Howls and Hallows: A Steampunk Fairy Tale (Steampunk Red Riding Hood Book 5)

by Melanie Karsak

  “Like something out of an Edgar Allen Poe story,” Harper said. “No wonder they hold the All Hallows Ball here. It’s strange.”

  “What’s strange?”

  “How normal people play at being scared. If they only knew…”

  “That there are things they really should be afraid of?”

  Harper nodded.

  “I guess that’s where we come in. We protect them from the real terrors so they can play and enjoy the rush of false fear, so they can enjoy their lives blissfully unaware.”

  “Well, from the sound of it, whatever Lord Cabell woke up has something more serious in mind than play. I just hope we find it first.”

  I cast a glance out at the fog-drenched landscape.

  “Me too, partner. Me too.”

  * * *

  The airship sunk into the fog. Below, I spied the soft glow of a blue lantern intended to guide the airship in. The illustration of the manor didn’t do it justice. It was enormous. And as we lowered toward the ground, I could see that the grounds surrounding the place were massive. Gargoyles sat on the corners and peaks of the house, their angry faces glaring into the mist. A winding road led from the entrance of the house back out into the countryside. Behind the house was a tiered garden. Statues of angels and saints dotted the place, appearing like apparitions in the mist. Everything was utterly silent save the sound of the windmill turning on a rise not far away. An airship crewman rang a bell to alert the house to our arrival.

  “Allo-ho-ho,” he called, scanning the ground. “Anyone about?”

  After a few moments, I heard the front door of the house squeak, and a figure moved through the mist.

  “Allo-ho-ho,” the crewman called once more.

  “We have you, sir,” a masculine voice called from below. “Drop your ladder. We’ll secure you.”

  I raised an eyebrow at Harper.

  “As long as it’s not mummies, I don’t care what’s down there,” Harper said, shuddering once more. She headed toward the rope ladder. A crewman took our parcels and headed down behind Harper. Securing my satchel, I moved to join them.

  “Do you like speculative fiction, Agent Louvel?” Captain Franz, the agency airship captain, called.

  “Not particularly. I spend too much time living the real thing, I suppose.”

  The man chuckled. “That’s right. That’s right. There’s a common theme in those stories. This is the part where the wagon or carriage driver—or the friendly airship captain—says something ominous just before the hero departs into an obviously disturbed place. I was doing my best to come up with something, but I’m no Horace Walpole.”

  I chuckled. “Time to start reading romance novels, Captain Franz. Maybe even a good detective story. Don’t want your imagination to get away with you. Regardless, ominous message received. It does look bloody haunted, doesn’t it?”

  “That it does, Agent Louvel. Good luck, and be careful.”

  “Of course,” I said with a wave then climbed down the ladder.

  I was about halfway down the ladder when I caught the sound of a church bell. There was no sweet peal of “oranges and lemons” but a somber gong that echoed across the moor. I glanced around the mist-drenched landscape.

  Oh yeah, this place is definitely haunted. Wonderful.

  I moved quickly down the ladder, joining Harper who was already waiting below. The airship crewman wasted no time climbing back up the rope and out of sight, leaving Harper and me alone with a tall man in a top hat and a long coat.

  The man eyed us both skeptically then bowed. “Agents, I’m Frances, the butler. Welcome to Cabell Manor.”

  Chapter 6: Lord Cabell and Lady Charlotte

  A moment later, a footman arrived. With a nod to Harper and me, he took our cases and headed inside.

  “This way, Agents,” the butler said, waving for us to follow.

  “Is it always this foggy?” Harper asked.

  “No. Usually, it’s worse,” he replied with a soft chuckle.

  I cast a glance above me. The magenta-colored light cast by the airship balloon faded as the ship ascended back into the clouds and away from the manor. Frances, the butler, led us up a flight of stairs into the grand house. We entered a beautiful foyer with polished wood floors, a winding wooden stairwell, a massive crystal chandelier, and what appeared to be a farm stand’s worth of gourds, fall leaves, bundled shafts of wheat, and even pumpkins.

  “Are those pumpkins?” Harper asked.

