The pair took turns sipping their beer. It was late, or early depending on how she looked at it, and Chloe needed to head home. She thanked them and stood to leave.
“I wish you both every happiness in your marriage. And I hope you have a pleasant trip. Thank you for everything.” She pulled the spool of wire from her pocket and set it on the table. “It’s copper. It’s not much, just a little something to get you started.”
Nettie blinked in surprise and looked up at her. “Thank you, mum. Thank you kindly.”
Chloe turned toward the door.
“Just one other thing, because you’ve been so kind,” said Nettie. “I have one letter. Just the last one. It’s hidden, and I may still not give it to the police. I took it when Mrs. Granger’s body was found. I thought it wasn’t safe where it was. I can add two and two, as I said. But once we’re on our way out of town, Mr. Granger can’t do nothing to us. Then the police can see if Mr. Aynesworth’s handwriting matches up with what’s in the letter. That is, if Mr. Granger can’t convince them that I had it written by someone else. No telling what they’ll believe.”
“Yes, no telling. If you gave me the letter, I could take it to the police.”
“And say what? That you’d gotten it from me?” Nettie said.
“I could say I found it in the laboratory when I went up during the funeral.”
Nettie looked to the side as she considered it. “No, if I do give it to the police, and I’m not sure I will, I want to do it myself. I want them to know everything about that monster, whether they believe me or not. It’s either that, or I don’t give it to them at all. I’m worried about what Granger could do to us. Tommy and I will decide on it together. Thanks for the copper and the good wishes though.”
Chloe entered the black night, wondering what exactly Mr. Granger could do to a girl like Nettie. He could tell the police she was a thief and have her arrested. And if Nettie and Tommy thought that Mr. Granger had killed his wife, why wouldn’t they think he would do the same to them?
The couple in the alleyway was gone, and Chloe hurried out of town. When she reached the stone bridge, she slowed, conserving her energy for the long walk back. All the while, she listened for hoofbeats behind her. None came. She arrived at Aynesworth House, slipped up the back servant’s staircase, through the silent halls and into her own room.
Chapter 20
Chloe awoke to aching muscles. The fire was burning brightly in the grate, indicating that Miss Haynes was in her room, though Chloe had not awakened. She pulled herself upright and listened for signs of life from Ambrose’s room. There were none. The clock showed eleven o’clock.
“Blast,” she muttered. She had missed breakfast by hours. Why hadn’t Ambrose woken her?
She stood and painfully discovered a blister on one heel. Somehow, she had not felt any pain on the way back from town. Well, there was nothing to be done about it. She would just put a little square of cloth in her shoe and hope for the best. All in all, she had gotten off easy for all her illicit travels.
After dressing, she felt presentable enough. She found Ambrose at a wrought iron table on the back lawn, an empty chair opposite him. A silver coffee pot and a cloth-covered basket sat in front of him, along with a folded newspaper and a book which he was reading.
At her approach, he looked up and raised his cup. He pulled a pastry from the basket.
“I asked the cook to warm up the sweet buns I bought in town. They’re cold now, but still good, I assume.”
He buttered one and offered it to her. Something about his manner was off, though she couldn’t say what. She sat and he poured her coffee, but his eyes stayed on her face.
“Where’s Giles?” he asked.
“I haven’t the slightest. I haven’t seen him since last night. Why didn’t you wake me this morning? Or have Miss Haynes do it?” She took the cup with gratitude and sipped.
“I thought you could use the sleep. And it looks like I was right.”
“Do I look that terrible?” she said in alarm and reached up to touch her hair.
“Not at all. But, you rarely sleep late, so something must be amiss. Are you well?” The corner of his mouth twitched, and she felt a pang inside.
“I’m well enough.”
She sipped her coffee, and he returned to A Handbook of Plant Dissection. His eyes snapped over the lines and he frowned.
“I was hoping to go out today and examine a few of the places where I had seen some interesting plant life. You are welcome to join me,” he said.
She thought about it. It would give her more opportunities to locate the hound, even if she had to endure the unpleasant ride.
“I would be just as happy alone, if you are otherwise engaged,” he said.
“I would love to come.”
“Very well. I will be leaving in about twenty minutes.”
A breeze rustled the trees. The weather was pleasant this morning, which was probably why Ambrose was dining al fresco.
“Do you remember the friend I saw in town, the Hammonds?” said Ambrose. “Tonight we will be joining his family for supper.” He paused. “Unless you have more pressing matters to attend to.”
She scowled into the garden and chewed her pastry.
“Enough. Just stop this,” she said.
“Stop what?”
She waved in the general direction of his person. “This!”
He shrugged, slipped a bookmark between the pages and set the book down. He waited for her to speak.
“I’m sorry, but I had to go and see where Ian went. I was so sure that it had something to do with Camille. How could it not? And so I followed him.”
“That was dangerous,” his face darkened.
“I know. But I didn’t know at the time. But I do now. At any rate, he visits a boarding house.”
“Just that? A boarding house?”
“That’s all. But I wonder with whom he is visiting.”
