The Adventure of the Murdered Midwife

by Liese Sherwood-Fabre

  “Office. Home. It doesn’t matter,” Ernest said, straightening his spine. “You’re talking about breaking the law. As an officer of the court, I can’t be involved in this.”

  I leaned forward in my seat to meet Ernest’s gaze. “Uncle, we’re not doing this for us,” I shot a glance to Mycroft to ensure he wouldn’t contradict me. “But for Mother. As Mycroft said, Constable Gibbons seems to be seeking some way to arrest her again. You weren’t with us at the gaol when she was released. He said then he was going to see her returned to prison. You know her. She has only good intentions in helping the women here. We can’t let the constable end that.”

  My uncle blinked several times. “How, then, would you propose we break into the constable’s office and replace the ledger?”

  “I don't think we are the best people for this type of work,” Mycroft said. “We lack the skills to successfully carry out a robbery. It takes training to be able to break in. Someone who has the knowledge…and the tools—”

  As he shared this thought, one popped into my mind as well. Before I even realized it, I said it out loud. “I know such a person.”

  When the other two turned in my direction, I added, “Or at least I think I do.”

  Mycroft and I each left with a task. My brother was to create another ledger. His eidetic memory (more highly developed than mine) would ensure an almost identical replica of the ciphered contents. I would speak to Constance about assisting us with replacing it.

  But before seeking her help, I had to complete the errand to Hanover Manor.

  Mother assisted me with the disguise after breakfast. She found a pair of canvas trousers that, once the legs were rolled up, fit me well enough. With a shirt, jacket, and cloth cap pulled low over my eyes, I almost didn’t recognize myself in the mirror in Uncle Ernest’s workshop.

  “The clothes appear to be fine, but there’s something missing,” she said, tapping her finger against her lips. A moment later, she smiled. “You’re too clean. That’s the problem.”

  She rushed outside and returned with a handful of soft dirt which she rubbed on my face and hands.

  She accompanied me to the workshop door. “Remember, have Mrs. Winston explain why Mrs. Straton needed more pennyroyal. It may be she exceeded the dosage, but we need to determine if that’s what she took.”

  I nodded and headed toward the woods.

  “Where are you going?” she asked. “The road is in the other direction.”

  “Constance showed me a way that leads to Hanover Manor more directly. I’ll save time. Besides, that’s what a tradesman would use. She says they all do, including Mr. Brown.”

  She studied the tree line where I was pointing. “Really? You’ll have to show me. I had no idea.”

  “I didn’t either until I took the basket to the Straton cottage yesterday. The opening’s in there between two bushes. You can see how it’s thinner there.”

  Despite my father’s position in the village, I had only seen Hanover Manor from the outside, but even from that perspective, it was obvious Underbyrne would fit neatly into one wing of Lord and Lady Devony’s home. The grey stone walls rose high above the verdant lawns surrounding it, and the roof held a cupola at its center with a rooftop walk surrounding it.

  The trail ended at the back of the structure, perfect for tradesmen seeking the servants’ entrance. Had I arrived at the front of the mansion, I might have had some warning about what happened next. I did note the absence of any activity in the barns or stables to my right, but I had assumed the staff were on a different schedule than at Underbyrne. When I reached the servants’ entrance, I knocked and waited for someone to answer.

  When no one opened the door in what I considered a reasonable time, I rapped again. Louder.

  This time, the door swung open, and a woman in an apron filled the opening. Several strands of her hair hung out from under her white cap as if she’d stuffed it on in a hurry. Most impressive, however, were her red-rimmed and puffy eyes.

  “What is it you want?” she asked.

  Her words were clipped and tinged with more than just a bit of annoyance. The sight of the woman in obvious distress took me by surprise, and I was forced to gather my thoughts.

  “I was wondering, miss. If you…might you not have…?”

  “What it is, boy?”

  “Tin ware. Do you have the need for any repairs?” I forced out in one breath.

  She pulled back her chin as if I’d struck her. “Tin ware? You want to know if we have any tin ware at a time like this. Get on with you, boy. I haven’t any time to collect any tin ware for you.”