  Frances nodded. “Lady Charlotte had them brought in, adopting the American fashion to celebrate All Hallows. This is nothing. You should see the ballroom. The staff and I will spend the next few days carving them all,” he said with an exasperated roll of the eyes. “Now, if you’ll come with me,” he said, leading us to the parlor. The room was comfortable and richly appointed. Turkish rugs lined the floors. Antique vases and crystal bowls decorated the tables. Silk and velvet upholstered cherry furniture filled the cozy space. A fire snapped in the hearth, giving the room a cheery glow—and making all the silver, crystal, and other visible symbols of wealth and refinement shimmer.

  “I’ll let Lord Cabell know you’ve arrived,” Frances said then left Harper and me alone.

  “Blimey,” Harper whispered, spinning around as she looked. “This is…a lot.”

  “What? Not quite like home?”

  Harper laughed. “Nothing like home.”

  “What about your family, Harper? What do your parents do for a living? Do you have any siblings?” I suddenly felt embarrassed when I realized I knew very little about Harper’s real life.

  “My father is a bank clerk. Mum stays at home, but she does do some seamstress work from time to time. Mostly she’s busy with my sisters. There are five of us. I’m the eldest. You have any brothers or sisters?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Not that you know of?”

  “Orphan. The widow Louvel adopted me.”

  “I didn’t know that.”

  “Now you do.”

  A moment later, the parlor door opened, and a man about Edwin’s age entered. He was a tall, thin man with very wispy blond hair and a pointed nose. He smiled widely, his manner open and cheerful. He wore an elegant grey suit with a dark blue waistcoat. A woman about the same age entered just behind him. She was beautifully dressed, her gown a deep burnt orange color and trimmed with gold beads.

  “Agents, welcome. Welcome. Thank you so much for coming,” the man said, crossing the room to meet us. “I’m Lord Cabell,” he said, giving me a short bow. His eyes briefly skirted across my face, taking in the scar and eye, but his gaze didn’t linger.

  “Agent Louvel,” I said, inclining my head to him—I’d be damned if I was going to curtsey. “And this is Agent Harper.”

  “Lord Cabell,” Harper said politely.

  Lord Cabell turned to Harper. I saw him pause. He smiled widely at her. “Agent Harper.” His gaze lingered on Harper’s face a moment longer.

  Long enough to make Harper’s pale cheeks tint red.

  The woman behind him coughed lightly.

  Lord Cabell looked away from Harper and turned back to me. “Pleased to meet you, Agents. This is my sister, Lady Charlotte,” he said, extending his arm toward the woman by means of introduction.

  When I turned my attention to her, finally getting a good look at Lady Charlotte, I was surprised to see such a strong resemblance between her and Lord Cabell. Like Lord Cabell, she was tall, thin, and had wispy blonde hair. But the features that made Lord Cabell appear rather gaunt made Lady Charlotte appear ethereal and delicate.

  “Before you ask, yes, we are twins,” she said, her voice tinged with exasperation. She rolled her eyes.

  I wasn’t going to ask. I bit the inside of my cheek and forced myself not to look at Harper.

  While Lady Charlotte smiled, there was a sharp, assessing manner in her gaze. Her mouth and eyes contradicted one another. She looked Harper over from head to toe, then she turned to me. When he
r glance finally reached my face—she’d started from my feet—I saw her startled surprise. She stared at me. “Are these the agents that Edwin mentioned? I was expecting—”

  “Yes,” Lord Cabell said, interrupting his sister. “His best agents, Louvel and Harper.” Lord Cabell’s eyes flashed a warning at Lady Charlotte then turned back to Harper and me. “Sir Edwin is a friend of the family. It was very good of him to send you. I understand he’ll be along very soon as well?”

  “Yes, though we hope to have the matter settled before then,” I replied.

  “And certainly before the ball,” Lady Charlotte said, her eyes raking my body as she took in my armor and my mooneye once more.

  Maybe I should ask her if she’d like to pet Fenton.

  “Of course,” I replied stiffly, staring down Lady Charlotte.

  Startled by the heaviness of my own gaze, she looked away. Apparently, one could be very rich without learning how not to be very rude.

  “Well, Agents, let me help. What will you need? How can we be of service?” Lord Cabell asked. “My entire household is at your disposal.”

