The Spider Web (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 4)

by Steven Ehrman

  Surely.” I replied.

  “After you, Holmes.”

  “As it should be, Percy,” I replied, and with another short laugh we climbed the stairs arm-in-arm.

  Chapter Nine

  I passed an easy night, and awoke the next day much refreshed. The next thirteen days passed with little to note. I availed myself of the library and the laboratory. Both of these places were satisfactory from an intellectual point of view, and they met my desire for solitude. The library was deemed a quiet room in the house, and even if it was occupied, there was a tacit agreement not to disturb the other readers. Percy was often off the estate. He took the carriage out many days to run small errands for his uncle, or simply for the fresh air, while I usually remained at the hall.

  The laboratory was, likewise, generally a place where I could work in private. I did not avail myself of it everyday, as at times both George Hardwick and Sir John Hardwick were working on projects.

  I observed over time that the household was run on a fairly strict regimen. The players all had their roles and they seemed to rarely step out of them. Percy spent much of his time walking the grounds, reading, or out with the carriage. He went riding occasionally, but that was the exception. Both Jane Grafton and Agatha Hardwick spent much of their time supervising the efficient staff. They were gentle taskmasters, but they expected nothing less than superior work. From my observation, that is what they received.

  Sir John and Miss Irene Stuart spent the early mornings working on his memoirs, and also the late afternoon. Much of the work was done in the music room together, although Irene Stuart spent a good deal of time in the study or the secretary’s room. In between, they took their daily ride and from one o’ clock until two o’ clock, Sir John retired for an afternoon nap. This time was one in which he did not wish to be disturbed, and he only arose when Hudson called for him at the appointed hour.

  The two male cousins were polar opposites. George Hardwick helped his uncle run the estate. He was usually to be found with a sheaf of papers in one hand, whilst with the other ran fingers through his hair. He had the habit of talking his thoughts. Robert Hardwick however, seemed to have no official function within the house and spent much of his time in recline. What other time the two cousins spent was in a daily game of chess, during which they argued incessantly. Their physical altercation from the night of the party seemed to have receded into the background, and I heard no one speak of it further.

  The daily chess game between the two always took place at the same time of day. Between one o’ clock and two o’ clock in the afternoon, which was a time in which an eccentricity of the household took place. By Sir John’s order, while he took his afternoon nap was a time in which the servants did not enter the living quarters of the house. At all other times the house was abuzz with activity, as there were servants going about constantly in the performance to their respective tasks.

  However, during the appointed hour the servants withdrew to the large servant areas of the home. During this time, all the habituates of the home had their own routine. Miss Hardwick would generally read in the great hall. Miss Stuart took that time to organize notes, and the like, in the secretary’s room. Miss Grafton spent that time tending to the flower gardens that surrounded the house. And Robert and George Hardwick, as I have said, spent that time in the conservatory playing chess and arguing, but no matter how spirited the game they always managed to return the chess set to its rightful place in the great hall.

  The morning before the official announcement of the engagement, I went down to breakfast to find that everyone, save Agatha Hardwick, was already in attendance. I sat and helped myself to a generous portion of the English country morning meal and listened to those around me. Sir John and Irene Stuart were seated next to each other and were discussing the chronology of his African experiences. As usual, she was gently correcting his somewhat shaky memory with notes from his journals.

  “By the by, Hudson,” interjected Sir John. “The coffee is quite strong this morning. Has there been a change?”

  “Quite so, sir,” intoned the butler. “Cook is trying out an Indian blend that was just brought into port.”

  “Well, it is dashed good,” conceded his master, “but it will fairly take the barnacles off, jolly what.”

  “Shall I instruct cook that you wish a cup of your regular coffee, sir?” asked Hudson.

  “I think not, Hudson. This will suffice.”

  At his master’s words, Hudson disappeared into the kitchen. I wondered if the cook was in for a tongue lashing from him, regardless of the words of Sir John.

