“My condolences on the death of your husband,” said Rebecca’s mother in a weak voice.
“Thank you.” Chloe was tempted to correct her and use the word “murder” instead of “death” but restrained herself.
Rebecca nodded, her expression concerned. “I am also very sorry to hear about Mr. Sullivan. He was so kind and my father was overcome when he heard the news.”
“Thank you. I want to ask you something about the Aynesworth family. I’m sorry to be so direct, but I am in a terrible rush.”
“Is everything all right?” Rebecca looked worried and her mother pulled herself up straighter in her chair.
“Everyone is fine. I just have some things I need to know. It’s very important. I once heard Mrs. Malone say that Dora was ill last December. Do you remember her illness?”
“Yes, she was sick for a few days.”
“And did she have a fever, vomiting, fatigue, perhaps cramping or delirium?”
“I believe so. I’m not sure about the cramping and delirium, but I know about the rest. Her lady’s maid was sick also, but milder. The symptoms must have built up slowly though, as the mistress asked for medicine before they were very sick.”
“What do you mean, they asked for medicine?”
“I really cannot say any more, I’m sorry.”
Of course she couldn’t. She hoped to work in the Aynesworth household again, and any violation of the family’s trust would place her out of reach of that goal forever.
“It’s important that you tell me what you know. Do you know Inspector Lockton?”
Both mother and daughter shook their heads.
“He was brought here to investigate Mrs. Granger’s murder. Now he is questioning people about the death of my husband and the little girl. More people could potentially be hurt by the killer. I know you are hoping to work for the Aynesworth family again, but please reconsider. They are not all the respectable people you thought they were.”
“That’s not true!”
“We’ve heard of the scandal with the little girl,” Rebecca’s mother took a raspy breath. “Terrible business.”
“And it’s not the worst of the business that has gone on in that house.”
Rebecca shook her head. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”
“If you will not speak to me, they may send the police to question you. They will not be as delicate.”
It was a lie, but a lie in service of a bigger truth. Chloe felt the deep anger spark within her. The reputation of the Aynesworth family was as dust to her. She did not wish to force Rebecca to violate her sense of duty, but her loyalties were misplaced. She had to figure out how to make her understand.
“I’m sorry,” Rebecca said. “If the police come and ask me, then I am forced to obey and answer every question. But I can’t be repeating gossip to just anyone. You seem like a nice woman, Mrs. Sullivan, and I’m sorry about your husband. But I cannot help you.”
Rebecca stood, moved to the front door and opened it. Chloe rose and stood before her.
“Please reconsider. This could be a matter of life and death.”
“I’m sorry Mrs. Sullivan, good-bye.”
“Rebecca, Mr. Sullivan was murdered. He and the little girl died in terrible pain. They were vomiting and writhing in agony for hours.”
Rebecca blanched and covered her mouth with her hand. “That’s horrible.”
“They died covered in their own filth, their stomachs eaten away, their skin yellowed and their hands purple. They cried out for mercy. They screamed in their delirium.”
“Oh my God, please stop.”
“They begged for the pain to stop, but no drug could help them. Death was a mercy for them, the only end to their agonizing pain. And they died because someone murdered them.”
Rebecca shook her head, looking past Chloe at some insubstantial thing in the distance. She still held the doorknob, waiting for Chloe to leave.
The girl shook her head. “There is nothing I can do. I’m sorry.”
Chloe felt the rage leap up. She no longer cared about Rebecca’s feelings or her honest desire to do her duty. All of it was rubbish. She wanted to shake the girl until she spoke, to force the words from her mouth. Her hands itched to grab the girl’s shoulders and slam her against a wall.
“Tell her,” said the sick woman.
Rebecca glanced at her mother, oblivious to the struggle for control going on in the woman before her.
“Tell her, darling.”
“I’m not sure I should say. It’s not proper to discuss these things, even among women, you understand.” She closed the door and returned to her seat. Her mother was speaking to her now, and the girl was listening. That was better. Chloe moved to take a seat again, trying to recover an air of serenity and grace.
With another look at her mother, Rebecca took a breath. “Miss Aynesworth’s maid asked me to fetch a special tea. It was medicinal, to help with a health problem that Miss Aynesworth had. They gave me a note, sealed, and I brought it, got the tea and brought it back.”
“You brought the note to the doctor?”
Rebecca stared at her folded hands.
“To Mad Maggie?” Chloe’s voice was low, but there was no chance of her being misunderstood. She wished she knew Maggie’s last name, but since Constable Bell had called her Mad Maggie, the name had stuck in her mind. Rebecca colored a deep pink and after a while, she nodded.
“And why didn’t Miss Aynesworth summon Doctor Fleming or Doctor Michaels?”
“I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not like that. Miss Aynesworth is a lady, a proper lady. You shouldn’t say things like that.”
“I didn’t say anything about Miss Aynesworth. I simply asked a question.”
“I don’t know.”
It was probably a lie, but one Chloe could live with. She had gotten the answer to her question.
