Hounds of Autumn (18 page)

“Well, that place changes with the times. This place doesn’t. Simple as that. Different places have different rules, if you understand my meaning.”

Chloe didn’t, but wasn’t about to ask and listen to Maggie go on about piskies or sidhe or whatever superstitious nonsense she believed.

“I need to find the hound,” said Chloe. “Have you seen it? Or do you know where it might be?”

“I’ve seen it a few times, and some of the bees were telling me about it going far south of here, all the way to the Granger house.”

Talking bees. Delightful.

“I think I should be getting back home,” said Chloe, rising. She couldn’t waste time with a mad old woman, even a relatively benign one. She needed to keep looking for the hound.

“Wait a moment, I have something for you.” Maggie opened the cabinet, took a jar and tapped some of the dusty green contents into a paper. She folded it into a packet and handed it to Chloe. “I heard your husband is sick. Make a tea of that. It’s nothing much, just something to help him rest.”

Chloe thanked her and Maggie followed her out the front door.

“Your motorcar thing is that way,” Maggie pointed. “It’s very shiny. I like it. You made that too, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“I can see why they like you, even if that thing is too loud. You’re a strange one, you are. Anyone tell you that?”

“I could say the same about you.”

Maggie’s eyes were round, and for an instant Chloe thought she had angered the woman. Then Maggie roared with laughter, one hand on her heart.

Chloe let herself out the front gate and turned to see Maggie scoop up a cat and go inside, still chuckling.

Chapter 29

C
hloe checked a few other
places, but saw no sign of the hound. She was about to turn down another side road, when the engine began to make a terrible grinding sound. Her heart sank. She had been driving the poor machine too hard. No wonder it was having trouble. She hoped there would come a day when her machines did not require so many repairs. But the steamcycle was a prototype, and with each malfunction she improved upon it.

She drove it home and parked it on the side of the house. Before she went into her laboratory for her tool box, she checked on Ambrose. He was in his room, sitting in his dressing gown near the window, a book and a note pad balanced on his lap. Chloe waited until he looked up.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

“Some. I cannot abide being confined like this. I had to get out of that bed or go mad.”

She felt his forehead, and he waved her hand away impatiently.

“You still have a fever,” she said.

“I know. I know. Leave me be. More importantly, I had an idea about Giles. Correct me if you believe I am in error, but could he have been imitating the hound when he tore up the garden?”

“You believe that he saw the hound do it, and then copied it?”

“Exactly.”

She thought about it. “That would mean that Giles is intentionally copying the behavior of a similar creature. Yes. It could be. So he’s not malfunctioning. He’s trying to learn. That’s wonderful!”

Ambrose gave a weak smile at her delight. “He has been a good companion for me today.” At the top of the armoire, Giles sat as prim and straight as an Egyptian statuette.

“You aren’t a naughty boy, are you?” said Chloe.

“Brrr.”

“This is fantastic,” she said. “Do you mind if I take him outside? I have to work on the steamcycle this afternoon. Giles can sit and watch the birds.”

“Be my guest.”

Chloe ordered up a pot of tea, made the bed and opened the window a crack to get him some fresh air. She felt his forehead again.

“Enough! I’m well enough to be downstairs for supper. Now go work on your machine and stop moving around like a worried hen. It’s making me dizzy.”

She kissed his cheek and went outside to pull the steamcycle to the back corner of the house. She spent the afternoon in her work corset and rough skirt, the engine in pieces on the ground and her tool box open beside her.

At the table on the back lawn, Ian and Beatrice were chatting while he read a newspaper and she embroidered. Beatrice waved when she saw Chloe watching and Chloe smiled, her hands engaged in inserting a loose piece of tubing into a coupling. Giles was sitting on the brick garden border, and he alternated watching his mistress and Ian and Beatrice.

The back door opened and the butler appeared. “You have a visitor, sir,” he said to Ian. He had no silver tray or card.

“A visitor? Who is it?”

The butler paused. “He is waiting inside.”

Beatrice was looking at the butler with a cold expression. Chloe knew that it was not typical for a servant to avoid a direct question and withhold the identity of a caller. Once the butler and Ian were gone, Beatrice rose in a swirl of pink and cream and approached Chloe.

