The London home of Sir Reginald Galton-Chadbourne was an ancient, rambling pile called Seven Oaks. It had quite obviously been built in stages; its two wings were done in completely different styles than the gray stone central section from which they protruded at an obtuse angle. Even though it was still afternoon, the trees (elms, not oaks, for whatever reason) threw long shadows that somehow highlighted rather than obscured the cracked walls, sagging eaves, and dilapidated shingles. The whole thing had an air of crumbling degeneracy, of the weight of history dragging down the present.
"I didn't realize that we'd be protecting the House of Usher," Ruby said as they followed the walk to a door in a curving wall in the central section. "Do you think they've got bodies buried in the cellar?"
"Maybe that's where they hide the ruby, buried in a crypt like under the pyramids. Come to think of it, nobody's ever learned exactly how Sir Reginald got his hands on the Star of the Tsang in the first place. Maybe he robbed a tomb or stole it out of the eye of an idol."
"Ooh, like in The Moonstone?"
"Maybe."
"Yang is going to be sorry that she missed this."
"Huh? Why?"
"Who do you think read me all those mystery and Gothic stories when I was younger? We started when I was really little with fairy tales and things like that."
"I guess 'Little Red Riding Hood' really stuck with you, then?"
"Very funny," Ruby snarked. "But as I was saying, one year she read Dickens's A Christmas Carol and I really liked the spooky atmosphere and the ghostly parts, so she started reading me other things like that. And, of course, I still read them myself."
"Well, she had her chance," Jaune said, "but she didn't want to come along, so she'll just have to miss the creepy architecture."
"Jaune..." Ruby began, not quite sure what she should say. Jaune was her friend, but Yang was her sister, and in all honesty, she didn't think either one of them was completely in the right. "She didn't mean anything personal by it."
"How else am I supposed to take it? I ask a friend for help with something that actually is her job, and she not only turns me down flat, but laughs at me in the process!"
"She didn't mean it like that," Ruby protested.
"It sounded like it to me," he sighed. Then he brightened and said, "But she didn't get angry over you coming along. And I'm glad to have you here."
"Hey, what are friends for? Besides, the chance to go up against a real Gentleman Thief is exciting!"
"Well, I'm still grateful to have your help," he said decisively, then stepped up to the door. It was solid and narrow, like something from a medieval fortress designed to choke off the number of invaders that could enter at any one time. A heavy iron ring hung in a lion's mouth as a knocker, and he pounded it three times against the door. They waited nearly a minute, but just as he was reaching for the ring again it was jerked away from his fingers as the door swung open on creaking, rusty hinges.
"May I help you?"
The maid was barely a presence, plain-faced with mouse-brown hair.
"I'm Inspector Jaune Arc of the Metropolitan Police. I believe Sir Reginald is expecting us?"
He showed her his warrant card, though it was likely redundant with the two uniformed bobbies behind him.
"Oh! Yes, sir, please come in."
She took the little group down a short, narrow stone hall that had slits in the ceiling, no doubt through which arrows could be shot or boiling oil poured.
"Too bad the Gentleman isn't likely to use the front door," Jaune murmured, pointing at the ceiling. Ruby grinned and rolled her eyes, understanding the reference at once. She knew more about weapons and military history than most of Jaune's own family, which was not at all an easy standard to meet.
"Be nice, Jaune. Besides, just think how it'll feel to march the notorious Phantom Gentleman in irons into prison."
"You've got that right, miss," Constable Burns spoke up. He was a tall man with a neatly cut dark beard and moustache; the other constable, Heyman, was shorter with a mop of hair not unlike Jaune's but dark and a little more puffy. "I'm going to be glad to get my hands on that guy."
The maid handed them off to a dour, elderly footman, who took them through a winding series of halls, up and down short, irregular flights of stairs, and into the north wing of the mansion. Seven Oaks, Jaune was rapidly realizing, was a mazework, as irregular on the inside as was its exterior.
His spirits started to brighten. Just getting around inside the building from his point of entry to the jewel's location would prove a challenge for the thief, to say nothing of making an escape with the police in pursuit.
The footman opened the door into a great, vaulted room whose steeply canted ceiling was at least thirty feet above the floor. Wan illumination from a tiny skylight filtered down to join that cast by guttering flames in candle-sconces and candelabra, the sum of it entirely insufficient to light the entire chamber. The room seemed to be a kind of library; at least, there were a number of shelves and additional books lay here and there on tables and the floor. That floor was covered in exotic but threadbare Persian carpeting, the boards beneath showing through in more than one place.
