Repeat Business

by Lyn McConchie

  “You are both right and wrong in your suspicions, Staunton. Obadiah was here, certainly. Your butler was absent on his day off, but Estworth impressed himself upon your other staff as an unpleasant customer and Mrs. Davis denied him entrance, or so your parlor maid informs me. She could not say of what he and Mrs. Davis talked, Your housekeeper sent the other servants away while she listened to the wicked man—as she referred to him.”

  “Then why did she not tell me of this?”

  “Because Obadiah did talk to her. He told her there was a will that he was most desirous of finding, and offered her a large sum of money if she would find it and give it to him instead of you. (I suspect that if it had the codicil, he would have handed it over to his lawyers, but had it no mention of he or his family, it would have vanished forever.) Thus from his speech Mrs. Davis believed that the missing will would dispossess you of your great-uncle’s entire fortune.”

  “But if she had it she had only to read—” Here he halted. “Of course, she can read numbers but—”

  Holmes caught his words up and nodded. “Exactly. She does not read more than simple printed words; she could not read the handwritten script and legal language of the will. She believed what Obadiah suggested, that the will would disinherit you. I believe she knew the hiding place behind the painting, and rather than give the will to Obadiah to benefit another than you, she took it and hid it away again in a place known only to herself.”

  I understood. “That is why you talked loudly last night. She was listening and in that way you told her the truth of the matter, informed her falsely that we had not searched here, and allowed her the night to replace the will.”

  “I did. It is for Staunton now to decide if she should be punished for her theft of a legal document, and if he will give Estworth the share Lord Mount-James may have intended he should receive.”

  Staunton flushed and spoke rather angrily. “What, am I to punish the woman who cared so greatly for me she would have risked a prison sentence if she had been found out by another? No, I shall say nothing to anyone of what she may have done. I will ask you both, gentlemen, to keep silent on this matter also. As for Estworth, I believe he is still entitled to the return of the original estate given in error to my great-uncle. But to punish him for his attempt to bribe my servants, he shall receive no interest upon that sum as I had intended he should receive originally.”

  “That is just,” I said at once. What do you think, Holmes?”

  Holmes looked at the closed door. “I think that we should tell the servants that the will is found and their employment safe.”

  “I will do so very shortly,” Staunton said. “I have a question for you firstly, however, Mr. Holmes. How was it that you guessed Mrs. Davis to have taken the will?”

  “The other servants may or may not have been telling the truth about the papers they found, sir. But she told a lie. She said, as you may recall, that she had once found papers in a book in the library. Her exact words were—‘It was a great thick book of sermons, sir. The papers were about a third of the way within. I mind the page numbers the papers lay within, they were ninety-nine and one hundred’.”

  Staunton snorted. “Where is the obvious lie in that?”

  “It is a peculiarity of books, sir, that the way they are bound and the pages numbered, it is in the highest degree unlikely that the pages numbered ninety-nine and one hundred should lie opposite to one another. In every book I have ever read those numbers lie one on each side of a single leaf.” Staunton seized the small heap of books still at his great-uncle’s bedside and began to examine them. After several minutes he looked up.

  “You are right.”

  “Yes, and a lie once told suggested to me that there might be more to discover. I have discovered it, sir. Go and claim your inheritance.”

  An order the new Lord Mount-James was very willing to obey. Obadiah Estworth received more than his just deserts and returned to his farm to increase its acreage with his windfall. Godfrey Staunton has taken his place in the House of Lords, and Mrs. Davis continues faithfully to run his home, as she is like to do for many years yet to come.

  And I? I went the day after we returned to see the bronchial Mr. Benfell, and was amazed to find his rooms glowing with a comfortable level of heat while a filled coal scuttle and a small stack of kindling reposed beside his hearth.

  “Why, sir, how is this?” I questioned him. The old man smiled joyfully at me.

  “I cannot say, save that some kind person must have seen my plight and taken mercy on an old man. Last night the coal man came here and filled the entire old woodshed outside my back door, saying that it was paid for already so that I owed him nothing. I have coal and kindling enough to last me all winter no matter how long it may be.” His wrinkled face beamed at me. “Doctor, I am an old man and it is a joy to me to find that even yet there are good people in this world.”

  I agreed with him, checked his chest—which was much improved already—left him a cough medicine, and departed, thinking to myself that Mr. Benfell was correct. There were yet good people in this world, and my old friend Sherlock Holmes was one of them. Who else could have known the name of the patient for whom I was most concerned? And who else would have provided fuel for a fire needed by an old man without friends or family? Only Holmes, who under his cold exterior could sometimes be the kindest of men to those in need. I tramped through the snow, and the warmth I felt was not from my overcoat or my exertion alone.

  STRANGE EVENTS IN FINCHLEY

  There is something about some people. Others go to work each morning and return each night and nothing affects the smooth flow of their lives, but for some few people things are different. Holmes says that the situation is a form of snowball. The more knowledgeable the person becomes in some areas of life, the more sensitized they are to the minutiae which alert them to events within that area.

