Perversion (Asylum for the Mechanically Insane Book 3) Page 4

He still stared, mouth agape.

  She sighed. “Oh dear.” Reaching out, she grabbed him by the front of his coat and tugged him inside. “I hate to be forward, but it’s a bit chilly this morning and you’re letting all the warm air out.”

  She shut the door as he stood there, looking bewildered and very large in her small cottage hall.

  “You’re Mrs. Howell?”

  “Yes, I am.” She walked into the kitchen and checked the scones in the oven. “Have you had breakfast?”

  “What?”

  “Good lord. Inspector Burke, I think you said? Retired, I hope?” She lifted an eyebrow to punctuate the sarcasm.

  He seemed to mentally shake himself. “I do apologize, ma’am. I was led to expect an elderly and august lady with an extensive knowledge of all things ancient. You’re not…um…you’re…” He stuttered to a standstill.

  She snickered. “Well, you’re close, I suppose. I’m not elderly yet, of course, but I will be one day. August? Never. Not if I can help it. But yes, I do have a pretty comprehensive grasp of ancient things.” She pulled a dishcloth from a hook and removed her pan from the oven. “Mmm. Perfect.”

  “Those smell really good.” He breathed in. “Really, really good.”

  “I use just a touch of cinnamon. And fresh eggs, of course. Thanks to Socks and Garters.” She nodded to the window over the sink.

  He blinked.

  “My chickens.” She laughed. “Come and sit down, Inspector. Take your coat off, have a cup of tea and try the scones. Then tell me what brings you to Applewood Cottage.”

  She watched him as he obeyed. He was very tall and solid, muscular probably, so not an idle man. But his eyes were clear and observant—when he wasn’t in a minor state of shock—and Charlotte would have bet good money he excelled at his job.

  She also had a feeling he was using these brief moments to assemble his story. She wondered what had really brought him to her front doorstep.

  And how long it would take her to get it out of him. The thought made her smile as she put the tea things on the table and snugged the cozy over the pot.

  “There. Now let’s give it a few minutes to steep and it will be just right.” She patted it affectionately and saw the beginnings of a smile curve his handsome mouth.

  Good. And so we begin.

  Adding a pot of butter to the table, she threw out her opening gambit in what she hoped was about to be an interesting game of verbal chess.

  “Are you looking for some information on ancient artifacts, Inspector?”

  He leaned back a little and watched her. “In a way, yes, I am.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “The Fieldings over at Chase Park. Do you remember them? I made my interest known and they kindly pointed me in your direction.” He smiled then. “You come with high recommendations—if inaccurate descriptions.”

  “You must have spoken to the young Fieldings, then.” She paused. “I heard the terrible news about Miranda’s disappearance, not so long ago. So sad. It must have devastated the family.”

  “It was why I began my residence here, actually.” His face was grim. “I do not, as others do, subscribe to the commonly-held belief that she absconded with a lover. Everything I’ve learned tells me she would not behave thus.”

  Charlotte nodded. “I didn’t know her well, but I tend to agree. Which only leaves one dreadful conclusion.”

  His gaze lifted and met hers, a look of anguish mixed with anger. “I am afraid you are probably right. And the lack of any useful evidence or information is extremely frustrating.”

  “Portia must be beside herself.”

  His quick snort was a giveaway. She realized that he knew Portia, and quite well.

  “I would imagine so, yes.”

  “How is the dear girl? Such a handful when I knew her. Too smart for her own good and stuck in a family which regards daughters as mere ornaments.”

  “She’s no ornament,” he chuckled. Then caught himself up. “But that’s neither here nor there. I came to ask your advice as an antiquarian. I understand you’ve been on several archaeological digs in the past?”

  His opening move after softening her up. A question.

  “Indeed I have.” She removed the tea cozy and swirled the pot. “Milk? Sugar?”

  “Just milk, please.” He pushed a cup and saucer nearer. “And at least three of those scones.”

  She nodded. “Help yourself.”

