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

by Chris Dolley

  I piled two on my plate and headed for the dining table. As one of the available seats was next to Lupin, I chose the one on the far side of the table, next to Ida.

  “Do you think it was a real ghost last night, Roderick?” asked Ida.

  “I do not,” I said, giving Lupin — who was sitting opposite — the kind of challenging look that Sherlock Holmes would have given Professor Moriarty had they met over a kipper. “I think the ‘ghost’ is very much alive ... and under this very roof as we speak.”

  Lupin narrowed his eyes, put down his banana, and slowly slid off his chair.

  “Who do you think it is?” asked Ida.

  I was too distracted with Lupin’s disappearance to reply immediately. Where had he gone? What was he doing under the table? I feared for my legs, and all stations south.

  I was not alone in my apprehension. Several heads darted this way and that, trying to discern where Lupin might surface.

  “He likes playing under the table,” said Henry. “He can stay there for hours. Do you have a suspect, Roderick?”

  A large unseen hand grasped my knee. “No,” I said, nudging the upper tenor register. “It could be anyone.”

  A second large unseen hand grasped my other knee, then a third hand curled around my foot. How many orang-utans were down there?

  The next second I had the answer — none — for Lupin burst out from beneath the table, leaped onto my lap and sent both me and the chair flying backwards. The chair and I soon parted company, but not Lupin and I. We remained entangled, rolling across the floor.

  “Don’t worry,” said Henry. “He’s only playing. The two of us wrestle a lot.”

  I hadn’t wrestled since I was a child. And I’d never wrestled anyone with four hands! Lupin was also deceptively strong. He may have been half my size, but he was the stronger.

  “He must really like you,” said Henry. “I’ve never seen him wrestle anyone else.”

  “I expect he’s excited at finally meeting his intellectual equal,” said Lady Julia.

  I’m sure Lady Julia meant it as an insult, but as I lay pinned to the floor, staring up into Lupin’s eyes, I could see the fearsome intellect of a simian Moriarty perched upon my chest.

  Lily screamed. “He’s ripped Roderick’s hand off!”

  Ida echoed Lily’s scream. “She’s right. Look!”

  If I’d had any air left in my lungs, I’d have screamed too. I swivelled my head instead, following the track of Ida’s finger. There, a foot away from my nose, lay a severed hand!

  I screamed airlessly. How? When? I had no pain from either hand — both as far as I could tell were pinned to the floor by Lupin — but ... the evidence of my mutilation was before my very eyes!

  Lupin observed the severed hand too. He jumped off me, snatched the hand and bounded towards the window. I took the opportunity to raise both wrists from the floor...

  Both my hands were where they should be. I was whole.

  Emmeline was the first to reach me. I suspected she might have cantered over the top of the dining table, as one of her heels had spiked a kipper.

  She knelt by my side, ashen-faced, staring at my hands. “You’re not hurt!” she said. “I thought...”

  She stifled a sob, turning it into a relieved laugh.

  “If it’s not your hand, whose is it?” said Henry. “Lupin! Come down from there!”

  Lupin had taken refuge on the pelmet above the window. He sniffed the severed hand and didn’t seem to find the experience pleasant.

  Henry and Sir Robert stood under the window remonstrating with Lupin. Lady Julia was the only one of our party to remain seated. She shook her head in a despairing fashion and pronged a kipper.

  “There’s another one!” said Emmeline pointing under the dining table.

  “Another what?” I asked, scooting backwards on hands and heels. Not another orang-utan, I hoped.

  “Another hand,” she said.

  “Berrymore,” said Lady Julia. “Would you kindly ascertain if there are any more body parts beneath the table.”

  Berrymore delegated the bending and crawling to a footman, who reported no further sightings. The footman retrieved the hand that Emmeline had spotted and, somewhat gingerly, presented it to Henry.

  “It’s an automaton’s hand,” said Henry, giving the hand the old once over.