  My heart skipped a beat. I was failing in my mission. When she moved to close the door, I shoved against it. “Please, miss. Can you check with Mrs. Winston? Maybe she’ll know of some items to be repaired.”

  At that remark, the woman pulled her apron to her mouth and fresh tears ran down her cheeks. “You silly sod. Leave us to our mourning. Rachel Winston’s dead.”

  Chapter Eight

  I ran back along the trail as if someone were pursuing me after I’d run to the corner of the manor and peeked around to the front and saw the surgeon’s carriage. While I knew it seemed illogical, I was overwhelmed by a desperate desire to get as far away from the manor house as quickly as possible.

  When I arrived back at Underbyrne, I made straight for Ernest’s workshop to change into my clothes before reporting to my mother.

  To my surprise, Mother was visiting my uncle in the sitting room at the back. A tea tray sat on the table between them. He must have shown her the crossbow because she had the leather sleeve she used for archery on her arm.

  They both turned toward me as I approached them, taking in gulps of air while I massaged a stitch in my side from the run.

  “Sherry, darling, whatever happened? Are you all right?”

  I nodded, but still found no breath to answer.

  “You ran all the way from Hanover Manor?” Uncle Ernest asked.

  Again, I nodded but found my breathing had slowed enough that I could gasp out a few words. “Mrs. Winston. Dead.”

  The announcement pulled both of them to their feet. Mother raised her hand to her mouth.

  “Dead?” she asked. “How? When?” She pointed to an empty seat. “Sit. Catch your breath. Have some tea.”

  While she poured a cup, I forced out an answer to her questions. “Don’t. Know. But. Surgeon. There.”

  Her eyebrows pulled together, and she handed me the cup. “Mr. Harvingsham was called in? How do you know?”

  “I saw his carriage,” I said, managing a full sentence after several sips of tea.

  “A third woman,” Ernest said, shaking his head and making little tsk-ing noises. His gaze landed on my mother. “You know, Violette, there’s a connection between you and all these women. I hope no suspicion will fall—”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Ernest. We have shown conclusively I had not stabbed Emma Brown, and I haven’t been near Rachel Winston since the constable arrested me.” Her eyes glistened, and her tone dropped. “Poor Rachel. She was such a young and beautiful creature. And so much in love.”

  I held my peace and finished my tea, even though I could now speak in full sentences. My stomach knotted at the reasoning behind my uncle’s statement. Mother did have a connection to all three women, and given Constable Gibbons’ determination to find her guilty of some criminal activity, he might weave enough ideas together to do just that.

  “Quite right,” Ernest said with a sigh. “All the more likely she did not die of natural causes. I hate to say this, but you may have another murder to solve.”

  “Let’s not jump to conclusions, Ernest. The poor Winston woman might have fallen down the stairs or had a bad heart. Did they say anything about murder to you, Sherry?”

  “They didn’t say much of anything.” I summarized in just a few seconds the extent of my conversation with the servant at the back door.

  Mother tapped her finger on her lips. “
Not much to go on there. If Mr. Harvingsham’s been called in, it’s possible something suspicious did happen to her. Mr. Holmes, as magistrate, might be involved. Still, if the death appeared accidental, we may never know. A professional call on the good surgeon, however, might supply some answers.”

  I stared at her. Mother didn’t trust the man to treat us for most illnesses. “You want to visit him for a medical consultation?”

  “Unfortunately, it appears to be the most direct approach.” She gave me a studied gaze. “You definitely appear a little peaked to me, Sherry, dear. A severe case of dyspepsia, I believe.”

  I was being tasked to assist her again?

  “Why me?”

  “Because that will give me an opportunity to speak with Mrs. Harvingsham. There are two things I know about that woman. She has intimate knowledge of all his cases, and she is a severe gossip. I will have no trouble learning from her whatever occurred to poor Mrs. Winston.” She consulted a watch she wore pinned to her dress. “We have to give her time to collect the information. I suggest we go first thing in the morning. I’m afraid, dear, that means no supper or breakfast for you.”

