by Ashton, Hugh
“Well, this ranks as coincidence, I would say,” he remarked, scanning the telegram. “Lord Darlington informs us that the Ritual of the Mace will take place tomorrow afternoon, and extends an invitation to both of us to attend.”
“Indeed, coincidence.”
“What time does the sleeper train that you took with Lord Darlington depart from Kings Cross? Maybe we will forego our little Italian expedition tonight. With luck, we will be able to justify a true celebration when we return.”
Holmes scribbled out a telegram accepting the invitation, and requesting that we be met at Berwick station on our arrival and gave instructions for its dispatch before we packed our bags and started for the terminus.
-oOo-
Chapter 11: Hanshaw, the coachman
ON arrival at Berwick station, we were met by the coachman, Hanshaw. He raised his cap to us as he recognised me.
“Glad to see you again, Doctor,” he exclaimed with what appeared to be genuine pleasure, “and you too, sir. I am guessing you must be Mr. Sherlock Holmes? I wished I’d had the pleasure of driving you to and from the Hall on your last visit. There are some questions I would like to ask you, if you don’t mind talking on the way to the Hall, sir?”
I was pleased to see Holmes in a genial mood. Often when approached by those who wanted to treat him as some sort of celebrity, he became reserved and aloof, which had left him in some circles with a reputation for haughtiness and unfriendliness.
“I will be happy to listen to your questions,” he said, smiling. “Maybe I can answer them, Mr—?”
“Hanshaw. Earnest Hanshaw. Thank you very much, sir. Are these cases all of your luggage, Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson?”
I assured him that they were, and informed him that we would take tea in the station refreshment room while he loaded the trap, inviting him to join us when he had completed the task.
“A talkative fellow,” remarked Holmes, “and not one who seems to be in awe of those that society tells him are his superiors.”
“Lord Darlington seems to repose great trust in him,” I replied. “When I travelled this way last time, he and Hanshaw seemed to be almost like old friends, rather than master and man.”
“That is good to know,” remarked Holmes, as the tea and toast we had ordered made their appearance. He munched thoughtfully. “He may be able to tell us some more about Lord Darlington’s state of mind.”
At that moment, Hanshaw entered the room, and asked permission to join us.
“Thank you, gentlemen,” he said, doffing his cap. “It’s a cold drive from the Hall of a morning, and a drop of tea’s welcome at this hour.”
“I am sure it is,” agreed Holmes. “Now, you wanted to ask me some questions?” Hanshaw nodded in agreement, his mouth at that moment being full of toast. “I am happy to do so,” went on Holmes, “as long as you answer some of my questions in return.”
“That seems like a fair bargain, sir,” said the other, the toast having now been disposed of. “Though I’m not so sure that the answers I give you to your questions will be as interesting as the answers you give to my questions.”
Holmes smiled. “You might be surprised at what interests me, Hanshaw. Your first question, then?”
“Well, sir, I know you’ve seen and done a lot of things, but... do you believe in ghosts?”
Instead of laughing outright, which I feared Holmes might do, he appeared to consider the matter seriously. “That’s a very good question. I do believe that people see and hear things that aren’t there in a physical sense – that is, we are unable to touch or feel them – but I cannot believe that they are spirits of the departed. Speaking for myself, I have never seen a ghost that couldn’t be explained in some way other than that of a departed spirit.”
“I see, sir.”
“I am going to suggest to you, Hanshaw, that you have a reason for asking, and it is connected with sounds that some at the Hall have been hearing over the past week or so.”
The other started somewhat at Holmes’ words. “Why yes, that’s right, sir. Did his Lordship tell you something about this?”
“No, it was Bouverie, the butler who informed me.”
“He had to go to London yesterday to take care of some of the silver. I know because it was me who drove him to the station and fetched him back again. He visited you then?”
“That is correct,” said Holmes. “It seems that the questions I have and the questions you have are directed towards the same end, then. Excellent. Have you heard the noises yourself?”
“No sir, I have not. I do not work inside the Hall, and I only enter it to eat my meals in the kitchen downstairs. I sleep above the stables, which you may remember are some distance from the Hall itself. It’s my young lady Edith, who is one of the house-maids, who’s told me all about it. I call her my ‘young lady’, but at my age, anything below fifty is young, if you take my meaning, sir. The sound is like a baby wailing, is what she told me, but there’s only one baby in the house, and when they go in to look at him, he’s sleeping there quiet as a little dormouse.”
“And is there any particular time of day that this happens?” asked Holmes.
“She said to me that it seems to happen more at night. She shares a room at night with two of the other house-maids, Sally Crowthorpe and Harriet Bell, and the two of them daft women got themselves nearly hysterical one night, she told me. My Edith has got her head screwed on and told them to pull themselves together and stop their blethering, but she told me they nearly walked out of the Hall, never to come back.”
“Well, your young lady sounds sensible enough,” said Holmes, smiling. “Since she has heard the noise, and does not think it’s a ghost, what are her ideas about it?”
