The Aunt Paradox (Reeves & Worcester Steampunk Mysteries)

by Chris Dolley

  “It’s all right, Gertie,” said one of the cohort of aunts. “It’s our money. We gave Charlotte permission to fetch it.”

  Other aunts nodded solicitously.

  Gertie was not mollified. She glared at the eldest Aunt while pointing at the others. “And who are they? Why do they look like you?”

  Reeves coughed. It was like being down to your last musket ball as the enemy closed in on all sides, and then hearing the distant trumpet call of the cavalry announcing imminent salvation.

  “If I may explain, Mrs Dean, Miss Wells,” he said. “Your niece has been much concerned by the change in your fortune over the years. It would appear that money and jewellery has been going missing for many years. A situation which caused this.” Reeves indicated the room. “And this.” Reeves indicated Gertie.

  “Your niece was so vexed that she engaged the services of Mr Worcester here, who is a gentleman’s consulting detective. She had seen your new machine and was concerned that, given the aforementioned propensity for money and objects to ‘disappear,’ that a suspicious mind — and, in particular, a mind belonging to Her Majesty’s constabulary — might suppose that you had stolen it.”

  “That’s preposterous!” said Aunt Charlotte.

  “It’s true!” said Gertie. “You don’t hear what people say about you. Haven’t you wondered why you rarely get invited into other people’s homes any more? They think you steal things!”

  “That’s a cruel thing to say, Gertie,” said one of the auntly cohort.

  “It’s true, though!” said Gertie. “I didn’t want to tell you, but ... maybe it’s better to get this out into the open. It’s what people have been saying about you for years ”

  I had the strangest feeling that I’d heard this before. Gertie coming to the flat, telling us about her klepto aunt and how she’d just stolen someone’s automobile, taken the wheels off and hidden it in her drawing room. Gertie wanted us to find the rightful owner and return it before the police became involved.

  The much-confused Aunt Charlotte, meanwhile, had just turned upon her younger selves. “Why are you all calling him Gertie? Can’t you see it’s Bertie? He’s ... he’s dressing up.”

  “I think you should sit down, dear,” said one of the elder Aunts. “We have no idea who this Bertie is. That’s Gertie. We’ve known her for years. We all have. You have.”

  Aunt Charlotte blanched visibly and her knees buckled. Reeves caught her and guided her back towards the time machine. “I think you should sit down, Mrs Dean. You have had a shock.”

  “Should I call a doctor?” Gertie asked me.

  “I wouldn’t advise it,” I said. “But ... talking of doctors. Did you ever have a ... an accident as a child?”

  “What kind of accident?”

  “Anything drop off?”

  “If I may interrupt, sir?” said Reeves. “If you would be so kind as to assist me with Mrs Dean...”

  “Righto,” I said.

  One of the aunts rushed forward to bar my way. ”I think Charlotte would prefer us to help her. Please remove yourself. And your man.”

  “Mr Worcester and I can return things to how they were, Mrs Dean,” said Reeves to the wilting aunt on his arm. “All things. If you allow us.”

  “It’s all right, dear,” said the ailing aunt. “The gentlemen and I need to talk.”

  “Are you sure?” asked the younger Charlotte.

  “I’m sure.”

  Reeves and I helped Aunt C into the driver’s seat of the time machine.

  “How do I put this right?” she whispered. “Is ... is Bertie dead?”

  “I suspect Miss Wells was born in his stead, Mrs Dean. Did you travel beyond 1866 today and have any interaction with her parents?”

  “None! I was in too much of a hurry to talk to anyone other than my husband. I went back to 1865, but all I did was collect money and...” Her hands flew to her face. “I took her necklace! It was in a box on my dresser. I didn’t recognise it. I was in a hurry and grabbed the box! But I remember it now. It was part of her inheritance from our grandmother. She wanted the chain shortened and had given it to me to take to a jeweller I knew in Regent Street. But ... how could that have made Bertie a ... Gertie?”

