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

by Chris Dolley

  “One would think, miss, that the mire would be a more convenient and less conspicuous location for the disposal of evidence.”

  “But what if the article in question wouldn’t sink?” I said. “I know this may be a personal question, Reeves, but do automata weigh less than men?”

  “No, sir. Pasco’s body would indeed sink if placed in the mire.”

  I was still pondering the buoyancy of incriminating evidence when I caught sight of a figure hurrying towards us across the open moor to our left. Reeves’ superior eyesight identified the individual as a policeman.

  We stopped and waited for him to join us.

  “Ho,” he said, breathing a little hard. “Are you from the Hall?”

  “We are,” I said.

  “I’ve been sent to warn you about the escaped convict,” said the constable. “It’s Harry Selden.”

  “Selden?” I said. “Not the psycho historian? The history prof who went berserk in the quad and took an axe to his students?”

  “No, sir,” said the constable. “It’s the other one. The Clerkenwell Cat.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell. Have you heard of this Clerkenwell Cat, Reeves?”

  “I believe so, sir. If I recall correctly he’s a promethean — half human, half cat — he was notorious for leaving the body parts of his victims on his master’s lawn.”

  “Really? Well, I’m sure the local gardeners will be relieved that Clerkenwell’s one hundred miles to the east of here.”

  The constable shook his head. “But not his master, sir. He lives up at the Hall these days. A Dr Morrow. The chief constable reckons that’s where Selden will make for.”

  Reeves raised a doubtful eyebrow.

  “What is it, Reeves?”

  “One hesitates to question the analysis of the Chief Constable, sir, but one would think that Mr Selden, having been incarcerated for several years, would be unaware as to the whereabouts of Dr Morrow.”

  “Oh, he knows very well where Dr Morrow is,” said the constable. “That’s what made him break out. One of the warders showed him a story about Quarrywood in the Daily Bugle and he went berserk. They hauled him off to the hospital wing, and thought they had him sedated, but next time the warders looked in on him, he’d gone. No Selden. No doctor. Just this large stomach and a pair of the doctor’s shoes lying there in the middle of the floor.”

  Ten

  uddenly the fire on the moor seemed a good deal less important than it had a minute earlier.

  “Dr Morrow’s at the studio,” said Emmeline. “If Selden’s been watching the Hall, he’d know.”

  We had to warn everyone at the studio. And the Hall. The place was teeming with lawns.

  The constable rushed off to take word to the Hall while we beetled off to the studio. The fire would have to wait.

  The first indication that we were nearing the studio was a sign on the side of a rocky hill. QUARRYWOOD, it read in enormous capital letters — each letter having its own hoarding.

  Our path widened and curled around said rocky hill, descending as it did so, the land on the left falling away into a valley covered in a yellow flowering shrub which Emmeline informed me was gorse.

  We saw the quarry buildings first, a couple of two storey granite constructions built on a large levelled area ahead of us. One looked like a large house, the other a small warehouse or factory. Then, as the path completed its curve around the side of the hill, we saw the quarry face — a huge crescent-shaped cliff about two hundred feet high in the centre.

  But our attention was swiftly drawn away from the cliff and towards what could only be ... a Lizard Man. It was barely fifty yards away and lumbering in a distinctly menacing fashion towards Lily, who was lying on the ground, shielding her face, and looking somewhat distrait.

  At least I had an inkling of what I was looking at. Henry’s description last night of a large man with a dinosaur head and tail was spot on. But what I hadn’t realised was that Emmeline had never been party to any discussion viz Lizard Men.

  Emmeline took off. Most young ladies of my acquaintance would have headed in the opposite direction to the Lizard Man. Emmeline is unlike most young ladies. Pausing only to pick up a good sized rock, she flew at the Lizard Man and caught him with a ripe one across the snout with her rock.

  “Run for it, Lily,” she cried. “I’ll hold him off.”

  The Lizard Man turned a large, quizzical head towards Emmeline, who picked up another rock and let fly from close range. It was another ripe one on the snout. The Lizard Man uttered a kind of squawk, and waved his arms a bit. Emmeline reached for another rock. That was too much for the Lizard Man who turned and legged it. Emmeline gave chase.