  As he applied butter liberally to a still steaming scone, she decided to play the generally vague card. “I visited several sites being explored in Egypt, of course. One has to really, doesn’t one?”

  “Mmm.”

  “I learned a lot there. But it wasn’t until I came home that I realized so many of the same concepts and techniques could be applied right here in the fields of England.”

  “Mmm.”

  The man was polite. But since he had barely paused for breath between scones, conversation was presently impossible.

  She smiled at the silent compliment to her cooking. It had been a long time since a man had appreciated her culinary skills. Or anything else, for that matter. But that was beside the point. “I managed to work my way into the Wroxeter dig.”

  That stopped him and he swallowed, looking at her with curiosity. “The Roman city? Somewhere in Wales? Near Wales? I remember reading about it.”

  She smiled. “Yes, that one. Shropshire. The excavation of Viroconium. It was very exciting. And from then on, I made it a point to learn all I could. I asked questions, I read books and I asked more questions. Then I actually dared to write a small treatise for those who might be interested in what lay beneath their own backyards. And suddenly…” she spread her hands wide, “I was some kind of household name in the antiquarian community.”

  “Which is why I’m here.” He eyed the scones that were left, and then shook his head. “I need to know about…something I found while digging up my garden.” He pursed his lips in thought. ”It’s small, but I think it might be the blade from a very old weapon perhaps. About this long…” His hands measured air above the scone crumbs. The gesture was quite vague, and she recognized a pretense when she saw one.

  Taking another sip of tea, Charlotte replaced her cup quietly on the saucer. Then she folded her hands and stared across the table at him.

  “That, Inspector Burke, is a complete and utter lie. I would like you to stop prevaricating and making idle chit-chat, and instead tell me why you’re really here.”

  She had him cold.

  Burke thanked his lucky stars he didn’t have a mouthful of those delicious scones, because he would have choked to death for certain. How someone so delicate and feminine could have surmised his little artifice right off the bat and called him on it, was unfathomable.

  He was uncomfortably aware his jaw was hanging open and he shut it with a snap. “Well. That was…unexpected.”

  “I am not an impressionable young miss. Nor an idiot.” She smiled, taking the sting of reprimand out of her words. “You are an Inspector, probably under the auspices of Lord Southfield, who is also not an idiot and wouldn’t set you up in your current situation unless he had a damned good reason.”

  “You are well informed.” He leaned back in his chair, watching her face, her eyes so very blue, and right now nailing him with a look that seemed to rip his thoughts from his head and out of his ears.

  “This isn’t London, Mr. Burke. Although I’m no gossip, I do run my usual errands in Little Harbury. One can’t help but collect various pieces of information. Even when shopping for a loaf of bread.”

  He nodded. She was absolutely right. “I see that I have seriously underestimated you, and for that I apologize.”

  “Accepted.” Calmly she poured herself more tea and slid the pot across the table to him. “So. Cut line, Inspector. I suspect this might be about Miranda Fielding?”

  He bought himself a little time with the ritual of pouring the rich liquid and stirring in the milk un
til it was to his satisfaction. Then he sipped.

  She waited, patiently, calm, her attention on him. She really was a quite amazing woman, he realized, and she made an extraordinary cup of tea. But he wasn’t sure enough of her to tell her the entire truth. Besides, he also wasn’t sure she’d believe it.

  “In some ways, you are correct.” He took a breath and folded his hands on the table. “I need some sort of an excuse to spend time in a certain area of Harbury Hall. I have permission from Lady Harbury, so it’s not as if I’m committing any sort of crime.”

  “Why?”

  Of course she would ask the logical question. “I have some suspicions. Some very profound concerns about that area.”