  “That, Mrs Dean, is the inherent danger of time travel. A seemingly insignificant action can have far-reaching and manifold repercussions. The missing necklace may have caused a falling-out between yourself and your sister. A falling-out which caused a chain of events that led to the birth of a daughter instead of a son. It may be that the date of Miss Wells’ birth is later than Mr Wells’. She does look younger.”

  Aunt Charlotte looked considerably brighter. “Do you suppose if I returned the necklace to 1865, it would bring my nephew back?”

  “I fear not, Mrs Dean,” said Reeves. “I have encountered this problem before and it can only be solved by a third party. Any attempt by yourself would most likely complicate matters further. One lady of my acquaintance returned with a full beard. Most unfortunate.”

  “You’ve done this before?”

  “On several occasions, Mrs Dean, but not on this particular model of time machine. If you would be so kind as to show me the controls, I will soon pick it up.”

  ~

  Reeves’ plan appeared to be working, though the aunts were getting a touch restless. There was much whispering and the casting of suspicious glances our way.

  “I think it may be judicious, sir,” said Reeves, “if you could divert the room’s attention for ten minutes.”

  “A heart attack, you think?”

  “I was thinking of something less dramatic, sir. Conversation, perhaps?”

  “Tough audience, Reeves, but I’ll give it a try.”

  Given my earlier reception, and the looks I was now getting, I decided to avoid the frontal approach in favour of a flanking movement. The aunts may not have taken to me, but they all appeared to have warm feelings towards Gertie. If I could get Gertie to chat with them, all would be solved.

  The only fly in the o. was Gertie — who was looking decidedly cool towards the aunts. Somehow I had to smooth the furrowed waters.

  “Is Aunt Charlotte all right?” asked Gertie as I approached.

  “Yes. She’ll soon be tickety-boo,” I assured her. “Reeves is sorting out this Bertie business.”

  “I’ve never seen her like that,” said Gertie. “She didn’t appear to know who I was. And who are they?” Gertie lowered her voice as she pointed with her eyes towards the aunts. “They seem to think they know me.”

  I guided Gertie away from the gravitational pull of the aunts and back into the bay widow where we could talk a little more freely.

  “That’s a good question,” I said. “Would you believe they were a troop of travelling Aunt Charlotte impersonators?”

  “No.”

  It was worth a try.

  “Well ... indeed. That’s because ... that’s because you have a full complement of marbles. Whereas these poor unfortunates ... they do not. You’ve heard of people who believe they’re Napoleon?”

  “Ye-es.”

  “Well, these ladies believe they’re your aunt. Strange, I know. But there it is. Who’d have thought it? The local asylum has dozens of them apparently, and your aunt has kindly allowed them to visit with her this morning.”

  Gertie looked surprised. And not a little confused, but she didn’t look like a person about to denounce R. Worcester from the pulpit for egregious lying.

  Emboldened, I continued. “Yes, sad case, but these visits are believed to be therapeutic. As long as we play along with their delusions, of course.”

  “Of course. Are they ... dangerous?”

  “Only if you cast doubts upon their veracity. Look, they appear to be choosing gowns for a ball. Why don’t you toddle over and offer assistance while I check on Reeves.”

  ~

  That went very well, I thought. The aunts simpered, and picked Gertie’s brain viz. U-bend corsets and this year’s colours an
d fabrics, while Reeves learned all about time machine controls. At the end of which, Mrs Dean vacated the driver’s seat, and Reeves and I jumped aboard — though I had to move the pile of swag to the foot well to make room for myself.

  I didn’t think we’d get away scot-free, and I was right. A sudden cry arose from the throng of aunts. “What are you doing, Charlotte? You’re not letting them fly the machine! They’ve got our money!”

  Reeves fired up the engine in the nick of time. It was most disconcerting. The room took on a misty appearance, and three auntly apparitions lunged towards us only to pass straight through.

  “That was close, Reeves. Do you have a plan?”

  “I hope so, sir. ”

  “What do you mean, ‘you hope so?’ You always have a plan.”

  “I fear this is a situation where ‘needs must,’ sir. I judge Mrs Dean’s remorse over the events she has precipitated to be fleeting. If she did manage to reverse the unfortunate change to her nephew, I believe she would continue to use the time machine for her own purposes. This was likely to be our best, if not only, chance to gain control of the machine and learn how to fly it.”

