A Case Most Peculiar

by Michael Moreau

  “If you wouldn’t mind being a dear.” was the lady’s response. Mr. Peterson rose to help but I insisted that I should be the one to provide a hand. He protested greatly, stating that I was a guest, but I assured him that it was the least that I could do in return for the hospitality. The lady had prepared quite a formidable repast that took some time to carry from the kitchen to the dining area even with the two of us attending to the chore.

  Surely she had not known to expect a visitor for dinner. Did she truly prepare such meals on a regular basis? Already she did much to improve my impression of the women-folk of Yorkshire. Come to think of it, the late Mr. Parney did indeed put on a couple of stones worth of weight after his espousal to the horrid Miss Margaret Willings. I put the thought out of my head for I cared not to associate in my mind the grandmotherly Mrs. Peterson with that irascible woman.

  It was obvious to me that Samuel had married a woman some ten or so years his junior, she was silver-haired and far past her prime, yet still seemed to carry herself with a certain amount of elegance and self-respect. She spoke softly, not out of the false respect beat into many a wife by a vicious husband but instead the kind that comes from the security of one’s place in life. Despite his statement indicating a troubled beginning to their relationship the two seemed to have come to a rather agreeable compromise and appeared, at least from my terse observation, to be quite happy in their old age.

  After several minutes we had laid the impressive spread upon the table and sat down to eat. As I had predicted Mrs. Peterson, whom I’d been instructed to address as Margaret, took up a place next to her husband. As she sat the old man leaned over and placed a kiss upon her left temple and thanked her for all of her effort. It was truly upholding to see that such a thing as respect between a man and his wife was not only possible but still alive and well in the world. Far too frequently, in my dealings in London, I found myself in the midst of a row between spouses.

  Somehow the warm house, the aroma of freshly prepared food and the gentle disposition of the two I shared company with made me long for a life that had never been mine. Had I known something other than the cold embrace of dirty city streets and the back of a cruel father’s hand perhaps I could have been a different person. A possibility at least, that I could be of fewer regrets and more abundant graces.

  My surprise was likely palpable when Samuel clutched my hand and Mrs. Peterson began precisely that, grace. I do honestly believe that not since my days at the orphanage had I taken part in a meal that included the blessing. Respect demanded I bow my head, though I remembered not the words nor even felt a connection to the meaning behind any of it. Religion had long-since left my company, were it ever with me to begin.

  Uncovering the lovely silver dish, most assuredly a gift from Master Dunning considering the dissimilarity with the remainder of their tableware, revealed a roast goose of exquisite corpulence. Such a fine animal would have been impossible to locate in the markets of London let alone purchase on anything but a generous salary. It would seem that Mr. Peterson’s forty years of service had left him quite comfortable in terms of finance. Supplementary to the succulent looking fowl was a loaf of freshly baked bread, smashed potatoes, kidney pie and a boiley cake as well as tarts of several varieties.

  “Are you certain you had no notion that I was to arrive this evening?” I asked as my eyes drifted across the incredible meal laid out before me.

  Mrs. Peterson chuckled lightly and smiled up at me as she worked to place her napkin securely in her lap. “Does no one cook for you Mr. Carson?”

  “I have the good fortune of leasing an office space above a bakery. Most evenings my land-lady is kind enough to bring up a couple of meat pies or a portion of bread. I cannot say exactly when I last enjoyed a meal of this caliber however, and please, call me Robert.”

  “Well I can certainly see how you’d think me foolish to prepare such a large meal for only myself and my husband. To clarify, I cook this lavishly only once per week.”

  “Then I chose to arrive on a most fortuitous evening did I not?”

  Both smiled then Mrs. Peterson spoke, “I am delighted that you turned up on such an evening. I’d hate to serve nothing more than soup and a bit of sandwich to a guest.”

  “Think nothing of it. If odor is any indicator of your culinary talents Madame then even that much smaller meal would have been a fair sight more enjoyable than to what I am accustomed.”

  We sat in silence for a few moments as the goose was cut and we filled our plates from the serving dishes. Unsurprisingly the food was sublime. Having been several years since I had relished in a proper meal I was content to forgo conversation for a time. Upon reaching a point where I feared I was approaching rudeness at the gusto with which I was devouring my supper I decided to pause and take time to sip from the glass of cider that had been provided. Margaret Peterson seemed not to mind my mild lapse of table manners. She simply smiled at her husband who only nodded in delight as he too put away his dinner with abandon.

  “So Mr. Peterson...Samuel,” I began, “you mentioned that the lady Dunning has been suffering from maladies. If it is not too brazen of me I should like to inquire as to their nature. I pray she is not moribund.”

  “No, nothing of the sort. Nothing life threatening or infectious. For some years she has suffered from severe headaches for which the doctors seem to be able to provide little relief.”

  “I see. That is most unfortunate. Has she been seen by any of the physicians in London? Their methods are perhaps more modern than those in Yorkshire. They also have access to all of the latest elixirs and curatives.”

  Samuel nodded as he finished chewing his food. “Aye. I fear she has seen every doctor your city has on offer; still they can do nothing for her condition. Most days she does little else but lie in her bed chamber with the curtains drawn. By lamp-light she reads most copiously. I dare say the Dunnings possess the largest private library in the county.”