“She thinks it’s no more than wind whistling down the chimneys. She may be right at that, since there’s a powerful wind comes in from the east some nights, and the Hall’s exposed on that side. She did say that it sounded like a baby, though, more than the wind.”
“Our imagination plays strange tricks on us sometimes, as you know. And I am sure you know that your mind can change things into what you want them to be.”
“True enough, sir. So you think it is just the wind?”
“I cannot say that is definitely the case, but I think it more than likely, from what you have just told me.”
“There are those who are going around saying it’s all to do with the Mace, and that if the penny had been thrown down the well, they wouldn’t be hearing these sounds of crying now.”
“You know the story of the Mace, then?”
“Of course, sir. It’s one of the local legends, and there’s no getting away from it in these parts.”
“But you do not believe in it yourself, do you? A sensible rational man like yourself?”
The question obviously embarrassed Hanshaw. On the one hand, he seemed to wish to impress Holmes, whom he obviously looked up to and respected, with his rationality. At the same time there appeared to be some deeply held belief that conflicted with what he believed to be true. At length he burst out with, “I can’t rightly say. There are too many stories for me to disbelieve it entirely, but wouldn’t you say that it seems somewhat fanciful in the nineteenth century?”
“I would agree that it seems fanciful,” said Holmes. “As fanciful as the stories of ghosts.”
“If that’s the case,” persisted Hanshaw, “then why does a man like Lord Darlington, who’s been in the government and so on, believe in it the way he does? I don’t understand that part of it at all.”
“Well, if you did, Hanshaw, you would be a famous man,” smiled Holmes. “We do not understand all the little twists and turns of human nature, try as we might. It is sad to reflect that we have an understanding of the stars and of the distant planets, but we are still unable to look inside our own souls and determine what the guiding principles might be in there.”
“True enough, sir. Now, if you gentlemen are finished with your breakfasts, may I suggest that
we start for the Hall?”
“Very good,” agreed Holmes. “By the by,” he asked as we strolled to the waiting trap, “do you know anything of Lord Hareby’s condition?”
“He’s much better than he was, sir,” replied Hanshaw. “Indeed, he rose from his bed and took a turn around the stable-yard yesterday morning. It was that which decided Lord Darlington to perform the Ritual. I think he felt it wouldn’t be right to do it without the father of the baby being present.”
“If half the tales concerning Lady Hareby are true,” Holmes commented to me in an almost inaudible undertone, “finding the true father of the child would be an interesting task indeed.”
I ignored this, instead remarking aloud to Hanshaw, “I am glad to hear of the improvement in Lord Hareby’s condition.”
“He looked very weak when I saw him yesterday, though, sir. I had only seen him the once after he went into the hospital, and that was when I brought him back from there.”
“Did you speak to him?” I asked.
“No, sir. He always used to have a good word for everybody, but yesterday he looked so miserable that no-one had the heart to disturb him. He was all wrapped up in himself, it seemed, and not in any kind of mood to talk to anyone else.”
“Was he alone? Was his wife with him?”
By now we were trotting through the streets of Berwick. Hanshaw was looking straight in front of him, guiding the trap, and Holmes and I were unable to see his face, but his voice showed his emotion. “No, sir, his wife was not with him. In fact, we have hardly seen his wife outside the Hall since the baby was born.”
“That is perfectly in order,” I said. “As a doctor, I generally forbid my female patients from leaving their beds for some days after childbirth.”
I watched the back of his head move from side to side as he shook his head. “She was up and about the day after, so my Edith tells me. Dr. Brendell tried to prevent her, but,” he chuckled drily, “you’ve met Dr. Brendell and you’ve met Lady Hareby. Meaning no disrespect to him or to her, but I think you can guess who would win that argument.”
“I am not certain you should be talking of your employer in that way,” Holmes said to him. “But what you are telling us is most interesting, even so.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but Lady Hareby’s not my employer, and I pray to God that she never will be.”
Much to my relief, for the conversation was verging on dangerous ground, Holmes did not pursue this topic, but sat back, scanning the rough moors that surrounded us. “Wild country here,” he remarked after a while. “Are you a native of these parts?”
“It is pretty rough, sir,” came the answer. “The winters are cold, and yes, I was born and bred here. I remember one winter when there was ice on the pond all the time from October through to April. But it is beautiful country, sir. I wouldn’t live anywhere else for anything.”
-oOo-
WE arrived at the Hall drive and turned in. As we trotted along the driveway, a distraught figure ran towards us. As he approached, we could make out the features of Bouverie, the butler.
“Mr. Holmes!” he shouted to us when he came within earshot. “Mr. Holmes!”
“Please draw up, Hanshaw,” Holmes requested him, but the coachman had already anticipated this request.
The butler looked up at us, his chest heaving, and his face red with the exertion of his having run to meet us.
“Take your time,” Holmes told him kindly. “Hanshaw, can this trap take another person?”
“No matter, I will walk,” I told Holmes, springing from the trap. “It will do me good to stretch my legs after the train journey.” I also welcomed the chance to breathe the fresh country air, something I believe I always appreciated more than did Holmes, who always appeared to be somewhat out of his element when removed from the smoke and fogs of London.
