Thomas Carlyle
CHAPTER 19
Murder!
nce again, Mason accompanied me as I wheeled Holmes towards our rooms. Moving to the grand staircase, we passed by the library, the rows of gleaming leatherbound books visible through the open door. A sudden sound took us all by surprise – a heavy book dropped perhaps? And then the raised voices of two people in the middle of a row from the far end of the library.
I recognized the first; Lady Pellingham’s voice was nearly a shout. ‘Your insensitivity is—is—intolerable. No matter your passion for art, you are blind!!’
A baritone male voice answered in hushed angry tones; we could not make out the words, but it sounded like the Earl. ‘Why can’t I make you see?’ came the lady’s shrill response.
Mason closed the double doors to the library. The next sound was muffled but it was unmistakeably the voice of the Earl, shouting now.
Mason hurried us away, down another corridor, and finally to the base of the long staircase leading up to our rooms on the third floor.
‘Wait here,’ he said, ‘I will ring for two footmen to carry Lord Prendergast and his chair.’ A high-pitched female scream of terror, strangely cut off, echoed down the hall.
‘My God!’ I exclaimed.
The butler gripped my arm like a clamp. ‘Do not move,’ he nearly shouted in my face and ran off down the hall.
Holmes immediately sat up. ‘Quick, Watson. Turn down this hall and run with me, like the wind.’
‘But—’
‘Do it! That scream came from the library. I know a back way!’ Without hesitation I grabbed the chair and wheeled Holmes at a run down another corridor. Directed by Holmes we turned right, left, then left again. In a moment we faced a new door, which led into a darkened anteroom filled with bookcases and a couple of desks. Beyond this small chamber, another door was open to the library where bright lights blazed.
I wheeled Holmes into the anteroom, nearly slipping on a stack of papers that had been knocked off a desk on to the floor. ‘There!’ whispered Holmes, ‘nearer that door!’
A door at the other end of the small room was partially open; through the crack we could see into the library. Servants rushed about in a panic in the bright gaslight. Several were clustered around something beneath them. Then the crowd parted and I glimpsed a bright rose dress spread out along the floor, a pale hand resting next to it. It was Lady Pellingham!
‘We are too late! What a fool I have been!’ hissed Holmes. ‘See to her, Watson!’
But I had already leapt past him and ran at once into the room. ‘I’m a doctor, let me help!’ I cried. ‘Stand back!’
The cluster of servants surrounding the prone figure of Lady Pellingham made space for me. I kneeled by her side. She was not breathing. I felt for a pulse in her wrist, but found none. I leaned in to check more closely, but Strothers rushed in and pushing me aside, gathered his daughter up in his arms, hugging her close to his body.
‘Annabelle!’ he moaned in agony. ‘My child! Oh, my God!’
‘Sir, let me examine her!’ I cried. But the man was blinded by his grief and could not let go. He began to sob. Gently I tried to pry the limp form of Lady Pellingham from his fingers. I managed to get Strothers to release her and I gently laid her on the floor.
And then I saw her face. Its beautiful features were contorted into a mask of terror, eyes bulging open, lips twisted in agony, tongue protruding. And stabbed deeply into her upper chest was a silver letter opener. Small dribbles of blood surrounded it, staining her rose-coloured bodice.
Knowing she was dead, I nevertheless went through the motions. I felt again for a pulse. There was none. I withdrew my handkerchief, and with shaking hands, unfolded it gently across her face, blocking the terrible sight from view. I looked up. A ring of horrified faces hovered above us.
‘I am so sorry,’ I said. ‘There is nothing I can do.’
Behind them, Holmes had wheeled himself into the room and was scanning it carefully.
Sobbing, Strothers once again threw himself across his daughter’s body.
‘Step away from the body, everyone.’ Boden’s high-pitched tenor voice cut through the general murmur. Everyone turned to see the magistrate standing at the door with the Earl and Mason, who had evidently fetched them both. Silence. Mason protectively supported the Earl’s arm.
‘There has obviously been a murder,’ Boden said, easily taking command. ‘Everyone step away and touch nothing.’
