The Broken Sun (2 page)

‘We didn't mean to pry,' Scarlet continued. ‘But you looked a little upset.'

‘Possibly more surprised than upset.' Mr Doyle slid the letter across the desk. ‘Take
a look at this.'

Jack and Scarlet began to read.

Dear Ignatius,

I know we have not spoken for some time, but a mystery has arisen concerning Phillip
and I require your assistance. I would not have broken my silence with you unless
I felt this matter to be of the utmost importance.

Yours,

Amelia.

Jack frowned. The names were familiar, but where did he know them from?

Scarlet said, ‘Amelia is…?'

‘My daughter-in-law. I have not seen her for many years.'

Now Jack remembered the story. Mr Doyle and his son Phillip had been in the war in
France. It had been a terrible time with thousands of men dying in battle every day.
After being ordered to attack an enemy emplacement, Mr Doyle and his men had charged
across a field, but the detective had become entangled in barbed wire. Artillery
fired upon them and, struggling to free himself, Mr Doyle had been knocked unconscious.

On waking, he searched for his son and the other men for hours, but it seemed they
had all been killed. The only remains of Phillip Doyle had been his dog tags and
some scraps of clothing. Nothing else was recovered.

Phillip's wife, Amelia, had been distraught. Blaming Mr Doyle for the loss of her
husband, she had driven him away, forbidding him from seeing her or his grandson,
Jason.

‘A mystery concerning Phillip,' Jack said. ‘I wonder what she means.'

‘I have no idea,' Mr Doyle said. ‘But I may be away for some time.'

‘Then you will need our assistance,' Scarlet said.

Ignatius Doyle grimaced. ‘I'm not sure how Amelia will receive us. She may be…difficult.'

Jack gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Difficult, we can handle.'

Mr Doyle sent a message to his daughter-in-law informing her of his intended visit.
The next morning Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle rose early, had breakfast and took the
train to Harwich, a small town on the east coast. Mr Doyle's airship, the
Lion's
Mane
, was still in repair after damage during their recent adventures.

The journey to Harwich took most of the day. It was a comfortable train, powered
by a Vincent 700 steam locomotive. The engine was a mighty barrel-shaped chamber
with a six-foot stack. Watching the smoke flow back towards the city, Jack's eyes
were drawn to the London Metrotower, a crowning achievement of British engineering,
reaching to the edge of space. From the top, steam-powered crafts transported people
and goods between cities all around the world.

The invention of Terrafirma—a type of mould many times stronger than steel—meant
that buildings could be constructed to enormous heights. The new Art Museum, Buckingham
Palace and Houses of Parliament were over two hundred stories.

Scarlet nudged Jack. ‘Have I shown you this?' she asked, waving a book at him. ‘I'm
sure you'll find it fascinating.'

Jack sighed. Their tutor, Miss Bloxley, gave them lessons five days a week. The woman
had the special knack of making an interesting subject boring and a boring subject,
well, very boring. In addition to this,
Scarlet had taken it upon herself to continue
his education.

Jack read the cover:
The World of Classical Music
.

Oh no
, he thought.

‘That's right,' Scarlet grinned. ‘More classical music.'

She proceeded to tell Jack all about Ludwig van Beethoven. Jack tried to appear interested
but tuned out, only returning to the thread of the monologue when Scarlet described
how Beethoven had gone deaf.

‘I see,' Jack said. ‘That explains a lot.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘All that banging about. Hitting things. It sounds like the orchestra is trying to
kill a rat with their instruments.'

‘You're saying that Beethoven's Ninth Symphony sounds like someone trying to kill
a rat with a musical instrument?'

Scarlet had gone very pink. Jack swallowed. ‘Maybe some of the girls at the music
halls could help him,' he suggested. ‘Teach him some songs.'

‘The girls at the music halls? Beethoven could learn from
them
?'

‘He can read lips,' Jack said. ‘Can't he?'

‘He's been dead for a hundred years.'

‘Then lip reading's out of the question.' Jack flicked through the book. He liked
reading, but adventure stories by writers such as Robert Louis Stevenson or Jules
Verne. ‘I'm not sure I know the meanings of all the words.'