  Percy and Jane Grafton were arguing, in a lighthearted manner, about the weather for the day. Percy was advocating for stormy weather, as the sky had been distinctly red that morning, whilst his distant cousin Jane was laughing off such childish superstitions.

  At the far end of the table Robert and George Hardwick were arguing in a manner that could not have been called lighthearted in any fashion. As was normally the case, Robert was tweaking his cousin over the previous day’s chess game. I had watched their games several times and found that Robert was the superior overall strategist, but his cousin was very good once the game began and quick decisions were called for.

  Hudson, back from the kitchen, and several serving girls, were in attendance at table seeing to the needs of those enjoying their meal. Hudson held himself somewhat aloof from serving the actual food and was content to supervise the others. He did however, pay particular attention to his master. Sir John had merely to lift a finger and Hudson was at his side. Whatever I thought of the relative merits of the Hardwick Hall butler, it was obvious that Sir John was well satisfied with his service. As Hudson’s own father had preceded him, I thought it was possible he knew more about the family than anyone else. I was lost in that thought, and had entered a brown study, when I heard the voice of my host speaking.

  “You’ll agree with me, will you not, Mr. Holmes?” asked Sir John.

  Brought out of my reverie, I was not certain of the topic.

  “What would that be, Sir John?” I asked.

  “Only that there are many more secrets on the Dark Continent,” he stated.

  “I certainly agree, Sir John,” said I. “There are undoubtedly many secrets that the continent still holds close.”

  “Well said, Mr. Holmes. I may go back myself. Can’t leave the young men to have all the fun.”

  “John, I never said that there were no more areas of interest in Africa,” said Irene Stuart. “I merely stated that you have done your work there. If we are to travel, I would rather that it be to a more civilized part of the world. Either the continent or even America.”

  “Bah to civilization,” Sir John scoffed. “What do I care for cities and balls when there is work to be done?”

  Jane Grafton had been listening to the conversation for a moment with a smile.

  “Oh, uncle, there are parts of America that are still quite primitive,” she cooed. “Why, they are still fighting the savage native Indians on their frontier.”

  Sir John’s face lit up at the mention of savage Indians, but before he could respond his sister joined in. “John has seen quite enough savages in his lifetime,” she said, somewhat coldly. “Since he is settling down into marriage, perhaps it is time to put the foolishness of his lost youth behind him. It would be a pity that he survived all his expeditions of salad days only to be killed before he marries.”

  As usual, the words of his spinster sister cowed the older gentleman, and Sir John resumed eating, paying a wondrous attention to his food at the expense of conversation. There was an awkward pause at the table, when I found Percy tugging at my elbow with a question.

  “Holmes, I believe that I will go quite out of my mind if we are stuck here another day,” he said avidly.

  “An exaggeration, surely,” I replied.

  “I assure you, I am in earnest,” said he. “What say we go into town? Uncle has given me a small list of suppli
es he needs, and we can take the time to relax in what small comforts Eastbourne has to offer.”

  I was agreeable, and Percy had a dogcart brought around front. With him handling the reins, we set off for the village at a trot. Percy was almost as much a stranger in these parts as I, and I believe he enjoyed seeing the countryside as much as I did. We had a pleasant, and relatively short ride, before we came into the village proper. Percy suggested that I see a bit of the village as he made the rounds, picking up what small parcels his uncle required of him. I was agreeable, and alighted the cart. As Percy snapped the reins, the horse trotted off, leaving me to my own devices.

  It was late morning and the village was alive with movement. I took my time and spent several hours strolling through some of the vegetable and fish markets, perusing the bounty offered by the local farmers and fishermen. As I was looking at some particularly succulent cod, I was accosted by what I took to be the fishmonger’s wife. She came around a counter wiping her hands on her apron.

  “That is a fine catch we have here, sir,” she said. “Is there anything I can show you?”

