“Is the man not named in the note she left?” I asked.
“It would appear not. The tone of the note, to judge from the newspaper report, was one of melancholy distress, and it seems that the man she had been seeing had thrown her over. But the court was clearly of the opinion that the note was by way of being an epistle to herself, a record on paper of her own thoughts, and did not constitute a suicide note of any kind, otherwise the verdict would undoubtedly have been different.”
“It appears the very epitome of a rural tragedy,” I observed with a sigh. “One cannot doubt that it is, as you say, the old story: young, simple, innocent country girl, her affections captured by the attentions of a man, perhaps older and more sophisticated than herself, who later drops her without a care.”
My friend nodded. “In which case, although not guilty of any crime in the eyes of the law, strictly speaking, the man in question would be widely held to bear some responsibility for the girl’s death, whether she took her own life or lost it accidentally while in a state of distress. He would thus be subject to the very severest moral condemnation from all who knew of the case. There is little doubt in my mind, Watson, that this is the dishonourable act of which our client stands condemned in the eyes of the district. They will see in the dashing young officer and simple peasant girl the very type of one of the oldest tales known to man. He has sailed away to foreign lands, leaving her desolate, and, in her own eyes at least, ruined. And yet . . .”
Holmes broke off and stared for a moment at his untouched tea.
“And yet,” he continued at length, “Captain Reid expresses astonishment at the reception he has been afforded upon his return and can make nothing of it. He is an intelligent man, and could not have failed to realize the meaning of it were he really guilty of this moral lapse.”
“He did not recognize the initials S. D. in the letter he received,” I observed.
“Indeed. He may know something of the girl, however, as she lived locally, without, perhaps, recalling her name. I have wired to him at his club on the matter, in the hope that seeing her name will stir his memory. I hope to receive a reply shortly.”
Holmes had not long to wait, for within the hour a messenger arrived with a telegram for him. Eagerly, he tore open the envelope and scanned the contents, then passed it to me.
“Name you mention that of local girl,” I read. “Bade good morning. Carried basket once or twice. Not seen since return. Ask Yarrow.”
“It appears he is unaware of the girl’s death,” I observed.
“So it would seem. I wonder—” He broke off as the innkeeper entered the room. “Could you tell me, landlord,” he asked, “who Mr Yarrow might be?”
“Why, sir, that’s the vicar,” returned the man in surprise.
“Oh, of course,” said Holmes, smiling. “How foolish of me. I think I shall go to see him now, Doctor, while it is still light!” With that he stood up, put on his hat and was gone.
“Is your friend interested in the Roman remains?” asked the innkeeper of me when Holmes had left us.
“Among other things,” I replied, judging it best not to reveal our true purpose in being there. “Why do you ask?”
“The last gentlemen down here from London were from the British Museum, come to study the remains,” he explained. “The Reverend Yarrow is the local expert.”
He produced a small pamphlet on the subject, which Mr Yarrow had written. It was certainly a very thorough account. But fascinating though the subject was, I found my mind wandering constantly from its explication of ancient mysteries to the more pressing mystery which had brought us to Sussex, so that I was still only upon the second page of the pamphlet when Holmes returned, just as the daylight was fading. He ordered two glasses of beer and lit his pipe before he described to me what he had managed to learn from the vicar.
“I found Mr Henry Yarrow a very pleasant, middle-aged man,” he began. “He received me with every courtesy, and appears to have as good a grasp of all that occurs in the parish as anyone could have. He is highly intelligent and well-educated, Watson, and I should say a little out of place in such a rural backwater as Topley Cross. Such free time as he has he fills with intellectual pursuits, and he is a great pamphleteer: he has produced numerous monographs on such subjects as local antiquities, the flora and fauna of the district, and the parish church, which, he informs me, is one of the oldest in the county. At present, he is labouring on a history of the sheep breeds of West Sussex. However, to return to more pertinent matters: he knows Captain Reid very well, and it is clear that he holds him in the very highest regard. Indeed, so sincere were his expressions of affection for our client that I ventured to lay before him the whole matter, in the hope that he could shed some light upon it. You have often seen me work out a case, Watson, from such things as the measurement of footprints, or the traces of mud upon a man’s trouser knee, but I am not averse to taking a more direct route when it offers itself. In this case, my confidence was rewarded. The vicar shook his head in sympathy when I described to him all that had befallen Captain Reid since his return from India.