“Would you care to take a stroll to the front of the house?” she asked, with a look of mock innocence.

“Who do you think is here?”

“I don’t know, but the butler obviously thought it might be indelicate to say. So naturally, I have to know.”

“Naturally,” said Chloe and wiped her hands on a spare rag.

They strolled around the side of the house and took a look at the front drive. A sturdy bay mare was tied up, placidly munching at the plants.

“Do you know whose horse that is?” asked Chloe.

“No. But let’s take a walk down the drive. I’m in need of a bit of fresh air. It benefits the lungs, you know.”

They strolled down the drive, taking time to pause and watch Giles bat at bobbing flowers or scamper around their feet.

“Does Ian get visitors often?” asked Chloe.

“No. Hardly ever, unless it is household business. I’ll tell you what I am thinking. I think the visitor might be for Alexander, but he is in town today. So they would have to talk to Ian. But since it may involve Alexander, I’m curious.”

Poor Beatrice. Had she heard about the rumors of Alexander and Camille Granger being paramours? Chloe hoped not.

“Why not speak with William?” Chloe asked.

“Oh, Ian handles everything in the household now. He has for years.”

At the sound of the door opening, both women turned to see a small, lean man in a brown suit. He placed his hat over his balding head, adjusted it and untied the mare.

“That’s Doctor Fleming,” said Beatrice.

As he rode toward them, Beatrice smiled broadly, the perfect hostess.

“It is a pleasure to see you, Doctor.”

He stopped and touched his hat. “My apologies, Mrs. Aynesworth, but I cannot stay. I have an urgent errand. Good afternoon.”

“Good afternoon,” Beatrice said and he rode down the drive. She stared after him for a while and murmured, “Strange.”

“Who do you think is sick?”

Beatrice shook her head, and there was something in her look that took Chloe by surprise. It was a look of determination and ferocity. But there was apprehension also. “Let’s find out.”

Ian was sitting in the front parlor, his head in his hands. He looked up at them as they entered, and started to rise.

“No, no. Please sit,” said Beatrice. She lowered herself beside him, and at his look of anguish, she drew back. “What is it?”

“Nothing.” He looked at the carpet, trying to regain himself.

“Ian, please.”

He shook his head. “My brother is fine, as is everyone in the household. It’s nothing.”

“Has someone died?”

“No.”

“Then why—”

“I’m sorry, Bea. You will have to trust me,” he said.

She studied his face, and something passed between them. After a few moments, Beatrice nodded. There was some kind of understanding between them, perhaps born of their years under the same roof or their shared relationship with Alexander.

“I will be upstairs,” Ian said and rose. “Excuse me,” he whispered as he swept past Chloe.

Beatrice was motionless, lost in her own thoughts. Chloe thought of asking her about the exchange, but knew she would get no answer. She left Beatrice to her silence and her thoughts.

She got back to work on the steamcycle. After replacing the defective gears and tightening the fastenings, she had only to put everything back together. This part of the work was simple and required only a small amount of concentration.

Chloe was fairly sure that Beatrice knew about Ian’s rides. Beatrice had not been happy to let Ian leave the parlor without saying why the doctor had come, but she had accepted it. There was a trust between them, though it had been difficult for Beatrice to allow him his silence. Chloe did not think she could have done it. She would have demanded an answer. But then, Beatrice was a woman of discretion, prudence and self-control. Chloe wished she had more of those qualities.

Chloe fit the final piece into the engine with a sharp click and fastened on the cover. Daylight was fading, and she was stiff and tired from being bent over half the day. She would have to test the machine tomorrow. She rolled it to the carriage house and checked her pocket watch. She had an hour until supper to clean up.

She was on her knees, packing up her tool box when she heard the back door bang closed. She froze when she saw Alexander following Ian out across the back lawn. Ian turned to face his brother. She saw Ian’s mouth move, but could not hear what he said. Alexander stepped forward and jabbed a finger into his brother’s chest.

“She’s no better than she should be. I don’t see why you have to upset everyone with this.”

She heard the low rumble of Ian’s voice, and was taken aback at the fierce coldness in the way he looked at his brother. Alexander’s face was red, and he was shaking with rage.