  “But you must have some kind of plan. You do know all the dates Aunt C cadged from, don’t you?”

  “Yes, sir. She used the same day, month, and time of day for all her journeys. She only adjusted the dial for the year, visiting every one from 1903 to 1865 when she inherited this house from her grandmother.”

  “So you do have a plan.”

  “I would not go so far as to call it a plan, sir. My hope had been to take the machine to the week before Mrs Dean misappropriated it from Mr Wells, and convince him not to mention the machine’s existence to his aunt. But... with Mr Wells being no more, that is no longer an option.”

  “Can’t we undo Aunt C’s last journey and bring Bertie back to the land of the L?”

  “That is my hope, sir. Though I am undecided whether it is safer to start in 1865 and work forward, or start in 1903 and work back.”

  “Is there a difference?”

  “Potentially a significant difference, sir. We are going to cause the timeline to be rewritten thirty-nine times. A different order may result in different outcomes. And every time we materialise, we risk altering events by our very presence. Hold tight, sir. I am about to engage the spatial spinnaker.”

  The machine rose from the spectral drawing room and passed through the ceiling as though it wasn’t there. It was like travelling in one of those American elevators in a cage full of chain smokers. We emerged from the ceiling into an empty room on the first floor. Such was the size of the cobwebs, the room must have been closed up for years. Reeves pressed a button and our upward movement stopped instantly. He pressed another button and off we slid along a foggy horizontal plane. Reeves then used the wheel to steer the machine like an ordinary car.

  “Where are we going?” I asked. “Are we travelling through time yet?”

  “Not yet, sir. I’m attempting to locate Mrs Dean’s dressing room.”

  “Why?”

  “To minimise our interaction with the past, sir. Mrs Dean used the wine cellar for her journeys—”

  “Until the incident with the turnips.”

  “Indeed, sir. She parked the machine in the cellar and then proceeded to walk though the house. We cannot risk that, as our presence, should we be discovered, would cause considerable comment.”

  “I see. Won’t our presence in Aunt C’s dressing room cause even more?”

  “Not with this machine, sir. We can make sure the room is empty before we materialise.”

  Reeves’ attention to detail is legendary.

  “I can see that the jewellery box might be located in this dressing room, Reeves, but what about the tenners? Don’t we have to get them into the uncle’s pocket?”

  “I’m hoping that Mr Dean has a dressing room too, sir. In which case, we can leave the ten-pound note on his dresser. He will think that his wife has had second thoughts and returned it. At least one hopes he does.”

  Reeves sounded a touch uncertain, not, perhaps, as uncertain as Babbage’s cat, but then Reeves hadn’t been put in a box. I decided it was time for the young master to take the initiative.

  “So, Reeves, 1865 or 1903? Shall we toss for it?”

  “No, sir. I think, on balance, the safest option is to reverse the path followed by Mr Wells’ aunt.”

  That sounded sage advice to me. Whatever an aunt does, do the reverse.

  We passed through a bedroom and into a smaller room which looked a good candidate for Aunt C’s dressing room. Two pairs of ladies’ shoes by a cupboard door confirmed the hunch.

  “Brace yourself, sir. I am about to engage the temporal engine.”

  Reeves turned a dial and clicked it back to 1865. He then pulled one lever forward, pushed two others back, and pressed a large red button. A pulsing, spinning noise came from behind us.

  I braced myself. The ghostly dressing room dissolved in an instant. Everything went grey and swirly. There was a sensation of movement, but not one in a forward direction, as in a car. It was more of a buffeting as though one were on a boat in a choppy sea.

  I didn’t much care for it.

  “Any idea how long this takes?” I asked.

  “No, sir.”

  Barely a second later, the buffeting stopped and the features of the dressing room — albeit hazy features — coalesced out of the murk. And this dresser had two jewellery boxes on it.

  “Mrs Dean should be here presently, sir. It is imperative that you replace the exact items that she takes.”

