Hessians and Hellhounds

by Tilly Wallace

  Hessians and Hellhounds

  Manners and Monsters book 6

  Tilly Wallace

  Copyright © 2021 Hessians and Hellhounds by Tilly Wallace

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Version 27.06.21

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Also by Tilly Wallace

  About the Author

  1

  Love wrought a magical change in Mireworth, and the old house came to life—rather like a corpse hooked up to a galvanism device and hit by a lightning bolt. Conversation filled her rooms, and the echoes of footsteps raced along her halls. The very air seemed to warm, and the atmosphere became less gloomy.

  The outward physical appearance of the house had not altered, and every day Hannah added two tasks to her list for every one she completed. But the soul of the house revived. The old lady shook herself free of a deep slumber and welcomed her new lord and lady. Or so it seemed to Hannah. Perhaps it was as simple as her good mood spreading to every corner, as she refused to let obstacles dampen her optimistic perception of the world around her.

  One change, however, saddened Hannah—with her parents’ arrival they lost the easy camaraderie of mealtimes. While they embraced a more casual dining environment at Mireworth, Seraphina’s presence at the table proved too much for Mary. The maid’s bravery didn’t quite extend to meals with the dead mage. Even the robust and short-sighted Helga blanched at the idea of sitting at the same table as her employer’s noble mother-in-law.

  In search of an alternative, Hannah peeked into the long forgotten formal dining room and promptly shut the door again. The dark space was far too crypt-like, with evidence of its Tudor origins in the low ceiling, dark panelling, and small windows with thick glass. She also didn’t want to disturb a colony of rather gigantic spiders that spun webs over the stags’ antlers hung on the walls. Even if they lit a fire in the enormous hearth that could roast an entire cow, the room still couldn’t compete with the warmth or charm of the kitchen.

  Next, Hannah ventured into the servants’ hall, where once the butler would have presided over the table at mealtimes. She tried to imagine lively conversations between the maids and footmen, but the long table spoke of all the silenced voices and staff let go as the estate fell on hard times. The two large dining rooms of Mireworth seemed sad and dim compared to the good cheer spreading elsewhere.

  In the end, she decided that restoring formality could wait. The family continued to eat at the worn oak table in the kitchen, and the men found a square table and chairs to set up in the conservatory. Drenched in sunlight and warmth, the staff had a cosy spot to take their meals away from their employers. Outside of mealtimes, it also made a comfortable spot for Hannah to study the journals she found in the library.

  The morning after her parents arrived at Mireworth, Hannah sat in the kitchen with her breakfast as her father wheeled her mother to the table.

  “Good morning, Mother, Papa. Did you sleep well?” Hannah reached for the coffeepot and poured for her father.

  “Like a babe,” Sir Hugh Miles replied as he took a seat.

  Mrs Rossett took a plate and dished up an enormous breakfast from the pots warming on the range, and placed it on the table in front of him. Then she took her cup of tea and a plate of toast and adjourned to the conservatory, Barnes trotting behind her on three fingers and dragging the latest edition of a housekeeping magazine with his thumb and forefinger. The odd couple made Hannah smile. Barnes had taken a shine to Mrs Rossett and took every opportunity to prove himself handy to the no-nonsense woman.

  “Being here reminds me of the early days of my marriage to Seraphina, when we travelled all around England. We slept in many a different place, always on an adventure. I had quite forgotten how much fun it was.” Hugh winked at his wife before picking up his cutlery.

  “I apologise for the unusual accommodation. The workmen will begin repairing the roof this week. I am grateful to Hannah that Mireworth will be watertight once more before winter, and we will be able to reclaim the upstairs rooms.” Wycliff glanced at Hannah with a mix of gratitude and love simmering in his eyes.

  “There is no need to apologise. In fact, you may need to keep a stretcher for Hugh in the parlour—he rather enjoys playing forts like a boy draping a blanket over a table.” Seraphina reached out and touched her husband’s hand.

  “There is something about this place that is invigorating and invites one to strike off and explore the nooks and crannies.” Hannah’s father waggled his eyebrows at her mother.

  Hannah grinned into her hot chocolate. Neither time nor death could diminish the affection between her parents. How blessed she was to have found such a love with Wycliff.

  “There is an energy about this house. I think Mireworth harbours many secrets—some running deeper than the mysterious tower. I believe they have constructed it over ley lines.” Seraphina picked up an empty teacup with a silver rim, decorated with purple pansies and a blue butterfly.

  Mimicking her father, Wycliff attempted to waggle his eyebrows at Hannah—a comical action that nearly made her choke on her drink.

  “I will bow to your knowledge of ley lines, Lady Miles. Regarding the tower, Hannah is intent on uncovering those secrets, but she will have to wait until Frank finishes knocking down the wall and carting away the rubble,” he said.

  Hannah blew out a sigh. “He won’t even let me peek! Honestly, ever since I nearly drowned, Frank and Wycliff have fussed over me like mother hens. I am quite recovered, and capable of stepping over some rubble.”