“How in hell should I know?” Alexander threw up his hands. “You are the one who brought this to our doorstep! You are the one who created this.” He turned away and headed for the house.

Ian shouted after him, and this time, his words were clear. “There is no family. And she is a little girl.”

Alexander spun around and came at Ian. Chloe thought for a moment that the brothers would come to blows. Ian was a few inches taller than his brother, though Alexander was broader across the shoulders. Ian said something that she could not catch. The men glared at each other for a moment more and Ian spun on his heel and strode toward the stables.

“Come back here and say that! You come right back here!” shouted Alexander, but Ian was gone.

Alexander slammed the door, and she was left alone. Giles turned his head and swiveled his ears.

“Best forget you saw that,” she whispered.

She took her time packing the rest of her tools, not eager to encounter Alexander if he was in the hallway. She opened the door to find that he was gone.

Before she pulled the door shut behind her, Chloe caught a glimpse of Ian on horseback, galloping at full speed past the house, earth flying from his horse’s hooves.

Chapter 30

T
he supper table was only
set for five: William, Dora, Robert, Ambrose and Chloe. Beatrice was not feeling well and Mrs. Malone was taking her supper upstairs. Alexander was holed up in his study and no one knew where Ian might be. Chloe thought it prudent to keep silent on the matter.

Dora picked at her steak and greens and glanced at her father a number of times. He eventually acknowledged her and gave her a nod.

“I don’t know if you have heard,” she said to Chloe, “but Mr. Granger has been brought in for questioning for Camille’s murder and I heard that they might formally accuse him.”

“You’re joking,” said Chloe, though she knew Dora was not.

“No. It happened this afternoon. There was something about a letter proving that Camille had a paramour.” She muttered the last words and her father gave her a sharp look.

It was Saturday, the day that Nettie said she would be leaving with Tommy for Gretna Green. So she had decided to talk to the police after all.

“But what proof do the police have?” asked Ambrose. Though he was able to sit at the table, it was clear that he was ill. Chloe noted that he had only eaten a few bites.

William cleared his throat. “The police believe that Mr. Granger killed her in a jealous rage when she was about to run off with another man. He must have lured her outdoors, where he killed her and hoped to dispose of her where she would not be found. Very upsetting. Most upsetting.” He shook his head.

Chloe chewed thoughtfully. If Mr. Granger had hoped to keep the body concealed, why had he chosen a bog that was so near the road and so close to the hiding hole in the rock cairn? Something about it wasn’t right.

“Will he hang?” asked Robert, his expression was full of dismay and compassion.

“Most likely,” said William gently. “If he took the life of an innocent woman, then justice must be done.”

“I would hardly call her innocent,” said Dora. “If she had a paramour.”

The look her father gave her was unexpected. William was not angry at such a crude remark during supper. Nor was he saddened or indignant at Camille’s indiscretion. Rather, his expression was confused and surprised. He looked at Dora as if she had said that the moon was made of cheese. Dora raised her chin a fraction and met his gaze.

Again, Chloe had the distinct feeling that there was something passing between two people to which she would never be privy. Robert was watching them, and for an instant before he looked away, Chloe saw pure fury in his face.

A moment later, the penny dropped, and Chloe understood why Beatrice and Mrs. Malone were not at the table, and why Robert might be so angry. If the town gossips knew about the letter, surely they also were speculating on the gentleman who wrote it. Nettie’s opinion, whether right or wrong, would be picked up and repeated. It was too delicious a piece of gossip. And Nettie had said she thought the author was Alexander.

Poor Beatrice.

Ill though he was, Ambrose had not missed the exchange. Chloe wondered if he had come to the same conclusion about Beatrice, but could not ask. He cleared his throat. “I will be absent for supper tomorrow night,” he said. “I’m meeting with your fiancé, Dora, to discuss a few things.”

Dora registered a look of alarm. “Why? What do you have to discuss?”

She must have been afraid that Ambrose would say something unflattering about her or her family. A man with Mr. Baxter’s wealth could break off an engagement without too much damage to his own reputation. The scandal would be minimal. But for Dora, the stakes were much higher. Her years of marriage eligibility were shrinking and wealthy men were in short supply.

