The Spiritglass Charade (Stoker & Holmes 2)

Miss Holmes

A Sandwich Purloined

Upon returning to my home after the morning’s interview with Miss Ashton, I settled into my chair in the library to think . . . and to knit. The rhythmic clicking and rote, familiar movements of wrapping yarn and sliding needles was my favorite way to relax and allow my thoughts to wander.

Uncle Sherlock played the violin when he was contemplating the intricacies of a case. My father whittled chess pieces. Thanks to my mother’s influence, I knitted.

However, I’d hardly managed an arm’s length of hand-knitting when Mrs. Raskill interrupted me. She was holding a dark wool coat with a badge on it. “Land o’ stars, where’d you come upon this, Miss Mina? It looks like a real police badge.”

Drat. I’d forgotten about Grayling’s coat. “I have to return that today.” I wasn’t looking forward to seeing the blasted Scot again, but at least it would give me the opportunity to find out if he’d made any progress on the Yingling case—which could help in my contemplation.

Still, I couldn’t dismiss the memories of him tearing my corset away and calling me a bat-headed woman—which infuriated and mortified me in turn.

“Well, I’ve brushed it all out and shined up the badge anyway.” Mrs. Raskill ducked back out. “There was a loose button I sewed, and fixed the bit of a droop to the hem too. Coat’s several years old, but it’s some wear left in it.”

“That was very kind,” I called toward the closing door. “Thank you.”

The clock on the mantel cranked to life, its cogs and gears spinning with alacrity as it announced the noon hour. If I was going to finish the preparations for tonight’s excursion to Miss Ashton’s bedchamber as well as make a visit to the Met, I must be on my way.

A short time later, I walked into the station of the Metropolitan Police, also known as Scotland Yard. A new building was currently being constructed, but as I well knew, the Criminal Investigation Department was still housed here. It was a matter of moments before I found myself approaching the office assigned to Inspector Grayling and his partner, Inspector Luckworth.

I’m certain one could understand my slight hesitation before announcing myself at the open door. I might even have changed my mind and left the coat with one of the clerks at the front of the office if not for the sudden familiar yip.

Drat. Angus.

The canine creature burst out of the office, leash trailing, ears flopping, mechanized leg clattering. He barked up at me, dancing around excitedly, trouncing my hems and shoes and pawing at my skirt. As it was one of my favorites (a cobalt-blue overskirt with a complementary black, blue, and maroon bodice, trimmed with jet beads and tiny pearls), I pushed him away in dismay. Yet I found it difficult to resist the big brown eyes and sloppy, happy tongue of the energetic pup. Despite my misgivings, I bent to pet him.

“Nice boy.” I neatly avoided his enthusiastic licking and frantic paws. “Good boy.” Now that I was looking at him in the full light, I could see his leg had been amputated at the middle joint. The mechanized limb replaced the lower part of his leg, but a cogged contraption enclosed and protected the upper part where it fit onto his haunch. I could hardly believe the pup had healed so quickly in a week’s time.

“Miss Holmes.”

Angus’s master stood in the doorway. The expression on his face was a cross between chagrin and surprise.

“Good afternoon, Inspector Grayling,” I said crisply, straightening up. “I’ve come to return your coat.” I thrust the article of clothing at him, feeling awkward and uncertain.

He cleared his throat and accepted the garment. “Thank you.” His cheeks appeared slightly ruddy as his attention swept over me.

I did the same to him, noting that he’d recently changed shaving lotion scents, ridden his steamcycle this morning in lieu of the Underground, and had purchased new shoes within the last day or two. He’d also had his thick auburn hair trimmed.

“It’s brushed and the badge polished. And the button fixed as well. That’s very thoughtful of you, Miss Holmes.” He hung the coat on a hook inside the door.

“I’ll pass on your gratitude to Mrs. Raskill. It was her doing,” I confessed. “I see Angus has been availing himself of your hospitality by gnawing on your footwear.”

“Oh, aye. The little menace seems to prefer the taste of my leather boots to the beef bones I give him to chew. I’ve had to buy two new pairs since the little boyo took over my house.” Despite his words, Grayling seemed unaware when the menace in question flopped on the ground and began to sharpen his puppy teeth on the edge of his new boots.

“Erm . . . Inspector.” I gestured to the little devil.

“Angus, nay there.” He reached down to snatch up the dog. Ears flopped and a tongue swiped out, catching Grayling along his firm, square chin. “Little beastie.”

“I’ve also come to see if you’ve made any progress in the investigation of Mrs. Yingling’s murder.” I pulled my attention from the dog and his enthusiastic affection for his master. Poor creature had no idea how misguided he was.

“Ah, the ulterior motive is revealed.” Grayling set Angus back down. “Well, you might as well come in.”

I stepped over the threshold into the office. It was immediately clear which workspace was Grayling’s and which belonged to Inspector Luckworth. The latter was absent at the moment, but his desk was obvious, for it showcased cluttered stacks of papers, broken pencils and their shavings, a handheld magnifying glass, notepads, two cups, and, most telling of all, the childish drawing of a stick figure wearing a too-large badge and a too-small hat.

Grayling’s work area was just as strewn with paper piles, but on his desk was an automated Ink-Stipper for refilling writing implements, the newest model of Mr. Kodak’s camera, a stack of books (one of which I recognized as the excellent Gray’s Anatomy), and a small wooden case that likely contained some sort of gadget. I also noticed an efficient-looking Ocular-Magnifyer, as well as a slick mechanized measuring device I immediately coveted. Next to the desk were a number of photographs tacked onto a wallboard.

Intrigued, I walked over to look at the board and was pleasantly surprised to find a collection of images from none other than Mrs. Yingling’s rooms. Aside from the photographs, Grayling had included sketches of the room layout, as well as a draft of the position in which the body had been found. There was also a picture of what appeared to be a fingerprint.