  “Not at the moment, my good lady,” said I. “But I assure, I will ask if there be need.”

  Not discouraged by my answer she hung by my side.

  “You’d be from the hall then wouldn’t you, sir?” she stated rather than asked.

  “That is true. I am a visitor to Hardwick Hall.”

  “Another drawn to the web, I see, sir,” she said, with a smile that revealed several missing teeth.”

  I said nothing else, but she went on.

  “So, there’s to be a fancy party there tomorrow, I hear. Sir John is to be married.”

  I agreed with a nod. “Sir John is making the announcement at that time, as I am sure is no secret.”

  “No secret is right, sir. Nothing is a secret in a home with that many in service,” she said, with a leer and a wink. “Sir John is a good man, he is, sir. And Mr. George is a good one, too. Always a please and a thank you, with that one. As to the others, there’s something I could say, believe me.”

  I made no response, but the old woman was not discouraged and continued on.

  “The other Mr. Hardwick is not nearly so polite, and both Miss Grafton and Miss Hardwick can be real tartars, if you follow me, sir.”

  It was past one o’ clock by this time and I searched the streets for Percy so that I might be disengaged from the malicious conversation of the old woman. My heart fairly leapt as I saw him approach in the dogcart. I bid the woman goodbye, and climbed into my seat.

  As we rode away, I saw that the sides and neck of the horse was slick with sweat. I questioned Percy about the condition of the animal.

  “Oh, that is a story, Holmes,” he said jovially. “As I was making my rounds, one of the young village rapscallions threw a rock and hit the old girl in the flank.”

  “The villain,” I cried.

  “Just so,” Percy agreed. “At any rate, the old girl fairly bolted out of her traces and she was off. I nearly went head over heels myself, and it was quite a mile before I could bring her to a stop.”

  The incident was soon forgotten, as we made our way back down the lonely country lane to the hall. Percy took the horse at a walk the entire way, so as to not over weary the animal. At a fork just before the estate came into view the horse seemed to hesitate, but Percy flicked the whip and it cantered on. It was just after two o’ clock, when we arrived back at the manor house. We exited the cart at the front entrance, as my friend had instructions for care of the animal, and also the distribution of the parcels. We walked up the steps together, and walked into the entrance hall.

  We had only gotten in the door, when a voice cried out. “Murder, murder! Help!”

  Chapter Ten

  Percy was frozen for only a moment, but I sprang into action. The voice had come from the rear of the house and we hurried in that direction. As we ran into the great hall, I saw Agatha Hardwick reading a book and looking mystified, but strangely calm. I continued, with Percy in my wake, through the library. I came to a halt as I saw that the music room door was blocked by the portly figure of the butler Hudson.

  Percy stepped in front of me, breathing hard. “Hudson, my God, what is it?” he asked.

  Hudson was swaying back and forth, as if he might swoon. He was ashen faced, but otherwise composed. In a steady voice without quick breaths he said, “The master. He has been killed, Mr. Percy. My God, but he’s dead.”

  “What rot are you talking, Hudson?” asked Percy, and we both pushed our way past the man into the room. Again, there was the odor of brandy about the man.

  Percy halted suddenly in front of me, and I nearly collided with him. I almost stepped into a residue of what looked like broken glass. I heard a sharp intake of breath, but no words from Percy. I passed him, and saw the form of Sir John Hardwick splayed upon the floor.

  His head had been smashed in, and the murder weapon was no doubt the war club that lay at his feet. It was the one that I had closely examined earlier. Whether or not it was of ancient manufacture, it was a lethal weapon as the dead man’s body could attest. The space on the wall that the club had occupied was directly adjacent to the hidden wall safe. I saw that the picture frame was swung open and the safe was exposed, but the door securely closed. My eyes flew about the room. Nothing else seemed amiss. The west drapes were closed, as they normally were, and the north drapes were drawn open. I immediately observed that one of the north windows was open, as well. I rushed to it and looked out.

