Repeat Business

by Lyn McConchie

  “Yes.” He briefly buried his face in his hands, and then raised his head to stare at us. “I swear it, gentlemen, I saw her only the afternoon before she died and she was merry, teasing me and laughing, saying she and Ellwood should make their name with this foolish book which was almost completed. The next afternoon they say she flung herself over a cliff and I shall never believe it. Do you not think that I, who have known and loved her most of her life, would not have known if she were so unhappy as to wish for death? She was not, I tell you.”

  I suddenly understood some of his distress. “Then there has been gossip in the village?”

  “Aye,” Hattan said bitterly. “The two who saw her die said that she went running over the cliff. The inquest brought it in as misadventure, since she left no letter and from motives of kindness they would not call it suicide. But the village knows what was said and they whisper in corners, asking why she should have done such a terrible thing, and suggesting—horrible things that I cannot bear to hear.”

  Holmes nodded. “I shall look into it. My good friend Stackhurst wonders now also since you wrote to him, and I would put your mind and his at rest.” He questioned the young man for some time after that, but discovered few facts if much conjecture. At last he dismissed him politely, after which we ate a hearty dinner and walked out later to smoke and talk.

  “It is interesting, Watson.” Holmes said as he puffed on his pipe. “Stackhurst had regular letters from his sister in which he had no hint of any anxiety or unhappiness. That young man agrees; he saw her less than twenty-four hours before her death and he describes her as laughing and merry.”

  “I wonder what may be the horrible things that the villagers are suggesting,” I said.

  Holmes shrugged. “The usual gossip, no doubt. That Ellwood secretly beat the girl, that she was with child to another man, or that Ellwood planned to desert her for another and leave her penniless to starve. If they believe that it was an accident, then they may suspect a sudden mental imbalance. A village requires no facts or genuine knowledge to produce such talk.”

  I agreed with that. “Oh, indeed. They probably say that the poor girl took opium or that she drank.”

  “No, such vices would leave clear signs and would not be mere gossip,” Holmes said. “But this book which she and Ellwood were writing, I would know more of it—if such a book there was.”

  “You think there was not?” I asked. “That perhaps it was some fantasy of Miss Evelyn’s? I have heard of such cases. If she had convinced herself of the book, her husband who was tired of her fancies might have too harshly disabused her of the idea that final night. She could then have thrown herself from the cliff in fear at the tricks her mind played upon her.”

  “So you believe she may have suffered from some mental disturbance?” Holmes asked me, with an odd gleam in his eye.

  “It is possible, at least.”

  “Possible is not necessarily likely, Watson.” Holmes said as we turned back towards the inn. “Tomorrow we shall interview the two people who saw her fall. I shall know better how to go on once I have heard what they will tell us.”

  The witnesses had been a middle-aged and unmarried brother and sister of stolid rural aspect but some intelligence; they were a Mr. and Miss Anstruther of High Lea farm, and we were made welcome the moment we arrived. They were quite willing to talk of the dead girl whom they had known a little and liked.

  “Yes,” Miss Anstruther said, “it were a shock, no denying. Brother and I were walking the boundary where our land goes almost to the cliff edge. Our land is fenced off to keep stock away from the cliff. There is a footpath there along t’ very edge between the cliff and t’ fence but we never goes right to that. Cliffs is crumbling, which is why I said what I did at the inquest, that she may have fallen by accident and no intention.”

  “Aye,” her brother seconded her. “Seemed to me that she ran to t’ edge like she may have heard something, then her flung out her hands, screamed, and fell. Likely the cliff edge give way, and that’s what we said at inquest.”

  Holmes nodded thoughtfully. “Miss Anstruther, I want you to picture that in your mind. Describe to me what you saw from the moment you noticed Miss Evelyn. Tell me every detail, what she wore, the look upon her face, her movements, anything and everything.”

  “I’ll do my best, sir, and brother shall tell you if there is anything I do not mention.” With that she began, her brother nodding agreement as she recalled what they had seen that day.