‘Indeed,’ Holmes snapped, temporarily out of character. Boden looked sharply at him.
Then the Earl stepped forward, uncertainly. ‘Annabelle?’ he whispered. ‘Annabelle?’
Servants moved aside, giving him a clear view of the body. I knelt beside her on one side, Strothers on the other.
The Earl now had a full view of his dead wife, and sank to his knees with a moan. Mason and another servant caught him as he fell.
‘Doctor!’ said Mason, struggling to lower his master to the floor.
I could do nothing for the lady, and so rushed to the Earl’s side. He lay unconscious on the heavy carpet, his eyes fluttering, his pulse racing. Shock? Grief? Whatever the cause, he was deeply in distress.
‘Brandy!’ I called, loosening his collar. It was supplied immediately.
‘Clear the room now!’ commanded Boden. Then, to Strothers, ‘Daniel, if you please …’
Strothers looked up from where he had once again raised his dead daughter’s body to his bosom. With a moan of grief, he gently laid her back upon the carpet.
‘I am so sorry for your loss, sir,’ said Boden. ‘But this is a crime scene. Everyone must step back. Now.’
Strothers moved as if in a trance, helped out by two servants as another wheeled Holmes into the hallway. Boden approached the body, and flicked back my handkerchief to reveal the horrific face again. ‘Sad,’ he said. ‘Very sad.’
He scanned the room. Only the butler, the Earl and I remained. The Earl was sitting up now, staring in horror at his wife’s distorted face. He began to gag and I walked between them to block his view.
‘Doctor, help Lord Pellingham out of this room,’ said Boden.
‘Mr Boden,’ I began. ‘It is possible that the lady did not die of—’
But Boden overrode me with vehemence. ‘Unless you are a seasoned policeman, Doctor, leave the investigation to me. Do as I say. Now.’
We were all removed to a nearby hallway, and the Earl was placed in a chair. Resentfully, I continued to attend him. He had regained consciousness but was now gasping and moaning. Strothers, by contrast, sat opposite, silent, raining tears.
Holmes stayed back from the rest, observing carefully.
I administered a strong sedative to the Earl, and his breathing slowed. ‘Annabelle. Annabelle,’ he repeated senselessly as he began to fade.
A young footman, tow-headed and reed-thin, ran towards the library. Mason spotted him and called out, ‘Richard! Get back to your post!’
‘Sir, said the young man breathlessly. ‘Mr Boden summoned me.’ I sensed Holmes’s slight reaction off to my side.
Mason hesitated only a brief second, and then nodded his assent. ‘Go then, Dickie,’ he said. The blond footman entered the library, closing the door behind him.
Dickie!
The sedative I had administered was working and the Earl nodded. ‘He’ll need to be carried,’ I said.
As Mason directed two men to carry off Pellingham, I turned to Holmes. He sat still in his chair, but I knew he must be nearly beside himself with regret and frustration.
‘Steady,’ I whispered.
The door burst open. Boden emerged, followed by the blond footman. ‘Where is the Earl? I have solved the case.’
Holmes and I exchanged a look of surprise.
‘The Earl is sedated,’ I volunteered. ‘He has been taken to his room. I’m afraid he’ll be insensible ’til morning.’
Boden stamped his foot. ‘Mason, bring me the valet, Pomeroy.
Get him here at once, and do not let him escape. He may try!’
Beside me, Holmes was on fire and unable to act. Mason signalled for some footmen as I stepped forward to check on Strothers. The old man’s face was tear-stained and he was shaking in grief. He gripped my hand, hard.
Abruptly Holmes wheeled to face the suffering man.
‘I … I’ll be all right,’ said Strothers. ‘I … I …’
‘Sir, would you like a sedative?’ I asked.
‘Perhaps he simply needs to talk,’ said Holmes gently.
Strothers started, then wiped away tears. ‘Neither, but thank you. I need to … I need to … What would Annabelle have wanted me to do?’
At that point, two burly servants entered, dragging a terrified Pomeroy between them. He was brought before Boden.
