Someone had murdered his wife, and now everyone in the church occasionally glanced at him, wondering if he had killed her. The rumors must have been painful for him. If the Aynesworth servants were any gauge of public opinion, the scandalous idea that Camille was going to run away with her paramour was all over town. She thought of the box of carefully kept money in the laboratory.
But then, Mr. Granger had been unkind to Camille, monitoring her letters and driving her to whatever caused her to be out on the moor at night. Maybe she had been fleeing him. But if she had, why would she have left the money back in her laboratory?
Chloe tried to focus on the service, but her mind was not on the hereafter. Her concern was for the living. At the end of the service, six men at the front rose and carried Camille’s coffin down the aisle. The vicar followed them, with Mr. Granger last. He grasped his brass-knobbed walking stick and moved down the aisle with a limp that proved the stick was not merely decorative. She had not noticed the limp at the house earlier.
The people filed out of the church, forming a crowd around the door. As the Aynesworth pew was near the front, they were pressed in the midst of the crowd for a few minutes. Chloe listened for strains of French, hoping that Camille had family present, but she heard none.
“A puff of sulfurous yellow smoke, I tell you,” said a young man. “Every time they disappear.”
“That’s poppycock. Don’t repeat things like that, especially in church,” said a young woman who had the same black hair and freckles as the young man.
“No, it’s true. The pair of them go from Okehampton to Tavistock, and back again. Have to pick a single blade of grass each time. When the hill is bare, then their penance will be done,” he said.
“There’s nothing out there and you know it. I’m not a little girl anymore and you can’t scare me with ghost stories.”
“You wouldn’t say that if you lived out there like I do,” said a tiny woman with wild gray hair and large square teeth. “You’ve seen things. I’ve known you since you were small and you told me. You know it. You don’t have to act like you don’t.”
“Oh, come now. You still leave out saucers of milk for the piskies,” said the girl.
They passed out of earshot, and Chloe and Ambrose were able to move into the churchyard where the group assembled around the gravesite. As the vicar spoke of ashes and dust, Ambrose touched Chloe’s arm and pointed discreetly behind them.
She gasped. There were prints in the mud with four marks in front and a perfectly oval pad at the base. They were identical to the ones at the bog. They ran along the edge of the churchyard, and then vanished into the gorse behind it. So the hound was still functional and apparently still wandering the area.
Men with ropes lowered the coffin into the grave, and a few women sniffed and dabbed their eyes with lacy handkerchiefs. Mr. Granger was dry-eyed as he stared at the lid of the coffin, deep in the dark earth. The crowd started to disperse to return to the Granger house for the obligatory funeral meal, which would undoubtedly be more lavish than the lighter fare served earlier. Mr. Granger remained, his hands clasped in front of him on the knob of his walking stick. Chloe thought that the tip of his nose looked pinker than it had been before.
She wanted to follow the hound tracks to see if it was perhaps nearby, but there were too many people about. The black-haired brother and sister were arguing nearby.
“Look there,” said the man. “Those tracks. See? It’s the churchgrims. They should have buried her at a crossroads.”
“That’s for suicides, you dolt,” said his sister.
“Then what are those?”
“How should I know? But I’m hungry. Let’s be going before the entire roast is taken.” She pulled his arm.
Ambrose walked Chloe across the churchyard and to the road, where a row of carriages awaited.
“Would you mind if we went straight home and missed the luncheon?” She would have said that she didn’t feel well, but it would be a lie. Physically, she was well.
Ambrose instructed the driver to take them to the Aynesworth house. Once they were ensconced side by side within the privacy of the carriage, Ambrose raised an eyebrow.
“Would you like to share with me what you have in your handbag?”
She blushed and hesitated for a moment before opening it. She hoped he would not be upset with her. Ambrose whistled low as she handed the stack of papers. Then she reached into her stocking to draw out another paper, which made him chuckle. And finally, she pulled pages out of her bodice, and he gave a wicked laugh.
“Pussycat, pussycat, where have you been?” he said with a small, mischievous smile.
“Not to visit the queen, I assure you. I wanted to see Camille’s rooms. I found her laboratory and discovered these.”
After perusing the pages, he put half of the papers into his coat pockets.
“I’ll carry these to the house for you,” he said, handing the rest back to her. She fitted them back into her reticule.
“Unfortunately, there are so many more notebooks and things in Camille’s laboratory. I could only grab these. I need to see more. There was just so much.”
“Were you discovered?”
“Yes, but only by a maid and the housekeeper. And she seemed so frightened of Mr. Granger that I doubt she’ll tell him I was up there.”
“Then why don’t you want to go for the luncheon?”
She wouldn’t usually pass up such luxurious fair as would surely be on offer at the Granger home. And she was dreadfully hungry.
“It’s the people. They’re all, well … too happy. Enjoying themselves too much.”
His smile faded and he looked out the window. “Yes, I think it was more a party for many of them.”
“I just want to go home,” she said. He took her hand and she leaned her head on his shoulder.
