Chapter Five
The train ride to Glanville was smooth, if a bit winding. The trolley was serving something that resembled tea, although I have come to realize that Americans are all too quick to bestow that title on any warm beverage that isn’t coffee. My unfinished cup of brownish liquid had gone lukewarm by the time the train hissed to a stop, and our reception was equally tepid.
“R. F. Jackaby and companion?” A uniformed officer confronted my employer on the platform.
“That’s me,” Jackaby confirmed. “And this is Abigail Rook.”
I offered my hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Officer . . .”
“Moore,” grunted Officer Moore, not returning the gesture. “I take it you’re the specialists New Fiddleham sent because your commissioner doesn’t think we can do our jobs.” He sniffed. “You won’t find anything we didn’t.”
“We’ve managed to make ourselves useful in the past,” said Jackaby.
Yeah, we’ll see.” The officer gave a halfhearted shrug toward the exit. “Got a patrol wagon waiting. I guess I’m taking you to the professor’s place.” Without any further courtesy, he trudged through the gate, and we followed.
The Hoole house was an imperial-looking building, three stories tall with long, narrow windows and a prim mansard roof. Moore tied off his horse’s reins and stalked up the front walk. A tall woman in a wide straw bonnet watched him from the neighboring garden, her watering can gradually drifting to water the paving stones instead of the foliage.
“Have you caught her yet, officer?” she called to him when he was nearly at the door.
“Please go about your business, ma’am.” He gave a tug on the bellpull and leaned unceremoniously against an ornamental urn on the front porch to wait.
“Caught who, madam?” Jackaby asked the neighbor.
“That Cordelia woman,” she said. “I knew she was bad news. I told Mr. Hoole—rest his soul—I told him that she was no good from the beginning.”
“Cordelia was an unpleasant neighbor?”
“Oh, no. Not at all—she was nothing but sunshine and smiles.” She narrowed her eyes. “That’s how you can tell.”
“Because she was nice to you?”
“All the time. It was very unsettling.”
“I see. And how was she with Professor Hoole?”
“Oh, she doted on that man. She was always flattering and supportive. The perfect wife. Nobody’s the perfect wife. She was the one that told him he should go and take that job in New Fiddleham, even though it meant he would be traveling all the time. Told him it was his chance to make a name for himself.”
“How do you know she said that?”
“Well, she said it with the window open. Not really my fault, is it? Anyway, she said that after the science thing up north was done he could retire and spend time with the family. You see what I mean?”
“Not remotely. I infer you felt she was disingenuous and dangerous, though. Do you think she might have been a rusalka? Possibly a succubus? A siren? Did she ever seem to be all or part avian to you?”
“What?” said the woman
“What?” said Jackaby.
“Go about your business, ma’am,” said Officer Moore. “This is an ongoing investigation. Go on. Thank you.”
The woman eyed all of us with suspicion, but she took her watering can and shuffled off.
Moore gave the bellpull another tug.
“Pardon me, sir,” I asked, “but with the professor and Mrs. Hoole both gone, who are we waiting for?”
“They’ve got a housekeeper,” Moore grunted. “Live-in.” He pounded on the door several times. “Hurry it up, Miss Wick! Police business!”
The door clicked open at last and a small woman with wide, round eyes gestured for us to come in.
“Good afternoon,” I said.
“Show them around like you showed me,” said Moore. Miss Wick looked out of sorts. “The house, woman.” He gestured at the walls around us. “Show them the house.”
She nodded but said nothing as she walked us through each room and up and down stairs. There were small scale replicas of steam engines and half-finished clockwork projects tucked all over, as well as schematics and sketches littering the professor’s office. Aside from these myriad marvelous designs, it could have been any family home. There were no obvious skeletons in the Hoole closets, only linen sheets and neatly folded towels. There was something else, though—some detail that tripped into the back of my mind and hid. The silent tour was finished by the time I had fully worked out what it was.