  I started sorting through the pile of swag at my feet. Most of the jewellery was identical — the same oriental-looking gold, emerald and diamond necklace. I’m no expert when it comes to jewellery but this one looked pretty expensive. There was a rather fine ruby necklace too — presumably the heirloom belonging to Bertie’s mother. I then proceeded to count out the tenners. There were twenty-three of them.

  “I say, Reeves. We’re several tenners short. There are only twenty-three here. Shouldn’t there be thirty-nine?”

  Reeves panicked. No one but I would have noticed, but both his eyebrows rose a full eighth of an inch, and what can only be called a quiver momentarily wobbled his lower lip. If I’d had a bottle of brandy to hand, I’d have passed him a quick snifter.

  “May I trouble you to count them again, sir?”

  “No trouble, Reeves.” I counted them again, and another time for luck. It made no difference. Twenty-three.

  Five

  eeves was still in a tizz when Aunt C arrived. We watched her pocket the two necklaces and waited for her to leave.

  Reeves pressed a series of buttons and then depressed a lever. The dressing room snapped into clarity. I jumped out, beetled over to the dresser and replaced the two necklaces, making sure the right one went into the right box. I gave Reeves the thumbs up sign, and legged it back to the machine.

  As soon as the Worcester posterior hit the leather, Reeves fired up the engine. But instead of racing forward to 1866 — which I’d been expecting — we turned left and flew through the dressing wall.

  “Reeves?”

  “We have to follow Mrs Dean, sir. If she’s not borrowing ten pounds from each year, we have to know which years she is borrowing from. I am a little concerned that she may have pocketed some of the ten pound notes.”

  We caught up with the aunt on the landing and dogged her all the way to the wine cellar. It was all rather strange. She couldn’t hear us. She couldn’t see us. But there we were — floating along behind her in what felt like a sea of mist.

  “What if she touched her husband for a tenner before nabbing the necklaces?” I asked.

  I should not have aired my concern. Reeves became apoplectic. His left eye twitched. Twice!

  Not that he said a word. All his attention remained fixed upon Aunt C as she climbed into her machine and vanished.

  The moment she left, Reeves began pushing and pull
ing levers and then pressed the large red button. Off through time we went again, buffeting through the grey featureless wash until we reappeared back in the wine cellar.

  And so did Aunt C.

  “We are starting again in 1865, sir. As you said, Mrs Dean may well have encountered her husband on the way to her dressing room. We shall follow...”

  Reeves froze. Not a twitch. Not a tic. He hadn’t even bothered to close his mouth.

  “Are you all right, Reeves? You haven’t lost pressure, have you?”

  It was my turn to panic. Would there be a steam outlet in 1865 for Reeves to top himself up with?

  As suddenly as he froze, so he came back to life. “I fear I have made a grave error, sir. We must fly.”

  Reeves’ hands moved at speeds too fast for the human eye to keep up with. And up we rose, out of the misty cellar and into the equally misty hall. Then we were moving forward, travelling at a speed barely above a brisk walk, sailing towards the staircase at ceiling height. I looked down. Aunt C had just come into the hall. I couldn’t see her husband anywhere.

  “We have to get to the dressing room before Mrs Dean, sir, or all is lost.”

  “Why?”

  “Because she will take her sister’s necklace and we don’t have it any more. We won’t be able to replace it.”

  I looked at the pile of necklaces in the foot well. And then started rummaging through them. Reeves was right. Sarah Wells’ necklace wasn’t there.

  “We will have to take a risk, sir,” said Reeves as we crossed the upstairs landing. When we materialise, you must take Mrs Wells’ jewellery box from the dresser and bring it here. Don’t touch anything else.”

  We materialised. I ran. I grabbed, and leaped back into the machine. We made it by a second, no more. As soon as we vanished into the mist, the door opened and in came Mrs Dean.

  This time she took just the one necklace. I wondered if she might look for the second box, but she didn’t. She pocketed her necklace and left.

  “What now?” I asked. “We’re one necklace short.”

  “Indeed, sir. The fault is all mine. I was too entangled in the minutia of events that I overlooked the greater danger.”