Compulsion (Asylum for the Mechanically Insane Book 4)

by Sahara Kelly

  Charlotte chuckled. “Oh, Portia, no. Really…that is so hard to believe.”

  “Well, now, wait a moment.” Burke frowned. “This is Baron von Landau we’re talking about. Apparently the man has a solid reputation as a doctor of the mind. He has more than a few tributes from people who have benefited from his attentions—enough that he has been mentioned in several common press articles. One has to assume he does have some solid qualifications.”

  “He seems most pleasant.” Portia looked at Burke. “Truly, there was nothing menacing about him. It was rather unexpected, actually, given that he’s a guest of the Harburys.”

  “And that’s the sticking point.” Devon gestured with his fork, ignoring the chunk of roast potato adorning the tines. “What is such a person doing at Harbury? And is he in any way part of the experiment that blew McCardle’s brains out through his nostrils?”

  Charlotte stared at her plate and swallowed. “I think I just lost my appetite.”

  “I’m sorry...” Devon looked distraught. “I didn’t think…”

  “No, dear, that’s quite all right.” Charlotte pushed her plate aside. “I was almost finished and you asked a very valid question.”

  Oblivious to the subtleties, Portia speedily disposed of what was left of her pork chop. “Well I can’t say for sure that the Baron was involved because he was very nice to me and didn’t ask me to turn around so that he could drill a hole in the back of my head.” She delicately dipped a small piece of bread in the remains of her gravy and chewed enthusiastically. “But he’s there, at Harbury. And that sort of puts him under an air of suspicion, doesn’t it?”

  She became aware of the silence in the room as she placed her knife and fork on her now empty plate. “What?”

  The three of them were staring at her.

  Burke couldn’t help a grin. “Oh to be young again.”

  “What did I do?”

  Charlotte smiled as well. “Nothing Portia. You are, as always, unique.”

  Devon merely put his arm around Portia’s shoulders and hugged her. “Ignore them. They are envious of your acuity. And your appetite.”

  “Oh pooh.”

  The laugh was general and everyone joined in. But even during the moment of good cheer, the Inspector’s mind was at work.

  Why was the Baron at Harbury Hall? He had to have had Lord Harbury’s approval since he was the one holding the reins at the Hall. Certainly Lady Alwynne’s incapacitation rendered her ineffectual, at least for the time being.

  “Did Lady Harbury mention him? The Baron?” He directed his question to Charlotte.

  She thought for a moment. “I don’t believe so. But she did give me a preliminary list of invitees. We’re to work on the formal invitations for her, which I don’t mind doing. Firstly, I’ve done more than a few events like this before, and secondly it allows us to keep tabs on who exactly is on the list. Always good to know who is about to arrive and whether we should worry or not.”

  Burke grimaced. “This is not the way life should be.”

  “We’re all agreed on that point, James.” Devon’s voice was firm. “It is a terrible thing to be so suspicious. But we all know—from first-hand experience—that we are dealing with someone far beyond the pale of normality. Suspicion is to be expected. Encouraged even.”

  “Only for now.” Portia rested her hand on Devon’s arm. “Only for now.”

  He smiled at her. “Yes, love. Only for now.”

  “Right.” Charlotte stood. “Portia, if you would give me a hand with the dishes, we’ll let the gentlemen pop into the parlor and check on the fire.” She glanced at them sternly. “You may pour each of us a small drop of that Scottish heaven you love, James. Then you and Devon will leave us to it. Portia will stay with me tonight since we must make a start on the project and can best do so without distraction.”

  Burke smiled at her. “Are we that much of a distraction, love?”

  “Yes, dammit.” She beamed at him as she ferried plates from the table into the little kitchen.

  “Go away, Burke. You make a good door but a terrible window.” Portia nudged him aside.

  “I am disconsolate.” He hung his head.

  “We shall be disconsolate together,” added Devon. “There’s that excellent Scotch in the parlor. Old Disconsolate. Aged for decades.”