  I nodded then took another sip of my cider. “What of the children? I would care to know their names and any other pertinent information about each of them.”

  “Do you fear that the family will be uncooperative with you Inspector?” the lady asked.

  “It is a possibility, certainly. Tomorrow a strange investigator will arrive at their estate without a proper invitation and begin to question them about a matter they no-doubt would prefer be forgotten. You have known them for many years and it would aid my investigation immensely should I know precisely who I am dealing with before my arrival.”

  “Of course. My wife did not mean to insinuate that you were prying Inspector.” Mrs. Peterson nodded, agreeing with her husband, then he continued. “Firstly there is Master Adrian, he is the first born. He is of average height and weight with medium-short-cropped reddish hair. He is thirty-four years old I believe.” he glanced at his wife who seemed to confirm his statement, “He is an extremely ambitious young man and it pains me to admit that while I hold all of the Dunning children dear he is the only one whom I have a difficult time trusting his word.”

  “A liar?”

  “Not bald-faced. He is very savvy, however, and I have many times seen him manipulate facts to suit his own ends.”

  “I see. A history of violence? Even against animals? Save for hunting or slaughter of course.”

  The two seemed taken aback. “Not that I have ever known.” Samuel responded. “I’ve never witnessed an inkling of cruelty in any of the children so you may cross that off of your list of questions Inspector.”

  “I shall, and if I have offended I apologize.”

  “No...” Mrs. Peterson started, “we understand that you are simply being thorough.”

  “The other children?”

  “Miss Elizabeth is the second-oldest. She is twenty-nine.”

  “And not married?”

  Samuel shook his head, “Mr. Dunning and his wife have tried many times to arrange a profitable marriage for her to gentlemen of good standing fro
m here to Cornwall.”

  “They would not have her?”

  “Quite the opposite Mr. Carson. She would not have them. She is a young lady of stunning beauty with an intellect to surpass. She could have nearly any man she fancied yet she has made habit of embarrassing her family every time they foolishly invite a potential suitor to their home. With little more than a glance or a few words in passing she turns up her nose and refuses to participate in any form of courtship.”

  I paused and rubbed at my side-whiskers for a moment before speaking. What I was about to suggest could easily cause an outrage in my two generous hosts. “Have any considered the possibility that she is...a Tom?”

  Precisely as I had feared the color drained from both of their faces and Mrs. Peterson stood from her chair and walked to the corner of the room with her back to me, no-doubt biting her tongue. At any moment I expected to be asked to vacate the property but after a short while she returned to her seat and grasped her husband’s hand in her own. “Mr. Carson...Robert...such things may be a commonality in London but here we do not speak of such topics in polite conversation, investigation or no.”

  “I understand. I shall not bring it up again.”

  “Thank you.” she said, then hesitated.

  “What is it?”

  “What I am going to say to you Inspector must never leave this room. I am about to tell you something, against my better judgment, that will allay your perverted notions about Miss Elizabeth.”

  Queerly the look of shame upon the lady’s aged face stirred curiosity in me. Likewise the puzzled expression Mr. Peterson wore said that it was a secret that not even he knew of.

  “Some years ago sir, I believe when Miss Elizabeth was around the age of nineteen, she came to me in confidence with a very serious dilemma.” the old lady hung her eyes, as if she were ashamed to even be relating the story, “She told me that she had fallen in love with a young man from town; a banker’s assistant whom she’d met when he’d visited the estate. She said he’d gone many times to meet her at an old cabin on the edge of the property and there they’d...consummated their relationship on many occasions.”

  I sat forward in my seat, that was indeed a most interesting detail. With no less than two affairs featuring young men it certainly did seem that women were not to her taste after all. Perhaps she simply had an affinity for the excitement of forbidden love, it would not be the first time I had seen such a trait in a young man or young woman.

  “She...had fallen pregnant. When learning of the length of their involvement I was in fact astonished that she had not been with child much sooner. Their affair had been going on for nearly eight months you see.”

  Samuel, by the look on his wrinkled face, seemed amazed that his wife had managed to keep such a secret for so many years.

  “I told her of a doctor of sorts here in the city who could help with unwanted pregnancies but she refused. Do not mistake me Inspector, being a woman who never was able to conceive the very idea of ridding one’s self of a child broke my heart into pieces but I knew that with her position in life and her family depending on her it simply could not be. She, somewhat to my relief however, could not go through with it. She went to tell her banker boy in hopes of running off with him but he scorned her and wished to have nothing to do with her or the child. In what I believe to be nothing short of catastrophic heart-break she miscarried and the matter was done. She did, however, relay to me over the years liaisons with several other young men in town so I can assure you that she is anything but a...Tom…as you say.”

  The information was very helpful and I wanted to press for more but the lady of the house seemed to be shaken deeply by finally revealing the confidence which she had kept to herself for the better part of a decade.

  “Thank you Mrs. Peterson. There are two more children correct?”

