“I agree,” said Mr. Lydford. “From looking at it, it appears to be manufactured, not homemade. But there is no way to be certain. It is too bad we don’t have the rest of it.”
Chloe set it down and glanced at Mr. Lydford. He added nothing more.
“Is that all?” asked Inspector Lockton.
“It’s a good bit more than you had before,” said Mr. Lydford.
Mr. Van der Smoot looked at the door.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” said Inspector Lockton. “I appreciate your assistance. You are free to go.”
Chloe and Ambrose rose as well and Inspector Lockton showed them out. Mr. Lydford was waiting outside. Mr. Van der Smoot and Mr. Tucker were halfway down the street, presumably on their way back to the railway and airship stations.
“Mr. and Mrs. Sullivan, it was a pleasure talking with you,” said Mr. Lydford. “I’m sorry about the death of your friend.”
Ambrose took her arm and she followed. It would not do for townsfolk to see them coming out of the police station. Mr. Lydford joined them.
“I hope the police are able to discover something,” said Chloe. “That mechanical part was a dead end. They are no closer now than before.”
“Perhaps and perhaps not,” Mr. Lydford said. “You never know what else they might be able to get out of that bog. Assuming they’re still looking. Well, if you are ever in the neighborhood, my shop is on Hampton Street, down this street and right on the next,” he pointed. “Next to the dress shop.”
“I saw it on the way through town when we arrived,” said Chloe.
He made his good-byes, tipped his hat and crossed the street.
“Penny for your thoughts,” said Chloe once she and Ambrose were seated across from each other in the carriage and he was looking out the window.
“My thoughts?”
“I know you have them.”
“Saucy woman. I was thinking about the Labridae family of fishes. There are ordinary males, and then there are males who were born female. The latter live among the females their entire lives, even after they became male. The ordinary males don’t usually bother to challenge them.”
“I think Mr. Tucker and Mr. Van der Smoot did a fair amount of challenging. Besides, I’m all female.”
“Don’t think for a moment that I am unaware of the fact.”
Chapter 22
“Mrs. Sullivan, please. You have got to make it stop!” panted Robert. He was standing in the laboratory doorway, pink-cheeked and frantic. His shoes were covered in dirt, as were his knees and hands. “It’s destroying everything!”
Chloe leaped up and removed her magnification spectacles. Robert rushed through the house and out the back, Chloe close behind him.
“I tried to stop it. But it clawed me. I kept trying to chase it, but it’s faster and stronger than it looks.” His hand had four equidistant bleeding scratches amid the grime.
They passed the back lawn and the rose garden, turning sharply toward a vegetable garden. The plot of land was fenced and well-tended. Near the back was a scarecrow, or what was left of it. The post upon which the scarecrow had hung was barely upright. It had worn an old skirt, which was now in a heap in the dirt to one side. Its coat was halfway off, and a sleeve was torn. Half of the brown yarn that served as the scarecrow’s hair was torn off and lay scattered. The rest hung from one corner of a men’s hat, which had blown up against the fence.
Giles was in the corner, digging madly at the dirt. A spray of earth flew out behind him, and as Chloe ran for him, he darted off. He found a carrot and began to dig.
Chloe grabbed around his midsection, falling on her knees in the dirt. He squirmed, bucking until he caught his front paws in the earth and gave a mighty push. He fled to the far corner, turning to look at her as she crept toward him.
“Giles, come.”
He did not respond. His head turned to one side, and she knew he was evaluating distance and how quickly he could cover it. She threw herself at him, dragging him toward her as he flailed. He attacked with claws and teeth, and he gave her thumb a hard bite. She ignored the moment of pain and held him steady, bracing him against the earth. She reached around his belly and his back feet rabbit kicked. He caught her in the stomach once, but she managed to flip his switch. He did not make a sound as he lost energy, but struggled to the last.
Robert was beside her. “Are you all right?” He offered her a hand up, which she accepted.
“I’ll be fine. It is only a bit of dirt.” She wiped at the dirt on her front, but it made no difference.
“What did you do to it?”
“I just turned him off. He has a switch, here.” She showed him.
Robert nodded, but his eyes were already scanning the garden. He headed for the far corner and knelt down. It was the most damaged part of the garden, with more than half of the plants shredded or uprooted.
“I’m so sorry,” said Chloe. “I didn’t think he was capable of this.”
Robert was silent, and he gathered some of the shredded plants in his arms, cradling them against his body with one arm. None of them had roots left or any hope of survival. He rose and made a pile of them off to one side.
“I thought this was the kitchen garden,” said Chloe. “Is it yours?”
“Only this corner. I grow some things out here, and the kitchen staff doesn’t mind. I weed and water their section sometimes, and keep an eye on it.”
“I’m sorry, Robert. I’ll help you replant it.”
“I know it was an accident.”
“Still, I’ll help.”
He knelt and pushed dirt back around a leaning plant.
“You grow herbs, not vegetables,” she said.
“Yes. I like them. I would like to learn about medicine some day. I want to be a doctor.” He sighed.
“But?”