"Sir Reginald, it is Inspector Arc from the police and his escort," the footman called into the gloom.
"Good, good; send him over, Haskell, that will be all."
"Yes, sir." The footman withdrew, leaving Jaune, Ruby, and the constables to cross the room, their steps echoing dully whenever they fell on the floorboards. As they got about halfway, there came a hideous creaking sound, the bitter scrape of metal on metal, and a figure emerged from a patch of shadow.
Sir Reginald Galton-Chadbourne, Jaune knew, was only forty-six, but he could easily have passed for thirty years older. His entire frame was withered and shrunken, his complexion pasty and sallow, his hair thin and gossamer-fine, flowing around his skull like a halo. He was seated in a bath-chair, a blanket across his lap; the bare metal frame and the wheels' spokes gave the impression that he'd been locked into some kind of cage-like torture device. Jaune could barely suppress a shudder; he was not particularly sensitive to atmospheres, but this place, this man, they could have gotten to a block of wood.
"Inspector Arc," Sir Reginald said, "I knew your father at Cambridge. A good man, then. We all knew he would rise in his profession." The man's voice was a wheezing, rheum-choked thing that barely sounded human.
"I'm sure he'd be happy to hear that you remembered him, Sir Reginald," he tried to keep his answer as normal as possible.
"Maybe not so much, if he thought I meant to tell you some of the pranks he got up to!" their host cackled. His face lost its smile in an instant, and he turned his fever-bright eyes on Ruby. "Now, who's this young lady?"
"Miss Ruby Rose, Sir Reginald."
He looked her up and down, taking in her short black dress, trimmed in red, that ended above the knee, worn over tights; her hooded scarlet cloak; and sturdy boots.
"Hunh. That's a combat skirt, isn't it?"
Ruby brightened.
"You recognized it?" The flared hem allowed for freedom of leg movement while the tights, not unlike a circus performer's, preserved modesty.
"Ladies who go some of the places I've been, they like to be able to take care of themselves." His expression soured, perhaps recalling that disastrous last expedition. When he spoke up again, he verified that impression.
"Fifteen years ago, Inspector, I was a healthy, vital, vigorous man with his whole life ahead of him. That expedition to the Tsang Plateau cost me friends, fortune, health...sometimes, I think it stole my soul. People think that when the Adventure Wind went down that it was a tragedy, but in point of fact it was a blessing in disguise for those that died. Their ends were clean and quick, not like..."
He shuddered, and Jaune recalled the story that three men had survived the airship crash but only two the return trip. The nature of that third man's end had not been in any of the stories he'd read, and Sir Reginald was supposed to have retained no coherent memory.
Now, Jaune wondered about that.
"There was only one thing of worth that came out of that accursed expedition. The Star of the Tsang isn't just a ruby; it is the only thing left that gives the rest of my life any meaning. In its way, it is me now, Mr. Arc. That is why I cannot bear to have it shut up in a bank vault away from here, and why I cannot bear to think of its loss." He reached out, and in a convulsive movement clutched at Jaune's sleeve. "Do not let it be taken!"
"That's why we're here, Sir Reginald," he said with more confidence than he felt. "Now, can you show me where the Star is kept?"
"Yes, yes, of course. Just let me ring for my manservant."
"I can push you, if you like," Jaune offered, figuring that way they wouldn't have to wait for the man to arrive. Sir Reginald mulled it over for a couple of seconds before nodding.
"Good, good, get right to work. Very well, you can assist me."
Pushing the chair wasn't as easy as it looked, but Jaune actually had practice at it, from when he'd assisted his grandmother on occasion. Following their host's direction, they made their way out of the library through halls that creaked as loudly as the chair wheels. On one occasion, they had to ascend a cramped staircase, Jaune carrying Sir Reginald while Burns wrestled the bath-chair up in his wake. At the last they came into a good-sized room that was half study, half museum, decorated with artifacts of African and Asian origin alike. It was a complete change from the House of Usher effect that seemed to permeate the rest of the house and yet, it seemed as if here, too, there was an air of sorrow. Though the exhibits were kept clean and dusted, Jaune somehow thought of them as discarded, forgotten, past glories cast aside.
From what Sir Reginald had said, that might well be the literal truth. His old life didn't seem to mean much to him any more.
The room wasn't empty as Jaune had expected, though. With his back to one wall, just in front of a display of crossed spears over a brightly painted wooden shield was a big man in footman's livery, broader across the shoulders than either Jaune or Burns and just as tall.
