Sherlock Holmes

by Lyn McConchie

  Holmes looked at me. “Again the jury seems to have accepted the young man’s evidence.”

  I attempted to be fair. “As why should they not? He had nothing to gain by lying, and if he appeared a straightforward lad, it would seem reasonable to them that it was Mary who lied.”

  “That is so. Her father, your old comrade, asked to be admitted as a witness. I am told he wished to give evidence for his daughter about her sleepwalking, but the prosecutor complained that it was irrelevant and the request was denied. The prosecutor summed up that three persons had been poisoned, that the poison was in the dumplings, that it had not been in the sauce, and that the prisoner and only the prisoner had the motive and opportunity.”

  “And the jury convicted,” I said thoughtfully.

  “Yes, the decision was unanimous, and was received within hours. I am told that the girl received the verdict calmly and with dignity, saying only as she was led from the court, ‘I am innocent, I pray that none of you will ever be so wrongly convicted.’ It is the aftermath of that statement which has produced some strange results. A number of those who were present as spectators in court have subsequently protested against the verdict, and I hear that the judge himself has recently expressed some doubts.”

  “It may be that which has caused the authorities to hold off on Mary’s execution, rather than any plea from her betrothed’s father.”

  “That is a possibility, Watson, and therefore we needs must work fast while that stay continues. We shall test the case strand by strand, and once we have done so, we shall look deeper into the matter.”

  “Where would you wish me to commence, Holmes?”

  “Talk to Sergeant Fellowes. Ask about Mary’s sleepwalking. As a doctor you are more equipped to evaluate that evidence. Report when you have done so. One thing before you go.”

  I waited attentively.

  “Watson, does arsenic blacken knives?”

  “No, it does not.”

  “Does it, to your knowledge, cause a failure in dough rising?”

  “Not to my knowledge, but I shall talk to some of my colleagues once I have talked to Fellowes. And you, what will you be doing?”

  “Investigating the strange evidence of Michael Bishop.”

  “He gave no evidence,” I protested.

  “And that is what is strange,” Holmes said with a slight smile. “He had crucial information, the prisoner asked for him to be called, yet he made no appearance, he said nothing, and nothing was asked of him. Let us discover why.”

  So we separated, each to his task, to meet again in time to enjoy the meal Mrs. Hudson set before us that evening. Once replete, I sat back in my chair and addressed my friend. “What have you discovered? Or shall I go first?”

  “You shall begin, Watson.”

  “Very well, then. I bespoke two colleagues, but I shall get to that. I can confirm that Miss Mary was no liar as regards to her sleepwalking. Her parents related instances from the time she was a small child on different army posts. Nor did I accept their word alone. I visited the neighbors on each side and across the street. All have lived there for many years. One family says that twice when Miss Mary was only eight or nine they found her wandering in her nightgown, her eyes open but hearing nothing and not responding to their questions. Their mother, knowing something of sleepwalkers, said that the child should not be woken but guided back to her house, which they did, and she went docilely to bed and laid down, asleep still.”

  I added when my friend raise a brow inquiringly, “Since the Felloweses own the house, they were able to return whenever the sergeant had longer leave. I questioned the Felloweses and others closely, and it seems that there were a number of such occasions over several years, both before the Felloweses arrived to live permanently in Loughton, and after. The outbreak of this coincided with the death of a younger brother of whom she had been deeply fond. I asked further and was informed that she had also sleepwalked several times two years ago on the death of her elder brother.”

  “But that was two years ago,” Holmes said quietly. “What could have caused her to do so now?”

  I leaned forward eagerly. “I can answer that. She appears to sleepwalk upon any death that distresses her strongly. And only three weeks before she had her day off and two nights at home. Her parents particularly wished her to be there because the family dog, a venerable and much loved animal, was sinking and was unlikely to last beyond her visit. In fact, the animal died in her arms shortly after she arrived home. Mrs. Fellowes says that Mary was greatly distressed by the animal’s death. He had been her particular pet since he was a puppy and until she took up her employment, and Mary insisted the dog should be buried before she left. This was put off all day, and it was dark before her father had the hole dug.”

  I smiled in triumph. “Then, Holmes, then they had to find a lamp to light Fellowes’s way while he carried the animal out and laid it in the hole, covering it over and tamping down the earth. The parents went inside once that was done but Mary had lit a candle and remained alone by the grave a little longer, doubtless remembering happier times. You see, Holmes? It was the funeral, the search for a lamp, and her use of a candle that explains all.”

  “Yes,” said Holmes. “I see. She dreamed that she had some important task to accomplish. She could not find a lamp and was searching for candles to serve her. This dream and urgency were generated by the loss of a beloved pet, and in her sleeping mind the need for light was of great significance.”

  “Exactly so, Holmes. Her pattern of sleepwalking is established, and there are independent witnesses. Now, as to the dough and its failure to rise, I talked to a number of my colleagues and they say that there is no information on such a thing. No one has, as yet, performed such a test. Two associates were interested and asked me to leave it with them. They plan to study what effect arsenic may have on dough’s rising, and will in due course relate the results to me. Both are men of excellent repute and qualifications, and if we must call them before the authorities to testify, they are believable. What of your own quest?”