  “Don’t be cruel, Violette,” Uncle Ernest said, coming to my defense. “He may need to appear to be in digestive distress, but you don’t have to starve the poor boy.”

  “All right. Some broth tonight, but no breakfast. The surgeon must hear something to suggest a reason for the visit. An empty stomach certainly creates gastric issues.”

  While I considered adding a protest to that of my uncle’s, I recalled Rachel Winston the night of my return home. Mother’s description of the woman as pretty was accurate. For her, I could endure a brief starvation.

  “Don’t worry, Sherry,” she said, rising from her seat, “I won’t allow him to give you anything. Whatever he suggests as a treatment, I will insist on administering myself. Will you accompany me back to the house?”

  I shook my head. I still needed to talk to Constance. “I think I’ll stay and help Uncle Ernest.”

  “Please enjoy the rest of the sandwiches with your tea. I’ll see you then at supper.” She smiled and covered her mouth with her hand. “Excuse me. Supper for us. Broth for you.”

  The edges of her eyes crinkled, but I failed to find the same amusement in her statement. I was also distracted as I considered how to approach Constance for the tremendous favor I had promised Mycroft and Ernest I would ask of her.

  Once she left, Ernest turned to me. “You going to see the Straton girl?” When I nodded, he studied me for a moment and said, “I wouldn’t change if I were you. Raise less suspicion for another of her station to visit their cottage than a squire’s son.”

  I’d forgotten about my disguise for visiting Hanover Manor. “I believe you’re right. Care to go with me?”

  “I need to work here. I think I’ve made something of a breakthrough with the crossbow,” he said. “Care to see? Only a moment to set up the target.”

  Before I could answer, he stepped to the work area and pulled out a bale of hay. He’d painted a set of concentric circles to form a target on its side.

  “The secret was the coil. I tried a heavier one and found that while it made the trigger harder to draw, it did keep it from being too sensitive. The lighter projectiles compensated for the stiffer pull.”

  My uncle stepped to my side and handed me the loaded weapon. I took aim and found the trigger more resistant than that of my rifle, but with extra effort, the pointed star flew from the box and embedded itself into the hay bale. A second star slid into place ready for the bow to be drawn and fired again.

  He squinted at the bale and said, “It appears it may still pull to the right. What about the trigger?”

  “Definitely harder to pull, but not too difficult.”

  I placed the crossbow back on the worktable, making sure to point the still-loaded device toward the back of the workshop.

  “My whole purpose was to be able to shoot a number of these stars in quick succession. I think I told you that the hira shuriken were designed to disable, not kill, an enemy. A number of them shot one after the other, however, might prove more deadly—or at least capable of disabling a group.”

  “I think the project is progressing.”

  He scrubbed the side of his face with his hand and studied the crossbow. His eyes carried a far-off glaze to them, and I knew he was about to shift all his concentration onto the weapon. With his attention now elsewhere, I determined it was an appropriate time to take my leave.

  For the second time that day, I found myself on the path through the woods Constance had shown me.

  When I found no one in the Straton yard, I knocked on the door. Constance answered. She placed a finger to her lips before I could speak. After a moment’s study, her mouth dropped open, and she pushed me back into the yard, closing the door behind her.

  “Lords, Master Sherlock,” she said in a harsh whisper. “I didn’t recognize you at first. Whatever are you doing dressed like a ‘prentice?”

  “I…uh…” I felt exposed in the yard, as if the clandestine act I planned to ask her to accomplish should be shared privately. “Might we speak inside?”

  She shook her head.

  “Papa’s sleeping. Best not disturb him. When he’s got one of his headaches, it’s best to keep quiet.”

  Somehow I suspected there was more to the story than just a headache, but I couldn’t pursue it at that moment.

  “You didn’t bring more vittles, did you?” she asked, glancing at my empty hands. “The vicar’s wife came by and left a basket. We won’t need some for a while.”