"Newton, this is Inspector Arc and his constables, and Miss Ruby Rose," Sir Reginald said. "They have come to assist in guarding the Star and catching the miscreant who threatens it. Perhaps Miss Rose's name is a good omen, a Ruby to protect a ruby?"
"Yes, sir," Newton said, his voice flat.
"From the moment I received the threat, I've had a guard posted here at all times. Newton, if you would show the Inspector?"
"Yes, sir."
He stepped away from the wall, then turned, removed the spears from their hooks, and took down the shield. He then pushed up one of the hooks and the other down, and a section of paneling came loose with a click. He swung it out to reveal the cold steel face of a safe.
"This safe requires both a key and a combination," Sir Reginald explained. "You'll forgive me if I do not open it to show you."
"Aw," Ruby said.
"No, no, that's all right," Jaune said. "I half expect that if you did, the Gentleman would crash through a window and grab the ruby."
"There aren't any windows in this room, sir."
"It was a figure of speech, Heyman. Though knowing him, it's entirely possible he'd find a way."
"I can't argue with that."
Jaune looked around the room.
"Where does that door lead to?" he asked, pointing across the room.
"Another hall," Sir Reginald said. "As you no doubt appreciate, Seven Oaks is a bit of a maze."
"So there's two ways into this room, and from different parts of the house," Jaune summed up. "That means there's no checkpoint between the Gentleman's point of entry and this room where we could set a trap. There'll have to be a guard here, then. Burns, Heyman, you two will stay here tonight, and I think that Newton should as well."
"I insist upon it," Sir Reginald said. "I encourage your efforts, but I will do whatever I can, as well, to protect my interests."
"The more manpower the better," Ruby said brightly.
"But," Jaune added, "I think that any servants who aren't capable guards should stay in their rooms, or better yet leave the building entirely for the night. I don't want civilian bystanders running around the house where they might be attacked, even if the extra eyes might come in handy."
Sir Reginald's eyebrows rose, but he only said, "Very well; I'll give the order."
"What about the two of us, Jaune?" Ruby asked. "What are we going to do?"
"You and I are going to be on patrol. We'll roam, keeping watch on likely avenues of entry so we can raise an alarm and cut him off if we spot him. Like a watchman's rounds, except that I don't think we should follow any kind of regular route. If he was able to observe us somehow, he could figure out the pattern and break in and out while we were off at the other end of the house."
"Are you sure you want to send the other servants away? They could help keep more of the house under watch."
Jaune shook his head.
"No, we can't risk them getting hurt, not the ones who can't protect themselves. Unless there's something like a watchtower, someplace they could stay in a group as lookouts and sound an alarm if they saw anything suspicious?" He directed that last question at Sir Reginald, but the ailing knight demurred.
"I'm afraid not; there's no such orderly scheme of protection for this house."
"It is kind of a labyrinth, isn't it?"
"I like it," Ruby said. "You can really feel the history in a place like this. Every twisting hall or odd staircase was left behind by some story of the past."
"Bah!" Sir Reginald cried. "The past is nothing but a decaying, dead thing. What did it all matter, all the families of Seven Oaks? It won't be many years before I pass on, and then it will all be over, and the Galton-Chadbourne legacy becomes nothing but a footnote in some gazetteer and a tale to be dug up by some tomb-raider a millennium from now. No! The only thing that matters is the here and now, and that means protecting the Star of the Tsang from this Phantom Gentleman!"
His vehemence made them all recoil slightly in shock, even the statue-like Newton.
"W-well," Jaune stammered into the silence, "I think that Ruby and I should spend the afternoon getting to know our way around the twists and turns of this place. That way, we'll be ready to react when the Gentleman makes his appearance." Given his usual luck, if he tried to do the job without advance planning, the first time he reacted to an alarm he'd end up so lost that not only would he come nowhere near catching the thief, but they'd have to send search parties to recover him.
"I'll have my butler, Waxford, escort you. He's been in service here since before I was born, and will know whatever is necessary." He paused, then added, "I'm putting my faith in you, Inspector. Don't let me down."
Jaune felt his stomach clench involuntarily at those words. People who said things like that to him so often came to have cause to regret it.
~X X X~
Waxford lived up to his name, Ruby decided. The tall, thin man had sort of a jaundiced, pasty complexion, but more than that he never seemed to change expression, to smile, to frown, or to show any reaction at all, not even a twitch at the corner of his mouth when Jaune stumbled over a staircase that had all of its steps of different heights and had to grab the bannister to keep from doing a classic face-plant.
