The Secret Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

by June Thomson

  ‘A most wise decision,’ Holmes murmured. ‘I understand that, on his nephew’s apparent death, his uncle inherited not only the title but also the estates, which are considerable.’

  ‘Yes, indeed, Mr Holmes. After Gilbert, his uncle was the next direct heir. Because of this legal aspect to the affair, I felt I could not undertake the interview alone and my father’s heart condition does not permit him any undue anxiety or emotion. The interview with the new Lord Deerswood took place yesterday morning.’

  Miss Russell turned to address Frederick Lawson.

  ‘As it was held under your direction, I think you should describe exactly what took place. I still find it most painful to recall.’

  As she sat back in her chair, evidently relieved that her part of the statement was now over, Frederick Lawson took over the account, his handsome features grave.

  ‘It was indeed a most uncomfortable occasion, Mr Holmes. As Miss Russell has already explained, Lord Deerswood is a very proud, rigid man, exceedingly cold in his manner. He listened in silence as I repeated Miss Russell’s account of what she had seen and then he categorically refuted any suggestion that his nephew was still alive. Miss Russell was mistaken, he insisted, although he did not deny that an incident had taken place in the garden two nights earlier. However, the man she had seen was not Gilbert but the groom, Harris, who had been taken suddenly ill and whom Macey and another servant had walked about the lawn in order that the fresh air might revive him. As Harris bore a resemblance to his nephew, this was how the mistake must have arisen.’

  ‘Is that possible, Miss Russell?’ Holmes asked.

  ‘Certainly not!’ she exclaimed, a flush of indignation colouring her cheeks. ‘I know Harris very well by sight and, although he bears a superficial likeness to Gilbert, both being dark-haired and slight of build, there is no question that I could have confused one with the other.’

  ‘And what of the third man, the one whom Miss Russell did not recognise? Did Lord Deerswood give any explanation for his presence?’

  Lawson looked a little abashed.

  ‘I fear, Mr Holmes, that, in the embarrassment of the occasion, I failed to press Lord Deerswood for an account of the man. When Miss Russell declined to accept Lord Deerswood’s explanation, he became quite angry, in a cold, controlled manner, and challenged us to bring anyone we cared to nominate to Hartsdene Manor in order to search the house and to prove to our satisfaction that his nephew was nowhere on the premises. With that, he brought the interview abruptly to a close and we were shown out. Later that morning, after consulting Miss Russell, it was decided that we must, on principle, take up the challenge. Miss Russell felt that she could not let the situation rest there. Having heard of your reputation as a consulting detective, Mr Holmes, as well as your discretion in handling such confidential matters, I advised Miss Russell to write to you.’

  ‘I shall be delighted to inquire into the affair,’ Holmes replied with alacrity. ‘The case has many singular features. However, there are two provisos which I must make.’

  ‘What are those?’

  ‘That my colleague, Dr Watson, should accompany me. You would wish to do so, would you not, my dear fellow?’

  ‘Indeed I would, Holmes,’ I agreed.

  ‘I am sure that can be arranged,’ Lawson said. ‘Lord Deerswood made no stipulation as to the number of persons who would be allowed to examine Hartsdene Manor. And your second proviso?’

  ‘That we undertake the investigation with the minimum delay before there is a change in the conditions regarding the weather and the fullness of the moon.’ Turning to Miss Russell, Holmes continued, ‘I wish to examine the scene of the curious incident you described under circumstances as similar as possible to those in which you yourself witnessed it. You understand, Miss Russell, that I am not for a moment doubting the veracity of your evidence? But I should prefer, in such a case, to make my own observations.’

  ‘Of course, Mr Holmes,’ Miss Russell readily agreed. ‘Would tomorrow evening be convenient for you? You may stay at Windicot Villa overnight and the carriage will be placed at your disposal to drive past Hartsdene Manor at exactly the same hour at which I saw the events I have described.’

  ‘Excellent!’ Holmes exclaimed.

  ‘Then if you care to catch the 4.17 train from Waterloo, I shall see that the carriage meets it at Guildford.’