“But my father wants to purchase a commission for me in the navy.”
“The navy’s not such a bad life. And being a doctor is difficult work.”
He looked up at her, and the disappointment on his face startled her. It was not disappointment over his future, but in her. She set Giles down near the gate and joined him amid the plants. She pushed dirt back around plants that were still in the earth and collected leaves and other non-salvageable parts. She left most of the replanting to Robert who worked gently and slowly.
“Why won’t he let you be a doctor?”
He gave a mirthless laugh. “Doesn’t think we should be doctoring the masses. Thinks we should do something respectable.”
As the third son, Robert would inherit no property and little money. The military or clergy were the traditional paths for young men in his position. And a doctor was little more than a high-level tradesman.
“I understand a bit about not doing respectable things,” she said. Robert glanced at Giles and smiled for the first time. She said, “You know a lot about herbs already, don’t you?”
“Mostly from books. But Mr. Graves was teaching me more before he left.”
“Was that your tutor?”
He nodded.
“And he left?”
He nodded again and turned aside to gently lower a mugwort plant into its hole. He moved off to get a spade.
Chloe stood and stretched, and the wind caught tendrils of her hair and brushed them against her cheeks. She could understand Robert’s attraction to the garden. It was a good way to get out of the house and occupy his time. She wondered if he was lonely or if he knew any other boys his age.
She surveyed the drunken scarecrow. That would be easy enough to repair. She pushed the main post upright and shoved dirt around it. Then she pulled the coat the rest of the way onto its horizontal post and fastened the one remaining button. She gathered up the skirt from the ground, and had moved behind the scarecrow to fetch a shoe when she saw a series of dirt mounds about two yards from the fence. It was as if something large had leapt the fence and skidded to a halt inside.
“Robert, come here!” she called
. “Look.”
He squatted and examined the earth. “Those are bigger than your cat’s feet.”
“They’re not from my cat. They’re from the hound.”
“Mrs. Granger’s hound? What would it be doing here?”
She scanned the garden now with new eyes. She walked up and down the rows, examining every disturbed piece of earth.
“When did you find Giles?”
“Right before I came for you. I came out here to water, and he was digging up plants.”
“So you didn’t see him destroy the scarecrow?”
“No.”
“I had thought maybe he climbed the scarecrow, like he could climb curtains. That is why it was torn up. But maybe it was the hound.”
“If it was the hound, why would Giles then go and tear things up even more? Why dig up my plants?”
“I don’t know.”
Giles was small enough to walk beneath the fence rail, but the hound was not. If the hound had leaped the height of the fence, it was stronger than she had thought.
Chapter 23
After helping Robert in the garden for another hour, she apologized again and excused herself. She needed to ready herself for supper with Ambrose’s old friend, John Hammond, and his family.
Miss Haynes sighed at the sight of the mud-covered dress. “I’m not sure about it, mum, but I’ll do my best.”
By five o’clock, she was bathed, her hair was pinned in a simple style and she was laced into a green dress that was fitting for her station, but not so fine as to draw attention to the difference in class between the Hammond family and herself.
According to Ambrose, the Hammonds lived in a respectable section of town, but he had the impression that they were not as well-off as they had been years ago. Of course, that would not prevent Ambrose from sharing a meal with his old friend.
Ambrose knocked on the front door and they were introduced. The family consisted of Mr. John Hammond, a thin man with stooped shoulders, his wife, who was too ill to join them at the table, and his two children. The oldest was Rebecca, who had been walking with Mr. Hammond when Ambrose had hailed them in the street. The younger was Stephen, who was fifteen.
“How are you enjoying your stay with the Aynesworths?” asked Rebecca. “They are a pleasant family, aren’t they?”
“You know the Aynesworths?” asked Ambrose.
“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Hammond. “Our Rebecca worked for them for almost a year. My acquaintance with you and your sister helped her to obtain the position.”
“I had to leave when Mama took ill three months ago,” said Rebecca. “But I liked working for them very much.”
“What sort of work did you do?” asked Chloe.
“I assisted their lady’s maids. They have three, and I would do any work they did not have time for. Or work they didn’t like to do themselves. I would fetch and serve tea or do a little mending. Maybe some shopping that didn’t require any knowledge of fashion.” She smiled at the memory. “I could go into town and pick up anything the ladies had need of, thread or ribbon or sheet music. Although Miss Aynesworth almost always liked to pick her music herself. She’s very accomplished on piano.”
“We have had the pleasure of hearing her play,” said Ambrose.
“It was good work, while I had it. When Mama is better, I hope I can go back.”
Chloe sipped her tea. There was nothing for her to say. Rebecca had been required to keep the house when her mother fell ill, and if her mother did not recover, there Rebecca would stay. She could take in washing or mending, as Chloe’s mother had done. But there was little else she could do without hiring herself out. She thought of Nettie, waiting for her train to Gretna Green. Rebecca could hope for a husband who made a decent living, perhaps a tradesman. But then, who would care for her family?
“Our Stephen has found some work,” said Mr. Hammond. “He’s working afternoons at the newspaper.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. What do you do?” asked Ambrose.
