like some kind of cosplayer, except over it she wore an open cape-like coat. She also looked fairly normal, except for the baroque style of the clothes and ornaments, and the fact that everything about her was in various shades of orange: costume, hair, eyes, lips, cosmetics, fingernails; even her skin had an orange tinge to it instead of pink.
As she approached, she giggled, warbled, and bubbled laughter, until she came to a stop just in front of the desk and faced them, a huge grin on her face. She jammed the index fingers of both hands into her cheeks and cried, "Ain't I cute?!"
She acted and sounded like a lunatic, which, Eile realized with shock, was exactly what she was.
From "Felis ex Machina"
One of the problems with being a time traveler is finding a way to support yourself in the past, since rarely can you take sufficient funds with you. This is especially the case if you intend to pass yourself off as a well-heeled gentleman of leisure. I am a scholar of the mythology of the Outre Beings, and I had returned to England of the Victorian Age to do research on the pervasiveness of that mythology in British society. As such, I needed to adopt a persona that would allow me to conduct my investigations freely. That of a dilettante aristocrat seemed the most useful, but that in turn required having a fair amount of wealth to perpetuate the lifestyle, and despite my ingenuity in establishing a nest egg, I was soon forced to find a source of income. Considering my profession, the most obvious choice was that of a consulting detective. Of course, the irony of the situation was not lost on me. As a child I had devoured the stories of Sherlock Holmes, and now I had a chance to emulate him in Victorian London. How could I resist?
Naturally, I have my equivalents of John Watson, Irene Adler, Mrs. Hudson, and Giles Lestrade, but I also have additional assets that Holmes could never dream of. Despite the limitations of the device I use to travel through time, I am able to bring with me any item I can carry. As such, I have a number of accoutrements that make investigation easier, especially since I have neither Holmes's talent for observation nor his powers of deductive reasoning. And I have Bastet, my familiar and companion. Though she is invaluable in too many ways to briefly list, she is especially useful as a mnemonic device: people tend to remember the consulting detective with the uncannily perceptive cat.
Jade and I had just settled to enjoy an evening alone when Mrs. Peele, our landlady, knocked at the door to the suite of rooms I rent. She had in her hand a message, delivered, she said, by commissionaire. I read it over briefly, then handed it to Jade as I took off my dressing gown and began to put on suitable evening attire.
"It is from Gerrarde," I said.
"I can see that," she replied in a testy tone of voice. Jade is her professional name; her full name is Miss Annabelle Camille. She is a remarkable woman in many ways, not the least of which for her stunning looks, statuesque figure, and rich mahogany hair. Her trade is acting and singing, but her true profession is that of adventuress. When I first arrived in 1880, she was between "clients" and had latched onto me as her next conquest. Before I was able to discourage her, however, she had learned who I really was, so it became necessary for me to keep her close so as to ensure her silence. That in turn meant making her my partner (in more ways than one), but so far I have not had cause to regret it; she can be most diverting, and she has access to sources of information I do not have and can go places I cannot.
She tossed the message onto a nearby table and took off her robe. "Why would he need to see us this late in the day?" She sounded somewhat perturbed. Carmichael Gerrarde is an inspector with the Criminal Investigation Division of Scotland Yard; he is also a good friend, and one of only four people, including Jade, who know who and what I really am.
"I would imagine he has a case on which he would like to consult with us."
She smirked as she squirmed into her best evening dress. "Why am I not surprised?" She does not have much confidence in Gerrarde's abilities as an investigator. While it is true that he tends to solve his cases through dogged persistence and systematic diligence rather than imaginative brilliance, he is nonetheless a highly competent detective in his own right, not to mention a keener observer than myself, and I always call on him whenever I need an official police presence to make an arrest. I also often hire him when I need some old fashioned legwork done that Jade or my other friends can not handle, since by law a CID man can act as a private investigator provided it does not interfere with his official duties. As well, being a Freemason and a lower echelon member of the Theosophical Society, not to mention a confirmed spiritualist, he is remarkably open-minded concerning the occult. Besides, the cases he works with me in both an official and private capacity have convinced him there is more to it than what he knows or believes.
