Mrs Hudson and the Lazarus Testament

by Mrs Hudson

  ‘My word, Holmes! You have it exactly!’

  ‘And when I read yesterday that Western & Oriental were rumoured to be in difficulties, it occurred to me that you would shortly be receiving advice from your broker. The rest is obvious, of course. Having read his warning you replied at once, and being an essentially cautious fellow, you have instructed him to sell. And now you cannot fully concentrate on the task in hand for wondering what to do with your capital. I suspect that same streak of caution will lead you to opt for railways.’

  And with that the great detective fished out his own pipe and, making no attempt to light it, began to chew on its stem with evident satisfaction.

  ‘Well, that’s the most remarkable thing, Holmes,’ the good doctor concluded. ‘Urban Electric, eh? I confess I had been leaning towards the railways. You know where you are with the rail companies. Tell me, Holmes, will you be joining us here this morning?’

  The detective shook his head.

  ‘I fear not, Watson. Sir Percival has a bad case of the jitters and I fear I must travel to London to prevent him from doing anything too precipitous. The Lazarus Testament has managed to elude its searchers for a thousand years, so I’m sure I can be spared for the day without missing anything momentous. Wire me if you need advice, Watson. Otherwise I shall assume all’s well.’

  The detective’s departure was followed by another period of quiet as we continued to wrestle with Mr Baldwick’s labyrinthine prose. The arrival of Mrs Meakins hardly disturbed us at all, for she came to the Archive every day to dust and tidy, and we had become accustomed to her working around us. She was a small, rosy-cheeked woman, round yet somehow shrunken, like a very old apple. It was purely by chance that she happened to be standing behind Dr Watson when he slammed closed a document box and growled with frustration.

  ‘Really, this is too much! Whenever I think I’m getting anywhere, the scent goes cold. That last box ended with some interesting papers written by Baldwick when he’d just arrived at Broomheath. They were mainly his thoughts about redemption, and rather crazed they were too, but I thought they might lead to something. But now I’m damned if I can find the next box. It must be here somewhere, but all these seem to be full of older papers. I don’t suppose either of you have spirited one away, have you?’

  Both Mr Spencer and I were busy denying any such thing when Mrs Meakins chimed in.

  ‘You’ll forgive me for interrupting, sir,’ she began, ‘but perhaps the box you’re looking for is the one taken by the other gentleman?’

  We all looked up at her sharply.

  ‘The other gentleman, Mrs Meakins?’ Dr Watson asked, as calmly as he could. ‘Do you mean Mr Verity?’

  ‘Oh, no, not Mr Verity, sir. I know him well. My cousin’s daughter used to do his laundry. No, I mean the other gentleman.’

  The three of us looked at each other in alarm.

  ‘What other gentleman do you mean, Mrs Meakins? Is it someone we know?’

  ‘The gentleman who used to come here before you started coming, sir. Every afternoon he would come, sir, just for half an hour or so. He used to call it his daily constitutional, although I can’t see how sitting here amongst these dusty old things could do very much for his health. I think he must be staying up at the Hall, sir. A balding gentleman, sir, with a very fine beard.’

  My eyes opened wide at this, and I looked across at Mr Spencer.

  ‘Pauncefoot!’ he murmured, while Dr Watson suppressed a spluttered oath. ‘Tell me, Mrs Meakins, you say he took away a box. When was this?’

  ‘Why, yesterday afternoon, sir. I was just popping down here to fill up the inkwells, if you remember, and I saw him at the bottom of the hill. Smoking a cigarette under a tree, he was, looking all cold and miserable. When he saw me he said hello, and I said something about him not coming here anymore, and he said it’s a bit too busy for me nowadays, Mrs Meakins, or something like that. So when I was coming away and he was still there, I said something about you two gentlemen having gone off for some tea, and he said in that case he might just nip in as there was a particular thing he wanted to look at. And a little later, I was putting on the kettle when I happened to look out of my window, and there he was, walking away with one of those boxes under his arm. He looked a lot more cheerful for visiting, sir, so I’m thinking perhaps it’s true about coming here being good for his health. I had a cousin once…’

  Mrs Meakins seemed inclined to elaborate further on the beneficial effects of study, but Mr Spencer was already on his feet.