  “I believe he wishes it to be a surprise, Hannah, to repay the kindness you have shown him and Mary. There are plenty of other areas we can explore while you wait.” Wycliff’s lips twitched in humour.

  “Why don’t we have a closer look at the entrance foyer today, Hannah?” her mother suggested. “I am rather fascinated by the griffin newel posts. Or they might be sphinx, depending on other clues we may find.”

  “Very well. Then I would like your counsel about what to grow in the conservatory, and I shall show you the grave indignity that Wycliff’s grandfather committed against the library.” Hannah would appreciate her mother’s opinion on how to go about restoring not only the library’s physical form, but also its contents. It would take years before the shelves were filled again. The next time she went shopping in London, she intended to find rousing tales of pirates to appeal to the boy hiding inside Wycliff.

  “Blast!” Wycliff muttered over his coffee cup. The newspaper in his hand shook.

  “What is it?” Hannah enquired.

  He folded the paper to highlight the article that had caught his attention and placed it on the table in front of Hannah.

  She read the headline aloud. “‘Bereaved man f
inds wife’s brain missing.’ Oh, dear.” A cold lump dropped into her stomach as she read on. Not another rogue Afflicted dining on unsuspecting Londoners? The upper echelons of those in power were already muttering about the status of the Afflicted after one murderous spree. Any more deaths would see them all rounded up and quarantined like lepers.

  “Read it aloud, please, Hannah, because that is a rather worrying headline.” Seraphina gestured with her empty teacup.

  Hannah scanned ahead and then began reading the article for the whole table. “‘Mr Sennett, grieving the death of his wife, became further distraught when the pallbearers stumbled and dropped her coffin. His brother-in-law demanded the lid be removed, so that they might ensure Mrs Sennett rested peacefully within and had not been disturbed. On opening the coffin, horrified onlookers saw the top of her skull had been sawed off and her brain was quite absent.’”

  Sir Hugh frowned. “Surgical removal of the scalp, or something more disorganised?”

  “It would appear…surgical. Here, this part… ‘It appeared some monster had stolen her mind and when the coffin was dropped, stitches were disturbed and the top portion of skull dislodged against the side of the coffin.’” Hannah passed the newspaper to her father.

  Silence fell for a moment as Sir Hugh devoured the article again.

  “It sounds like a donor to Unwin and Alder, but surely the husband would have known and been paid for the brain?” Wycliff mused out loud.

  “He might have been approached and in his grief, did not recollect it? Or what if another relative authorised the removal and pocketed the coin without his knowledge?” Hannah tried to imagine scenarios where the woman’s body might have made its way into the hands of Unwin and Alder without the husband’s consent.

  But there was another possibility, one she didn’t want to consider. What if they had an Afflicted mimicking the work of Unwin and Alder?

  “He might have been trying to save face,” Seraphina suggested. “With many people gathered for the funeral, it would be difficult to explain why your wife’s brain had vanished. Perhaps he went with the easier option of expressing horror and was carried along as events unfolded?”

  “If it’s an Afflicted involved in the removal of brains, then Sir Manly will no doubt send word. The bigger problem is if word should get out about the true nature of Unwin and Alder’s enterprise. It is one thing to claim the business need to peel back the scalp to perform their phrenology study, quite another to explain missing brains. Many people are uncomfortable with the idea of pieces of themselves being removed after death, and some cling to the notion that their body must remain intact after death for them to be admitted through the Pearly Gates.” Wycliff reached for the coffeepot and refilled his cup.

  “Another possibility might be Unwin and Alder performing unauthorised extractions. Although a fellow would hope they wouldn’t jeopardise a lucrative business by trying to skimp on paying the bereaved.” Sir Hugh passed the newspaper to Seraphina, but she waved it away.

  “I will send a message to the Ministry today seeking further information.” Wycliff glared at the newspaper as though it had deliberately broken the cheerful mood growing at Mireworth.

  A little of the shine rubbed off Hannah’s contentment at the idea of having to return to London for another investigation. But that was a worry for another day. It would take at least two to three days before Wycliff received a response, even if Sir Manly dispatched the secretary Higgs in his owl form.

  After breakfast, Hannah wheeled her mother into the gloomy entrance hall with its double curved staircase and Juliet balcony where the two sides met.

  “Do you think there is any way to clean the light dome, Mother? It is in a rather sad state, but the roof is not safe enough to send anyone up to work on it. I would so love to see whatever the design is.” If they could clean the glass forming the dome high above, light would once more flood the entrance hall.

  Hannah struggled with an uncharacteristic bout of impatience to tackle all the areas of Mireworth that needed repair. If only it were as simple as asking her mother to cast a magical spell to restore the house to her former grandeur. Unfortunately, magic didn’t work like that. As her mother explained, such a large-scale spell was too vague. There was simply too much that needed fixing and too many different components and materials involved. Magic, somewhat like builders and architects, required detailed plans to follow. Spells worked best when they were narrowly focused.