  ‘The arrangements will suit you, Watson?’ Holmes inquired when, having taken leave of Miss Russell and Mr Lawson and escorted them to the door, he returned to his seat by the fire. ‘Mrs Watson will not object to your spending a night away from home?’

  ‘I am sure not, Holmes.’

  ‘A most estimable woman! And your neighbour will, no doubt, take care of your practice in your absence? So, that being settled, what did you think of Miss Russell, my dear fellow?’

  ‘I thought her a most sensible young lady.’

  ‘Not the type with an over-warm imagination, given to hallucinations or to seeing ghosts?’

  ‘Not in my opinion.’

  ‘My estimation exactly.’

  ‘Who, or what, do you suppose she saw, then? She was altogether convinced that she had not mistaken the former Marquis of Deerswood, apparently dead these four months, for the groom.’

  ‘Never speculate until you are in possession of all the facts, Watson. It is quite the wrong way in which to begin any investigation. Facts first; theory last. Now, my old friend, if you care to make a long arm and reach down from the shelves beside you my book of newspaper cuttings together with volume ‘D’ in my encyclopaedia of reference, we shall begin some preliminary research into those facts, you into the circumstances of Lord Deerswood’s death, while I shall refresh my memory of the young nobleman’s family background. May I recommend The Times cutting for the account of the accident? The date, by the way, is 5th August.’

  We read in silence for several minutes, Holmes engrossed in his encyclopaedia, while I, having found the relevant page in his cuttings-book, perused the following account.

  It had the headline TRAGIC DEATH OF YOUNG MARQUIS, and read:

  Last Thursday afternoon, the Marquis of Deerswood was tragically drowned in a boating accident off the north-west coast of Scotland.

  The young nobleman, who was staying with his uncle, Lord Hindsdale, at Drumpitloch Castle, a family residence, had taken a boat out alone in order to examine the caves at the foot of a nearby cliff when it is believed a sudden squall overturned the craft. The weather at the time was unsettled.

  When the Marquis failed to return, his uncle raised the alarm and a search was carried out. However, no body was found and, as the tide was on the turn, it is assumed that the deceased was swept out to sea.

  A Fatal Accident Inquiry is to be held by the Procurator Fiscal at Glasgow.

  When I had finished reading, I looked up to see Holmes regarding me quizzically.

  ‘Well, Watson, have you any comment to make so far?’

  ‘Only that the Deerswood family seems remarkably ill-starred.’

  ‘A fate which appears to have pursued them throughout the course of their history,’ Holmes remarked, tapping a long finger on the cover of the encyclopaedia. ‘The second Lord Deerswood was beheaded by Richard III; another was arrested for his part in the Babington Plot of 1586 and died in the Tower of London of gaol fever before he could be similarly executed; a third was killed in a duel; and that is not to take into account the death of the apparently late young Marquis’s father on the hunting field. Under the circumstances, their family motto, “Fortunae Progenies”,* has an ironic ring to it. So you made nothing of Gilbert Deerswood’s demise?’

  ‘No, Holmes, I must confess that it seemed straightforward enough.’

  ‘You surprise me. Do you not recall Miss Russell’s account of her first meeting with Gilbert Deerswood? She said that he was out walking his dog, the only physical exercise he indulged in, and was accompanied by the groom – mark that, Watson! – when he stumbled and fell while
climbing over a stile. And yet we are supposed to believe that he was allowed to take a boat out alone on the sea, in adverse weather conditions.’

  ‘Yes, of course, Holmes. I see your point. What, then, are you suggesting? That it was not an accident? In that case, could it have been murder?’

  Holmes leaned back in his chair, his expression indulgent.

  ‘Go on, my dear Watson. Pray expound your theory.’

  ‘Well,’ said I, warming to the idea, ‘the present Lord Deerswood may have murdered his nephew in order to inherit the title and estates. He then threw the body into the sea, overturning the boat to make it appear that the young man had been drowned.’

  ‘No doubt also weighing the body down with stones so that it was never found?’

  ‘That is certainly a possibility.’

  To my discomfiture, Holmes gave a chuckle.

  ‘An interesting theory, my dear fellow, but one that does not take into account Miss Russell’s evidence. Despite my earlier warning, in your eagerness to speculate about the case, you have forgotten that she saw, or thought she saw, the young Lord Deerswood alive only three nights ago in the grounds of Hartsdene Manor. If that is so, it was a remarkably corporeal ghost which had returned from the dead and which needed two grown men to restrain it!’

  ‘Then could he have survived the murder attempt and swum ashore, reappearing later at Hartsdene Manor to confront his uncle? Under those circumstances, the new Marquis of Deerswood could very well find the need to keep him under restraint.’

  ‘With the collusion of the servants, no doubt? If your theory is correct, then why did his uncle not make a second attempt on his nephew’s life and bury the body in the grounds if his purpose was to eliminate the heir and inherit the title? In addition, why should the present Marquis challenge Miss Russell and Mr Lawson to invite anyone they wished to search the Manor? Do you not consider that a curious response under the circumstances?’

  ‘I do not quite follow you.’

  ‘Then place yourself in the present Lord Deerswood’s shoes. You have been accused in so many words, although no doubt Miss Russell and Mr Lawson expressed themselves more delicately, of falsely inheriting the title and the Deerswood estates, the true heir still being alive, a charge you most strongly deny. What would your response have been under the circumstances?’

  ‘Why, to put my lawyer in touch with them, of course, and threaten legal action should they persist with their slander. So would any reasonable man.’

  ‘Exactly! And yet Lord Deerswood failed to do so. Bear that in mind, Watson, when we undertake the investigation. May I suggest that you also consider two other facts which could be relevant?’

  ‘What are those, Holmes?’

  ‘Firstly that Hartsdene Manor was, according to my encyclopaedia of reference, built in the reign of Elizabeth I and, although it was considerably altered in the eighteenth century, a wing of that original Tudor building still stands. Secondly, that the seventh Lord Deerswood was accused of taking part in the Babington Plot.’

  ‘The Babington Plot? You refer to the conspiracy to assassinate Queen Elizabeth and replace her on the throne with Mary Queen of Scots? But what possible connection can that have with the present case?’

  But Holmes refused to be drawn.

  All he would say in answer was, ‘Think about it, my dear fellow. It will make a useful study between now and tomorrow afternoon when I shall expect to see you here again in good time to catch the 4.17 to Guildford.’

  I did as Holmes recommended and turned the matter over in my mind but I was no nearer solving the mystery when, the following afternoon, Holmes and I set off for Waterloo.

  II

  We were met at Guildford station by Frederick Lawson who explained that he was staying, like us, at Windicot Villa in case his professional services should be needed during our inquiries.

  It was a five-mile drive to Little Bramfield near where Miss Russell and her father resided, and the route took us across a track of open heathland. In the fading light, it looked sombre indeed, its only vegetation rough heather and low clumps of furze with a few stunted trees which stood out against the darkening sky like crippled sentinels, standing guard over the desolate landscape.

  The journey was almost complete, apart from the last half-mile, when Frederick Lawson drew our attention to the right-hand side of the road where we had our first sight of Hartsdene Manor.

  It stood a little back from the verge, a square, severe-looking house, its grey-stone façade in the Palladian style unrelieved by any softening benefit of shrubbery or climbing plants. A formal rose-garden and a stretch of lawn fronted the house while a gravelled drive led from a pair of wrought-iron gates up to a plain pillared portico.

  In a few seconds we had passed it, but Holmes appeared content with that first fleeting glimpse for he settled back against the upholstered cushions with every sign of satisfaction.

  Shortly afterwards, we arrived at Windicot Villa, a commodious, red-brick residence. Here we alighted and were welcomed by Miss Russell who conducted us into a comfortable, well-furnished drawing-room where a cheerful log-fire was burning on the hearth.

  Seated by the fire was an elderly, white-haired gentleman whom Miss Russell introduced as her father; a courtly personage of the old school whose frailty of appearance confirmed his poor state of health.