  “It were a good day, sir, warm enough, but with some cloud, so that it was not too bright nor yet cold and wet. ’Tis a good idea for us to walk the bounds on such a day and at this time of the year, and see to it that all the fences be whole still ar’ter a hard winter. So that we did, taking with us a basket or two for bramble berries that do grow well in a big patch near the cliffs. We were right at t’ furthest point towards the cliffs when brother saw the lady first.

  “‘Why, sister, that’s Miss Evelyn!’” he said to me. “‘Wonder what she may be doing?’

  “So I turned to look and there she was. Running down the little slope right at the cliff edge. She were wearing a white and yellow dress all over roses and she’d a happy look on her face, like she was real pleased an’ excited about something. Brother and I both called out to her to be careful. It had been a hard winter, sir, and the edge was very weak, all crumbling and big pieces falling away. Further along there’d even been a part of t’ old footpath had gone. But it was like she never heard us, she just kept running right at the edge, then as she got to it she sort of threw her arms back and fell.”

  Mr. Anstruther nodded. “Aye, she screamed when she fell, horrible to hear that were, like a soul damned to hell as is just become aware that the devil’s below an’ waiting to catch her.”

  “So her cry sounded more horrified and surprised?” Holmes asked thoughtfully. “Perhaps as if she had not at all expected to fall?”

  Brother and sister nodded. “Aye,” the woman said. “That’s it. Sort of surprised she was falling and horrified that it was so. That’s it indeed.”

  “And she threw her arms behind her at the edge?” I asked. It seemed an odd motion to make, but the woman was adamant on it, as was her brother. That action they had seen quite clearly from their position and of it they were certain.

  Holmes signaled me to silence and bade the couple a good day. We left with their request that we call another time if we were passing this way, since we would always be welcome, ringing in our ears. Once we were clear of the farmhouse, Holmes set a good pace back to the village. Halfway there I glanced at him—to see the familiar eagerness in his striding figure.

  “Holmes,” I accused him. “You have some idea? Will you not share it with me?”

  “You have heard all that has been said, my dear fellow.”

  I smiled. “I know. But I do not have your mind, Holmes, nor did I hear the phone calls you received.”

  “Perhaps that is so, but I would have no other man at my back in time of trouble,” Holmes said.

  I looked at him. “Does that mean you believe there may be trouble, Holmes?”

  “It is always possible.”

  I quoted his earlier words back to him. “Possible is not necessarily likely.”

  “A shrewd hit, Watson. But in this case it may be both. We have seen and spoken with the witnesses and the man who loved her. Tomorrow we shall speak with the husband.”

  “Will he see us?”

  “He will. I sent a note to him upon the day we arrived requesting an interview. He replied last night to say that he is prepared to see us. The tone of his letter is both brusque and grudging, and that in itself interests me. If he has no wish to see us, he has only to deny us entrance. Why then does he write that he will see us, while every line of his letter breathes his earnest desire to do no such thing? It may be that he fears what we may know and wishes to discover that information and our intent.”

  The morning also brought two more ph
one calls from London. Holmes listened, spoke quietly in answer to each, then hung up after the second call and joined me to sit at the table, considering. Indeed, so deeply did he ponder that he ate almost nothing and distressed our kind hostess, who inquired if the breakfast had not been to his liking. Holmes assured her it had been excellent, made some slight jest, and we left her smiling again as we were driven to the home of Mr. Ellwood.

  Once there, I was reminded of what Holmes had said to me the previous evening. There was no welcome here for us; every step we took to enter seemed watched, and the very words spoken in greeting were grudged. Yet I could see what could be for others the charm and the smoothness of the man as he showed us to the parlor, offering us an abominably sweet sherry, which he named with pride. We refused it, but he poured himself a glass, drank it off, and poured another. Holmes nodded affably, took the offered seat, and began.

  “It is believed in the village that your wife killed herself. This gossip has recently come to the ears of her brother, and he is deeply distressed and concerned. Have you reason to suppose such a tale might be true?”