  Charlotte threw a dishtowel at him.

  Burke chuckled as he and Devon left the ladies to their chores. In truth he was not upset to get the chance to speak privately with the other man for a few moments.

  “Do you know anything of von Landau?” He came straight to the point.

  Devon shook his head. “Not a thing. Remember I’ve been out of circulation for a long time, James. I’m sure I missed a lot.”

  “There are some rumors about him. He’s a well-known name in his field, certainly. But something less than pleasant occurred during his tenure in some smaller German facility—an above-average number of unexplained disappearances.”

  Devon’s eyebrows drew together. “A connection?”

  “Never proved.” Burke poured liquid amber into four small glasses. “But ‘twas said the wolves ate well that year. And the number of vanished villagers dropped significantly after the Baron’s departure.”

  “And yet he’s well-known, you said.”

  “Indeed he is. His papers and scholarly research on the human mind have been complimented and cited by more than a few prestigious educational institutions.”

  “So what the devil is he up to here?”

  “That, my dear Devon, is what I would very much like to know.”

  Chapter Six

  “And so these ladies have matters in hand for you?”

  Gerolf was seated once again in Lady Alwynne’s small salon, this time enjoying the warmth of the fire and the cozy atmosphere created by the enclosed windows, curtains drawn against the grey of a sleet and snow ridden afternoon.

  “They do indeed.” Alwynne smiled a little. “Mrs. Howell seems very thorough, even though she might look, at first glance, a tad scatterbrained.”

  “And she has a companion, I understand. A younger girl.” Gerolf sipped tea. “That must also be a help, no?”

  “I believe that is correct. Mrs. Howell spent her youth as an archaeologist, she told me. I was delighted to learn that she really did do the work herself. So seldom does a woman dare to venture an opinion, let alone an educated one. It was lovely to listen to her adventures, discoveries and theories.”

  Gerolf nodded. “I cannot but agree. We are past the time of keeping ladies smothered in cotton. It is unpardonable to ignore fully half of our population.”

  At that precise moment—as he uttered those words—he had a small epiphany, but not one he could share with his hostess. He fought to keep his countenance, while mentally struggling with this new and enlightening concept.

  “It is my hope you will be attending, Baron.”

  He dragged his mind back onto the subject at hand. “I would not miss it for the world, my Lady. My experiments continue apace, but as you are aware, science is sluggish at times and moves on its own schedule, not ours. So I eagerly anticipate the pleasures of your Winter Ball.” He placed his cup back onto the saucer, noting with pleasure that his hand did not tremble in the least.

  Since he’d just been struck with a notion that might alter his entire research program, that was indeed a commendable accomplishment. He forced himself to focus on his companion.

  “Is there a date set?”

  She nodded gracefully. “We have settled on three weeks hence. Several units of our military have scheduled exercises nearby, in conjunction with the refitting of two airships.” One elegant eyebrow quirked. “You must not imagine me privy to anything of a discretionary nature. Gossip travels rapidly in the country and the arrival of officers and men, not to mention airship crews, occasions quite a bit of eager anticipation amongst the young ladies hereabouts.”

  Gerolf laughed. “That I can well believe.”


  “The guest list is well-nigh complete and I think Mrs. Howell will be posting them toward the end of the week. We should be receiving responses shortly afterward.”

  “I cannot imagine anyone refusing.”

  “There will always be a few who decline, for one reason or another.” She sighed. “But that is their decision. I do not expect a large party from London, since Parliament is in session and the negotiations for peace are taking their toll on everyone’s social schedule, I understand. However, we may count on some lesser members of the government, I should think, and perhaps a Chargé d’Affaires or two.”

  “That sounds very impressive.”

  “I hope to offer something for everyone.” She stared at her hands as they gently stroked the soft wool of her gown. “I will be a cynosure, of course. Therefore, I will do all I can to make sure the evening is memorable in the best of ways.”

