Hounds of Autumn (3 page)

“
Drosere Rotundifolia,
” he said. “A small colony. Just there.” He pointed to a spot beside the road.

“Was that a featherbed?” Chloe asked.

“What are you talking about? It’s a colony of Roundleaf Sundew,” he said. “I’m noting the location for later.”

“I meant the bog.”

“Ah, yes.” His voice was almost inaudible. “That type of bog was a featherbed.”

“What is a featherbed?” asked Miss Haynes, eyes wide.

A bright green carpet of moss had covered the bog. It was smooth and certainly looked thick enough for someone to be trapped beneath. Ambrose flipped his pad closed and put it and the pencil in his jacket pocket.

“It’s a type of bog. You can get halfway across before falling in,” he said. “It’s spongy, but you can walk on it. Falling through the top is like sliding under a featherbed.” At Miss Haynes’s squeak of horror, he paused. “It weighs you down, pushing you under. All you can do is hold your arms out from your sides and wait for someone to come and help you. Struggling is useless. To do so would simply pull you down quicker.”

Miss Haynes nodded and pulled her shawl tighter around herself.

They passed a large rock that from this angle reminded Chloe of a face, and she thought again of Camille Granger’s body. Her dress, which may have been a light blue or lavender for all she could tell, was now darkened by bog slime. She pictured Camille’s pale face, her lips white, the teeth grayed by mud. Her blank eyes had stared at the sky.

She had been murdered.

Chloe had never seen a dead person before, and her stomach turned at the thought of this woman being hit over the head, her body discarded in a bog, like refuse. No doubt the killer had hoped the body would never be found, but the farmer’s dogs had smelled her, even through the thick, wet odor of the mud.

Had she been fleeing her killer? Was that why the blow was to the back of her head? Or was it someone she knew, and she trustingly turned her back?

Ambrose placed his hand on hers and squeezed gently. She reached under Giles to locate his power switch.

Chapter 3

C
hloe watched from the window
as the carriage rounded a green and russet hill and the Aynesworth house came into view. It emerged from the land as if a part of it. Heavy, ivy-covered stone walls rose three stories over the surrounding land, with wild plants growing right up to the short stone wall that served as a barrier between wild moor and civilization. Moss grew on part of the roof, from which numerous brick chimneys stood against the overcast sky. The original house must have been symmetrical, but a small, newer wing jutted sideways and back from the main house, giving it a lopsided appearance.

That was most likely where William, the patriarch and the widower of Ambrose’s sister, would have his rooms, Chloe thought as they rode up the curved driveway. His four children would occupy the rest of the house. If she remembered correctly, only one, Alexander, was married. Ian, the oldest brother was not, nor was the only sister, Dora. The youngest brother, Robert, was only sixteen.

Ambrose’s sister, Rose, had died of a fever when Robert was still an infant. Ambrose had adored his younger sister though he spoke of her seldom. The look that would come across his face on those occasions broke Chloe’s heart.

Ambrose was of the opinion that if Rose had married and stayed in London and had not lived in what he considered the wilderness, she would have been able to receive proper medical care. He would not go so far as to say that the country doctor who had attended her in her last hours was incompetent, but he and William had exchanged sharp words after Rose’s death. Taking a girl of Rose’s constitution and city upbringing out to live on the moors was folly, he said. But Rose had adored William, and was so much in love with the moors, that her parents had consented to the match.

Back at their home in London, Chloe had mentioned her desire to meet Camille Granger, but had not held much hope of actually doing so. Ambrose had gotten a faraway look when she mentioned Dartmoor. She understood why her husband had not been back to visit the Aynesworth family since Rose’s funeral. But she also understood when, one evening after his brandy, he had leaned back in his stuffed chair, his research books scattered on the side table at his elbow, and declared that it was time for him to pay the family a visit.

“There’s just no sense in me staying away any longer,” he declared. “Enough is enough.”

She knew the look of determination on his face. It did not come often, but when it did, there was nothing that could deter him. And because he had asked to visit in order to study the local flora, he would save face and not appear to be asking for forgiveness.

Chloe put Giles in her satchel and they alighted from the carriage. The group crunched up the gravel path toward the house, taking care not to slip on patches of wet leaves. A heavy stone overhang protected the ancient wooden front door. Before Ambrose could knock, the door burst open and a grinning man stood in the doorway.

Ambrose took his proffered hand, shaking it heartily and then turned to introduce Chloe to his nephew, Alexander. He was a very good-looking man of about thirty years, his dark hair tidy without looking fussed over. He was tall, but well built, unlike the man behind him who was also tall but too thin.

