by Mrs Hudson
Once again Dr Watson spluttered with outrage, but the Viscount continued calmly.
‘Tell me, Mr Verity, do I take it that my employment is now at an end? Or do you think I need to give the Summersbys formal notice? They are hardly a couple to stand on ceremony, I think. And just think how delighted that pretty Mrs Summersby will be to discover she has had a real British lord pouring her sherry. It will be quite the most exciting thing that has ever happened to her.’
‘Really, sir!’ Dr Watson retorted, ‘your behaviour towards the Summersbys has been quite despicable. To deceive them in such a way is unpardonable!’
‘Oh, dear. Perhaps you’re right…’ The peer’s gaze moved across to where Miss Peters was clinging onto Mr Spencer’s arm. ‘And I did it so much less prettily than our young friend here. Please allow me to congratulate you, my dear. I found your countess quite bewitching, if entirely bogus. Had I been in a position to invite her to spend a week at Hawthornden with me, I would most certainly have done so. I have always enjoyed the company of adventurous women.’
Dr Watson seemed to think it was time to change the subject.
‘I suppose it’s a bit late to start opening all these pots now, eh?’ he wondered aloud. ‘What do you think, Mr Spencer?’
‘I think that is probably a job for an expert, Doctor. We’d probably do more harm than good by just blundering in. I suggest we wait until tomorrow, when we can seek out some advice about the care of ancient parchments.’
‘If you’ll forgive me, sir,’ Mrs Hudson put in politely, ‘isn’t Sir Percival Grenville-Ffitch expected here tomorrow afternoon? And I believe he was bringing Mr Fallowell with him. Mr Fallowell is an expert in such matters. Also, since the ownership of these artefacts is something of a grey area, and since Sir Percival has official status, as it were, perhaps it would be better to wait for him?’
This suggestion was met with general approval, and it was agreed that the cellar should be resealed, and a watch kept on the barn until the following afternoon, when both Mr Fallowell and Sir Percival could be present.
‘And Mr Holmes too, I hope,’ Dr Watson added loyally. ‘It’s not often a mystery is solved in his absence. I know he would like to be here to see the conclusion of this one.’
It was, I think, almost the last thing anyone said before the gathering dispersed and Mrs Hudson shepherded me off to my bed. As no one could think of any reason to deprive Viscount Wrexham of his liberty, he returned to the Hall with the rest of us, still jaunty and unabashed but, judging by the way he kept looking at me rather thoughtfully, still nursing something of a headache. To be on the safe side, it was agreed that Mr Spencer and Dr Watson would both stand guard in the Home Barn until the local constable could be called out the following morning.
Chapter XVIII
Desperate Measures
Breakfast the next day was a most confusing affair. Martha and Mildred arrived at the usual time to discover several new faces at the breakfast table and an atmosphere decidedly strained. The Summersbys had been woken that morning by Mrs Hudson, who as well as bringing tea also brought the news that Pauncefoot the butler was in fact the seventh Lord Beaumaris, and had asked if he might join them at breakfast. And if that shock were not enough, the Summersbys were also informed that a number of other extra guests had spent the night at the Hall, that a collection of ancient ceramic vessels had been discovered beneath the Home Barn, and that Fred Arthurs, the local constable, was standing guard there with orders to allow no one to enter.
Perhaps a little stunned by all this, the Summersbys had accepted without demure the addition of Dr Watson, Mr Spencer and Mr Verity to the Hall’s guest list, although their enthusiasm for these new visitors did not appear very great when they finally greeted them in the dining room. As I laid out extra bacon, even chatty Mrs Summersby seemed a little taciturn and her husband had retreated into one of his most morose and brooding silences.
Perhaps the atmosphere around the breakfast table was not helped by Miss Peters’s absolute refusal to reveal to her host and hostess the deception she had practised on them.
‘Please, no!’ she had insisted. ‘That would simply be too, too mortifying! I should never be able to look them in the eye again, really I shouldn’t! I’d rather fling myself in the river right now!’
As Mr Spencer had appeared to give this offer serious consideration, she had then raised her chin defiantly.
