Hounds of Autumn (9 page)

Chapter 14

C
hloe balanced on the library
ladder, her arm outstretched and fingers straining to reach the book. Just a few more inches, and it would be hers. She climbed up a step and held on with one hand, repositioning herself for another try. She balanced on one foot, the other dangling in air and stretched.

She would rather not ask a servant to fetch the book. Something told her that she was already the topic of enough household disapproval without showing undue curiosity about the area. As a family guest, she would be expected to take a few walks through the garden, daily ones if she liked. If accompanied, she could take walks around the nearby countryside. But going further out into the wilderness, especially with a killer on the loose, crossed the line from merely eccentric into the bizarre.

The library was well-stocked, though it appeared largely unused. She had noted that the tops of most of the books were dusty, especially the higher ones, where she was dangling now. The blasted ladder only rolled so far on its track, and the far end of the bookshelf was reachable only by the tall. Chloe was built like a teapot, which, under other circumstances was not so inconvenient.

Her fingers brushed the top of the atlas, but she could not pull it out. She found if she pulled closer volumes out, her desired book,
A Dartmoor Companion
, leaned closer. She did so, and at last, she had it in her hands. She arranged the other books back on their shelf and climbed down the ladder.

She turned to leave when footsteps sounded in the hallway and the library door swung open. She was still in the corner of the room, so the door blocked her view of the new arrivals.

“—for Harvest Home?” asked a young female voice.

“In three days at sundown. Same circle as the last time,” said a woman’s voice.

“Will Granger be there?”

“No reason for him not to be.”

They moved into the room and one of them pushed the door shut behind them. Mrs. Block, the housekeeper, froze for an instant upon spotting Chloe, but then nodded and moved aside as Chloe passed. The girl beside her looked horrified, but a moment later, her face became expressionless. Both of them had the same straight, dainty nose and red hair, although Mrs. Block’s was mostly gray. Chloe guessed they were aunt and niece.

Chloe went to her room and seated herself by the window where Giles sat on the windowsill. She flipped through map after map of the cities of Dartmoor: Princetown, Two Bridges, and the nearest, Farnbridge. The book was twenty years old, and the few streets she had seen had in town boasted far more shops than were shown here. Also, there was no airship station on these maps. But that was less important than finding likely hiding places for the hound.

There was a knock at the door. Chloe sighed, set aside her book and answered. Beatrice stood outside.

“Would you care to join me and the other ladies in the withdrawing room? We were chatting before supper, and all were in agreement that we had not had the pleasure of your company very often in the past few days. I hope you are settling in nicely?”

She glanced at the room behind Chloe. Thankfully, Miss Haynes and the maids kept the room tidy. Aside from a few books and papers, it looked presentable.

“I am quite comfortable.” She thought of the book of maps with longing. She dearly wanted to go out on the moors as soon as it was light in the morning and look for the hound. The police had more manpower and knew the moors far better than she did. But she would have time after supper to go through the maps. And she could hardly refuse Beatrice’s invitation without being unpardonably rude.

“I would love to join you. Allow me to bring something to read while there.” She grabbed the first book from her nightstand and followed Beatrice through the hall and down the main staircase, Giles trailing behind.

“Thank you very much for repairing my little robin,” said Beatrice. “It’s a silly little thing, but I enjoy it. I wear it sometimes, but I mainly like to keep it in my room, near the window, and pretend that it’s alive. I have a little perch for it on the windowsill.”

“Why don’t you get a real bird?”

She shrugged. “A cage by the window just seems … I don’t know. Cruel somehow. Now, a little pet like your Giles, that might be a pleasant companion.”

“I would gladly make you one, but he is a prototype.”

“Pardon?”

“He’s an experiment. He’s not entirely—well, not perfectly functional. He still makes mistakes and has some difficulty with verbal commands. But, in time, once I get all the imperfections worked out, I would be pleased to send you a little cat of your own. It would probably be a good year or two, however.”

They entered the withdrawing room. It was tastefully decorated, showcasing the wealth and status of the family without being showy. The room was feminine, with lacy curtains and floral-printed upholstery on the deep-buttoned sofa and matching chairs. A collection of ceramic milkmaids, various candlesticks, a clock and a potted fern crowded for position on the mantle.

Dora played softly at a piano in the corner of the room. She looked up and nodded to Beatrice and Chloe. Mrs. Malone was reading in one of the chairs with her back to the window to catch the best light. Beatrice picked up an embroidery sampler that was sitting on the sofa and indicated that Chloe should sit beside her. Giles jumped up and settled himself on Chloe’s other side.

