by Chris Dolley
“But how can Pasco’s death fit into all this?” asked Lily.
“Very easily,” I said. “Pasco was the ghost.”
That certainly got in amongst them. Forks were put down, tea cups reunited with saucers, and everyone started talking at once. There were plenty of whats, several hows and a brace or two of whys.
“No,” said Henry. “Pasco was never allowed in the house. And he certainly wouldn’t wear a dress. Selden killed Pasco because Pasco saw him.”
“The evidence suggests otherwise,” I said. “Why would Selden chop off Pasco’s head and hide it? Why would Selden remove Pasco’s clothes?”
“He wouldn’t,” said Morrow, looking decidedly pale. “He uses his claws and teeth to kill. He’d never use an axe or stab anyone.”
“Am I missing something?” said Ida. “What on earth makes you think that Pasco was the ghost? Wouldn’t it have been the murderer?”
Ah. This was a tricky sitch. How could one reveal that Pasco’s head was painted green without mentioning finding the head ... and then covering it with pastry before subsequently losing it? Perhaps it was the proximity of so many kippers, but an idea came to me almost immediately.
“Because the ghost’s head, which we all saw had a diabolical glow to it, was painted in RadioGlo paint and that, as the good doctor told us last night, works best on automata. Now, how many automata do we know who were missing a head the very next day?”
I thought Emmeline was going to applaud. She caught herself just in time.
“So Pasco was naked because he was wearing Theodosia’s black dress,” said Emmeline. “And the murderer had to remove the dress and the head so that no one would discover that Pasco was the ghost.”
“Indeed,” I said. “And the head was stuffed full of Pasco’s memories, so that had to be destroyed to protect the murderer’s identity.”
“I hardly think that naked automata are a suitable subject for the breakfast table,” said Lady Julia. “And do sit down. You unnerve me hovering in the corner like that.”
I gave the curare bottle to Henry for safekeeping and ankled over to the breakfast sideboard to load my plate with two of Arbroath’s finest. Hopefully I’d manage to eat them this time.
“I don’t get this,” said T. Everett as I took a seat next to him. “Why would Pasco agree to play this ghost? He’s an automaton. Why would he play any part in a plot against his master?”
“Because he’s programmed to obey orders,” I said. “Reeves says that these gardening automata like Pasco aren’t too bright. If someone tells them to dress up as a ghost, they do it.”
“But why would anyone want Pasco to dress up as a ghost?” asked Lily.
“It’s the sort of thing the better class of murderers do,” I said. “The common murderer has no imagination. They grab the first weapon that comes to hand and that’s it. But the clever ones do all sorts of odd things to throw one off the scent.”
“But if what you’re saying is true,” said Henry, “and the murderer isn’t a maniac like Selden, but some chap who deliberately planned to kill the governor, what’s their motive? He hadn’t an enemy in the world. And as far as money goes, I’m the only one who benefits, and I’d cut off my right arm before even thinking of harming the governor. This does not make sense at all.”
“Of course it doesn’t make sense,” said Lady Julia. “The boy’s delusional. Selden killed Robert and that’s that.”
“There is someone who does have a very strong motive,” said T. Everett. “I was thinking about this last night.”
“What?” said Henry. “Who?”
“Edison,” said T. Everett. “He’d see Quarrywood as a dangerous rival. Your movies have only been showing in the States for three months and already they’re breaking all records. Edison won’t stand for that. He’ll either try to buy you out or get you closed down somehow. If you were in the States, he’d claim you infringed one of his patents, and tie you up in court. But you’re over here in England. I bet he’s hired someone to close Quarrywood down ... permanently, if you get my drift. Edison has a long arm.”
“I can’t believe anyone would have the governor killed over Quarrywood. They must know that I’d keep it going. I’m as committed to its success as my father was.”
“And if anything happened to you?” said T. Everett. “What then? Edison doesn’t do things by halves. He’ll come for you next.”
