The Unpleasantness at Baskerville Hall (Reeves & Worcester Steampunk Mysteries Book 4) (3 page)

“I have not, sir. Is it possible that the young lady is engaging in a practical joke and is pretending to be Miss Emmeline?”

“Why ever would she do that?”

“Unfathomable is the way of young ladies, sir. Perchance Miss Emmeline observed your arrival and persuaded an acquaintance to play a prank upon you.”

“Emmie wouldn’t do that.”

“Given the choice between a young lady engaging in a merry jape and the timeline being changed, I think that I, like William of Ockham, would err on the side of the simple explanation, sir.”

“I’m not sure where William of Ockham fits into all this, Reeves, but if he’d read as much detective fiction as I have, he’d know the simplest solution is invariably wrong. It’s always the most complex solution that turns out to be the true one.”

“Works of
fiction
, sir, are works of entertainment, ergo the popularity of the more complex solution. Real life favours the mundane.”

I felt like that chap in the book. I forget its name, but no one believed him. He spent two hundred pages trying to convince everyone that someone was trying to murder him. All his friends and family thought he was touched. Until they found him nailed to the gazebo. I can tell you they all felt pretty silly then.

“You’ll not find me nailed to a gazebo, Reeves.”

“Sir?”

“Put down that sock, Reeves, and follow me. I’ll show you I’m right.”

I returned to the library a little more sedately than I’d left. Reeves has his standards, and ‘running whilst indoors’ was one of his particular dislikes.

“Prepare yourself for a shock, Reeves,” I said as I grasped the library door handle.

It would have taken a shoal of wet halibut across the mazard to come close to the shock I experienced when opening that door.

It wasn’t Emmeline sitting in the chair by the window. Or her blonde replacement.

It was ... an orang-utan!

Three

mmie!” I cried, rushing over. “What’s happened? It’s me — Reggie. Can you speak?”

I stared into the orang-utan’s eyes trying to find some glimpse of Emmeline. Surely she had to be in there somewhere!

The ape drew back a little and gave me a look that showed neither love nor recognition. If anything it verged on the supercilious.

Ever since reading
The Murders in the Rue Morgue
I’d had a fascination with orang-utans. But never had I expected my fiancée to turn into one!

“This is worse than I thought, Reeves. She’s regressed. Someone must have taken the time machine back thousands of years!”

“William of Ockham, sir—”

“Reeves!” I interrupted. “Please stop this obsession with William of Ockham. The man wouldn’t last five minutes at Scotland Yard. And having one’s fiancé turned into an ape is as far removed from mundane as it is possible to achieve!”

It is a characteristic of the Worcester family to find silver linings in the direst of situations. So it was on this occasion. Given Emmeline’s new station, her family might decide that R Worcester esq. was not such a bad match after all.

But could I bring myself to marry an orang-utan?

And if I didn’t, would I be sued for breach of promise!

It was at that moment that Emmeline — or Cheetah or whatever name she was going under at that instance — reached out and grabbed my hand.

“She remembers me, Reeves!”

And she had such a firm grip. And such leathery hands.

“I very much doubt, sir, that—”

“It’s no good, Reeves. I can’t back out now. A promise is a promise. In sickness and in ... change of species, but ... I don’t want to live in an apiary!”

“That’s bees, sir.”

“What’s bees?”

“That live in apiaries, sir.”

“Do they? Where do apes live?”

“I believe Borneo is very popular, sir.”

“I can’t live in Borneo,” I wailed.

“I very much doubt that you will have to, sir. I believe this orang-utan goes by the name of Lupin.”

“Lupin?”

“Yes, sir. Mr Berrymore told me that Mister Henry had formed an attachment to this animal whilst serving in South Africa. He purchased him from a fellow officer and brought him back to England where he now has the run of the house. Mr Berrymore is of the opinion that Lupin is somewhat cunning and unpredictable, and should be avoided if at all possible.”

“Ah,” I said, snatching my hand away and stepping back. “Not Emmeline then?”

“No, sir.”

I waited for William of Ockham to make an entrance, but Reeves — wisely, I thought — chose restraint.

~

We backed out of the room, keeping a steady eye on Lupin, who was keeping an even steadier eye upon us. The more I looked upon his face, the more convinced I became that Berrymore had it right. There
was
a devious intelligence behind Lupin’s eyes. He looked like the kind of orang-utan who’d always have an alibi — having been playing cards at the time in a tree of ill-repute.

My knees trembled all the way to the hallway and didn’t stop until we’d closed the library door.

“Eep!” A strange squeak sounded out of nowhere.

I swivelled round — looked hither, then thither — but saw nothing.

“What on earth was that, Reeves?”

“I believe it originated from the landing, sir.”

I couldn’t see anyone on the landing.

“Psst!”

“Are you sure it’s not you, Reeves? Is your pressure in need of regulation?”

“I believe the hiss to have also originated from the landing, sir.”

“You don’t think it’s a snake, do you? Henry didn’t bring a menagerie back from South Africa, did he?”

“One hopes not, sir.”

“Maybe a Boer Constrictor, what?”

I waited for an appreciative comment — a quarter inch upward curl to the Reeves’ lips, perhaps — but was rewarded with nothing.

“That was a joke, Reeves.”

“So I feared, sir.”

“Psst!”

There it was again, louder this time.

“I believe someone on the landing is attempting to attract your attention, sir.”