“Pavel has been here,” Jackaby whispered to me as we returned to the foyer. “I’m sure of it—although his aura has long faded. Some of the professor’s projects are quite keen, but otherwise I’ve not seen anything extraordinary. The general atmosphere of the place is a mix of innocence and secrets, though. Not sure what to make of it. Did you notice anything?”
“Only that someone else seems to be missing,” I said. He raised a meaningful eyebrow. “Diapers are folded neatly in the closet, little wooden blocks have fallen under the sofa . . .”
“Oh!” He nodded. “Yes, I see.”
“Pardon me, officer,” I said, “but did the Hooles have any children?”
“Nope,” Moore answered flatly.
“Curious,” I said.
“Not really. Only married about a year—which you would know if this were your investigation and not ours. All right. That’s it. You’ve seen the whole house. Can I take you back to the train station now, or do you feel like wasting more of my time?”
“Just a moment,” Jackaby said. He turned to Miss Wick. “Before we go, we would like to discuss with you the embarkation of your employer, if you don’t mind.”
Miss Wick nodded uncertainly.
“Could you expound upon the circumstances of the lady’s departure?”
She nodded politely again, but her eyes bespoke total confusion. She did not reply.
“Miss Cordelia’s departure?”
“Ah. Mrs. Cordelia, yes. Mrs. Cordelia is gone.” Miss Wick nodded again.
“She doesn’t speak much English,” Moore said. “Do you, Miss Wick?”
The woman shook her head. “Not much English, no.”
“Polish,” said Moore.
“Hm.” Jackaby looked to me. “How is your Polish, Miss Rook?”
“Nonexistent,” I answered.
Jackaby turned back to the housekeeper. “There was a baby? A child?” He motioned holding an infant, rocking his arms back and forth. “Where is the baby?”
“Przepraszam,” the woman said, looking helplessly to Officer Moore. “Nie rozumiem. I—I don’t understand.”
Jackaby scowled and leaned in very close, gazing into the woman’s eyes. Miss Wick staggered back a step.
“Mrs. Cordelia is gone,” Miss Wick repeated.
“Well, this is no help,” he said, and then brightened. “Just a moment.” Jackaby crossed the hall to the window, which stood ajar to let in the summer breeze. “Hello! Yes—you there. I can see your straw hat just beneath the hedge. What can you tell us about the child?”
Officer Moore and I hurried to join Jackaby at the window, outside which the nosy neighbor had been conveniently trimming an already immaculate bush. She swallowed and glanced around her garden.
“I’m sure it’s none of my business to meddle—” she hedged.
“Please do, madam. You meddling would be greatly appreciated.”
“Well”—she dropped the shears and leaned in—“the baby isn’t Cordelia’s. It came in with that maid, the foreign one. Anybody’s guess who the father is. She is a woman of ill repute, make no mistake. The Hooles hired her on shortly after they got back from their honeymoon. I have no idea why poor Lawrence—rest his soul—why he let that woman into his house. Cordelia was always fraternizing with her, too. Talking—and laughing, even! It’s not how you’re supposed to interact with the help, let alone such a disreputable sort.”
“If the baby is Miss Wick’s, then where is it off to now?” I said. “We’ve been through every room in the house.” I turned back to regard the Hooles’ unassuming housekeeper, but Miss Wick was suddenly nowhere to be seen. “Miss Wick?” I said. Moore and Jackaby joined me in scanning the room. “Miss Wick?”
Officer Moore helped us search the house from top to bottom, but Miss Wick had vanished. “Her aura is stiflingly unremarkable and it’s everywhere in this house,” Jackaby griped as he hunted for a trail. “It’s like searching for hay in a haystack.” Eventually he caught a recent thread of panic and distress in the air, but it led out the back door and off into the bustling Glanville streets. “She’s gone,” he announced.
“Huh,” grunted a baffled Officer Moore. “Miss Wick’s been around for every stage of the investigation. She never gave us any trouble. Her running off like that . . .” He took off his uniform cap and shook his head as he peered up and down the busy lane. “That’s odd.”
“Yes,” said Jackaby. His gray eyes sparkled and his lip began to pull into an involuntary smile in spite of the sudden turn the day had taken. “Yes, it is.”