“Do be careful, Uncle,” said Dora. “And don’t stay out after dark.”
They assured them they would be home before supper and left town. The steamcycle was where they had left it. The engine was cool enough now that Chloe could open the hatch and refill the water reservoir. They rode in the opposite direction from the area they had covered that morning, but, aside from a fascinating array of butterwort that Ambrose insisted on taking the time to sketch, they found nothing.
“Well, if we are having this much difficulty, then I imagine the police are doing no better,” said Chloe.
Ambrose was silent as his pencil scratched on the drawing pad. The sun was getting low, and when Ambrose closed his pad, he said that they had to get home.
“There is only one more place. And it is on the way,” Chloe said.
They stopped at the crossroads, and Chloe’s stomach sank at seeing the bog where Camille had lay. She hurried to the cairn, not wanting to risk anyone seeing her and asking questions, or worse, finding the place where the lid full of oddments was hidden.
Ambrose had just come up behind her as she got the rock to the side. She slid out the box top.
The newspaper scraps, bits of metal, feathers and the odds and ends were all gone. All that was left were the coins, though it seemed there were more of them than there had been last time.
“It appears that our wanderings today have not been a complete loss,” murmured Ambrose.
Chapter 19
Chloe hunkered down in the dark. She had been sitting on a slope halfway beneath the stone bridge for nearly an hour. The small creek behind her trickled and gurgled as the water poured over the slick, black rocks. The water glimmered in the moonlight, that is, when the moon wasn’t hidden behind clouds. She had checked under the bridge a few times, having gotten the sharp feeling of being watched. Of course, no person or animal had been there.
Now that she was no longer walking along the road from Aynesworth House to the town, the chill of the night air made her pull her long fitted brown coat around her. For warmth, she had also worn her leather work corset. It was heavy and snug, but she still wished she had worn an extra layer. She sported heavy stockings beneath her split skirt and had wrapped her hair in a large coffee brown scarf. Her bright hair would be a dead giveaway. If someone were to catch a glimpse of her and inquire, she had no possible excuse for being where she was, or what she was doing.
A new sound mixed with the trickle of the creek. It was rhythmic, and Chloe pulled herself tight against the side of the bridge. She was low and facing toward the town. Any rider coming in from the moor would be twenty paces past her and would have to turn backwards to see her. And she hoped that anyone riding out of town at this hour would be too inebriated or in too much of a hurry to even glance at the darkness beneath the bridge.
The faint rumbling resolved into the steady trot of a rider, and then the sharp clatter of hooves on the stone bridge above. The rider passed onto the road. He was thin and tall, and his back was poker straight. She waited until he had gone on ahead, and hurried over the last bit of road toward town. Ian slowed his mount to a walk at what had once been the town gate, and passed inside.
She followed. Ian turned off the main street immediately. His horse was walking now, and it would be easy enough to keep up. Her main concern was being seen.
She scanned her path for shadowy spots in case he turned back, but aside from doorways, there were few. She scurried to a gap between two buildings which was partially blocked by a few decaying crates. She peeked around the edge of the building to see Ian still riding straight ahead.
Hearing a sharp cry to her right, Chloe looked past the crates to see a man and woman entangled in a writhing embrace. The woman’s skirts were pushed up around her waist, and her legs were wrapped around a man’s bare bucking hips. The woman turned toward her, and the instant their eyes met, Chloe flew out of the alley, heart pounding.
She found herself in front of a tavern, standing in the glow of lamplight falling through the window. She looked up just in time to see the rear of the horse disappear down a side street. She ran the rest of the way.
Maybe she should not have come. Ian was still riding, and the town was dangerous at night, especially this section of town. It had no chocolate and pastry shops or pleasant inns for eating battered fish. The stench of rotted garbage rose from an alleyway and a couple shouted an argument from a window overhead.
She wanted to turn back, but knew she could not. She thought of Camille, with her laboratory and her greenhouse, her silky blonde hair and delicate hands folded over the lily on her chest. It was enough. Her anger drove her forward.
Ian was halfway down the street when he dismounted and tied up his horse. She moved as close as she dared without risking him seeing her. A slice of yellow light illuminated the street as the door in front of Ian opened. She moved closer, until she could clearly make out the building and the woman who was talking with Ian. It was a boarding house.
She was straining to hear when two men turned the corner and swayed toward her. They bellowed a tuneless ditty, shoving one another and then joining arms. They paused to stomp their feet to what she presumed to be the chorus of their song and hooted with laughter.
She watched with a sinking feeling as the door closed behind Ian, leaving her in the dark. She had not thought of it before, but if something had happened, she could have called out to him. The two men would be upon her soon, and though she had never seen anything like the couple in the alleyway before, she knew enough of the world to know what drunken men could do to women, willing or no. She pulled herself into a doorway. Maybe they would turn down one of the side streets between them.
“I think I see someone,” said one of the men.
“It is the moon! She is my lady love!” cried the second and howled, raising his arms to the sky.
“You’re drunk, you madman. I see someone. She’s just there.”
“Yer drunk too, Mr. Kettle.”
