“I suspect that Camille asked for more money, threatening to reveal all to Mr. Baxter. Or perhaps Dora was simply tired of paying. You can question Dora yourself, but I would guess that something changed in the situation, something that drove Dora into desperate action. Camille pressing Dora for additional funds may well have been the catalyst.”
“I will have our men look into it.”
“I have a question. It seems that a number of the locals go to a stone circle to meet. They only eat bread and drink wine, but it seems so strange.”
Inspector Lockton nodded. “I wondered about that as well, as soon as I learned about it. And there are other things that happen here too, things that outsiders like you and I naturally find strange. I have learned that the locals wink at those sorts of things. As long as everyone is at church on Sundays and no one causes any problems, no one seems to trouble themselves.”
Giles leapt into her lap, and she stroked him. She thought about the herbs that Mad Maggie had given her for Ambrose. They couldn’t have saved him even if he had taken them immediately. She would toss them out.
Mr. Lockton made a final note. “Are you are prepared to testify to all of this in a court of law?” he asked.
“Oh, yes.”
Dora would hang or, if the authorities were reluctant to hang a woman, she would rot in a jail cell for the rest of her life. She would never wear her wedding dress or see La Tour Eiffel. Chloe doubted a jury would feel much pity for the woman after they heard of young Josephine’s suffering, and her husband’s lingering and painful death.
Her Ambrose. She saw him again at the riverside, touching the brim of his hat. Or across from her at the breakfast table, a book in one hand and his other gesturing as he debated some point with her, his eyes dancing in pleasure. She saw him laughing. Her vision blurred and she glanced up as Inspector Lockton offered her a handkerchief.
The dark thing within her was different now. It was cold, like black machine lubricant in winter, slow moving and nearly lifeless.
Her Ambrose was avenged. It would never be enough, not really. But the dark thing within her was satisfied.
Chapter 46
Ten weeks later, Chloe relaxed in front of her sitting room fire, her stocking-clad feet propped up in an unladylike fashion. Giles sat on the windowsill, watching the street traffic. A book was open in Chloe’s lap, but she had not read a word. Night had fallen an hour before, but she had failed to turn on a light. She watched the flames move in their endless dance.
The house had been too empty when she had returned home. After the funeral, the staff had helped her sort through Ambrose’s things, packing what she wanted to keep, sending off books and research notes to his colleagues and giving the rest to charity.
Mr. Frick had moved in with his spinster sister and they had purchased a pleasant townhouse. Chloe had made sure he had been given a handsome amount for retirement.
Miss Haynes opened the door. “I have a letter, mum. From Inspector Lockton.”
“Do you? Please come in.”
“My goodness, it’s dark in here.” Miss Haynes lit the lamp, sat and opened the letter. “Would you like me to read it?”
“Please.”
“It says, Mrs. Sullivan. I hope this letter finds you well. All of the men in the office offer their condolences on the death of your husband and their apologies for your inconvenience at our station.”
Chloe gave a laugh. “My inconvenience? I suppose I am fortunate they did not attempt to try me for avoiding arrest and escaping custody.”
“They do owe you, mum.”
Chloe did not take her eyes from the fire.
“Let’s see,” Miss Haynes continued. “He says that Dora’s trial is impending, and her family has secured the services of a well-known barrister. There is sure to be a local media spectacle. He sends the date and the location of the trial in Exeter, as you are a key witness.”
“So I am.”
Miss Haynes continued reading. “Miss Aynesworth has told our officers that Mrs. Granger threatened to ruin her with lies. She admits to no pregnancy or relationship with Mr. Graves beyond a friendship. However, our questioning of the family and servants as well as the Graves family has given us reason to suspect that there may have indeed been a relationship.”
Miss Haynes lowered the letter. “Do you think they will go after Mad Maggie for selling the tea? She could hang also.”
“I don’t know. I suppose they could. But something tells me that Mad Maggie wouldn’t have lived this long if she didn’t have a way to get out of such scrapes. Dora is not the first woman to come to her.”
Miss Haynes paused, nodded and went on. “I know you are interested in the remains of the hound. On orders, we shipped it to a military facility in Liverpool, where mechanical specialists of Her Majesty’s Royal Navy will examine it. I could not exact any promises that it would ever leave their possession in the future. I did however take the liberty of including a letter with the hound giving the address of one C. Sullivan who may be of assistance to them in understanding the thing’s inner workings. They may write you.”
“Kind of him,” muttered Chloe.
“You’ve already made up drawings of the hound though. You don’t need to see it again.”
“I wouldn’t mind seeing it again. But yes, I have enough information to build one, should I choose to.”
“He also says that he wishes us well, hopes that Mr. Frick and I are both in good health, etcetera. He sent the address of his office in Exeter as well, should we wish to write him.” She folded the paper and slipped it back into its envelope. “Are you all right, mum?”
“Hmm? Yes. I’m fine.”
“Have you eaten? The babe needs nourishment.”
Chloe sighed. She had not eaten, as she felt nauseated almost all the time. Her monthly courses were late, and she and Miss Haynes were now certain that she was with child. The thought made her unspeakably happy, though she was frightened also. Caring for a mechanical cat was one thing, a child was another.
“I’ll take some toast and tea later,” she said.
“You have not been in your laboratory much since we returned home.”
“I don’t have any projects currently.”
“What about working on Giles? Or another type of mechanical?”
“I haven’t had any ideas in a while.” Since she had come home, she had felt too tired or sad to do much work.
“What about recreating the hound’s moving image recorder? Don’t you think that sort of thing might be useful somewhere?”
“Like where?”
“Oh, I don’t know. For artists to study motion. Or to allow the police to record crimes. No, I suppose they’d have to know about a crime ahead of time for that. Oh, how about to record pictures of wild South American or African animals so naturalists here could study them without traveling?”
“For science?”
Chloe looked away from the fire and moved to the window. She stroked Giles. A street light cast a yellow glow over her street and a trap clattered past. Fog hung over the city, giving each street light a glowing halo. In the distance, behind the many buildings was the river, always moving, always constant.
“Or you could make something for the baby,” said Miss Haynes. “Perhaps a toy.”
That might be an interesting project. She knew it was not good for her to sit in the dark and mope. Ambrose’s babe would never know his or her father, but the child would know her. She had to be the sort of mother that Ambrose’s child deserved.
She could make a mechanical cat or dog, something like Giles, but without claws or teeth. Or perhaps she could make a set of birds that could sing in the nursery. They would sit on a tree, perhaps with a little squirrel that popped in and out of a hole. Ideas whirled through her mind, one after the other. The child would be born into a garden, not Ambrose’s sort with real plants and animals, but one that she could create. It would be her gift to Ambrose and to their child.
�
�You know, Miss Haynes, that’s not a bad thought.” She turned and smiled. “Hand me a piece of paper. I have an idea.”
The End
Author’s Note
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Visit the author at: www.heatherblackwood.com
Hounds of Autumn Page 29