Well, this was all very informative. I hadn’t considered motive. In most books I’d read, the suspects with the strongest motives were usually the first to be cleared. It was always the chap one least suspected that turned out to be the murderer. But there was something about this Edison cove that appealed. He sounded a bit like a criminal mastermind, and he was three thousand miles away — which ticks the ‘unlikely suspect’ box.
Henry looked shaken, as did Ida and Morrow.
“If anyone comes for me,” said Henry. “They’ll find me waiting with a gun in my hand.”
I don’t think I was alone in thinking that Henry’s words were a tad on the unfortunate side. Sir Robert had been waiting with a gun in his hand when he’d been struck with the poison what not.
“Have you hired any new servants in the last month, Henry?” asked Emmeline. “If Edison hired someone to infiltrate the house that’s how he’d do it.”
Could one ask for a better fiancée?
“I don’t believe we’ve engaged any new servants recently,” said Henry. “Have we, Berrymore?”
“Not at the house, sir. I believe some new actors may have been taken on at the studio.”
“They were all réanimés and automata,” said Henry. “They don’t come anywhere near the house.”
“And neither shall they,” said Lady Julia.
“Edison has the largest automata factory in America,” said T. Everett. “Some of the new ones look so lifelike you have to stand within three feet before you can tell the difference. Dress one of them up in your footmans’ livery, slap on some theatrical make-up, and I bet it could pass for one of your servants — enough to sneak into the house.”
“A machine may pass for a human in the Americas, Mr Spurgeon,” said Lady Julia. “But not in England.”
“I don’t know,” said Henry. “What do you think, Roderick?”
I wasn’t going to mention Reeves. He was one of a kind anyway. Whoever had built Reeves had broken the mould soon after. One imagines he took one look at his creation and declared his work done, retiring on the spot to Worthing to keep bees and raise nasturtiums.
“It’s certainly a possibility,” I said. “Do any of these new actors have an American accent?”
“Not that I’ve noticed,” said Henry. “Morrow?”
“All the prometheans and automata at the studio are British, I believe,” said Morrow. “Though we do occasionally borrow extra automata from Stapleford for crowd scenes. Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve ever heard his automata speak.”
“Stapleford has a lot of automata, does he?” I asked.
“About a dozen, I should think,” said Morrow.
“I’ve known Stapleford for years,” said Henry. “He’s a thoroughly decent chap. He wouldn’t get mixed up with any plot to kill anyone.”
“He might not knowingly be involved,” I said. “What if he woke up one morning and found an automaton on his doorstep looking for work and offering his services for free. Stapleford’s first thought wouldn’t be ‘Are you an assassin sent from America?’”
“I’ll ask him,” said Henry. “I’ll be seeing him at the studio in an hour.”
“You’re not intending to work today, are you?” said Lady Julia.
“Well, yes,” said Henry.
“But, Henry, your place is here,” admonished Lady J. “Do I need to remind you that the family is in mourning?”
“I know, Aunt Julia, but I need to be doing something. Besides, the governor wouldn’t want us moping around the house with long faces. He’d want us to celebrate life,
not death.”
“It’s not your father’s decision. Or yours. It’s tradition. The servants will expect it.”
“My mind is made up,” said Henry. “We all mourn in our own way, Aunt. And if this fellow Edison is out to destroy Quarrywood, all the more reason for us to press on and show him that we won’t be intimidated.”
Seventeen
fter breakfast I slipped out of the dining room while Lady Julia was having another go at Henry. I didn’t want to give her the chance to hand me Spinoza’s latest and confine me to the drawing room. Emmeline came flying out after me. By the time Lady Julia noticed our departure — signalled by a booming “Where’s that Roderick?” — Emmeline and I were legging it upstairs to freedom.
Reeves was waiting for us in my room, and I swiftly brought him up to speed with events.
“What do you think, Reeves? Have you heard of this Edison fellow?”
“I have, sir. While it is true that the gentleman in question is of a litigious nature, I have not read anything that would suggest he would engage in homicidal conspiracies.”