Chapter 11
Chloe closed her bedroom door behind her and pulled out the note pages from her reticule. She unfolded them and laid them between the pages of a large hardbound art book on a side table before ringing for her lady’s maid.
Miss Haynes entered and helped Chloe out of the dress she had worn to the funeral and into a more relaxed blue dress for the afternoon.
“I’m glad you thought to pack that one,” Chloe said as Miss Haynes shook out the gray dress, examined it for rips or stains and hung it up.
“Well, I certainly didn’t think you’d need it for a funeral. But it’s one of your more versatile dresses. A white ribbon and a cameo around your neck, and it’s cheered up. A black shawl and your onyx cross pendant with it, like today, and it’s fit … well, for mourning.” She glanced at her mistress’s face. “Are you all right, mum?”
“I’m all right. It was awful seeing Camille laid out like that. But what I just couldn’t abide was being with all those mourners. They were having too grand a time, feasting and all.”
Miss Haynes nodded. “The other servants were talking. Mr. Granger’s household put together quite a spread under such short notice. Must have bought up half the bakery and butcher shops while they were at it.”
“Likely they did. And whoever they hired to dress up Camille made her look beautiful.”
“I heard she was quite a beauty, even if she was French.”
Chloe smiled and stroked Giles who was resting on the windowsill. He swiveled his head and watched a tree branch wave in the breeze.
“Down,” she said, and he paused before jumping off the windowsill. “I’ll be in Ambrose’s temporary study.”
“Just a moment, mum,” said Miss Haynes, shutting the door. “It’s about the rider you saw the other night.”
“You heard something?”
“I wasn’t sure who to ask, or even if I could ask,” she said. “It’s not as if the other servants are fond enough of me to tell me secrets. I was going to ask Mr. Frick to try to find out, but decided against it.”
“Why?” Mr. Frick had been Ambrose’s valet for decades. He was the soul of p
ropriety and discretion.
“Well, he might mention it to Mr. Sullivan, and I wasn’t sure if you wanted him to know that you had been in the laboratory so late that night.”
“Ah. Thank you for thinking of that. But he already knew. He came in to tell me it was bed time, but I wanted to keep working. He didn’t seem to mind. I think he worries about me if I work too much and neglect myself.”
“Yes, I know how you can be when you get on a project.”
“Back to the rider, if you please.”
“Right. I couldn’t just go around and ask the other servants without them thinking I was a gossip or a busybody. So I had the idea that I could say that the rider frightened me, and I thought he might be an intruder. I thought that if any of them knew who he was, they might tell me to keep me from going to the butler or causing a commotion about it.”
“Very clever.”
“Thank you. I asked a maid who has a room near mine. My room faces the front of the house, so I told her that I had heard something, looked out my window and saw the rider. Told her I was terrified it was a bandit, maybe the one who murdered that poor woman. I said I wanted to ask the master or call the police. The more hysterical I got, the more she tried to quiet me.” Miss Haynes crossed her arms with a smile.
Chloe was willing to let her relish her story, but was growing impatient. “So who is it?”
“Ian. He goes out a few times a week. Though for the last few weeks, he has been going out every night. Goes into Farnbridge and sees someone there. No one knows who. At least, the chambermaid didn’t. He’s been doing it for years. The servants were instructed that if anyone spoke of it, they’d be dismissed. The chambermaid was terrified that I was going to cause trouble. She told me, but made me take a vow of secrecy.”
“Which you then promptly broke by telling me,” said Chloe and smiled.
“I had my fingers crossed! And I’m not going to talk to anyone else, that’s for certain.”
“Did you learn anything else?”
“That was all. But I’ll tell if you if I learn anything more.” She tidied a few things on the vanity, straightened some of the books that Chloe had left lying about and closed the door behind her as she left.
Chloe grabbed the art book, and called to Giles who had vanished under the bed. He poked his head out and bounded toward her. Something was in his mouth. She commanded him to “drop,” “open up” and “give the blasted thing to me!” but he would not relent. With difficulty, she managed to pry the thing out of his mouth, only to discover it was an old brass button with some threads attached.
“Irritating creature,” she said, tossing the button onto the table. He sat on his hind legs with his paws up to his chest, like a rabbit.
“Brrr?”
“Well, that’s new. And yes, you are adorable. Come.”
She opened the door that connected her rooms with her husband’s room to find him reading a book. He glanced up and motioned to a second chair.
“I won’t be very long,” she said, sitting across from him with the art book in her lap.
He kept his eyes on his book as he reached into his jacket and handed her the stack of notes he had kept for her. She slid them into the book with their brethren.
“I have a favor to ask,” she said.
“You want me to ask Mr. Granger if we could visit.”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“Because you want the rest of her notes.” He looked like the cat that ate the codfish.
Exasperating man. “I do. Do you think you could manage it?”
“I already have.”
She waited until she was sure he wasn’t going to say anything more.
“And?”