The boy blushed. “Not much to tell about. I help the newspapermen. I lay type and they’re teaching me how to maintain the presses. It is dirty work, but I like it well enough.”
A chittering came at the window, and Stephen jumped up. “It’s Gus! He’s back!”
Rebecca and her father both rose and hurried to the window, which Robert threw open. A little gray squirrel ran up the boy’s arm, across his shoulders and poked its nose around the other side of Stephen’s neck.
“I thought he was lost or killed!” he said, returning to the table and stroking the animal. Mr. Hammond and Rebecca did not seem to mind an animal at the table, though Chloe was glad that all but the coffee was finished.
“Something got into our yard last night,” said Mr. Hammond. “It got into the shed. That’s where Stephen keeps Gus. We thought Gus was killed. A few of our neighbors have had something come into their yards also.”
Chloe exchanged a look with Ambrose. “Can we take a look?” Ambrose said. “Something similar happened at the Aynesworth house.”
“Certainly.” Mr. Hammond found a lantern and lit it. He led them out the back door into a small yard that was mostly a vegetable garden with a shed to one side.
“What happened at the Aynesworth house?” asked Rebecca.
“Something tore up the garden,” said Chloe. “It went at the scarecrow also.”
“That’s odd,” said Rebecca. “The window of the dress shop was smashed the other night and a mannequin was torn up. From what I heard, nothing was stolen from the shop though.”
The garden was undisturbed, but the shed door was ajar.
“It looks like it broke the door latch.” Ambrose lifted it. It had been twisted and the wood was splintered around it.
“Do you know what did this?” asked Stephen. “I thought it was—I don’t know—an animal trying to eat Gus. We thought it might be a burglar, but nothing was taken.”
Ambrose pushed open the door and took the lantern from Mr. Hammond. Chloe stood behind him and looked around the shed. It was filled with the usual items: gardening tools, boxes and a small work table. There was also a large cage with a dish of food and water. The wire door was bent, leaving a hole. A wire-framed dressmaking dummy stood in one corner.
“I am going to look at something outside,” said Chloe.
“Wait a moment and we can take the lantern,” said Ambrose.
“No, keep it inside.”
She walked around the outside of the shed. A small window was set into the wall farthest from the house, and though the glass was dirty and warped, with the light inside, she could make out the dummy. It looked nothing like a person. She thought of the way Giles saw the world. Though he might mistake a scarecrow or mannequin for a person, he would be highly unlikely to make the same mistake with a headless wire torso. And without a light inside, the hound could not have seen inside anyway.
Chloe returned to the shed to find Ambrose on one knee, looking at something on the floor. Two cans were on their sides, their black and brown contents mixing in a pool under the work table.
“I must have missed that when I cleaned up in here,” said Stephen, bending down to set the cans upright. “Those are from the newspaper. That one is cleaner for getting the dirt out of the machines and the other is lubricant. My supervisor let me bring home part of an old broken printer engine to work on. He wanted me to see how they worked inside.”
Ambrose looked up at Chloe and motioned to a smear of dark red on the side of one of the cans. The color did not match the contents of either can.
“Is that blood?” she breathed.
He touched it with his handkerchief and examined it. “No. Too dark.” He sniffed. “Definitely not.”
“What is it?” asked Mr. Hammond. Ambrose handed him the handkerchief.
“What do you think that is?”
Mr. Hammond held it up to the lantern. “Let’s get it inside.”
Under the kitchen gaslight, the liquid appeared a dark r
eddish brown. It had a bitter scent.
“It looks like one of the solvents the miners use to clean the machines in the reverberatory furnaces. Though it could be from anywhere. That’s not the only place they use it, but they use a great quantity of it because of the machinery,” said Mr. Hammond.
“What is a reverberatory furnace?” asked Chloe.
“Furnaces used for smelting tin. They built them out near the mines.”
“How close are the mines?”
“The closest one still in use is about three miles out of town. Seems like the person who broke into our shed might have had this on his hands, do you think? But he didn’t take anything.”
“Are you going to tell the police, Papa?” asked Rebecca.
“I suppose I should. But if nothing was taken, then it’s simply a broken door latch. What can the police do? I don’t want to waste their time.”
Rebecca went to check on her mother, while Mr. Hammond and Stephen moved into the front room. Chloe took Ambrose’s arm and they followed at a distance.
“I should tell him. It could hurt someone,” he whispered.
“It hasn’t hurt anyone.”
“It tried to. The scarecrow and shop mannequin.”
“But it’s not going after people,” she said.
“That may be its next step.”
She sighed and looked down at the carpet runner.
“I will just advise him to report the break in to the police,” Ambrose said. “It’s up to them to figure it out.”
It was the right thing to do, though she disliked it. “Fine, then. Are you going to be researching outdoors tomorrow? And might I join you?”
“I had thought of spending some time out of doors, yes.” He patted her hand. “Don’t fret, my dear. If the police haven’t found the hound yet, they probably won’t any time soon. It seems to be canny enough to avoid detection.”
Hounds of Autumn Page 14
