The Unpleasantness at Baskerville Hall (Reeves & Worcester Steampunk Mysteries Book 4) (14 page)

“Should we give chase, sir?”

“Watch out for her footprints, Reeves. We don’t want to destroy them. Keep to the side of the track.”

We ran towards the gate. Ten yards short of our destination, I noticed a shotgun — presumably Sir Robert’s — lying on the path. We ran past, not stopping until we reached the gate.

A thick fog hung over the mire. We looked up the track and down. No lights. No hurrying shapes. No sound of running feet. It was as though the woman had vanished into the mist itself.

“We still don’t believe in ghosts, do we, Reeves?”

“No, sir.”

“Good.”

And then I shone the lamp over the ground by the gate, and had an even bigger shock. There were clear footprints in the soft earth superimposed upon the ones I’d seen earlier that day. They were not human.

“Is that a cloven hoof, Reeves?”

“It would appear so, sir. Most disturbing.”

We followed their intermittent trail back to the body. One could see where the creature had stood over Sir Robert.

“Cats don’t have cloven hooves, do they, Reeves?”

“No, sir.”

I stood there, the Worcester mind boggling. What were we dealing with? Mrs Lucifer or a well-dressed goat?

“Have you ever seen anything like this?” I asked.

“No, sir. The imprint is far too large to be that of a deer. The woman could be a promethean, but the choice of cloven feet is extremely odd.”

“Could it be another of Morrow’s experiments, do you think? Is there a Clerkenwell Goat?”

“Not that I have heard, sir.”

I looked down at Sir Robert’s body and took a deep breath. Time to stiffen the lip, and harden the gaze. We consulting detectives had to see the puzzle, not the man. It’s one of the reasons we British make the best detectives — our innate detachment — that and being torn from the bosom of our families at a tender age and given seven years hard education at boarding school.

“What about this gun?” I said, retracing our steps back towards the gate. “Was it fired? I didn’t hear any shots.”

Reeves retrieved the gun and carefully broke it. “Two cartridges, sir, and, by the lack of odour, this gun has not been fired recently.”

“Odd,” I said. “Why didn’t he shoot? And what’s his gun doing
here
? Did he drop it and run?”

“There is nothing on the ground to indicate a struggle, sir. One would think that if the gun had been wrested from Sir Robert’s hands that one or the other party’s feet would have dug into the earth.”

“So, Sir Robert drops his gun here and legs it down the Yew Walk back towards the house?”

“That would be my interpretation, sir.”

“But why? The gun was his best protection. Even a cloven-hoofed promethean would back down against a man with a gun.”

“Perhaps Sir Robert believed the hooded woman to be a spirit, sir. I did note that the woman’s attire looked very similar to the previous evening’s ghost.”

“I thought Sir Robert pooh-poohed the idea of the ghost being real.”

“That is what he
said
, sir. It may not have been what he believed.”

Reeves, as ever, made an excellent point.

“I didn’t notice any glow to her face. Did you?”

“No, sir, though I had only the briefest glimpse of her face. Perhaps the fact that we hid the tin of RadioGlo paint prevented its use.”

As we walked back to Sir Robert’s body, I noticed something moving slowly up the wooded slope. It was Lupin. He had his back towards us, and was part shrouded in mist, but the hunched outline was unmistakable, however faint. He was heading for the back lawn. But where had he come from? And why hadn’t we seen him earlier? Had he been up a tree?

I tapped Reeves on the arm and pointed.

“Yes, sir,” said Reeves. “I had noticed.”

~

Our initial investigation of the crime scene complete, I raised the view halloo. We consulting detectives know the value of a pristine crime scene, and the destruction that two dozen extraneous boots can wreak.

“Over here!” I shouted as the first groups neared. “We’ve found him.”

One by one the search parties arrived. Henry was pretty cut up. As was Morrow.

“Was it Selden?” asked a grim T. Everett.

“No. We saw a hooded woman standing over the body, but she ran off the moment she saw us.”