"Now, that will do, my dear. I eminently respect his instincts, and he obviously felt this was most urgent."
"Too urgent to wait until morning?"
"We shall see."
"Well, at least help me get dressed; we'll be on our way faster then."
We took a hansom cab into Westminster directly to Great Scotland Yard. Gerrarde met us in the lobby. He is short and thin as a rail, with a full head of wavy charcoal hair and sharp gray eyes in a face that resembles that of a ferret. He wears the same conservative, dark brown suit with a short jacket, as befits his social standing and station in life, yet is never self-conscious when in our company despite our more elegant affectations.
He was not alone, though. Standing beside him was an elderly gentleman, taller than him by at least a foot, with thinning salt-and-pepper hair, sideburns, and harsh blue eyes in a chiseled face with prominent cheekbones and an aquiline nose. He was dressed in more formal attire consisting of a black suit with a heavy frock coat, plain rather than fashionable, yet still clearly indicative of his higher social placement.
Gerrarde greeted us affably enough, but with a reserve that I sensed was due to his companion. In due course, he drew our attention to him. "This is Chief Inspector Sir Robert MacFeirson. Sir Robert, may I introduce Mr. January Ian Mariposa and Miss Annabelle Camille."
"My friends call me Jaim," I said, as I extended my hand.
MacFeirson, however, simply raised an eyebrow. "Indeed."
Jade bristled at his rudeness, but held her tongue. Gerrarde gave me an embarrassed, lopsided smile, clearly discomforted by his superior's behavior but unable to do anything about it. What surprised me, however, was that Bastet, sitting at my feet, moaned at him; normally she never reacted to bad manners.
She did attract MacFeirson's attention, and he looked down at her with barely concealed contempt. "And this must be your remarkable cat."
Bastet moaned again, so I picked her up and cradled her in the crook of my arm. "My apologies, Chief Inspector, she is ordinarily quite friendly."
For the first time, he showed a modicum of graciousness by giving us a thin smile. "Quite understandable, Mr. Mariposa; you may address me as 'Sir Robert'. Miss Camille." He also seemed to finally recognize Jade's otherwise arresting presence. "I am happy at last to make your acquaintance, and to see that you are as lovely as Inspector Gerrarde described you." He took her hand and kissed it as Gerrarde blushed.
"Why, thank you, Sir Robert." She replied in a saccharine-sweet tone, but with a look that made me glad she did not have her stiletto in her hand.
"I have asked you two here tonight on Gerrarde's recommendation. We have a trifle of a puzzle on which we would like to consult with you. It is by no means an important case, but there are aspects of it that are enigmatic, and about which I am told you have special knowledge. Unfortunately, I must ask that you leave your cat outside. I cannot have it wandering the building, contaminating more important on-going cases."
"I assure you, Sir Robert," Gerrarde objected, "Bastet is well-behaved, and an essential part of Mr. Mariposa's investigation process."
The Chief Inspector made a dismissive wave of his hand. "I am sorry, but there can be no exceptions. Or is it your contention that the cat is the detective and its
owner a mere ventriloquist's dummy?"
I decided to forestall a reply from Gerrarde. "I assure you, I have no problem with acceding to your order." And with that I turned and carried Bastet out the door. Just before I dropped her onto the ground, however, I whispered in her ear.
"Stay close; keep alert."
She meowed her comprehension and dashed out of sight into the surrounding darkness.
Gerrarde gave me a calculating look, but led us without comment to the stairs and down into the basement, to the Yard's makeshift morgue. Though not formally designed for such use, it was nonetheless adequate to the task of storing bodies while they were inspected by the Yard's physician-in-residence. As we went, Gerrarde and Jade grimly discussed the latest outrage by the Dynamiters. Both supported Irish home rule and were sympathetic to the cause the anarchists fought for, but they roundly condemned the indiscriminate violence they perpetrated. Sometimes it was rather hard not to tell them about certain events that lay in their future but which were already part of my past. Such as the bombing of that very building sometime later that same year. I could only hope that Gerrarde would survive it.
A constable of the Metropolitan Police Force
A Deliberation of Morality Page 4