Out of Time: . (Steamside Chroncles Book 1)

by Symon A Sanderson

  He picked up the handcuffs next. Clearly they were handcuffs, but nothing like the ones the constables he had encountered carried. Lastly he picked up a wallet. It opened up to show a badge declaring 'Metropolitan Police' and on the other side a card with a photograph on it. The photograph was clearer than the moving images on the oculartorium’s glass viewing screen and was in colour. It was clearly the woman asleep in the guest room. Underneath the photograph was a name; Katherine Lockwood.

  ***

  It was early when Sir Edward Riordan called. A staccato rap on the door knocker and moments later, after Ivy had rushed downstairs and opened the door, he was walking into the hallway.

  “Is Doctor McKinley in?”

  “Yes sir he is. Please come this way sir, Doctor McKinley’s in his study,” she was about to knock on the study door when Riordan barged past her, pushed the door open and strode into the room. The maid followed him in. “Sir Edward Riordan is here to see you sir,” she announced in an apologetic voice. Riordan thrust his hat and coat onto the startled maid before she retreated out of the room.

  Jacob was sitting in a leather armchair to one side of a log fire reading a newspaper “Morning, Riordan,” he said without looking up to see the source of the interruption, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

  “I need you to perform the post-mortem on the governess from Lord Ashbury’s, town house,” said Riordan uncomfortably. “Her body is in the mortuary at Shoreditch.”

  Jacob folded his newspaper and tossed it onto the floor, “Why the change of mind? Last night I didn’t have the right temperament for the job and now I get a visit from the Deputy Commissioner himself. What’s changed?”

  “Nothing’s changed. I need the post-mortem completed as soon as possible.”

  “Why? What’s wrong with the normal procedure of using a police surgeon?”

  There was a short pause before Riordan answered, “The police surgeon is Lord Ashbury’s private physician and I don’t trust him. There is something very wrong about all of this McKinley. I’ve spoken to the witnesses and the timings are all wrong. The scream, the broken glass. It doesn’t add up.”

  “Talk to the witnesses again,” said Jacob.

  “I’ve tried, but Lord Ashbury has refused me permission. He says they have told me all they know. You saw the wound, it was identical to the one that killed Alice.”

  “Yes, I know,” said Jacob.

  “It was only the second such wound I have seen in my time at Scotland Yard. It cannot be a coincidence,” Riordan paused, “I have Sir William Harcourt himself seeing the Commissioner this morning. I need a post-mortem report I can trust. I need some answers.”

  “The Home Secretary?” Jacob was surprised at how quickly it had escalated, but he had already made up his mind. He stood up, shaking his head. “No, Riordan I’m sorry, but I can’t. I promised myself…”

  “Promises can be broken,” said an exasperated Riordan, “This is the first clue we have had in four years as to who killed Alice and you’re refusing to help?”

  “I’m sorry, Riordan, You know my reasons.”

  Riordan spun around and opened the study door with such force that it rebounded off the wall.

  It was the metallic clacking sound of the door knocker that woke Kate up. She looked around and slowly realised the bad dream had not been a dream at all. She looked around the room for her uniform but could only find a long silk dressing gown carefully placed across the foot of the bed. She put it on and walked over to the window. She remembered looking out of the same window during the night and seeing a dimly lit street light in the fog. Now the fog had lifted enough so she could see the other side of the street. A row of tall leafless trees and behind them the spire of a church, but it wasn't this picturesque sight that caught her attention. Looking down in front of the house a horse and carriage were parked right outside. The driver was wearing a top hat with what appeared to be a pair of swimming goggles just above the brim and had a long black cloak wrapped around him. There were several other people walking on the street, women wearing bonnets and long dresses with bustles, men with thick coats and hats.

  Must be some kind of Victorian fair going on somewhere, she thought.