“‘If only he had come to me last week,’ said he. ‘I could at least have explained to him the likely source of his troubles, if not their solution.’
“He confirmed what we had surmised, that rumours have circulated ever since the death of Sarah Dickens that Reid was the cause of her sorrow and despair. He assured me that he gave no credit to these rumours himself, but having had no countervailing information, had been unable to combat the prevalent belief. ‘I have always found,’ said he with feeling, ‘that an evil rumour is quite the most difficult of opponents to destroy: like the hydra of classical mythology it is a many-headed beast: cut off one head and another seven will spring up in its place.’ I concurred with this opinion, and asked if he knew anything of the rumour’s origins.
“‘I cannot be certain,’ said he, ‘but the dead girl’s brother, John, has undoubtedly played some part in it. If he did not originate the rumour, he has at least contributed to it, and to no small extent.’ This brother, Yarrow informed me, had been extremely distressed by his sister’s death, and treasures the note that the girl left, both as a memento of his sister and as an indictment against the man he believes treated her so ill. I asked the vicar then if he had any knowledge of the content of the note.
“‘Indeed,’ said he, ‘for it was I that found it.’
“This was news indeed, Watson, for I had assumed from the reports in the newspaper that the note had been found among the dead girl’s belongings at her home, probably by one of the family. I asked the vicar how he had come upon it.
“‘It was on the day following the girl’s death,’ he explained. ‘Her mother expressed a wish to visit the place at which the girl’s body had been found, and asked me if I would accompany her. I of course agreed to this request, and the two of us walked up to that fateful spot at the Willow Pool. It was while we were there that I chanced to observe a crumpled sheet of paper lying among the brambles by the water’s edge and, with some difficulty, managed to retrieve it. We had missed it the previous evening, which is not surprising. The light had almost faded by the time we eventually recovered the girl’s body from the water.’
“‘Did the finding of the note at the scene of her death not tend to confirm the suspicion that the girl had taken her own life?’ I asked him, but he shook his head.
“‘It was not a suicide note,’ said he with emphasis. ‘I should be more inclined to describe it as a rhetorical address to the man that had wronged her. The general opinion, with which I agreed, was that the poor girl had probably been reading the note to herself and reflecting upon it when she lost her footing and slipped into the water. As to the note itself,’ he continued, ‘I can recall its contents clearly, even though it is three years since last I saw it. The phrases it contained were just such as one might imagine a young country girl to use: “I trusted you and you betrayed me. I loved you and you used me”. Need I
say more, Mr Holmes?’
“I shook my head, for I could see that it caused him some pain to recall this distressing matter. ‘Why do you suppose that everyone believed Captain Reid to be the man who broke this young girl’s heart?’ I asked him after a moment.
“‘I cannot say for certain,’ he returned. ‘It may be that something the girl had previously said to her family suggested it to them. It cannot have been any more than a suggestion, however, for I know that they had no more definite knowledge as to the man’s identity than anyone else. Reid had certainly spoken to the girl on many occasions. He is an exceptionally affable young man and was on conversational terms with almost everyone in the parish, irrespective of their rank or station. He also played regularly in the village cricket matches before his overseas posting, and as Sarah Dickens often helped with the refreshments on those occasions, no doubt the two of them came into contact then.’
“‘He also mentioned carrying her basket for her once or twice.’
