The lady Dunning knew not what to say. Even Miss Elizabeth stood speechless. I turned to face Mr. Dunning and barked an order. “See to it that my transport to town is ready to leave in one hour.” then to Mrs. Kyle, “Bitch the pot woman, I require strong tea!”
With that I walked away and left all of them in dismay. The maid followed me in a few moments later and put the kettle on. Outside I could hear the sound of hushed argument but within a few minutes it faded away. Shortly thereafter Tripti came walking in the side door and I helped her to the table. I told her that I would assure that the Dunnings took no action against her and that it had all been a plot by Adrian. Her collar still held the vague scent of spilled laudanum, no doubt issued after she had been rendered unconscious by chloroform or the like.
As I had demanded my transport arrived precisely one hour later and I was waiting for it in the front of the house, smoking my pipe, when it pulled down the drive. As I recognized the cab driver and took my seat I briefly pondered the morning’s events. I had not thought Mr. Adrian to be so bold. I had erroneously presumed the evening prior that his attempts to drug me were part of some attempt to embarrass me be way of simply implying my affliction. He’d slip in to my room and place a mostly-empty bottle of laudanum on my night table then try to have me roused in the morning, to which I would not respond, and that would be the end of his plotting.
Others, suspecting his sexual preferences, might have assumed it an attempt at seduction via very unsavory means but whether or not the young man was indeed a mandrake it did not seem his character nor did I perceive any attraction to me on his part. Whether or not the young man did indeed fancy the company of other young men I could hardly care less. Having spent years examining some of the most vile deeds mankind was capable of simply having an affinity for those of the same sex no longer seemed much an offense to my eyes. If that be your preference then so be it. I can see little harm in it nor am I the man to judge.
Still, despite there being wide gulf between Adrian’s little plot and the crime of murder, what he had done had demonstrated to me a capacity for criminal intent. Though I had as yet no evidence to suggest that Mr. Wright’s death had indeed been murder were I to find some Adrian Dunning had placed himself squarely at the top of my list of likely suspects.
The ride back in to Leeds was incredibly pleasant. The dimness of the day previous had succumbed to the charms of early morning sunlight on my second day in the country. Birds chirped from spots hidden amongst the trees that lined the road. I took the time to let my body settle comfortably into the seat and soak in the ambiance of my surroundings. It truly was lovely and I found my mind contemplating the notion that the first day’s investigation had been rushed and that as a result I’d cheated myself of some of the relaxation I’d anticipated when I had departed the city. Perhaps it had been the weather that had played a hand or perhaps my own avidity had gotten the best of me.
I vowed then that I would proceed with a bit more unhurriedness and upon stepping from the cab onto the curb of Woodhouse Lane I set my course into action. Prior to visiting the University of Leeds’ library I took what turned into a nearly hour-long constitutional, touring the lovely grounds of an institution I’d never before had chance to visit. I chortled to myself as I watched students run about frantically; late no-doubt to some lecture given by a pompous professor who deemed it exceedingly important to their education.
I do not decry the education system, mind you, I simply feel that for many it is a crutch. Rather than invest the genuine effort and chance utter failure by striking out upon one’s own it is much easier, especially when descending from a clan with considerable wealth, to simply listen to some old man prattle on about theory and in the end be handed a piece of paper that validated to the world that you indeed hold some value. The possibility that I am and always have been in some capacity quite mad does not escape me. My views may very well be the result of a deranged mind...still, I prefer the path of self-validation. I need no one to tell me my own worth or to acknowledge that I have achieved a certain level of aptitude in a specific endeavor.
Upon finishing my tour of the grounds I made my way to the sciences library where I spent the better part of six hours digging through texts with the assistance of an eager young cohort who’d chanced to inquire what I was working on and became enthralled. Ennis Griswold was his name, a wiry young chap with curly light-brown hair and spectacles that hung from his nose in a most haphazard fashion. Our search, however, appeared to be for naught. Despite our lengthy research and even taking it upon ourselves to consult a couple of professors who might have been able to assist us we found nothing.
There stood no condition on record that I could find which resulted in the blood of the afflicted taking on a blue tint. I also managed to rule out any form of poisoning. The look upon the faces of those professors as I began to question them about all manner of toxins and their effect on the blood was quite an interesting one. Obviously neither of them had ever been consulted upon matters of a criminal nature before.
Sometime nearing four in the afternoon I parted from my new friend Mr. Griswold and found a bit of lunch. Afterwards I did a little research on Larchwood Estate, or should I say Eight Hill Estate? It seemed that mystery was no stranger to the grounds. The original property was named as such because of eight puzzling mounds of Earth, found there in the fifteenth century. They laid in a straight line and each was about two meters in height and four across. They were thought to be of Roman origin though no one had ever been permitted to excavate in order to draw a scientific conclusion.
