Mr Holmes’s eyes were bright again. ‘Of course I should wish to see that letter for myself…’
‘I have already taken steps to make it available to you, Mr Holmes. On receiving it, the archbishop passed it to the Cabinet, but there was no sense of alarm. Lord Beaumaris was known to be very old and very ill. To be honest, we dismissed his letter as the ramblings of a dying man.’
‘But something has occurred since to change your mind?’
‘It has indeed, Mr Holmes. We received – in great secrecy – high level representations from the Vatican. It appears that for some time rumours have been circulating in Syria about Lord Beaumaris. Persistent rumours. It was said he was on the brink of an amazing breakthrough concerning the Lazarus scroll. The cardinals took it seriously enough to conduct their own investigation, and what they found unnerved them greatly. We don’t need to go into the details here, but they uncovered a remarkable story of ancient clues and ciphers, the sort of tale that we should dismiss as risible nonsense were we to read it in a popular novel. But it was enough to convince the Vatican’s investigators that Lord Beaumaris really was on the verge of a sensational discovery, and when his lordship returned suddenly to London they asked our help in… well, let us say, in managing the affair.’
‘And what did happen when Beaumaris arrived in London?’ Holmes was listening intently now, his eyes fastened on the speaker.
‘I’m sorry to say that his lordship’s health had deteriorated greatly during his journey, Mr Holmes. Even before he embarked he was a very sick man. By the time he arrived in Portsmouth, it was clear he had only a few days to live. There was no question of him continuing his search. Instead he was carried to his house in Randolph Square, too weak to even leave his bed. I visited him there, but he absolutely refused to divulge a word of what he knew. He had decided to take his secret to the grave, he told me. He said he trusted no one else with such a precious document. And that, Mr Holmes, appeared to be an end to it. We sent word to Viscount Wrexham that his father was dying, but the Viscount was examining bloodstock in Ireland and it seemed uncertain he could return in time.’
‘But surely, with so much at stake, you took measures to ensure that any last words would be taken down?’
‘We did, Mr Holmes, although I am not proud of it. I installed a small group of officials in the house and closed the doors to all other comers. The group was made up of two Scotland Yard men to guard against intruders, our own nurses and a Home Office physician, a shorthand reporter to take down any last words, and Mr Fallowell here, as the archbishop’s representative, the only one of the whole party his lordship was pleased to see.’
‘You see, sir,’ his companion explained, ‘I had often corresponded with Lord Beaumaris over technical points of Aramaic syntax. He seemed pleased that at the last he was able to talk about such subjects, although he was very weak, and often incoherent.’
‘But he said nothing about the Lazarus Testament itself?’ Mr Holmes asked sharply.
‘Not until right at the end, sir. Then he told me that if fate had given him just two more days of strength, he might have held it in his hands.’
‘But he gave no indication of its whereabouts?’
‘No, Mr Holmes. Only that it involved a journey out of London. I think I sensed that deep down he wanted to share what he knew. Otherwise his life’s work was wasted, you see. But he told me I was safer not knowing. He said there were people out there who would kill to obtain the Lazarus Testament.’
Sherlock Holmes fixed a shrewd glance upon his visitor. ‘But something tells me the matter did not rest there, Mr Fallowell?’
‘No indeed, although it seemed certain that it would. His lordship was beginning to slip in and out of consciousness, and the doctors were shaking their heads. And then, at that desperate moment, Viscount Wrexham made his entrance.’
‘Remember, gentlemen,’ Sir Percival put in, ‘that the two men had not spoken for decades. No one had expected the Viscount to appear. Remember too, that Lord Beaumaris had bankrupted himself by his quest and that there was nothing but debt for the Viscount to inherit. So whether it was lingering filial affection that brought him, or rumours of a priceless treasure in his father’s grasp, we shall never know.’
‘And when the two met?’ Dr Watson asked. ‘A very moving moment, I imagine.’
‘Certainly a dramatic one, Doctor,’ Mr Fallowell replied. ‘In fact I have never witnessed a more remarkable scene in my life. I was seated by his lordship’s bed when the doors to the room were thrown open. The doctors and the shorthand writer were in close attendance too, but the Viscount ignored us all. He paused for a moment in the doorway, his eyes on his father, then strode quickly forward and knelt at the bedside.
