Mother must have sensed the shift in my attitude because she told the nurse, “Please thank Mrs. Harvingsham for her kind attentions earlier and pass on our well-wishes. I believe we should leave you to your tasks.”
With that statement, we returned to the carriage and headed home. Mother produced the loaf of bread she’d promised me earlier. After the first bite, I found my appetite had disappeared. The image of the dead man lying on the table and Mr. Harvingsham writhing on the floor made the piece cloy in my mouth, and I found it almost impossible to swallow. The rest of the loaf, I put away.
Mother, however, seemed less affected by all that had passed. A smile remained on her lips, and she giggled at apparently random thoughts of her own. After one such outburst, she said, “I’m sorry, Sherry. I do believe I inhaled more than my share of the smoke. I’m feeling quite giddy. Haven’t felt this way in a long time.”
I studied her now more closely and saw her pupils were quite large. “Will you be all right?”
“In a bit. Once the effect has dissipated,” she said, allowing another giggle to bubble out before sobering slightly. “Thank you for your help, Sherry. You kept your head and were able to find the items I needed. Not always easy to do in a crisis.”
Given her elated mood, I decided the time was right to learn more about her background. “Where did you learn to smoke?”
“How did you know—?” Another chuckle. “I should have guessed you would notice my practiced movements. I was introduced to the cigarito in France. It, and cigars, are a filthy practice and quite hard to break.” She widened her eyes and met my gaze. “Please, don’t tell your father. I’d broken the habit by the time we met. I’d prefer he never knew.”
After that, she rested her head on the back of the carriage, and we rode in silence for a bit, until another question occurred to me.
“How did you meet Father?”
Cracking her eyes open, she replied with a rather languid voice. “At a lecture.”
She yawned. “I think I should take a nap when we arrive home. Please ask Cook to bring a tray to my room. I’m ravenous. You’d think I was the one faking dyspepsia.”
With a final giggle, she leaned back again and a quiet snoring ensued.
Don’t tell your father.
Another secret to keep. The relationship between my parents grew more complex by the day. Did my father have similar confidences he withheld from my mother?
Just how much did they truly know about each other? Relationships, especially those between husband and wife, appeared much more difficult than I ever realized.
Chapter Nine
Never had I been as hungry and as unable to eat as when we returned home. My stomach cramped from the lack of food, but when I tried to chew or swallow the various items on my plate, I had a reaction similar to that of my attempt to eat the bread in the carriage. I found the taste abhorrent and quite sickening. I was able to drink a bit of beef broth and that eased the hunger spasms enough for me to visit Constance while Mother rested upstairs in her room.
As promised, Uncle Ernest had arranged for a horse, and after I changed into my apprentice costume, I met him and my ride far from the stables and house. Once mounted, I spurred the horse in the direction of the Straton cottage.
Constance appeared to be ready for me. Her hair had been brushed and her face washed as she had done at Underbyrne. A basket rested at her feet. When I reined in the horse in front of her cottage, she handed the basket to me first and then held out a hand for me to pull her onto the horse. She sat in front of me, and I reached around her to hold onto the reins.
As we headed out of the dirt yard in front of the cottage, she asked over her shoulder, “Did you bring any bread?”
I produced the loaf my mother had carried with us to the surgeon’s.
She took a bite and spoke around it. “It’s so easy to chew. You can tell it’s quality.”
As she continued to nibble on the loaf, I was aware of all her little movements: her jaw working as she chewed, the subtle shifts as she adjusted her balance, and the warmth of her body. All in all, it was quite a pleasurable interlude, and we rode for quite a while in silence, her enjoying the bread, and me, her company.
I finally broke the reverie by asking, “What’s the basket for?”
“It was my mum’s,” she said and caressed the woven handle along the top. “She kept her mendin’ in it. If you’re going to min a house, you gots to have a reason. This is mine.”
“Min?”
“Take something.” She turned to face me. “Not as hard as breaking a drum. Then you has to crawl through a window or break a lock to get into a house, but still, you gots to have a plan.”
“But you’re not going to steal anything. Just see if you can find where he’s keeping the ledger. No use taking it until after we have the replacement finished.”
“Steal. Replace. No matter. You needs to have a purpose to be there. The more they believe you, the more they’ll trust you. The more they trust you, the more time you has to look. Mendin’s perfect for getting into the constable’s house. She’ll have to go find somethin’ for me to mend. While I’m alone, I can seek your book.”
“And what should I do?”
“She knows you, right?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so. She was at my mother’s luncheon a few days ago. I played the violin for them.”
She twisted around between my outstretched arms to gain a view of my face and cocked her head slightly as if in thought. “If you can’ts be seen by her, you have to stay away from the house. I could use a crow. Someone to keep an eye out so’s I don’t get caught spying about. Watch for the constable, and if he comes home, you figure out a way to keep him from goin’ inside until I leave.”