“Mr. Baxter, Dora’s fiancé, will be coming to supper tonight,” said Beatrice. “We are all hoping he will regale us with more stories of his exploits in South America or India or wherever else he has been of late.”

Dora put away her sheet music and joined them.

“Please tell me about Mr. Baxter and the wedding,” said Chloe. With luck, the other women would carry the conversation, with her inserting polite encouragements. Once the topics of Dora’s fiancé and their impending nuptials were exhausted, she knew to ask about fashion. Let it not be said that she could not be feminine and social if she chose.

“Well, the flowers are going to be imported from a florist in Bristol,” Dora said, leaning forward. “In a refrigerated railway car. Can you imagine?”

“I thought the cold cars were only used for some medical supplies or for—for other things,” said Chloe, stopping herself before she said that she had heard of dead bodies being transported for burial. She wondered briefly if Dora’s flowers might be sharing a car with the deceased.

“Oh no,” said Dora. “And though Papa is paying for most of it, as is proper, Mr. Baxter has allowed me to pick some things that he will pay for.”

She went on about bridal jewelry and reception tarts while Chloe nodded and smiled. Mrs. Malone and Beatrice added enough further details and exclamations of their excitement over the festivities to keep them talking for some time. They discussed the autumn air, fashionable hat trends and one of the neighbors before Mrs. Malone pointed at Giles, who had crawled into Chloe’s lap. She had been petting him absently.

“Tell me about this creature,” Mrs. Malone said. “I have never seen one like it. My son-in-law says you built the thing.”

“Yes. I built him. What would you like to know?”

“Mrs. Granger built things also. Now, you ought to be careful, young woman. You may be comfortable, with a husband and all you may wish, but you ought to be thinking of the future.”

“What do you mean, the future? What harm could come from building things?”

She wagged a finger. “That little thing is pleasant enough. And I estimate it is harmless enough. But with time, who knows what you could make. Things don’t always go according to plan. It’s best to leave creation of things to the Lord.”

“I hardly think I’m in competition with the Lord. In fact, I believe that he blesses creative actions, be they through art, music, or building things. After all, if He is the Great Creator, then to create is to imitate Him, and is that not the highest goal of our existence?”

“That is bordering on the blasphemous, young lady.”

“If you say so.”

“You listen to me. I say this for your own good. Look at what happened to Mrs. Granger. Lies. Secrets. Intrigues. A disturbing sort of independence. All because she liked to build and tinker in that room of hers. It warped her mind thinking about those things. No good can come from such masculine behaviors. It’s a matter of the natural order of things. Oh yes, I have heard of those bluestockings who wish themselves to be the same as men. A woman violates the precepts of nature at her own peril. And if you ask me, Mrs. Granger was not without fault in her untimely end. One way or another, she brought it upon herself.”

Chloe gaped, too shocked to speak.

Mrs. Malone nodded smugly. “But then, maybe she was no better than she should be.” She sat back, her lips pressed together in satisfaction.

“Mother, stop,” said Beatrice. Her face was white with shock. “Mrs. Sullivan is our guest.”

“I disagree with Mrs. Malone,” said Dora gently. “Though I respect her opinion highly, I was close with Mrs. Granger. We visited each other often and were good friends. If that creature did accost her, then I know it was none of her own doing.” She turned to Mrs. Malone, who was growing pinker by the moment. “I do not think we possess sufficient information to conclude that Camille was in any way at fault for her own death.”

Mrs. Malone opened her mouth, but Beatrice interrupted. “What book are you reading, Mrs. Sullivan?”

“Oh this?” Chloe flipped the book over. Oh dear. She had grabbed the first book she had seen in her room and had not checked to make sure it was appropriate reading. “It’s just a little thing that Ambrose lent me.”

“Well, what is it?” said Mrs. Malone.

“It’s by a Mr. Darwin. Have you read any enjoyable books of late? I would love to hear of any recommendations you may have.”

“Mr. Darwin? I know of him,” said Mrs. Malone. “It is disgusting rubbish. My late husband, God rest him, would never have allowed such a thing in the house. Your Mr. Sullivan ought to be more discriminating in what he allows you to read, especially as young and easily influenced as you seem to be.”

“Now Mother,” said Beatrice. “Everyone has their own tastes. What book are you reading there?” She motioned to the volume in her mother’s lap.