‘I shall never forget the powerful effect of that entrance, Doctor. Viscount Wrexham was no longer a young man, sir. He must have been sixty if a day, and his famous long golden locks were turned a striking shade of silver. But you felt the power of the man instantly. It was as if he filled the room with a new vigour and a new vitality. Even though I had heard many bad things about his conduct, it was impossible not to be impressed by him.’
‘Very interesting, I’m sure, Mr Fallowell. But what did he actually do?’
‘As I say, Mr Holmes, he kneeled by his father’s bed and took his hand. He didn’t say a word – not even a whisper – but I saw the old man’s eyes open. For a few seconds he looked into his son’s face and then with his other hand he beckoned him forward, until the Viscount’s ear was almost against his lips. And then I saw him whisper. I say “saw” because, of all the observers, I was the closest, and I heard nothing. But I could see his lips move and could see the rise of his chest as he struggled for breath. And then he seemed to sink back, as if his last task were accomplished. His son nodded, and rose to his feet. I waited then, expecting him to speak, but the Viscount simply turned on his heel and walked from the room.
‘I hardly had time to be surprised, for my first thoughts were for his lordship, who I feared had breathed his last. But when I had reassured myself that he still lived, I looked up into the ante-room, and I saw the Viscount at the writing desk in the corner. As I watched, he pulled out a pen and scribbled something on a sheet of writing paper. Then he thrust the paper into his pocket, and without once looking back, he strode from his father’s apartments.’
‘And was never seen again, Mr Holmes,’ Sir Percival added in solemn, weighty tones. A silence fell upon the room then and all eyes turned to him. ‘Well, actually I exaggerate a little. A maid downstairs saw him leave the house. But from that point on, from the moment he stepped into Randolph Square, he was gone. It was as Mr de Lacey told you. Nothing. Not a sighting, not a rumour, not a squeak.’
In the pause which followed, I became aware that the wind which had risen so suddenly must have blown itself out. Now the world outside was deadly still. It seemed to me, lurking in the shadows of the silver cupboard, that there was something eerie in that stillness, as though the night itself was hanging on the speaker’s words. But then Dr Watson stirred and busied himself filling glasses, and the moment passed, allowing the reassuring comfort of the study to reassert itself. And I could see from the look in Mr Holmes’s eyes that he was enjoying the mystery that had been placed before him.
‘So Viscount Wrexham disappeared, taking with him the only information concerning the whereabouts of the Lazarus Testament. And now you believe him dead. From what we were told of the corpse found by the Thames, it seems you believe he died the day he vanished, or very near that time. Is that correct?’
‘Well, Mr Holmes, that would explain our complete failure to find any trace of him. The Viscount was a distinctive looking man – that long hair of his – and a well known figure across the Home Counties and beyond. And we’ve had posters in every railway station. But not a word.’
‘And tell me, Sir Percival, have you speculated about how he may have ended up in the Thames?’
Our visitor looked uneasy. �
�Well, sir, there are various possible explanations. On his father’s death, the family estates would be sold to pay the creditors. The Viscount would be left with nothing at all. After so many years of high living that would be a bleak prospect for the man.’
‘So you suspect suicide?’
‘It is one possibility, Mr Holmes. And we cannot rule out common assault. It was growing dark when the Viscount left Randolph Square. If he had set out on foot for his destination, perhaps pre-occupied with his father’s words, perhaps a little careless of his own safety, he might have been set upon by thieves.’
‘And your other explanation?’
‘It is the one we fear most: that the Viscount fell into the hands of persons intent on finding the Lazarus Testament. They may simply have considered him a useful hostage in extracting information from Lord Beaumaris. But they may then have discovered that he had information himself. He may even have volunteered what he knew in the hope of saving his life. In which case, Mr Holmes, I fear there are others out there, ahead of us in the chase…’
‘And there is nothing else to report from the bedchamber of Lord Beaumaris? No other word was spoken about the Lazarus Testament?’