“What?”
“I am Mr. Pot, and my bride is in the yonder sky!” The last word became a shriek of laughter.
She darted down the street in the opposite direction from the men and Ian’s boarding house. She turned the corner and headed for the only lit building.
“What are you doing out here, girl?” said a woman leaning against the wall. Despite the cold, her arms were bare, as were the tops of her breasts.
A shout came behind Chloe. “It’s the moon lady!”
The woman looked past her. “Looks like you have yourself a couple of gentlemen admirers.”
“I would hardly call them that.”
The woman took in Chloe with a glance. “I see.” She shoved the door open with her heel and Chloe hurried inside. As the door closed behind her, she heard the woman shout a greeting to the two men.
The tavern was packed with rickety tables and chairs, though most were unoccupied. The bar was at the back, and a stooped old man was bending over something on the floor. The walls were without paintings or decorations of any kind, save two stuffed stag heads on opposite walls. Both looked so mangy that they must have been old when the bartender was a boy.
A man looked up from his mug and then, sticking a finger in his ear to scratch, went back to his drink. A few other people looked up in languid curiosity and then looked away.
“Oi! Over here,” said a voice. She turned to see a doe-eyed young woman seated with a young man at a table in the far corner. They were both seated on the same bench, side by side. There was one mug between them, but two empty mugs sat at the edge of the table.
“It’s you, isn’t it? I knew it was you,” said the girl.
“You’re the Granger maid, aren’t you?” said Chloe, recognizing the girl from Camille’s laboratory. “I saw you at the funeral.”
“Used to be,” said the young man. “Before that evil man threw her out.”
“You mean Mr. Granger?” said Chloe, taking the seat across from the pair without an inv
itation. She supposed her best parlor manners were of little use here.
“That’s right,” said the young man.
“Your name was Sullivan, wasn’t it?” asked the girl.
“You have a good memory.”
“I’m Nettie Cobb, and this here is Tommy, my fiancé. How did you know Mrs. Granger?”
“I am also an inventor and she and I were correspondents. I’m visiting with the Aynesworths. They’re family of my husband.”
“Yeah, you did say you were the inventor friend when you were in the laboratory,” Nettie said. “I’ve seen your letters then. I was the only one Mrs. Granger would let in her laboratory, and she had stacks of envelopes from you. She even had one of your drawings tacked up over her desk for a bit. Something that looked like an animal.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Well, it’s all gone now. Mr. Granger burned everything up, or had it smashed to bits. Wicked old screw.”
Tommy turned to Nettie. “I’ll go beat ’im to a bloody pulp if you asked, my poppet. Just say the word.”
“Tommy!” She bumped her shoulder into his and shook her head, smiling.
“He doesn’t mean it,” she said. “He’s just angry for me.”
“What happened?”
“She’s out on the streets now, is what happened,” said Tommy.
“What he means is that I’m currently seeking employment.”
“Fat lot of good that’ll do without a character.”
The girl shook her head. “Maybe things will be better once we’re married.” She turned to Chloe. “We’ll be going up to Gretna Green to be married in two days. That’s when the next train will be. The airships are so expensive, you know. But the train will get us there just the same. And I’m certain our circumstances will improve in time.”
The young man did not look so convinced, but he slipped his arm around her.
“Congratulations. I wish you both the best of luck,” Chloe said, and meant it. “Why did Mr. Granger release you without a character?”
“He says I stole some of Mrs. Granger’s jewelry. Said some of it turned up missing when he went through her things.”
“Do you know who took it?”
She gave a wry smile. “No one took it. She sold it. Though God only knows how she got as much as she did for it. Mr. Granger said he didn’t believe I was innocent, so it was out on the street I went without a character. If it wasn’t for Tommy, I’d have had nowhere to go.”
“Wasn’t it possible that someone else took it?” Chloe asked. “How can you be accused when you had neither the jewelry nor the money that would have been earned from it?”
“I hadn’t been working for them very long, only two years. Aside from her lady’s maid, who had been working for them for something like eight or nine years, I was the only one who went into Mrs. Granger’s rooms. I was the one who cleaned her chambers, and I was the only person who was allowed in that laboratory. Not her maid or anyone else could go in.”
“Why were you the only one allowed in?” Chloe thought she knew the answer already. She didn’t like people in her laboratory either.
Nettie took a sip of beer. “Mrs. Granger was a queer sort of woman. Liked to tinker with things. Build strange machines. She liked that laboratory just so—just the way she had left it. So whenever a maid came in there, she’d tidy up. Put papers with papers, things into boxes, dust off the tables. Things like that. Mrs. Granger hated it and would shout at them when she couldn’t find her things. So she banned all maids from going in. But then the floors got dirty, as did the windows. Dust collected and the carpet and curtains needed beating. So she had me promise not to disturb anything, and I was allowed to clean up in there. I never disturbed a thing. I wouldn’t dust often, but when I did, I would move one item at a time, and put it back just as it was.”
“Why do you think she was selling her jewelry?”
“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it? But I can add two and two. And more letters were stored in that laboratory than just yours.”
