“What did his doctor say?”
Miss Bibi gave an unladylike snort. “Oh, him! He says that it was Collin’s time.” Here she cast up her gaze and spoke in an affectedly pious voice. “‘You must accept, my dear lady, that God calls a man in His own time. Your rank will not suffice to prevent that, nor would all your affection.’” The last five words were recounted in a suggestively salacious tone. I could well see how the man’s innuendos would have offended her.
The girl glanced from me to my friend. “It was as well he was out of earshot of my father when he spoke to me. My father would have knocked him down for it.”
“This doctor, tell me of him?” Holmes requested.
“He’s been in the village forever. He must be at least seventy, and is old-fashioned and narrow-minded,” he was told decisively. Holmes raised an eyebrow at Lord Temberton, who nodded.
“I confess that no matter how rudely she puts it,” he said, “I agree. You know the problem, Holmes. Too many young doctors do not wish to practice in a village where they must drive miles to any patient, where they are more apt to be paid in vegetables, fruit, or a chicken, than in cash, and where they achieve no wider reputation. Dr. Sedgwick is—well, not to put too fine point on it—he is competent enough for ordinary ailments or common injuries. But his training, whatever of it he received, is fifty years gone, and I think he came from a narrow-minded family, whose precepts he has never forgotten.”
Holmes said nothing but tilted his head for further elucidation.
Temberton continued. “Ah, well, I know he suggested to Bibi’s father that she not be permitted to ride alone as freely as she does.” There was an intake of breath from her direction that sounded more like a snarl. “She rides in an area where anyone would leap to her assistance should she require it. Of my own knowledge I can say that her aid and kindness to many locals are valued by all.” His voice became harsh. “And Bibi is right. Her father would have knocked the man down did he hear such a thing said, as would I. Most times she is accompanied, and when she is not, she rides or drives only on her family’s estate or to and from the village. I shall speak to Dr. Sedgwick and warn him to mind his words—and his own business, as well. It is not for him to speak so to his betters.”
Holmes nodded before turning to me. “Your opinion on this as a doctor, my dear fellow?”
I had been considering what was said, thinking this a likely question, and one I could answer. Firstly, I turned to the girl. “I understand why you feel there was something wrong in the scene you found,” I told her. “Was there any sign of unusual disorder? Drawers pulled out, clothing disarranged, anything of that sort?”
“No,” was her terse reply.
“Well, those who know they are dying may now and again find unexpected strength,” I said. “Your friend may have believed himself fading and been determined one last time to sit in his own chair, to feel the fire’s warmth, and—”
“But that was it, it wasn’t the right chair!”
Holmes stiffened. “The wrong chair?” he repeated. “Not the chair in which he usually sat, you mean?”
The girl corrected him. “Not the chair in which he always sat. There were two fireside chairs he inherited with his cottage. One was carved with oak leaves, and that was his chair. The other was carved with playing kittens, one up each leg, and two pouncing on each other across the back. That was always for visitors. They had belonged to his uncle, carved as a wedding gift for the uncle’s parents. His father was called Oakley, and his mother Katherine, or Kitty. It was a joke in the family, and Collin mentioned it more than once. He would never have thought of using the wrong chair.”
“No,” Holmes confirmed, turning to me again. “Your opinion?”
I looked at Miss Bibi. “There was no unusual disorder?” A shake of her head. “His laudanum was at the level you would expect?” A nod now. “Did you know where he kept anything of value and look to see was it still there?” Another nod.
“And—I am reluctant to ask this of you—but his face… You said at first you believed him to be sleeping. Was that because his face was peaceful? There was no expression of distress or anger?”
“No, he looked almost happy, as if he were having a pleasant dream.”
Holmes took up the questioning. “Who inherits his cottage?”
Miss Bibi flushed. “I do. I had no knowledge of this, but my father informed me that Collin’s will stated that as he had no family, he was leaving the property to the one who had been kind to him. His savings—and a goodly sum yet remained—were left to provide a scholarship for a village boy to attend a minor public school. Collin had listed the first recipient, a local boy from a farming family and a most promising scholar.”