As with the surgeon’s home, Constable Gibbons’ residence was on the edge of the village. While he had an office in the village proper near the gaol, his job required him to be continuously patrolling the county to check with the watch officers under his supervision. Only those on night watch reported to him at his home. With his duties keeping him out and about, it seemed unlikely he would return prior to the evening meal. While the job didn’t seem particularly vital, I was glad to be of service.
After a pause, I said, “That seems possible.”
Constance ordered me to stop at a bend in the road about half a mile from the Gibbons’ house.
“You can put the horse in the trees here. Let me go first, but follow me to the hedge by the road. You can see both directions from there. If you see the constable comin’, run up to the house and rap on the side. I’ll meet you here.”
While I nodded, my palms became slick at the thought of the impending subterfuge we were committing. I marveled at Constance’s apparent calm. The hand grasping the basket handle was still and no perspiration shone on her lip.
“How do you know about all this?”
She paused before responding, as if considering her answer. “When I was in gaol, some of the others talked about how to min a house. Like dressin’ as a maid and goin’ to work in a big house like Lord Devony’s. While you dust, you lift some silver. Another trick is to wait for a tradesman to come to the door. While they’re talking in the front, you go in the back way to lift a few things. But what we’re doing now is the hardest because they see you. I wouldn’t do it ceptin’ that I’m not really takin’ anything. The minute somethin’ goes missin’, they remember who was about. The constable’s house. Lords, would I have a story to tell the others if I’m ever back there again.”
My admiration for the girl grew. I might know something of science and maths, but in terms of practical skills and knowledge, she surpassed me in many ways.
After securing the horse inside a stand of trees, she said, “Count to a hundred and then follow me.”
Once alone, I forced myself to count at an even, regular pace rather than rushing through the numbers. During the count, I checked the highway for any indication of the constable’s return. The moment I
reached one hundred, I headed in the direction Constance had taken.
While the thoroughfare had its share of traffic this close to the village, I realized no one paid much attention to me in my current disguise. I was just one more pedestrian in a steady stream of workers, vendors, and people entering and leaving town. Loitering about the constable’s house, however, might spark some suspicion, and I determined I needed to stay out of sight once I reached my destination.
I noticed a group of bushes on the other side of the road and chose to hide out there. As Constance had predicted, I had a good vantage point from which to observe all pathways leading to the house and concentrated on spotting the constable’s uniformed figure among the approaching horses.
My duties proved both tedious and nerve-wracking. Staying in one place and simply watching offered little mental stimulation, but at the same time, I fretted over the interaction between Constance and Mrs. Gibbons.
Had the woman left her alone long enough for her to find the ledger?
As the minutes dragged by, my concern grew. What was taking her so long? Had she been caught and was Mrs. Gibbons holding her until the constable returned home?
I battled an increasing desire to either run to the house to check or return to the horse and flee.
This distraught debate almost made me miss Mr. Brown’s appearance. True, I had been on the watch for Constable Gibbons, but a cart slowing to turn into the drive should have alerted me sooner. I did, however, catch sight of Mr. Brown before he stopped in front of the constable’s house.
Despite the cool day, perspiration blossomed across my face. I had no way to make it to the house without the honey man seeing me. I had to reassure myself that even if he saw and recognized Constance, he would have no reason to suspect her of any wrongdoing. Fighting the urge to extract myself from the hedge and pace beside the road, I focused on my breathing to calm my heart rate. My uncle had shared tales of yogis who could sit in positions for hours, even days, without moving. If they could achieve that, I should be able to hold my place for a few minutes. No sooner had I reached what I considered a calm state than Constance appeared, stepping lively on the path from the constable’s house, the basket swinging at her side. Reminding myself to maintain my place, I waited for her to pass and turn in the direction of the hidden horse before finally removing myself from the behind the bushes and following her.
“Lords, you took your time,” she said before I could ask her about the results of her mission.
“I didn’t want to be seen. I made a terrible mistake. I hid on the other side of the road. I had no way to warn you without being seen.”
“You have a ways to go before you’re a good crow, but most times, you wouldn’t min a house in daylight, so I’ll forgive you.”
While her assessment of my skills as a lookout stung, they were true. More pressing matters, however, filled my mind. “Did you find it?”
“No.” Her forehead creased, and mine responded in kind. “I searched his office as much as I could, but no red book. Then the honey man came. When I heard him say he was lookin’ for the constable, I waited to hear what he wanted. He asked about what the constable found when he searched your house.”
“He knew about the search,” I said, more to myself than to Constance. “What did Mrs. Gibbons say?”
“She didn’t know anything. He’d have to ask her husband, and he should be in his office in town.”
Before I could even express an interest in hearing what the constable would tell him, I heard a wagon pass near our hiding spot. I crept forward, staying hidden by the foliage. Mr. Brown lumbered past in the wagon, heading to town.
“Let’s follow him. Find out what the constable says.”
“To his office? Next to the gaol?” She shook her head. “I won’t go there.”
I glanced over my shoulder in the direction the wagon had gone. While I had no idea what I would do once I reached the constable’s office, I had to make an effort to find out what Mr. Brown was sharing with the constable.