  “That,” said my friend, “is more ambiguous. I approached the police through Lestrade, who was most helpful. In my opinion he doubts the competence of the inspector who investigated the case and is uneasy as to the outcome. Once I had persuaded Lestrade and his superiors that I did not wish to appear publicly in the matter, that if I found proof of Miss Mary’s innocence they might bring that forward themselves and appear honest men willing to accept they had been wrong, they cooperated. They told me that it was the prosecutor who was so determined to convict. From the beginning he was certain she was guilty, and he did all in his power to see that she would hang.”

  “Is that not his job, Holmes?”

  “Not when he fails to bring out evidence that the accused is innocent,” Holmes said austerely. “One of the policemen involved tells me that while Prosecutor Hestin is good at his work, he is also a man who lives to convict. Hestin was convinced that Mary Fellowes’s demands that Bishop appear to speak for her were an attempt to suborn perjury from an infatuated lad, although there is no evidence that such an infatuation existed—although that is not at all impossible. Meanwhile, the young man has vanished. He told his employers before the trial that he was indisposed, and Mr. Addleton permitted him to take unpaid leave for a month since the police had never requested he remain. He was an orphan so it is not known where he has gone.”

  “We must find him. He could be the key to it all,” I stated.

  “Yes, indeed. Even now some of my agents are investigating the lad’s background. Never fear, Watson, we shall find him and obtain his true evidence.” Here he frowned. “There is, however, no certainty that any testimony he may give will be of use. We must continue to search for the truth. Tomorrow ask about Mrs. Danforth and her daughter in Loughton.”

  “Why in Loughton?” I asked.

  “Because the Danforths lived there before the daughter married. That was why Mr. Addleton returned to buy
Loughton Hall. He and his father come originally from the other side of Epping, but that was not a convenient place for the business. Mr. Addleton Senior still retains a cottage somewhere in the Epping area, but Mrs. Danforth sold her house some years after the marriage and moved in with her daughter and son-in-law. She has openly said that she was and remains happy to have done so.”

  “Ah,” I said. “But what do the Addletons say?”

  “No one has heard them say anything against it.”

  “Very well, Holmes. In the morning I shall do as you ask and seek out people who knew the Danforths. If there is anything to their discredit I shall uncover it.” And with that assurance we ended the discussion.

  3

  I rose early the next morning, Holmes having already gone out to I knew not where, and took the eight a.m. train to Loughton. Once there I found an enterprising lad with a pony trap, who was willing to drive me anywhere I wished and wait as long as I liked, provided I paid him. I gave him sixpence as earnest and we set off, he being a native of the area and knowing where I could find my quarries. In fact, he did well out of me, for I spent all day in my endeavors, buying him lunch at a public house, and parting from him with good will and a florin for his work.

  I was somewhat downcast as I caught the train back to the city, however. I had found nothing against the Danforths, mother or daughter, save an opinion by one that the mother was perhaps slightly too inclined to see the good in people, while others said that the daughter was the opposite.

  “She allus did jump to conclusions,” one elderly lady told me. “She looks at some’un and makes up her mind as they thinks this or that, and it may be that’s not how they’s thinking at all. No harm to it usually, but it can cause trouble if’n she takes some’un up wrong, relying like, on what she thinks.”

  I was given an instance or two of this and it did give me pause. At least I would have something for Holmes, and while it might have no bearing upon our case, it was yet most interesting, as it was precisely what Mrs. Addleton’s evidence had suggested. That she had reproved Mary and believed her to be sullen and pert in consequence—something that Janet, but no one else, had confirmed. What if here was an example of her leaping to conclusions based on her faulty reading of another’s countenance or attitude? I would discuss it with my friend as soon as I reached Baker Street. I wished that the train would hurry.

  Sadly, while the train took no longer than usual on its journey, when I arrived back it was to the news that Holmes was not yet returned. I took dinner in our rooms while I waited, but it was almost midnight and I was drowsing in my armchair when I heard his step upon the stairs. He entered wearing a woolen scarf, filthy trousers, a shabby coat, grimy shirt, and with a liberal amount of dirt on his person. He was all but unrecognizable.

  “Holmes, where have you been?”

  “One moment, my dear fellow, while I wash and change my clothes.”

  It took longer than a moment, but eventually he joined me wearing his dressing gown and with his hair still wet. Silently I passed him a restorative and he drank.

  “That’s better. I presume you wish an account of my activities, Watson? It is late.”

  I snorted. “Not a step do you go until I’ve heard all.”

  In reply I received one of his rare, whole-hearted smiles. “As you wish. I desired to know more of the two apprentices. I may say that now I know most of what may be known of the younger boy, Jonathan Turner. His parents were determined to see that he rose above them in station. He is the youngest of four children, with two sisters and a half-brother.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “A half-brother?”