“There’s always a first time, Reeves. And just because he hasn’t been caught doesn’t mean he’s not been out there bumping people off for years. What about these automata of his? Are they as good as T. Everett says?”
“I have never encountered one, sir, but I have heard they are highly regarded.”
“It’s true what Henry said about motive though, isn’t it?” said Emmeline. “Except for Edison and his wish to get rid of a competitor, there just isn’t one ... unless...”
I could tell by the way Emmie looked at me that she’d just thought of a corker. “Unless what?”
“Unless there’s something odd in Sir Robert’s will,” said Emmeline. “What if Henry doesn’t inherit?”
For a fleeting moment I was as excited as Emmeline. Wills were always hot stuff when one was looking for an unexpected motive. But would Sir Robert have disinherited Henry? I couldn’t see it. I’d never heard a single harsh word exchanged between the two.
“Have you heard of any rift between Henry and his father, Reeves?”
“No, sir. The only discourse I have heard upon the subject of Sir Henry’s relationship with his father have been ones concerning the surprising lack of discord between the two men. A circumstance ascribed to the general affability of both parties.”
I pondered on this for a while. I liked the idea of a contentious will, but I agreed with the opinion of the servants’ hall — Sir Robert wouldn’t willingly disinherit Henry.
So...
“What if someone forges a new will for Sir Robert and places it in his study to be discovered after the murder?” I said.
“A forgery would be uncovered, sir. Especially if the beneficiary was an unexpected one.”
“Ah, but what if the beneficiary was a particularly litigious individual with deep pockets,” I said, waggling an excited finger. “Am I not right in thinking that such a person could keep the estate’s assets frozen for years while the dispute is settled in the courts? I’m thinking of that book by Dickens — Bleak Something?”
“Bleak House, sir,” said Reeves, looking, I have to say, rather impressed with the young master. “It contains the disturbing case of Jarndyce and Jarndyce where the entire inheritance was frozen for decades before eventually being exhausted by legal costs. It was believed based on the real case of—”
“Quite, Reeves. We have the gist. So if this Edison chap hires a really good forger, he doesn’t need to do away with Henry. He can put a stop to Quarrywood with just Sir Robert’s murder, a forged will and a bevy of lawyers.”
“It’s diabolically brilliant!” said Emmeline. “If anyone challenges the will, Edison ties up the estate for years with law suits. And if they don’t, he takes control of Quarrywood himself!”
“There is the strong possibility, miss, that the police would charge him with forgery.”
“They can try, Reeves, but this chap sounds like a slippery cove,” I said. “He’ll have an army of lawyers to obfuscate matters.”
“Do you think Edison might be on his way here for the reading of the will?” asked Emmeline.
“It wouldn’t surprise me. We should keep an eye out. He should be easy to spot. According to T. Everett, he has very long arms.”
I was all for searching Sir Robert’s study immediately, but Reeves was against it.
“I fear the investigation is in danger of becoming side-tracked, sir. Last night, you decided that a search of the copse close to where Sir Robert’s gun was found should be our priority for the day. You may remember we deduced the strong possibility that the murderer lay there in wait for Sir Robert.”
I’d almost forgotten. “You think that trumps a search of the study?”
“Most certainly, sir. The longer we postpone a search of the murder scene, the more likely that evidence may be lost or compromised.”
~
Reeves braved the stairs first while Emmeline and I waited on the edge of the landing. Neither of us wanted to be nabbed by Lady J.
I heard a door open downstairs and flattened myself against the wall.
“Ah, it’s you,” said the unmistakable voice of the gimlet-eyed Aunt. “Treeves, isn’t it? Tell that accomplice of yours I want to see him this minute.”
“Mister Roderick has left for the studio, milady,” said Reeves. “I believe he intends to spend the day there searching for clues.”
“God help us,” said Lady J. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen Miss Fossett?”
“I believe she went for a walk, milady.”
“A walk? Does no one understand the etiquette of mourning these days?”
