by V. M. Burns
We got off the bus and entered. The ground floor of the Victorian building was a shop peddling everything from deerstalker hats, pipes, and magnifying glasses to books, films, and all things Sherlockian. Tickets for the museum were included in our tour, so we were able to go upstairs to explore the three floors of the museum, which had been meticulously decorated to reflect the lives of the fictional detectives as written in the books. Nothing had been omitted from the experience, including the detective’s pipe, violin, and armchair in front of the fireplace. On the second floor, there were rooms for not only Dr. Watson but for the detective’s landlady, Mrs. Hudson, along with a life-sized model of Watson at his writing desk, supposedly penning one of the tales from their adventures. The third floor featured more models, including one of Sherlock’s nemesis, Professor Moriarty.
Nana Jo sauntered up to me as I stood admiring the display. “Pretty amazing, isn’t it?”
I turned away, hoping to hide the tears that had formed in my eyes, but I should have known better than to think I could hide anything from my grandmother.
“What’s the matter?” She handed me a tissue. “And don’t tell me nothing.”
I wiped my eyes and blew my nose. “It’s just so amazing,” I whispered, careful not to be overheard. “He wasn’t real. Yet he lived in the hearts of so many people.” I shook my head. “I mean, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle was a writer. He created a character in his imagination, and he wrote about him. Now, here we are over a hundred years later, and we’re still talking about him. People still care enough about this character to create a museum, and people, like us, pay money to come to see it.” I stared at her. “I’m not explaining myself very well.”
“I get it. You’re thinking about it as a writer.”
“I was just thinking, Leon and I were never blessed with children. When I’m gone . . .” I shrugged. “There may not be anyone who remembers me, but maybe . . . just maybe my books could be my legacy. Maybe when I’m gone, people will remember me.”
She put an arm around my shoulders and gave me a hug. “Sam, you have so many friends and family who love you that you will be remembered, but I understand. I do. I hope your books will be as successful as Doyle’s and that a hundred years later, people will build a museum in North Harbor to honor them.”
I laughed. “I don’t think I can even aspire to that type of fame. Right now, I’d be happy to see my book become a reality and maybe end up in a bookstore and a library.”
Nana Jo tsked. “Nonsense. Your books are great. They’ll sell a million copies.”
I squeezed my grandmother. “You’re biased, but I appreciate the vote of confidence.”
We spent a few more moments admiring the level of detail put into creating the museum. I realized how important details are to a story. Without the details, readers wouldn’t be able to visualize Sherlock’s and Watson’s lives. I made a mental note to include more details in my own writing and then went down to the ground floor and bought some gifts before we headed back onto the bus.
Once everyone was on board, Clive told us that he had received a call from the hotel. The hotel’s doctor had examined Major Peabody and found nothing unusual. His death was attributed to natural causes. We were, therefore, free to move on with our tour.
Nana Jo squinted and gave me a sideways glance that indicated she didn’t believe one word of what she was told.
I leaned close and whispered, “You have got to stop being so suspicious. Every person who dies hasn’t been murdered.”
“I don’t believe every person who dies has been murdered. However, I grew up on a farm, and I know horse pucky when I smell it.”
According to the itinerary, we were scheduled to have lunch at a pub, but Clive told us that we would be dining at the hotel instead. Back at the hotel, we ate together in the dining room rather than in the ballroom. After lunch, I was surprised to find Major Peabody’s glamourous niece, who I learned was named Debra Holt, and her fiancé, Sebastian Rothchild-Black, would be joining the tour.
“What a hunk,” Irma whispered as Sebastian walked past us to get on the bus.
Clive Green plastered a smile on his face and held out a hand to assist Debra aboard. “Glad you were able to alter your plans to join us.”
She laughed. “Surely, you didn’t think I’d leave you to run my business.”
Clive stared. “Your business?”