“Only business matters,” said Ambrose. “Otherwise, of course, he would be calling on you as well. In a few months, he and I will be family, after all. And during his visit a few days ago, we found that we both have connections that may be mutually beneficial. He knows a few people of high standing in Boston, and I am hoping that people at the university there may be interested in some of my books and papers. It would be a singular opportunity to be published in America.

“As for Mr. Baxter, I know a few gentlemen from my club in London who may be interested in investing in some of his mining projects. Also, I am interested in this sickness his workers encountered. I can’t resist a botanical puzzle, I suppose.”

“Would you tell me anything you figure out?” said Robert.

His father’s fork stopped on the way to his mouth. “I don’t think that will be necessary. You ought to be keeping up on your regular studies while we find you a new tutor.”

“Yes, father,” said Robert, and again, Chloe saw the flash of anger as he looked down at his plate.

For the rest of supper, Chloe’s thoughts churned. She had brought evidence to Inspector Lockton that the zoetrope found with Camille and in the hound’s mine came from the Aynesworth house. That would have little or no connection to Mr. Granger, unless he had stolen the thing on one of his visits. And what cause would he have for that? Mr. Granger may have had the motive, means and opportunity, as the police said in the shilling shockers. But, as Inspector Lockton had noted, the evidence was still circumstantial. Had his superiors pressured him for an arrest, or did he have information that she did not?

“I suppose you are pleased that the hound has been found innocent?” asked Ambrose as they climbed the stairs after supper. He paused on the landing to catch his breath.

“Yes and no. I don’t think that Mr. Granger killed her.”

“Because of the zoetrope?”

“Yes. I don’t know. I suppose it could be nothing. A servant could have stolen it and sold it and it ended up out on the moor. It could be unconnected.”

He took her arm and climbed the rest of the stairs. “It seems like too much of a coincidence to be nothing,” said Ambrose. She helped him to his rooms and into bed. The effort of going down to supper had taken a toll on him. She pulled the blankets up over him. His eyes were already half closed.

“I’ll let you sleep,” she said. She refilled his water glass and left him to rest.

She was about to go to her laboratory, when she paused. She was fond of Beatrice. Though she had smiled at Dora’s cruel comment over supper on the first night of her visit, otherwise she had been pleasant company. She must be suffering terribly.

Chloe knocked on Beatrice’s door. No sound came from inside, but then the door flew open. Mrs. Malone scowled at her.

“I came to see Beatrice,” said Chloe.

“She is not feeling well.”

“Let her in, Mother,” called Beatrice from behind her. “I’m sure she has figured it out.”

Mrs. Malone stepped aside and Chloe passed into Beatrice’s room. It was larger and more opulent than Chloe’s room but then, this was no guest room. It was half of the grand master suite. Alexander’s rooms would be through the side door. Beatrice caught her looking at the door and buried her face in her hands. She slumped on a settee under the window, the light behind her making a frizzy halo of her disheveled hair.

Chloe realized that she had not thought of a single thing to say. She seated herself beside Beatrice and put an arm around her shoulders. Mrs. Malone took the chair across from them.

“Mrs. Sullivan, you’ve been married a while, haven’t you?” asked Mrs. Malone.

“Three years.”

She pressed her lips together lightly and nodded. “Now Bea, when I had been married three years, there were rumors.”

“About Father?”

“Yes, but I paid them no mind.”

“Because they were untrue!”

“No, because I am a lady. And so are you.”

Beatrice shook her head and Mrs. Malone reached her hand to pat her daughter’s knee. “It’s a hard truth, Bea. But one you will grow accustomed to.”

“I don’t want to be accustomed to it! It’s shameful.”

Mrs. Malone glanced at Chloe for help. Chloe was taken aback. She had never seen the old woman be anything but in complete control.

“It’s no shame on you,” said Chloe. “Everyone knows that you are a good wife. It’s just the way some men are.”

“Not your husband, surely,” Beatrice snapped and glared at her. “I would bet he doesn’t have dalliances with other women.”

How to respond to that? Beatrice’s anger was not directed at her personally, but the woman’s fierce stare was unsettling. Then Beatrice’s shoulders fell and she shook her head.

