by Chris Dolley
“I thought he escape.”
“You think it’s one of us, don’t you?” said the promethean. “I should have known!”
“No, we don’t,” said Emmeline. “We’re asking everybody. We’re treating Pasco’s murder with the same importance as if he’d been human.”
“Is this right?” they asked Reeves.
“It is correct,” said Reeves. “We believe someone at the Hall killed Pasco two nights ago. They didn’t switch him off. They damaged his turbines and ensured his memories were destroyed.”
“Luddmen!” said one of the automata. “Luddmen here!”
All the automata started talking at once. I’d never seen such a panicked bunch.
I looked at Reeves. “Luddmen?”
“It is a name given to gangs of individuals violently opposed to automata, sir. They have been known to attack automata factories, and also harass and murder automata on the street.”
“We not safe if Luddmen here! We must go deeper into moor.”
“You’re safe!” said Emmeline. “There aren’t any Luddmen here. Pasco wasn’t killed because he was an automaton.”
“Why he killed then?”
“Because someone tricked him into pretending to be a ghost,” I said. “And then needed to get rid of him to make sure he never told anyone who put him up to it.”
“You talk in riddles, sir,” said the promethean. “Why would anyone want Pasco to pretend to be a ghost?”
“Because there’s an old legend that a ghost appears the night before the head of the Baskerville-Smythe family dies,” I said. “Pasco’s murderer wanted to give everyone a fright.”
“Did any of you see Pasco the night he was killed?” asked Emmeline.
No one said they had.
“He would have looked a bit odd,” I said. “They’d painted his face to make it glow and he might have been wearing a dress.”
Still nothing, except a tut or two from the promethean. “What is the matter with the people in that house?” he said. “They demean prometheans. They demean automata. Have they no shame?”
“Do you ever see any of Stapleford’s automata at the Hall?” asked Emmeline.
Another flurry of no’s and shaken heads.
“Do any of you toddle off to Stapleford’s cottage for steam?” I asked. “Must be closer than going to the Hall.”
“Sometimes,” said a couple of automata. I didn’t know if it was our barrage of questions wearing out our welcome, or the mention of Stapleford, but I sensed a growing reluctance to talk.
“We don’t trust Stapleford,” said the promethean. “Or his automata. Did he tell you we were here?”
“No,” I said. “Does he know you’re here?”
“His automata do,” said the promethean. “And they are fiercely loyal to him.”
“Stapleford is good man,” said one of the female automata. “He kind to automata.”
“He not! He experiment on automata,” said her companion.
“No. He make repair. He improve them.”
“He take Annie!”
“Annie?” I asked.
“An automaton that went missing last month,” said the promethean. “Some say Stapleford took her for spare parts, others say she took a wrong step in the mire.”
“She know the mire,” said a female automaton. “She would never take wrong step.”
It was at that moment I noticed movement on the path at the top of the slope, and turned.
The cloven-footed woman!
She stood, for a moment transfixed, staring at us, and then turned and legged it back to the mire.
Emmeline, Reeves and I shot after her.
“Stop!” shouted Emmeline. “We only want to talk!”
Lottie did not stop. She hitched up her dress and flew into the mire. Ten seconds later she’d disappeared into the fog.
We stood on the bank staring after her.
“That was Theodosia’s dress,” said Emmeline. “Or a very good copy.”
Twenty
returned to the hut circle to ask the automata to give Lottie a message when she returned, but found the encampment deserted. Our pursuit of Lottie had evidently rattled them.
“Please tell Lottie we mean her no harm,” I shouted into the swirling mist.
And then we left, retracing our path back to Stapleford’s cottage. I had hoped that Lottie might have doubled back to the encampment by way of the mire exit at Stapleford’s gate, but she hadn’t. We checked the soft earth on the mire’s edge and none of the prints were hers.
“Do you think that could be true?” said Emmeline. “That Lottie found Theodosia’s dress on the mire gate?”