“As soon as we got back, I sent a note requesting that we pay Mr. Granger a brief visit. I said that I was eager to make the acquaintance of the husband of my wife’s friend, wanted to pay our condolences, etcetera.” He waved a hand, but kept his eyes on his book. “When we are there, we can delicately broach the subject of you having access to Mrs. Granger’s work. That’s assuming, of course, that he didn’t hear about your private expedition to get the items yourself.”
She jumped up and kissed his forehead. “You are wonderful.”
“I know.”
“I’m off to your study. I’ll see you at supper.”
“Enjoy your study of fine art.”
She closed the door to the sound of his laughter.
Chapter 12
The next morning, Chloe had spent a few hours working on the steamcycle in the carriage house. When Ambrose had gotten it back from town, she found that one of the steam valves was not making a proper seal. A shadow passed over her and she looked up to find her husband in the doorway. She flipped her notebook to the front cover, turned a few pages, then flipped back to a spot held by her finger and wrote a few lines. Ambrose lowered himself beside her. She held up one finger while she finished, and then closed her notebook.
“I received this after breakfast.”
After she cleaned her hands, he handed her an envelope. Inside, was a card with pinched script.
Mr. Sullivan,
Thank you for your kind letter and your condolences. If you are available, you and your wife may call upon me at my residence for a brief visit today from one thirty until two o’clock in the afternoon. At this most difficult time, I would request your indulgence in limiting the duration of your call. Unless I hear otherwise, I will expect you both at the time indicated above.
“Not the most gracious invitation we’ve ever received,” she said. “And at that time of day, he wouldn’t even have to serve us tea or biscuits.”
“It is the very model of efficiency. I thought you, of all people, would appreciate it.”
“Don’t tease.”
“Very well.” He folded the card and inserted it back into its envelope. “You can find me in my temporary study after lunch, and we can proceed. I will arrange the carriage.”
“Do you think he knows?” she said. “About my visit to the laboratory?”
“This may be his typical way of addressing people. I only know the man by reputation, and even the ever-amiable Alexander has hesitated to say much about the man. I gather he’s a taciturn sort.”
“So you have no idea.”
“None.”
“Ah, well. Faint heart never won fair lady’s schematics.”
“Indeed.”
They stepped out of the carriage in front of the Granger house. Giles bounded out behind them and followed them up the walk. It was a calculated risk to bring him. Ambrose had thought it a good idea, saying that if Mr. Granger was grieving, making Chloe seem as similar to his wife as possible may work to their advantage. Also Giles would show Mr. Granger that Chloe was not a mere dilettante, but a serious inventor, capable of understanding and utilizing all of Camille’s designs.
The Granger house seemed larger this time, with no people filing in through the door and loitering on the front walk. There were no pots of colorful plants this time, only the clean-swept front yard. A burning smell floated in the air, most likely from a groundskeeper burning piles of leaves out back. Ambrose rapped the doorknocker. Chloe looked down to see that Giles had a wet piece of leaf in his mouth. He was chewing it, his head tipped sideways.
“Drop it,” she said.
Giles blinked and stared. She heard footsteps and quickly pried the leaf loose and tossed it aside just as the door opened.
The butler admitted them, placed their coats on a doorway mechanical and led them through the house. The hall was still adorned in black crepe, though it smelled pleasantly of the flowers that still filled the front parlor. It was so much quieter without hoards of neighbors crowding and chatting. It was a large house, and now with only Mr. Granger living there, Chloe thought that it must feel so empty.
The butler opened the door to a sitting room, announced them and allowed them to enter. Mr. Granger was seated in a large armchair, his back to the window. The room
was small but pleasant, with patterned blue wallpaper and a bird cage in one corner. The bright-plumed bird inside was silent and completely still. Chloe had to glance at it a second time before realizing that it was mechanical. Camille had covered the little creature in real feathers. It even had small seed and water dishes attached to the bars.
Ambrose and Mr. Granger made their introductions and Mr. Granger took his seat. The chairs near him were a bit lower than his, Chloe found, after seating herself beside Ambrose. The table before them was bare, and no fire burned in the grate. Even the curtains were closed. Well, there was no danger of them becoming overly comfortable.
Giles settled near her feet, and she moved her toe to touch him. If he moved, she would know it before he caused any trouble. Mr. Granger glanced at the cat before turning to Ambrose.
“We want to convey our deepest condolences on the loss of your wife,” said Ambrose. “Mrs. Sullivan was quite fond of her. Very fond. And I am greatly saddened that her life was cut short in the bud of youth.”
Camille was over forty, and thus a few years past the bud of youth, Chloe thought. But it was a kind thought and well expressed. Ambrose paused, giving Mr. Granger the appropriate time to reply. Mr. Granger nodded his acknowledgement but did not speak.
“I’m sure you are wondering about the purpose of our call, so I will be brief.”
“That would be a kindness,” said Mr. Granger. “I am weary and grieved, and I am not in the habit of receiving visitors with whom I am not personally acquainted. I made an exception in your case because of the police.”
“The police?” Ambrose said.
“Your wife spoke with them, I trust you know?” Mr. Granger’s face held the first sign of pleasure Chloe had seen.
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