‘No, Mr Holmes. Lord Beaumaris never regained consciousness, although he lingered on for a few days more. It seems he might have outlived his only son and heir.’
The great detective digested this silently for a moment.
‘Thank you, Sir Percival,’ he concluded. ‘A very pretty puzzle indeed. We accept the case. There are unarguably points of unusual interest in it. And although we shall have many further questions for you in due course, I think for now it would be better if we were to step back and collect our thoughts.’ He turned to Dr Watson with a smile. ‘I fear your planned holiday in the Downs will have to wait, my friend. And now, gentlemen,’ he went on, turning back to his guests, ‘I perceive that the excellent Flotsam is on hand to show you out. You will excuse us if we do not accompany you to the door? We have much to consider.’
And with that the great detective turned his full attention to his pipe, while I, jolted by his words, almost dropped the big candelabra. For I had been thinking, not about Lord Beaumaris or Viscount Wrexham, nor even of how Mrs Hudson had known to ask me about Bible stories. I had been thinking of a man lying in the mud on Baker Street, and of his last words. A dead man risen from grave…
Those words had been whispered to me that day, and they had been spoken so faintly I had barely been able to make them out. But somehow, it seemed, they were growing louder with every day that passed.
Chapter VI
The Deathbed Clue
To my surprise, the evening did not end with the departure of Sir Percival and Mr Fallowell. Although the hour was already advanced, no sooner had I returned to the kitchen, where Mrs Hudson was stitching new aprons by the fire, than a timid knock behind me announced that Mr Holmes had followed me downstairs. I had learned already that it was not unusual for the great detective to visit Mrs Hudson’s private domain when he had particular instructions to impart or when, in Dr Watson’s absence, he required an audience for his brilliant reasoning. On this occasion he put his head around the door and coughed apologetically.
‘Ah, Mrs Hudson,’ he began, ‘I wondered if I might disturb you for a moment?’
‘Of course you may, sir.’ The housekeeper roused herself from her seat and drew another chair up to the hearth. ‘I daresay you and Dr Watson will be making an early start tomorrow, sir, in the light of Sir Percival’s visit?’
‘Very astute, as always, Mrs Hudson,’ the detective smiled as he settled himself into the proffered chair. ‘We have a great deal of work to do. Ah! Brown ale! Thank you. You know how much I enjoy a glass. It is a vice Watson insists on keeping from the readers of those little accounts of his. He says drinking brown ale is a habit devoid of all mystery.’
He allowed himself a private chuckle at his friend’s folly and then leaned forward to place the bottle by the grate.
‘I confess the subject of our investigations is a rather esoteric one, Mrs Hudson. Dr Watson and I will need to learn quickly. Still, I fancy few people outside holy orders would know very much more than we do about this thing we seek – a document they are calling the Lazarus Testament.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Mrs Hudson replied calmly, returning to her stitching. ‘Speaking for myself, apart from it being a lost text of uncertain origin, last recorded in Alexandria, I know very little about it.’
My eyes opened wide at this remarkable display of knowledge, but Mr Holmes simply smiled.
‘Surprised, Flotsam?’ he asked. ‘Yet one glance around this room is enough to tell me that Mrs Hudson has been asking one or two questions of her own.’
When I looked around in bewilderment, the great man smiled again.
‘If you raise your eyes a little, to that shelf yonder, you will notice a glass jar marked “saffron” among Mrs Hudson’s herbs and spices. It is three quarters full. Yet if you look at the dresser over there, you will notice a small bag, similarly marked, still with its shop tag and ribbon. Now Mrs Hudson’s efficiency is not in any doubt, so it is not by accident that she has bought spices she doesn’t need. And since she made her purchase at Pomfret’s, and not at the much closer establishment on the Marylebone Road, it is tempting to speculate that it was information, not saffron, that was the principal reason for her visit.’
Mrs Hudson favoured her employer with an approving nod.
‘It is true, sir, that Flotsam overheard a mention of Viscount Wrexham the other evening. And that put me in mind of old Mr Pomfret. Mr Pomfret, of course, was acquainted with the Viscount’s father through Lord Ullswater.’
‘And was Mr Pomfret informative, I wonder?’
‘Only in his personal recollections of Lord Beaumaris, sir. Sir Percival will no doubt have been able to tell you a good deal more. Now, I imagine you and Dr Watson will be requiring an early breakfast, sir?’
‘Yes, indeed. That would be most helpful. Really, Mrs Hudson, you wouldn’t believe some of the nonsense we have had to listen to tonight. Cloaked angels standing guard over ancient artefacts. Dead people returning from the grave!’
Just then the heat of the fire popped the cork from his bottle of beer and the detective rose, clutching the bottle to his chest.
‘Now, if you will excuse me… I have asked Dr Watson to be at the British Library as soon as it opens. I myself shall be at the Home Office for the first part of the day, and after that at Randolph Square, conducting my own investigations…’
With great difficulty I managed to restrain myself until Mr Holmes was out of earshot.
‘But, Mrs Hudson, is that really why you went to Mr Pomfret’s? I had no idea you were interested in Viscount Wrexham’s disappearance!’
‘Well, Flottie,’ she replied with a low chuckle, ‘I cannot deny a certain curiosity. And Mr Pomfret, of course, spent a great deal of time in the east with Lord Ullswater. He became very chatty indeed when I mentioned Lord Beaumaris. Mr Pomfret had known him well, and knew all about his lordship’s fixation with the Lazarus Testament. Apparently it was always said in archaeological circles that there’d be trouble if it was ever found’.
She rose and returned her sewing carefully to its basket.
‘Now, Flottie, I think it’s bedtime. We have an early start tomorrow, remember…’
So much had happened that evening, and I had heard so much to wonder at and to ponder, that perhaps my imagination had become a little feverish from it all. At least that is what I told myself later on, as I lay in bed shortly after closing down the study for the night. Why else, I wondered, would I allow my eyes to play such tricks? No, I was an over-excited young girl, I told myself, and I tried to dismiss from my mind the moment when, in checking the shutters, I had caught a glimpse of the street below. It was dark outside and raining, and the gaslight was treacherous. Why else would I have imagined, fleetingly, at the very edge of my vision, a dark, shadowy figure, looking up at us? A
figure in a hooded cloak, a man standing very still, with the air of one who watches and waits with infinite patience…
*
Mr Holmes was as good as his word and next morning, before I had even finished scouring the pans, he and Dr Watson had departed in pursuit of their investigations. However, any hopes I had that Mrs Hudson might immediately whisk me away in pursuit of further information about the Lazarus Testament were quickly dashed; for although her visit to Mr Pomfret suggested she was not indifferent to Mr Holmes’s new case, her demeanour that morning indicated she had serious work on her mind, and we set about polishing the furniture and shining the leather with all the urgency of storm-tossed sailors at the pumps. So great was our energy that by mid-morning our lengthy list of jobs was already much diminished, with the happy result that, when Miss Peters appeared in her uncle’s carriage and begged for me to be allowed to accompany her to the bookbinder, Mrs Hudson relented and told me sternly that I was to keep Miss Peters out of trouble and thereby save a lot of work for everyone.
After a morning of such diligence, it was a wonderful thing to find myself in my best clothes, with my hair elegantly arranged, driving through the sunlit streets and feeling fresh air on my face. The Earl’s brougham was slow and rather dark inside, but was very grand and comfortable, and Miss Peters brightened the interior considerably with a long story of how she had disgraced herself the previous evening at a fancy dress ball by congratulating the French ambassador for his impersonation of the Walrus from Alice. The French ambassador, it turned out, had not yet donned his costume.
Fortunately for her peace of mind, the bookbinder in Dover Street turned out to be a most distinguished-looking old gentleman who, Miss Peters felt sure, would be able to pass himself off as a deacon at the very least when he called at Bloomsbury Square. Equally fortunately, the old craftsman appeared very taken by Miss Peters and, I suspect, after a few minutes of her pleading would probably have agreed to call in the guise of a Hindu holy man had she truly desired it.
Mrs Hudson and the Lazarus Testament Page 7