I heard footsteps and a door slam. Then I poked a tentative nose over the banisters to make sure all was clear, and that it wasn’t Reeves who’d stormed off in a door-slamming huff.
All was clear, and it was but the work of a minute to beetle down the stairs and exit the Hall via the back door. Edmunds, who Reeves informed me was the boot boy, was standing guard on the lawn outside.
“You’ll need a gun, Mr Reeves,” he said. “Mr Berrymore told me not to let anyone outside if they didn’t have a gun. There’s one propped up against the wall there.”
Suitably armed, we hastened off to the murder scene by way of the Yew Walk.
The ground where we’d found the body was considerably cut up — which wasn’t surprising considering the number of people who’d trampled over it the previous night. The bowl was still there, but it was now empty.
“What’s that bowl doing there?” asked Emmeline.
“We found it under Sir Robert’s body,” I said. “It was full of milk.”
“Milk? What was a bowl of milk doing out here?”
I didn’t have an answer. Last night I’d hit upon the rather brainy idea that the milk was poisoned, but as soon as Morrow started talking about asphyxiation and Reeves started pointing at suspicious neck wounds, I pushed all thoughts of milk aside. After all, according to Inspector Murgatroyd, the human brain can only have so many thoughts, and you need to leave room in case a real corker comes along later.
“Mr Berrymore is of the opinion that one of the more superstitious servants left it out for the piskies, miss,” said Reeves.
“Fond of milk, are they? These piskies?” I asked.
“Piskies, or to give them their more common name — pixies — do not exist, sir.”
“Ah, same as ghosts.”
“Precisely, sir.”
“Well, someone’s finished off the milk, Reeves,” I said.
“It could be hedgehogs,” said Emmeline. “I haven’t seen any cats around the Hall...”
The same thought must have struck all three of us at the same time. There was one very large cat that we’d all seen on the premises.
Selden!
“Can you see any tracks belonging to Selden?” I asked, having a good peer.
We couldn’t. The only tracks that were visible in the compressed eart
h were shoe and boot prints.
“He may have changed back into human form before discovering the milk, sir.”
That was true, as was the possibility that the milk had been finished off by any number of the local wildlife. There could have been a wild milk party last night with every hedgehog, badger and deer for miles around swinging by for a snootful.
“Do you think someone might have left the milk out for Selden?” asked Emmeline.
“Who?” I replied.
“Dr Morrow seems quite fond of Selden,” said Emmeline.
“I think it unlikely that Dr Morrow would leave a bowl of milk here, miss, when it was his intention to lure Selden into his laboratory.”
“Wasn’t the bowl already here, though, before Dr Morrow decided to lure Selden into his room?” asked Emmeline.
“That is indeed correct, miss. I pronounced before fully analysing the situation.”
I had to pinch myself. Was this Reeves admitting to a mistake? Was this Reeves making a mistake?
“Are you up to pressure, Reeves?”
“I am operating within acceptable parameters, sir.”
“I hadn’t thought!” said Emmeline looking concerned. “How are you managing to top yourself up with armed guards on the doors all night?”
“With difficulty, miss. There is a convenient drainpipe passing adjacent to a window on the servants’ stairs. I used that last night to slip out unnoticed. I would, however, appreciate it, sir, if you could provide me with a suitable reason to search the outbuildings for half an hour this afternoon.”
“Consider it done, Reeves. I’ll stand guard outside.”
We continued our search, moving along the path to where Sir Robert’s gun had been found. The tracks of the cloven footed woman were still visible.
“The gun was about here, wasn’t it, Reeves?” I said, positioning myself where I thought Sir Robert would have stood.
“A yard closer to the mire gate, sir.”
I took a step forward. “Right ho, I’m Sir Robert standing here looking towards the gate. The murderer’s off to my right. Where?”
We all eyeballed the area to my right. The ground rose at a steady angle towards the back lawn some fifty feet higher and about a hundred yards away. The area was studded with trees of assorted varieties — some yew and some deciduous types just bursting into leaf. There were plenty of spots a chap could hide and get a clear sight of the track.