“Not all men are the same,” Mrs. Malone said. “And Mr. Sullivan is also a lot older than Alexander.”

Chloe doubted that Ambrose had betrayed his first wife, even when he was young. And age would not stop an unfaithful man until he became too decrepit to do any more damage. It was a sad fact of life that many women had to accept.

“But Alexander says he loves me.”

“And no doubt he does,” said Mrs. Malone. “You don’t know for certain that the letters were from him. It’s just gossip.”

“But everyone else thinks they’re from him.”

“And what if they do? Your best recourse is to hold your head up and act with grace. Then if they are correct, you can keep everyone’s respect. And if they are wrong and the letters are from someone else, it will seem as if you knew all along that it wasn’t your husband.”

Beatrice sniffed and blew her nose delicately into a handkerchief and then wadded the damp thing in her fist. “I think they are from him,” she said, barely audible. “I … suspected. I saw them together, laughing. She came over often, sometimes a few times a week, to see Dora or me, but she would eventually find him, or he would find her, and they’d talk and laugh over things.”

Mrs. Malone’s face darkened. “Well, that’s not real proof. Alexander laughs with many people, men and women.”

“Oh Mother. How can I keep from it happening again?”

“If I knew the answer to that, my poppet, I’d tell you in a heartbeat. But sometimes the only way a man can find to reinvent himself is to see a new man reflected in a different woman’s eyes.”

“You said that before.”

“Because it is true. Just watch. Once Dora is married, I would bet you’ll hear a rumor or two. And she’ll ignore the rumors, just as I did and just as you will do.”

“But I married for love. Dora has entrapped Mr. Baxter with her wiles and by saying cruel things about other women. Neither of them are entering into the arrangement with an expectation of his fidelity.”

Ah, so the Aynesworth family was aware of Mr. Baxter’s character. Chloe was relieved that she was not tasked with revealing it to them.

“We really are fortunate, the three of us,” Mrs. Malone said, looking to Chloe and then to her daughter. “We are secure and both of your husbands are kind to you. If you hope for perfection, you will be miserable all of your days. Many women have cruel husbands. Vicious husbands. Gamblers who leave them in cruel financial straits. And those men spend time with other women on top of that.” Mrs. Malone was warming to the topic. “The best you can realistically hope for is security and respect. Alexander respects you, and you are taken care of. A true gentleman won’t flaunt his indiscretions and he would never be deliberately cruel.”

Beatrice wiped her eyes and fixed a steely gaze on a painting on the wall. A flicker of something passed in her face, just for a moment, and then it was gone. Then her face was again a mask of pain and she dabbed the corners of her eyes. She rose and smoothed her dress.

“I’m going to freshen up,” she said.

“You do that,” said her mother. “It will make you feel better.”

Beatrice passed through a side door, the one on the opposite side from Alexander’s room. Chloe saw her approach a mirrored vanity and heard the splash of water in the basin. How fortunate she was that Ambrose was nothing like those other men. He never would have caused her so much pain. And even if he could have been certain that she would have remained ignorant, it was simply not in his internal makeup to do such things.

Mrs. Malone heaved a heavy sigh. “I knew the day was coming. I knew before they were married that Alexander might do this. And though Beatrice isn’t a young girl, she still holds some girlish notions. I suppose it was time for her to grow up and learn the way things are.”

“She said she suspected something before. Do you think she knew?” Chloe recalled with a chill the look on Beatrice’s face.

“I do not know. If she knew, she didn’t speak to me about it. But sometimes we suspect things, deep in the back of our minds and we don’t recognize them until they come true.” Mrs. Malone’s hands clenched in her lap. “As a Christian woman, I should not say this, but perhaps Mrs. Granger’s death wasn’t all bad. She is no longer around to disrupt the household any longer. She was so charming and lovely, even if she was a little older. Men can’t help themselves around a woman like that. And for her to come over, accept Bea’s hospitality, and then lure her husband away. It’s terrible. Simply revolting.”

Chloe was not tempted to defend her friend. If Camille had tempted Alexander, then she was not the person Chloe had thought her to be. But then, so much of Camille’s life had been a shock to her. Days ago, Mrs. Malone had been correct in her assessment that Chloe had not known Camille Granger at all.