“We were worried about you,” Alexander said, escorting them into the foyer and making room so Mr. Frick and Miss Haynes could shut the door behind them. “The drive from the station normally does not take quite so long.”

“There was a slight delay,” said Ambrose. “We should discuss it later.”

Then she understood. Ambrose would tell William, Ian and Alexander, and let them handle breaking the news to the family and servants. There was no need to create an unnecessary fuss immediately upon their arrival.

Miss Haynes and Mr. Frick, ever the proper servants, showed not even a flicker of emotion on their faces.

Alexander looked puzzled for a moment. “I apologize for not coming to meet you, but I was caught up.” He smiled. “I see you’ve made it safely though. I trust your trip was pleasant? Which airship did you travel on?”

“The Queen Anne,” said Ambrose.

The long thin man moved forward. His face was set in a frown, but Chloe saw no animosity in his deep-set brown eyes. Ambrose clasped his hand.

“Ian, so good to see you. So good.”

“And you, Uncle.”

Ian’s face became gentle as he took Chloe’s gloved hand. “A pleasure, Mrs. Sullivan.”

Chloe felt a gentle squirming against her hip, and pulled Giles from her satchel. Within seconds, his visual sensors adjusted and he pointed his feet down in anticipation of being set on the floor. Chloe obliged and he circled her once, sitting obediently a few inches from the hem of her dress. He swiveled his ears and tilted his head, watching.

“I’ve heard of those,” said Alexander. “Is that one of the companion mechanicals that I’ve read about?”

“It is. But not exactly like the ones they’re selling in the shops,” said Chloe. “He’s a bit more complex.”

“He can walk and follow you?”

“And more than that.” She was always eager to discuss her creation. “He’s built to—”

“Oh, I really must order one for the ladies. You have to tell me where you purchased it.”

“I didn’t purchase him,” she began. But Alexander had already turned to move past the butler.

The butler took their hats, coats and Chloe’s satchel and hung them on the short coat rack bolted atop a nearby mechanical. This was a doorway mechanical, common in both city and country and one of the more popular models. Like all mechanicals, it had a very limited range of skills. A doorway mechanical was able to open and close doors, place coats, hats and umbrellas in a pre-designated location, and the newer models could sweep the entryway steps. This particular example was shining and well-maintained, Chloe noted with approval. She was of the firm opinion that a person’s treatment of animals and mechanicals was an indicator of his or her character. Of course, treatment of people was important as well, but anyone could be kind to a being who could speak.

She noticed that one of the four jointed legs made a very slight squeaking sound as the mechanical hissed and stomped off, coats swinging from its hooks. Also, the tiny puff of smoke from its exhaust tube looked a tad thicker than it should have been. She would offer later to take a look at the machine. Repairing and possibly improving any household mechanicals was the least she could do for her hosts who were accommodating them for an entire month. She would just have to be careful not to make any modifications that the local mechanical shop could not maintain or replicate.

A stout, white-aproned woman appeared at the end of the hall. She briefly made eye contact with Mr. Frick and Miss Haynes, who moved off to join her. A large ring of keys jingled from her belt as she turned and held the door. This was the housekeeper, the woman who would be acquainting Mr. Frick and Miss Haynes with the rules of the household. Chloe noticed a small stone among the keys, smooth and white. It had a single hole through the center, through which a thin chain attached it to the ring of keys.

Through the door, Chloe caught a glimpse of a serving mechanical. It was the height of a side table, and its flat top was bordered by a thin brass railing around the edge to keep items from sliding off. A tea tray set on top with small triangular sandwiches arranged on a china plate. No doubt it would be making its way down the hall shortly to serve tea.

Unlike ordinary household mechanicals, Giles had little decision-making capability. He was not like the simple clockwork finches, rabbits and butterflies with which ladies in London adorned their hats. But he was often mistaken for a simple decorative item because, unlike a household or industrial mechanical, he had no practical use. The household mechanicals had a limited number of activities, stored on spools within their bodies. They were able to wind, execute and rewind these spools, enabling them to perform activities like cutting and carrying wood or moving about a house to carry items from one place to another. Industrial mechanicals were similar. They shoveled coal on steamships and railway engines, lifted and hauled freight and were able to tie and untie mooring lines for airships and sea-faring ships.

Any complex or autonomous activities were beyond them. Like them, Giles also had spools of information, but with basic electrical power, Chloe had given him a series of simple electro-neural pathways and a decision engine that provided some degree of autonomy.

Chloe paused, drawing a breath at the thought of Camille’s contributions to her own creation of Giles. Her friend had proved invaluable in recommending improvements and reviewing schematics. Without Camille, Giles would never have come into being. But there were still improvements to be made. Giles still had a simple battery system that could never be recharged. Replacing his parts was expensive. If Camille’s discoveries could be widely used, electrical mechanicals could become widespread.