  She walked to the door and listened - nothing. She cautiously turned the handle and was surprised to find the door wasn’t locked. Kate opened the door and walked onto the landing, peering over the banister and down the staircase. Slowly Kate walked down a flight of stairs onto the next landing and again peered over the banister. She could see coats hanging from several hooks on the wall and a small wooden table on a tiled floor. Her confidence lifted as she looked along the hallway to see the front door.

  Kate was about to walk downstairs to the hallway when raised voices stopped her. She leaned over the balustrade and strained to hear what was being said. A door suddenly opened catching Kate by surprise. She caught her breath and moved back toward the bedroom, still watching over the balustrade.

  Two men appeared. They were arguing.

  “Riordan I'm sorry. I need to put this behind me and look to the future.”

  “If you were half the man Alice thought you were you would never give up as easily as this. I’ll ask you one last time. Perform the post-mortem.”

  “No, Riordan I'm sorry. I can't do it anymore. I want to spend more time with Grace.”

  “McKinley, if you had spent more time with your family we would not be in this position now.”

  The man's voice had lowered to a growl. He turned, grabbed his hat and coat from the hook and walked out of the door.

  Kate watched the man standing in the hallway close the door and sigh. At that moment a bedroom door opened and a woman in a maids outfit walked onto the landing.

  “Miss, you shouldn't be out of bed,” she leaned over the balustrade and shouted. “Doctor. Doctor McKinley, the lady is out of bed.”

  Kate took a step back when the maid approached.

  “Where am I?”

  “There's no need to worry miss. You're in Doctor McKinley’s house. He's coming now.”

  A tall, well-built man reached the landing. Kate’s new found confidence dissipated, replaced with an acute vulnerability. She had no idea where she was, she had been undressed and was now facing two people who wouldn't give her a straight answer. Kate drew the silk robe tightly around her and clenched her fists.

  “There's no need to worry,” said the man holding his hands up as if to show Kate he meant no harm, “we're not going to hurt you.”

  “Where am I? Where are my clothes? Who the hell are you?”

  “You're at my house. It's in Kensington. Your clothes are in my study. My name is Jacob McKinley”

  “Bring me my clothes. Now,” said Kate, her fists so tight her hands were beginning to ache.

  “As I say, your clothes are in my study. Come this way.”

  Jacob began walking downstairs and beckoned Kate to follow him. As Kate began to follow the maid put out her left hand to help Kate downstairs. Kate grabbed her wrist and twisted her arm outwards, forcing the maid to fall backwards. She cried out and as Jacob went toward her, Kate pointed at the Doctor and shouted: “Get back.”

  Despite the apprehension, Kate almost laughed at the look on his face, but it had the desired effect. She looked down at the maid, whose wrist she was still gripping, “You,” she said, releasing her grip, “go downstairs.” She turned her attention to Jacob, “And you, go with her and keep your distance from me.”

  The three of them slowly walked downstairs until they reached the hallway. The maid suddenly picked up her skirt and ran to the back of the house, leaving all Kate's attention on the doctor. He opened the door and Kate could see, on a desk, her black met vest and radio.

  She followed the doctor in and walked to the desk, “Who put this nightdress on me?”

  “The cab driver and I helped you upstairs. It was Ivy, with the help of Miss Wheaton, my daughter’s governess, who changed your clothes.”

  “Why di
d you bring me here?”

  “You were unconscious when I found you. This was nearer than any hospital or my surgery. It was quicker, that was all. Do you not remember me telling you this last night?”

  Hazy memories clogged Kate’s mind. Blue swirling lights, broken pottery, a foggy street scene.

  “Why not call for an ambulance?”

  “I wasn’t sure how badly injured you were. Bringing you here meant I could treat you far more quickly than calling for help.”

  Kate checked her clothes. Everything appeared to be there. She looked up at Jacob, “I'm going to put my clothes back on. Get out.”

  Jacob looked at the clothing on the desk before turning his attention back to Kate. He nodded and walked to the door, “I’ll just be out in the hallway,” he said backing out through the door and closing it.

