chloe said.

“I thought you wanted to wait until we were back in London,” said Miss Haynes. “We leave the day after tomorrow and there won’t be time for the seamstress to make up the dress in time.”

“Maybe I will just pick out a hat, veil and maybe some gloves.” She narrowed her eyes in thought. “No. I think I need a complete fitting in the back of the shop. I can always have the dress shipped to our address. Yes. That’s what you will tell the constable at any rate, if he asks.”

“What do you mean?”

“After you are finished with your mending, please tell the constable on duty that we need to go to the dress shop tomorrow afternoon to get suitable mourning clothes for the new widow. Make it sound like it will take all afternoon. We just need to have as much time as possible in the shop. The police will send someone with us, but I think I have accounted for that.”

“Accounted for it? What are you planning?”

“Don’t look at me like that. It is nothing sinister. First off, I need to drive the steamcycle to the railway station tomorrow so it can be shipped back home. A constable can’t ride on the back of it, so have them make whatever arrangements they like to keep an eye on me in town. Then, you can take the carriage into town and we can meet at the dress shop.”

“I don’t want to do anything that would get us in trouble with the police.”

“I wouldn’t put you in that position. No, you will be accompanying me as my maid, and nothing more.”

“I don’t think I like this. Why do we need to do this?”

The dark thing moved inside her. One of the hounds in this house had killed her Ambrose.

“Another piece of the puzzle has fallen into place.”

Chapter 41

A
s soon as Chloe drove
into town, she had a strange feeling. Ambrose could not request that she be discreet so there was no reason she could not be seen riding through town on the steamcycle. After the family’s own activities, nothing she could do would bring further scandal. Heads turned as she drove down the street, past the police station and toward the railway station.

As she turned into the wide alleyway behind the railway station, she saw Constable Bell waiting for her on the street corner. She parked in the cargo area at the back of the station and Constable Bell came around the corner.

“Good afternoon! You must be here to accompany me,” she said in her brightest tone. She wished she had been assigned a different constable, but she supposed there were only so many officers to go around. Constable Bell did not like her and he probably did not trust her. Her plan was dependent upon her having enough time in the dress shop without interference.

“I need to handle a few things here at the station, and then we can meet my lady’s maid at the dress shop.”

She went to the station window and filled out the paperwork to have the steamcycle shipped to London. She checked her pocket watch. There was just enough time to walk to the dress shop before Miss Haynes arrived.

They walked to Hampton Street, and just as Mr. Lydford had said, the dress shop was next door, on the far side. She had not paid any attention to the shop on her previous visit to Lydford’s and it was more fine and fancy than she had anticipated. Perhaps, she wondered, she had grown too snobbish, assuming that a country shop would not have the fashionable items that her Bond Street shop offered.

She looked at the shop front. This was the display that the hound had broken into when he mauled a window dummy. The glass looked new and was squeaky clean. The window display was immaculate with three perfectly dressed shop dummies in a row. All had been repaired.

This moment was critical. She needed Contestable Bell to wait outside for her plan to work. If he waited indoors, things would be much more difficult. She was weighing what she should say when he cleared his throat.

“I’ll wait here,” he said and took a spot leaning against the wall between Lydford’s and the dress shop.

“I may be a while, but I’ll be as quick as I can.”

“Never known a woman to be quick about anything, but I’ll manage.”

The carriage pulled up with Miss Haynes.

“Please return for us in two hours,” said Chloe to the driver, making sure she said it loudly enough for Constable Bell to overhear. He sighed and looked with longing at the club and the bakery across the street, and then to the pub next door. She would not have minded if he nipped in for a bit, but she doubted he would.

She found the interior of the dress shop light and airy, with feathered hats on faceless display heads and beautiful flounced dresses displayed on headless dummies. Tables of gloves, ribbons, sashes, slippers, scarves and handkerchiefs filled the small central area of the shop.

The proprietor appeared, a stout, ruddy-faced woman in yellow and pale green. Chloe explained that she was in need of mourning clothing.

“I will need a few things shipped to London.”

The woman nodded a greeting to Miss Haynes and showed them bolts of their most expensive fabric. Chloe pointed to the first few that didn’t look too terrible. Time was short.

“Miss Haynes will pick out a few more,” she said and Miss Haynes nodded. A thin shop girl worked with Miss Haynes while the owner took Chloe to the back of the shop to get her measurements.

Chloe stood on a small platform in a curtained area and couldn’t see the back of the shop. If the shopkeeper thought her split riding skirt was strange, she did not say anything. Chloe felt the seconds tick by as she stood in her corset and bloomers, the shop woman’s tape measure wrapping around her here, then there.