“Whose?”
Nettie shrugged. “Why are you so interested in town gossip? You aren’t even from here.”
“Mrs. Granger was my friend. And I would like to understand why she was killed.”
“Wouldn’t we all,” said Tommy.
Nettie shifted in her seat. “I mentioned that we were getting married soon. And we’re real tight on money right now.” She scanned Chloe’s neck, fingers and then looked where a handbag would hang. Chloe had worn no jewelry and had brought no handbag.
She reached into her greatcoat pocket, only to find a few slips of paper and a small spool of wire.
“I don’t have anything with me. When I get back to the Aynesworth house, I could send a bit of money, perhaps?”
Tommy snorted.
“Look, it’s late,” said Nettie. “We’ve been down here too long anyway and need to get to sleep.”
“Wait a moment.” Chloe pulled out her pocket watch. She unclasped the chain and handed it to Nettie, slipping the watch back into her pocket. Nettie looked at the chain and handed it to Tommy.
“Thank you. I suppose I can spare a few minutes, seeing as she was your friend and all. It’s a bit of a long story, but you asked. Mrs. Granger was born in France. Ran off with Mr. Granger when she was seventeen. He must have been dashing and swept her off her feet. But she wasn’t happy for long. She saved up her allowance and went back to her family in France once, trying to escape him. But he brought her back. He kept better watch over her after that.
“Didn’t give her money any more for things, only let her buy things on credit and then he paid the shops directly. I heard all this from the rest of the staff, as most of it happened before my time. But anyhow, Mrs. Granger got clever, and managed to sell some small pieces of jewelry, hair combs, pins, things like that. Little things they were, things a man wouldn’t notice were gone. Although as time passed, she sold some larger pieces, though they weren’t worth too much. How she managed to save up as much as she did, I’ll never know. When you went up there, you saw her little box, yeah?”
Chloe nodded.
“Well, when he went through her laboratory, he found the box. Kept the money, naturally, but burned everything else.”
“But if he knew about the money, surely he knew that Mrs. Granger had sold her jewelry and kept the money. Why release you?”
“Because he found the letters when he went through the laboratory.” Nettie scooted forward and Tommy sipped their beer. “Mrs. Granger kept all sorts of letters. Some were in her desk, but others were hidden in hard-to-reach places. Two of them were from years and years ago. From an old beau in France, I think. But there were other letters, newer ones. I slipped a few out of their envelopes and took quick looks here and there. Always put them back exactly so. She never knew I saw them.
“They were love letters. Praising her beauty and all that. The gentleman who wrote them wanted to run off with her. He said he’d learn French and they could live near her family vineyards, walk in the sunshine, things like that. He even said that if Mr. Granger tried to stop him, he’d kill him right on the spot. A week later, Mrs. Granger was gone.”
“I’m sorry. I am not following. What did that have to do with you?”
She sighed. “See, if word of those letters and the money box got to the police, then they’d know Mr. Granger was guilty. The fact that she ran off to France once is known, but wouldn’t be any reason for him to kill her now. But, you put the past and present together and get a picture. His wife has letters from a lover, has tried to leave before and he brought her back, now she’s saving up money, selling jewelry, and the letters say she’s planning to leave again.
“By getting rid of me, he helps himself. See, if I go to the police and say how there were letters, money and all that, then he can say I made it up because I was angry about being released for stealing. They wouldn’t believe a servant girl over a wealthy man of position, now would they?”
<
br /> “I suppose not.”
“Canny, that one. Canny.” Nettie tapped her temple.
“But why would he kill her rather than just let her run off? Or if he really wanted her to stay, why not just take the money, or take away her jewelry and keep all of it locked up where she couldn’t get to it?”
“Because of his pride. He wanted to keep her under lock and key and not bring scandal. It would shame him terribly if she left. And he’s a man with a temper. You don’t know it, Mrs. Sullivan. In public he’s as silent as a tomb. In his own home, it’s different.”
“Who do you think her admirer was?”
“If I had to guess? You would know him, as he’s part of that family that you’re here visiting.”
“Ian?”
“Oh, heavens no. The other one. His brother.”
“Alexander? Why do you think that?”
“The way Mrs. Granger sometimes talked to him. The way they looked at each other when no one was around. We servants are invisible, but we see things. Also, once I saw something he wrote when he and his family were visiting. A note to Mr. Granger for something. But the writing looked familiar, and then when I was in the laboratory the next day, I thought the writing in the letters looked the same.”
“But you didn’t hold them side by side?”
Nettie shook her head.
“Then it’s just your memory. A lot of men have similar handwriting.”
“Could be. But you asked.”
“So you think Mr. Granger killed her?”
Tommy set down his beer. “That’s what most people think. Either him or that hound.”
“It wasn’t the hound,” said Chloe. “I can assure you of that. Is there anything else you can remember?”
“What more could there be?” said Tommy. “Mr. Granger is as guilty as sin, but the police will tear apart that hound and Granger will go free. If it had been a servant who killed her, he’d be hanged by now.”
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