Lord Temberton looked mildly surprised. “I did not know of the bequest. What did he expect you to do with the cottage?”
Miss Bibi gave a small, wicked giggle. “I think he expected me to offer it to a young doctor at a peppercorn rent. It is advantageously situated and has sufficient land to—as I said—support a vegetable garden and fruit trees, while there is room enough for a carriage-house to be erected.”
Her second cousin eyed her suspiciously. “Do you know of such a doctor?”
“I do.”
“Melrose has now been dead three days. When do you write to this doctor?”
Her smile was illuminating. “I have already done so, cousin.”
Lord Temberton shook his head. “You are a wicked child and are like to end up in a bad place. That aside,” he looked at my friend and me, “what do you think? Is there cause for alarm, and if so, will you come to my estate and seek answers? You are welcome to stay, and the village is no more than an hour’s drive away. I will provide you with a vehicle. There is also an inn at Ashwood, small, but it does have two rooms for visitors. I would like this business to be cleared up for Bibi’s peace of mind, but if there is some madman who murders the dying, he must be found.”
And so it was decided. Holmes would leave in the morning, while I would follow two days later. My semi-retired medical acquaintance would stand in for me. Our client having made it plain that any costs or expenses would be paid—including the provision of my acquaintance—I felt able to make that arrangement, and indeed I looked forward to a sojourn in the country. It was early autumn and the weather was delightful much of the time.
Lord Temberton departed. Miss Bibi lingered to shake us by the hand and utter words of gratitude before she too left. We enjoyed a late dinner, and went to bed, knowing that the morrow would be busy—for both of us, which it was.
2
Holmes and I left the house together early the next morning. He for the railway station, and I to see one of my patients who was in bed with an attack of lumbago. I then visited two more patients before returning to our rooms for lunch, that program followed by a busy afternoon. I then retired early to bed, spending the next day likewise and, with my work up to date, informed my friend that he was now in charge. I rose at six for a quick breakfast and a brisk journey to the station to catch my train.
Holmes met me at the other end of my trip before the morning was much advanced. “Temberton sent a carriage.”
I followed him to the equipage and entered what was clearly a vehicle used to make the trip from station to estate, for it was in good condition but the cushions were shabby, and the paint a little battered. The driver touched his hat but said nothing, and as soon as I closed the door we were on our way.
Holmes looked at me as he sat back. “It’s good to see you, Watson. Let me tell you where things are.” He did so and after a few minutes I summed up.
“In other words, Holmes, no one knows anything, or nothing anyone will admit to. No one disliked Melrose, or not that anyone will admit to. And no one saw anything, not that they will admit to.”
“Yes, and I find it significant,” Holmes stated. “If there was someone in the cottage to assist Melrose to a chair, no one saw them enter.”
“Why is that si
gnificant?”
“Because, my dear Watson, if there was no one else in the cottage, Melrose deliberately sat in the wrong chair. Furthermore, either he unexpectedly found the strength to rise, or he had been faking some of his inability to move about. If that were so, then he took the wrong chair on purpose, for some reason that may have a bearing on his death.”
“You think it a message?”
“If he was alone and sat there deliberately, yes. But there are other possibilities.” I looked a question and Holmes nodded. “A number of them. He could have been dying as he went to sit and might not have realized it was the wrong chair. That still begs the question as to why a dying man would go to so much effort. I have an answer to that.”
“What? Do not keep me in suspense, Holmes.”
“Why, the answer is simple: he used one of the chairs as a repository for valuables. I wondered if that were so as soon as Miss Bibi was so certain he was found in the wrong chair. So I investigated, having access to the cottage by her permission. There was a small fitted cavity in the seat of the kitten-carved chair, and therein I found what may have been the original owner’s jewelry, along with a pocket-watch and chain, thirty sovereigns, and a small bag of silver coins. As the cottage and all in it was left to Miss Bibi, I took the trove to her. She was delighted.”