  “We’ll need a room where we can work,” Harper said. “Somewhere quiet where we won’t be disturbed. And we need to interview any witnesses of the odd events.”

  “Of course. Of course. Frances will see to a room for you. As for witnesses, look no further,” Lord Cabell said, motioning to himself. “Please, let’s sit,” he added, gesturing for Harper and me to take a seat.

  “You’ll be in need of refreshment. Niles, please pour the agents a drink,” Lady Charlotte said, motioning to a footman standing at the back of the room.

  The man had been so still, I hadn’t even noticed he was there.

  “So, Agent Harper, what would you like to know?” Lord Cabell asked, taking a seat beside her on the divan. He turned his full attention to her.

  Apparently, someone likes redheads.

  Harper coughed uncomfortably and scooted away a little. She pulled her binder from her satchel and spent an extra-long moment fussing with it. “Well, to start, what can you tell us about the curse?” she asked.

  Lady Charlotte sighed as though she was bored with the topic. Lord Cabell, however, took a deep—almost shuddering—breath.

  Niles, the nearly invisible footman, appeared with a tray of drinks. Lord Cabell took a glass, sipped, then said, “The curse is just family lore, really. But the tale goes that our ancestor, Lord Bran Cabell, decided that the small village on the edge of our estate was actually a coven of witches. The little village had been there for centuries, and it did have some religious connection or some such, but I don’t know what for certain. Nothing Christian, but no more than that. Anyway, the previous members of the Cabell family simply taxed them and went on their way. But Lord Bran Cabell destroyed the place and burned the residents on a pyre. Their leader, who legend says was the head witch, cursed him. She warned that if any heir ever stepped foot in their village again, they would die within a fortnight.”

  “Witches,” Lady Charlotte said with a shake of the head. “I always presumed the story was intended to keep us from wandering about in the bog and drowning.”

  “And how long ago was it that you went to the site?” I asked.

  “Six days ago.” Lord Cabell sipped once more. “We are planning to put in a new steam station to draw the water away from the road. You may have noticed such stations as you flew in. They’re excellent for controlling the water and preparing the land for farming. Anyway, as I was out riding, looking for sites for the new station, I traveled to the area where the village once stood. The ruins are on elevated ground. In the past, I’ve always ridden by, but this time I decided to have a look. The place is really ideal for a new station. Anyway, the ruins are overgrown, but there are the remains of nine small stone cabins. I don’t know if the story about the witches is true or not, but someone did once live there. And…I found something odd.”

  “Odd how?” I asked.

  “Well, the story goes that the witches were tied together and burned at the stake at the center of their village. When I was there, I found a center pyre. The coals were still hot,” he said then took a drink once more. “Ever since, we have heard howling in the middle of the night. The sound is…inhuman.”

  Lady Charlotte scoffed. “Inhuman indeed. Agents, you must understand, I want my guests to be titillated, not terrified. To that end, I’ve hired tarot readers, palm readers, and a medium to hold a séance. If anything is going to evoke a little fear, I’ve paid for it. I don’t want any distractions. No doubt Edison kicked up some wild animal or something. You handle things like that, don’t you? Inconveniences?” she asked, her eyes drifting down to Fenton’s pelt.

  “Yes, we do,” I said.

  “Very good. I’m sure it’s nothing, but my brother insisted we ask Edwin’s help. I wasn’t inclined to disagree,” she said, a wistful smile passing her lips. “But if you do find anything odd, I’m sure you’ll make it go away, won’t you?”

  I stared at her. My mind raced, unsure if I wanted to unpack that wistful smile or think about the idea that Lady Charlotte was inclined to have others make her problems just go away.

  Deciding to focus on neither, I took a drink from the tray Niles was offering me. It seemed the footman knew precisely when I would need a drink.

  I cast him a passing look, noting the playful sparkle in his eyes.

  I lifted the drink and took a sip. As I did so, I eyed Lady Charlotte closely. Funny how even just hearing her name back in London, I knew I wasn’t going to like her. My instincts rarely failed me. Lady Charlotte was pretty, rich, and spoiled. But what was, exactly, her connection with Edwin? Did they have a history? Surely, Edwin was never attached to a woman like her. Lord Cabell seemed nice enough, even if he was inching closer to Harper by the second.

