“You knew my mother?” Mira glanced at Byron.
“Not as well as your father. We worked together on a few projects. He was a brilliant inventor. And your mother was a wonderful woman. The accident was heartbreaking. I had wondered what had happened to their twins.”
“My uncle, Cyrus Griffon, took us in.”
“Ah yes. Your uncle is a good man.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. Then Mr. Graham cleared his throat.
“Let me get a pot of tea going.”
He stood, his back cracking, and went into the kitchen. There was the clamoring of tea things, and a few minutes later they sipped at some excellent Earl Grey. Although there was a chip in her cup, Mira didn’t mind. She’d found a family friend she didn’t know she had.
“Sir, can you…” Byron barely started before the old man interrupted him.
“No, I can’t. Now Miss Blayse, what is it that you are wanting to know?” Byron sat silent.
“Well sir, we were…”
“Now don’t start with calling me sir. Just call me David. After all, I was friends with your parents.”
“Al…alright…David,” she stuttered. “We were wondering how well you knew Mr. Pennington.”
“Not very well at all. I keep to myself mostly. I leave in the morning, go and get a newspaper, read it in the pub with a pint, and then come back here to tend to my mums. They’re over there on the windowsill.” He gestured with his cane to a few flowerpots brimming with beautiful red and orange chrysanthemums. “I take a nap after lunch. After my nap I usually sit here and smoke my pipe, read the paper, have some tea, and watch people come and go. In the evenings I go out with a few old friends to get a bite to eat and talk about the old days. I keep out of my neighbors’ business, and they keep out of mine.”
“So, you are home quite a bit then?” Mira bit her lip waiting for an answer. Byron wrote feverishly.
“Most of the time. I don’t like to wander far from where I’m planted once I’m there. Course things were different a half a dozen years ago, but times have changed and so has the functionality of my hips. Why, if I could just engineer myself a new hip the way I used to help engineer your father’s inventions, I’d be able to dance a jig right there on the table!”
Mira smiled. He seemed to be warming up to them, and it was nice to hear about her parents again.
“I would have loved to see that.”
“Me as well, Miss Blayse. Now were those all of your questions?”
She had plenty of questions. A hope built up inside of her that he would know what had happened the day of her parents’ accident. She glanced at Byron for a moment remembering their real reason for being there.
“Just a couple more, if you don’t mind.”
“Fire away.”
“When you watch out the window, do you see people you recognize often?”
“Yes, I do. I may not pry into my neighbors’ business, but I do know them all.”
“Who do you see most often?”
“Well there is Mrs. O’Neal who lives down the hall. She’s got two cats that are always meowing in the night. They make a right awful racket. And there is Mr. Morrison who is always peeking his beady head in everyone else’s business. I don’t often see Mr. Pennington. He mostly kept to himself. A man after my own heart. From what I know he was an engineer, just like his father before him. We’d exchange a couple words here or there. Of course, when I did see him, it was usually when he was with a young lady.”
“A young lady?”
“She came quite often. Started coming around in April or May. Lovely looking girl.”
“Do you happen to know her name?”
“Indeed, I do. Molly Bridges. She’d come around once a week, at least. First time I noticed her, I was just leaving to go meet my gents at the pub. She asked if Pennington lived here, I said yes, and she introduced herself. That’s all I know about her. I keep out of my neighbor’s business, and they keep out of mine.”
“Thank you.” Mira looked to Byron who finished writing Mr. Graham’s words.
“Of course. Anything for the daughter of an old friend.” The old man softened over the course of the conversation. Mira gathered that he didn’t get visitors often.
“I…I do have two more questions.” She glanced at Byron again. He looked surprised but stayed silent. Mr. Graham nodded.
“Did…well were you present at the accident? My parents’ accident I mean.”
A sad look glazed over his eyes. “Yes, I was.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
He looked towards the window. “How could I forget? We were just getting ready for the preliminary test of the Daydreamer. Your father was late. He often was. After all, he was always working on at least five projects at once. I waited for him on the outskirts of the docks. All at once, I heard an explosion come from the engine room. Everything after that was a blur. I ran up the scaffolding, but the door closest to me had been locked. I went back down to go around, and finally got to a place where I could get into the airship. There were so many people, it was hard to get through. I got to the engine room and found the steam engine melted and burning. Some police officer was there asking questions. Someone mentioned your parents had been in the engine room. I couldn’t believe it. Not only had I thought he was late, but he never brought your mother to tests. But when the bodies were found…” He trailed off. Mira swallowed.
“Why would he have brought my mother to this test?”
“He hadn’t mentioned that he was bringing her. I do know he thought the Daydreamer was the pinnacle of his career. He might have wanted to share that moment with her. I never did figure out what went wrong with the engine. They wouldn’t let anyone near it at first and I was taken off the project when Vaporidge bought up Silver Lining.”
They sat in silence for a few moments. Byron finished making a note in his journal and then stood.
“Thank you for your cooperation Mr. Graham. You really have been incredibly helpful,” Byron said.
“As long as it means I won’t be bothered about Pennington again,” Mr. Graham stood, leaning his full weight on his cane. Mira stood and smiled at him.