  “Cut!” shouted Sir Robert, who, up until that moment, I hadn’t noticed. He was with a gaggle of others closeted around a camera off to our right.

  “No! Keep cranking,” said Henry. “This is much better.”

  The Lizard Man did not look like a sprinter. Or, by this time, particularly threatening. Whereas Emmeline...

  She was a stone-throwing Amazon. And soon to be a club-wielding Amazon.

  The Lizard Man darted towards the buildings, a path which took him past a pile of planks and assorted cut wood. Emmeline let fly with her last rock before availing herself of a stout length of timber.

  “I think we should intervene, Reeves.”

  “I agree, sir. The Lizard Man has a height and weight advantage, but Miss Emmeline is fleeter and decidedly more determined.”

  “Not to say armed, Reeves. Do you think this Lizard Man is a promethean?”

  “No, sir. Prometheans require viable bones and tissue. Dinosaurs have been extinct for sixty million years ergo the Lizard Man is an actor wearing a costume.”

  All the more reason for a swift intervention. “Emmie!” I cried. “Stop!”

  Reeves coughed. “Miss Emmeline is using the name Lily, sir.”

  “Lily!” I shouted, breaking into a run. “Stop! He’s an actor, not a Lizard Man!”

  The Lizard Man almost made it to the buildings, but I think he was having trouble maintaining his balance whilst running. The dinosaur head looked rather too large to me in proportion to the rest of his body. Over he toppled, rolling onto his back. Emmeline closed in and drew back her club.

  “No!” I shouted. “Don’t! He’s an actor!”

  “He can take it,” shouted Henry. “Let him have it.”

  “No!” screamed the Lizard Man. “Don’t hit me!”

  Emmeline paused, club still raised, and looked over her shoulder. She must have seen the camera. And the assemblage of people clustered around said camera watching. Not to mention the two headless Lizard Men sitting on a pile of rocks smoking.

  “Oh,” she said. And then put one perfectly formed foot on the Lizard Man’s chest and posed for the camera.

  “Cut!” shouted Ida. “You ruined Emmeline’s big scene, Lily!”

  Ida was in a minority of one. Possibly two if you counted the Lizard Man.

  I stopped running and joined in the applause that had broken out.

  “She’s a natural,” said T. Everett, much to his daughter’s displeasure.

  ~

  I waited for the applause to die down before breaking the news about Selden.

  “Sir Robert, Henry,” I said, toddling over. “I’m afraid we have a problem.”

  “What kind of a problem?” asked Sir Robert.

  I told him about the meeting with the constable.

  “Morrow?” said Sir Robert, looking around for the doctor. “Is this true? Do you know this man Selden?”

  Dr Morrow’s face took on the hue of an ailing oyster. “I do, Robert,” he said, turning to me. “You’re sure he said Harry Selden? Not some other Selden?”

  “The constable called him the Clerkenwell Cat.”

  “That’s him,” said Morrow dejectedly.

  “Will he really come looking for you, Morrow?” asked Henry.

  “I fear he will. He has it in his h
ead that I am his master — something which I assure you I never intended. It just ... happened.”

  “But how would he know you’re here?” asked Stapleford. “You’ve only been here for six months.”

  I mentioned the Daily Bugle article, but kept quiet about the shoes and the stomach. The air was charged enough as it was, and we consulting detectives don’t like to spread panic.

  “Is he dangerous?” asked Ida.

  Everyone looked at the unfortunate doctor. As did I. How does one say ‘deranged homicidal cannibal’ without causing panic?

  The good doctor appeared lost for words, but, fortunately, I hit upon a few optimistic ones to fill the tense silence.

  “The good news,” I said. “Is that he has eaten.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Ida. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Morrow?” said Sir Robert.

  “Perhaps we should discuss this in private, Sir Robert,” said Morrow. “There are ladies present.”

  Ida stamped her foot. “No! Lily already knows. If she can take it, so can I.”