It was something shared by all of the servants they'd met so far, from the maid to Newton to the manservant who'd come to assist Sir Reginald while they were waiting. None of them seemed to show any kind of real emotion or human feeling, like it had all been washed out of them, drained away the way that Sir Reginald's health and vigor seemed to be.
Honestly, it was kind of creepy.
Yang would probably have said that this was what happened to a house where someone like Sir Reginald was in charge. The things he'd said to Jaune, for example—how could anyone be happy in a house where the owner had no family, no future, and was just waiting to die? What would happen to the servants, then? They'd be out of work, out of a home, without even anyone to write them a testimonial. Had Sir Reginald properly provided for them in his will?
I liked it better when I was thinking about family curses, Ruby thought. Curses and Gothic tragedy were romantic; these real-world concerns were just miserable.
It was kind of ironic: Poe had described the "House of Usher" as being like that, depressing without the shuddering thrill of romance, and of course utterly failed to convey that to the reader because the story held all that its setting lacked. But being in a place like that herself for the first time in her life, Ruby understood it at once.
"So, how many of the servants are also employed as guards, Waxford?" Jaune asked. Sir Reginald had repeated Jaune's instructions about keeping most of the servants out of the way of potential trouble when he'd summoned the butler to act as guide.
"Four in all, Inspector. Newton and Edwin, the footmen, actually were hired with that purpose in mind. Also Gibson, one of the grooms, and Wallace, the gardener's assistant, are able-bodied men. In addition to myself, of course."
Ruby was a little disappointed that he hadn't named any of the female servants, though she supposed that was only to be expected.
"Yourself, Waxford?"
"Of course," he said stiffly, showing more emotion than he had in the past quarter-hour combined. "Seven Oaks is my home. I recognize that at my age I am ill-suited for a hand-to-hand encounter with a violent rogue, but I certainly will remain on watch."
"I can't ask that of you."
"It was not a matter of your request, and you do not have the authority to forbid me."
Ruby wished he hadn't said that; Jaune's pride had been hurt enough by the circumstances of this case without getting put in his place by a butler.
"You don't want the servants to fight anyone, though, do you, Jaune?" she tried to soften the blow. "So another pair of eyes would be good, right?"
"Then what would our duties be?" Waxford asked.
"Just like you said, to keep watch," Jaune exclaimed. "This house is a big and confusing place, with many ways that a thief could get inside. But if we can cover enough of the key points, when he makes his attempt, then no matter what he does someone can sound an alarm and Ruby and I can come at once to assist him."
"I see."
"I presume there are bell-pulls throughout the house?"
"Of course. They ring in the servants' quarters."
"Then if the watchers are all in rooms with bell-pulls, they can ring, and we can go there at once, if Ruby and I wait in the servants' quarters."
"Except that it could take several minutes to get there, given how much of a maze this house is," Ruby said. "But it's probably the best way. Oh! But what if they see the Gentleman or his people, but not where they are, like if they see them approaching the house out a window?"
"Hm, maybe we could work out a system of rings? Like, one ring is a general alarm, two means 'come here now,' that sort of thing?"
"We'd better make one ring 'come now,' since we don't want anyone trying to ring a bell several times while the Gentleman is attacking them."
"That's a good point."
"And that way, if they were cut off in the middle, then the right message would still get through."
"Okay, we'll go with that, then. Waxford, can you suggest some places where people can keep watch from and have easy access to a bell-pull for signaling?"
He nodded gravely.
"Of course, sir."
"Good!" Jaune couldn't help but grin. "Just maybe, this time the Phantom Gentleman has slipped up. Even the slipperiest rat can't hide away in a warren that isn't his own."
"There's one thing that I don't understand, though," Ruby said.
"Ahh, don't say that, Ruby, those 'one things' are always bad news. Can't you just agree that we've got him where we want him at last?"
"Nope."
"...Dammit. All right, what am I missing?"
"Well, it's just that the Phantom Gentleman picks his targets in advance, but you only know it is a target because of the challenges he made to the owner, the police, and the press. So wouldn't he have had all the time he wanted to plan the crime in advance, including, what's the phrase they use, 'casing the crib'?"
Jaune sagged, then brightened.
"Even so, if we are being set up in the Gentleman's trap, there's one thing he can't be ready for no matter how much he's planned."
"What's that?"
"You."
It wasn't really in her nature, but Ruby still felt her cheeks go pink at the praise. After all, she was here in place of her sister, so she could only hope that she'd be able to fill those bootprints.
~X X X~
A/N: A "bath-chair" is an old name for a wheelchair. Antique models of them never fail to creep my wife out.