  “We’ll need to have a look at the ruins,” Harper said as she studied her notes intently. “Can someone take us out in the morning?”

  Lord Cabell nodded. “The groundskeeper, Mister Aaron, will assist you there. I’ll ask him to be at your disposal first thing. I’ll ask Frances to arrange for you to work from the library.”

  “But Lord Munsford always takes in the library while he’s here,” Lady Charlotte complained.

  “Yes, but he won’t arrive for three days.”

  “And if the case takes longer than that? Surely the small library would be sufficient, Edison.”

  “Very well. The small library then. But I’m sure these agents will have this distraction in hand by the ball. “

  Lady Charlotte sighed. “The whole mess is rather vulgar. The family curse makes for a wonderfully spooky milieu until—”

  “Until the wolves come howling,” I said, forcing myself not to smirk.

  Lady Charlotte stared at me, her eyes narrowing. “Precisely. But I suppose that’s what your pistol is for,” she said tartly.

  “Indeed, it is.”

  Harper, who’d been nursing her own drink, raised her eyebrows quickly then polished off her glass, hiding her grin in the process.

  Lord Cabell rose, which, of course, meant we had to stand too. I took a sip of my drink and set it aside.

  “Niles will show you to the small library. Niles, be a good chap and let Frances know they’ll be working from there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Lady Charlotte will ask our housekeeper to see you to your rooms,” Lord Cabell said.

  “Oh, dear. Yes. Well, with so many guests coming and all the preparations underway, I hope you don’t mind if we roomed you together,” Lady Charlotte said.

  “Is that really necessary?” Lord Cabell asked her.

  “Yes,” she replied, her gaze steely.

  “Very well. The house is your ship this time of year. I’m not in residence at Cabell Manor often, Agents. My work frequently takes me abroad. In fact, I’m bound for India soon. When I’m gone, my sister has the run of the house.”

  “It’s no matter,” I said, nodding to Lord
Cabell. “We’re here to work.”

  “You see,” Lady Charlotte said. “No matter to them. Now, I’m afraid you’ve missed dinner, but we’ll see to it that the cooks prepare you something to eat. Will sandwiches be all right?”

  Death by a thousand small slights? I think not. Lady Charlotte was growing more comical by the moment.

  “Anything is fine,” Harper replied.

  “Niles, make sure Missus Carroll sees to it,” Lady Charlotte told the footman.

  “Of course, m’lady,” he said, bowing to her. He then turned to us. “Agents, if you will come this way.”

  We exited the parlor, the footman closing the door behind us. I could hear Lord Cabell and Lady Charlotte talking. The words women and eye were distinct over the other muffled proclamations.

  “Well, that was…enlightening,” Harper whispered as we followed the footman down the hall.

  “In many ways.”

  “I wondered if you noticed that little smile at the mention of Agent Hunter.”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “No worries, Louvel. You have that situation all sewn up.”

  “You suppose so?”

  “I was surprised to find upon my return that you weren’t affianced already.”

  I blew air through my lips. “Too busy for that.” And the little issue with Lionheart. But that didn’t matter. He was gone. Hard to tell if he’d come back at all. Hard to say anything about that with him gone. When was he coming back?

  “Well, I’m here now, partner. Where do we start, besides the small library?” Harper asked with a chuckle.

  “I’d say, with another drink. Can you be of help, Niles?”

  The footman looked at us over his shoulder and smirked. “Of course, Agents. And if you’ll be staying awhile, I’d best bring a whole bottle.”

  Chapter 7: The Witching Hour

  Harper and I spent the remainder of the evening poring over the papers we’d brought with us from the agency, the family maps of the estate, and what few ledger notes could be found regarding the coven and the curse. And enjoying our sandwiches. There wasn’t much about the curse in the family records. Prior to Lord Bran’s extraordinary act of violence, there were a few notes regarding the bi-annual taxes collected from the village—mainly in the form of livestock and goods. But no names, no details. Whatever had happened here long ago had mostly become part of the local folklore.