“A woman?” said Morrow.

“Dressed very much like last night’s ghost, except this one had cloven feet,” I said. “You can see her tracks all the way to the mire gate.”

“Are you sure they’re hers and not a deer?” said Morrow.

“Look for yourself,” I said. “Have you ever encountered a promethean with cloven feet?”

“No,” said Morrow, giving the ground a good eyeball. He traced the tracks for several yards before kneeling down for a better look with his lamp. ”You’re right,” he said. “It’s not a deer. It’s someone running on two feet.”

“Could it be one of our prometheans?” asked Henry.

“We don’t have any prometheans with cloven feet,” said Morrow. “I’ve heard of people experimenting — as, regrettably, I had with Selden — but I’ve never seen anything like this.”

“Could she be a friend of Selden’s?” I asked. “A woman who felt she was a fawn trapped in a human body?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Morrow. “Selden never mentioned any such person, but I haven’t had contact with Selden for ten years.”

“How ... how was my father killed?” said Henry, his upper lip losing some of its stiffness.

We all looked down at Sir Robert. There were no obvious wounds, and no blood. Then Morrow knelt besides the body.

“Help me turn him over,” he said. “And bring another lamp over here!”

Morrow and two of the footmen rolled Sir Robert onto his back and, in doing so, revealed a bowl lying next to the body. It was half full of what looked like milk. Sir Robert’s coat had a matching white stain where he’d fallen on top of the bowl.

Before I could mention fingerprints, one of the footmen had picked up the bowl, dipped his finger in the liquid, and touched it to his tongue.

“It’s milk, sir,” he said.

At the very moment he spoke, the Worcester deductive wheels began to spin. Corpse with no obvious cause of death, bowl of milk next to the body...

“Sir Robert didn’t die from poisoned milk, by any chance?”

The footman leaped a good yard into the air, and came down spitting. And then wiped his tongue on both sleeves of his uniform.

“I’m sorry, sirs,” he apologised.

An understandable reaction, I thought. “Best to stand back and not touch anything,” I said. “Crime scenes are dangerous places. And don’t forget to keep an eye out for Selden.”

Morrow was now bent over Sir Robert, examining this and sniffing that. I still couldn’t see any wounds. And from the expression on Sir Robert’s face, I rather got the impression he might have died of fright.

“What killed him, Morrow?” said Henry. “He looks like he saw the devil.”

I mentioned the gun and how it looked to Reeves and I that Sir Robert had seen something so unnerving that he’d dropped the gun and run for his life.

“I don’t know about that,” said Morrow. “It looks to me like he asphyxiated.”

“Strangled?” said Henry.

“No,” said Morrow. “There are no signs of strangulation. He just ... was unable to breathe.”

“But how?” said T. Everett.

“I’ll have to get Sir Robert back to the Hall for a more thorough examination.”

Reeves coughed.

“Yes, Reeves?” I said.

“I was wondering what Dr Morrow thought of the small mark on the right side of Sir Robert’s neck, sir.”

“That’s one of the things I’m intending to examine back at the Hall,” said Morrow, sounding a little nettled.

I leaned in for a better view. There was a red pin prick of a mark on Sir Robert’s neck.

“It could be from a bramble thorn,” said Morrow.

Fourteen

Robert’s body was carried back to the Hall. Morrow suggested taking the body straight to his laboratory on the second floor, but Henry would hear nothing of it.

“My father is not going to spend the night in any second floor laboratory. The study is a more fitting place. He always liked the study. You can examine him there.”

A throng of servants — mainly the maids and kitchen staff — were waiting in the small hallway by the back door. Emmeline was there too, but I couldn’t see Lady Julia, Ida, or Lily. The news of Sir Robert’s death was greeted with much gnashing and wailing — particularly from Mrs Berrymore, who collapsed on the spot and had to be carried into the kitchen. I had wanted a word with Emmeline, but she was part of the deputation carrying away the unfortunate cook.

