When look back across the voluminous case files of my father, the noted investigator Sir Menlove Moulsdale, it is the cases in which I was personally involved that I am invariably drawn to. This is not surprising; who would not be enticed by such remembrances? Yet it is to one case that I return again and again, like an errant salmon to the stream of its birth.
The year was 1888 and although the Ripper had not yet committed his atrocities, the name Jack buzzed about the public, for Admiral Jack Nyland was about to retire from public service. For those too young or enfeebled to remember Admiral Nyland, he was the greatest naval hero the country had seen since the days of Nelson and Hornblower. He had begun his service as they had, sailing the ocean’s waves. When the first of the British Airships had been built in 1870 following the capture of plans made by that notorious rogue Robur, the then Captain Nyland was there. He changed the course of the Le Havre conflict in swift order and single handedly wrote the rules of aerial warfare. If I wax slightly poetic here, it must be remembered that he was my childhood hero, as he was with many my age. But these triumphs were in the past. The world was rather a safer place, all things considered, and Nyland had decided to retire to the Cotswolds where he would keep sheep. ‘They shall remind me of the clouds of which I was once so fond,’ he remarked to a reporter upon his announcement.
His final command was to be the maiden voyage of Britain’s first public airship. It had taken little convincing the public of the great benefits of air travel. Most were eager for fast trips to the Continent or to the Americas and those few that claimed that man was not meant to fly were ignored and safely confined to their pulpits of dwindling congregations. The inaugural voyage was a relatively short one, from Cardington in Bedfordshire to an airstrip just outside the newly reacquired city of Calais; a mere 170 mile journey, well within the capabilities of any airship of the day.
This first flight was not meant for the general populous; it would instead be filled with the same sort of dignitaries and important individuals that these events always catered to. My father, having just brought to a more than satisfactory conclusion the Affair of the Salted Quaker, was highly demanded in certain social circles. Normally, he politely declined all such invitations but showing a rare fatherly interest, he accepted this one for my benefit, reasoning quite rightly that I should enjoy meeting the Admiral of the Air.
The flight was set for eight in the morning on May the 30th. Not that the Volantis, for that was the name of the wonderous ship, took off at eight. First there were a series of speeches that were mind numbing to an eleven year old such as myself, although I am certain that even the speakers themselves found them monotonously dull. Prince Edward then made a brief appearance to christen the ship and further cement his reputation as a patron of science and technology. I am not ashamed to say that I cried and cheered when he broke the bottle of champagne over the bow, I know I was not alone. I fancy that I even saw my father grow slightly misty at the sight, but it could just as easily have been wishful thinking on my part. We boarded the grand vessel and I took in the atmosphere of the place. This was the history in the making and you could sense it in the air (ahem).
The cabin that was assigned to us was a modest affair, no better than a second class berth on a train. The more elaborate staterooms could keep even the most august royal personage in style and comfort for the ten day world voyage. It was rumoured that once it was deemed safe, Prince Edward would begin crisscrossing the globe about the Volantis to inspect his Imperial Mother’s holdings.
I spent the first hour staring out the window of our compartment. We were traveling at an altitude of only 1500 feet. Part of the object of this flight was to make the public aware of the new line. It would not do if the ship could not been seen. But the view was still more spectacular than anything I had seen until that morning. Even the dreariest countryside managed to look enticing from that ship.
After another hour a steward, ironically named Porter, appeared at the door and informed my father that should he wish to meet the Admiral, would he kindly follow this way? My father touched me lightly upon the knee and made motion towards the door. I smiled triumphantly at our cabin mate, a shorter man with blocky mustaches and a severe look on his face. As we followed Porter I asked my father about the man we left behind.
‘That he is a civil servant is obvious. The only two breeds of gentlemen that keep their umbrellas and expressions so tightly furled, even in such clement weather, are civil servants and bankers. As the ship was financed wholly by Her Majesty’s Government, there would be no reason for a private banker to be on board. He did not work directly on this undertaking, for if he did he would surely be placed in a higher position of esteem than to be thrust with a minor public figure such as myself. No, Deke, he is no doubt an undersecretary in the War Office sent purely to observe on their behalf. That he is having an affair with an older woman who originally hailed from just outside Stuttgart but now works as a governess with a position for a family who live south of Regent’s Park is fascinating in its own right, but ultimately immaterial. That is all I could determine at a glance. Were I able to examine his left foot I could tell you precisely where he was born and whether he kept fish in his youth,’ my father scratched idly at his ear.
