Hounds of Autumn

by Heather Blackwood

  “What do you want to know?”

  “That invention of hers. They say it killed her.”

  “And you believe them?”

  “No, but I want to know if you do,” said Maggie.

  “I think it was a person.”

  “And who do you think it was?”

  “I don’t know. I’m hoping the police can figure it out.” Chloe nibbled on a biscuit.

  “And that’s why you have come out on the moor a number of times, alone or with someone, poking about?”

  “I’m trying to find the hound.”

  “You want to know how she built it? Is that why?”

  “Have you been talking to the people in town? To the police?” Chloe was distinctly uncomfortable. Maggie knew more than she was letting on, and something about her questioning was too intense. There was something else also, but she couldn’t put her finger on it.

  Maggie poured the tea and placed a cup in front of her. For an instant, Chloe wondered what sort of herbs were mixed with the tea leaves.

  “I talk to everyone,” said Maggie. “But not to the police. Not recently anyway. There are people all over the moor, watching. They like you.” She stroked the cat on the table.

  “The townspeople have not shown any great love of me. The police even considered confiscating my mechanical cat.” She did not mention the fallen women or drunken men she had encountered that night in town.

  “Oh, it wasn’t them I was talking about. Now, tell me about the Aynesworths.”

  “You don’t know them? They’ve lived here for years.”

  “Oh I know them. Our families have been neighbors for generations. I wanted to know what you thought of them.”

  Chloe was getting weary of this. “I like them well enough. Why don’t you stop asking me questions and tell me something?” She set her teacup down. “What happened to Camille Granger?”

  “Hoo, hoo! You’re very blunt for a lady.” She chuckled and sipped her tea.”If I knew, I’d be telling the police.”

  “But what about these people who live on the moor? Have any of them seen anything? Have any of them reported anything unusual to the police?”

  Maggie giggled. “No, they don’t talk to the police. No.” She continued chuckling for awhile longer, as if Chloe had said something quite humorous.

  The woman was clearly a lunatic. Chloe looked out the kitchen window. Outside, she could see a row of beehives up the hill and a small shed closer by. On the windowsill was a round stone with a single hole through the center. It was the same size and shape as the one Mrs. Block wore on her key ring.

  “What is that stone?” she pointed to it.

  “Oh that? It’s my hag stone. Keeps away evil spirits.”

  Ah, country folk superstition. She thought back to the stone circle, but Maggie had not been among the worshipers.

  “There’s a stone circle nearby. Do people still go to it?”

  Maggie’s gaze fixed on her with such intensity that she was afraid for an instant. The old woman knew she already had the answer.

  “You want to know why, in this day and age, anyone would have old meetings and things like hag stones? You grew up in the city, yes?”

  Chloe nodded.

  “Well, that place changes with the times. This place doesn’t. Simple as that. Different places have different rules, if you understand my meaning.”

  Chloe didn’t, but wasn’t about to ask and listen to Maggie go on about piskies or sidhe or whatever superstitious nonsense she believed.

  “I need to find the hound,” said Chloe. “Have you seen it? Or do you know where it might be?”

  “I’ve seen it a few times, and some of the bees were telling me about it going far south of here, all the way to the Granger house.”

  Talking bees. Delightful.

  “I think I should be getting back home,” said Chloe, rising. She couldn’t waste time with a mad old woman, even a relatively benign one. She needed to keep looking for the hound.

  “Wait a moment, I have something for you.” Maggie opened the cabinet, took a jar and tapped some of the dusty green contents into a paper. She folded it into a packet and handed it to Chloe. “I heard your husband is sick. Make a tea of that. It’s nothing much, just something to help him rest.”

  Chloe thanked her and Maggie followed her out the front door.

  “Your motorcar thing is that way,” Maggie pointed. “It’s very shiny. I like it. You made that too, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “I can see why they like you, even if that thing is too loud. You’re a strange one, you are. Anyone tell you that?”

  “I could say the same about you.”

  Maggie’s eyes were round, and for an instant Chloe thought she had angered the woman. Then Maggie roared with laughter, one hand on her heart.

  Chloe let herself out the front gate and turned to see Maggie scoop up a cat and go inside, still chuckling.

  Chapter 29

  Chloe checked a few other places, but saw no sign of the hound. She was about to turn down another side road, when the engine began to make a terrible grinding sound. Her heart sank. She had been driving the poor machine too hard. No wonder it was having trouble. She hoped there would come a day when her machines did not require so many repairs. But the steamcycle was a prototype, and with each malfunction she improved upon it.

  She drove it home and parked it on the side of the house. Before she went into her laboratory for her tool box, she checked on Ambrose. He was in his room, sitting in his dressing gown near the window, a book and a note pad balanced on his lap. Chloe waited until he looked up.

  “Feeling better?” she asked.

  “Some. I cannot abide being confined like this. I had to get out of that bed or go mad.”

  She felt his forehead, and he waved her hand away impatiently.

  “You still have a fever,” she said.

  “I know. I know. Leave me be. More importantly, I had an idea about Giles. Correct me if you believe I am in error, but could he have been imitating the hound when he tore up the garden?”

  “You believe that he saw the hound do it, and then copied it?”

  “Exactly.”

  She thought about it. “That would mean that Giles is intentionally copying the behavior of a similar creature. Yes. It could be. So he’s not malfunctioning. He’s trying to learn. That’s wonderful!”

  Ambrose gave a weak smile at her delight. “He has been a good companion for me today.” At the top of the armoire, Giles sat as prim and straight as an Egyptian statuette.

  “You aren’t a naughty boy, are you?” said Chloe.

  “Brrr.”

  “This is fantastic,” she said. “Do you mind if I take him outside? I have to work on the steamcycle this afternoon. Giles can sit and watch the birds.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Chloe ordered up a pot of tea, made the bed and opened the window a crack to get him some fresh air. She felt his forehead again.

  “Enough! I’m well enough to be downstairs for supper. Now go work on your machine and stop moving around like a worried hen. It’s making me dizzy.”

  She kissed his cheek and went outside to pull the steamcycle to the back corner of the house. She spent the afternoon in her work corset and rough skirt, the engine in pieces on the ground and her tool box open beside her.

  At the table on the back lawn, Ian and Beatrice were chatting while he read a newspaper and she embroidered. Beatrice waved when she saw Chloe watching and Chloe smiled, her hands engaged in inserting a loose piece of tubing into a coupling. Giles was sitting on the brick garden border, and he alternated watching his mistress and Ian and Beatrice.

  The back door opened and the butler appeared. “You have a visitor, sir,” he said to Ian. He had no silver tray or card.

  “A visitor? Who is it?”

  The butler paused. “He is waiting inside.”

  Beatrice was looking at the butler with a cold expression. Chloe knew tha
t it was not typical for a servant to avoid a direct question and withhold the identity of a caller. Once the butler and Ian were gone, Beatrice rose in a swirl of pink and cream and approached Chloe.

  “Would you care to take a stroll to the front of the house?” she asked, with a look of mock innocence.

  “Who do you think is here?”

  “I don’t know, but the butler obviously thought it might be indelicate to say. So naturally, I have to know.”

  “Naturally,” said Chloe and wiped her hands on a spare rag.

  They strolled around the side of the house and took a look at the front drive. A sturdy bay mare was tied up, placidly munching at the plants.

  “Do you know whose horse that is?” asked Chloe.

  “No. But let’s take a walk down the drive. I’m in need of a bit of fresh air. It benefits the lungs, you know.”

  They strolled down the drive, taking time to pause and watch Giles bat at bobbing flowers or scamper around their feet.

  “Does Ian get visitors often?” asked Chloe.

  “No. Hardly ever, unless it is household business. I’ll tell you what I am thinking. I think the visitor might be for Alexander, but he is in town today. So they would have to talk to Ian. But since it may involve Alexander, I’m curious.”

  Poor Beatrice. Had she heard about the rumors of Alexander and Camille Granger being paramours? Chloe hoped not.

  “Why not speak with William?” Chloe asked.

  “Oh, Ian handles everything in the household now. He has for years.”

  At the sound of the door opening, both women turned to see a small, lean man in a brown suit. He placed his hat over his balding head, adjusted it and untied the mare.

  “That’s Doctor Fleming,” said Beatrice.

  As he rode toward them, Beatrice smiled broadly, the perfect hostess.

  “It is a pleasure to see you, Doctor.”

  He stopped and touched his hat. “My apologies, Mrs. Aynesworth, but I cannot stay. I have an urgent errand. Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon,” Beatrice said and he rode down the drive. She stared after him for a while and murmured, “Strange.”

  “Who do you think is sick?”

  Beatrice shook her head, and there was something in her look that took Chloe by surprise. It was a look of determination and ferocity. But there was apprehension also. “Let’s find out.”

  Ian was sitting in the front parlor, his head in his hands. He looked up at them as they entered, and started to rise.

  “No, no. Please sit,” said Beatrice. She lowered herself beside him, and at his look of anguish, she drew back. “What is it?”

  “Nothing.” He looked at the carpet, trying to regain himself.

  “Ian, please.”

  He shook his head. “My brother is fine, as is everyone in the household. It’s nothing.”

  “Has someone died?”

  “No.”

  “Then why—”

  “I’m sorry, Bea. You will have to trust me,” he said.

  She studied his face, and something passed between them. After a few moments, Beatrice nodded. There was some kind of understanding between them, perhaps born of their years under the same roof or their shared relationship with Alexander.

  “I will be upstairs,” Ian said and rose. “Excuse me,” he whispered as he swept past Chloe.

  Beatrice was motionless, lost in her own thoughts. Chloe thought of asking her about the exchange, but knew she would get no answer. She left Beatrice to her silence and her thoughts.

  She got back to work on the steamcycle. After replacing the defective gears and tightening the fastenings, she had only to put everything back together. This part of the work was simple and required only a small amount of concentration.

  Chloe was fairly sure that Beatrice knew about Ian’s rides. Beatrice had not been happy to let Ian leave the parlor without saying why the doctor had come, but she had accepted it. There was a trust between them, though it had been difficult for Beatrice to allow him his silence. Chloe did not think she could have done it. She would have demanded an answer. But then, Beatrice was a woman of discretion, prudence and self-control. Chloe wished she had more of those qualities.

  Chloe fit the final piece into the engine with a sharp click and fastened on the cover. Daylight was fading, and she was stiff and tired from being bent over half the day. She would have to test the machine tomorrow. She rolled it to the carriage house and checked her pocket watch. She had an hour until supper to clean up.

  She was on her knees, packing up her tool box when she heard the back door bang closed. She froze when she saw Alexander following Ian out across the back lawn. Ian turned to face his brother. She saw Ian’s mouth move, but could not hear what he said. Alexander stepped forward and jabbed a finger into his brother’s chest.

  “She’s no better than she should be. I don’t see why you have to upset everyone with this.”

  She heard the low rumble of Ian’s voice, and was taken aback at the fierce coldness in the way he looked at his brother. Alexander’s face was red, and he was shaking with rage.

  “How in hell should I know?” Alexander threw up his hands. “You are the one who brought this to our doorstep! You are the one who created this.” He turned away and headed for the house.

  Ian shouted after him, and this time, his words were clear. “There is no family. And she is a little girl.”

  Alexander spun around and came at Ian. Chloe thought for a moment that the brothers would come to blows. Ian was a few inches taller than his brother, though Alexander was broader across the shoulders. Ian said something that she could not catch. The men glared at each other for a moment more and Ian spun on his heel and strode toward the stables.

  “Come back here and say that! You come right back here!” shouted Alexander, but Ian was gone.

  Alexander slammed the door, and she was left alone. Giles turned his head and swiveled his ears.

  “Best forget you saw that,” she whispered.

  She took her time packing the rest of her tools, not eager to encounter Alexander if he was in the hallway. She opened the door to find that he was gone.

  Before she pulled the door shut behind her, Chloe caught a glimpse of Ian on horseback, galloping at full speed past the house, earth flying from his horse’s hooves.

  Chapter 30

  The supper table was only set for five: William, Dora, Robert, Ambrose and Chloe. Beatrice was not feeling well and Mrs. Malone was taking her supper upstairs. Alexander was holed up in his study and no one knew where Ian might be. Chloe thought it prudent to keep silent on the matter.

  Dora picked at her steak and greens and glanced at her father a number of times. He eventually acknowledged her and gave her a nod.

  “I don’t know if you have heard,” she said to Chloe, “but Mr. Granger has been brought in for questioning for Camille’s murder and I heard that they might formally accuse him.”

  “You’re joking,” said Chloe, though she knew Dora was not.

  “No. It happened this afternoon. There was something about a letter proving that Camille had a paramour.” She muttered the last words and her father gave her a sharp look.

  It was Saturday, the day that Nettie said she would be leaving with Tommy for Gretna Green. So she had decided to talk to the police after all.

  “But what proof do the police have?” asked Ambrose. Though he was able to sit at the table, it was clear that he was ill. Chloe noted that he had only eaten a few bites.

  William cleared his throat. “The police believe that Mr. Granger killed her in a jealous rage when she was about to run off with another man. He must have lured her outdoors, where he killed her and hoped to dispose of her where she would not be found. Very upsetting. Most upsetting.” He shook his head.

  Chloe chewed thoughtfully. If Mr. Granger had hoped to keep the body concealed, why had he chosen a bog that was so near the road and so close to the hiding hole in the rock cairn? Something about it was
n’t right.

  “Will he hang?” asked Robert, his expression was full of dismay and compassion.

  “Most likely,” said William gently. “If he took the life of an innocent woman, then justice must be done.”

  “I would hardly call her innocent,” said Dora. “If she had a paramour.”

  The look her father gave her was unexpected. William was not angry at such a crude remark during supper. Nor was he saddened or indignant at Camille’s indiscretion. Rather, his expression was confused and surprised. He looked at Dora as if she had said that the moon was made of cheese. Dora raised her chin a fraction and met his gaze.

  Again, Chloe had the distinct feeling that there was something passing between two people to which she would never be privy. Robert was watching them, and for an instant before he looked away, Chloe saw pure fury in his face.

  A moment later, the penny dropped, and Chloe understood why Beatrice and Mrs. Malone were not at the table, and why Robert might be so angry. If the town gossips knew about the letter, surely they also were speculating on the gentleman who wrote it. Nettie’s opinion, whether right or wrong, would be picked up and repeated. It was too delicious a piece of gossip. And Nettie had said she thought the author was Alexander.

  Poor Beatrice.

  Ill though he was, Ambrose had not missed the exchange. Chloe wondered if he had come to the same conclusion about Beatrice, but could not ask. He cleared his throat. “I will be absent for supper tomorrow night,” he said. “I’m meeting with your fiancé, Dora, to discuss a few things.”

  Dora registered a look of alarm. “Why? What do you have to discuss?”

  She must have been afraid that Ambrose would say something unflattering about her or her family. A man with Mr. Baxter’s wealth could break off an engagement without too much damage to his own reputation. The scandal would be minimal. But for Dora, the stakes were much higher. Her years of marriage eligibility were shrinking and wealthy men were in short supply.