  I was just dusting myself off when Lupin threw the other hand at me. It missed, but it too showed the metallic innards protruding from the wrist.

  “Where’s the rest of him?” asked Emmeline.

  A good question.

  “Are any of the servants automata?” I asked.

  “We don’t allow them in the house,” said Lady Julia.

  “Two of the gardeners are automata,” said Henry. “And several of our actors, but they’re stored at the studio.”

  My thoughts took a dark turn. There was one automaton who was in the house — Reeves! I’d never thought to introduce him as one. He was a superior model — indistinguishable from the real thing. Had someone lopped off his hands?

  “Could someone send for my man Reeves?” I asked. “He’s an expert on all things automata.”

  A footman was despatched. Emmeline and I exchanged concerned looks. Reeves could not abide untidiness. He’d be mortified to appear in public without hands.

  But what if it he’d lost more than his hands?

  I began to feel a little faint. I couldn’t lose Reeves!

  “Bit of a brainbox, is he?” asked Henry. “He certainly seemed to know his stuff last night.”

  “Yes,” I said, looking wanly towards the door. “He’s the brainiest chap I know.”

  It felt like the footman had been gone for hours. Lupin was coaxed down from the pelmet. Another footman was sent to ask Trelawny the gardener to count the hands of his under gardeners. Emmeline removed the kipper from her heel.

  And I stared at the two severed hands, unable to deduce a thing. I expect Sherlock Holmes would have been similarly unmanned at the sight of a severed piece of Watson.

  And then the door opened.

  Seven

  t was Reeves — alive! — and sporting the requisite number of hands.

  “Reeves!” I exclaimed, a little effusively perhaps, but, I think, understandable given the circs.

  “We have a mystery, Reeves,” I continued.

  “Indeed, sir?”

  “Namely these.” I raised the two severed hands. “They were found under the dining table.”

  “Most unfortunate, sir,” said Reeves shimmering over for a better view.

  He scrutinised the hands from every angle. He peered. He prodded. He took them to the window for a better look. He even held them to his ear.

  “They have been removed with an axe,” he pronounced.

  “Aha,” I said. “Do the gardeners have an axe?”

  “They do,” said Sir Robert. “Trelawny keeps two axes in the woodshed.”

  The second footman returned at that very moment with news from this Trelawny.

  “Mr Trelawny says Pasco’s missing, sir,” said the breathless footman.

  “Pasco?” I enquired.

  “One of the under gardeners,” said Sir Robert.

  “An automaton under gardener,” said Henry.

  ~

  Off we went — all of us except Lady Julia, that is, who considered it unseemly to search for an under gardener.

  “That is what servants are for,” she pronounced and, with head held high, sailed into the drawing room.

  “I think we need to visit the woodshed first,” I said. “To count those axes. One of them may have evidence on the blade. Do automata bleed oil, Reeves?”

  “I believe this model does have a small reservoir of oil in the hand and wrist to facilitate smooth articulation, sir. But, in this case, both amputations were slightly higher on the wrist and missed the reservoir.”

  “That’s as maybe, Reeves, but who knows what else has been lopped off?”

 
We picked our way across the damp, yielding lawn. The going had turned decidedly heavy overnight after all that rain, and not all our party were dressed for the conditions. Ida and Lily had to hitch up their dresses and Emmeline threw a shoe.

  We couldn’t all fit into the woodshed either. Half the party had to remain outside, crowded around the door and single window.

  “Both axes are here,” said Sir Robert.

  Henry picked up the first axe and ran a finger along the cutting edge.

  “I can’t feel any oil,” he said.

  “Let Reeves have a look,” I said. “His powers of observation are legendary.”

  “I don’t think that will be necessary, sir.”

  I was amazed. With all the people crowded around the door and window, there was barely enough light to see by.

  “You can see all from over there?” I asked.

  “No, sir. I don’t believe an examination of these axes will yield anything germane to the investigation. The boot however—”

  “What boot?”

