by George Mann
Newbury shook his head. “I fear that could not be further from the truth. I parted from Crawford after tea and Chester kindly showed me to my room. It was small but pleasant enough, furnished with oak panelling and an ostentatious four-poster bed, but with a wonderful view of the grounds. I unpacked my case and took a while to refresh myself, before heading down to the dining room to meet the others for dinner.
“No sooner had I approached the door to the dining hall, however, than I became aware of a heated debate being played out on the other side. Unsure what else I could do, I hesitated on the threshold, awaiting an opportunity to politely make an entrance.
“It seemed that Crawford had finally informed Hambleton about his invitation and my subsequent arrival at the house, and the news had not been received well. I heard Hambleton cursing the doctor. ‘She’s left me, Crawford, can’t you see that? I need to be left alone to my misery.’ Crawford then uttered some sort of bumbling reply, and I decided that was the point at which to make my entrance. I strolled through the door as if oblivious to the tension between the two men, and made a point of greeting Hambleton like an old school friend would.”
“Did he alter his temperament upon seeing you?”
“Not at all. He greeted me gruffly and without emotion. He refused to look me in the eye, and showed no real sign that he recognised me from our time at Oxford together. It was as if he saw me as an interloper, come to interfere and ogle at him as he wallowed in his misery. He hardly spoke a word throughout dinner, and then made his excuses and repaired to his room, claiming he needed an early night to be fresh for the morning.” Newbury shrugged, pausing to gather his thoughts. “Crawford had certainly been right about one thing. Hambleton was indeed in a funk, and a dire one at that. The man looked as if he hadn’t slept for a week. His hair was in disarray, he had neglected to shave, his shirtsleeves were filthy and he bore the haunted look of a man who was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. It was clear that he truly cared for this girl, and that he blamed himself for whatever had become of her, to the exclusion of all else.”
“So how did you handle the man? It can’t have been easy trying to help someone in that state of mind, no matter how understandable their disposition.”
“I decided to carry on regardless. At that point in proceedings I was still unsure whether I’d actually be able to shed any light on the case, but with no other means to help the poor fellow I decided to follow Crawford’s example, and together we retreated to the drawing room to plot our next move. Over a brandy we discussed how we could get to the bottom of the situation. We both felt that our influence on Hambleton could only prove beneficial, and that, whatever had happened to his wife, it was clear he was in need of answers. If we were able to shed even the tiniest sliver of light on the subject, we should do our damnedest to try. I reiterated my intention to search the lady’s room at first light. Then, downing the rest of my brandy and offering Crawford all the reassurance I could muster, I retreated to my bed to take some rest.
“It was at this point, however, that things began to take a turn in an entirely different direction.”
Newbury stared at the flickering gas lamp on the wall, lost momentarily in his reminiscences. Bainbridge edged forward in his seat. He was caught up in Newbury’s story now, anxious to know what happened next.
“How so?”
Newbury smiled. He ran a hand over his face before continuing. “Wearily I made my way to my room, tired from my long journey and more than a little distracted by the shocking appearance of my old school friend. I spent my usual hour reading before settling in for the night—a rather lurid novel entitled The Beetle—and a short while later fell into a light doze. Sometime after that I found myself rudely awakened by a terrible banging sound from elsewhere in the house. I sat bolt upright in bed, unsure what to make of the despicable racket. It was as if someone was beating panels of metal sheeting, and the sound of it quite startled me from my bed.
“Pulling my robe around my shoulders, I took up a candle and crept from my room, anxious to understand the nature of the bizarre noise. The hallway outside of my room was dark and deserted. The entire episode had the quality of an intangible dream and I wondered, briefly, if I weren’t acting out the fantasies of a nightmare, inspired by the gothic novel I had indulged myself with just a few hours earlier. Yet the banging was so loud and persistent that I knew it had to be real. I crossed the hall, feeling the chill draught as it swelled up the stairwell. The sound was coming from deep within the bowels of the house, far below where I was standing. I wondered why there was no sign of Crawford or any of the staff. Surely they must have been awoken by the thunderous sounds?”