  “Very well,” said Morrow. “Selden is a troubled individual — delusional. He ... he thinks he’s a cat.”

  “Did you say cat?” asked Sir Robert.

  “I did. As I said, he’s delusional and ... he kills people.”

  “Does he chop their heads off like he did to Pasco?” asked Ida.

  I felt for Morrow. I’ve frequently been in a similar posish — wishing to put a gloss on a tricky sitch and finding no such mot juste exists.

  “Not exactly,” said Morrow.

  “Out with it, man,” said Henry. “We need to know what we’re up against. Is he a strangler? A cut-throat? A brawler?”

  “He ... kills like a cat,” said Morrow.

  There was a considerable intaking of breath from the gathering.

  “But he has eaten,” I said, deciding to move things along somewhat. “So no one’s in immediate danger.”

  “When you say ‘eaten’ do you mean eaten?” said Stapleford.

  “I think I do,” I said.

  “I don’t understand,” said Ida, looking puzzled. “Why’s everyone talking about eating?”

  “He kills like a cat, Ida,” said Emmeline. “He leaves bodies on his master’s lawn. Sometimes ... not all of the body.”

  “Oh,” said Ida, looking not a little rattled. Indeed the entire company fell into a sombre, reflective mood.

  I thought it timely to mention the good news again. “But he did have a good meal before he escaped. Pretty stuffed, I’d say, from what the constable said. I expect he’ll be sleeping it off for hours yet. Probably curled up in a sunny spot miles from here.”

  “What does this Selden look like?” asked Henry. “Is he like one of your promethean creations?”

  “He’s not a true promethean,” said Morrow. “He’s never been dead. He’s more of an augmented human. Most of the time he could pass for a man if he’s wearing a hat and loose-fitting trousers.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Sir Robert. “How did you become involved with this individual in the first place?”

  “It’s a long story,” said Morrow. “I read Vivisection at Oxford and was a member of the Young Alchemists Society. There I met Professor Jekyll and was much taken with the work he did with potions. I thought I could combine vivisection and potions to produce a human hybrid. A hybrid that would have all the best attributes of humans and animals. But I was young and foolish. I never once considered the ethics of what I was undertaking. I never considered the consequences, only the science.”

  “And Selden?” asked Sir Robert. “Was he one of these Young Alchemists?”

  “No. He was a patient at the Clerkenwell Asylum. Poor Selden. He had so many plans. He wanted to be a fashion designer, you know? Foundation garments. But his main obsession was with cats. He wanted to be one. When I met him he told me he felt like a cat trapped in a man’s body. He was desperate, and I ... I thought I could help him. Though, looking back, I think perhaps I was fooling myself — whatever I told myself, it was the science I was more interested in, not the patient. I took risks that no man should ever have taken.”

  “Surely you blame yourself too much, Morrow?” said Sir Robert. “I have observed you these past six months and you have always taken the greatest care of our promethean actors. You treat them no different from the servants.”

  “I try to make amends for my youthful failings, Robert.”

  “What did you do to him?” asked Ida. “You didn’t give him a cat’s head, did you?”

  “No, I gave him the ears of a lynx and the tail of a panther. He was very taken with them. As I said, most of the time he could pass for human as long as he covers them up.”

  “You say ‘most of the time,’” said Stapleford. “What exactly does that mean?”

  “Ah,” said Morrow looking down at his feet — probably searching for another mot juste. “The potions I gave him affected his metabolism. It’s mainly at night but, if he becomes distressed, it can happen at any time.”

  “What can happen at any time?” asked Henry.

  “He changes into a beast — physically — half man, half giant tabby. He’s not evil. You must understand that. He just ... thinks differently. Like a cat.”

  “We must return to the Hall,” said Sir Robert. “We have enough guns to arm the footmen. We can mount a guard there until this Selden is apprehended.”

  “Let’s not be hasty,” said Henry. “It seems a shame to waste a sunny day like this. If Selden thinks he’s a cat, he’s going to wait until night to hunt. And Roderick says the man’s already stuffed to the gills. You’ll stay, won’t you, Lily? I have a corker of an idea for a new scene.”