Mistaking her pause for distraction, Ambrose took her elbow and led her down the dark-paneled hallway after Alexander. Ian followed behind. The house was expensively decorated and fully equipped with modern gaslights. Everything from the rich carpets to the carved and polished banister spoke of wealth. But Chloe noticed a few threadbare spots on the carpet and some of the picture frames showed their age as well, flecked with patches of peeling finish. Ian excused himself at the bottom of the staircase, and Alexander led them upstairs to their rooms.

“We have two adjoining guest rooms,” he said, opening the door to the first. Two servants were exiting the room, having left Ambrose’s trunk at the foot of the bed where Mr. Frick would later unpack it. His room was a standard guest room, complete with a large, if aging, bed, wash stand, writing desk, small sitting area and armoire. The room was decorated in browns and golds, giving it a masculine feel that she knew Ambrose would like.

She opened the door to the adjoining room to find a more feminine room decorated in shades of pale green and cream. The layout was a mirror image of her husband’s. A large rosewood bed covered by a lace bedspread dominated the room, while two pale green upholstered chairs and a small marble-topped table made up the sitting area. There was also a nightstand, a washstand with a jug of water and basin, a rosewood armoire and matching dressing table. Upon the latter was an ivory mirror and comb which were not her own, most likely provided on the orders of the lady of the house, Alexander’s wife, Beatrice.

Alexander was standing in Ambrose’s room, shifting his weight slowly from one foot to the other and gazing out the window. Of course he would hesitate to enter or even look into a lady’s bedchamber, even if she had only taken possession of it a moment ago. Ambrose was standing in the doorway and she did not want to keep them waiting. Upon her crossing the threshold from her room, Alexander turned.

“Is the room to your liking? If there’s anything you need, anything at all, just ring the bell and we’ll have it brought for you.”

There was one thing she needed that was not present in the room: a large table or desk for her work. She did not intend to be idle for a month while Ambrose was absorbed in his research and writing. Rather, she had shipped two crates of mechanical gear, agonizing over how much she had to leave behind in her London laboratory. She fervently hoped that she could either purchase any missing items from a local mechanical shop, or perhaps borrow some of Camille Granger’s supplies.

“You mentioned the use of a room for my work?” said Ambrose.

“Ah yes, it’s just this way.” Alexander led them to a door across the hall. “It used to be a study, but it hasn’t been used in quite some time.”

The room had two large windows that looked down over the front drive. Sparsely populated bookshelves lined one wall.

“Most of the books are in the library,” said Alexander, following Chloe’s gaze. “My brother Robert pulled some books from our library and put them in here for you. Apologies if they aren’t what you will need.”

Ambrose ran a finger over the spines, scanning the titles.

“Robert has read most of them,” said Alexander.

“Has he now?” Ambrose’s face was lit with a smile before he turned back to perusing the titles. “And he’s just sixteen, eh?”

Chloe looked at her husband and determined that he was too engrossed in his own thoughts to have noticed a critical detail.

“Do you think we could get an extra desk? Perhaps over there?” She pointed to the opposite side of the room from Ambrose’s desk.

Alexander was confused. “Do you not think one is enough?”

“For me,” said Chloe. “I’ll need some space for my work as well.”

At Alexander’s hesitation, Ambrose broke free of his reverie. “She makes things.” He motioned at Giles, who was partially under the dust cloth that covered a chair. Giles yanked the cloth onto the floor and pawed at the fabric. Alexander glared at him.

“Oh, but there are plenty of things for a lady to do here,” Alexander said. “We are not without amusements. We have a withdrawing room with a piano, you can embroider, draw, paint, or you can even get a book from the library.” He smiled gently at Chloe, but she could still see the confusion, and something else, in his face. He glanced at Giles.

She knew from experience that this topic needed to be broached carefully. Females did not create complex mechanicals. Men were the ones who designed and repaired household and industrial mechanicals. This left any woman with such inclinations to design small decorative pets, like birds that made tinny chirping noises and clung with tiny metal feet to a hat or the shoulder of a dress. Chloe had created plenty of birds and other creatures, including a family of small gray mice that twitched their whiskers and ran on a small magnetic track. She had also made music boxes and a few toys. All of these were appropriately feminine pursuits, but only barely. They pushed the limits of ladylike behavior.

“I suppose I could order up a table,” said Alexander, looking at Ambrose. “Is there anything else she might need?”

“Only the name of the local mechanical shop,” said Ambrose.

Alexander brightened slightly. “It’s Lydford’s. On Hampton Street.”

“We passed it on our way into town,” said Chloe.