‘Well, Rupert, you may expose me if you wish, but I shall deny everything and shall probably become quite hysterical. But, of course, if you want a terrible scene over breakfast, that is entirely up to you. I do think it would be very selfish of you, though, after everyone has had such a stressful night! I know my opinion counts for nothing so you must do exactly as you please, but if poor Mr Verity gets another one of his headaches as a result, there will only be you to blame.’
The upshot of this was that the contessa reappeared at breakfast her usual serene and effusive self, and if Dr Watson and Mr Spencer eyed her a trifle coldly, Viscount Wrexham cleared relished the situation and made up for their froideur by flirting with her scandalously and insisting on exchanging tales of Italy.
‘This discovery last night, Countess, will no doubt excite your friend in Naples. Professor Corelli, I think you said?’
‘But indeed, my lord, he will be, how do you say, green to the gills when he hears of it! I shall return to Napoli in triumph, like Caesar himself! And, my lord, no doubt a gentleman such as yourself will have come across the professor in your travels?’
‘Me? But of course! Dear old Professor Corelli! He’s really something of a legend, is he not?’
Through all this, Mr Verity, whose placid existence had ill-equipped him for any activity more disturbing than the occasional hand of whist, seemed inclined to shut his eyes, as if in prayer. If he heard Dr Watson start to grind his teeth, he gave no sign of it.
Even Mrs Hudson did not seem to be entirely at ease, for later that morning I came upon her folding the laundry with her brow furrowed in thought.
Precisely what was worrying her, I wasn’t sure, for with the cellar under guard and the Viscount identified and exposed, our business in Alston was drawing to a close. All that remained, tantalisingly, was to see the urns opened: then perhaps we might even hear, in his own words, the story of Lazarus himself!
With this momentous thought hanging over me, the morning passed with leaden footsteps and the afternoon brought nothing but a message from Mr Holmes saying that Sir Percival was delayed and would not now be able to reach Broomheath until the following day. This news was greeted with great dismay by the whole party, on whom the virtue of patience was beginning to take its toll. Dr Watson rolled his eyes and harrumphed and Mr Spencer looked anxious. Even Miss Peters’s spirits seemed a little affected by the news.
‘Really, Flottie,’ she complained, ‘it’s a bit much, isn’t it? A priceless treasure under our noses and we’re expected to wait for some dull old official before we can look at it! I mean, really! That sort of thing never happens in pirate stories, does it? They just crack open the doubloons, run for their boats and anyone who complains is marooned on a barrel of rum! If Rupert wasn’t so tediously law-abiding, he’d be down in that cellar putting us all out of our misery!’
Thankfully, Mrs Summersby’s spirits seemed to have revived since the morning and she received the news of this delay with something akin to her old sparkle.
‘My!’ she exclaimed. ‘You English are so patient! Back home we’d be at work on those pots just as soon as we got hold of them! But if waiting is the thing, I suppose we must just wait…’
As Constable Arthurs could not be expected to remain on duty indefinitely, and as it was too late in the day to summon a replacement from Hexham, it was agreed that Mr Spencer, Mr Verity and Dr Watson would watch in pairs, swapping in and out at various points throughout the night. Mrs Hudson was most insistent on this, absolutely refusing to allow anyone to stand watch alone, yet when Mrs Summersby offer
ed the services of her husband as an extra guard, she declined on the grounds that Sir Percival Grenville-Ffitch himself had specified who might keep watch. When I asked Mrs Hudson if it wouldn’t be easier just to lock up the Viscount so everyone could get a good night’s sleep, she looked slightly scandalised.
‘One cannot just lock up peers of the realm, Flotsam. It is not considered hospitable.’
‘But he did threaten you with a gun, ma’am. I’m sure that’s reason enough!’
‘I rather think that madness has passed now,’ she replied, ‘and I don’t expect we’ll see that sort of behaviour from him again. He strikes me as the sort of gentleman who knows when his hand has been played. And besides, we might yet have need of his assistance.’
‘His assistance, ma’am?’
Mrs Hudson looked grave.