‘Which ones?'

‘I can work out some of them,' Jack said.
‘
Cat-as-trophe
. Imagine that, using a cat
as a trophy. Should be a law against it.'

Mr Doyle coughed, covering a smile as Scarlet glared at Jack. ‘Sometimes I think
you say these things to annoy me,' she said.

‘As if I'd do that.'

Arriving at Harwich Station, they found no steamcabs so they walked the mile or
so to Amelia's house. It was late in the day and the sky was clear of cloud. Jack
breathed in the warm air. Spring had always been his favourite season because his
mother had collected primroses, daffodils and snowdrops to decorate their small caravan.

‘I have not been here in some time,' Mr Doyle said as they made their way down a
lane lined with elm trees. ‘Not since the war.'

‘Has the area changed much?'

‘Not at all. This has always been a quiet part of the country.'

‘What sort of work did Phillip do?' asked Scarlet. ‘Before the war.'

‘He was studying medicine at Oxford. He never finished his studies or he would have
entered as a doctor.' The detective sighed. ‘I did not approve of his enlistment.'

‘He enlisted?' Scarlet asked. ‘I thought he must have been drafted.'

‘A lot of men enlisted. They wanted to do their duty.' Mr Doyle did not speak for
some time. ‘War sounds so noble when you're seated around a living room with
friends.
The fire is blazing and the scotch is flowing. It's quite a different matter when
you're in the middle of it.' He pointed. ‘That's Amelia's house at the end.'

The neat two-storey brick cottage was surrounded by a hedge. They followed the path
to a front door. Before Mr Doyle had a chance to knock, the door creaked open and
a young woman appeared. Her black hair was pulled into a bun and there were dark
shadows beneath her eyes.

‘Amelia.' The detective smiled. ‘It's lovely to see you.'

‘Ignatius.' Her eyes shifted to Jack and Scarlet. ‘Who are these young people?'

Once Mr Doyle introduced them, the woman's eyes blazed.

‘And are you going to get them killed too?' she cried.

CHAPTER TWO

Amelia led them into a parlour. It was clean and tidy with walls covered in a floral
pattern. There was an ornately carved bookcase in one corner and a faded olive-green
lounge setting in the other. A vase of daisies sat on a sideboard, but the flowers
were dry and wilted. Thin shards of sunlight came through the open curtains. A spider
worked at a web in the corner of one window.

Jack felt uncomfortable as they sat on the lounge. The house was strangely quiet.
Amelia sat like a tightly wound clock, her hands clenched together. Jack wished he
and Scarlet had not come.

Over the fireplace hung a painting of a young man.
There was no mistaking his identity—Phillip
Doyle looked just like his father.

‘Is Jason here?' Mr Doyle asked.

‘He is at school.'

Disappointment flashed across the detective's face. ‘Then we might as well get to
the heart of the matter,' he said. ‘I assume someone has sent you Phillip's watch.'

Amelia's mouth dropped. ‘How did you—?' She stopped herself. ‘Of course. It is one
of your little tricks.'

‘The science of deduction is not a trick,' Mr Doyle said gently. ‘I note the magnifying
glass on the mantelpiece beneath the painting of Phillip. He is wearing the watch
in the painting.' Mr Doyle pointed. ‘I can only assume the bulky package next to
the magnifying glass contains the watch.'

‘It
is
his watch. It arrived three days ago. I didn't know what to do, but then I
thought of you.'

‘May I see it?'

She handed Mr Doyle the envelope. He peered inside, then removed a fob watch, a bronze
device with an ivory face and gold hands.

‘Was there a note?'

Amelia shook her head.

‘Has anyone else other than yourself handled the watch or the envelope?'

‘Only me.'

Mr Doyle produced his goggles and scrutinised the watch, before again turning his
attention to the envelope.

‘Do your powers tell you anything?' Amelia's voice
rose a notch. ‘Or should your
travelling circus move on to the next town?'

Jack could hold his tongue no longer. ‘You should not be so rude to Mr Doyle,' he
said. ‘He is here to help.'

‘Jack…' Scarlet warned.