“Thank you, sir,” said Bouverie, panting, as he took my place in the trap next to Holmes. “I’m not as young as I was, sir, as I have just discovered.” He smiled ruefully.
“Now, what is the matter?” Holmes asked him.
“Well, sir, it’s Lord Hareby. He’s disappeared.”
“What?” I cried, but at that moment the trap set off in the direction of the Hall, and I was left behind, with a distance of about half a mile to cover on foot – no hardship, since the weather was warm and no rain was falling. I strode along the drive towards the Hall, digesting the news that Bouverie had imparted. The scenery surrounding me could not be ignored, despite my worries, and I found myself amazed once more by the variety and beauty of our English countryside.
As I walked along, my eye was caught by a shining object in the long grass by the side of the drive. If it had not been for the fact that it caught the rays of the sun, which appeared from behind a cloud at the precise moment that I walked past it, it would almost certainly have gone unnoticed by me.
I stooped to pick it up, and saw that it was a handsome hunter watch, in what appeared to be a silver mount, with the chain still attached. The back was engraved with an inscription, “To E from E”, together with a date, and I had no difficulty in assigning the names “Edgar” and “Elizabeth” to the initials.
Given what Bouverie had just informed us regarding Lord Hareby’s disappearance, I immediately endeavoured to apply the methods I had learned from Holmes to investigate the situation, with some success (if I may be permitted a certain amount of self-congratulation).
I took care not to disturb the ground around where I had discovered the watch, but it was clear that there were footprints leading from the drive to the site of the watch, some two yards from the road, which then continued towards the Hall. There was no doubt regarding the direction of travel away from the drive, back towards the Hall, as in one or two places, the imprint of a foot in the soft earth could be clearly discerned.
I followed the trail, and after a few yards, came across a tie and a collar lying in the grass. I determined not to touch them, but continued following the trail of footprints and crushed grass, discovering further garments strewn along the way. It appeared to me that the poor fellow had lost his wits, and had run through the grass (for at several places where the footprints were clearly visible, only the imprint of the toes was to be seen), stopping at intervals to remove his clothes. Eventually, the footprints re-joined the driveway near the Hall, and it proved impossible to follow the trail any further. I ran to the front door of the Hall, which opened as I mounted the steps, and I collided with Holmes, who was just leaving the house.
“You appear to have been running,” he observed. “Why the excitement? Will you join me in my search for Lord Hareby?”
I explained what I had just discovered, and Holmes was instantly alert. “Good man, Watson,” he exclaimed. “I would surely have discovered these things myself, but you have undoubtedly saved time. Show me first where you picked up the trail.”
As we walked towards the place where I had discovered the watch, Holmes informed me of what Bouverie had told him as they drove to the Hall in the trap. Lord Hareby had apparently woken, dressed himself and come down to breakfast, for only the second time since he had returned from the hospital. His father had expressed his delight, which was increased when the young man announced his intention of taking a constitutional along the driveway to the gates of the park and then returning.
His father had suggested that he be attended by one of the servants, but his son had shrugged off any such offer of assistance, stating quite bluntly that he preferred to make his own way, and was not in need of any help.
Bouverie had watched him set off from the Hall, and confirmed that although Lord Hareby was walking slowly along the drive, he appeared to be steady and confident in his gait. The butler then returned to his duties, but when he next looked out, some ten minutes later, Lord Hareby was nowhere to be seen. He continued gazing at the point where he had last seen his master’s son, but there was no sign of anyone there.
He called out to one of the gardeners, who
followed Lord Hareby’s supposed path, but who reported on his return that he had been unable to see anything. Bouverie then espied the carriage bearing Holmes and myself, and ran down to meet it, guessing the identity of its occupants.
“Does Lord Darlington know that his son is missing?”
“Bouverie is endeavouring to keep the news from him. Apparently the old man is in a nervous state, and Bouverie has concerns for his health.”
“And Lady Hareby?”
“She is apparently in the nursery with her child. She has not been informed of her husband’s disappearance, which may, after all, be purely temporary and no cause for real concern.”
“I hope you are correct in that latter assumption.”
“I, too. Ah.” Holmes stopped. “This is where you found the watch, I take it? That showed excellent foresight.”
I had previously marked the spot where the watch had lain in the grass by planting my stick into the ground by the side of the carriageway, and tying my handkerchief to it to assist in finding it again, and it was to this that Holmes was referring.
“These are your footprints, obviously, from the square-capped boots,” remarked my friend, dropping to one knee and scrutinising the trampled grass. “And the watch lay here. Ah yes, tiptoe, tiptoe,” he murmured, crawling forward on his hands and knees, following the trail. And the collar and tie are where you found them? You did not touch them?” I confirmed this. “These were not simply removed, Watson. These were ripped off in haste. Observe, the material of the tie has actually been torn by the force with which the tie was removed and the collar has been damaged by the stud as a result of the haste with which it was removed.”