‘You seem to be forgetting, Flottie, that although we have secured the urn containing the Lazarus Testament, there remains one crime unsolved. The Viscount might be disarmed, but somewhere out there the murderer of Archie Crummoch remains at large. That is why I don’t want the gentlemen watching alone. There is still danger out there, Flotsam, and we must not drop our guard for an instant.’
And with that ominous warning, she turned her attention to matching the linen, an occupation that seemed to absorb her completely.
By four o’clock in the afternoon the light was fading and the shadow of the fells was falling over Broomheath Hall. After my conversation with Mrs Hudson, it was with some trepidation that I faced the prospect of nightfall, and when the honest face of Constable Arthurs appeared at the kitchen window to take his leave, his departure seemed to signal the end of all the day’s bright certainties. He was relieved by Mr Spencer and Mr Verity, who seemed quite resigned to missing dinner for the sake of a long and chilly vigil.
Under Mrs Hudson’s watchful eye, Mildred produced another fine meal that evening, but in truth it was little appreciated. Dr Watson appeared distracted and Miss Peters unusually subdued. Even Viscount Wrexham was more restless than I had ever seen him. To the relief of them all, the party broke up early, Mrs Summersby rising to announce that she thought everyone would benefit from an early night.
This suggestion went down well with her guests but it was not one I welcomed, for sleep was very far from my mind. Even when the dinner was cleared and the kitchen scrubbed clean I would have stayed downstairs keeping watch had it not been for Mrs Hudson’s stern insistence that I rest. This, however, was easier to suggest than to achieve, and the significance of every creaking stair or groaning floorboard was amplified by my fretfulness.
In the end, out of pure desperation, I sought distraction in the pile of papers from the Baldwick Archive. To my surprise, however, instead of lulling me to sleep as they had done the previous night, the section of the papers that I chanced upon proved rather more interesting than any I had yet discovered. They dealt with Mr Baldwick’s visit to America, and my attention was quickly caught by the mention of a familiar name.
April 10th, Philadelphia
My visit to Mr Fazackerly was most successful. Put to him my plans re Sodom and Gomorrah. Impressed on him the scale and ambition of my plans. The Cities of the Plain – unseen since Lot – no greater archaeological prize! Explained to him my calculations, without of course revealing their result. Assured him that location of site a mere formality. Offered him a portion of the profit – and named my price. Fazackerly clearly struck by my vision. Promised to consider, but gleam in his eye betrayed his eagerness. Have written to my new friends to thank them for their assistance. Much moved by their support and solicitude. Will not accept a penny from them, but shall reward them when my fortune is made. As I took my leave of him, Fazackerly suggested possible introductions to notable figures in the field. Dalrymple, Le Blanc and Beaumaris were the names he mentioned.
Was this, then, how the fatal meeting between Anthony Baldwick and Lord Beaumaris had come about? In this casual encounter on a foreign shore?
After that, references to Mr Baldwick’s ambitions in the Holy Land followed at regular intervals, and I began to see that the writer was setting great store in the prospect of assistance from the English peer.
May 17th, Boston
Visited Thomson, the museum curator, to answer reported criticisms of my Sodom theory. Laid the evidence before him and intimated that Beaumaris and Le Blanc likely to take an interest. Thomson impressed by mention of Beaumaris and seemed more inclined to listen. To my surprise, not acquainted with Mrs Kidd, despite her position in society. Makes me think less of the man – possibly not the well-connected figure I’d been led to believe.
June 5th, New York
Great developments! Mr Kidd out of town but waited upon Mrs Kidd at their apartments. To find acceptance with such a woman, so cultivated, so refined, so elevated in American society, is a great joy to me – and sorry contrast with pride and contempt of British aristocracy. To my great surprise and joy, Mrs K intimated she had connections related to Beaumaris by marriage and would attempt to arrange introduction. So condescending! So generous and kind-hearted! No more was said of our small business transaction, but understood from her smile that debt now settled and creditor would not now be approaching Mr K. Has been my honour to be of assistance to such a one – a small price to pay for her friendship, especially as it offers so much in return.