  “Yes.” this time Samuel spoke, “Two others. Three years younger than Elizabeth is Daniel. A brilliant young man who attended law school and now practices in York. He is married and very likely will not be present when you visit the estate as he only comes ‘round near the holidays. Lastly is young Cyril. He is presently seven years old.”

  “The Dunnings conceived him rather late in life did they not?”

  “Yes. Mrs. Dunning, Mary is her name, had him at the age of forty-six. It came as a surprise to everyone.”

  “As I should imagine it did. I assume that he will be present.”

  “Of course, though I feel for the poor boy. With his father rather aged and aloof and his mother frequently indisposed he, even more-so than the older children, has been reared almost exclusively by his nanny.”

  “And the nanny’s name?”

  “Tripti. She is an Indian girl who has been in the family’s service for many years. She speaks English with hardly an accent and from what I have observed is an excellent servant; honest and attentive.”

  “Others who are likely to be at the estate?”

  “Well let’s see,” the elderly gentleman rubbed the grey mustache that adorned his friendly face as he thought, “there is Kwame, a Gambian boy that the master brought back from a business trip. He was homeless or something of the sort I believe. Master Dunning took him in and he works the estate as an errand boy and general help. He is somewhere around ten years of age though no one knows exactly. There is also Mr. Findlay, the grounds-keeper. He’s a Scotsman and has been on the property for over twenty years. He is well known in town for his taste for drink and his affinity for pub brawls but never have I seen him be on anything but his absolute best manners when he is on the grounds. You will also meet Mrs. Kyle, the maid. Nothing much to be said of her. She is a bit of a gossip but does her job well. She lives in town with her husband and rides her bicycle to the estate early every morning.”

  “No one else that frequents the property?”

  “The estate is rather large Robert. There are several farms upon it. On occasion one of the farmers may stop by to speak business with the master or his agent, food and newspaper deliveries as well. That is all that I can think of. I hope the information will help.”

  “Most assuredly. It is always favorable to go into a situation with as much knowledge of those you may encounter as possible. My arrival will no-doubt be a surprise and may ruffle a few feathers, I hope to at least depart with as little a level of acrimony as possible when all is said and done.”

  “You seem a thoughtful, if somewhat brazen man, Mr. Carson.” the Margaret quipped.

  “I shall take that as a compliment my good lady.”

  “As you should.”

  “While we are on the matter of compliments I must say that your cooking is of the highest order of excellence I have ever had occasion to enjoy in someone’s home. A lovely home I must also say. Your Mr. Peterson has been a fortunate fellow to capture the heart of such a diligent and intelligent woman as yourself.”

  The old lady blushed. It was difficult to tell, seeing as she was now aged somewhere in the vicinity of sixty, but at one time she might have been quite attractive. After finishing our meal and being shown to my room I settled in for the night. A old photograph that sat on the vanity in the guest room confirmed that in their youth both Mrs. Peterson and her husband had been a rather handsome couple. As I settled into the bed, more comfortable than any I had ever owned, I let myself feel happy for the two of them.

  Save for being denied the privilege of children they’d appeared to have had a pleasant life. Perhaps, just perhaps, if such a man could find contentment then there still remained hope for me as well. A moment later when my thoughts turned to opium and how I should have had the foresight to bring along a little hop to ease my sleep I was reminded at just how many impediments there were to my salvation.

  An Inauspicious Start

  I awoke shortly after sunrise to the smell of breakfast being prepared and the sound of horses and motorcars clattering down the street. I can say with all honesty that never once in my adult life had I awoken to the smell of foo
d cooking, save for what was being prepared for customers in the bakery below my office. Frequently Matthew Parney and I would step out for breakfast at a local eatery but never had anyone specifically prepared breakfast for me. Having finally drifted off to sleep around some time closing in on midnight I hadn’t slept long but I had slept well. I dressed and headed downstairs. Breakfast was somewhat spartan relative to the supper we had enjoyed the night before but still it was more than adequate.

  Mr. Peterson informed me that due to his advancing years he no longer retained a horse nor carriage of his own and that all of his tasks in town were performed by means of...gasp...a bicycle. I tried to imagine the septuagenarian peddling one of those contraptions down cobble-stone streets with a basket of groceries or a package to post. To transport us from his house in Leeds to the Dunning estate he had arranged, as soon as he had woken, for a carriage to pick us up shortly before eight-thirty. Glancing at my watch around the nine o’clock hour I realized that something must have gone awry. Shortly thereafter a young man arrived to tell us that his father’s horse had injured it’s leg on a curb when they had nearly been run off of the road on their way to pick us up by a poorly driven motorcar.

  Not wishing to pass up the opportunity to surprise me one last time Mr. Peterson then suggested that we travel to Larchwood Manor via bicycle. As it turns out he and Mrs. Peterson had purchased two of them, in the safety-bicycle design, to be used for running errands. As it was a distance of nearly seven miles, for the Dunning estate lay between Horsforth and Bramhope, and considering my lifestyle of the last few years rendering me far too feeble to withstand such exertion I told him that I would have none of it. He spent a few moments extolling the virtues of the bicycle and how much vitality the exercise from using it had provided him but in the end it was for naught. I refused to budge on the subject so he set about trying to locate another hire cab to take us to our destination.