The Aunt Paradox (Reeves & Worcester Steampunk Mysteries) by Chris Dolley

the servants and get them to take us to the time machine. We’d be away and into the ether before Dawson could do anything to stop us.
    I parked the Stanley several doors away to make sure we weren’t spotted, then strode off in search of the servants’ entrance. Once I’d located it, we nipped down the steps, out came my service revolver, and I knocked thrice upon the door.
    Three seconds later, the door opened and a startled maidservant stared soundlessly at the outstretched gun levelled at her nose.
    “Step back!” I commanded. “I am the Mayfair Maniac. And this is my robot.”
    ~
    As entrances went, this was up there with the best. The startled maidservant swooned on the spot. Reeves, the aforementioned robot, swept forward to catch her as she fell, and propped her up against the Aga.
    The cook screamed. A footman, who had been seated at the kitchen table, jumped out of his chair so swiftly he sent it skittling along the floor behind him.
    “Do be quiet,” I said, waggling the gun in their direction. “No one will get hurt if you all do as I say.”
    “We are looking for a room that Mr Dawson probably keeps locked,” said Reeves. “He has a machine inside that resembles an automobile. Do you know of such a room?”
    Neither the cook nor the footman spoke.
    I considered firing a warning bullet into the ceiling. Murgatroyd of the Yard swears by it. There’s nothing better to wake a person up, or show ‘em you mean business, says M. of the Y. But Reeves had hidden my bullets, so I gave it a menacing waggle instead.
    “You have five seconds to answer,” said Reeves. “After that I will be unable to hold the Mayfair Maniac back. Behold the bloodlust burning in his eyes.”
    I rolled both eyes and affected a look I’d once see Sir Henry Irving attempt when playing Caligula at the Garrick.
    “It’s in the cellar!” cried the footman. “On the right at the foot of the steps.”
    “And the key?” asked Reeves.
    “On its hook on the wall over there,” said the footman. “Third from the left on the bottom row.”
    Reeves fetched the key while I gave dark looks to the servants.
    “Everyone close their eyes,” I said. “And count to one hundred. If I see one eye open before one hundred, I shall feed it to my robot.”
    I legged it in pursuit of Reeves, who’d found the door to the cellar and was holding it open for me.
    It was then, in mid-gallop, that I noticed the other footman. He was in the hall, and he’d spotted us.
    “Hey!” he shouted. “Mr Dawson! Intruders!”
    I shot through the cellar door and was running so fast down the steps — which was suddenly plunged into total darkness, as neither of Reeves nor I had tarried to find a light switch, and Reeves had just closed the door behind him — that I lost my footing, and tumbled the rest of way, twisting my ankle and bruising my shoulder.
    The cellar door at the top of the steps flew open with a crash. That provided us with a little light, until the doorway was blocked by the rugged silhouette of a large footman hurrying after us.
    “Stop or I’ll shoot!” I commanded. I may have been bruised and lying on my back, but at least I’d had the presence of mind not to drop my service revolver.
    The footman froze on the staircase. Reeves unlocked the door to the room where the time machine was hidden, and I hobbled to my feet.
    I almost made it. I had one hand on the doorjamb to steady myself when — BANG — there came the loudest explosion I’d ever heard. I was thrown forward, landing in a heap just inside the room. And my shoulder, the one I’d fallen upon earlier, felt like it had been speared with an assagai.
    It took me a while to realise I’d been shot.
    I looked at Reeves. He was climbing into the time machine, apparently oblivious to my position.
    There was a click and the cellar was suddenly bathed in light.
    “Worcester!” came a surly voice from halfway up the steps. “I should have known it would be you. Stand up and kick