“One last thing. Did Camille Granger know about any of this?”
“Well, yes now that you mention it. But how would you know that? She came when Dora was sick and had a visit with her. They were close enough for visits like that. Good friends, very close.”
“Thank you, Rebecca. You have helped immensely.”
Chloe’s hands were shaking when she rose and said her good-byes. She felt wobbly on her feet as she passed through the door that Rebecca held for her. But once the door closed behind her and she started walking, the feeling gradually faded and she felt a steely determination take hold. There was no time for emotion, only action.
She hurried away, moving on to a busier street and hailing a hansom cab. She told the driver to let her out a block away from the dress shop. If Miss Haynes had been able to keep the ladies in the dress shop busy, then she could slip in the back. She stepped out of the cab, paid the driver and checked her watch. It had been over an hour.
She sped around a corner, and stopped in her tracks. Two police officers were shouting and struggling with something in the back of a cart. The cart driver gave anxious looks behind him, as if ready to leap from the seat at any moment. She moved closer to see what thing was in the cart, though she was sure she already knew.
Chapter 42
Chloe recognized the two officers in the cart as the ones who were at the bog with Camille’s body. Each officer held a rope that had been looped around the hound’s neck. Both were pulling in opposite directions, trying to keep the ropes taut as the hound reared and struggled. A third man moved around the cart, pulling first one rope and then another and fastening them to metal ties at the edges of the cart.
The hound was not making any of it easy on them. It bolted and pulled, yanked and thrashed in an attempt to escape. Its jaws snapped whenever a man got too close and there were shouts from the officers as well as the townsfolk who watched the struggle. The cart was moving slowly, but judging from the whites visible around the horse’s terrified eyes, it was better than the alternative.
A small crowd had gathered and was growing by the mom
ent. Whenever the hound lunged, someone would scream. Two other officers came through the crowd and called out to their colleagues in the cart. The largest of the men had a cricket bat and he muscled through the crowd, which parted easily for him.
No. They couldn’t be allowed to destroy the creature. Chloe pushed closer. The crowd was thick now, everyone craning their necks and pushing. Someone stepped hard on her foot.
“Come see the monster!” screamed one boy to another and they jumped up and down, trying to get a better look.
Chloe called out, but her voice was lost in the commotion. She pulled a woman back and shoved her way past a man, squeezing her body far too closely against his.
“I say!”
She ignored him and the other cries and shocked looks as she forced her way forward in a completely unladylike fashion. She pushed herself inside the innermost circle of people and emerged only feet from the hound. Its optical apertures were fully dilated, and its mouth opened and closed, exposing all of its teeth. It looked every inch the terrible monster.
The police were oblivious to her shouts, and the man with the cricket bat was climbing up the back of the cart. In a moment, he would be inside.
Chloe held her split skirt with one hand and leaped onto the side of the cart, wedging her feet into the bottom slats and clinging as best she could. As one, the crowd gave a startled cry and the officers shouted at her, waving her off. She ignored them.
The hound had turned to look at her, momentarily distracted from its escape attempts.
“There, there. It’s going to be all right.” She forced her voice into a calm tone she did not feel. She tore off her hat and tossed it away. Maybe without the hat, the hound could recognize her more easily. She wished that she had the head scarf she had worn that night, which seemed so long ago.
The hound paused and its ears swiveled. Its head cocked to one side and it closed its mouth.
“That’s better,” she said and leaned forward slightly.
It lunged for her. It came to the end of its rope in an instant, but managed to twist its head sideways and grab the hem of her skirt, which was protruding slightly under the bottommost slat. She hung on with one hand and with the other, tried to pull the cloth free. The hound shook its head, rending the cloth with a slow tearing sound. For an instant, she was amazed at its realistic canine behavior. But the next instant, she felt the piece of cloth tear free, followed by the thud of wood against cloth-covered metal.
The officer with the cricket bat stood over the hound, which was now bent down. Its eyes dilated, constricted and dilated again. The hound gave a low moan and lowered its head. The man raised the bat high.
“Stop it!” Chloe cried. A man from the crowd tried to pull her backwards off the cart, no doubt thinking he was helping her. She kicked at him and felt her foot connect with what she hoped was not his face. The motion threw her off balance and she grabbed onto the topmost slat hard to keep from tumbling head over heels into the cart. Her reticule swung crazily, and once she steadied herself, she pulled the cord over her head so the strap was diagonal and it was snug against her body.
“Finish it off!” cried a woman in the crowd.
“Kill the monster!”
“Inspector Lockton wanted it alive!” Chloe shouted in her loudest voice. She had no idea if it was true.
The man with the bat stopped at a command from another officer who had his hand up. The other constable looped a third rope over the hound’s head and fastened it. The hound was lying on the floor of the cart and one of its ears hung at a wrong angle. Copper wires stretched from its head to the base of the ear which twitched now and then. The officer with the bat climbed out of the cart.
Chloe jumped down, hoping to follow them to the police station. It was the only place they could be taking the hound.