“My uncle is gone, and I’m his only heir. I intend to make sure that his wishes are carried out and that the sale he was brokering goes forward.” She smirked. “I love your little tour games, but this is business—my business. You should stick to your honey.”
For a moment, Clive Green’s face reflected shock and something else I couldn’t name. However, within seconds, he had his mask back in place. But based on the laugh that Debra gave, it was clear she’d seen the crack and reveled in her victory.
Nana Jo nudged me. “She looks like the cat that got the cream.”
“She certainly seems proud of herself.”
We climbed on board and settled into the same seats we’d had earlier. I tried to contain my excitement, but it was a struggle. We were headed to Oxford. In the brochure, it had been described as a mystery lover’s paradise. I wasn’t sure if I would go quite that far, but the very name brought up memories of the British detective series Lewis, which I loved. I learned from research for this trip that Oxford has produced an abundance of crime writers, including Dorothy L. Sayers and P. D. James. Its academic ambiance, ancient towers, and hidden quads set the scene for an extensive list of mysteries. The reality was surprisingly much the same as what I’d imagined.
The ride took a little more than an hour. When we arrived, we stopped for a coffee break at a quaint shop to get a bit of refreshment. Once we were all revitalized by our caffeinated beverage of choice, we embarked on a guided walking tour of Oxford. Clive was knowledgeable and entertaining. He was able to speak intelligently not only about Oxford’s colleges, chapels, and city haunts, like the iconic Christ Church College, but also places of interest to lovers of Lord Peter Wimsey, Prudence Vane, and Inspector Morse.
The brochures warned that there would be quite a bit of walking, so I was prepared with good sneakers. Nana Jo and the girls were all fit and well able to enjoy the exercise. Unfortunately, Prudence Habersham must have missed that part in the brochure and spent the majority of the trip complaining to her daughter, Lavender.
After the group was forced to stop to allow Prudence to catch her breath and rest for the fifth or sixth time in a little over one hour, Nana Jo voiced the frustration that the majority of the group felt.
“Why did you choose to come on the walking tour if you weren’t prepared to walk?” Nana Jo asked.
Prudence bristled at the insult. “Well, I’m sorry. I’ve been ill, and I didn’t realize that I would be such a burden.” She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
“Don’t try that passive-aggressive business with me,” Nana Jo said. “You aren’t sorry. If you’ve been ill, then you could have waited in the coffee shop when Clive over there gave you the option. Or, at the very least, you could have worn shoes that were fit for walking rather than pumps.”
Prudence pointed to Irma. “Your friend there has on high heels.”
“Irma’s been wearing six-inch hooker heels since she hit puberty, and she could run a hundred-yard dash in those heels if she had to.”
“Well, I never.”
“Well, that’s the problem, isn’t it?”
Clive stepped in between the two women. “Now, ladies. I’m sure Mrs. Habersham is doing her very best.” He smiled at the woman, whose face was now beet red. Then, he turned to Nana Jo. “Plus, we are doing great on time, and I promise we will see everything that Oxford has to offer. These little breaks are a great opportunity for photos.”
Nana Jo huffed.
Prudence gave a simpering smile and fanned herself.
Debra Holt burst out laughing. She laughed for several mome
nts and then turned to Clive. “You are the perfect stooge for this, aren’t you?”
A vein on the side of his forehead pulsed, but he merely smiled and turned his back and addressed the group. “Now, I realize this isn’t ‘mystery’ focused, but if we have any Harry Potter fans, you’ll recognize that area as the place where Malfoy was transfigured into a ferret in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.”
We all turned to observe the point, and several people took out their phones and snapped photos.
The tour progressed with fewer stops. Prudence walked with a new determination. However, whenever Clive noticed her face was particularly red, he would pause near a bench and go into great detail about the history of a building or even a tree, which allowed a lot more time for rest.
When the tour finished, we were given a couple of hours of free time to explore on our own. Nana Jo and the girls decided a different type of refreshment was required, and we stepped into one of the honey-colored pubs to enjoy a traditional meal of fish and chips and a glass of the local ale before we had to head back on the bus.