  ‘This changes everything!’ he declared. ‘We had no idea that Pauncefoot had ever been here. But if that box contains something significant, we could be in trouble. Dr Watson, you’re on calling terms with the Summersbys. Perhaps you could drive up to the Hall to check that Pauncefoot is still at his post? And, Flotsam, if you could go too, perhaps you might find a way of communicating all this to Hetty? It would be very helpful indeed if she could take a peek inside Pauncefoot’s room…’

  I nodded quickly, although I knew the difficulty would not be in persuading Miss Peters to search Pauncefoot’s room, but in restraining her from doing so at an unpropitious moment, when discovery was inevitable. But there was no time to worry. Dr Watson was already pulling on his coat.

  ‘We’ll take Verity’s trap,’ he decided. ‘We should be there in a quarter of an hour. What about you, sir. What will you do?’

  ‘Well, I thought I’d see if I can catch Mr Holmes at the station. And I might also have a word with the station master, to see if Pauncefoot has shown any signs of leaving. After that, well…’

  He looked at me, and I nodded.

  ‘Yes, sir. You should try to find Mrs Hudson just as soon as you can.’

  Five minutes later, I was wrapped in a pink tartan travel blanket on a rattling trap, and Dr Watson was shaking the reins with unusual impatience as we sped out towards the open moors.

  Chapter XVI

  The Butler Waits

  I’m not entirely sure what I thought we’d find at Broomheath Hall. I think I half expected uproar and confusion, a scene of devastation in which the Summersbys, having been overwhelmed and bound, lay helpless in the cellar while their treasured English butler, crazed by lust for treasure, demolished the oak panelling in search of a secret chamber. But no such drama was evident from my first glimpse of the Hall, and when Dr Watson brought us juddering to a halt on the gravel sweep I was taken aback – and perhaps even a little disappointed – to see Pauncefoot opening the great double doors to greet us, as calm and as neat as he had always been.

  I think Dr Watson was disconcerted too, for he looked decidedly sheepish as he dismounted and asked if Mrs Summersby was at home. On being told that she was, and that the butler’s instructions were to show callers straight through, we followed Pauncefoot’s stately progress in silence, and were ushered into Mrs Summersby’s morning room still looking rather crestfallen.

  Our hostess greeted us with her usual smile, however.

  ‘How lovely!’ she enthused. ‘It seems so long since your last visit, and I was hoping you would call soon. I do so enjoy some company every now and then, you know.’ She hesitated for a moment then, as if realising what she had just said. ‘Of course, I know I have the contessa for company, but she is so very… well, so very Italian, I suppose, and I’m afraid I don’t find her company altogether restful.’

  I was all too willing to believe this, and felt again the pricking of guilt at my role in deceiving her. To compensate I gave Mrs Summersby my warmest smile as she took my hand and led me to a seat near the fire.

  ‘And is the countess at home today?’ Dr Watson asked cautiously, still standing. He seemed to be waiting until he was sure Pauncefoot had retired before broaching the subject that was on both our minds.

  ‘She is lying down in her room,’ Mrs Summersby replied. ‘She had a very disturbed night, I’m afraid. The countess is prone to walking in her sleep, and last night we twice discovered her in the library, apparently qui
te oblivious to our presence.’ As Mrs Summersby spoke, I noted a shadow cross her face. Perhaps she was wondering if it was indelicate of her to have made such a revelation. ‘We heard a noise, you understand, and came down to investigate. Such an awkward affliction for a young woman to suffer from!’

  Apparently satisfied that the coast was clear, Dr Watson joined us by the fire and rubbed his moustache for a moment rather anxiously.

  ‘Madam,’ he began, ‘I hope you will forgive me for speaking frankly. Always the best thing, frankness, don’t you think? Anyway, I think it is time we took you into our confidence. As I told you, it seems very likely that your predecessor at Broomheath left something rather valuable hidden here. Well, the thing is, we rather think that Pauncefoot might be searching for it.’

  ‘Pauncefoot?’ Her eyes grew round with astonishment. ‘But he came with such excellent references! And he seems, well, so very dignified. That’s exactly why we insisted on a London butler. Everyone knows that they are the best.’

  ‘I fear, madam, that Pauncefoot may still be in the pay of his former employer.’ Dr Watson puffed out his cheeks as if to demonstrate the enormity of such behaviour. ‘Now, I beg you do nothing hasty, my dear Mrs Summersby. You see, it rather seems that the fellow might be privy to a clue that no one else has.’