  “Much older. The only child of the father’s first marriage. His wife died of consumption and he remarried four years later. The father seems a steady man, not of great intelligence but good-hearted, and so far as I was able to ascertain there has never been anything against him. Of the sisters, one is married with children, the other married early this year. Young master Turner may have been an after-thought, for he is five years younger than his younger sister, and the only one in that family to have received an education.”

  My gaze flicked to the clothing he had doffed. “And you must blend in where you went to hear of them?”

  His eyes gleamed in amusement. “I must. They are worthy people, but his father is a coal merchant’s foreman, and the half-brother, who was drinking with him and their friends, works as a laborer on the docks. I listened to their talk a while, then contrived to fall into conversation with the brother, mentioning the scandal at Loughton. I told them that a friend worked nearby and that he was full of gossip about events. They exclaimed, and he said that his younger half-brother worked in that exact place.”

  I sighed. “I don’t know how you do it, Holmes. I suppose that they then told you everything.”

  “Everything they knew, along with much conjecture and gossip about those involved. The boy has told them all about the business and talked extensively about those in the house. From their report, he heartily dislikes the maid, Janet Pierce, saying that she is sly, a liar and troublemaker. Mrs. Addleton is, he says, inclined to be fanciful, old Mr. Addleton meddles, both in the business and in affairs that are no concern of his—by which I understood that he reports on the apprentices—while his son is a worthy man, hard-working and without imagination, but always painstaking in his work. Mrs. Danforth is kind and generous and could not have an enemy in the world. Mrs. Marcham, the cook, is a good cook, slips the apprentices extra food, and they like her.”

  “And what of Miss Mary?”

  “Yes.” Holmes looked thoughtful. “That is the crux, is it not? Jonathan Turner has always been convinced of her guilt and has said this over and over within the family and to their friends. He agrees she was seen as of good character, but says that he believes her guilty and none can shake him from that opinion.”

  “Do you think him to have had some grievance against her, perhaps?”

  “That is certainly possible and we shall inquire into it. However, when one person said it wasn’t only his word, but that of others, he sneered and said yes, word of a proven liar and a flighty woman.”

  “Oh, ho, a flighty woman. Mrs. Addleton, I presume. What makes him say that of her? Yet in that he may well be right.”

  Holmes’s gaze sharpened. “You went to Loughton today, Watson. What did you learn of her there?”

  I finished my cup of tea and set the cup down. “The mother, Mrs. Danforth, is liked. Those I bespoke think her perhaps a little favorable in her assessment of those about her, but she is generally both liked and trusted. ‘Her won’t never accuse some’un of nothing without she sees it for herself,’ was how it was expressed to me. They think that while now and again she may hand out a penny to an undeserving beggar because of some wild tale he tells, in times of genuine trouble she will also be there. I heard several instances of her unobtrusive kindnesses, and those who mentioned her were loud in gratitude that she didn’t eat those infernal dumplings.”

  “So, everyone who knows her seems to agree that she is slow to think the worst of anyone and swift with a kindness. It was she, you recall, Watson, who spoke up for Miss Mary.” He became pensive. “I wonder if that was natural generosity or whether she recognized the possibility of the girl’s sleepwalking. That must be investigated. However, I digress. What did they say of the daughter, Watson?”

  “Something similar to what Jonathan Turner may have meant when he said that she is flighty. She leaps to conclusions, being inclined to see adverse attitudes and dire events where they may not exist.”

  “I feel sure that your informants gave you examples.”

  “Yes, one in particular that caused considerable trouble, both for others and later for her and her husband. It happened some fifteen years ago. Loughton Hall publishing was established almost twenty years ago and the Addletons were already married when they came from London. They had at the time a maid, Ellen Trevor, a girl of some education and of good repute. She was q
uiet, speaking little of her family or circumstances, and it may have been that which caused part of the problem. Ellen was engaged to a Naval officer, a man named Blanton, who was a friend of her brother, and through whom they originally met. They planned to be married in another year once he served his time and retired to work with his father, who owns a ship’s chandler shop. What Mrs. Addleton had never been told, or if she had, the information had not been retained, was that Ellen’s brother was also with the Navy.”

  Holmes nodded and his expression grew grave.

  “Whilst on leave, the brother called on his sister, there having always been a strong bond of affection between them, and he, having recently seen her fiancé, came to Loughton to give Ellen messages from Blanton and a gift from the man, a locket with his picture. Mrs. Addleton knew of the engagement and had met Blanton twice, but of a brother she knew nothing. She saw this man twice in close conversation with Ellen, during which she was seen to kiss him and accept from him a gift.

  “Later Ellen was observed wearing a gold locket on a long gold chain which she kept within the neck of her dress, often touching it and smiling. The gossip began, started by Mrs. Addleton, who assumed that Ellen was playing her fiancé false. She said nothing to the girl, however, instead talking to her friends in Loughton of the lack of faithfulness amongst young women these days, of the slyness of servants and their general untrustworthiness, and other such things. Ellen, of course, had no chance to refute these allegations.”

  Holmes shook his head. “And, as such innuendo always does, the tales got about, growing wilder with each day until the girl finally became aware of them.”

  “No,” I said quietly. “It was far worse. