‘But mainly for unimportant things, it seems. Well, I hope to meet your son one day, and I’m confident we’ll be seeing your daughter before long. Good day, Lady Allistair, Lord Allistair. I shall see you all off at the train tomorrow. Adieu.’
We walked back to our quarters. I noticed a keen smile on Holmes’ face.
‘Another piece of the puzzle seems to have fallen into place, Watson. It grows clearer by the moment.’
If this were the case, it was indeed news to me. But, immersed as I was in my new role, I swept the ‘puzzles’ from my brain. I had enough to prepare myself for, and not much time.
‘Let’s get down to the maps and instructions,’ I said, and quickened my pace.
The remainder of the evening and a good part of the night was spent in our chambers, where Holmes, with a survey map of the country around Strathcombe spread between us, explained precisely what I should beware of, and where I was to keep close lookout. He had also obtained from Lord Allistair a large-scale map of Strathcombe itself, which showed the floor-plan of the house, and the surrounding gardens, grounds and outbuildings as well.
‘As you can see, the house is not large, being of some fourteen rooms. It was, as we’ve been told, built as a shooting lodge rather than as a mansion. It dates from the time of Henry VII, although somewhat altered in later centuries, and is in remarkably good repair considering its age and infrequency of use. Perhaps the good condition of the house is due in part to its smallish size. In contrast to the house, though, the grounds are considerable, encompassing some 900 acres of meadow, woods and marsh. Furthermore, because of its history as a shooting lodge, the grounds are riddled with outbuildings. There is a stable house with stalls and loose boxes, a kennel with runs and huts, a gamekeeper’s cottage, and the ruins of a mews, long since abandoned. The reason I pay close attention to all of this, Watson, is because I fear the kidnappers have chosen their site well. It is rugged, inaccessible, unpopulated, and possesses myriad hiding places and vantage points. It is no fool’s errand you have volunteered for, my good fellow. The way is fraught with uncertainty and danger. You must be armed at all times and take no chances. Furthermore, you should communicate with me by telegraph daily. Your failure to do so will cause me to call out the militia, do you understand?’
‘Perfectly. By the bye, considering your feelings on the “other problem” here in London, I might give you the same advice.’
‘It would be well-taken, I assure you. Now the required amount of cash will be conveyed to Strathcombe in a strongbox which you will guard. In the event that the “further instructions” come fast upon your arrival, it would be best not to try and contact me, as it would arouse suspicion. You remember from the note that Lord Allistair was not to seek help.’
‘Certainly. How, then, will my presence be explained?’
‘Quite simple: you are a distant cousin of Lady Allistair’s, and are joining them for a stay in the country. I doubt the criminals will see a connection, but if they do, you had best be prepared for the worst. Also, there is something else you should know: none of the household staff at Strathcombe knows the real purpose of the Allistair’s country visit. For safety’s sake, this is to be kept secret as long as possible.’
‘I understand.’
‘Furthermore, considering the emotional state of Lord and Lady Allistair, I need hardly mention that the dreadful business surrounding the Matilda Briggs –’
‘You needn’t fret about that – the tale of the giant rat of Sumatra shall stay locked in my bosom.’
‘Excellent.’
I rose early the following morning and packed my grip. Extra items included a Webley-Smith revolver and box of cartridges, field glasses, and Holmes’ split-bamboo fly rod, which he was gracious enough to loan me.
‘I doubt if you’ll have time to put it to use, but it makes your appearance more legitimate,’ he commented over the breakfast muffins, ‘and pray, don’t forget the maps – you’ll want to familiarize yourself with the surroundings as soon as possible. We’d best be off; the train to Shrewsbury departs within the hour.’
Paddington Station was crowded; we trundled about for what seemed an age before we caught sight of the Allistairs boarding the second to last railway carriage.
‘If they’ve followed my instructions, they have booked an entire compartment. This will ensure comfort, safety, and privacy. However, you should carry your pistol on your person, not in your luggage.’