  ‘Then we must demand that he shares it with us! Surely, Doctor, you won’t allow a mere butler to stand in your way?’

  Dr Watson held up a pacifying hand. ‘No, no, no. Quite the opposite, in fact. You see, if we can all keep a very close eye on him, we rather think he might lead us to the treasure of his own accord.’

  I could see understanding dawning on our hostess’s face.

  ‘Like a dog to a bone, you mean?’

  ‘That’s it exactly! And it occurs to me that it might be helpful if I were to join you here as your guest for a few days…’

  I saw her face fall.

  ‘Or failing that, ma’am,’ I put in quickly, ‘perhaps if you were to allow Mrs Hudson and me to take one of the rooms in the servants’ quarters, just for a day or two? Travelling back to Alston so late, well, I can’t deny that with all this going on we’d both feel a lot safer if we didn’t have to cross the moors by night! You wouldn’t know we were here, I promise. And of course it would mean we were on hand to help with breakfast! Mrs Hudson’s breakfasts are famous…’

  As I had anticipated, however jealous she might be of her husband’s solitude, a plea made on such grounds proved tricky for Mrs Summersby to deny, and it was therefore agreed that when we returned to the Hall that evening, Mrs Hudson and I would bring with us such things as were necessary for a short stay. Then, as Dr Watson said his goodbyes to Mrs Summersby, I scribbled a quick note for the sleeping countess and congratulated myself on my cleverness. For surely, with Mrs Hudson and myself focused entirely on Pauncefoot and his movements, nothing could go wrong…

  It was an opinion that, within the next two days, I would have good reason to revise.

  *

  That morning was a raw one and, as we drove back over the moor with the fells bleak and wintry all around us, my mind began to turn to thoughts of the warm fire at the Angel. But on arriving at the inn, we found Mr Spencer waiting for us by the doorway, pacing to and fro with a restless, troubled air. Dr Watson hailed him cheerfully, and suggested a warming drink in the snug.

  ‘No time for that, sir, I’m afraid,’ Mr Spencer told him briskly. ‘There have been developments!’

  ‘Developments?’ Dr Watson started like a warhorse to the bugle.

  ‘Yes, Doctor. As soon as you left I hurried down to the station to see if I could catch Mr Holmes before he left. I’m afraid he’d already departed for London, but while I was there I had a word with the stationmaster. It seems that a man answering to Pauncefoot’s description was there yesterday evening. He bought a ticket for tomorrow morning, Dr Watson. A one-way ticket to London!’

  Dr Watson whistled. ‘Tomorrow, eh? So it must be tonight he intends to make his move. Well, the game’s afoot! But at least we know when, and from where, he plans to escape!’

  ‘Please, sir,’ I asked Mr Spencer. ‘Did you find Mrs Hudson at all?’

  Mr Spencer frowned. ‘I did, Flotsam. I found her writing letters in her room.’

  ‘And what did she make of your news, eh?’ Dr Watson asked. ‘Pretty shaken up, I imagine!’

  ‘Well, that was the strange thing, Doctor. She just carried on writing letters.’

  ‘Surely not! Really, she must have said something.’

  ‘She just listened very carefully, then nodded. Then she asked whether we’d told the Summersbys and I said you’d gone over to explain matters, and she just nodded again and said she’d have thought as much. And then she went back to her writing.’

  ‘Remarkable!’ Dr Watson looked utterly perplexed. ‘Then I can only imagine she trusts us to get on with the job. After all, it shouldn’t be beyond us, should it? We’ll watch him like hawks tonight, and nab him if he tries to get away. Flotsam, I think you should reassure Mrs Hudson that she can leave matters entirely in our hands!’

  *

  That opportunity arose a few minutes later. Rather to my surprise, I found Mrs Hudson alone in Mrs Garth’s kitchen, plucking a chicken. This activity was in such contrast to Dr Watson’s urgent plotting and planning, and her air as she undertook it so serene, that I could not but wonder at her calm.

  ‘Yes, Flotsam,’ she reassured me, ‘I believe I understood Mr Spencer’s message very well. I imagine that he and Dr Watson are thoroughly enjoying themselves. Why, I confess I almost feel sorry for that butler. He is so very much outnumbered and surrounded by parties determined to part him from his prize. I’m rather looking forward to what he does next.’

  ‘Then you don’t think there’s any chance Pauncefoot might get away with the urn, ma’am?’

  For a fraction of a second her eyebrow flickered upwards. ‘Pauncefoot? I’m sure he’s the least of our worries, Flottie. Now tell me, how were things at the Hall?’

  With some trepidation, I told her how I’d persuaded Mrs Summersby to allow us to make our home at Broomheath for a few days. To my relief, rather than protest, the housekeeper paused in her plucking and smiled at me fondly.

  ‘Really, Flotsam, that’s most resourceful. I had been thinking that some such arrangement would suit us very well. I must tell Mrs Garth at once. There’s bound to be all sorts of nonsense going on at the Hall tonight and I confess I’ll feel a little easier in my mind knowing we can keep an eye on things. Now, I have some letters to post…’ She indicated a little pile of envelopes on a tray by the door. ‘When I’ve finished here, we’ll take them down to the post office. But I promised Mrs Garth I’d give her a hand with this, and as I don’t foresee anything very urgent happening just yet, we may as well make ourselves useful while we can. You could start by helping me clear up these feathers.’

  And help I did, but not before I’d taken a surreptitious peek at the addresses on the envelopes. Letters to Mr Rumbelow and to Scraggs did not particularly surprise me as Mrs Hudson was always a very assiduous correspondent, but I looked up in surprise when I saw that the third letter was addressed to Mr Bertram Peeves, Esq.

  ‘Isn’t he the famous diplomatist, ma’am?’ I ventured to ask, forgetting that I was supposed to be helping with the chores. ‘The one they’ve just recalled from Washington? Dr Watson said he was coming back because he was destined for a peerage.’

  ‘That is indeed the gentleman, Flotsam,’ Mrs Hudson confirmed. ‘Now, about these feathers…’

  I hastened to equip myself with Mrs Garth’s brush and pan. ‘Do you know Mr Peeves then, ma’am?’ I asked after a pause, sweeping diligently as I spoke.

  Mrs Hudson rose and began to unpin her apron, shaking the feathers neatly into the path of my broom.

  ‘Oh, I wouldn’t say that, Flottie. But some years ago, when Mr Bertram Peeves of the Diplomatic Corps was still young Bertie Peeves of the Rip-Roar Club, there w
as a little incident on Boat Race Night after his fellow club members had found him guilty of some breach of their rules. Very fortunately I was able to furnish him with a cloak to cover his modesty and to call for a locksmith before the bishop’s wife arrived. It is, I believe, an intervention he remembers gratefully. Now, when we have finished helping Mrs Garth, we may take a stroll to the post office. And after that, since the afternoon is our own, I suggest we take up the Rector’s invitation to view his collection of historical curios. I daresay they will prove educational and it will most certainly please the Rector, who is having a difficult time with his bunions.’

  *

  For all Mrs Hudson’s urgings I was in no mood for curios that afternoon, and the Rector’s gentle observations on local history were, I’m afraid, sown on fallow ground. My mind was entirely occupied with thoughts of the Hall and its occupants, and my imagination was running wild. What was Pauncefoot doing? What was he planning? Had Miss Peters succeeded in searching his room for clues? And where exactly was the urn?

  The afternoon was a slow one and the Rector’s insights into Neolithic settlements seemed to me to last almost as long as the settlements themselves. An age passed before I was back at the Angel, hurriedly stuffing a bag with everything I would need for my stay at Broomheath Hall. We were driven to our destination by Mrs Garth’s son, a taciturn young man whose features seemed to have taken on some of the weathered inscrutability of the moors themselves. But he drove carefully and delivered us at the servants’ entrance a little before four o’clock, in plenty of time to prepare for dinner.

  I fear I was of little help to Martha and Mildred that evening, for once again I was unable to settle to the task in hand. I could not help but watch Mr Pauncefoot’s every move, all the while marvelling at his calm. For the butler seemed as relaxed as ever, and even engaged in some rather avuncular flirtation with Martha over the state of her wardrobe, promising her that if his luck in life ever took a turn for the better he would be sure to remember the green muslin dress she’d set her heart on.