“Remarkable. Did you find out what it was?”
Newbury laughed. “Yes. Indeed. And I fear it was nothing as sensational as you might have imagined, Charles. At the time, however, I admit I was perplexed. I made my way down the stairs in the darkness, my candle guttering and threatening to leave me stranded alone in the shadowy hallway at the foot of the stairs. Then, startled, I heard the shuffling sound of approaching footsteps and all of a sudden Chester was upon me.”
Bainbridge frowned. “The manservant? Had he set upon you in the darkness?”
“No, no. But he certainly gave me a fright. His face loomed out of the gloom like some sort of ancient, otherworldly spirit. He was dressed in a robe and his candle had been extinguished, burned down in its holder. He appeared to be heading towards the stairway, returning from a brief sojourn elsewhere in the house. He asked if he could help me with anything, evidently unclear as to the reason for my appearance in the hallway at such a late hour. Puzzled, I enquired about the banging sounds, which were still ringing loudly beneath us—underneath, I realised, the ground floor of the house itself. I surmised that there was obviously a large cellar somewhere far below.
“Chester, who seemed entirely nonplussed by the intolerable sound, shook his head and smiled. ‘Nothing to be alarmed about, sir. The master often works late into the night. Best to leave him to his labours.’ He put his hand on my arm as if to shepherd me back to bed. Unsure how else to respond, and realising there was little I could do about the noise, I resigned myself to a sleepless night and retraced my steps, following Chester up the creaking stairs and along the galleried landing to my room. After I had heard Chester retreat to the servants’ quarters I lay awake for some time, disturbed by the noise, but also suspicious of the manservant and the reasons for his midnight stroll around the house.”
Bainbridge stroked his moustache thoughtfully and searched around in his jacket pockets until he located his walnut cigar case. Withdrawing a cigar, he snipped the end with his silver cutter and flicked the brown cap skilfully into the ashtray. Then, taking up one of Newbury’s matches, he lit the fat tube with a brief flourish and sat back in his chair, regarding the younger man. “For how long did Hambleton continue with his bizarre nocturnal pursuit?”
“Hours. There was little peace that night, and if truth be told, I rather abused Crawford’s patience by taking the opportunity to rise late the next day. I was still groggy from lack of sleep and I admit I found myself a little out of sorts.
“The others were finishing their breakfast when I finally made my way down to the dining room, and even though I was suffering from a terrible bout of lethargy, I was keen to discover more about the nature of the work that had kept Hambleton busy so late into the night.”
“I suspect he looked done in, after spending most of the night beating metal?”
Newbury shook his head. “That was one of the strangest things about the entire episode. Hambleton looked fresh-faced and clean-shaven, as if he’d had a good night’s rest and had risen early for breakfast. He was sitting at the table finishing a plate of eggs and bacon when I entered the room. I remember it distinctly, the manner in which he eyed me warily as I took a seat beside him. Of course, the first thing I did was enquire about the banging and the nature of his work in the cellar.”
&
nbsp; “And was he forthcoming?”
“Only in as much as he acknowledged that he had been working through the night and apologised for keeping me awake. I pressed him further on the matter, politely at first, but he was loath to give away any real details. I held firm in my questioning, and eventually he relented. His explanation tallied with what Crawford had told me the previous day. He said he was working on a machine that would aid in the preservation of fruit and vegetables after picking, a means by which to maintain the freshness of the produce before it found its way to market.”
“Did he show it to you?”
“No. He was dismissive of the whole enterprise. Told me it was ‘far from finished’ and that there was ‘very little of consequence to see’.”
“How odd. Did this not raise your suspicions about the man in any way?”
“I certainly had a sense that there was more going on at Hambleton Manor than I had initially suspected. Nevertheless, I was also acutely aware that Hambleton was suffering a great deal of distress following the disappearance of his wife, so perhaps I was a little more forgiving than I may have been in different circumstances.