I did as he bade and clambered aboard. Finding the compartment, I entered and was warmly received by my recent acquaintances. They appeared in better spirits. Whether it was the freshness of the morning, or perhaps the anticipation of the dreadful trial coming to a close, I cannot say, but they appeared almost cheerful, although the anxiety showed through occasionally. I pushed the carriage window down to bid Holmes goodbye.
‘The very best of luck to all of you, including your daughter,’ cried Holmes as the train began to roll, ‘and mind, Watson, keep in touch daily. I’ll be joining you when I’m able.’
Then, it seemed to me very suddenly, he turned and plunged into the thickest part of the crowd and disappeared like a stone in water.
Almost immediately, I was aware of another man following him in to the crowd. The glimpse lasted but an instant, due to our quickening speed, but he appeared intent, even grim, in his mission.
‘Who might that be?’ enquired Lord Allistair.
‘I’ve no idea, but I don’t like his manner I’m bound to say,’ I replied. ‘My friend has emphasized caution time and again – I only hope he heeds his own advice.’
With this unexpected turn of events, the journey, of more than two hours, passed more slowly than it might have. My mind could not help dwelling upon the possibility that Holmes’ life was imperilled. Accordingly, at the next stop. I disembarked and sent the first of my wires, albeit prematurely. It read, ‘Beware, you were followed this morning at Paddington.’
Feeling slightly relieved, I passed the remainder of the trip in pleasant conversation with Lord Allistair and his lovely wife. The rocking of the carriage, and the soporific rumbling and clacking of the wheels soon caused Lady Allistair to doze, albeit fitfully, and Lord Allistair and I talked of Holmes’ last exploits, and the assurance we both had that if anyone could set things right it was Sherlock Holmes. One thing he showed me, however, that returned some feelings of apprehension was a compact leather pouch. Upon opening it, I saw a sight which almost took my breath away: £100,000 in small and medium banknotes.
I drew the compartment curtains and placed my loaded pistol on the seat beside me.
The remainder of the journey passed uneventfully, his Lordship reminiscing about his youth in the Cornish countryside, and his younger years in Parliament; and I felt fortunate in having the opportunity to have become intimate with so illustrious a man. The country rolled by, and the meadows and pastures gradually gave way to dense forests and craggy hills. One saw fewer farms and villages, and less of civilization in general.
‘We are entering the valley of the Severn,’ explained Lord Allistair. ‘To the south, it is a sportsman’s paradise. Clear lakes and deep woods abound there; the only open areas are rock-strewn meadows, and occasional clearings for farms and houses.’
‘The woods are very dense, are they not?’
‘Ah, I can see you’ve never been to this part of England before, Doctor Watson. These are the finest forests in the land. They are primeval, and have been for centuries some of the favourite hunting grounds of English kings. They are mostly oak and beech. Some of the older trees, dating from the Middle Ages, are gigantic.’
I was amazed to see trees with trunks the size of cottages, and limbs the size of trees. The woods had an eerie, fantastical quality; their size and grandeur defied belief – one expected them to be inhabited by goblins, witches and monsters.
Some minutes later, as the train eased to a stop, the faint clangour of the bell could be heard over the hissing of steam and squeaki
ng of brakes.
We gathered our things (most carefully, of course, the satchel containing the fortune in ransom money) and quit the compartment. I took the lead. I carried my grip and fly-pole with my left hand, my right hand casually thrust in my pocket clutching my revolver. While I didn’t wish to cause the Allistairs any undue alarm, I knew that if the kidnappers wished to make an early escape with the money, the railway station, or nearby, was the logical place to lie in wait. However, the corridor was deserted, and we alighted on the platform without incident. Also, to my pleasant surprise, the only other disembarking passengers consisted of an elderly couple. Evidently then, we weren’t followed from London.
We were promptly met by Brundage, the head of the household staff at Strathcombe. He was a middle-aged bald man with greyed temples and a dreamy, wistful expression. His meeting with the Allistairs was charged with emotion: there wasn’t a dry eye amongst the three of them. I took this to be another good sign – the head servant was an old and trusted employee, and one with great attachment to the family. As he packed our luggage expertly in the landau, I glanced keenly about. The station platform was deserted save for several gossiping bumpkins whom I took to be farm labourers, and a lounging gypsy.