My mild historical curiosity satiated I thought then to return to the estate but as I attempted to hail a cab a thought struck me. Not one hour previous I had been standing in the laboratory of a university chemist but had failed to remember the sample of the blue material that I carried in my pocket. I ran back as quickly as I could, managing to knock the books from the arms of only one unlucky student as I went, and was able to catch the professor before he left for the evening. I produced the small fleck of matter and handed it to him. He promptly set about putting it to the test yet his results were more baffling than they were enlightening. Whatever the material was it certainly was not of a chemically produced nature. That ruled out paint or varnish. It was a natural and biological substance and one that closely resembled blood yet it was not blood. What was I to make of it?
Starry Night
None of the hostilities of the previous evening’s dinner were existent at my second meal with the family. Mrs. Dunning was not present, likely I thought, due to severe migraine brought about by hours spent arguing with her delinquent son. My crassness before departing for Leeds that morning had given all of them a shock but it seemed to be one which they had all badly needed.
Elizabeth and her older brother spoke no ill words between them, instead resorting to the forced politeness that had been drilled into them since their youth. The elder Dunning, Michael, was not as boisterous as he’d been the evening before but still he was sociable. The majority of our conversation consisted of me being asked to recount tales of my exploits in London, something they seemed to be quite fascinated with, as I spent what was likely more than an hour doing so. Rather than bicker the Dunnings appeared content to let their father keep a continuous stream of stories flowing from my lips. Of course there was also the odd question about the city itself; only Michael and Adrian had ever visited it themselves and even then only briefly upon matters of business.
I did perceive a certain sadness in Miss Elizabeth’s features so immediately following dinner I asked if she would join me in the library. I temporarily declined Michael Dunning’s offer to go with him for a smoke in the garden so that I could speak with the young lady.
“I believe that I owe you a few moments of my time.” I said as I took my seat across from her.
“I would be most appreciative if you could enlighten me as to what you have deduced thus far Inspector.” she replied in her most lady-l
ike tone. She seemed to be making a renewed attempt to restore her aristocratic visage, one that she likely felt had been tarnished by her recent emotional outbursts.
“I still have yet to conclude for certain whether or not your young man’s tragic end was purely accidental or the result of some plot against him. There would seem to be some evidence to support either possibility at this point.”
Her faced showed a bit of impatience, “I wish to know what evidence you have found Inspector.”
“First, pray answer a question for me.”
“Certainly.”
“If someone in this house did indeed murder Mr. Wright who would you yourself be most inclined to suspect?”
She hesitated for a moment before speaking, “Sadly, Mr. Carson, my suspicion would fall squarely on my very own brother, Adrian. Furthermore I would not rule out involvement by my father.”
“Let me begin by saying that I would agree with that assessment. Each possesses a motive, the wish for you to marry into a wealthy family and not to end up the bride of a stable-boy. Further, there is the possibility that your brother may have perhaps had feelings that went beyond that of friendship for Mr. Wright and therefore he could have acted out of resentment rather than some familial sense of duty, or perhaps a combination of the two.”
“While I believe your assessment of my brother’s…preferences…to be true, as I have long suspected myself, do you really think him to have been in love with Colin?”
I shook my head, “Of that I have no proof, but the circumstances make it a possibility. I am told that Adrian and Mr. Wright were quite close friends until knowledge of your affair came to light. Of course he could simply have been angry at the young man for brotherly reasons but I cannot completely discount the second possibility either.”
“Would there be any way to know for sure short of Adrian admitting it himself, something that he would never do?”
I rubbed my side-whiskers for a moment in thought. “Does your brother keep a journal?”
Her brow wrinkled in thought. “I must admit Mr. Carson, I do not know. I could perhaps, however, arrange for a time that you could search his room.”
“That may be very revealing my dear. Surely if he does keep a journal he would not be so callous as to write in it about a murder plot but he may have left other clues that could be of use.”
“Then I shall attempt to do so. Now what else have you discovered?”
“Firstly, the area where your dear Mr. Colin met his end seems to have been hastily cleaned of any evidence of blood save for tiny spots that the average observer would not notice.”
“But you are not the average observer are you Inspector. I take it that you found something?”
“Perhaps,” I began, careful to make no mention of the mysterious blue substance, “some evidence seems to indicate that another person may have been present at the time of death and that Mr. Wright may have been reaching out for their help.”
She seemed surprised. “Surely if someone had murdered him he would not be reaching out for their help would he?”
“Instinct Miss, it is human instinct to call out for help even if it is from the very hands that are wrapped around your neck.”
“I see. What else have you learned.”
“Nothing conclusive as of yet, save for the obvious fact that your brother has further implicated himself in any wrong-doing by way of his shameless actions this very morning.”
She only shook her head. “Believe me when I say that I truly hope that neither my brother nor my father had any hand in this awful incident. Still, their peculiar behavior and secretiveness only lend to my suspicions.”
“As to mine. Now my dear, I must bid you good night. Your father has asked me to join him in the garden for a smoke and I must take this opportunity to probe him for further information. You have my word that as soon as any further details are revealed I shall report them to you at once. I apologize for not having more to relate to you at the present time, but I prefer to come to you with facts and not just wild speculation.”