“Feeling that I should not press the matter any further, I finished my breakfast—indulging in copious amounts of coffee to stave off the fatigue—and agreed with Crawford that he would show me to the missing woman’s bedchamber directly. Hambleton, for his part, did nothing but stare at his empty plate as we left the room.
“As we crossed the hall I felt the tension dissipating, and Crawford gave an audible sigh of relief. ‘He’s not his usual self. Poor man. Please forgive him his brevity of conversation. At any other time I’m sure he would be delighted to reacquaint himself with an old school friend, but with Frances gone...’ The doctor clearly felt he needed to apologise for his friend and patient. I allowed him to do so, offering platitudes where necessary. I am much too long in the tooth to let such minor offences concern me.
“I still had little notion of what had occurred at the house, and hoped that the coming day’s investigations would yield quick, obvious results. That way I could be on my way back to London as quickly as possible. One sleepless night was already enough for my constitution.” Newbury shuffled uncomfortably in his seat, putting a hand to his side. He grimaced with obvious discomfort.
Bainbridge smiled warmly. “I’m sure it won’t be too long before you’re fully recovered, Newbury. I take it you’re now a little more accustomed to sleepless nights?”
Newbury laughed. “Quite right. Quite right.” He sucked at his pipe.
“So did the lady’s room reveal everything that Crawford hoped it would? Evidence of foul play?”
Newbury shook his head. “Not a bit of it. I went through the place in minute detail. There was nothing of any consequence. No markings, no untoward smells, no evidence of occult activity. Hambleton had been right; the room was completely undisturbed, as if Lady Hambleton had simply disappeared into thin air. There was evidence that her husband had searched the place, of course, but nothing to suggest that she had taken flight. That is, nothing to suggest that she had planned to take flight. There was still the slight possibility that she had fled the house on a whim, bearing none of her effects, but that seemed increasingly unlikely. Having been driven along the approach to the house in a hansom the previous day, I found it difficult to believe that anyone could have been able to flee the grounds without being seen, or else without requiring vehicular assistance of some kind. If the lady had run away, it was clear to me that she must have had an accomplice.
“Nevertheless, I spent a good hour searching the room, attempting to build an impression of Lady Hambleton and the manner in which she went about her business. You can learn a lot from a victim’s personal effects, Charles, something your chaps at Scotland Yard could spend a little more time considering.”
Bainbridge shook his head in exasperation.
“Of course, Crawford was getting desperate by this point, and was very insistent in announcing his theories. ‘You see, Sir Maurice. The disappearance simply has to have a supernatural explanation. There’s no other way to satisfactorily account for it’, or words to that effect. I admit his zeal was growing somewhat tiresome. I typically find in situations such as these that the simplest explanation is usually the correct one, and I counselled Crawford that he would do well to keep that fact in mind. While the circumstances were clearly unusual, I was confident that the missing woman had not been abducted through supernatural or occult endeavour, and I resolved to put my finger on the solution before the day was out.”
Bainbridge leaned forward to dribble cigar ash into the glass tray on the table. “Ah, so we are nearing some answers.”
Newbury smiled and shook his head. “Alas, my hopes of resolving the mystery so quickly were soon dashed. I had a notion that someone in the house knew more than they were letting on, so I next took it upon myself to interview each and every member of the staff. Crawford and I arranged ourselves in the drawing room and, in turn, each of Hambleton’s servants were called upon to give account of the events leading up to Lady Hambleton’s disappearance. It was a daylong endeavour, and to my frustration we came away from the exercise with nothing of any real import or relevance to the case. Most of the staff proved anxious to stress that they were unaware of any furtive behaviour and that nothing out of the ordinary had occurred in the household on the day that Lady Hambleton went missing. The cook had prepared meals to her normal routine; the maids had stripped and made the beds in typical order. Even Chester, whom I had reason to suspect after finding him wandering the halls the previous night, provided a satisfactory explanation of his activities when pressed.”