All in all, I was much heartened as we boarded the open coach and set off for Strathcombe, some eleven miles distant.
‘We shall lunch at the White Hart in Rutlidge,’ called Lord Allistair to his servant as we set off.
Shrewsbury is a small but prosperous city, having a large business in tanneries, and is an outlet for the various minerals and timber taken from the countryside. We skirted a handsome park and rumbled through several narrow streets, each lined by the black-and-white timbered houses. Leaving the city, we caught a glimpse of the old abbey and castle, built in the eleventh century as a Saxon stronghold. Soon afterward, however, all traces of civilization were left behind, and the road cut its way through more of the towering forests I had seen from the railway carriage.
The only break in this rugged and wild scenery was the hamlet of Rutlidge, which consisted only of a score or so of buildings, one of which was the charming country inn called the White Hart.
We had an excellent and hearty lunch of cold ham, creamed potatoes, custard pie, and cider. Neither the innkeeper nor any of the guests, of whom there were several in the dining room, showed the slightest interest in us. Apparently, they did not even recognize the famous couple.
‘We aren’t well known hereabouts, except by reputation,’ explained Lady Allistair. ‘I doubt if there are a score of people round the countryside who could know us on sight. As we’ve told you before, we do not spend much time here, and when we do we keep pretty much to ourselves.’
How ironic, thought I, that these kind, simple country folk go about their tasks blissfully unaware not only of the presence of one of England’s foremost political figures, but of the ominous exchange that would possibly take place within a matter of days.
‘Get out!’ I heard the innkeeper cry. He entered the dining room with a look of loathing on his coarse features. Looking beyond him, I saw a figure reluctantly slink down the dark hallway of the public house. As he swung open the door to leave, I saw it was a gypsy, whose earrings, slouch hat, and swarthy features were unmistakable. Furthermore, I noticed it was the same fellow who had been idling about on the railway platform. He ambled dejectedly out into the autumn sunshine.
‘Sorry to trouble you,’ pursued the innkeeper as he passed our table, ‘but I fear I’ve lost all patience with that lout. He’s been loitering about the place for two days.’
‘And you have never seen him before then?’ I asked.
‘Not that I can recall, sir, no. But they come and go, living off thievery, and poaching. With their bad habits and ill manners, it’s no surprise they’re forced to keep moving. Oh, they’re thick around these parts. They like the woods, for it enables them to hide from the law. There’s plenty of game and fish, too, for them to live off of. Plenty of gypsy camps hereabouts, but I don’t recall that shirker before, no, sir.’
The early afternoon sun was warm for an autumn day, and the four of us proceeded at a leisurely pace. The horse, who knew the way, kept at a slow trot, and Brundage soon forgot whip and rein. The autumn colours were just beginning to turn their rich reds and golds, and the aroma of damp leaves and fallen fruit was thick on the wind. The famous couple held hands together in the rear seat. It was obvious they were still deeply in love, and enjoyed showing affection to one another. To think that somewhere in the surrounding wilderness there crept villains who would stoop to an act so vile as to kidnap their daughter filled me with rage and revulsion.
Soon we came out of the beech forest and ascended a long, gentle rise, the summit of which provided an excellent view of the entire countryside. Here there were few trees, owing to the great abundance of boulders and cliffs. As I looked back down towards the forest, I was aware of a slight movement along the side of the road. Without comment, I took the field glasses from their leather case and raised them to my eyes.
It was a man on horseback, perhaps a mile behind us. Though still in the woods, I could see his outline as he passed through the myriad shafts of sunlight that pierced the gloom of the heavy wood. For a brief second, he was entirely illuminated by the sloping rays of the sunlight. I could see that it was the gypsy. The third appearance of this character, travelling apparently aimlessly, yet in our direction, made me uneasy. Had Holmes observed him thus, I am sure he would have said that there was an ominous deliberation about the man – that although possibly only a coincidence, a coincidence was unlikely. The gypsy was following us. I was about to tell Brundage to reverse and confront the lout, whereupon I could threaten him with my revolver. However, I recalled the portion of the ransom note which warned of any involvement with the police or other parties. One glance at the Allistairs, so brimming with hope and confidence in me, and I realized this was a foolish course, however much I yearned for action. A few minutes later, we topped another rise. Again, I looked back. Even with the aid of the glasses, I was unable to see anyone upon the road. The man had vanished into the forest. Somewhat relieved, I returned the glasses to their case and, not mentioning the incident, sat out the remainder of the ride in silence.