  “A…cynosure? I am not so familiar with that word…” Gerolf tilted his head to one side as he asked the question.

  She met his look with a blank one of her own. “My recent experiences, Baron. The tragedies that occurred here, my injuries, the fatalities…all conspire to linger around myself and Harbury Hall in the form of rumors and whispers. I hope to be able to put all that behind me with this Winter Ball. But one cannot blame the populace for their curiosity about my current condition. They will scrutinize every detail of the evening, every movement I make and every word that falls from my lips. I will be the center of their curious attention, a cynosure, and I fully expect to disappoint some and please others. One can do no more.”

  Gerolf thought for a moment or two, then spoke. “You are to be congratulated on your assessment, my Lady. I would guess that you have described the situation most precisely, given what I know of the human mind and its tendency to inquire into things that are none of its business.”

  She allowed a small chuckle to escape. “Agreed.”

  “But will you be able to withstand such scrutiny?” He watched her carefully. “Will you be able to enjoy the evening knowing that you are being so critically observed?”

  “I don’t know.” A pulse fluttered slightly at the base of her throat as she turned to face him. “But I intend to find out, because the results…will be interesting. For all of us.”

  And at last he glimpsed a flash of fire in the depths of Lady Alwynne Harbury’s very blue eyes.

  Gerolf smiled.

  She was back.

  *~~*~~*

  With the women safely tucked up for the night into Applewood Cottage, Devon was growing frustrated. “Dammit, Burke.” He kicked a log in the fireplace, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. “Just dammit.”

  The Inspector sighed and leaned back in his chair, putting the quill pen back into the inkwell and blotting the paper on which he’d been making notes. “I understand, my friend. This entire process of reclaiming your identity is dragging most dreadfully.”

  Devon snorted. “Yes, it is. But it’s Portia who is driving me slowly but steadily insane.” He spun around on his heel and faced the room. “I want to marry her. Now. Today. I’m sick of wasting so much of my life alone, when I’ve found the woman I plan to spend it all with. And I can’t have her because of all these stupid rules set in place by a Society that really couldn’t give a rat’s arse whether we obey them or not. Especially if we’re rich. Which I would be if I could get the raving mad uncle of mine out of my house and repossess what I should never have lost in the first place.”

  He ended with a determined nod, punctuating his soliloquy with a physical exclamation point.

  Burke was silent for a few moments, battling the urge to laugh. “Well, lad. That just about sums it up quite neatly, I think.”

  Devon glared at him. Then threw his hands up in the air and burst out laughing. “Do you see the levels to which I’ve sunk? Screaming like some actor in a French farce.”

  “Oh for Heaven’s sake. Here, have another whiskey.” Burke held out the bottle.

  “It won’t help.”

  “I know.”

  “Oh hell, why not.” Devon refilled his glass and took a hearty swig. Then he sighed. “So are we anywhere at all with anything here? The Baron? Anything new on him from your London contacts?”

  Burke picked up the paper that carried information purveyed by a modern machine; a researcher in London could send all sorts of data quite rapidly by clicking a few buttons. Provided, of course, there was a machine on the other end.

  Burke had a machine. He was rather proud of it.

  “Nothing that we don’t already know. von Landau is from an excellent line of aristocrats, very few of whom actually went insane.” He looked up at the younger man. “Point in favor of that family.”

  “Agreed.”

  “He has impressive qualifications in the field of psychical matters, and has assisted in several areas of mental welfare by calming, persuading or otherwise interacting with patients in a variety of circumstances.”

  “He is a mesmerist?”

  Burke paused. “That word isn’t used, but what I’m reading would infer that he does have some skills in that area.”

  “Ha. That’s complete and utter nonsense, Burke. All theater and no science.”

  “I’m not disagreeing. But…” he rapped a fingertip on the table to make sure Devon was paying attention, “I am not pleased that Portia had a response to him. He did something, said something or somehow calmed her enough that she held a conversation with him.”

