by Darrell Pitt
Ignatius Doyle grimaced. ‘I’m not sure how Amelia will receive us. She may be...difficult.’
Jack gave him a reassuring smile. ‘Difficult, we can handle.’
Mr Doyle sent a message to his daughter-in-law informing her of his intended visit. The next morning Jack, Scarlet and Mr Doyle rose early, breakfasted and took the train to Harwich, a small town on the east coast. Mr Doyle’s airship, the Lion’s Mane, was still in repair after damage during their recent adventures.
The journey to the small town took most of the day. It was a comfortable train, powered by a Vincent 700 steam locomotive. The engine was a mighty barrel-shaped chamber with a six-foot smoke stack. Watching the smoke flow back towards the city, Jack’s eyes were drawn to the London Metrotower, a crowning achievement of British engineering, reaching to the edge of space. From the top, steam-powered spacecraft transported people and goods between cities all around the world.
The invention of Terra Firma—a type of mould many times stronger than steel—meant that buildings could be constructed to enormous heights. The new Art Museum, Buckingham Palace and Houses of Parliament were over two hundred storeys.
Scarlet nudged Jack. ‘Have I shown you this?’ she asked, waving a book at him. ‘I’m sure you’ll find it fascinating.’
Jack sighed. Their tutor, Miss Bloxley, gave them lessons five days a week. The woman had the special knack of making an interesting subject boring and a boring subject, well, very boring. In addition to this, Scarlet had taken it upon herself to continue his education.
Jack read the cover: The World of Classical Music.
Oh no, he thought.
‘That’s right,’ Scarlet grinned. ‘More classical music.’
She proceeded to tell Jack all about Ludwig van Beethoven. Jack tried to appear interested but tuned out, only returning to the thread of the monologue when Scarlet described how Beethoven had gone deaf.
‘I see,’ Jack said. ‘That explains a lot.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘All that banging about. Hitting things. It sounds like the orchestra is trying to kill a rat with their instruments.’
‘You’re saying that Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony sounds like someone trying to kill a rat with a musical instrument?’
Scarlet had gone very pink. Jack swallowed. ‘Maybe some of the girls at the music halls could help him,’ he suggested. ‘Teach him some songs.’
‘The girls at the music halls? Beethoven could learn from them?’
‘He can read lips,’ Jack said. ‘Can’t he?’
‘He’s been dead for a hundred years.’
‘Then lip reading’s out of the question.’ Jack flicked through the book. He liked reading, but adventure stories by writers such as Robert Louis Stevenson or Jules Verne. ‘I’m not sure I know the meanings of all the words.’
‘Which ones?’
‘I can work out some of them,’ Jack said.
‘“Cat-as-trophe”. Imagine that, using a cat as a trophy. Should be a law against it.’
Mr Doyle coughed, covering a smile as Scarlet glared at Jack. ‘Sometimes I think you say these things to annoy me,’ she said.
‘As if I’d do that.’
Arriving at Harwich Station, they found no steam-cabs so they walked the mile or so to Amelia’s house. It was late in the day and the sky was clear of cloud. Jack breathed in the warm air. Spring had always been his favourite season because his mother had daily collected primrose, daffodils and snowdrops to decorate their small caravan.
‘I have not been here in some time,’ Mr Doyle said as they made their way down a country lane lined with elm trees. ‘Not since the war.’
‘Has the area changed much?’
‘Not at all. This has always been a quiet part of the country.’
‘What sort of work did Phillip do?’ asked Scarlet. ‘Before the war.’
‘He was studying medicine at Oxford. He never finished his studies or he would have entered as a doctor.’ The detective sighed. ‘I did not approve of his enlistment.’
‘He enlisted?’ Scarlet asked. ‘I thought he must have been drafted.’
‘A lot of men enlisted. They wanted to do their duty.’ Mr Doyle did not speak for some time. ‘War sounds so noble when you’re seated around a living room with friends. The fire is blazing and the scotch is flowing. It’s quite a different matter when you’re in the middle of it.’ He pointed. ‘That’s Amelia’s house at the end.’
The neat two-storey brick cottage was surrounded by a hedge. They followed the path to a front door. Before Mr Doyle had a chance to knock, the door creaked open and a young woman appeared. Her black hair was pulled into a bun and there were dark shadows beneath her eyes.
‘Amelia.’ The detective smiled. ‘It’s lovely to see you.’
‘Ignatius.’ Her eyes shifted to Jack and Scarlet. ‘Who are these young people?’
Once Mr Doyle introduced them, the woman’s eyes blazed.
‘And are you going to get them killed too?’