Unlike most country houses with which I have been acquainted, Strathcombe was not set off in full view of passers-by. It had neither an open approach to the grounds, nor a high fence with elaborate gates. It was, rather, set halfway into a copse of tall trees that all but obscured the house and buildings. One did not approach it, but stumbled across it gradually, as if by accident. The gravel path turned, and we passed several of the outbuildings before the house itself came into full view.
With an expertise that had grown from long practice, Brundage swung the open carriage round and we alighted upon the stone steps that rose gradually to the open terrace in front. Ascending the steps, the three of us paused on the bricked terrace to admire the view. The terrace, enclosed by an ancient lichen-blotched stone balustrade, looked out over a broad valley through which meandered a small trout stream. Clumps of willows abutted the stream, and the meadows on each side were bordered by woods. Save for the small outhouses, there was not another sign of civilization to be seen – not so much as a farmer’s cottage nor a church steeple. The dying sun cast a reddish glow in the West, and the setting seemed already to work a soothing spell upon the couple. Accustomed as I was to city noises, it was a pleasant change indeed to hear the myriad bird sounds – the mewing and twittering of the swallows as they crisscrossed the dusk on crescent wings, the trill of the larks and blackbirds.
Having been shown to my quarters, which consisted of a bedroom, dressing room and parlour, I unpacked my belongings and dressed for dinner.
After changing my clothes, I placed the map of the estate that Holmes had given me on the bed, and, by looking out of the double window, proceeded to orientate myself.
The house consisted of four large rooms downstairs surr
ounding a great hall. Upstairs were ten smaller rooms, at one time no doubt serving as individual bedrooms to accommodate guests. Now, however, these rooms were split into three suites, one of which I now occupied. My suite was in the left wing, in front, and commanded a splendid view of the main approach to the house. In the dimming light, I could barely make out the grey tower of the ancient lime kiln.
A motion caught my eye near the lime kiln. It was a man on horseback. Could it be the gypsy? Would he have the effrontery to follow us on to the very grounds of Strathcombe? I raised the field glasses to my eyes for a better view. The man was certainly not a gypsy: he had blond hair. I glimpsed him only for a moment, however, because he wheeled his horse quickly about, dashed over the meadow, and cleared the stone wall in a prodigious leap. Whoever he is, I thought, he can surely handle a horse. Who was this man? I must remember to mention him to Lord Allistair.
Continuing to examine the grounds from my vantage point, I took in the meadows and deep woods beyond with a sweeping gaze. Holmes was correct; the kidnappers had indeed chosen their site with cunning. Hidden in the deep woods or on the rugged hillsides, they were secluded and safe. To search them out would require a score of men and horses, and hounds as well. Obviously, this course of action would spell disaster for Lady Allistair. Clearly, the criminals could remain safe as long as they wished. On the other hand, the close-lying woods and broken stone walls would allow them to skulk about close to the house itself without being detected. This would enable them to come and go as they pleased, to leave notes of instruction and, ultimately, to obtain the ransom. It is an old soldier’s saying that ‘the unseen enemy is the most feared’. I have always believed this, and standing at my window in the twilight in that desolate place I was profoundly convinced of the saying’s veracity. To add further to my feelings of uneasiness was the evidence of high intelligence and assiduous planning behind the kidnapping plot. Already I longed for Holmes’ presence and support. However, determined to fulfil my role as Holmes had described it, I assumed a cheerful, almost jaunty air and descended the staircase to meet Lord and Lady Allistair in the great hall.
The Giant Rat of Sumatra Page 10