I’m not a fan of beer regardless of its country of origin, but everything else was tasty. We were having a good time. Hannah Schneider fit in with our group well and told us stories about her children. It was only when she started to talk about her husband that she grew quiet or that a tear would form in her eyes. So, we steered the conversation away from the danger zone. There was only one dark cloud that marred our time. That occurred when Mrs. Habersham and her daughter entered the pub.
Nana Jo flushed. “I suppose I should apologize.” She sighed. “I shouldn’t have been rude, but that woman just gets under my skin.”
“Why?” I looked at my grandmother. “I mean, I know she’s out of shape, but I’ve never seen you so hard on anyone for that.”
She shook her head. “It’s not the fact that she’s overweight or out of shape.” She glanced toward the table where the two had settled. “I just don’t like the way the woman gripes and complains all the time. I mean, if you can’t walk long distances, no problem. She could stop any time. It’s the way she complained and whined.” She glanced down her nose at me. “You know I don’t have any patience with whiners.”
I nodded.
“I also don’t like the way she uses her daughter like an indentured servant.” Nana Jo tilted her head in the direction of the two women. “On the bus, Lavender suggested her mother leave that large carry-on bag on the bus, but oh no. Mama Habersham just had to have it. But she’s not the one carrying two purses, hers and her mother’s, along with that fifty-pound bag.”
“I did think that was a bit much.”
“That bag is pretty awkward,” Dorothy said, leaning forward. “I offered to help carry the bag. I was going to carry it for a while to give the girl a break, but did you hear how the old lady snapped, ‘Lavender can carry it.’”
“I wonder what she has in the thing,” Ruby Mae said. “Have you noticed they take it everywhere and never let it out of their sight?”
Nana Jo sighed. “I guess I just let my frustration boil up, and I took it out on her for the wrong reason. I owe her an apology, and I might as well get it over with.” She rose and headed toward the two women, but before she got to the table, Debra and her fiancé entered the bar.
When Prudence spotted Debra, she hopped up from her seat and hurried over to the woman. She grabbed her by the arm. “We need to talk.”
Debra glared at the woman and then yanked her arm free. “I beg your pardon.”
Prudence huffed and turned red. “I heard what you said earlier to that guide about you being the only heir to Horace’s wealth, and I just want you to know that’s not true.”
Debra’s expression of boredom and amusement vanished. “What did you say?”
Prudence noticed and took a moment to gloat. “You think you were Horace’s closest relative, well, I’ll have you know that you aren’t. Horace and I were lovers.”
Debra smiled. “Good for you. Who knew Uncle Horace had it in him.” She glanced up at Prudence as though she were a piece of meat and turned to leave.
Prudence’s face turned purple with rage. “How dare you look at me like some tart.”
“Well, you’re the one that just announced to the world that you had an illicit affair with my uncle.”
“It was a long time ago, after the war. I was a nurse, and he was injured.”
Debra held up a hand. “You don’t have to explain to me. I’m just shocked to know that Uncle Horace ever had the nerve to kiss a woman, let alone . . .” She waved her hand.
“It was a long time ago, and we lost touch.” Prudence took several deep breaths. “When I found out I was pregnant, he had been called back to India, and . . . well, I was alone and with child. Chester had always been kind, and when he asked me to marry him, I did.” She took several more breaths. “He knew Lavender wasn’t his daughter, but he didn’t mind.”
I glanced at Lavender, who was still seated at the table, and saw that this revelation was as much of a shock to her as it had been to the rest of us sitting in the pub.
“So, you see, you aren’t Horace’s only heir. Lavender is his daughter, and I’m going to make sure that she gets everything that she deserves.”
The reality of Prudence’s words hit Debra full force. Her face contorted. She leaned forward and pointed a finger in the woman’s face. “If you think you can come in here after my uncle is dead and make outrageous accusations about him and steal my inheritance, then you’d better think again.” She turned and marched out of the pub.
