Victoria Sterling flinched at the knock on the door, but kept on typing. She wanted to get this article finished before the steam ran out of her typing machine.
Then movement in the jar on her desk caught her eye.
Victoria lifted her aviator goggles to get a better look. The clockwork scarab scrabbled at the glass wall. It did this for a few seconds before it crawled back to the middle of the jar and wound itself down.
The mystery had sat on her desk for the last three days, ever since it had flown in through her open window, alighted on her workbench, and crawled into the rat cage.
Unfortunately, for Rattus pounced on the brightly coloured bauble thinking it was food. Victoria had watched the rat curl itself around the scarab only to keel over and die.
The scarab crawled out from under the body and walked in jittery circles until Victoria scooped it up into a specimen jar, attached a lid, and placed it on her desk.
Since then the little mechanism had periodically turned itself on and off.
Pixaboy
Curiously a post mortem of the rat had found no cause of death, and so Victoria had been loath to handle the pretty machine for further investigation.
The knock came again, this time more insistent.
Victoria sighed.
“Come,” she called through the door. A young woman dressed as a butler in green trousers, mustard waistcoat, and ankle boots entered the room.
“What do you want Ada. It’s the second time you’ve knocked.”“Yes Miss Sterling, it is.” Before Ada could answer further Victoria turned from the desk and demanded.
“Has my mother flown into London yet?”
“The airship arrived three days ago, Miss.”
“Oh, in that case, has she answered my missive.”
“Yes Miss.”
“When’s she visiting?
“She won’t be Miss. I told you yesterday, Lady Sterling, sent word that she wouldn’t risk herself coming to Whitechapel."
“That blasted woman. Anyway why were you knocking?”
“The first time was to see if you wanted the gas lamps lighted. I knew you wouldn’t notice it getting dark.”
“Yes of course Ada, and can you crank up the boiler my typing machine is running out of steam.”
“Yes Miss, but I don’t think it can go much higher.”
“Nonsense of course it can,” Victoria turned back to her typing.
Ada talked as she lit the lamps, “Before I forget there is a Mr Watson, waiting in the parlour.”
“Who the hell is, Mr Watson, Ada?”
“He is the reason I knocked the second time. He says he’s from Scotland Yard no less. Short, round man, stuffily dressed with a bowler hat, arrived in one of those new steam driven carriages.”
Victoria looked at the scarab, which at that moment decided to crawl to the side of the jar.
“Well, Ada you better show, Mr Watson in.”
“In here Miss Sterling, in your workroom.”
“This is where I am at present, show him in here.”
“Yes, but I thought...”
As Victoria stared at the little scarab scratching the wall of glass, she held up a stately hand and ended Ada’s further discussion.
“It’s Scotland Yard Ada, please show, Mr Watson in. We may have a mutual mystery to solve."
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