A space was cleared on the large desk in the study and Sir Robert’s body placed upon it. The servants then withdrew, and Lady Julia, Ida and Lily came rushing in.

“How could this happen?” said Lady Julia. “What was he
doing
out there?”

“We don’t know,” said Henry.

I was waiting for someone to make the obvious suggestion, but no one did. I couldn’t see Dr Morrow either — presumably he’d beetled off to fetch his medical bag — so I thought I might as well broach the subject.

“Have you considered reanimating Sir Robert?” I asked. “You’d get Sir Robert back
and
you’d find out who killed him.”

“What did you say?” asked Lady Julia, narrowing her eyes to a frightening degree.

“Reanimation,” I squeaked. “Dr Morrow must be a whizz at reanimating the deceased. He has his own laboratory on the premises, and they always say the fresh ones reanimate the best.”

“The
fresh
ones!” If Lady Julia ever decided to audition for the part of Lady Bracknell she’d be a cert.

“That’s what they say.” I looked hopefully about the room for support, but found a roomful of averted eyes. Even Morrow, who must have just oiled in at the back, looked away.

Lady Julia dialled back the gimlet stare a turn or two. “Reanimation is for the lower classes, dear. And foreigners. People of quality prefer to meet their maker at their allotted time.”

“But if one’s murdered—”

“
If
one is murdered, one hopes one would have the good manners to stay dead! Who would receive a
réanimé
in their home? Certainly no one of quality. The poor creature would be shunned and forced to live abroad ... or appear in moving pictures!”

It was Henry’s turn to feel the heat of his aunt’s gaze.

“Reanimating my father is not an option, Roderick,” said Henry. “As much as the idea appeals.”

“Henry!” said Lady Julia.

“Excuse me,” said Morrow, inching his way through the throng. “May I suggest that people leave. If I’m to examine Sir Robert...”

“Examine?” said Lady Julia, reprising her Lady Bracknell voice.

“To determine the cause of death,” said Morrow, looking towards Henry for support.

Henry looked like a man who’d appreciate support himself. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea, Morrow. Shouldn’t we leave that to the coroner? Dash it all, what
are
the correct procedures?”

“Normally, one informs the police,” I said. “And they then bring in the coroner. But, in this case, with bridges down and the place cut off, it’s usual to hand the case over to a talented amateur detective.”

“We don’t have a talented amateur detective,” said Henry.

“Oh, but we do,” I said. “There’s little I don’t know about the deductive arts. Inspector Gaucho of the Buenos Aires
Sûreté
is always calling on me for help. If ever someone’s mortal coil receives an unexpected shuffling, I’m the person he telegrams.”

“Dear God,” said Lady Julia.

“I thought you lived in a mining camp in the middle of nowhere,” said Ida.

“I do. Sometimes one can solve a case without leaving one’s armchair. Other times I hop on the next canoe to Buenos Aires. That’s where I met Reeves.”

“Reeves?”

“My man. He was a sergeant in the Buenos Aires
Sûreté
. Reeves of the Yard they called him. He has an eye for clues like no other. Inspector Gaucho was pretty put out when I poached him.”

“No!” said Lady Julia. “If anyone here is to conduct an investigation, it should be Henry. He’s the head of the family.”

“I have no experience in such matters,” said Henry. “Roderick does.”

“Roderick is an idiot,” said Lady Julia.

“He is
not
an idiot!” said Emmeline. “He just thinks differently, which is exactly what you need in a detective. Someone who can see things others can’t.”

“Lily’s right,” said Henry. “I’ll send Tom over the moor to Princetown tomorrow to inform the police. In the meantime I think we should accept Roderick’s offer.”

~

I felt every eye upon me as I approached the body, especially Lady Julia’s.

“First, I shall examine his pockets. Could someone send for my man Reeves?”

“I am here, sir,” said Reeves appearing as if by magic at my left shoulder. I really do not know how he does it. I could have sworn he’d left the study with the other servants, but suddenly there he was.

“Do you have your gloves, Reeves?”

“I do, sir.”