“Which was?”
“Simply that he’d been woken by the banging from the cellar and had risen to ensure that his master was not in need of his services. Having received no response to his query and finding the door to the cellar locked, he had come away to return to bed. He added that this was not an unusual occurrence and that while Hambleton himself often kept unsociable hours, he in no way expected his staff to accommodate him in such pursuits. His explanation seemed eminently reasonable and seemed to fit with the facts of the matter. In giving his account of the day that Lady Hambleton had disappeared, he accounted well for his whereabouts, the details of which were corroborated by at least two other members of the household staff.
“I admit at this juncture in proceedings I was very nearly dumbfounded by the lack of evidence, but I knew I still had one further line of enquiry to pursue. I needed to see what Hambleton was building in his cellar.
“By this time the day was drawing to a close. Hambleton himself had been out on the grounds of his estate for much of the afternoon. I suggested to Crawford that when Hambleton returned from his excursion we should question him like the other members of the household, allowing him to give his account of the hours leading up to Lady Hambleton’s disappearance, and also to enlighten us further as to the nature of the device he was constructing underneath the house. Crawford, of course, was utterly appalled by this notion and rejected the idea immediately. He felt that it was not only a grave imposition on our host, but an unwise course of action, to submit a man in such a terrible state of anguish to probing questions about the loss of his wife. He went on to argue that, as a doctor, he was concerned about the health of his charge and that forcing the man to recall the events of that day would likely be enough to break him.”
“Pah! I think this man Crawford was a little wet behind the ears.” Bainbridge shook his head with a sigh.
Newbury laughed. “Perhaps so. But at the time I went along with his argument. I’d already resigned myself to spending another night at the manor, and I hoped that the evening might present an opportunity to discuss the matter with Hambleton to the same end. Tired, and unable to do anything more until Hambleton returned, I took myself off to my room to gain what rest I could before dinner.
“I slept for two or three hours, before being woken by a loud rap on my door
. Chester had come to inform me that dinner would be served within the hour, and that the master had returned to the house and was taking a brandy in the drawing room. A little dazed from the rude awakening, I thanked the manservant and then stumbled out of bed. Fifteen minutes later I was washed, dressed and on my way to the drawing room, having decided that joining Hambleton for a brandy would be a most excellent idea.
“As it transpired, however, Hambleton had finished his drink and was now on his way to his room to change for dinner. I passed him on the stairs and he stopped momentarily as I bid him good evening. We eyed each other warily. ‘I hear from Crawford that your search for supernatural activity on the premises has yet to bear fruit?’ I couldn’t help but catch the sneer that accompanied this gruff comment. I explained that I now felt beyond any doubt that there were no supernatural or occult elements involved in the disappearance of his wife, and that I was doing all I could to aid in her recovery. At this he seemed genuinely surprised, as if he’d expected me to react defensively to his offhand remark, and I could sense an immediate mellowing in his attitude towards me, as if, for the first time, he had realised that I was genuinely there to help. He smiled sadly, and said that he’d see me shortly for dinner, but that I could find Crawford in the drawing room in the meantime.
“I thanked him as he set off in the direction of his room once again, but I couldn’t help thinking how far removed this person was from the distraught wreck of a man I’d seen that morning over breakfast. Evidently his turn around the estate had done him some good.
“I joined Crawford in the drawing room. He was sitting in a large armchair knocking back the brandy at a rate I had rarely seen in a gentleman. He was no longer sober, and I could tell from the manner in which he looked up and greeted me that he had been there for some time. The man was evidently at his wits’ end, even more so than Hambleton had seemed that evening. It occurred to me that I hadn’t yet taken the opportunity to question the doctor. I took a seat opposite him and poured myself a small measure. Then, when the opportunity presented itself, I steered the topic of conversation around to his relationship with the family and his arrival at the house. I asked him how long he’d been here at the manor and whether he’d also been the physician of Lady Hambleton following her marriage to Sir Clive.”