“I don’t have time to take you back and then get to town. You can stay with the horse far away from the gaol. I’ll find out what the men share on my own.”
She crossed her arms over her chest and studied me for a moment. Following a deep sigh, as if she had finally come to a regrettable decision, she said, “Don’t muck up being my crow this time. It’s one thing to sweet-talk the constable’s wife. A whole other thing with the constable.”
A smile stretched across my face as relief flooded through me. I was definitely dependent upon her skills at the moment. But with her help, I could develop some of the same finesse she already possessed. The past hour, however, showed me how much I still had to learn.
“Who’s that gent heading to the office? If I weren’t with you, I'd be talkin’ him up as fast as I could cross the street.”
I turned my attention from the constable’s office across the street to the man Constance had noticed. We’d ridden into the village and left the horse tied to a post on a side street. From our vantage point by an alleyway, we’d been discussing how best to overhear Brown’s conversation with the constable. The beekeeper had only just entered his office.
The object of Constance’s attention was tall and thin. He wore a well-tailored suit, his beard was more of a goatee, and he carried a valise. A set of spectacles perched on his pointed noise. After my few months at Eton and my years of tutors, I easily recognized the professorial type—only this one's clothing and hand luggage appeared more expensive than any I'd known myself.
“What’s so important about him?”
“Look at ’im. The man’s gots a silk handkerchief almost hanging out his pocket. I'd have that in my hand before he even had time to turn down my matches.”
On the way into town, Constance had regaled me with tales of her abilities to offer matches to “gents” while simultaneously relieving them of certain resaleable items such as silk handkerchiefs, pocket watches, or cigar cases.
“And he’s heading to the constable’s office. You think someone already robbed him?”
“Not with that lovely hangin’ out. Somebody would’ve already minned it.”
I stared at the door where the man had just entered. The valise suggested he’d just arrived in town and his clothes were too well-tailored for a tradesman. He had to be from London. What was he doing here? Given so few crimes requiring any assistance from a Londoner, my stomach’s contraction told me his visit wasn’t coincidental.
As if to confirm my concern, he reappeared moments later with Constable Gibbons and Mr. Brown. The constable took his leave of the honey man. Constance and I ducked our heads and slid back into the alley. While the new arrival and the constable headed toward town, Mr. Brown moved to his wagon tied to one side of Gibbons’ office. I stepped toward the street, planning to follow the men from the opposite side, but Constance put a hand on my arm.
“Hold on.”
“I want to follow them,” I said. “Hear what they say. I think it’s important.”
“Watch out or Brown will see us.”
As soon as he drove off, we strolled across the street and caught sight of the two men just as they turned into a building. They had entered the main hotel, which catered to the village’s most elite clientele. Knowing their destination, I continued up the street, intent on following them inside. Constance grabbed my elbow and pushed me past the entrance and around the building’s side.
“You gots to be more careful when you’re in disguise. People like me and you—at least how you’re dressed at the moment—can’t go into a hotel like that without rousin’ people’s attentions.”
I opened my mouth to protest, but shut it as I realized she had a legitimate point. Dressed as a squire’s son, I might have been allowed to enter under the assumption my parents were guests. As an apprentice, however, the only assumption would be I was there for mischief, and I’d be booted out as soon as I stepped inside.
“I have to find out w
ho he is,” I said, as much to myself as to my companion.
With a glance at the main street, she chewed her lip before breaking into a grin. “I think I gots a plan. Come on.”
She continued along the side of the building to an alleyway and headed to the back of the building. A single door opened onto the alley and the mixed aromas of various cooking meats and vegetables drifted on the air. She passed the opening without even a glance in that direction and turned to creep along the other side.
She signaled me to stay in the alley, and she moved from window to window, peeking into each one. At the third window, she motioned for me to come, but to keep low. When I reached her, she put her finger to her lips and pointed to the window.
“There,” she mouthed.
I raised myself enough to peer into the window and spied into the hotel’s dining room. I understood why she’d chosen the window she did. Not only did I have a view of the constable and the visitor, it was the only window that didn’t have a table beside it. At any other, a guest would have seen someone peering in and probably reported it.
The men were too far away for me to hear their conversation, but I could observe the man no longer had his valise. He’d most likely left it at the front desk, suggesting he was staying as a guest. They leaned into each other, their heads almost touching.
A waiter appeared and placed a bowl of soup before them. My stomach rumbled at the thought of this prelude to their full meal, and I realized my appetite had returned. I would have to seek out something to eat when I returned home.
After a few sips, the constable pulled something from his inside coat pocket. The flash of red in his hand made me draw in my breath. I focused on the men’s lips. Could I read what they were saying?
I was able to determine the man’s name was Beecher—or was it Bleeker? I hoped the constable would repeat it. Constance pulled on my sleeve.
I waved my hand backwards at her. Leave me alone.
She hissed out my name. “Sherlock.”
Was the stranger saying “start tomorrow?”
The Adventure of the Murdered Midwife Page 15