She caught a flash of blue from the corner of her eye.
“Just who I was looking for, Mrs. Sullivan,” said Constable Bell. “I’ve been searching for you.”
“It looks like you have found me. Now, I need to go to the police station immediately.”
“That won’t be a problem at all, as that is exactly where I am taking you.”
The crowd had moved forward and the cart was pulling up in front of the police station.
“What do you mean? And where is Miss Haynes?”
“Miss Haynes went home on my orders. And I am placing you under arrest.”
“What? What are you arresting me for? I have done nothing.”
“Escaping for starters. Let me tell you something.” He started to walk her toward the station. “Running makes you look awfully guilty. And I am under orders to arrest anyone from that house who tries to run, be it stable boy or the master himself.” He was enjoying this far too much. But it got her closer to the hound, and that was not necessarily a bad thing.
“I wasn’t running away from you. I had to take care of something. I want to talk to the inspector.”
“The inspector isn’t going to help you. And you’ll be talking to the sergeant.”
They waited to the side of the station doors as the officers pulled the hound from the cart, maneuvering him over the threshold. They pulled it down the hallway to the last room and Constable Bell followed with Chloe in tow.
“It’s a lucky thing you are fond of that creature, as you’ll be in the holding cell next door to it.”
“You presume too much from too little information, Constable Bell. Aside from circumstantial evidence, there is nothing that proves me to be my husband’s killer. I am innocent.”
“I’ll leave that to my superiors.”
They entered the holding cell room to find the men trying to pull the hound into one of the cells. They were making little progress. The hound had regained its strength, or perhaps it had been faking injury, as it now struggled and thrashed. One man had a broom and was trying to push the creature through the door with it.
“Get the bat!” one of them called and another ran out the door.
“Wait!” Chloe ran forward. “I think I can help.”
“You again! Get back. It’s liable to kill you,” said one constable. He looked at the place where part of her skirts had been ripped away. The ankle of her boot was exposed. He glanced away and then took another stab with the broom handle. “It tried to eat you.”
“I think it may have been trying to pull me into the cart.” She knew it was unlikely, but it was possible. Theoretically.
“What is going on in here?” said a man in the doorway.
“Sergeant,” said Constable Bell. “I need to speak with you immediately.”
“What we need to do immediately is to get this creature under control.”
“But Sergeant, it’s urgent.”
“No, this is urgent.”
Constable Bell scowled but said nothing.
“Please don’t destroy it,” said Chloe, touching the sergeant’s arm. “I think I can turn it off. That will keep it intact. For scientific purposes.”
The sergeant turned to her and studied her.
“You think you can control that thing?”
“I believe so.”
The man with the cricket bat pushed past them and without hesitation, cracked the hound over the head. It groaned and staggered forward, its front legs collapsing under it, followed by its hind legs. Someone pushed it into the cell, where it tried to get up.
“Again!” shouted one of the constables. “Hit it!”
“No. Stop,” the sergeant commanded.
He gave Chloe a sharp nod and she rushed forward. She dropped before the hound and rolled it onto its side. Its eye apertures were constricted and its ear hung by only a few wires. The remaining ear was at a wrong angle and twitched.
“Get back. We should hit it again. It could get up!” said one of the men.
“That’s why I’m here,” said Chloe, not taking her eyes from the hound as her hands slid over its chest and stomach. “It was beaten before, but then found renewed strength l
ater. If I find the switch to cut its power, it won’t be getting up again at all.”
She didn’t hear anything, but the sergeant must have given a gesture and the men stepped out of the cell. She was having no luck locating a switch on its chest or stomach, though she did find something odd. The cloth cover over the abdomen was a flat panel of fabric held closed by a fastening. That in itself was not so strange, but the fastening was a simple long dark bone button fitted through a narrow cloth loop. The threads at the edge of the cloth loop were loose, as if the button had been fastened and unfastened many times. She reached for it and the hound lifted its head and took a weak snap at her hand.
“Now none of that,” she admonished. She undid the button and pulled open the cloth cover but found no switch, only a metal cover panel. She examined the seams of the hound’s cloth covering for any indication of a switch. Could it be that Camille had created it without one?
She found a cover fastening where one leg joined the body and undid it. She found the other three and had part of the covering off the hound, leaving its belly and upper legs exposed.
“I’m going to need a tool kit,” she said, an idea coming to her. “Even if I find a switch, I’m going to need to remove these panels and verify that the power rerouting couplings are intact, and then deactivate them. Also, the autonomous gear panel needs reworking. This thing has power reroutes that will allow it to heal itself, in a fashion. As you saw outside, it was beaten, but then it rerouted its power to allow it to fight once more.”
It was all bluster with no meaning, but she counted on them not knowing it.
“Get her a tool kit,” said a familiar voice. Inspector Lockton knelt on the other side of the hound.
“Just the man I was hoping to see,” she said. “I have a little problem and I hope you can help me.”
Hounds of Autumn Page 26