  So it seemed to be for Miss Burnett, or perhaps I should refer to her briefly as the Señora Victor Durando. She met her future husband in London, where he was the Minister for the small country of San Pedro. There she married him and when he was recalled to his country to be murdered he may have had a presentiment of his danger, for he demanded she remain in her own country. It was from there she plotted with her husband’s countrymen for some years following his death in her desire to punish the overthrown dictator for his crimes—and although some of them died, at last The Tiger of San Pedro was slain in Madrid.

  The Señora Durando, however, had been left only a pittance by the custom of the dictator who had already confiscated her husband’s estates in San Pedro. She had sufficient income to keep body and soul together—but barely; nor was she a lady who liked to sit idle. Therefore she returned to her maiden name and to her occupation as a governess, and it was in that capacity she came to us again for aid some seven years after we had first met her.

  “I have come to you, sirs, since your intervention saved me once and I know you will not laugh at my fears.”

  I seated her and nodded. “Indeed we will not. What is it that troubles you?”

  “Once I was recovered from my ordeal at the hands of the former dictator of San Pedro, and I was well enough to take employment again, I approached a London agency. They examined my qualifications and were sufficiently impressed to send me to be interviewed by a Mr. Romford, who lives in a large and comfortable villa in the better part of Finchley. The house is set in spacious grounds of an acre or more in the outskirts of that suburb, and is ringed with trees and shrubbery so that little noise penetrates from the street. Mr. Romford is a wealthy man, but he makes no show of that, living comfortably but not luxuriously by his own preference. He looks to be a man in his late forties, and while I do not know his business, it appears to provide well for him and his brother.

  “He too was pleased with the attainments I could teach, and hired me as a governess for his daughters. My pupils are girls of ten and twelve, pleasant, well-behaved children, and we have got on very well tog
ether. I was made aware that I was hired in particular for the fact that Mr. Romford’s business often took him out late at night—indeed, sometimes he was gone for the entire night, and as his brother was also sometimes gone for the night, he did not wish his daughters to be alone.”

  Here Miss Burnett pressed her hands together anxiously. “Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson, I do not know if I am imagining things or if there is really something strange in that house. I have been there now almost a year, but I became uneasy within six months. I should describe the household for you before I go further in my story. That household consists of Mr. Romford, my two pupils, Felicia and Katherine, and his oldest daughter, Helen. She is an attractive, rather shy girl who has just celebrated her eighteenth birthday, and her father dotes upon her.

  “Mr. Romford’s brother, Gerald, who recently arrived to stay, also lives in the house. The servants are an excellent cook, a valet each for Mr. Romford and his brother, Miss Helen’s maid, two maids for the house, myself, and a gardener/groom.

  “At first I was comfortable in my employment. I believed that I got on well with all there while I liked my pupils, who are intelligent and sensible girls—and for that reason I also enjoyed teaching them. I often take them about to various places of interest within London, and there had not been the least objection to that until about six months ago. It was after that time, that very gradually, I became uneasy. I could point to no particularly important occurrence—but it was as if a thick film of dust had fallen over everything so that it marred the shine of life in the Romford home.”

  Holmes nodded. “A clear exposition thus far. Think back now, Miss Burnett. It may have been a particular incident that first made you aware of this feeling and caused you uneasiness. Can you recall what that may have been?”

  “It was something so foolish that at first I put it aside in my mind.” She paused to collect her thoughts. “It came about in this way. I had taken Felicia and Katherine to the zoo and we had had a pleasant day admiring the animals. Felicia, who is quite talented, had occupied a portion of her time in sketching both the animals and some of those who were there to admire them.

  “On our return home I showed her sketchbook to Mr. Romford, who seemed happy to admire it, turning the pages and speaking approvingly of her talent—until he came to one of the final sketches. On seeing that and without a word, he tore the page from the book and ripped it into a number of pieces that he then thrust into the kitchen fire. I would have remonstrated with him, but, put out by his actions and feeling that it was none of my business, in the end I chose to say nothing. The children too seemed struck dumb, not with fear—but with a sort of embarrassment as if they understood something I did not and knew that they had erred.”

  “Did Romford ever make any explanation or apology to you?” I asked.

  “No, Doctor Watson, he did not. Because of this I went back to Felicia’s sketchbook and endeavored to remember the sketch that had been on that page. I set down as much as I could recall, since I too can sketch, and that drawing I hid in a drawer beneath my clothing hoping that time would reveal my employer’s reasons for his strange behavior. Then perhaps six weeks after that incident I overheard words which puzzled me.”

  “By chance?”

  “Yes, quite by chance. I had gone out to shop on my half day and—not finding several of the minor items I wanted—I had returned early, determined to shop again next time I took the girls into the city. The house was quiet and, not wishing to disturb anyone, I entered without making much noise and I was then startled to hear an unknown voice from the kitchen. I could not hear the first sentence but then it was as if the speaker moved closer, and as I mounted the stairs to my room I heard the next words quite distinctly. He said, ‘Think what you could gain—then think what you could lose.’ The words themselves seem harmless, but I cannot convey to you how threatening they sounded.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Was it the way in which they were spoken, or the voice itself?”