I ankled up the stairs and onto the landing, keeping a wary eye out for snakes.

“What ho?” I said. “Anyone there?”

Emmeline — the
real
Emmeline — darted out from around a corner. My heart swelled, but ... she looked worried.

“Ssh!” she hissed. “Quick, follow me. Lady Julia will call the police if she sees you!”

I bounced after Emmie, following her into a corridor off the main landing.

“It’s all right,” I said. “Lady Julia’s already given me the third degree.”

“And you’re still alive?”

“Veritably resurrected. Oh, and I’m not Reggie. I’m Roderick Baskerville-Smythe, Sir Robert’s nephew from South America. Long story. Lots of trains.”

“And I’m not Emmeline. I’m Lily Fossett. No trains though. But what
are
you doing here? You’re not on a case are you?”

“No, I’m here because you said you’d write every day, and I haven’t received a single letter. I thought you’d been eaten by bears!”

“But I
have
written every day!” She paused. I could see her perfectly formed little grey cells positively whirring. “Lady Julia!” she exclaimed. “She must have told the servants to look out for any letter addressed to you, and hand them over to her. I bet she burned them. They’ll be ashes in her grate.”

“Wait, so who’s the blonde girl who calls herself Emmeline?”

“That’s the real Lily. We swapped places. You’ve met her?”

“Ten minutes ago. Why have you swapped places?”

“So I can avoid Henry without having it reported back to mother. I thought Lady Julia might send her daily reports.”

“And Lily doesn’t mind all this subterfuge?”

“Not at all. She’s an old friend and ... did you know that Henry’s father is a moving picture producer?”

“No.”

“Well that was the clincher. Lily’s always wanted to be an actress, but her family won’t allow her on the stage. So when I told her we’d be staying at Baskerville Hall she jumped at the chance to swap places. Apparently this is the home of Quarrywood — the biggest moving picture studio in England.”

“Is it?” I’d seen the odd moving picture show at the theatre, but never thought to enquire where they were made.

“So I told mother that I simply
had
to have a companion if I were to spend two weeks at Baskerville Hall or I’d raise the barricades in my bedroom again.”

“So your mother swung the invite for Lily?”

“Exactly. Lily’s been having a great time. Henry’s given her a part in his new film. He’s in moving pictures now too. Sir Robert’s made him a director. And prepare yourself for dinner tonight because moving pictures is
all
anyone ever talks about. One of the other house guests is a producer from America, and wait ’til you see Dr Morrow — he’s a mad scientist creating all kinds of prometheans for Quarrywood.”

I made a mental note to order a new edition of
Who’s Who
. None of this moving picture business had got a mention in my old edition.

“Isn’t there a slight flaw in your cunning plan?” I asked.

“What?” said Emmeline looking concerned.

“I’m thinking about what happens in two weeks time when you and Lily swap back. Won’t Henry be somewhat peeved to find his leading lady and love interest is someone else. Not to mention your mother walking past a theatre and seeing the name Emmeline Dreadnought written in lights above the door.”

Emmeline smiled. “That will
not
be a problem. No one in moving pictures uses their real name. And as for Henry’s love interest, no one stands a chance with Ida Spurgeon around.”

I wondered if Henry had brought a pet fish back with him from South Africa.

“Ida Spurgeon?”

“She’s the daughter of T. Everett Spurgeon, the American moving picture producer I told you about. She doesn’t let anyone else get a look in with Henry. Lily says Ida deliberately tripped her during one of her scenes this morning, and then complained to Henry how clumsy Lily was!”

“What’s Henry like?” I asked nonchalantly.

“He’s quite sweet really ... but he’d never solve a murder.”

I positively glowed. Say what one will about the modern woman, one can’t fault their priorities.

A cough came from the landing.

“Hello, Reeves,” said Emmeline.

“Good evening, miss,” said Reeves, appearing from around the corner. “I think it may be judicious to select an alternative venue for this conversation as people will be dressing for dinner soon.”

“There’s bags of time yet, Reeves,” said Emmeline. “And most of the rooms in this wing are empty. I think that’s why they put me here — to keep me out of the way. Are you pretending to be South American too, Reeves?”

“No, miss.”

“I think you should. Don’t you, Reggie?”

I kept quiet. ‘Never antagonise the man who is about to lay out one’s clothes for dinner’ is a family motto.

“And we’ll have to give you an interesting past,” said Emmeline. “I know! You’re an Argentinean tango instructor fallen upon hard times.”

“I think not, miss.”

Emmeline did not appear to be listening. “We can’t call you Reeves either. How about Reevero? Reevero Gaucho — that’s a better name.”

I decided to intervene before Reeves popped a rivet.

“You’ll never guess who I met in the library just now,” I said. “An orang-utan!”

As I had hoped, an orang-utan in a library trumped a cornered valet every time.

“Lupin!” said Emmeline. “What do you think of him? Did he look at you as though he was working out the best way to stuff your body up a chimney?”

“I’d say he’d already worked that out and was perfecting his alibi. Is it true he has the run of the house?”

“Completely. Some evenings he even dines with us! Henry dotes upon him.”

The thought of dining with Lady Julia
and
Lupin brought a momentary tremble to the Worcester knees.

“The thing is,” said Emmeline, suddenly looking a little serious “It’s not just Lupin. There’s something ...
off
about this place. I can’t put my finger on what. I just ... can’t shake this feeling that something bad is about to happen. You do know the family’s cursed?”