  She snorted inelegantly and he found himself wanting to chuckle at the incongruous sound. “I have some bloody awful suspicions about Harbury as a whole. Rumors abound, as I’m sure you know. As the locals tell it, Randall Harbury is mad as a disfigured hatter and Alwynne strips, rapes and eats any eligible man in her orbit.” She leaned down and glanced beneath the table. “Perhaps you should show me your shins. In case there are gnaw marks…” She popped back up with a tiny giggle. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

  He waved her apology aside. “I’ll show you my shins any time you like, Mrs. Howell. “ Whoa. Where did that come from? He hurriedly picked up the thread of the conversation. “But of far more vital import is that I find some reason to dig up a portion of the hill not too far away from the rear of Harbury Hall. It’s a slope, grassed over now, so not a difficult environment for an excavation.”

  “How deep?” She was serious now, her eyes still vivid but thoughtful, considering his every word.

  “Probably no more than two or three feet, but the area would need to be larger than our focus, so as to deflect unwanted attention.”

  She pondered his explanation. “You’re looking for a distraction so you can dig a hole.”

  He blinked. “Essentially yes.”

  She took a breath. “Are you expecting to find the remains of Miranda Fielding?”

  He frowned. “God no. At least I hope not.”

  “Then…” She spread her hands wide, the question clear.

  “Would you understand if I told you that I cannot answer at this time?”

  “I would. Mind you, I wouldn’t like it.”

  “Forgive me. There are some things that must remain unsaid for now.”

  She pursed her lips. Her rather nice, full, ripe lips. “In that case, I reserve the right to demand the entire story after you’re finished.” She looked determined. “You will agree that I am entitled to hear it, won’t you?”

  He sighed. He’d known the minute he laid eyes on her that she would be trouble. She was too alive, too intelligent and too much of everything he found appealing in a woman. He was completely rolled up, foot and guns, by this tiny volcano.

  “Yes. I agree.”

  “Excellent.” She stood and pulled off the huge apron, revealing a neat waist and an attractive light colored wool gown. Straightening her lace cap, she turned to the door. “Well, Inspector Burke, you’ve come to the right person for your distraction.” She opened the door. “Would you like to come and meet Mr. Chomper?”

  *~~*~~*

  “Lady Alwynne. Please come in.”

  Sinjun Somerly bowed deeply as the unexpected guest swept into the laboratory.

  “I hope I’m not disturbing your experiments, Viscount Somerly?”

  “Of course not. Eldon and I are always happy to receive you. Today we’re not working on any dangerous vapors, so you are welcome to stay as long as you’d like.”

  Eldon Granville sat at a bench, where a small flame licked at the base of a glass jar and something bubbled in the tubing above it. “Indeed, my Lady. A pleasure to see you looking so well.”

  She smiled at them. “Thanks to you both for that, of course. As always.” She wandered past a shelf that was almost a work of art in its array of colors and glass containers. “Do you have everything you need to continue production of my regeneration vapors?”

  She thought she detected a quick glance exchanged by the two young men, but their responses were comfortingly routine.

  “Yes indeed.” Granville indicated at the container “cooking” over his small burner. “This is the bog myrtle we’re condensing. A plentiful plant, thank goodness, as are the other constituents.”

  “Hmm.” She strolled on. “Henbane, ginger, cloves—oh I can taste them—“ she threw a quick smile at her hosts. “Belladonna. Deadly nightshade, isn’t it?”

  Sinjun nodded. “In its natural form. And before you ask, yes, it lives up to its name. But we process out the toxins, and after running it through the purification system set up in the lab here, it’s quite harmless. And a vital part of your regeneration vapors.”

  “Our purification system?” She had wondered about that. Not much, given that she was no scientist, but she was aware that nightshade had an accurate reputation as a deadly substance. How was it that she could inhale something containing its vapors and find her entire being enhanced, rather than debilitated?

  Granville looked embarrassed. “Truth to tell, my Lady, we’re not sure why your system does what it does. Both of us have analyzed every component of your vapors down to the tiniest grain. Several times.”

  “Indeed we have. And yet we cannot find an answer as to why the mixture behaves so unusually.”

  Alwynne smiled. “I won’t complain.” She turned and folded her arms across her chest, leaning against a bench. “Gentlemen, humor me, if you will.”