I thought about it for a while, but my early morning vim had started to fade. I was in need of a good lunch and a replenishing cocktail — preferably two.
“If one were searching for a cunning way to dispose of evidence and cast suspicion on a third party, miss, then leaving the dress on the mire gate would be an efficacious stratagem. It would also indicate that the person depositing the dress knew the servants were in the habit of leaving clothes out.”
“Another servant, you mean?” I said .
“Or someone who had learned of the practice, sir.”
“Like Stapleford?” asked Emmeline. “If his automata are fiercely loyal, I bet they tell him everything. And he could send them out at night to spy for him.”
“Indeed, miss. It is also possible that Miss Lottie made the story up. She is, after all, the person who was found standing over Sir Robert’s body.”
“Lupin was there too, Reeves,” I said. “And you can’t tell me he doesn’t know what goes on in the Hall grounds at night. He sees all, Reeves. He lurks and he observes.”
“Indeed, sir, but he doesn’t talk. The person who ordered Pasco to play the part of the ghost would have needed the power of speech.”
I hadn’t thought of that.
~
Our next stop was the studio. Emmeline was convinced there would be a seamstress there who’d run up the dress for our mystery killer, and I wanted to have a word with Stapleford about his American automaton.
On our previous visit, we’d arrived to find Lily lying on the ground about to be eaten by a Lizard Man. This time it was Ida lying on the ground being menaced by a giant octopus.
I grasped Emmeline by the arm. “Don’t attack the octopus, Emmie! It’s not real. It isn’t real, is it, Reeves?”
“No, sir. The octopus is widely regarded as a sea creature, and rarely wears a hat.”
“I wouldn’t have attacked it anyway,” said Emmeline. “It’s only Ida.”
We stayed where we were and watched. Ida did a lot of screaming, and the octopus did a lot of waggling. Rather a strange looking octopus it was too. It wasn’t just the hat. Its eyes appeared to be spinning, and all eight arms were flailing up and down as though the creature was having a fit.
Henry then rushed over and placed himself between Ida and the octopus. He was wearing a large white hat and, I have to say, he carried it off considerably better than the octopus. He stood his ground and appeared to be giving the octopus a good ticking off. There was considerable gesticulating and quite a bit of head tossing.
“Henry makes a good hero, don’t you think?” said Emmeline.
“It’s the hat,” I said. “Anyone can look heroic in a white hat.”
“It is a fine hat,” said Emmeline. “What do you think, Reeves?”
“I find it a little ostentatious, miss, though acceptable if one is in the habit of receiving octopi.”
I don’t know if it was in reaction to Henry’s ticking off, but steam suddenly began to erupt from the side of the octopus’s head, and one of its arms became detached, shooting a good fifty feet into the air!
“Cut!” shouted Henry. “Stapleford, I thought you said the octopus was fixed.”
“What ho, Henry,” I said, walking over now that the scene had ended. “I like the octopus.”
“Hello, Rode
rick, Lily. It’s a capital octopus, isn’t it? Or, at least, it will be once we get it fixed. Stapleford!”
“Why, Lily, what have you done to your boots?” said Ida, sitting up. “They look ruined. You haven’t been plodding across the moor, have you?”
“Oh, is that you down there, Ida?” said Emmeline. “I thought you were part of the octopus.”
I swiftly placed myself between the two women and offered Ida a hand up.
“Thank you, Roderick,” she said. “I’d offer to lend you a pair of my boots, Lily, but your feet are far too large. I suppose you could try the farrier.”
I prayed that Reeves had a firm hold on the hunting rifle.
There was a strange hissing noise behind me, which I hoped wasn’t Emmeline, and then a loud pop followed by yet another tentacle flying through the air.
“I think we should all move to safety,” said Henry, echoing my thoughts exactly. I hooked my arm through Emmeline’s and guided her a sufficient distance away from both the octopus and Ida.
“She is insufferable!” hissed Emmeline. “You wouldn’t let me shoot Falconbridge. The least you can do is let me wing Ida.”