‘Here is the villain,’ announced Boden. ‘At least Mr Strothers may know his daughter’s killer tonight. Pomeroy, you are hereby formally charged with murder.’
Holmes and I exchanged a quick glance of disbelief.
‘Sir! I had nothing to do with—’ began the terrified valet. Boden stepped forward and backhanded him hard across the face.
‘Mr Boden!’ exclaimed Holmes in Prendergast’s high-pitched whine. ‘Must you be so rough?’
‘I have the proof. This man was seen entering the library with a silver salver bearing a letter and the murder weapon – the letter opener – only a minute before the murder. The lady was alone at the time, and the salver was discovered near the body.’ Boden slapped Pomeroy again, hard. ‘What have you to say for yourself?’
The valet was frozen in horror. ‘N-not true, sir! I did not enter the library at all!’
‘You were seen,’ said Boden. The blond footman named Dickie stepped forward with a small smile and a nod. ‘You had opportunity and means. I will soon learn your motive.’
He turned to the rest of us. ‘It is time for all to retire and let the local constables handle this. We will call them and the coroner. Mr Strothers, justice will be found for your dear daughter. I will ensure it. Mason, please see everyone to their rooms.’
CHAPTER 20
The Chambermaid
inutes later we were back in our rooms, the door latching shut behind us. Holmes shot from his wheelchair as if propelled, and wringing his hands, paced back and forth in a fury.
‘I’m an idiot!’ he groaned. ‘This is a disaster! They are framing Pomeroy. I need to get into that room!’
‘Holmes! Your shoes!’ I said.
He stopped, confused. Then abruptly slipped them off. ‘Thank you, Watson.’ It would not do to have wear marks on the bottom of a paralysed man’s shoes! And until the Earl’s arrest he must maintain the disguise. He continued to pace in his stocking feet.
‘Damn! I need another look at the body!’
‘We can’t risk it, Holmes,’ I said.
‘Had I thirty more seconds we would know the murderer now!’
‘You don’t think it was the Earl?’
‘Data! Data! We do not have all we need! If it is the Earl we must have incontrovertible evidence!’
He growled in exasperation. Then, slumped down on a chair, he sat staring at the dim fire in the small fireplace, rubbing his chest, a look of exhaustion and pain apparent. The room was cooling fast. The fire had been allowed to die down.
He was exhausted, and so was I.
‘Holmes, let us turn in. There is nothing we can do at this hour.’
‘The night is not over yet, Watson. Pomeroy’s alliance with Lady Pellingham must have been noted. Whoever or whatever forces which aligned against her – her murderer – or not – are now conspiring to take him out of the picture.’
A knock at the door sounded and we both jumped. ‘Who is it?’ I called. Holmes quickly sat back in his wheelchair.
It was Nellie. The little blonde chambermaid Holmes had noted at our arrival was pale with terror, her cheeks stained with tears. I let her in and closed the door behind her. She stood before us, trembling and unable to speak. Holmes approached and gently took her hands.
‘Mr Pomeroy sent you here, didn’t he? And your name is Nellie?’
She could only nod in reply.
‘I know you are Mr Pomeroy’s young lady,’ said Holmes softly. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘M-Mr Holmes is it?’ she stammered.
‘Ah, he told you that,’ said Holmes with a frustrated look at me. He stood up from the wheelchair. ‘What is it?’
She nodded. ‘Freddie. He didn’t do it!’ she said.
‘I didn’t think so. But can you prove it?’
‘It could’na been my Freddie. He was with me when the Lady screamed. Right with me!’ She sobbed.
‘Whom did you tell?’
‘Only Janie, the scullery maid. Well, I didn’t tell. She saw, too.’
‘Why not tell Mason?’ asked Holmes.
‘Freddie said never to tell about us. We’d’ve lost our jobs.’
‘Any idiot could see that you— never mind – but who is this “Dickie”, and why would he lie about your young man’s presence in the library?’
‘Dickie, he fancied me once. But Freddie and I … and then Freddie reported him for stealing some port, and so you see—’ She broke off and began to sob, loudly.