  I saw no footprints outside the window, but the ground was hard, as there had been little rain, and no trace was likely to be found even if the culprit had exited in that manner. I turned and saw Percy still kneeling by the body, in a state of shock.

  I heard footsteps approaching, and George Hardwick entered the room, closely followed by his cousin Robert. George Hardwick, true to his personality, summed up the situation and made a decision.

  “Hudson,” he called out.

  The portly butler replied in a daze. “Yes, sir.”

  “Send one of the stable hands to the village for the authorities.”

  “The authorities?” repeated Hudson, as if he had never heard the word before.

  “Yes, damn you, and be quick about it,” snapped George Hardwick. At those words, Hudson rushed from the room.

  Robert Hardwick approached the body and kneeled down next to Percy.

  “Oh my goodness,” he cried. “He really is dead.”

  The man was pulling at the hair of his head and appeared to be on the precipice of a fit.

  I heard the stern voice of Agatha Hardwick.

  “What’s all this?” she asked, as she strode into the room. She stopped short at the sight of her brother’s body. “So he’s been killed,” she said calmly. “Silly to keep that damn necklace here on the grounds.”

  “Do you know what you are saying, Aunt Agatha?” cried Percy.

  “Of course, I do, you young pup,” she barked. “I have seen much death in my life. It is only the young that it frightens. John insisted on keeping his precious Spider Diamond necklace here and he has paid for his hubris. Icarus paid as well.”

  “I suggest,” said I quietly, “that someone inform Miss Grafton and Miss Stuart as to what has happened, before they hear it from a servant.”

  I saw heads nodding, but the suggestion, at least in the case of Jane Grafton, was unnecessary as she came through the door as I finished my statement. Percy arose and rushed to her side.

  “My dear, Jane. Uncle John has been cruelly murdered.”

  “Murdered?” she croaked, as if it was an alien concept. “But that’s impossible.”

  “It is all too possible, Jane,” intoned George. “Our dear uncle must have confronted a burglar and met death at his hands. I believe it is obvious how the burglar made his entrance and egress.” He waved his hand towards the open window as he spoke.

  “Poor uncle,” said Percy. “And he thought that his safe
was a secret known only to him.”

  “Hubris,” sniffed Agatha Hardwick. “Jane, you and I will tell Irene together. She must know as soon as possible. Come with me.”

  Agatha Hardwick’s order to her niece was not questioned and the two of them exited the room at once, leaving Robert, George, Percy, and I together in the music room. Presently, Hudson came back into the room.

  “I have sent a man to the village,” he said, in between deep breaths. He was perspiring heavily. “Someone will be here soon. What are we to do, Mr. George?”

  George Hardwick, who had been resolute and decisive up until that point, was suddenly hesitant.

  “George, my friend Holmes here is quite the student of criminology,” volunteered Percy. “Perhaps, we should ask his advice.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” said George. “That seems highly irregular, but then the whole game is irregular. What say you, Mr. Holmes? Have you a thought?”

  “If I may,” I began, “I suggest we withdraw to the library until the authorities arrive.”

  “But what of uncle?” cried Robert. “Can we at least cover his body?”

  The man still seemed to be nearly out of his head. As most of the others were at least somewhat calm, his demeanor stood out.

  “That is quite out of the question, Mr. Hardwick,” I replied. “The crime scene must be preserved. Percy, will you check the door leading to the drawing room?”

  Percy did as he was bid.

  “It is bolted from this side, Holmes. No one could get in from there.”

  “Or out I should say,” said I. “Very well. Let us all retire now. From the library we can observe the only entrance to the music room.”

  “What of the open window, Mr. Holmes?” asked George Hardwick. “Surely, that should be preserved as well, but if we leave anyone could come in.”

  “It is a point,” I conceded. I walked to the window again, and closed and latched it. “There, now that bolt hole is shut and we can all testify that it was open when the body was found.”