  “I’ll stay,” said Ida. “I’m not frightened at all.”

  “Are you sure, Ida?” asked her father. “This Selden is a killer.”

  “I have every confidence in Henry, father. He’ll protect me.”

  “What about you, Lily?” asked Henry.

  Emmeline looked torn. She looked at me, and she looked at Lily before replying.

  “No, Emmeline’s the actress, not me,” she said.

  “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?” said Henry.

  “Let her go, Henry,” said Ida. “Can’t you see she’s scared?”

  I don’t think Ida realised she was one rock away from being floored. Emmeline balled both fists and gave Ida a scathing look. “I am not scared, Ida, and I do not need Henry or any man to protect me!”

  “Indeed not,” I said. “After seeing you deal with that Lizard Man, I was rather hoping you’d come back to the Hall and protect us. Don’t you agree, Sir Robert?”

  “Indeed, so,” chuckled Sir Robert.

  Ida did not see anything to chuckle about. She returned Emmeline’s scathing look with interest and I rather felt she’d have given a better account of herself than the Lizard Man had.

  ~

  Most of the party opted to remain at the quarry. I had the feeling that Henry would have quite welcomed an appearance by Selden, regarding it as an opportunity to add an extra scene to his moving picture. He did post an armed guard though, handing a shotgun to one of the stouter Lizard Men and giving him strict instructions to keep his eyes peeled and his body out of the shot when they were filming.

  The rest of us — Sir Robert, Morrow, Emmeline, Reeves and I — hastened up the track towards the Hall.

  We were a silent bunch, deep in thought one would imagine, pondering giant tabbies whilst keeping a vigilant eye on the undergrowth.

  After a minute or two, Morrow broke the silence with an unexpected, and troubling question.

  “Why did you call Emmeline Lily,” he asked Emmeline.

  “Did I?” said Emmeline.

  “You did,” said Morrow. “When you saw her on the ground.”

  “Well, it was her nickname at school,” said Emmeline. “I don’t know why. One of the other girls started it and it stuck I suppose. I h
aven’t called her Lily in ages though. Must have been the shock of seeing that monster about to attack her.”

  “And come to think of it,” said Morrow. “Didn’t you call Lily, Emmie, Roderick?”

  “I don’t think so,” I said, not liking the direction this conversation was taking.

  “I believe Mister Roderick did utter an invocation to the Argentinean saint, Madre Esmeralda, sir,” said Reeves. “It is common in the mining camps to use the shortened form of her name utilising only the initial letters ‘M’ and ‘E.’”

  “That’s right,” I said, joining in the subterfuge. “She’s our patron saint. I often feel called to invoke her name in times of stress, don’t I, Reeves? Em Ee, I say.”

  “Indeed, sir.”

  “I’ve never heard of Saint Madre Esmeralda,” said Morrow.

  “Few people have,” I said. “She didn’t get out much. Bit of a hermit, I think. Lived in a cave.”

  “I can’t see that fire any more,” said Emmeline thankfully changing the subject.

  “What fire?” said Sir Robert.

  “There was a large fire on the high moor beyond the mire,” said Emmeline. “We saw it on our walk earlier.”

  The fire had indeed gone out — or was burning lower. I scanned the far horizon and saw not even a wisp of smoke.

  “I wouldn’t pay any attention to any lights or fires you see on the mire or beyond,” said Sir Robert. “We’ve all seen them. Stapleford says it’s marsh gas. Berrymore says it’s piskies. All I know is that it’s best to stay well clear. The mire is no place for the curious.”

  Eleven

  s the constable still here, Babbacombe?” Sir Robert asked the armed footman loitering by the main door to the Hall.

  “What constable, sir?” said Babbacombe.

  “The constable who brought the news about the escaped convict.”

  Babbacombe looked confused. “Ain’t seen no constable, sir. Ain’t seen nobody since Master Roderick and Miss Lily left.”

  I had one of those forebodings that we consulting detectives get just before events turn rummy.

  “He might have entered by the mire gate and knocked at the servants’ door,” said Morrow.