‘But of course,’ said Holmes. ‘I understand. Calm yourself. I will see that justice is done. Tomorrow I will present your evidence.’
‘Tonight! Sir, you must go tonight!’ Her sobs rose in volume.
Holmes threw up his hands in frustration. ‘Watson, fix this.’ He moved away and began to pace.
I took her arms and gently raised her up to standing. ‘There now, Nellie, take courage.’ I patted her hand. ‘You must understand, there is due process of law. Mr Holmes is very good at what he does. He will see that your young man is exonerated.’
‘Is wot?’
‘Set free. I promise. But you must keep our secret.’
She nodded her assent. I dried the girl’s tears and sent her on her way. I felt uneasy and turned to my friend.
‘I’m wondering, Holmes, if the time has come to reveal ourselves and join in the investigation?’
‘Not until the Nike is delivered,’ snapped Holmes. He turned to me. ‘I wager this will still take place in the morning, despite this unfortunate interruption.’
‘Surely the Earl wouldn’t—’
‘Do not underestimate the man’s obsession. The delivery will proceed as planned.’
‘But what of Pomeroy? Do you believe the girl?’
‘I do. I know for certain that Pomeroy is being framed,’ said Holmes.
‘How?’
‘The silver salver.’
‘What about it?’
‘It was not present in the room at the time of the murder.’
‘You were in the room for less than a minute! How could you—’
Holmes silenced me with a look.
‘Since it was placed there later, and not in our presence, it must have been brought in by someone after we left the room. Only Dickie entered the room after it was cleared.’
I said nothing. He was, of course, right.
‘It is possible that other small arrangements were made. And now, Watson, I must ask you to do something,’ he said, and hesitated. ‘It is dangerous.’
‘What do you need, Holmes? You know I am ready.’
‘Return downstairs. You must get to the body and examine it.’
‘They will never let me near the body. It’s probably been removed already.’
‘You must try! Do it in secret if you must! That stab wound was post mortem, of that I am sure; there was too little blood.’
‘Agreed. And her face!’ I said.
‘Exactly. The eyes, the tongue indicate either poison—’
‘—or strangulation!’ I said.
‘Precisely. I must know which. I need to return to the library. Oh, damn this chair and this whole ridiculous charade!’ He swatted at the chair in frustration
.
‘Holmes, calm down. I can be your eyes and ears.’ I started to go; then turned with a sudden worry. ‘You will not venture out into the house yourself while I am doing this, Holmes? Because you will surely be caught.’
‘I’m not an idiot!’ he snapped. ‘I’m sorry. I promise you this. I will not venture one step beyond that door. Count on it.’
‘I want your word.’
He sighed in resignation. ‘You have my word. And be very careful, Watson. The murderer could be still within the house.’
After a quick consultation with Holmes’s detailed floor plans, I returned to the library taking our back way. With Pomeroy’s arrest, most of the household had settled into stunned grief and there were few about. But the library was now locked from both ends.
Breaking the lock was out of the question. Surely they had someone standing vigil with poor Lady Pellingham. And offering my services would get me nowhere, of that I was sure. This was a senseless plan and unlike Holmes to suggest it.
I next tried the kitchen and succeeded only in acquiring the biscuits and hot milk that were my excuse, and the information that the coroner, one Hector Philo by name, was also the town doctor, and was busy with a difficult childbirth and would not appear to collect the body until the morning.
Lady Pellingham’s body had meanwhile been laid out in the larder, which was kept very cool, and was guarded by two servants. I also learned that Pomeroy had been removed to gaol, and Dickie was nowhere to be found.
I made my way carefully back to the room, slipped inside our door and bolted it behind me in relief.
CHAPTER 21
On the Ledge
pon entering, I noticed the room was dark and freezing cold. Something was wrong.
‘Holmes,’ I called out in a loud whisper. There was no answer. I could not make out anyone in the bed. I set down the biscuits and milk and moved to the nearly extinct fire, and turned up the gaslight above it. The room was empty. The window was wide open and the curtains were flapping in the wind. In a panic I checked my room; he wasn’t there, either. I locked my outer door and ran to the open window in his room.
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