  “No. I came to ask a favor.” I checked the dust on the tops of my boots. “Have you… Did you ever…”

  How did one ask someone about their criminal activity? My concern for my mother spurred me to continue with my proposal as I searched for the words.

  “Well, what do you want? Don’t go hemming and hawing. I need to get back inside and keep the others quiet so’s Papa can sleep.”

  “The constable. He took something. Something that belongs to Mother.”

  When I paused, unable to think how to continue, she squinted at me, not waiting for me to proceed as much as weighing what I had already said.

  “You wants it back. What the constable took.”

  Not a question. A statement. I nodded.

  “What was it?”

  Her forthrightness spurred my own. “A book. If he determines what’s in it, it would ruin my mother. My whole family.”

  Another studied squint. “You want to steal it back?”

  “Yes…no…. Replace it actually. With another.”

  “All right.” My heart thrummed at the thought of her acceptance, but she dampened my enthusiasm in the next minute. “But you have to come with me.”

  “But I—”

  “You said you wanted me to learn you to be a dipper. It ain’t dipping, but we have to start somewheres. And the constable’s house is as good as any.” She checked over her shoulder toward the cottage. “I can’t do it now, though. Come back later. After dinner tomorrow. He should be up and out by then.”

  I nodded and turned to leave. I’d only taken a few steps when she spoke once again.

  “We gots enough food at the moment, but if you’ve got some of the bread you brought to the gaol, you can bring that along tomorrow.”

  Although the very thought of Cook’s bread reminded me of my restricted diet until after the visit to the surgeon tomorrow, I responded over my shoulder, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  Upon my arrival at Underbyrne, I stopped again at my uncle’s workshop to change into my proper clothes and to report to my uncle that I had been able to successfully recruit Constance into service for retrieving Mother’s ledger.

  With no sounds emanating from the structure, I concluded he had already gone to the main house for supper but knocked anyway. Uncle Ernest opened the door as soon as I rapped once.

  “Come in, boy,” he said.

>   He searched around the yard before stepping aside to let me in.

  “Are you looking for someone?” I asked as he closed the door behind me.

  “That honey man. He came by for a moment. Asked about progress. If I had any new information to share with the constable.”

  “Did he speak to Mother too?”

  “No. Just me. But then he thinks I’m the one doing the investigating.” He shook his head. “Poor Violette. She’s always been so much more clever than I.”

  His gaze dropped, and I could see the slump in his shoulders. I understood his feelings of inferiority. Mycroft’s ability to foresee people’s actions and future events made it difficult to consider any intellectual achievements of my own. On impulse, I noted to him, “But you’re clever in your own way. You came up with that crossbow idea. By the way, have you worked out the problem of the pull to the right?”

  He shook his head.

  “No time with Brown visiting. Told him about the Winston woman’s death. He seemed quite upset about it and asked what we knew. I said not much until we had a chance to talk to Mr. Harvingsham.”

  Given his earlier ethical concerns about replacing the book, I decided it best not to mention Constance’s condition that I accompany her on her mission. Instead, I asked, “Would you be able to arrange a horse for tomorrow afternoon? If I asked for it, Mother or Father might question why I need one. And Mycroft rarely goes riding. I need it…to help Mother.”

  “A horse?” He paused as if again considering whether he was aiding and abetting a crime, but in the end, he nodded. “As far as I know, you simply don’t want your parents to know that you are visiting the Straton cottage again. Very well.”

  I changed into my clothes, leaving the others for my visit tomorrow, and returned to the house for my supper of broth.

  The sun was fully up and flooding into my bedroom when Mother came in the next morning. I rubbed my eyes and sat up in bed. “Why didn’t anyone wake me?”

  “With your having to miss breakfast, I thought it best to let you sleep a little longer,” she said, and kissed me on the forehead. Her mouth turned down. “Quite a normal temperature. How unfortunate we have no way to make you appear feverish. We can however, have you wear yesterday’s clothing. At least then you’ll appear disheveled. Remember, you have a bad case of dyspepsia.”