  “I cannot help but notice a boot protruding from the pile of logs in the corner, sir.”

  We all shuffled position for a better look. Reeves was right! There was a definite boot sticking out from beneath the log pile.

  “What’s happening?” said Ida from outside.

  “They’ve found a boot,” said Lily.

  “Is it Pasco’s?”

  “I can’t see.”

  We began to dismantle the log pile, forming two chains to carefully move the logs from one part of the small shed to another.

  Gradually, the body was uncovered. It was Pasco, minus his hands ... and head.

  And he was only wearing boots.

  I’d never seen a trouserless automaton before. I don’t know what Theodosia Baskerville-Smythe’s ‘something unpleasant in the woodshed’ had been, but this one rattled me.

  “You’ve had your turn at the window, Emmeline,” said Ida. “Let me look.”

  “No! Don’t look, Ida,” said her father. “Cover your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “Just cover your eyes.”

  A pensive, and decidedly uneasy, silence descended upon those of us within the shed.

  “Well...” said Henry, and I think he spoke for all of us.

  “Indeed,” I said deciding it best to move swiftly on. “At least there’s no question about cause of death. Beheading tends to get the job done every time.”

  “Decapitation was not the cause of his demise, sir,” said Reeves. “The head in this model stores the memory, but the motor functions are controlled from the torso.”

  “So what was the cause of death?” I asked.

  “If you observe, sir, he has been stabbed in the turbines.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You can see the large stake protruding from the lower torso, sir.”

  “Oh, that’s what that is!”

  Thank God for that.

  “Who could have done this?” asked Sir Robert. “And why? Pasco’s a machine. He has no enemies.”

  “It has to be that escaped convict,” said Henry. “Berrymore, take the women back to the house. We have to search the grounds.”

  ~

  A search of the grounds yielded nothing. Tom, the coachman, was despatched to Grimdark to fetch the police while Sir Robert, Henry, Dr Morrow, T. Everett and a couple of stout footmen ventured out to check the Quarrywood studio.

  “Are you coming, Roderick?” asked Henry.

  I declined. I wanted to search the house. Both hands had been found in the dining room; was the head nearby too?

  “How’s your pressure, Reeves?” I asked as we crossed the lawn on the way to the dining room. “I gather from Lady Julia they don’t allow automata in the house.”

  “That is true, sir. I anticipated the contingency and have endeavoured to keep my situation secret from the servants.”

  “What about the steam though? You’re not likely to keel over in the next five minutes, are you?”

  “No, sir. I elicited the information from Berrymore that there was a steam outlet in the old stable block. I availed myself of the facilities prior to waking you this morning.”

  “The old stable block is close to the woodshed, isn’t it?” I asked.

  “Yes, sir. I had not realised the significance of the woodshed during my earlier visit, but I can attest that I witnessed nothing of note. There was no evidence of anyone else being abroad between the hours of four and five.”

  Emmeline came rushing over as soon as we left the east lawn.

  “Have you found anything?” she asked.

  “Not yet. We’re about to search the dining room.”

  She slipped her arm in mine. “That’s just in case you have any misplaced notion to tell Berrymore to escort me to a place of safety.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of it,” I said.

  The three of us paused outside the dining room door before opening it. I braced myself for a flying Lupin to hit me amidships, then opened the door.

  The room looked empty.

  “Is Lupin still here?” I asked, having a cautious look hither and thither.

  We looked under every table, checked the curtains and even opened one or two drawers. No Lupin.

  “Do you really suspect Lupin?” asked Emmeline.

  I did. And yet ... wasn’t he the obvious suspect? Butlers and orang-utans — it was usually one or the other that did it.

  “I think he knows more than he’s letting on,” I said. “He found the hands. But where did he find them? Under the table, or out in the woodshed? He’s strong enough to wield an axe, and dextrous enough I’d imagine.”