Meanwhile, the octopus continued to splutter and shed arms as Stapleford danced around it, presumably trying to switch the thing off without being scalded by the escaping steam.
“I thought you’d given up putting hats on your monsters,” I said to Henry.
“Only for the Lizard Men. This is the first time we’ve used the octopus so I thought it best to let the audience know it was a bad one. We won’t need the hat in the later scenes.”
The octopus started to hiss even louder and its remaining arms stopped waggling and slumped to the ground.
“Got it!” shouted Stapleford. “I think I set the pressure too high.”
“Stapleford made the octopus?” I asked Henry.
“Yes, I think it’s his best yet. He’s a whizz with all things mechanical.”
“We saw that cloven-footed woman this morning,” I said.
“What? Where?” said Henry, looking worried.
“On the high moor,” I said. “She legged it into the fog before we could talk to her, but we got a good look at her this time. She’s not a promethean. She’s an automaton.”
“And she was wearing the dress from Theodosia’s portrait,” said Emmeline. “Or an exact copy. Did you have one made up for one of your moving pictures?”
“No. Our productions are outdoor adventures. There’s very little call for ball dresses.”
“But you have seamstresses here to run up your costumes, don’t you?” asked Emmeline.
“No. We buy all our costumes from Simmons and Treddle of Plymouth,” said Henry. “If anything needs altering we use one of the maids at the Hall. But ... are you sure this dress was an exact copy of Theodosia’s?”
“Positive,” said Emmeline. “I looked at the portrait only this morning.”
“Is it possible that someone found Theodosia’s actual dress?” I asked. “Maybe in an old trunk at the Hall?”
“It’s possible,” said Henry. “There are all sorts of trunks in the attic.”
“Has anyone shown an interest in these trunks?” I asked.
“Not that I recall.”
“Are there really trunks of old ball gowns in the attic, Henry?” said Ida, sidling over. “I think a ball scene would be perfect for The Creature from 20,000 Leagues Under the Quarry.”
“Really?” said Henry. “I don’t see a ball scene being exciting enough.”
“That’s because you’re a man, Henry,” said Ida. “All balls are exciting. The dresses, the dancing—”
“The giant octopuses,” interrupted Emmeline. “Now that would liven up the ball scene — have the giant octopus turn up unexpectedly and eat everyone. Ida can be first.”
“And Lily can bash the octopus with a club,” said Ida. “She’s so manly.”
“Ah, Stapleford,” I said, steering Emmeline, with difficulty, away from Ida and over towards the octopus. “We met your secretary this morning. Odd chap. Is he American?”
Stapleford stopped tinkering with the octopus. “You called at my house?”
I had hoped for a stronger reaction from Stapleford. He looked surprised and, perhaps a little put out, but there was no sharp intake of breath or any sign of guilt or anger.
“Yes,” I said. “We were walking past and thought it neighbourly to call. Miss Fossett twisted a fetlock. Ow!”
Emmeline had kicked me!
“I twisted an ankle, Roderick, not a fetlock. I’m not a horse,” said Emmeline, glancing over her shoulder.
“Of course not,“ I said. “Yes, your man — Falconbridge, is it? — wouldn’t let us in. Said he had strict orders to keep everyone out.”
“That’s correct,” said Stapleford. “One can never be too careful while Selden’s on the loose.”
“Is he American? This Falconbridge,” I said.
“Yes. I acquired him last month.”
“One of Edison’s models, is he?” I said.
“I believe so,” said Stapleford. “The Americans use a new type of electrical memory circuit. I bought Falconbridge to assist in my work. His scientific and computational skills are superior to the latest British models.”
“Really?” I said. “Did he help build the octopus?”
“He assisted with the theoretical work.”
“You should bring him here to see his handiwork in action,” I said. “Or isn’t he allowed out of the house?”
“He’s far too busy to leave the house,” said Stapleford. “Henry’s always asking for new machines, and I need Falconbridge to work on the blueprints.”
Henry and Ida came over to join us.