  Their murmured acquiescence was assured, but she was relieved to hear it, nonetheless.

  “I won’t betray any private family secrets, but it is widely known that Lord Harbury, my husband, is not well. And continues to weaken.”

  They looked somber. “You have our sympathies.” Granville lowered his head respectfully.

  She straightened. “I don’t want your sympathies. I want your help.”

  “Anything, my Lady. Ask, and it’s yours.”

  Somerly spoke almost reverently, and Granville nodded his agreement. “Whatever you need. How can we be of service?”

  Alwynne hid her pleasure at their answers. Of course they’d help. They were completely dependent upon Harbury—and thus herself—for their continued support and housing. She had them exactly where she wanted them.

  With confidence bubbling through her veins, she walked to a small seating area and took a well-used armchair, gesturing for the two men to join her on the facing couch.

  They did so, and waited patiently for her to speak.

  “I need your expertise to create something…a vapor or an elixir or something…for Lord Randall.”

  Granville was the first to speak. “What would you like this substance to do, my Lady? Neither Sinjun nor I are proficient in medical matters…” He paused, his face a study in bewilderment.

  “I don’t want a medicine.” She shook her head firmly. “He’s been seen by the best doctors in the country and has been pronounced incurable.”

  “Oh no. I am sorry, Lady Harbury.”

  “The time for sympathy is past, gentlemen. I’m sad to say that my husband is reaching the point of uncontrollable actions. To be blunt, his injuries have created a madness that is now encroaching on his everyday behavior to a degree that…concerns me deeply.” She took a breath. “I need something that will calm his insanity, render his body tranquil and give us all a measure of peace.”

  Silence fell, broken only by the soft bubbling of various pieces of experimental apparatus.

  Finally Somerly spoke. “You want us to drug him.”

  “Yes.”

  “To render him pretty much insensate.”

  “Yes.”

  “My Lady, I…” Granville began, but Alwynne cut him off.

  “Need I remind you both of what happened here? How he behaved? What he did to that poor girl?”

  They looked at each other then, glances of fear and revulsion.r />
  “No, my Lady.” Somerly answered her quietly. “Neither of us will ever erase that from our memories. If there had been any way to stop him…”

  “But there wasn’t.” She squared her shoulders. “I cannot let this go on, gentlemen. I’ve managed to keep his vile behavior away from the gossips thus far, but I cannot guarantee that his next adventure won’t horrify half of Little Harbury. What if he goes after someone well known in this area? In the county? We do have visitors from time to time so it’s not out of the question. Do you have any idea what would happen to the Harbury estate? These laboratories?”

  She paused, letting the reality of the situation sink in.

  “God.” Granville shuddered.

  “Exactly.” She straightened. “What can you do for me?”

  Heedless of protocol, Somerly stood and began to pace. “Time, my Lady. We need some time. We need to procure our supplies, analyze our ingredients and their effects. We’ll need some information about his Lordship’s physique, weight and food consumption and so on…”

  “Anything. Whatever you need is yours.”

  “A question, if I may be permitted…” Granville sounded hesitant. “Have you considered opium? It’s one substance that might well have the required effect…and there may be others…”

  “Indeed I have, Mr. Granville.” Alwynne nodded. These two were certainly aware of the situation. Already they were looking at options. She approved. “I consulted with Mr. Waring, my husband’s private assistant. We both agreed that Randall’s physical condition precludes the use of opium. And I’m sure you know the dispensation is restricted. Here, in Little Harbury, should we ask for such a thing it would be all over the village in five minutes. And given his condition…” She looked down at her hands and then up again. “We cannot afford to have Lord Harbury leave this mortal realm under questionable circumstances, gentlemen. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Absolutely, my Lady.”

  “Of course, Lady Harbury. Of course.”

  “Good.” She stood and straightened her skirts with a practiced twitch of silk. “Any questions you have will be answered. The resources of these laboratories and Harbury itself are yours.”