  The mage glanced upward at the smears of dark red and brown. “Yes, I think with a gentle approach, we could wash away years of dirt. Any such spell I construct will not deliver an instant result, though, Hannah. Do you think you can wait a week, as it scrubs away a layer at a time?”

  “Since I cannot go up there to hurry the process along, I shall be patient. Besides, there are many other things I wish to tackle with your assistance—such as what is in the bottom of the tower emitting a purple mist.” Although even that would have to wait, since Frank guarded the project. He left Barnes at the doorway when he carted out the debris to stop Hannah from entering. The hand waved a finger at her in an oh no you don’t gesture and she didn’t have the heart to simply step over him. Not when he took his guard duty so seriously.

  “Let us have a change of focus from looking up, and look down instead,” Seraphina suggested. “I think there is some pattern to the tiles in here, but I cannot discern it.”

  Hannah stared at her feet. Under their layers of grime, some tiles held a blue tinge, others a dull brownish-green. One, that seemed all on its own in an ocean of murk, had flashes of yellow.

  Her mother waved to the stairs. “Why don’t you go up to the balcony, Hannah, and I will cast a light. Perhaps that might make the pattern visible.”

  Seraphina wheeled herself to the middle of the foyer while Hannah trotted up the stairs and stood on the little balcony. When she was in place, her mother created an orb of glowing, creamy light and set it free. The rotating sphere rose upward past Hannah, until it hovered some twenty feet in the air like a celestial candelabrum.

  The intense light and higher perspective helped. It also brought into stark relief the spiders staring back at her from the corners, and the intricate webs they had spun along the walls. Ignoring the smaller residents of Mireworth, Hannah leaned over the balcony to study the tiles.

  “I think there may be a strip of blue running across the room, with green and yellow on either side?” No matter how hard she squinted, Hannah couldn’t discern any further details from the vague placement of colours.

  Seraphina wheeled herself to the middle of the room and gestured with her arms. “Which way does the blue seem to run from up there? Is it this way?”

  “Yes, sort of diagonally in front of the staircases. I wonder what it could be?” She rejoined her mother below.

  “If you are not averse to a little hard work, I can concoct a potion to strip this back to the original colours. It would need to be scrubbed on and then wiped off,” her mother said.

  “Oh, yes, please.” Hannah stared at her hands, the skin already red and chafed from the amount of manual labour she had undertaken lately. A visit to Mr Seager in the village might be in order, for some of his famed hand cream.

  Her mother set to work, assisted by Mrs Rossett, and brewed her potion in the kitchen. The two women used a copper pot large enough to hold an entire suckling pig. Hannah thought they looked like witches plucked from a storybook as they cackled over the pot. The mixture bubbled until after lunch, when the mage declared it ready.

  “We must dilute it in buckets of water,” Seraphina said.

  From the storeroom, Hannah and Mary found three sturdy metal buckets. They poured the thick orange liquid into each, then filled the buckets with water and stirred. A faint orange steam with the tang of citrus rose off the surface.

  “Is it safe to put our hands in?” Mary asked with a tremble to her bottom lip.

  Seraphina waved away her concerns. “Perfectly safe, Mary, and
no worse than doing laundry. Hannah tells me the apothecary in the village has a most excellent cream for ladies’ hands, and I shall treat you all to a pot each when you are done.”

  Hannah, Mary, and Helga each took up a thick bristled scrubbing brush and a cloth. Then, carrying their pails, they headed to the entrance hall. The light orb still spun above them and illuminated their work. Among the three of them, they soon had the liquid rubbed into all the tiles. It bubbled a dirty brown and let off a nose-wrinkling odour not unlike the smell the puppy made when she ate something that disagreed with her.

  “Gosh, it smells awful.” Mary pinched her nose and waved a towel in front of her face.

  “Why don’t we prop the front door open to help dispel the odour?” Hannah suggested.

  With Helga’s help, they prised the large doors open and let a breeze swirl away the fumes.

  Next they fetched clean water and fresh cloths, and undertook the much slower task of wiping all the liquified grime from the tiles. With the first sweep of her damp cloth, Hannah gasped. Beneath years of dust and dirt, she had revealed a portion of what appeared to be bright green grass. With more passes of her cloth, the murky blue patches turned into the deep blue and aqua of water.

  Piece by piece, the larger picture battled the dirt and emerged victorious.

  “What is it? A meadow?” Mary turned her head, looking one way and then another.

  Hannah ran up the stairs and stepped on to the balcony. Excitement leapt up her throat. The blue tiles were a river, and on either side were depicted rushes, reeds, and the unmistakable flowers of lotus. When viewed from up high, what had seemed to be mottled grey patches turned into basking crocodiles and a hippopotamus. The bright green growth of the fertile banks gave way to the rich yellows and reds of sand as it reached the edges of the space. The griffin newel posts stood at the edge of a desert.