“Never mind that. And stop trying to change the subject. Do you know what Mr. Darwin says in that abhorrent book? That we are nothing more than apes, swinging by our tails in the trees! I am appalled that your husband allows such a thing. I will ask Mr. Aynesworth to have a word with him later. Or I will have a word with him myself.”

“You shall do no such thing,” said Chloe, picking up Giles and the offending book. “First of all, how my husband runs his home and how he treats his wife are none of your concern. I have not asked you to read this book nor agree with its contents. And secondly,” she straightened up, wishing for a moment that she had Dora’s height, “only New World monkeys have tails with which to swing in trees. You, as a hairless ape, would not.”

Only silence followed her as she swept from the room.

Chapter 15

“A
nd the ass’s head. The
ass’s head!” roared Mr. Baxter. “It must have had some mechanical device inside that allowed the ears and the eyes to move while the actor’s head was inside and his arms were free. It was ingenious.” He took a healthy swig of wine. “The play wasn’t bad either. And the fairies moved on ropes hung from the rafters or some such thing. Graceful and lovely they were. Like, well, like fairies. And all played by Scots too. But they weren’t nearly as pretty as my pretty little English pixie.”

Dora tipped her chin down and smiled. She was seated next to her fiancé at the supper table, with the rest of the family arranged around their guest of honor. “What else did you see in Scotland?” Dora asked.

“Not anything else worth mentioning, my dove.”

Thankfully, Chloe was seated near Robert, Alexander and Beatrice. Mrs. Malone was at the far end of the table. Chloe wondered if the sudden seating change for this meal was Beatrice’s way of separating her from her mother. Well, if the old woman was content to be far from her, then she was glad of it.

Mr. Baxter was of average height and build, with sandy hair and fierce blue eyes that were always moving from one person to another. He was highly animated, and though he wasn’t larger than the other people at the table, he somehow seemed to be so.

“Mr. Baxter,” said Robert, “how is your mining operation in the Yukon?”

“Well enough. Well enough. A little trouble with the mechanicals, but nothing my engineers won’t be able to handle in time.”

Ambrose raised his attention from his sole in lemon sauce. “What are the mechanicals doing? Or not doing, as the case may be?”

“Ah,” Mr. Baxter waved his hand dismissively. “The diggers are only operating at partial power and the haulers keep breaking down. I have my best men on it.”

“If your best men are unable to find an adequate solution, I know of a superior mechanical specialist who could look over any machine, provided you were able to ship the mechanical to London. This individual could make it work better than ever.”

“Is that so? My Americans are good, but I am losing patience with the continuous interruptions in production due to mechanical failures. I may ask you for this man’s name after all.”

Chloe was not sure if Mr. Baxter was being polite to Ambrose or sincere. Shipping a mechanical across the Atlantic was impractical. She hazarded a glance at Mrs. Malone. The woman’s lips were pressed together hard and she thumped her wineglass down with unnecessary force. Mr. Baxter caught Chloe’s eye and gave her a wink. She averted her eyes, unsure how to respond. She had heard that Americans were bold and flirtatious, and it made her uncomfortable.

“I would be happy to provide the address of the person.” Ambrose seemed pleased with his little joke.

“I may take you up on that offer,” said Mr. Baxter.

“My uncle and aunt haven’t heard the story of when you discovered gold,” said Robert.

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Mr. Baxter. “Would you like to hear the story?” he asked Chloe. Ambrose was buttering his bread, and did not notice the wolfish smile that crossed Mr. Baxter’s face for a moment.

“I would love to hear it,” she said.

“Then far be it from me to refuse a lady.”

Mr. Baxter kept his eyes on hers too long, and she was shocked when he let his gaze slowly take in her bosom and then return to her face. She grabbed her water and took a gulp. She thought she heard a snort of disgust from Mrs. Malone’s vicinity.

Mr. Baxter allowed a servant to remove his plate, and he sat back in his chair.

“I had taken a train from Kansas City to Dawson City, that’s in the Yukon. I was only up there at all because my brother had need of my help, so I stayed with him and his wife for a season. That country, that land, it captivated me. I couldn’t get my fill of it.

“I considered staying, getting Canadian citizenship perhaps, finding a wife. I’m glad I didn’t rush into that too quickly.” He winked at Dora.

“Anyway, I was outside Dawson City, and I had hired a Tagish man and a few of his tribesmen as guides and workers for a trip up the Klondike River. I had some men with me, and I was thinking of seeing what was up there. Maybe claim some land. So we went up the Klondike, and eventually up Rabbit Creek. And, well, by Providence, we found gold in the creek.”