  “Both. The words were said as if they were an offer; the pause after the first portion of the sentence seemed to suggest that the rewards could be great, and then that the punishment for failure could be greater. The voice was that of an educated man, but there was that slight slowness and a faint slurring one sometimes hears when the speaker is fluent, but is still not using his native language.”

  Holmes spoke thoughtfully. “As if the speaker is speaking slowly so that he may choose the right words. But there was no observable accent?”

  “None. But the tone itself was, Mr. Holmes—the only way I can describe it is to say that it was oily. As if the speaker threatened, but wished to conceal the threat behind the suavity of a gentleman.”

  I must say that her description of the voice combined with her recollection of the words used made a very unfavorable impression upon me. I could well understand how Miss Burnett had felt there to be something strange in that house. But were these two incidents the only ones thus far? I asked.

  “No, there has been a third incident. It occurred about six weeks ago and it was that which decided me to lay my fears before you. It was a small and perhaps foolish thing in which I could be mistaken, but Mr. Romford may have stolen a very old pair of my discarded shoes.”

  Holmes sat up. “Describe all of this incident, leave nothing out.”

  Miss Burnett looked surprised. “I have said that I may be quite wrong, yet the fact that I feel I must confess the possibility that I may not be so, makes me uneasy still. Very well. When I arrived at the villa I had a pair of shoes I had purchased while overseas at the beginning of my previous employment. They were walking shoes made for me by a cobbler in Germany, and I had worn them so often they had worn out soles and heels several times. At last they could not be repaired to a standard where I might wear them and appear respectable, so sadly I placed them with a number of other outworn items in the rubbish bin outside the villa.

  “I then returned inside, and since I was disposing of unwanted items, I called my pupils and we sorted out some of their broken and ruined toys from the nursery. These I placed in a bag and went out to leave them also in the rubbish bin. I suppose I was regretting the loss of my walking shoes because, as soon as I opened the bin, I observed that although the level of rubbish had not risen, the shoes were no longer there, although the other items remained. I admit that I was taken aback—and after a glance about me, I lifted several layers of the rubbish and in doing so ascertained to a certainty that the shoes had been removed.”

  “Where is the bin in relation to the villa?” I asked.

  “That is the point, Doctor Watson. It is within an enclosed courtyard and is not removed or emptied until the end of the week. This was Tuesday and the refuse accumulated had been burned by the gardener only the previous Saturday evening as is usual for the household.”

  “And Mr. Romford?” Holmes questioned her. “Why do you believe it to have been he who may have taken your shoes?”

  “Helen was out with a friend, Mr. Gerald Romford was also absent, for several days—on business I was told. My pupils were upstairs and had been there during the entire interval between my discarding the items and my return downstairs with the girls’ toys. It is possible that the shoes were taken by one of the servants, I admit that, but as I returned from the courtyard Mr. Romford passed me, and I heard him re-enter the house a short time later while I was on the landing.”

  “You could not see him, however?” Holmes queried.

  “No, the courtyard entrance is under the landing.”

  “Have you the copy of Felicia’s sketch with you?” Miss Burnett dug into her handbag and produced a sheet of paper, which she passed to me. I glanced at it then handed it to Holmes who looked at it with interest as Miss Burnett watched him hopefully.

  Holmes nodded, after a time spent considering the sketch. “A pretty puzzle, Miss Burnett, and most interesting. I am glad you brought these events to my attention.”

  “Then you do not think me to be absurd
?”

  Holmes shook his head. “People who have lived in apprehension and fear become sensitized. They may notice things that those about them do not; that is not because they are foolishly nervous, but because they are attuned to the atmosphere, as those who have not lived such a life are not. I believe that there may indeed be something strange occurring in your household, and I shall look into it. Return to the villa, listen, observe, but ask no questions, and do not appear to be overly interested in further unusual events. If they should occur, however, come at once to tell Doctor Watson or me. Will you do this?”

  “I will. It is a considerable relief to me, a weight from my shoulders to know that you both know of these events and do not think me fanciful.”

  I assured her again that we did not and showed her out, returning to be seated and look over to my old friend.

  “We do not think her fanciful, Holmes?”

  “No—no, I do not think so. A more fanciful woman would offer us a version of events that was romantic or more openly frightening. What does Miss Burnett offer us? That her employer tore up a sketch showing visitors in a public place and drawn at the zoo by one of his daughters. That Miss Burnett heard a voice in the villa kitchen uttering a sentence that could be read in a number of ways. And finally, that her employer—or someone within the household—has almost certainly stolen a pair of her worn out and valueless shoes whilst leaving other, equally personal, but valueless items behind.”

  “It sounds so absurd when you list events in that fashion.” I observed.

  “Indeed. But it is in the grotesque that we may find true mystery. It is rare for events that may be said to be grotesque to be anything other than of human origin or intent. Therefore we will investigate this Mr. Romford and his business, also his household, his servants, and his family. Go to Finchley, Watson. See if you can discover his doctor and find out from the man whatever he may tell you of Romford and the household.”