“‘Ah, yes,’ responded Yarrow. ‘He may have done so many times, for all I can say, but on the occasion I recall, which occurred in the summer before he left for India, he and I were walking down the road from Oakbrook Hall to the village when we overtook Sarah Dickens, heavily laden with large baskets of fruit – plums, as I recall – which she had picked at one of the outlying farms. We naturally each took a basket to relieve her of some of her burden. At the church I left them, and the two walked on into the village together. I do recall now hearing that the girl had endured some light-hearted teasing on account of this incident. You can probably imagine the form that this took: “Now you have got the young gentleman to carry your basket for you, how much longer will it be before he is carrying you over the threshold?” It was, as I say, all light-hearted. Indeed, I believe it was Reid himself who mentioned it to me, in some amusement, the next time we spoke. But recalling this incident reminds me of another, which occurred at about the same time, just a few weeks before Reid left. In common with many of the young people in the village, Sarah Dickens was employed at Oakbrook during the apple-picking season. One day, during a period of exceptionally hot weather, she fainted with the heat and fell to the ground. With the help of one of the gardening staff, Captain Reid, who was nearby at the time, carried her to the house, where she remained, attended by the housekeeper, until she recovered. I suppose that that may have given rise to some talk, but if so it was absurd, for Reid would have done the same for anyone under the circumstances.’
“‘I believe I understand the situation,’ said I. ‘But if Sarah Dickens was indeed seeing a young man during the summer of ’78, and if that man was not Reid, who might it have been?’
“‘There, Mr Holmes, I fear I cannot help you. Of course, I have often pondered that very question. But the ways of young people have become something of a mystery to me in recent years, I regret to say, and even to speculate upon the matter would take me quite beyond my province.’
“There I left it, Watson – a sad business for all concerned, but a particular misfortune for Captain Reid to be condemned for something of which he is perfectly innocent. What a great pity it is that he should have left the district at just the moment he did, and thus presented the rumour-mongers with a defenceless quarry, unable to respond to their foul accusations!”
“If any accusations were being made,” I interjected, “it seems surprising that Reid’s father did not take some steps to rebut them. He might, for instance, have placed the details of the rumours before his son in a letter and sought his response.”
“Indeed,” concurred Holmes. “The father’s actions in this matter have caused me some puzzlement.”
“Unless,” I added, “the rumours and accusations appeared so overwhelming by the time they reached his ears that he felt unable to doubt their veracity. He is an old soldier and, from what we have heard of him, no doubt a man of unimpeachable integrity and honour. It is possible, also, that his wife’s health was causing him anxiety at the time. Perhaps, then, he was simply so shocked and appalled by his son’s alleged conduct that he could not bring himself to speak of it.”
“It is possible,” returned Holmes in a dubious tone, “but I would still regard the father’s conduct as astonishing. I should hope that if ever I had a son, and that son was faced with serious accusations, I should not see fit to condemn him without a fair hearing. Still, I long ago learned that one cannot hope to solve these little mysteries of human life by dwelling on how people might have acted, but only by studying how they in fact did act, however surprising or disagreeable their actions might seem.
“Now,” he continued in a brisker tone as he refilled his pipe and put a match to it. “If we review the case so far, Watson, I think we may say that we have made some definite progress. We have learned beyond doubt why it is that Captain Reid is shunned and condemned throughout the district. That seems to me a fair day’s work. Our task now must be to do our utmost to clear him of the charges laid against him.”
“That may prove considerably more difficult,” I observed. “Rumours are such nebulous, elusive things. It is almost impossible to get a firm grasp upon them; and that which cannot be firmly grasped cannot easily be cast down and beaten. You have also, it seems to me, the difficult problem of trying to prove a negative, that is, that Reid had no close connection with the dead girl, and I cannot see how you can possibly prove such a general notion, especially now that three years have passed since the time in question.”