“It’s amazing you recognized me like that.”
“It’s hard to miss those dazzling green eyes and beautiful smile, Miss Blayse. I’m glad you grew up to look like her.” He took her hand and kissed it softly before letting go. He lowered his voice. “Say hello to your uncle for me, and be sure to visit again.”
“I’d be more than happy to.”
Byron offered his hand, which the old man shook before hobbling over to the door. Mira and Byron left, and the door shut behind them. Byron hurried down the stairs and out onto the street, and Mira followed.
“I’m sorry about all that. I didn’t realize he would refuse to speak to you.”
“Well, we got the information we needed. For both cases, no less. And now I know I just need to bring you along to butter up any witness,” he said without looking at her, completely serious in his manners.
“What do you mean?”
“He only let us in because of you, Mira.” Byron stopped and looked at her, a strange expression appearing on his face. “I can see what he meant about your eyes.”
His voice was softer, and his gaze deeper. He stared at her a moment more, then he turned and continued walking. Mira followed, dumbfounded. He cleared his throat, his voice slowly returning to normal.
“It was quite fortunate that he knew your mother, and that was an excellent line of questioning.”
Mira continued to walk next to him in silence. He seemed uneasy now and continued to ramble.
“Now all we have to do is find this Molly Bridges. And I probably ought to stop at Scotland Yard to let them know this has been, and always will be, a murder case.”
Mira nodded, still silent. He looked at her with slight concern, then composed his features, looking ahead.
“Have I upset you, Miss Blayse?�
�
“No. I’m just thinking.”
“You’re certain? Because if I have upset you, I’ll have to write it down, so I’ll remember tomorrow,” he said. She shook her head, and he continued. “Then what are you thinking about?”
“Quite a few things, really. I mean, I just found out that there is someone else out there who knew my parents. I might be able to come back and perhaps find out more about them and—” She looked up at him and tucked some hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry. You probably don’t want to hear all of this.”
“No, it’s fine. You’ve had quite a bit of time to think about all of this, and now you have someone to talk to about it. I understand.” He smiled.
“Thank you. I just always wondered what my parents were like.”
“Hasn’t your uncle ever told you?”
“I’ve heard plenty about my mother. My uncle has no problem telling me about her. But my father is a different story.”
“They didn’t exactly get along?”
“Not at all. My uncle blames him for the death of my mother. ‘If he hadn’t come along that wouldn’t have happened.’ That sort of thing. So, any talk about him usually gets shut down.”
“I can see why you’d be excited to find someone else who knew him, then.”
“I just wanted to ask him more questions, but they aren’t exactly relevant to the case.”
“We’ll come back, I’m sure. And feel free to ask any questions you like. After all this is your case.”
“Thank you, Byron.”
“Of course. Was that all that was on your mind?”
She hesitated. There was something else. Her green eyes. It was always her eyes. Her uncle was always commenting on them, even the professor and Landon; Mr. Graham had let them in because of them. Her mother’s eyes. That always bothered her. But when Byron looked at her, his entire demeanor had changed, and it felt different somehow. It didn’t bother her when he commented on them. But how was she to explain that to Byron? She managed to come up with a lie to tell him.
“You had just mentioned Scotland Yard, and that reminded me of something that Thatcher’s secretary, Juliet had told me.”
“Oh?”
“She said that if she were put into your journal, that perhaps eventually you would remember her.”
“Oh, she is in my journal.”
“She is?”
“Yes, marked as someone to be wary of.” His eyes laughed and Mira couldn’t help but laugh as well.
“So, you know of her…” She didn’t know how to phrase Juliet’s actions.
“Affections? Yes. I’m a detective Mira, and she doesn’t have much experience in hiding evidence.”
“She’ll be so disappointed.” Mira smiled, stifling another laugh.
“Which is why she won’t find out.” Byron laughed. “Right?”
“Of course, Mr. Constantine.”
She was so busy laughing, she hadn’t noticed that they were walking to the cafe until they were right in front of it.
“Well, I suppose this is where I bid you farewell, Miss Mira.” Byron tipped his hat.
“Don’t we need to go to Scotland Yard?”
“I think I can handle it, and you’ve had quite the day already. I’ll stop there and then go home and read through your police report. Tomorrow we’ll go to the newspaper to see if we can’t find Molly Bridges via an advertisement. Good evening, Mira.”
“Good evening, Byron.”
She watched him walk down the street. He stopped at the end of the street and looked back at her with a smile before disappearing around the corner. Mira turned and walked back to Campden Grove, trying in vain to stop her anxious feelings, and to sort out all the thoughts in her head.
The sun rose as Mira fed Nero, buttoned her boots, and slipped out onto the pavement. She bought a croissant from the bakery down the street and ate it on her walk to Palace Court. She hesitated outside of his door, thinking of the incident with the pistol the day before. She decided to knock just to be on the safe side. The door opened.
“Come on in…” Byron was still reading his journal, and he walked away from the door almost as soon as he opened it.
Mira walked in and picked up a few scattered papers and stacked them on a side table, before going over to the piano. She played a few keys before noticing a note pinned to the wall.