Sebastian glanced at Prudence and then hurried after his fi-ancée.
Prudence stood in the middle of the pub. She glanced around and saw that all of the noise and commotion had stopped. The realization hit her that everyone had not only seen the altercation but also heard everything. She turned bright red from the roots of her hair to the bottom of her neck. She seemed frozen for several seconds. Then, she burst into tears and ran out the door.
Prudence’s departure broke the spell, and the pub patrons returned to their conversations and drinks. Only Lavender seemed to still be trapped. Like a statue, she stared at the door where her mother had just escaped. After a few seconds, she collected all of the bags and made her own hasty retreat.
Nana Jo watched Lavender’s departure and then spun around and returned to our table. “Well, well, well, wasn’t this a fine bit of drama?”
No one knew what to make of it. Normally, a display of this type would have tongues wagging and would provide a good bit of fodder for conversation. However, this was different. It wasn’t the juicy fodder that nosy gossips could feast upon. This exchange had cast a dark cloud over the pub. We tried to push away the foul atmosphere, but the jaunty banter and high spirits were gone. So, we finished our drinks and made our way back to the bus. Something about this entire situation seemed off somehow. I questioned whether Nana Jo could have been right about Major Peabody’s death not being natural. I tried to shake the feeling that the major had been murdered, but there was definitely something about his death that seemed . . . off somehow. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. All the while, Prudence Habersham’s words echoed through my head: “She gets everything that she deserves.”
Debra Holt and her fiancé, Sebastian, were already seated at the front of the bus when we arrived. When Prudence Habersham got on board, she kept her head high and carefully avoided making eye contact with anyone as she made her way to the last seat at the back of the bus. Lavender wasn’t as careful as she struggled with bags and purses, but she too made her way to the back of the bus. The ride back to London was long and somber. Most people slept. I decided to occupy my mind by writing.
Lady Elizabeth Marsh entered the kitchen and stopped at the sight of all of the servants standing with puzzled looks. At the sight of Lady Elizabeth, everyone, including Jim and Frank, snapped to attention.
“Did I interrupt something?” Lady Elizabeth said.
“No
, m’lady.” Thompkins stood even straighter than normal and coughed. “It’s just that Captain Jessup was just here.”
“Oh, really?” Lady Elizabeth waited patiently. “Was there anything in particular the captain wanted?”
Gladys sniffed, while Jim and Frank exchanged glances. Thompkins coughed again. “I believe the captain wanted to discuss concerns about his shirt, but he changed his mind.”
Mrs. McDuffie snorted.
Lady Elizabeth turned to the housekeeper.
Mrs. McDuffie flushed, which made her freckled complexion and thin red hair appear even redder. “I beg your ladyship’s pardon. It’s just that . . . jackanapes gets under me skin . . . upsetting poor Gladys and then coming down ’ere and talkin’ like ’e owns the place.”
Jim and Frank exchanged glances and snickered.
Thompkins gasped. “That will be enough,” he snapped at the footmen. He turned to Lady Elizabeth. “I apologize for—”
Lady Elizabeth waved away his apologies. She was well aware of the butler’s attitude about propriety and high moral standards when it came to etiquette. “I quite agree with Mrs. McDuffie’s assessment of the situation in this case.” She smiled at the housekeeper and then turned back to the butler. “Perhaps we could go into your office?”
“Of course, your ladyship.” Thompkins dismissed the other staff and waited for Lady Elizabeth and the housekeeper to precede him into the small room that he used whenever he needed a quiet place to work on the books or to have a private conversation with one of the staff.
Once inside the room, Lady Elizabeth took a seat at the table and invited the housekeeper and butler to sit, even though she knew Thompkins would never sit in her presence. Mrs. McDuffie took the other chair, and Thompkins closed the door and took a staunch stand nearby and waited.
“I know Captain Jessup has been rather trying,” Lady Elizabeth said.