“That was it? You looked down and saw gold?” asked Ambrose.

“It wasn’t me who found the first piece. It was one of the guides. I can’t remember which one. But then I spent the rest of the afternoon in that creek, and we found more and more. I came back with a little pouch of gold nuggets.”

“Are the Tagish tribe wealthy now too?” asked Robert.

“Nah. They don’t need the money. They like sitting around smoking and talking all night. Singing songs and such. Wouldn’t appreciate the money anyway. I mean, they got some gold. I saw to that. I’m not going to keep a fair wage from my men, mind you.”

“So you walked back to town a rich man then?” said Robert.

“Yes and no. On the way back to Dawson City, our packs held a bit of gold, true. But we got hold of some bad food. I would have thought the Tagish knew their land front to back, knew what to eat and what not to. But I suppose someone made a mistake. Everyone was terrible sick. I’ll spare you a description. But we were laid up two entire days before we could go further.”

“What exactly did they eat?” asked Ambrose.

“I haven’t any idea. They were very ill though.”

“What were their symptoms? I’m something of an expert on plant life, if I may say so.”

Robert stopped chewing and sat forward. Mrs. Malone exchanged a look with her daughter.

“Well, it’s not the best suppertime conversation. But we were tired. Real tired. The men slept a lot. And none of them could hold any food down. Their stomachs were in bad shape, if you know what I mean.” He grimaced in memory. “Two of the Tagish even thought they saw some vision or other. Something about a bear. They all chattered together in their own language over that.”

“Hmm. Delirium,” Ambrose scratched his chin. “I can think of a few things around here like that. Black hyssop, pennyroyal or maybe wodinsroot, if you consume enough. But I don’t know if they are indigenous to Canada. I would have to check my books.”

“I couldn’t say. But the fever was particularly nasty.”

“It sounds like the fever that Dora had last winter,” said Mrs. Malone. “She was in bed sick, just as you describe. Even sick and in pain though, she was such a sweet gentle lamb.”

Mrs. Malone was trying to draw Mr. Baxter’s attention back to his fiancé. Dora sat with a horrified look before composing her face and offering Mrs. Malone the bread basket. Ambrose gave Dora a curious look and she blushed crimson. Moments later, servants cleared the table and placed crystal glasses of custard in front of each of them.

“Mr. Baxter,” said Beatrice, a desperate edge in her voice. “You mentioned that you had a picture to share with us over supper. We are all anticipation. Could you indulge our curiosity?”

“Oh, sure. Here. I brought this for you.” He gave Dora a sepia photograph which she gasped over, wide-eyed. “La Tour Eiffel,” he said.

Dora handed the photo around the table. Ambrose held it for both he and Chloe to view. The tower soared to the sky, glittering with a thousand lights. Chloe wondered what kind of wiring they used and what type of filament was inside the bulbs.

“I missed the International Exhibition of Paris,” said Mr. Baxter. “But I did get to see the world’s tallest building. It’s too bad America doesn’t have a building of that magnitude.”

The photograph had returned to Dora and she placed it beside her custard glass. “It would be lovely to go and see it. Do you think we might be able to go next spring or summer?”

“I don’t see why not. We could even go there for our honeymoon if you wish.”

Dora gasped in delight. She and Beatrice chatted over the photograph while everyone finished their custard.

They proceeded into the withdrawing room, where Chloe made sure to sit far enough away from Mr. Baxter that he could not wink at her or examine her bosom.

“Mrs. Malone,” said Mr. Baxter. “I must say that you look a vision tonight. That dress suits your coloring.”

Chloe thought that the brown dress made her look like nothing so much as a rotted apple, but Mrs. Malone relaxed and smiled at the compliment. Chloe checked the clock on the mantle. With luck, she could excuse herself soon and have time to examine the maps of Dartmoor. She also needed to spend some time in her laboratory.

Giles’s auditory processing unit was definitely in need of examination. But more intriguing was Camille’s battery design and how she could apply it to Giles. While Dora played, she went through the intricacies of his power system in her mind. By the time she and Ambrose excused themselves, she had a mental list of items she wanted to explore.

“You seemed to enjoy the music,” said Ambrose in the hallway.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. It was fine.”

“I’m going to have brandy and cigars with the gentlemen. You don’t want to stay and visit with the ladies?”

She gave him a look. “I have an engagement to visit with Giles.”

“Well, enjoy your time together.”

“Always.”