“Notice of Inquiry: Seeking information regarding Molly Bridges, in relation to a Mr. Clement Pennington. Please send correspondence to 27 Palace Court, London.”
She sat down in her usual place and began to sketch again. Byron paced in the outer hallway. Finishing his journal, he moved to his armchair.
“Good morning, Mira! We certainly got a lot done yesterday.”
“Yes, we did. How did Scotland Yard take the news?”
“Thatcher thinks it may still be a suicide, although the left-handedness bit did sway him slightly. He isn’t going to close the investigation just yet.”
“Well that’s good, I suppose.”
“Yes, it is.”
“Were you able to read through the police report?”
“Indeed. There is certainly something odd around it. Unfortunately, the officer who wrote it died about ten years ago. Otherwise we’d be able to ask him more about it.”
“That is unfortunate.”
“But with the information Mr. Graham provided us, we have a bit more to go off of.”
“He told us the same story, Byron.”
“Except your parents weren’t supposed to be there. By his account, your father was late, and your mother never came to those kinds of things. That means something was definitely wrong.”
“Why wouldn’t Scotland Yard have figured it out?”
“I don’t know if you remember this, after all, you would have only been a child at the time, but there was a major trial involving Scotland Yard in 1877.”
“I hadn’t heard about that. But wouldn’t you have only been a few years older than me?”
“Never mind that.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “It just so happens that there was some corruption. At this point I believe it has all been snuffed out, but at the time of your parents’ accident—”
“It was still corrupted! So that means—”
“There is most definitely more to this than meets the eye.”
“Brilliant!” She found herself grinning, and he returned a smile.
“Now I’d say we ought to pop over to the press, send in our advertisement and then perhaps do something different today.” He placed his journal in his satchel.
“And what is that?”
“You’ll see.” He stood, grabbed the note, and moved towards the door. He put on his hat as Mira followed him. They walked along the cobblestone street for a few blocks before Mira’s curiosity got the better of her.
“Can’t you just tell me?”
“I’ve been told that telling people things can ruin the surprise.” He looked over at her with his laughing eyes, and she smiled, relenting.
“Very well.”
“Besides, if you work with me, I assume you like a good mystery.”
“It isn’t a mystery if I don’t have clues!”
“It’s just a surprise then.”
“You infuriate me sometimes.”
“I do? I must make a note of that then,” he teased. “Is this what you look like when you are angry?” He gave her a sideways glance.
“No! I mean, maybe.” She paused. “Yes.”
“Ah, so then I don’t infuriate you. Good to know. I won’t make a note of it then.” She laughed at his statement and he grinned, beginning to laugh as well. Her laugh died down as they approached the Central News Agency.
He opened the door for her, and she stepped inside. The sounds of type being set, several presses printing, and newsboys running from place to place echoed throughout the establishment. Byron followed behind her and went straight towards the editor’s office. She followed, but stayed outside on a sig
nal from him. She looked around at the hubbub and overheard two newsboys talking nearby.
“You seen the front page yet? ‘Cat Burglar Strikes Again!’”
“Perfect headline really, it’ll sell a lot of papers.”
“Funny how people get robbed and other people want to read about it.”
“It’s called being an interested citizen Georgie, and it’s what pays them bills.”
“Do you think the police will catch ‘im?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care, as long as we keep getting good headlines. Besides, it’s better to have a burglary than another leather apron murder.”
The paperboys walked out of earshot, and Byron walked out of the editor’s office.
“It’s in! Now we just have to wait for a response,” he said.
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“The burglar has struck again.”
“Where did you hear that?” His brow furrowed. She pulled him by the sleeve over to a press that had stopped. She pointed to the headline.
“‘Cat Burglar Strikes Again.’ If they keep making themselves known they are bound to be caught, and then we’ll have a suspect for our case!”
“Correction Mira. An additional suspect.” Byron began walking out with purpose. Mira followed close at his heels.
“But wouldn’t the burglar be the most likely to have done it? I mean if it was murder, maybe they came into burglarize, heard a noise, picked something up, and ended up killing him.”
“That is a possible solution, yes. A rather good one at that. We just need evidence to support it. And for all we know, this could go deeper than the surface.” His gaze got serious for a moment.
“So then are we going to Scotland Yard?”
“Heavens, no. That can wait. I believe that we have somewhere else to be.”
“The surprise you mean?”
“Yes.” He kept walking down the street, pausing to wait for a carriage to pass before turning towards the docks.
Two types of ships anchored at the Mooreland docks. Ships that sailed in the water, and ships that sailed in the air. Technically speaking, both types ran on steam, however only the ships that travelled through the water were called steamships. The Vaporidge Steamship Company owned Mooreland. Their steamships carried passengers and cargo across the Atlantic to America, sailed down the coast of Africa, and brought goods back from India. Their airships carried passengers around England, and crossed the channel to France, and soon enough they would travel to Russia. There were many companies that owned a fleet of steamships, but only Vaporidge had perfected the art of flying. That is to say, Silver Lining perfected it, and Vaporidge bought it.
Constantine Capers: The Pennington Perplexity Page 8