“Then you think Melrose wished her to know about it, having said nothing before this, and being afraid he would die without having told her?”
“No, I think it was coincidence. Everything in the hide was of an age that suggested it had not been found after the owner’s death. From the dates on the coins I believe Melrose’s uncle’s parents placed them there and never removed them. The uncle may have known of them and chosen to leave them where they were, but it is my opinion that Melrose himself was unaware they existed.”
“Then why,” I asked in some exasperation, “did he sit in the wrong chair?”
“It may not have been he that did so,” Holmes informed me.
I sat in silence for the remainder of the journey as I pondered that. Did my friend mean that Melrose wasn’t Melrose? That the man had a twin or something of that sort? There was certainly a dead man found sitting, and all identified him as the cottage’s occupant. Had Melrose a doppelganger who had come to murder him, and was instead murdered? If so, by whom? From all accounts it was unlikely in the extreme that Melrose could have fought off and successfully murdered an assailant. Or did Holmes intend me to understand that it was Melrose who was the victim, and that after a struggle he had subsided in death into the wrong chair? But how? All evidence showed that no one had entered the cottage.
We arrived at the house after a two-hour drive, and Holmes whisked me out of the carriage. A servant appeared to carry my suitcase, and I was led to a very pleasant suite.
“You share this with me, Watson. This is your bedroom. At our discretion, we may take our meals here or in the dining-room with our host. Meanwhile a pony trap is at our disposal, and if we wish to remain in the village overnight, the cottage’s single bed has been removed and replaced with two. Or we may retire to the inn, if we prefer.”
He saw my involuntary grimace. “No, Watson, the cottage’s original bed is gone. The two there now have been provided from storage, and have been positioned, one in Melrose’s previous bedroom, and the other, which I have taken, in the main room. Thus, we each have our privacy.”
I knew Holmes better than that, no matter what he wished me to believe. “You mean, in case a murderer returns to the scene of his crime, you will be on the scene to apprehend him,” I said dryly. “He will believe you alone, and attack.”
Holmes gave me one of his rare smiles. “A good theory, Watson. However, I think we can expect no murderer. I have watched the cottage all three nights and seen no one. And careful questioning suggests that if murderer there was, then he entered not by the main door, but by the back.”
I nodded. I had wondered about that possibility and now said so.
“Yes,” Holmes agreed. “There are two immediate cottages and a third at an angle. All are placed that their occupants might to see anyone enter Melrose’s home by the front door, and no one saw a visitor. That could have been because someone approached in the night hours and was admitted without sufficient noise to attract attention. Or it could be that entrance was made silently from the rear. I examined the cottage and found this was not only possible, it would not have been difficult had the door been left unsecured.”
“But do you think that is what occurred?” I asked.
“As yet I have no opinion. But once I have eliminated other possibilities, if that is the one which remains, then it must be the truth,” Holmes stated quietly. “What we must do is consider all possibilities one by one and see which may be confirmed.”
In truth, it is this sometimes-tedious process that I often omit from my shorter stories, for it can be boring to a reader. However, in many of my friend’s cases it must be done, since little evidence is uncovered without investigation.
“Where do we go first, Holmes?”
“To the temporary mortuary at Ashwood. I have arranged for the body to be held until you could examine it. Dr. Sedgwick was outraged, but he was overborne by Miss Bibi. Since she is Melrose’s heir, she has a right to say what becomes of the body.”
The girl had courage, I reflected. I could imagine that a doctor, living in the village most of his life, had become autocratic. After all, he had chidden her father for allowing Miss Bibi to ride about without escort, and even more, he had spoken suggestively to her concerning her relationship with his patient. If he was present when we arrived, I suspected he would feel free to bespeak me contumaciously.