  Devon frowned. “So?”

  “Did she speak as Portia or Mary Jones?”

  Devon blinked. “Oh.”

  “Yes. Well put.”

  “He’s German. Would he recognize the difference, do you think?”

  Burke shrugged. “I don’t know. But anything that is the slightest bit out of the ordinary is a red flag in my mind, Devon. Anything at Harbury Hall, that is.”

  “I keep thinking of poor Finlay McCardle.” Devon turned back to the fire and gently swirled the liquor in his glass. “His brains were gone, Burke. Someone simply had to drill into that man’s head. I think we can agree that the description of the damage to his skull could be nothing less than some kind of mechanical tool.”

  The Inspector sighed. “I’m afraid so.”

  “Well, a brain is a brain—is a mind. I simply cannot stop making a connection between that ghastly tragedy and Baron von Landau’s chosen field of research.”

  “I won’t disagree because I’m strongly leaning in that direction myself.” Burke tapped a sheaf of papers into a neat pile. “But I’m having difficulty imagining a psychic researcher, no matter how educated he is on the human brain, reaching the point where he wants to crack a man’s head open and extract the darn thing.”

  Devon nodded his agreement. “What kind of experiment would require extraction of the brain? And to what end?”

  “That, my friend, I don’t know.” He drummed his fingers on the desk in irritation. “Was it a mistake? A procedure that went wrong? I keep trying to put all the information together and come up with some plausible explanation for all this, but I’m at a loss.” He frowned. “And I don’t like it.”

  The room fell silent as both men pondered the impossibility confronting them.

  “One thing strikes me, Burke.” Devon leaned back into his chair and stared at the flames. “We’re looking for a logical explanation.”

  “Yes?”

  “Perhaps that’s the flaw in our reasoning. The explanation might be completely and utterly illogical.” He turned, the leather creaking a little as he moved. “Harbury Laboratories houses experiments that are torturous and inhuman. And it provides workspace for the scientists who conduct them. We need to think like those madmen, not like ourselves. We’re too…too sane.”

  Burke closed his eyes. “Dear God, Devon. I don’t know if I can do that. I truly do not know how to imagine things like that.”

  “Somehow or other, we have to try.”

  Feeling a
s if the weight of his years had suddenly descended on his shoulders, he shrugged. “I am afraid you’re correct. It makes sense. And now I’m filled with a great deal of trepidation at the mere thought of Charlotte and Portia inside that place.”

  “Agreed.” Devon clenched his fist on the arm of his chair, revealing a tension matching Burke’s. “And yet what choice do we have? The die is cast as far as Lady Harbury is concerned. She has her assistants. Charlotte has already made out the invitations to this ball. Portia will have to attend in her train. They may have to return prior to the event. What the hell can we do? Take them away?”

  “I wish we could.”

  “But we cannot. And I’m not being selfish here. I would marry Portia tomorrow and take her away with me, God knows where, but we would manage. Together we would make a life for ourselves. I know it. But that would mean allowing the monsters to triumph. It would mean more terrible experiments, more suffering and most likely more death.”

  “We must see this through, Devon.” Burke rose and crossed the room to stand beside his friend. “You are the rightful master of Harbury Hall and we must return you to that position. For your sake, Portia’s sake and for the sake of everyone who depends on Harbury for a living.” He suddenly chuckled. “And for my own sake, because my future wife would give me no peace at all if we left this half-finished.”

  Devon smiled. “Charlotte is indeed a most decisive woman. And perfect for you, if I may be permitted the observation.”

  “We are lucky men.” Burke felt the warmth around his heart at the thought of his love. “So it is time to put our faith in each other and let events run their course. The girls will continue to prepare for this event and we will observe, document and plan.”

  “What do you think is the likelihood of more fatal experimentations?” Devon sounded concerned. “With newcomers to the area, might it be more dangerous?”