“Thank you Inspector. I pray that you have a more restful night than the last.”
“As do I.” I said as I rose from my chair.
Stepping from the interior of the house onto the terrace my eyes took a few moments to adjust to the darkness of the night. Once they had done so I stumbled through the yard and into the garden, carefully so as not to trip over some unfamiliar obstruction. As I did so a voice called out to me, that of Mr. Dunning.
“Over here Inspector.”
I could see some distance away the dim glow of a coal, Michael Dunning’s pipe. I made my way toward it and found him sitting upon a stone bench. He motioned for me to join him.
“I shall wager that you cannot see the stars so clearly from your place in London.”
I looked up and was greeted with the clearest view of the heavens I had ever seen. A beautiful ribbon of stars were splashed across the black canvas of the sky, as if put there by some heavenly painter. Never had I imagined there to be so very many of them. More than a man could count were he given a lifetime to do nothing else.
“The country has its charms does it not Mr. Carson?”
“Indeed.” was my only reply.
He nudged me in the ribcage with his left elbow. Looking over my eyes were drawn to what he was holding in his hand, the small brown bottle. With a dulcet smile he extended it to me.
“Go ahead sir. I should be furious with you for exposing my weakness to my wife and children, but somehow I find I am not. Rather, instead I feel a small amount of gratitude.”
“Gratitude?” I asked as I gently took the bottle from his aged hands.
“My affliction is no longer a secret for whose revelation I fear.”
“Then why smoke?” I motioned toward his pipe, ember still smoldering, in his right hand.
“An old habit I suppose, little more.”
“I see.”
“I must also say Inspector, it is refreshing to be in the presence of a man who knows the burden of my weakness.”
I had taken the bottle from him without thought. Never had I admitted to him that I frequently indulged in opiate use myself, rather he had deduced it himself. I had suffered a lapse in judgment that had revealed to the man something that I preferred clients not know about my character. Damage done I supposed. I uncorked the bottle and drank from it lightly. The acrid smell of Mr. Dunning’s tobacco was still upon it from when he had last imbibed.
“I appreciate your generosity sir but I am afraid that your assumption is incorrect.” said I.
“How so?” he asked.
“While it is true that I have the unfortunate habit of frequent narcotic binges I am not as you, I am not an addict.”
“And how have you managed this? My addiction began after using it only for a short time to treat a persistent cough.”
“Never more than three days in one week sir and never two weeks in a row. As to you, may I ask, did you cease completely once the cough had subsided?”
“I did...for two days or so.”
“Then why did you once again medicate yourself?”
“After having been on the medication for some weeks I came to feel as though the sensation it gave me was normal in some way. A few days without it and I greatly missed the contentment that I felt when I took it.”
“As if some deep hole in your very being were finally filled up and you could allow yourself to be truly happy...if only for a few hours?”
“Precisely!” the old man blurted out. He sat motionless for a few moments, save for puffing on his pipe, then turned to me. “May I confide in you Mr. Carson?”
I was somewhat surprised but nodded my acceptance.
“When I was a younger man I filled that emptiness I felt inside myself with guilty pleasures, far more guilty than the one that I turn to today. I frequented...unsavory places to indulge in pleasures of the flesh more than I care to admit. Then I was married and for a time I satiated
my desires with a very willing young bride. Despite having no lack of lust between the two of us, however, my wife and I were never truly in love you see. We were married to satisfy the demands of our parents so when she fell ill and no longer shared my wanton desires I returned to my previous outlet of debauchery. It would seem, however, that even though I was never madly in love with the woman I still cared for her deeply and within a short time felt quite despicable for having betrayed her. So for many years I lived with the emptiness inside, that is until a bout of pneumonia brought me to where I am now.”
“You say that were never were truly in love with Mrs. Dunning, then surely you can understand that your daughter may have wished not to marry simply for political or financial reasons.”
“Oh I do Mr. Carson, believe me when I say that. Still, it is part of the burden we must bear.”
I scoffed. The older man eyed me peculiarly.
“You have no love for the upper class, do you Inspector?”
“I would not dishonor a man who has shared his laudanum with me by being disingenuous. You are correct sir. Having lived my entire life in the shadow and service of those who have so much and to see the ways in which they frequently treat those to whom they should be eternally grateful I cannot say that I have much love for the wealthy in this country.”
“Then you would likely be surprised to know that many times I have considered how it would be to have been born with nothing.”
“Do you then? To be raised in an orphanage, to beg for food and never know when it is that you will eat again all-the-while the wealth of others being on parade for you to see?”
He sat quiet for a moment. “I suppose I never thought of it in that fashion.”
“Of course not, you considered the life of a middle-class man, not the life of one who is truly poor.”
“That is true, however I feel you have also misjudged Mr. Carson. Just as I have sometimes thought poverty to equate to freedom so have you figured wealth to equate to the same. The truth is, Mr. Carson, that regardless of our positions we live our lives in chains.”
A Case Most Peculiar Page 13