In which, unfortunately, I was not wrong. When we reached the village an hour later, a person, very clearly a doctor, was standing by the mortuary steps. He approached before I could escape his notice.
He came near, circling to cut me off from the steps. He looked all of the seventy-plus years I knew him to be, but his bearing was still upright, his hair, although white, sprang vigorously from his head. He wore no spectacles, and his movements were made quite freely. Did his face not betray his age I would have thought him to be a decade the younger. Nor was his attitude that of a man who feared conflict. He marched up to me at once and thrust his face pugnaciously towards mine.
“Are you this Dr. Watson whom I am told is here to question my abilities?”
“I am.”
“Then tell me, Doctor, what the devil do you think you’re doing? You come to my village, to my practice and say I don’t know my work, hey? Fifty years and more I’ve cared for the people here, and now I’m to be told I can’t do my job? You young upstart…”
I involuntarily smiled at that, for at my age it can be pleasant to find someone who thinks I am still young.
“Don’t you smirk at me!” the old man roared. “I’ll make a complaint against you, sir! If it’s trouble you’re looking for, by gad I’ll see you find all the trouble you can handle. You’ve no right, sir, no right. You needn’t think that just because I practice here I’m without friends. Some interfering chit sends for you and you waltz in to do her bidding,” he leered and I grew angry. “What’s she to you, eh? I see her, jaunting about the place, no chaperone, a loose woman, that’s what she is, and you her toady! Hope to get yourself in there, do you, looking for a nice warm bed?”
Holmes intervened. “Dr. Sedgwick, Dr. Watson is here at the request of Lord Temberton, as well as that of Mr. Melrose’s heir. A second opinion is required, since there are anomalies in some aspects of the gentleman’s death. Or do you deny the right of interested parties to ask for that opinion? Do you set yourself above the law?”
The old man subsided a trifle, fretting and fuming as Holmes surveyed him. At last he replied. “Nay, I don’t go against the law. But it’s hard to find your opinions disregarded. You’ll find nothing, nothing, I tell you. ’Tis all a waste of time and money. But if that’s your decision, go to it, sir. And the
n you can come and apologize.” He turned on his heel and marched off, every line of his rigid back attesting to his indignation.
I ascended the steps, reflecting that no matter how sprightly the doctor might appear, he was also, in my opinion, becoming senile. As I entered the building I paused to find Holmes behind me, half-turned to watch that square-shouldered figure as it stamped away. On my friend’s face was a curiously speculative look. I blinked.
“Holmes? You don’t suspect him, do you?”
“No, but there is a point there to ponder. If Melrose was murdered, did the murderer count on Sedgwick’s rigidity of mind, and his likely refusal to see anything untoward?”
I saw what he meant and nodded. “It is so with many country doctors when they grow old. Their training was long ago, and they would prefer a quiet life, so sometimes they see nothing…”
“And other times,” Holmes finished, “they prefer to see nothing. Yes. We must ascertain which may have been so in this case.”
I agreed, walking down the corridor to where a door displayed a sign indicating that it was here I should find Mr. Melrose’s remains. And thereafter I was very busy.
* * * *
Several hours later my friend, who had been out, returned to rejoin me. He spoke first. “I have arranged for an unobtrusive watch to be kept on the cottage. And we will be taking dinner at Temberton’s with Miss Bibi. Both are eager to hear your discoveries, should any have been made.”
I grinned cheerfully. “I have made a few deductions. I cannot say Melrose’s death was murder, but there are certainly some unusual features.” With that I made for the door to the rear alley and strode towards the village’s main street. “After all that work, I could do with something to eat. Is there a place where we may find a meal?”
A hand on my arm brought me to a halt. “If we talk in public in a place like this, no matter how quietly we speak, every word will be about in minutes,” Holmes said. “I anticipated you would be hungry since lunchtime is two hours gone. There is a hamper waiting for us at the cottage. Let us go there.”
Sherlock Holmes - Found Dead Page 2