“You undoubtedly state the matter fairly,” returned Holmes after a moment. “But to have explained the nature of Captain Reid’s troubles leaves our commission but half finished, Watson. We must do all we can to disprove these foul accusations which are laid against him. If we fail, then we fail, but at least we shall know that we have done all that we could. After all, what is the alternative? That Captain Reid leave his house and home for ever? For it would surely be intolerable to him to remain here in the present circumstances. But if he leaves his home now, he leaves it with this foul stain still upon his character. That alternative is surely unthinkable. Besides, bad as his situation is, it could yet become worse. So far, the rumours that besmirch his name are confined to this parish alone. But rumours, as you know, are like rank weeds and apt to spread wherever they can. It is possible that unless we destroy this particular specimen root and branch, it will spread further afield, perhaps to the West Sussex Regiment, or even as far as London Society.”
“What you say is true,” I concurred, “but I fear the case is quite hopeless, Holmes. There seems to me no way in which Reid’s innocence can be proved.”
“It may be that the only way to prove our client’s innocence is to prove the guilt of another,” responded my friend after a moment in a considered tone. “Now, as you will appreciate, Watson, I have no desire to expose the moral lapses of another man to public view, but if it is the only way to clear the name of an innocent man, then I believe I have no choice in the matter. Besides, it must be remembered that this man, whoever he is, has been content to allow our client to suffer quite unmerited condemnation for the past three years.”
“But what can you possibly hope to discover after so much time has elapsed?” I protested. “What conceivable evidence could remain?”
“Let us not prejudge the matter,” returned my friend with a shake of the head. “We shall proceed in an orderly, scientific manner and see what we turn up. Tomorrow morning I intend to look over the pond where the girl was drowned. Mr Yarrow has very kindly agreed to meet me there at two o’clock, to act as my guide and to furnish me with a few more details of the matter. He is taking lunch with Captain Reid’s father at Oakbrook Hall tomorrow, as he has an appointment to see him about some business concerning the church roof, and he will come directly to the pool from there. Let us hope that this fine weather continues for a little longer, and then we shall see if we cannot make some further progress!”
III: THE WILLOW POOL
The following day dawned bri
ght and clear. My bedroom at the White Hart overlooked a garden at the rear, and as I dressed I could see from the bedraggled state of the vegetation there that it had rained during the night. Already, however, the bright sunshine was warming the ground and raising a thin haze among the trees, and it showed every promise of a fine day ahead.
When I descended to the dining room, I was informed that Holmes had risen early and had already gone out. He returned as I awaited breakfast with a large-scale map of the district, which he had purchased at the local post office.
“The village high street appears to lie on the line of a Roman road,” said he, spreading out his map in front of him. “See how it runs in a perfectly straight line from south to north. The White Hart stands here in the market place, at the south end of the high street,” he continued, indicating the place on the map. “At the north end, as you see, just above the crossroads, stands the church. There the road takes a sweeping curve to the west round the churchyard, before resuming its course due north again. A mile or so further on, on the west side of the road, lies the entrance to the Oakbrook estate. A little way beyond that, the road crosses a small stream. On the west side of the road at that point is a small spinney, marked as Jenkin’s Clump. The stretch of water indicated within it must therefore be the Willow Pool. Another half a mile or so further north up the road lies the entrance to Topley Grange. The sky promises fair weather, Watson, and I have arranged with Mr Coleman, our landlord, to furnish us with a flask of ginger beer and a little bread and cheese for our lunch, so when you are ready, our expedition can begin!”
The sun was warm on our backs as we made our way up the village street and past the long, curving wall of the churchyard. To the side of the church stood the vicarage. Beyond that, open farmland stretched as far as the eye could see, and the road dipped slightly, then began a long, gentle climb to the higher, rolling country to the north. On either side of the road, the hedgerows were ablaze with colour, the foliage a vivid mixture of greens, yellows and reds, among which shone the bright red berries of the hawthorn and the stout hips of the wild roses. Off to our right, where a ploughing team was at work in a field, flocks of lapwings and rooks circled noisily overhead, and all about us the air was full of the rich, mature scents of autumn.
The Mammoth Book of the Lost Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes Page 36