  But how does one question an orang-utan? He can’t speak English, and if one gave him a pencil, God knows what he’d do with it.

  “Is this even a murder?” I asked. “Can a machine be murdered?”

  “If that was Reeves under the log pile, you’d call it murder,” said Emmeline.

  “That goes without saying,” I said. “No log would go unturned. But, philosophically, would it be murder? Automata can be repaired.”

  Reeves coughed. It wasn’t a philosophical cough.

  “If I may contribute to your musings, sir, I would point out that humans can be reanimated.”

  “I don’t think that’s quite the same, Reeves,” I said.

  Reeves expression turned distinctly sniffy. I wouldn’t have liked to have met either of his eyebrows in a dark alleyway.

  “Would that be because automata are not regarded as having souls, sir?”

  “Reggie knows you have a soul, Reeves,” said Emmeline. “I expect yours is one of the largest on record, don’t you agree, Reggie?”

  “Of course.”

  “I think all creatures have souls,” continued Emmeline. “Except wasps.”

  I decided to guide the conversation back towards the investigation.

  “Could Pasco be repaired and asked who killed him?” I said.

  “If we find the head undamaged, sir, there would be a high probability that the memory of his demise could indeed be recovered.”

  I was struck by an idea.

  “I wonder if that’s why the head was removed — so no one could find out who killed him?”

  “A simpler solution, sir, would have been to crush the head in situ with the blunt end of the axe.”

  “And why cut off the hands?” asked Emmeline.

  “Do automata have fingerprints, Reeves?”

  “No, sir. Ordinarily the removal of the head and hands would indicate a desire to hide the victim’s identity, but I fail to see the necessity in this case.”

  “That’s because you’re looking at this from the perspective of a giant brain, Reeves. Murders are rarely logical. I can see two perfectly good reasons that explain all.”

  “What are they?” asked Emmeline.

  “One, the murderer — and I’m thinking Lupin here — wanted something to play with. A memento, perhaps? He is an orang-utan, Emmie. Wh
o knows what devilish thoughts his little furry grey cells can come up with.”

  “What’s the other?” she asked.

  “That the body is not Pasco.”

  ~

  We searched for the missing head in the dining room, the library, the hallway, and the parlour. Then Reeves and I searched below stairs whilst Emmeline braved Lady Julia to conduct a refined search of the drawing room.

  We didn’t even find an ear.

  “Was Lady Julia very scathing?” I asked when we all met up by the foot of the stairs.

  “She would have been if I’d said I was looking for a servant’s head,” said Emmeline. “I told her I was searching for some embroidery I’d mislaid yesterday.”

  Our conversation was interrupted by the return of Sir Robert and his party.

  “No sign of anything untoward at the studio,” said Sir Robert, taking off his overcoat and giving it a good shake. “Everything was locked up and in its place. The police should be here momentarily. We saw Tom’s cart coming down the track.”

  Ida and Lily must have been listening out for Sir Robert’s return for they positively flew out of the drawing room. “What’s happened?” asked Ida. ”Where’s Henry?”

  “He’s outside,” said Sir Robert. “Waiting for Tom and the police.”

  But Tom hadn’t brought the police. Last night’s rains had caused the River Angst to burst its banks and wash away the bridge. He’d had to turn back.

  “It could be days before the river’s safe to cross,” Henry told us.

  “What are we going to do?” asked Ida. “Have you got a gun, Henry?”

  “I don’t think it’s going to come to that, Ida,” said Henry. “I can’t see this convict hanging around. He’ll want to be as far away from the prison as he can. He may have sought shelter here last night in an outbuilding — that’s undoubtedly where he ran across poor Pasco — but he’ll be long gone by now. After the incident with Pasco, he’d have even more reason to clear off sharpish.”

  “What do you think, Roderick?” asked Sir Robert.

  “I think there may be more to this than meets the eyeball,” I said. “The escaped convict is the obvious suspect, but has anyone actually seen him?”