  “It is monstrous; I have not, and I can guess whom it was who is spreading such a rumor.” All the charm and suavity were gone, Ellwood glared like a beast in his rage. “My poor wife fell from a crumbling cliff edge when in a moment of playfulness she approached it too close. The witnesses who saw her fall were quite clear; they admitted her aspect was one of horror and amazement when she felt herself to be falling. That is not the attitude of one who is determined to end her own life.”

  “No,” Holmes said quietly, “it is indeed not the aspect of one who is determined to end her own life.”

  “What is your meaning, sir?” Ellwood half-rose.

  “Why, what I have said.” Holmes stood and approached a very fine bookcase that boasted glassed doors at the front and a complicated-looking brass lock. He stooped a little to peer at the books on a lower shelf. “You have some rarities here, Mr. Ellwood. I see one—”

  “Are you here to ask about my wife or to study my books, sir?” Ellwood snarled. I noticed, however, that of a sudden the man showed traces of apprehension.

  Holmes wheeled upon him so quickly that the man stepped back. “Very well, sir, I will ask you a question. How is it that your wife’s brother believes you to have received nothing from your wife, whereas I have the information that you inherited all she had?”

  “I am sure you know the answer to that question then,” Ellwood sneered.

  “I do. She herself could not receive or use the money until her twenty-fifth birthday, which would have occurred a week after her death. However, there was a clause in her grandfather’s will that allowed her, upon her marriage, to will the money away and she did so. You inherited all she had, a sum of almost twelve thousand pounds. I am informed that you wrote to the lawyers the day after your wife’s death, demanding that they relinquish her estate into your hands at once. A trifle hasty for a husband supposedly grieving for his wife, and she dead only twenty-four hours, was it not?”

  Ellwood mastered his fury with an effort that was palpable to us both. “You are no longer welcome in my home, sir. Leave at once and never return.”

  Holmes spoke quietly. “That I shall do, but I have friends and the lady has a brother. I intend to apply for an exhumation order, and if what I suspect is found, you may also fall—even as your wife, Mr. Ellwood—although your fall is like to be shorter.”

  At that Ellwood turned a sort of greenish white and seemed to be gasping for breath. Holmes nodded to him and departed with me at his heels. Once we were back at the inn my friend took me aside.

  “I want you to go and stand about the lady’s grave. Read and reread the headstone, which I am told is rather fine. Talk to the minister about the lady and her good works. Be obvious about the village on the same subject.”

  “For how long?” I asked.

  “It may take a day or two, but continue with the task, Watson. While his eye in upon you, he does not see what I may be doing.”

  I nodded, and over the next three days I obeyed his command until I was heartily sick of hearing of Miss Evelyn’s virtues, interspersed with some very unpleasant village conjectures on the reasons for her death. Holmes entered the inn after midnight that third night, and I could tell by his attitude that he had triumphed to some extent.

  “Can you bring Ellwood to English justice?”

  He shook his head. “I fear not. I know what he did and how the deed was done, but he has been careful. No court would convict on the evidence I could produce. Yet his conscience may yet be his downfall. He has committed other sins, and I have asked him to meet me very early tomorrow morning, when I will put before him such proofs as I have obtained. We shall meet on that part of the cliff where Miss Evelyn met her death and it may be that that too shall unnerve him sufficiently. He is something of a drinker, and I believe he will fortify himself for our final interview.”

  “I will come with you.” I said firmly.

  “Naturally, I require a witness; however, it would be better if he did not know you to be present. You shall wait behind the bramble bushes the Anstruthers find so fruitful. I shall appear to meet Mr. Ellwood alone; he will speak more freely then.”

  I was unhappy at this risk, but Holmes insistedm and so it was that at the hour of six on a fine morning, after he had been gone some part of the night, that Holmes advanced to meet Mr. Ellwood. From my vantage point I could hardly see their figures, although I was barely fifty yards from them. But the mist was heavy and seemed to swirl about so, that now and again I almost lost sight of my friend and the man with whom he spoke. Holmes spoke softly, but Ellwood had begun to shout so that I could hear a few of his words.