“Well, it isn’t Camille Granger, so I think you had best leave him alone.”
“Maybe. But I also saw someone else in town—one of the Granger maids. She has been released from her position without a character.”
She related the conversation with Nettie.
“An interesting twist,” he said. “But inconclusive.”
“It’s much more conclusive than the police chasing the hound around the moors.”
“And you think you are more knowledgeable about these things than the police?”
“Well, yes.”
“Chloe, you may be intelligent. Upon occasion, frighteningly so. I know that. But your expertise in mechanicals is not enough here. You go beyond yourself. I have to forbid you from going out again alone, especially at night.”
“Forbid me? You can’t do that. You promised.”
“I promised to let you read what you liked and create whatever mechanical monstrosities you chose. I did not ever, nor would I ever, promise to let you put yourself in harm’s way. It will not stand.”
She stood up and glared. “My friend is dead. Do you understand that? She was killed in cold blood, and I cannot stand idly by, embroidering or plinking away on a piano, while her murderer walks free.” She turned to leave, but Ambrose shot up and grabbed her arm.
“And would you follow her? How does sacrificing yourself help her? She is gone. She is cold in her grave, while you, my love, are very much alive.”
She pulled, but he held fast.
“You will end this fool’s errand and leave the police to do their work,” he said. “If a madman killed her, he is just as likely to kill you. And if it was the hound, then the same holds. If it is someone sane, God help us, then he will wonder why you are asking questions and poking around where you should not be.”
He glanced over her shoulder, and released her arm. She turned to see the butler coming toward them, a silver tray in hand. Ambrose took an envelope from the tray and thanked the butler, who remained where he stood. Ambrose read the envelope in puzzlement.
It was addressed to Mrs. Sullivan.
He hesitated for just enough time that Chloe wondered if he was going to keep the letter to himself. He handed it to her.
“Thank you,” he said to the butler pointedly, and the man turned and left, walking more slowly than was necessary.
Chloe glanced at the butler’s back and opened the envelope.
Mrs. Sullivan,
The Farnbridge Police Department finds your expertise in mechanical fabrication necessary in a matter which has recently arisen. Please come to the police office between ten o’clock and noon.
Sincerely,
Inspector Lockton
“That’s the inspector with whom I spoke,” she said.
“They must be in quite a pickle to be asking a woman for help.”
“My thoughts exactly. Call the carriage.”
Chapter 21
The police station was unchanged from her previous visit. The notices on the board were the same, as was the thin young man at the desk. He looked up at Chloe and Ambrose as they entered and waved them toward the back offices.
“He’s expecting you.”
The young man pulled his coat and hat from a hat stand beside the door and rushed out, the door banging shut behind him.
“I wonder where he’s got off to in such a hurry,” said Ambrose.
Chloe pointed out Inspector Lockton’s door, as it had no name on it. Ambrose knocked and the door opened. Lockton studied Ambrose as they shook hands. It took only a moment, but Chloe saw the subtle change in his manner. He relaxed a fraction, and she thought perhaps Inspector Lockton was anxious about summoning a gentleman’s wife and feared her husband’s reaction.
“Please have a seat,” said Lockton. “I hope you do not mind me asking your wife to come to the station.”
“Not a bit. I am certain she is eager to help in any way she can, as am I. I merely accompanied her out of curiosity.”
It was not strictly true. A lady should not have been summoned to a police station at all. If they had wanted to speak with her, they could have discreetly dispatched a constable, or the inspector himself could have called upon her.
This visit, Ambrose had asked the driver to leave them a block from the police station. Anyone in town might have recognized the carriage, and to have it sitting in front of the police station would have been an invitation to town gossip. She was fortunate that her previous visit to the station had passed unnoticed by anyone with a wagging tongue.
“We have three other people for whom we will need to wait,” said Inspector Lockton. “I apologize for the delay. Would you like to take a look around the station to pass the time? Perhaps some coffee?”
They declined. A few minutes later, Lockton’s office door opened. Accompanying the young man from the front desk were three men, all of them in working men’s clothing.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, may I introduce Mr. Van der Smoot, the railway chief engineer, Mr. Tucker, the airship deck chief and Mr. Lydford, the proprietor of our local mechanical shop.”
Each bowed in turn and when Chloe turned back to Lockton’s desk, she felt their eyes on her back.
“Mrs. Sullivan.” It was the first time the inspector had addressed her directly this visit. “These men are the foremost experts in mechanics in town. We have an item in question, and they have examined it, but they haven’t been able—It is a common item, I am to understand.”
“We couldn’t tell where it came from,” said Mr. Lydford. “I think the inspector was hoping that you could help him with it.”
“A damned waste of time,” muttered Mr. Van der Smoot to Mr. Tucker, who crossed his arms. “It’s a common item. No telling where it came from. I don’t see how this woman could know any more about it than we could.”
Inspector Lockton did not answer, but Chloe had a guess. If he had shown the hound schematics to these men and they had known less than she had, then Inspector Lockton had every reason to ask her. Lockton pulled a cloth-covered item about the size of a man’s fist from his desk drawer and set it down. He opened it carefully, using the cloth to hold the few pieces which had fallen off. He set these in a row to the side.
It was part of a mechanical object, though with a glance, she knew the men were correct. There was nothing to indicate what it was. To the untrained eye, it was a mass of gears, wheels and springs.
“May I?”
“Of course,” Inspector Lockton pushed the cloth toward her.
The three men circled around the desk. She picked up the main piece and turned it over. Two of the pinions were broken, but that was nothing. It was mostly clean on the outside, as if it had been rinsed off. But the inner parts were crusted with a layer of dirt.
“What happened to this? This isn’t the residue of old lubricants or normal dust, it looks like—Oh God.”
“What’s wrong?” said Ambrose.
“It’s from the bog, isn’t it? Camille’s bog?” She looked at Inspector Lockton. His expression was pitying. He nodded. Mr. Van der Smoot and Mr. Tucker exchanged a glance. She steadied herself. No time for emotions.
“As I’m certain the men present have already noted, this is from a wind-up mechanical. Not a clock, as there is no mechanism for a pendulum. It wasn’t too large either. It’s self-contained. So it is either something small enough to be on its own or a mostly independent part of a larger mechanical.”
“We saw that,” said Mr. Tucker. “We agreed it was probably part of an industrial mechanical. The main machine would be steam-powered. But one or two auxiliary systems could be wind-up.”
“I say it’s part of a regulator for a hauler,” said Mr. Van der Smoot. “Something that got lost out on the moor. Or broke down and got scavenged for parts.”
“It’s not from a hauler,” said Chloe. “Look at this gear train. It would change the rotation to a different axis.”
“I know what a gear train does.”
“Of course, but if this were from a hauler, there would be no need, as the regulator mechanism parts would all be in a straight line.”
Mr. Lydford had an odd little smile.
“Not all haulers are the same,” said Mr. Van der Smoot.
“True, and correct me if I am in error, but a manufactory outside of Leeds has a monopoly on hauler construction, at least in Britain. Their only competitor went out of business, what, six years ago?”
“Seven,” said Mr. Lydford.
“Seven then. And these parts have not been exposed to the elements that long. See this piece? Iron. It isn’t even rusted.”
Inspector Lockton leaned forward and pressed his folded hands to his mouth.
“But this piece isn’t from a newer mechanical. It’s old,” said Mr. Lydford. “See the number of spokes on the escape wheel?”
“What do you mean?”
“The newer ones have four spokes. Newer alloys allowed the manufactories to use less metal. So anything with six or more spokes is twenty years old at least.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mr. Tucker made eye contact with Inspector Lockton and jerk his head in her direction. He didn’t look pleased.
“You knew Mrs. Granger, then?” asked Mr. Van der Smoot.
Chloe blinked and lost her train of thought. “Yes. I knew her. I had come to visit her. We were colleagues. Friends.”
“And you have some mechanical animal like that hound out there? That’s what Lockton said.”
“Yes.” She wondered again where Giles had got to. She would have to look for him when she got home.
“So you’re friends with the dead woman, and have a liking for mechanicals that can act on their own? Right?”
“Couldn’t we do this without them present?” said Ambrose to Inspector Lockton. “They’ve already seen it and have provided their information.”
“They have to stay because he wants to ensure that what I say can be validated,” said Chloe in the lowest voice she could. Lockton was silent.
“Oh, that’s brilliant,” said Chloe and Mr. Lydford gave a little shrug.
“But indoors or outdoors?” he said. “It could be a piece of a ticket dispenser, a stamper, even a decorative object, like a large parlor mechanical. I saw a koala mechanical once, in a shop window. This was in Hamburg. It had this tree branch on a stand. It was on order for a local—”
“I need to be getting back to work, if there’s nothing more you need me for?” said Mr. Tucker. Mr. Van der Smoot grunted agreement.
“If you would wait a few more minutes. Mrs. Sullivan, are you finished?”
She picked up the flat metal ribbon that sat to the side of the cloth and coiled it. She inserted it into the corresponding barrel and held it with her thumb. There was no longer a cover to hold it in place, but if she didn’t tip it, it would stay.
“I think it’s an indoor mechanical. See the diameter and depth of the hole for the winding key?”
Lydford leaned over. Mr. Van der Smoot and Mr. Tucker didn’t move.
“The key would be a short, fat brass key, not a long and thin one,” she said.
The three men nodded.
“I don’t understand,” said Lockton.
“Almost all mechanicals for in-home use would have the short brass keys. You usually keep the key near the mechanical itself. As with a clock. And it is made for household people to use, so it’s thick enough not to break off inside. Maids and such have to be able to use it. For industrial mechanicals, the keys are longer and thinner, so you can wind a mechanical part that is deeper within the machine. And they are typically used by people who are careful with their mechanicals.”
Mr. Lydford was smiling now.
“That doesn’t prove anything,” said Mr. Tucker. “Anyone can make something with a short key like that. And if this is part of something Mrs. Granger made, there’s no knowing what this thing was a part of.”
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