The Aunt Paradox (Reeves & Worcester Steampunk Mysteries) Read Online Free PDF Page B

was a sensation of movement, but not one in a forward direction, as in a car. It was more of a buffeting as though one were on a boat in a choppy sea.
    I didn’t much care for it.
    “Any idea how long this takes?” I asked.
    “No, sir.”
    Barely a second later, the buffeting stopped and the features of the dressing room — albeit hazy features — coalesced out of the murk. And this dresser had two jewellery boxes on it.
    “Mrs Dean should be here presently, sir. It is imperative that you replace the exact items that she takes.”
    I started sorting through the pile of swag at my feet. Most of the jewellery was identical — the same oriental-looking gold, emerald and diamond necklace. I’m no expert when it comes to jewellery but this one looked pretty expensive. There was a rather fine ruby necklace too — presumably the heirloom belonging to Bertie’s mother. I then proceeded to count out the tenners. There were twenty-three of them.
    “I say, Reeves. We’re several tenners short. There are only twenty-three here. Shouldn’t there be thirty-nine?”
    Reeves panicked. No one but I would have noticed, but both his eyebrows rose a full eighth of an inch, and what can only be called a quiver momentarily wobbled his lower lip. If I’d had a bottle of brandy to hand, I’d have passed him a quick snifter.
    “May I trouble you to count them again, sir?”
    “No trouble, Reeves.” I counted them again, and another time for luck. It made no difference. Twenty-three.

Five
    eeves was still in a tizz when Aunt C arrived. We watched her pocket the two necklaces and waited for her to leave.
    Reeves pressed a series of buttons and then depressed a lever. The dressing room snapped into clarity. I jumped out, beetled over to the dresser and replaced the two necklaces, making sure the right one went into the right box. I gave Reeves the thumbs up sign, and legged it back to the machine.
    As soon as the Worcester posterior hit the leather, Reeves fired up the engine. But instead of racing forward to 1866 — which I’d been expecting — we turned left and flew through the dressing wall.
    “Reeves?”
    “We have to follow Mrs Dean, sir. If she’s not borrowing ten pounds from each year, we have to know which years she is borrowing from. I am a little concerned that she may have pocketed some of the ten pound notes.”
    We caught up with the aunt on the landing and dogged her all the way to the wine cellar. It was all rather strange. She couldn’t hear us. She couldn’t see us. But there we were — floating along behind her in what felt like a sea of mist.
    “What if she touched her husband for a tenner before nabbing the necklaces?” I asked.
    I should not have aired my concern. Reeves became apoplectic. His left eye twitched. Twice!
    Not that he said a word. All his attention remained fixed upon Aunt C as she climbed into her machine and vanished.
    The moment she left, Reeves began pushing and pulling levers and then pressed the large red button. Off through time we went again, buffeting through the grey featureless wash until we reappeared back in the wine cellar.
    And so did Aunt C.
    “We are starting again in 1865, sir. As you said, Mrs Dean may well have encountered her husband on the way to her dressing room. We shall follow...”
    Reeves froze. Not a twitch. Not a tic. He hadn’t even bothered to close his mouth.
    “Are you all right, Reeves? You haven’t lost pressure, have you?”
    It was my turn to panic. Would there be a steam outlet in 1865 for Reeves to top himself up with?
    As suddenly as he froze, so he came back to life. “I fear I have made a grave error, sir. We must fly.”
    Reeves’ hands moved at speeds too fast for the human eye to keep up with. And up we rose, out of the misty cellar and into the equally misty hall. Then we were moving forward, travelling at a speed barely above a brisk walk, sailing towards the staircase at ceiling height. I looked down. Aunt C had just come into the