“How long will you need to fix the octopus, Stapleford?” asked Henry.
“Fifteen minutes should do it.”
“One more scene before luncheon, then,” said Henry. “Chumleigh! Gather up those tentacles, and give Mr Stapleford a hand.”
Now that I had Henry and Stapleford together I thought it timely to enquire about Sir Robert’s will.
“There’s something that’s been bothering me, Henry,” I said.
“What’s that, Roderick?”
“Did Sir Robert leave a will?”
Again, I watched Stapleford’s face. If he was in league with Edison and waiting for an opportune moment to plant a forged will at the Hall, he’d have to be worried by my interest.
But he showed no emotion at all. Which both surprised and disappointed me. Although, thinking about it, he could have been on his guard after I’d questioned him about Falconbridge.
“There’s no need for a will,” said Henry. “Everything’s entailed. The title, the estate, Quarrywood.”
“Entailed?” I asked.
“Grandfather had it done to make sure the title and the estate were never split up. The heir inherits everything, and always will.”
“Even Quarrywood?”
“Even Quarrywood. The governor made sure that Quarrywood would always remain part of the estate when he set up the company ”
“What if someone turned up at the door claiming to have a will written by your father leaving the estate to them?” I asked.
“It would be worthless,” said Henry. “Everything’s entailed. I’d honour any small bequests obviously. But the estate belongs to the title, not to the person.”
Well, that was a surprise. My best motive dashed to the ground.
“I must go,” said Henry. “I have to prepare for the next scene. Come on, Ida.”
“I need a word with Lily first,” said Ida. “How is your fetlock, poor Lily? Does it still hurt?”
“It was my ankle, Ida. I’m just not used to walking in all this mud. If only I had such dainty feet as yours. They’re so cute. They look like little trotters.”
I thought it best to escort Emmeline back to the Hall.
~
“I do not have big feet and if anyone’s fat, it’s Ida. Do you th
ink I have big feet?”
“I think you have perfect feet,” I said.
“Just because she’s a midget with tiny feet she thinks she’s dainty, but she’s not, is she?”
“No. Not at all.”
I had the feeling this could be a long walk. But at least Reeves had a firm hand on the shotgun and the distance between Emmeline and Ida was growing with each step.
“I don’t know why she’s so beastly to me. I have no interest in Henry.”
“I expect she’s jealous of your willowy beauty,” I said.
“Do you think so?” she said, squeezing my arm. “You do mean willowy in a good way, don’t you? Only mother’s always complaining that I don’t eat enough.”
“You eat the perfect amount,” I said. “Don’t you agree, Reeves?”
“Indeed, sir. I did hear via Miss Spurgeon’s maid, that her mistress was considerably vexed that Sir Henry had offered to create a moving picture series specifically for you, miss. The Perils of Poor Lily I believe it was called..”
“But I didn’t want it,” said Emmeline. “Ida can have it.”
“I believe that exacerbated the problem, miss. You didn’t want it. She did. And yet Sir Henry offered it to you.”
“Oh,” said Emmeline. “Well, that’s just silly. Ida would hate being tied to railway tracks and dangled from cliffs every week.”
“Indeed, miss. I suspect it is not the content of the series, but the fact that a series was offered, which has nettled Miss Spurgeon.”
“Reeves, is right.” I said. “Hell hath no fury like an actress overlooked.”
Emmeline’s mood improved considerably.
“What’s our plan now?” she asked. “Are we going to look for trunks of old gowns in the attic?”
“I was rather thinking of a spot of lunch,” I said. “One cannot deduct on an empty stomach.”
“What about Lady Julia? We only just managed to evade her after breakfast. She’ll be extra vigilant this time. I expect she’ll order the servants to bar the dining room doors the moment luncheon’s served.”
“In that case I shall think of something ingenious and unexpected.”
“Will it be exciting?”
“Very.”
“Does it involve jumping out of windows?”
“It may involve jumping through windows. Glass and all. We Worcesters are nothing if not unpredictable.”