Miss Haynes and the shop girl came in with an assortment of handkerchiefs and gloves. Chloe picked out a matching set of black with gray lace trim and chose a black hat with a veil that was ready to be boxed up and taken home that day. Once she was back in her clothing and the shop women were gone, she called Miss Haynes back.

“I need you to keep them up at the front of the shop as long as you can. Tell them I’m having trouble with my shoes or some such. Come back alone to check on me, whatever you need to do. Just give me a time. And keep them from notifying the constable for as long as possible.”

Miss Haynes looked terrified. “I don’t like this, mum.”

“I know. And I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.”

Miss Haynes nodded.

“And Regina. Thank you.”

Miss Haynes gave her a pained look over her shoulder as she left.

Chloe passed through the rest of the shop and went behind a three-paneled screen where the back door ought to be, only to pull up short. There was no door that led to the alleyway, just a blank wall. There was a door to one side, but it led to Lydford’s. If her guess was right, it would open into his back workshop.

She tried the knob, but as she expected, it was locked. She knocked on the door gently, but loud enough for someone inside the workshop to hear. He must be up front. She gave the door five hard raps, hurting her knuckles in the process. She heard another door open inside the workshop and she knocked again. She heard something slide and the door opened.

“Mrs. Sullivan! What are you doing here?” Mr. Lydford glanced behind her at the interior of the dress shop. “You are shopping?”

“I need to come in. It’s urgent. Please.”

“Certainly.” He got out of the way and she closed the door behind her and bolted it.

“Why in the world doesn’t the dress shop have a back door?” she demanded.

“It used to be one shop with mine, but then the landlord split it in two and rents out both sides. The dress shop uses my back door for shipments.”

The back workshop was as she had seen it before, filled with parts, gears and tubing. It still smelled of oil, lubricants, and this time, something else. Something was burning.

“What’s that burning smell?” Chloe asked.

“I don’t smell anything.”

“I’m sure of it. It smells like rubber.”

He shook his head and then gasped as something dawned on him. “Wait here. Will you be all right? Of course you will,” he said as he bolted out the door to the front of the shop.

Whatever he was working on, she hoped it did not burn the place down. Not that it wouldn’t be a convenient distraction, she thought as she slipped into the back alley. She ran down to the street, hailed a hansom cab and told the driver the address.

After a brief ride, she exited and paid the driver, using a small part of the money she had brought in her reticule. She gave the driver a large tip and turned toward the Hammond residence. She wondered if the constable had noticed her absence yet and how Miss Haynes was handling things. She had purposely withheld information on where she was going from her maid. Miss Haynes was an honest soul, and if there was a penalty to be paid for her actions, she would pay it alone.

She knocked on the front door of the Hammond house and Rebecca answered. The young girl’s mother was in a chair in the room behind her, a blanket tucked around her legs.

“Mrs. Sullivan, I didn’t expect to see you. What brings you?” Rebecca said.

“In fact, I am here to see you.”

After a moment of surprise, Rebecca admitted her.

“Are your father and brother home?” asked Chloe.

“No, they are both working.”

Chloe wished she could be alone with Rebecca, but if she was correct, then her mother listening in to their conversation was the least of her problems. She took a seat next to the ill woman and Rebecca sat opposite her.

“My condolences on the death of your husband,” said Rebecca’s mother in a weak voice.

“Thank you.” Chloe was tempted to correct her and use the word “murder” instead of “death” but restrained herself.

Rebecca nodded, her expression concerned. “I am also very sorry to hear about Mr. Sullivan. He was so kind and my father was overcome when he heard the news.”

“Thank you. I want to ask you something about the Aynesworth family. I’m sorry to be so direct, but I am in a terrible rush.”

“Is everything all right?” Rebecca looked worried and her mother pulled herself up straighter in her chair.

“Everyone is fine. I just have some things I need to know. It’s very important. I once heard Mrs. Malone say that Dora was ill last December. Do you remember her illness?”

“Yes, she was sick for a few days.”

“And did she have a fever, vomiting, fatigue, perhaps cramping or delirium?”

“I believe so. I’m not sure about the cramping and delirium, but I know about the rest. Her lady’s maid was sick also, but milder. The symptoms must have built up slowly though, as the mistress asked for medicine before they were very sick.”

“What do you mean, they asked for medicine?”

“I really cannot say any more, I’m sorry.”

Of course she couldn’t. She hoped to work in the Aynesworth household again, and any violation of the family’s trust would place her out of reach of that goal forever.

“It’s important that you tell me what you know. Do you know Inspector Lockton?”

Both mother and daughter shook their heads.