June 30th, New York
No reply to Mrs K from Beaumaris. Aristocratic aloofness? English disdain? Comfort myself that correspondence may take time to find him in his desert camp. Meanwhile, my frustration is growing. Sodom scheme does not prosper as I had hoped. I find the people here less open to new ideas than I had imagined. Ignorance! I shall show them all! Only Mrs K proves the exception. Admire her more each day. So brave in her predicament! Called yesterday and found her in tears. The youthful indiscretion she confided in me still haunts. I consider it my great good fortune to be able to assist her. The new banker’s draft should be enough to remove the danger for good. She has invited me to join them in the Hamptons should Mr K’s business allow time for their annual visit. Optimistic things will be sorted with Beaumaris by then.
And so on! I read long into the night, tracing the failure of Mr Baldwick’s plans to raise finance in America for his archaeological schemes, and his growing certainty that Lord Beaumaris’s support was vital in achieving what he desired in the Holy Land. But strangely it was not these entries that eventually led me to sit bolt upright, blinking at my own stupidity. It was a much shorter note, scribbled quite hastily, one of the last Mr Baldwick made in America. By the time I read it my candle was burning very low, and perhaps by then weariness had slowed by brain, because it was not until that moment that understanding dawned.
September 2nd, New York
A most distressing night. I am lost, desolate! I will not be consoled. Truly this is a society of hypocrites, their evil greater for their pretended belief in democracy, in merit. That an angel should be cast out by their cruel hands and sneering pride! I scorn this place and shall shake its dust from my feet forever!
And in truth there is nothing to keep me here. She came to me tonight – so good, angelic in truth, to spare a thought for one such as me at such a moment! But already their things were packed, and they embark this very evening for Europe. There, she says, they will lead a humble life, set apart from those who would use her youthful folly to shame her name forever. For there is no way to escape disgrace if she stays, she tells me. Her blackmailer plans to expose her this very week and she has despaired of further attempts to purchase his silence. Not all her private fortune, nor all the sums I have made over to her, have been enough.
It is, I suppose, some comfort that her husband stands by her. For all his taciturnity it seems a good heart beats in that great frame. She tells me that he does not blame her, but shares her belief that ruin is certain if they do not fly at once. Of course I waived all consideration in this crisis. She owes me nothing, I assured her, for although the loss to me in mo
ney is considerable, kindness and friendship have no price – and when my great discovery is made I shall be a rich man. Yes, when my greatness is established, as I know one day it shall be, they shall be the first to benefit from my fortune…
Long before reading this entry I had formed my own suspicions about the kind-hearted Mrs Kidd and the mysterious indiscretion that seemed to require such a constant stream of funds to keep quiet. In none of the diary entries did the help she offered Mr Baldwick ever seem to materialise, nor did her introductions lead to any genuine advancement. Long before that entry for September I had been wondering if perhaps at some point the writer would find that both the Kidds and his money had disappeared from his life. But Europe! France! A well-built, taciturn husband and a charming, clever wife! Without a moment’s hesitation I slipped from my bed and went in search of Mrs Hudson.
Even though the hands of the kitchen clock were a little short of four o’clock in the morning, I found Mrs Hudson still downstairs and still fully dressed, ironing linen by the kitchen range, with the air of one who intended to stay up all night. There was, I thought, a faint unease in her face, but the thoughts weighing on her mind were quickly put aside when I burst upon her, panting for breath.
‘Why, Flotsam!’ she exclaimed. ‘Whatever is the matter at this hour?’
‘Look, ma’am! Here! In Mr Baldwick’s papers! I wondered… Well, see for yourself!’
She took the papers from me without further questioning and settled at the kitchen table to peruse them. Sitting beside her, I could see that her concentration was fierce, and from time to time her eyebrow flickered meaningfully.
‘The Summersbys…’ she breathed at last. ‘Well, well! The pieces fit perfectly. Only yesterday I received a reply from Mr Bertram Peeves, recently of Washington, saying that he had never heard of them, and Mr Peeves is the sort of person who knows a great many people. But, of course, America is a large continent, Flottie, so such a telegram was hardly conclusive.’