  Kate checked her Airwaves radio. It was dead, the battery having run out. She looked through her trouser pockets for her phone. No signal and only thirty percent battery left. She checked the rest of her belongings. Everything seemed to be present.

  When she had dressed and was zipping up her Met vest she looked around the room. It was an old-fashioned study. A large dark wooden desk with a leather upholstered chair on the far side looked out through a window into the back garden. Dark wood bookcases crammed full of leather-bound volumes filled every wall except where the fireplace stood. The fire crackled and Kate was enjoying the warmth when a hissing sound caught her attention. It came from the fireplace. She moved her head as close to the wooden surround as she could before the heat of the fire became uncomfortable. Kate listened closely as she moved her head from one side of the surround to the other. She stopped halfway down on the right side of the fire, certain this was where the sound was coming from. She placed her hand on the surround and was surprised when she felt an almost imperceptible vibration. Her fingers explored the slim space between the surround and the bookcase next to it. Kate realised the bookcase was also vibrating. It was only when she moved her hand across on row of books Kate realised that that section was a façade. She tried pushing and pulling the false books to no avail. Reaching as high as she could she pushed her fingers into the gap between the false bookcase and the fire surround and pulled her hand slowly down. The sudden sensation of warm metal made Kate gasp and pull her hand away. Regaining her composure she pushed hand back into the gap. It was a small metal lever. Kate pushed the lever down. The façade popped open and inside was the source of the hissing.

  She saw a wooden box which she guessed was approximately half a metre wide by a metre tall. Three gauges were in a line across the front about three-quarters of the way up with what appeared to be glass vacuum tubes giving off an azure blue light above each gauge. Copper pipes came out of the bottom of a cylindrical copper boiler which sat on the top of the cabinet. The pipes ran through the gauges, passed through brass tap handles and into three brass canisters, which reminded her of soda syphons, each of which were pushed into a clip.

  Kate noticed to the left of the device was a cane standing upright on a small circular brass stand. She touched the handle of the cane and could feel it vibrate. There was a knock at the door.

  “Are you dressed?” the doctor asked.

  “Yes, I’m dressed.”

  The door opened and Kate reached for her Pava. Jacob slowly walked into the room and to the opposite side of the desk to where Kate was standing, his eyes never leaving her for even a second.

  Kate pointed to the newly discovered cabinet, “What’s that?” she asked. “What does it do?”

  Jacob looked at the opened façade, “It’s a pac.” he said proudly.

  “A what?

  “A pressurised air condenser,” Jacob explained. Seeing the confusion on Kate’s face he continued. “Water is heated at the rear of the fire before being forced up into the boiler at the top. The steam generated…” Jacob stopped as he saw Kate’s face grow even more confused, “It pressurises air into the canisters,” he pointed to the three small, brass canisters clipped to the device, “which can be removed and clipped onto numerous devices. The air pressure is a convenient addition for devices too small to be run on steam.” The look on her face didn’t change.

  “Why not just use batteries?” She asked

  “Batteries? They’re far too expensive. Why would I use those?” said Jacob who now felt as confused as Kate looked.

  “Never mind.”

  Jacob’s own curiosity now got the better of him, “Your clothes,” he said, “I’ve never seen anything like them before. Where did you get them from?”

  “I was issued them when I joined, where do you think I got them from? Marks and Spencer?”

  The shop reference bypassed Jacob completely, “When you joined?”

  “Yes. How long have I been here?”

  “Since very early this morning. We found you in the West of London Cemetery just before midnight. You were unconscious and appeared to have been in a fight. May I ask how you came about those injuries?”

  “Have you contacted the police to let them know I’m here?”

  “No,” admitted Jacob, “I haven’t. I doubt they would believe me. A woman constable?” Jacob smiled.

  “Very funny. Where exactly is this house?”

  “This is St. Giles Square. The river is a ten minute walk south, across the Fulham Road. I’m sorry to be so inquisitive, but how long have the Metropolitan Police employed women constables?”

