Perversion (Asylum for the Mechanically Insane Book 3)

by Sahara Kelly

  “Any particular type?”

  “Ones who look like they would enjoy a good time.” He winked at Granville.

  “Oh. That type.” He chuckled. “Got it.”

  *~~*~~*

  The sky was clear but wintery the following morning as Inspector Burke set out for a walk to Little Harbury.

  Leaves frisked in the stiff breeze, puffy clouds scudded across the horizon, hurrying to get away from the oncoming winter perhaps, or just playing cloud games…James smiled at his silliness. Harbury Hall was a cesspit of something evil and he was determined to root it out for once and for all. He had no business with whimsical thoughts about clouds.

  That was more Portia’s field of expertise. Although, bless her, she was every bit as down to earth as he was. Perhaps he was catching a little bit of her enthusiasm for life, because she possessed enough for both of them. He smiled as a squirrel flashed across the path and chittered angrily at the intrusion. He’d never married, never thought about having a family. But he was certain if he ever had a daughter, he’d be prouder than hell if she were anything like Portia Fielding.

  The young lady who was largely responsible for this morning exercise. Not that he held it against her, since it was turning out to be a lovely walk. The trees weren’t quite bare yet, but the evergreens were bright against the dusty brown dying oaks and birches. He crunched over the dead foliage blowing across the lane and pulled up his jacket collar against the chill.

  It was, his senses told him, going to be one god-awful winter. Or perhaps he was just getting too old to appreciate the joys of snow.

  Whatever the case, he wondered if he’d be spending the season in his present quarters—not a completely unpleasant thought, since they were snug and convenient to Harbury, Portia and his ongoing investigation. Plus the food was fresh and plentiful.

  Lord Southfield, the Lord Lieutenant of the County, under whose aegis Burke worked, had provided all the amenities, along with the occasional bottle of excellent Scotch. His Lordship was a true gentleman, decided Burke. Probably one who was very happy to leave the problem of Harbury Hall in hands other than his own, especially after the horrid explosion that took two lives in less than a heartbeat.

  Yes, Burke was settling in and planned on staying there until the mystery of Harbury and its experiments was unraveled and ended. For good.

  Although…his footsteps took him toward something that looked like it belonged in a child’s fairy tale. If he had to move, he wouldn’t mind living here. He hoped it might be his destination, and indeed as soon as he got close enough he could see the words “Applewood Cottage” neatly incised on an aged piece of board hanging from the delicate wrought iron arch that framed the gate.

  Tidy and trimmed hedges outlined the property, and smoke curled from the chimney atop the thatched roof. Mullioned windows shone in the late autumn sunshine and a patch of Michaelmas daises danced merrily in the wind, their purple and yellow faces turned to the sky. There were a few late chrysanthemums brightening flowerpots next to the front steps, and in the garden itself, neatly cut back plants were covered with a light layer of hay in preparation for the hard frosts to come.

  A host of silvery disks clung to the dying stems of honesty plants, the vegetable patches were clean and empty, and the frame upon which peas or beans must have climbed in abundance, now held little but a stray leaf or two.

  It was neat, organized, and he’d love to have seen it in the spring. Especially from that porch, with its overabundance of gingerbread trim.

  The doorknocker was a brass apple, and he lifted it, letting it drop gently on the well-worn oak.

  “Yes?”

  A face peeped around the door, framed by riotous red curls and topped with a crooked white lace cap sporting a completely off-center green ribbon bow, one end of which dangled precariously over an eyebrow.

  The maid, without doubt. She even had a feather duster in her hand and a large apron wrapped twice around her waist.

  “Good morning, I’m wondering if Mrs. Charlotte Howell is at home? My name is Inspector James Burke. I’m afraid I don’t have a card with me…”

  “Oh don’t worry about that.” She opened the door wider. “We don’t stand on ceremony here.”

  “Good to know.” He smiled politely. “If you would be so kind as to tell Mrs. Howell I’m here, I’d be most grateful.”

  “You just did, Inspector Burke. I’m Charlotte Howell.” She extended her hand, saw the feather duster, cursed fluidly and tossed it over her shoulder. “Let’s try that again.” She smiled, a slightly crooked front tooth showing white against her rosy lips.

  For the first time in his entire life, Burke couldn’t think of a damned thing to say.

  Chapter 3

  Portia went about her work with quiet efficiency. She had become familiar with the levels beneath Harbury, the chores she was expected to complete and the equipment necessary to accomplish her tasks.

  The mechanical sweepers were up to date, saving her quite a bit of time and effort. And yes, the scientifically curious part of her enjoyed the chance to use them.

  The feather duster, however, seemed irreplaceable. Nothing had yet been developed that would replace the effectiveness of something soft when it came to dust.

  She was relieved that she had become part of the daily life of Harbury’s laboratories because as time passed, the familiarity of her presence on any level at all occasioned no comment.

  The staff was mostly pleasant, gregarious at mealtimes and overall much like any large household. Only this wasn’t a household and there were unusual rules. Silent ones, but rules nonetheless.