  “Evelyn—cannot go on without her—Evelyn—” and again still louder. “Not true—Evelyn!” My eyes blurred as the two figures seemed to merge. I left my hiding place behind the brambles and rushed towards them. Ellwood was swaying drunkenly. From behind me there came a cry and I half-turned to see the Anstruthers coming down the slope from their farm. Ellwood was giggling now, his face distorted as he leered at us, his voice dropping to a whisper.

  “I will cheat you yet, I can escape easily, fools. Watch.” And with that last demand, he ran several steps towards the cliff edge, threw his arms behind him and leaped outwards. The Anstruthers, still some twenty yards from us, cried out in horror as did I, but Holmes looked on with an impassive countenance, and I heard his words spoken so low that the approaching brother and sister heard nothing of them.

  “The engineer hoist with his own petard.”

  He moved cautiously to the cliff edge and looked over. I trod still more carefully in his wake and could see the broken figure two hundred feet below where it washed to and fro in the restless surf.

  Miss Anstruther panted up. “I heard him; he could not live without her and so he threw himself over where she died. I heard and saw him. I shall testify. It was not at all how the lady fell, I shall testify to that too. Brother?”

  Mr. Anstruther nodded gloomily. “Mad he must have been—but I saw him, heard what he said as well.”

  I thought from what they had said to Holmes and myself, and from what I had just seen, that the deaths had been exactly alike, but it is always better to allow a sleeping dog to remain at peace. If their testimony would help convince Hattan and the villagers that Miss Evelyn had died by accident, I would stir up no drowsy canines.

  And when it came to the inquest the Anstruthers testified as they had said. It was brought in as suicide while the balance of his mind was disturbed. Hattan told us he was convinced now that Evelyn had fallen accidentally, and Stackhurst was content, since he had never really believed the suggestion in the first place.

  Ellwood’s lawyers produced a will soon after the inquest, Ellwood had inherited his wife’s estate, but now all that both had owned went to her brother Stackhurst—who had no desire for it. He sat in Holmes’ cottage ten days after he had had the news and said so.


  Holmes nodded. “I understand, but could the money not be used to bring some good in her name? Your school charges fees. What if the money were used to pay the fees of some worthy Sussex boys who could not otherwise attend?”

  Stackhurst looked up eagerly. “That is a most excellent idea, Holmes! If the money is wisely invested, it will bring in several hundred pounds a year. That would allow scholarships for a goodly number of boys. Once one leaves to enter university, the scholarship will then be open again for another.” He stood and grasped our hands.

  “I shall call them the Evelyn Scholarships. My sister’s name shall not be forgotten. Thank you both for your work, I know my sister will rest easy now that the gossip about her death is disproved.” He went away after further protestations of gratitude and friendship, and I was left with Holmes, who considered me with some slight amusement and affection.

  “What do you think, my dear Watson?”

  “I think it is as well no one ever heard the final words Ellwood uttered,” I said tartly. “What did they mean, Holmes? I am aware you know more than you told either the court or Stackhurst. Do you trust my discretion sufficiently to tell me?”

  ”Always, Watson. Listen then. I was first alerted by the talk of a book that Ellwood and his wife were supposed to be writing, and my knowledge of the papers Welstead held. He was one of the foremost students of the ancient arts of witchcraft, and had many very rare and curious books and papers on that subject, although he was not a practitioner, merely a man interested in such things in an intellectual way.

  “I obtained a list of the works Ellwood had taken as his bequest, and compared it to another list I obtained, one that showed those pamphlets and papers Ellwood later sold. By this method I was able to ascertain that he had kept a small number of the rarer books, including one from the 1600s which was listed as containing many unusual receipts using plants commonly found in field and hedgerow. These could be used for purposes of spells, enchantments, and other such things.”

  “But that is all country superstition, surely?”