“He was brought here to investigate Mrs. Granger’s murder. Now he is questioning people about the death of my husband and the little girl. More people could potentially be hurt by the killer. I know you are hoping to work for the Aynesworth family again, but please reconsider. They are not all the respectable people you thought they were.”

“That’s not true!”

“We’ve heard of the scandal with the little girl,” Rebecca’s mother took a raspy breath. “Terrible business.”

“And it’s not the worst of the business that has gone on in that house.”

Rebecca shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

“If you will not speak to me, they may send the police to question you. They will not be as delicate.”

It was a lie, but a lie in service of a bigger truth. Chloe felt the deep anger spark within her. The reputation of the Aynesworth family was as dust to her. She did not wish to force Rebecca to violate her sense of duty, but her loyalties were misplaced. She had to figure out how to make her understand.

“I’m sorry,” Rebecca said. “If the police come and ask me, then I am forced to obey and answer every question. But I can’t be repeating gossip to just anyone. You seem like a nice woman, Mrs. Sullivan, and I’m sorry about your husband. But I cannot help you.”

Rebecca stood, moved to the front door and opened it. Chloe rose and stood before her.

“Please reconsider. This could be a matter of life and death.”

“I’m sorry Mrs. Sullivan, good-bye.”

“Rebecca, Mr. Sullivan was murdered. He and the little girl died in terrible pain. They were vomiting and writhing in agony for hours.”

Rebecca blanched and covered her mouth with her hand. “That’s horrible.”

“They died covered in their own filth, their stomachs eaten away, their skin yellowed and their hands purple. They cried out for mercy. They screamed in their delirium.”

“Oh my God, please stop.”

“They begged for the pain to stop, but no drug could help them. Death was a mercy for them, the only end to their agonizing pain. And they died because someone murdered them.”

Rebecca shook her head, looking past Chloe at some insubstantial thing in the distance. She still held the doorknob, waiting for Chloe to leave.

The girl shook her head. “There is nothing I can do. I’m sorry.”

Chloe felt the rage leap up. She no longer cared about Rebecca’s feelings or her honest desire to do her duty. All of it was rubbish. She wanted to shake the girl until she spoke, to force the words from her mouth. Her hands itched to grab the girl’s shoulders and slam her against a wall.

“Tell her,” said the sick woman.

Rebecca glanced at her mother, oblivious to the struggle for control going on in the woman before her.

“Tell her, darling.”

“I’m not sure I should say. It’s not proper to discuss these things, even among women, you understand.” She closed the door and returned to her seat. Her mother was speaking to her now, and the girl was listening. That was better. Chloe moved to take a seat again, trying to recover an air of serenity and grace.

With another look at her mother, Rebecca took a breath. “Miss Aynesworth’s maid asked me to fetch a special tea. It was medicinal, to help with a health problem that Miss Aynesworth had. They gave me a note, sealed, and I brought it, got the tea and brought it back.”

“You brought the note to the doctor?”

Rebecca stared at her folded hands.

“To Mad Maggie?” Chloe’s voice was low, but there was no chance of her being misunderstood. She wished she knew Maggie’s last name, but since Constable Bell had called her Mad Maggie, the name had stuck in her mind. Rebecca colored a deep pink and after a while, she nodded.

“And why didn’t Miss Aynesworth summon Doctor Fleming or Doctor Michaels?”

“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not like that. Miss Aynesworth is a lady, a proper lady. You shouldn’t say things like that.”

“I didn’t say anything about Miss Aynesworth. I simply asked a question.”

“I don’t know.”

It was probably a lie, but one Chloe could live with. She had gotten the answer to her question.

“One last thing. Did Camille Granger know about any of this?”

“Well, yes now that you mention it. But how would you know that? She came when Dora was sick and had a visit with her. They were close enough for visits like that. Good friends, very close.”

“Thank you, Rebecca. You have helped immensely.”

Chloe’s hands were shaking when she rose and said her good-byes. She felt wobbly on her feet as she passed through the door that Rebecca held for her. But once the door closed behind her and she started walking, the feeling gradually faded and she felt a steely determination take hold. There was no time for emotion, only action.

She hurried away, moving on to a busier street and hailing a hansom cab. She told the driver to let her out a block away from the dress shop. If Miss Haynes had been able to keep the ladies in the dress shop busy, then she could slip in the back. She stepped out of the cab, paid the driver and checked her watch. It had been over an hour.

She sped around a corner, and stopped in her tracks. Two police officers were shouting and struggling with something in the back of a cart. The cart driver gave anxious looks behind him, as if ready to leap from the seat at any moment. She moved closer to see what thing was in the cart, though she was sure she already knew.