  No one ever spoke of the things they’d seen in the laboratories. Nor did they address the scientists unless absolutely necessary. They never spoke of the two men who had quarters at the far end of the first level. Their names were Robert and Arthur, and they scared the living daylights out of Portia, who avoided them whenever possible.

  This morning, she was scheduled to clean and wash floors on Level Three, where two gentlemen scientists were experimenting with gaseous vapors. But when she arrived, complete with bucket, sweeper and duster, she was turned away.

  “No, not now. We’re in the middle of…ah…very important work. Come back some other time, gel.”

  Staring at the door, which had just abruptly closed in her face, Portia blinked. “Well, all right then. I’ll…um…come back later.” She hadn’t missed the look of apprehension on the man’s face. Something was definitely afoot in the world of gases and vapors.

  She’d heard something about RobertandArthur at the breakfast table. The way their names were spoken blended them into this rather unsettling entity. RobertandArthur. She guessed there had to be a connection somewhere.

  Like the good spy she imagined herself to be, she resolved to find whatever clues she could and report to Inspector Burke at the earliest possible moment.

  Since there weren’t any other pressing duties, she decided to risk a visit down to Level Four to check on Devon and consult with him on the whole tunnel project.

  She “felt” his presence as she stepped off the last stone stair and began the short walk down the murky corridor. It was an odd psychical connection, this whisper of awareness from another human being.

  Portia would never have imagined that she could be sensitive to such things, since she prided herself on her practicality. But within a few moments of finding Devon, their odd mental connection had sprung to life and ever since that time, she could sense his feelings, his emotions and even—once—his pain.

  And there he was. “Hallo Portia.”

  Soundless, and yet there in her brain were his words, as clear as if he’d spoken them aloud. It never ceased to astound her.

  “I’m here Devon.” She whispered her answer, simply because it was a conversation and people spoke during conversations. Sometime soon she would try and send her messages mentally as well, in fact once or twice it had worked. But for now, when they were—for all intent
s and purposes—alone, she couldn’t help automatically speaking the words. “How are you?”

  She could hear the laughter behind his answer. “Well, I’m doing all right, considering. Not going out much, of course. And I expect my horses could use a bit of exercise.”

  “Oh funny.” She snorted. “I have something to tell you. I found a tunnel.”

  “What?”

  The sharp response was all the encouragement she needed, and she told him of her discovery within the ancient blueprints.

  When she was done, he fell silent for a few moments. “I’m thinking.”

  “I know.” She smiled.

  “Air ducts?”

  “Too low. It really looks like the tunnel should come into this level but at only a few feet above the floor, if that. Somewhere around the knees, I would guess.”

  “Gas vent then, during construction. We know that there are some underground places, mines and so on, that have issues with gas gathering inside.”

  Portia frowned. “But that’s way beneath ground level. Mines are very deep.”

  “True.”

  The word was crystal clear, forceful. He was focused now with a problem to solve, and the possibilities of hope…all exciting things, and she sensed his involvement.

  “Carbon dioxide.”

  That was spoken aloud. Portia definitely heard him as he announced his conclusion.

  “Why? Is that dangerous?” She had a vague understanding of the names of gases, but beyond that, she was lost.

  “Miners have to be careful because of it. You find it more around limestone, but I think it’s also a problem in cellars and so on. Especially if water is involved. And I’m pretty sure that this is limestone country.”

  “So you’re thinking a vent tunnel, but lower on the wall?”

  “Yes, Portia. Yes. It makes sense. If I remember my science lectures, carbon dioxide can mix with other things and make blackdamp. That’s damn dangerous to miners because it pushes the oxygen out of the air and makes it unbreathable. But it’s heavier than oxygen, so it collects lower down. Hence the vent.”

  “Oh my goodness.” Portia thought furiously. “So even if I can’t see any kind of vent here at the end of the corridor, it’s probably there? At that lower level?”

  “Yes. And I’m sure it was closed off once the level was created and more excavations were going on. Once the lab ductwork was up and running, why have empty tunnels for rodents or other pests to live in? They needed a secure facility. They closed it off.”

  “Not methane?” She was struggling to keep up.

  “I doubt it. As you said, this isn’t a mine and I can’t imagine there being any coal deposits. Besides methane is lighter than air.”

  Portia gulped. “You know a lot of stuff, don’t you?” She heard his chuckle in response and it warmed her.

  “At least university did a little bit of good. I managed to stay awake for some classes. And today I’m damned glad I did.” He paused. “Pardon my language.”

  “Oh for God’s sake.” She snorted. “This is me, remember?”

  “I never forget, Portia. Ever.” His tones slid into her head and stroked interesting places in her brain.

  She shivered. “Devon…”

  “God, if I were free…”

  “Don’t. Not yet. You will be, if I have anything to say about it.” Portia was determined.

  “When I am, you and I have things to talk about.”

  She leaned against the door. “I know. I want that so much.”

  “You feel it, don’t you?”

  “I can’t tell what I feel. Just that when I am with you, hearing you in my head, the world seems right.” She couldn’t be anything but honest. Prevarication or pretense weren’t part of her makeup.

  “Please be careful. I need to know you’ll be there when this nightmare ends.”

  “I will. I promise.”

  “That is enough to keep me going.”

  “And when I find this end of the tunnel…”

  “Um…” Devon paused. “About the tunnel. You can’t dig it yourself.”

  She laughed. “No, I don’t intend to. But I have a plan. Inspector Burke is setting it into motion this morning.”

  “You trust him, don’t you?”

  “Yes, I do, Devon. He’s a good man with a practical outlook. He’s very intuitive and isn’t afraid of taking a chance. He’s also looking after me in many ways, and I will confess that I feel better knowing that.”

  “Then he has my thanks. The day will come, Portia, when I intend to take over the job of looking after you. Make no mistake about that. But until then, knowing you’re in good hands makes this easier.”

  The pause gave Portia time to catch her breath. Devon was letting her know of his intentions. All of which met with her wholehearted approval.

  “Can you tell me about the plan?”

  “Not yet.” She bit her lip. “I think I should wait. Once it’s in motion, you’ll be the first to know.”

  “All right. I understand.”

  She rested the palms of her hands against the thick oak door. “I will be back. I am here. Always.”

  She took comfort in the warmth of his answer.

  “I know.”

  *~~*~~*

  In the elegant surroundings of her suite in Harbury Hall, Lady Alwynne paced the rich carpeting and tried not to frown, since frowning was directly responsible for wrinkles, and God forbid those should arrive to mar her perfect complexion.

  She was working on the problem of what to do with her husband.

  Sadly, she couldn’t take him into the woods and put a bullet into what was left of his brain, much as she’d like to.

  If she were widowed, hell would rain down on her in the form of distant heirs, lawyers, and others eager to prey off the carrion that the Harbury estate would become. Women had yet to achieve control over their lives, even when married to extremely wealthy men.

  No, he had to remain alive, the titular head of the Harbury fortune. And that particular pot was extensive, since she had a shrewd head for business and had ensured that nothing would be wasted.

  The scientific experiments taking place beneath the Hall had already yielded considerable financial gain, some of which went directly to the estate. It wasn’t cheap maintaining the facility, but it had more than paid for itself.

  There was no question of not continuing the program. Certainly there were accidents now and again, but no experimentation was without risk. Unfortunately, nothing had been developed that would stem or cure her husband’s increasing mental instability, and this latest episode had brought that fact home to her with brutal force.

  At the moment she had few choices. She could incarcerate him in the laboratories beneath the Hall. This was a very attractive solution, since it would rid her of any wifely obligations and ensure that she would never have to deal with him again.

  Wouldn’t that be delightful? He could just rot away without interference.

  But…his permanent absence would be remarked, and he would need supervision. Sooner or later there’d be a chance comment made in the village and it wouldn’t take long before gossip traveled out of the county to places where questions would be asked.

  No, shutting him away in the labs would be wonderful, but not practical. So it had to be the second alternative—medical care and supervision.

  Although her pacing had stopped, her mind kept walking. Running, really, as she rapidly assessed the situation, made some decisions and discarded others.

  Randall was housed in his own quarters, thank God, well away from the household. So isolating him there, with permanent locks this time, would not be difficult. He would be available for display should the occasion arise.

  She could begin a tiny rumor, perhaps, that his condition was deteriorating. That way it would not seem strange if the number of his public appearances dwindled from few to almost none.

  However, other than Stephen and Young Tom, no one had been truly privy to the
depths of her husband’s depravity or mental debilities until now, when the risk of revelation was rising. And on the heels of that thought was the realization she would need some sort of drug that would render him either inactive, or sedated, or both. Preferably both.

  Her steps were already taking her out of her room and into the main hallway before she had pursued her latest idea to its conclusion.

  Who better to ask for something like this than the two quiet young scientists working diligently to provide her with her own very special vapor? Surely they could create or simply acquire a substance capable of rendering Lord Harbury harmless?

  She was who she was thanks to these two gentlemen. Her secret mixture, inhaled in the privacy of her parlor, kept her youthful in appearance, and radiant in allure. Since she had formed an alliance with them, she had become the reigning beauty of the area and the toast of London when she visited.

  Unfortunately, the regeneration vapors didn’t travel well, so her visits were infrequent, but that had turned out to be an advantage since it perpetuated the air of mysterious beauty she found very satisfying.

  Along with the men who succumbed to her appeal. Something low in her belly stirred at the memories of those men and the pleasure they had given her and she smiled as she walked briskly down the stairs to her parlor. She could take the small lift from there to whatever floor of the laboratories she chose.

  This time, she pressed the small button for Level Three and watched the blue light flicker as the machinery softly muttered during the gentle descent.

  Sometimes, it was very good to be mistress of Harbury Hall. Other times, it was hell on earth.

  At the moment, it was a mixture of both…

  Chapter 4

  He was staring at her as if she had a third eye or something. She wanted to laugh so badly but was afraid his feelings might be hurt. “Please come in.” Charlotte pulled the door wide and beckoned.