‘You don't know him,' Amelia said, gazing sadly at the portrait hanging over the
fireplace. ‘Not as I do.'

‘I know you're angry with me,' Mr Doyle said, removing the goggles. ‘But anger can
destroy a person as surely as any disease.'

‘He should never have gone to that terrible war.'

‘You must focus on the future, Amelia.'

‘What future?'

‘Jason.
His
future.'

‘I do.' Amelia gathered herself with a deep breath. ‘He is all I have had—till now.'

Mr Doyle handed back the envelope. ‘You asked if I was able to find any clues as
to who may have sent this. This letter was sent by an elderly woman. She is left-handed
and suffers from arthritis. Her hair is dyed blonde.'

Amelia looked amazed. ‘That's…astonishing.'

‘The envelope has a variety of scents,' Mr Doyle said. ‘The first is a hand cream
favoured by women of more advanced age. The second is a sharper scent. Hydrogen peroxide.
Used to dye hair.

‘The handwriting is that of a female. That she is left-handed is obvious from the
slope of the script. She clearly suffers from arthritis. You see how'—he pointed
to the letter—‘she moves from one word to the next. There is a small line at the
end of each, where she had difficulty lifting the pen. Still, the writing is otherwise
legible and educated.'

‘What about the watch?' Scarlet inquired.

‘This
is
Phillip's watch,' Mr Doyle confirmed, picking up the timepiece. ‘Not only
does it carry the inscription I had engraved on the back, but it also has a tiny
dent on the bottom right-hand side. This happened on a hiking holiday in Scotland.

‘Two repairs have been made. The first is the hunter case. That is the spring-operated
cover. It appears some damage was done to the spring and it has been replaced. A
change has also been made to the back. This watch was an antique passed down from
my grandfather,' Mr Doyle explained. ‘It had a keyhole set into the back so that
the spring could be wound. But if you look here,' he said, pointing at the case.
‘It has been replaced with a winding stem. Only an experienced watchmaker could make
such an alteration.'

‘But you know what this means,' Amelia cried, leaping to her feet. ‘You abandoned
him to die on that battlefield, but he survived against all odds. Phillip is alive!'

Alive?
Jack's mouth fell open.
Was it possible?

‘We can't jump to conclusions—' Mr Doyle said, but his face had turned very pale.

Scarlet leaned forward. ‘Mrs Doyle,' she said. ‘I understand your pain, but you must
try to calm down.'

‘How can I calm down?' Amelia was now brushing tears from her face. ‘My husband has
returned from the dead. I must find him!'

‘I know losing Phillip has been difficult for you,' Mr Doyle said. ‘Not an
hour
goes
by that I don't think of him.'

‘This house is so quiet without him.' Amelia stared behind them as if peering into
the past. ‘It is as though all the joy has been drained from it.'

‘And Jason?' Mr Doyle asked.

‘He is resilient,' Amelia said. ‘Like his father.'

Mr Doyle swallowed. ‘Is it possible for me to see him?'

‘I don't think that would be wise. Not yet, anyway.'

‘I understand,' the detective said, sighing. ‘It's probably best that we move on.
It appears we have a mystery to solve.'

‘Who do you think sent me the watch?'

‘There would be no mystery if I knew that answer.' Mr Doyle pocketed the watch and
envelope, and they made their way to the front door. ‘I will let you know what I
discover.'

Amelia gulped. ‘I must know the truth about my husband,' she said. ‘Whatever that
truth may be.'

Mr Doyle paused. ‘Amelia,' he said. ‘I am sorry.'

‘I know.' She looked into his face as though seeing it for the first time. ‘I also
know you're the one person who can solve this mystery.'

They started back down the lane towards town.
Mr Doyle turned to Jack and Scarlet,
his face bleak. ‘I searched that battlefield for hours,' he said. ‘Is it possible
I missed something? Could Phillip still be alive?'

‘As you said yourself, Mr Doyle,' Scarlet murmured, ‘we can't jump to conclusions.'

‘You're right. The most likely explanation would seem to be that someone found Phillip's
watch on the battlefield and returned it to Amelia.'

‘That makes sense,' Jack said.