  For his sake, the conversation was general although, after dinner, when Mr Russell had retired to his room, we turned to discussing the subject uppermost in all our minds, Holmes confirming the arrangements with Miss Russell for that evening’s excursion. The carriage would take us along the same road we had already travelled, turning at the crossroads before driving back past the gates of Hartsdene Manor at half-past ten, the same hour at which, four nights before, Miss Russell had witnessed the incident in the garden.

  The weather had remained clear and the moon was still relatively full. The conditions should therefore be similar to those which she herself had encountered.

  ‘And after that,’ Holmes concluded, ‘I suggest that the carriage return here. As Dr Watson and I shall have further inquiries to make in the immediate vicinity of Hartsdene Manor, we shall make our own way back on foot. It is a mere half-mile walk and there is no need for the coachman to be kept from his bed. May I also request that two carriage rugs be placed for our use inside the brougham?’

  ‘What inquiries, Holmes?’ I asked when, the time for our departure having approached, we retired to our bedroom to put on our topcoats in readiness for the drive.

  But Holmes declined to be drawn.

  ‘Wait and see, my dear fellow,’ he said, adding teasingly as we descended the stairs, ‘Remember the Babington Plot!’

  I could still make nothing of the connection and continued to puzzle over it as the carriage set off along the Guildford road, turning as agreed at the crossroads to begin the return journey.

  It was a cold night with a touch of frost in the air and the trees, their branches denuded of foliage, stood very still and stark against a pale sky in which a great, white moon hung, so very bright and close that I could make out quite clearly the mysterious dark continents which marked its lunar surface.

  Although Holmes had taken the right-hand seat, the one which Miss Russell had occupied during that earlier journey, I myself was able, by leaning well forward, to obtain a good view through the carriage window as we approached Hartsdene Manor.

  On this occasion, it was not the house which engaged my attention but the garden. Through the open tracery of the wrought-iron gates, I could see the lawn quite clearly, the grass blanched by the moonlight and by the covering of thick dew which was rapidly turning into a crisp, white frost. There were no trees nearby to cast any shadows and those which lined the drive presented in their leafless state no barrier to observation.

  The lawn, and anyone walking on it, would have been instantly visible to an observer travelling along the road in a carriage, a point which Holmes made when, having drawn level
with the gates, we passed beyond them.

  ‘I am convinced, Watson, that Miss Russell was not mistaken.’

  A few minutes later, he rapped on the panel, a signal to the coachman to halt. We climbed down and the empty brougham proceeded on its return journey, leaving us standing by the roadside, the carriage rugs over our arms.

  I had expected Holmes to walk back to the entrance to Hartsdene Manor. Instead, he followed the road a little distance in the opposite direction until, finding a gap in the thick hedge, he scrambled through.

  Beyond lay a wood which must have formed part of the boundary to that side of the estate for, as we crossed it, I could see ahead of us through the trees the massive bulk of the Manor; or, rather, of a wing which, judging by its steep gables and irregular roof, formed the old Tudor part of the building of which Holmes had already spoken.

  At the edge of the wood, from which point we had a clear view of this part of the house, Holmes halted and seated himself upon a fallen tree-trunk.

  ‘And now, my dear fellow, we must wait upon events,’ he announced in a low voice.

  His manner dissuaded me from asking to which events he was referring and I sat down beside him in silence.

  It was a long and bitterly cold vigil even though the carriage rugs kept out some of the night chill.

  Eleven o’ clock passed and then half-past, signalled by the tolling of a bell from the stable-block.

  It was nearly midnight before any sign of life appeared in the darkened wing of Hartsdene Manor.

  And then, just as I had begun to think that our watch had been wasted, a yellow glow appeared in one of the mullioned windows, wavering at first and then steadying as if someone had carried a lamp into the room and had set it down. Shortly afterwards a similar glow shone out through the panes of the adjoining window and a figure appeared against the glass, even at that distance distinctive in its broad-shouldered silhouette.

  The next instant, both windows were darkened in turn as if heavy curtains or shutters were closed across them, and the façade was once more left in darkness.