  “Since 1915,” Kate said, “but I only joined eighteen months ago,” she added sarcastically. “You act as though you’ve never seen a policewoman before.”

  Jacob looked at her carefully.

  “I haven’t. Do you still feel dizzy?” he asked.

  “No thanks, I’m fine. Do you have a phone?”

  “A telephone? Yes. It’s out here in the hallway,” Jacob walked back from the desk to the door and held his arm out, gesturing down the passage.

  Kate walked into the hall, past several tall fern plants in ceramic pots and stood in front of what appeared to be a small wooden desk mounted on the wall. On the top of the desk, placed against the wall was a bell-shaped microphone and at the front a length of wire coming out of the left-hand side and a tube shaped like a funnel hanging from a cradle on the front. On the right-hand side was a handle whose purpose it seemed was to wind the contraption up. It looked like something Alexander Graham-Bell himself would have talked into.

  “Seriously? What’s with all the retro stuff in this house? Do you even have a television?”

  “Retro?” said Jacob, “I’m sorry I don’t understand.”

  “All this junk,” said Kate pointing at the phone, “it’s like an antique shop in here.” Kate had to bite her bottom lip to stop herself from smiling at the indignant expression on Jacob’s face.

  “I think you will find young lady that this house is furnished with all of today’s modern conveniences. What is a television?”

  Kate, ignoring the question, placed the circular funnel to her ear but there was silence. Jacob, seeing Kate narrowing her eyes said, “Turn the handle several times and talk to the operator.”

  Kate followed his instructions and was soon talking to a young woman on the other end of the line.

  “Can you put me through to Limehouse Police Station please?”

  Jacob watched Kate’s reactions. A phone was still something not many people could afford or even knew how to use properly but this young woman didn’t seem at all fazed by the experience.

  “What do you mean you don’t have a number? You must have, it’s on West India Dock Road.”

  Jacob smiled as he saw the look of surprise on Ivy’s face as she came back from the kitchen. He held his hand up and motioned for her to go back. The last thing he wanted to do was scare the young lady.

  “Just dial 101 and ask for Limehouse Police Station.”

  Jacob watched as exasperation followed by anger spread across Kate’s face. It was no surprise to him when she slammed the earpie
ce back onto the cradle. He winced slightly at the force of its return.

  “Well,” said Kate, “thanks for treating my injuries but I’d better get back to the station before I make the evening news,” she checked everything on her belt and in her pockets before slowly moving toward the front door.

  “Do you want me to call you a cab?” asked Jacob, “the dizzy spells could return.”

  “No thanks, I’ll be fine. Which way did you say it was to the river?”

  “Turn left out of the house and follow the road, straight across Fulham Road and that will bring you to Battersea Bridge.”

  Kate opened the front door, resting her right hand on her Pava just in case. She walked down half-a-dozen steps and opened a black iron-gate separating two stone pillars. She closed the gate behind her and looked back up the stairs. The doctor was standing in the doorway with a look of concern on his face. Kate looked up at the house. It was a four-storey, whitewashed building with balustrades around the front of the house. The windows on the first floor were large French doors which opened onto spacious balconies with ornate iron railings. The second-storey windows were large, but less ornate and two dormer windows jutted out of the roof. Kate assumed one of those rooms had been where she had spent the night.

  Nice, thought Kate before walking briskly toward the Thames. It was a cold morning but the early sun had burned away the remaining mist. Kate took a deep breath and coughed.

  Someone has a coal fire roaring, she thought as she looked up. It was then she could see where the smell was coming from. Every chimney she could see was blowing out smoke. She took another deep breath and remembered the same smoky smell on David.

  “Oh no. Slater.”

  Chapter Seven

  Kate looked up towards the sound of horse’s hooves on the road and saw a carriage stop several doors away. The driver resplendent in a Victorian outfit complete with a top hat. Could do with one of those myself, thought Kate as she looked at the driver’s cloak.