The steward was clearly astonished by my father’s deductive display but before he could ask him to elaborate on his methods, we had arrived at the bridge. It was just as well, for while my father’s methods were fascinating for those who did not know him, accustomed as I was to the minor feats of inference, I found them rather tiresome.
We were ushered through a portal onto the bridge. The rest of the ship’s interior had been designed by the famed artist and decorator Dòrje Cudglé with the utmost style and comfort in mind. Here though was the typical naval mentality was in hold. It was positively stark when compared to the rest of the ship, the only extraneous ornamentation a small commissioning plaque set in the corner.
‘Do I have the pleasure of addressing the exemplary investigator, Mr. Menlove Moulsdale?’ a plumy voice to my right boomed.
‘Indeed you do. And you are Admiral Jack Nyland.’ It was not a question.
The other men on the bridge parted, allowing the Admiral though. I had seen his portrait many times and the Boy’s Own Book of Aeronautic Adventures that was kept firmly on my nightstand had several engravings of the man. But nothing could prepare for the personal magnetism of the man. His burnsides, ever the rivals of the eponymous American general, were now tinged with grey and the hair that remained on his head barely covered his pate, but that distinctive nose still held proud. He grasped my father, rather oddly, by the left hand and shook it vigourously. ‘To think I stand here with the man who single handedly solved the glutinous gasogene gamble, an honour, sir.’
My father waved this aside. ‘A trivial matter compared with some of your ventures, Admiral. Ah, might I present my son Deke?’
The Admiral bent down and looked me in the eye. His breath smelled of tobacco. I am certain my father could have identified the variety if he wished. ‘Hello there, young matey. Like the ship?’
‘Y-yes, sir,’ I stammered.
‘You’re very lucky, you know. It’s not just anyone who gets to come up to the bridge. Would you like a look at the helm?’
‘Yes, sir.’
He hollered at the helmsman, a Mr. Cohen, to move out to let me in closer. The helm appeared to be no more sophisticated than the wheel of an old rig but the Admiral took great delight in explaining the subtle instrumentation around us. All of a sudden, a great explosion rocked the ship. We were all thrown from our feet.
‘Mr. Farmer, contact the engine room! Damage report!’ the Admiral yelled.
‘Unable to contact the engine room, Admiral,’ Farmer shouted back.
‘Send a runner!’
‘Allow me to go,’ my father put a hand on Nyland’s shoulder. ‘Your men can be put to better use.’
The Admiral nodded and focused himself on processing the reports coming from his crew. In an instant my rather was running down the length of the Volantis and I was following close at his heels. We both leapt over a fallen man in a blue jacket. Had the situation not been so urgent, I would have stopped to help him. But if there was something wrong with the engine, soon it would not have mattered. ‘You should not have come,’ my father shouted back at me.’
‘What should I have done?’
‘I-I do not know,’ he spared a glance back at me and gave a grim smile.
We reached the engine room with surprisingly little difficulty. Steam bellowed out from half a dozen places. There was a man I presumed to be the engineer, lying on the floor. I flipped him over and gasped. A large portion of his face had been seared by the steam. He groaned. He was still alive! Fighting the wave of nausea welling inside of me, I pulled him into a sitting position. ‘Can you speak? What happened?’ I asked him. His eyes fluttered, but he did not wake.
My father popped into view covered in sweat, he held a spanner in his hand. ‘I have stemmed most of the leaks, but I am an amateur. How is her?’ he pointed towards the man I found.
‘I think he should recover, but is unable to offer anything now.’
Father found the communications tube and called up to the bridge. Ten minutes later, the Admiral stood in our midst once more. He had brought with him Mr. Farmer, who set about trying to repair the damage. The ship’s surgeon had already come to collect the unfortunate engineer to sick bay. ‘Gentlemen,’ the Admiral rumbled, ‘We are in dire straits. Mr. Ilsley has been gravely injured. The wireless telegraph has been destroyed, leaving us without communication to the outside world. And Mr. Farmer informs me that not only do we only have one engine operating, our steering has been tampered with as well!’
‘May I inspect the communications room?’ my father asked.
‘Of course,’ said the Admiral.
The communications room was just down the corridor from the engine room. It was small, there was barely enough room for my father and myself let alone the rotund Admiral. Nevertheless, the three of us squeezed in to examine the destruction. The wireless machine was utterly smashed. It would take a talent far greater than ours to resurrect it, if that was even possible.
‘As I said, completely destroyed,’ the Admiral grumbled.
‘I did not doubt your word, Admiral Nyland. I merely wished to examine the evidence.’
‘Evidence?’
‘To determine who caused this catastrophe.’
‘Pah! What does it matter now?’
‘It might matter a great deal, Admiral. But you should devote your full attentions to trying to right the airship or, as you so rightly say, it will all be for naught. You do what you must, and I shall do the same for my own field of expertise.
‘Very well,’ the Admiral shuffled out of the room. As soon as he departed we could hear him yelling for an update from Mr. Farmer.
‘What do you think?’
I peered gravely at the destroyed equipment. ‘There is a groove on the table’s edge that suggests the use of a sword or axe. An axe, more likely, as they are readily found about the ship for fire safety.’
My father smiled. ‘Anything else?’
‘The equipment has been smashed willy-nilly. If the crime were committed by someone with knowledge of such things they would either have disabled it in such a manner to make it appear still operational or otherwise only destroy the pertinent parts.’
‘A reasonable supposition, but an unhelpful one in this instance. Few on board would have such knowledge, so this does nothing to narrow our field. Still, there are a few points to be had. It was done by a left handed man. The grooves, which you correctly pointed out were from an axe, are arranged in a manner consistent with a man swinging an axe with his left hand. Also, before you ask, the grooves are too steady to have been done by a right handed man trying to throw us off the scent. That he stands between 5’10” and 6’ is of eminent use. Most aeromariners are chosen for their shortness of stature in order to make the cramped conditions slightly more tolerable. This means we are more than likely looking for one of the passengers. Run, boy, fetch a copy of the passenger list and meet me in our cabin.
The list was easily obtained from Porter the steward and I quickly rushed back to the cabin. My father was there, but out cabin mate was not. ‘He has been taken to the sick bay, or so I am told. He hit his head when the engine stopped. Ah, but you have the list. Quickly, give it here. Most of these names I recognize from various society functions, the sort of ignorable gentry that these things attract. Half of them are under the height requirement anyway. Hurm, now we come to the meat of the piece. There are some six likely candidates among them. I have circled the names. Get the steward to fetch them here on some pretext,’ my father sank back in the plush cabin bench. ‘And let us pray that we should find the villain that he is able to be brought to justice.’
With the help of the same obliging steward out suspect herded towards our cabin. They were brought before my father in turn. He asked them no questions; he just sat on the bench and took them in silently. His face betrayed no emotion, no hint of any suspicion. When they all passed through out chamber I turned to him. ‘Well?’
‘The third man, who was he?’
‘Morse Dalton.’
‘Ha! An obvious pseudonym. Fetch the Admiral and bring back “Morse Dalton.” Make sure that they do not see each other beforehand.’
The Admiral came with good news. ‘The airship is no longer in immediate peril!’
‘You have fixed the engines?’
‘No, but we have leveled off our descent. We are not going to crash into the Chanel. We should have enough power to reach Callas in little less than ninety minutes.’ At the last he checked his pocket watch.
‘Excellent. Now that we have solved one problem, let us move to the other. It is vitally important that whatever might occur you carry yourself with the calm demeanor that made you famous during the Battle of Piedmont. It helped to win the day there and so shall it here,’ my father clapped his hands together and rubbed them.
Morse Dalton was shown in once more by Porter. He was of stocky build and stood precisely six feet tall. He was immaculately dressed, without as much as a stray hair on his lapel. As he entered he looked only at my father, ignoring Porter, the Admiral and myself.
‘Mr. Dalton, was it? I believe this belongs to you.’ My father tossed him something. He caught it in his left hand and opened it to reveal a hapenny.
‘Eh, what’s this?’
‘It is what you must perceive your life to be worth if you were willing to sacrifice it to destroy this entire ship to get to one person.’
‘You are mistaken, sir.’
My father raised an eyebrow.
‘It is not that my life is worthless, it is that my hatred overwhelms it.’
‘By Jove, man. Who on earth could you possibly hate that much?’ the Admiral stood up.
‘You! You, you daft fool!’ Dalton lunged at the Admiral, hands springing for the throat. Porter and I managed to pry them apart. Dalton struggled in our grasp momentarily, and then let himself grow limp.
The Admiral fell back upon the bench. ‘I have never seen this man before in all my life. What have I done to him?’
‘It is for that very reason that he hates you, Admiral Nyland. This man, this so called Morse Dalton is you son,’ my father said gently.
‘That’s impossible! Mary and I never-‘
‘No, but you and Sophronia did. Sophronia James. Do you remember her, Admiral? Do you remember you little conquest after the Siege of Lyons?’ Dalton spat out the words with a hatred I had never seen before or since.’
‘Sophronia? That was over twenty five years ago, before I met Mary,’ the Admiral said.
‘Twenty eight. It was twenty eight years ago. I, “Father”, was born nice months after that. And in the meanwhile between then and now I have grown to loathe you: you with your pompous, philandering ways. You care for nothing except your duty, not a soul in the world, not even that harlot you married.’ Dalton’s eyes gleamed with righteous fire. ‘I am your son, Admiral. I am also your killer!’ His hand went for his pocket and he brought out a pistol.
‘No!’ the Admiral shouted.
In a swift movement, my father’s leg lashed out, catching Dalton in the hand and sending the gun flying. The gun hit the cabin window and broke it open with a hideous crash. The wind swept in, fiercely off our hats off.
Before any of us could react, Dalton took one last look at the object of his hatred and jumped out of the broken window.
‘Son!’ the Admiral cried. He went to the window in a futile effort to grab Dalton, but it was far too late. Dalton’s body was far out of view, no doubt already in the ocean’s cold bosom. The Admiral collapsed on the floor. ‘How, Mr. Moulsdale?’
‘Come, Admiral, let us retire to the adjacent cabin and I shall explain the facts as I know them.’ We commandeered the cabin next door. Porter fetched us all a measure of brandy. My father glared at me slightly, but said nothing as I drank mine.
‘We may never know the whole truth,’ said my father after a long moment. ‘But is seems his story was genuine enough. The name of Morse Dalton, however, was false. When he entered my cabin at the first, he held his hat in his hand. What he failed to remember was that there was a tag in the lining that read “M. James.” What the M stood for I cannot be certain. It might very well have been Morse. Aside from that, his familial resemblance to you was quite striking. As our friend Mendel says, the dominant traits are passed to the next generation. Your noses held the same bridge, the same noble cleft chin and I need hardly point out that you are both left handed. There were other similarities, but these were the greatest. No doubt his mother was quite tall. Ah, I see by your face she was.
‘He had clearly been waiting for the opportunity for some time and with this being your last certain appearance in public life, he knew he had to strike now. And for the zealot, what better way to destroy you hated idol than to make sure that he is not only dead, but that his reputation and legacy is forever tarnished as well?’
‘Had I but known, I would have loved him from the start,’ the Admiral put his head in his hands.
‘And that is perhaps the greatest tragedy,’ said my father. ‘There are few bonds greater than that of parent and child but he was blinded by his ill-placed passion. You may rest assured that this will not become public knowledge, Admiral. We shall suppress your connection to Dalton. He shall be known merely as a lunatic. You will go into private life with your honour intact.’
‘I-thank you, Mr. Moulsdale. I will not forget this kindness you have shown me.’
The airship landed without further incident and despite the troubles of the maiden voyage, the travel line was a rousing success, as I am certain you are all aware. And Admiral Nyland did not forget my father’s help. A month after the affair, my father received a summons to the palace where he was knighted for his services to the Crown. The Admiral had placed words in the proper ears.
At this late date, I feel no particular compunction to preserve the Admiral’s secret. He has been dead now these past thirty years, soon after he retired in fact. There are those that live for duty and he was clearly one of them. The rumours of his secret son have circulated for nearly that long and it seems only fair to set them straight. As for my father, I will just say that remembering his words about family, although they were not directed to me, is a strong comfort to me at this time.
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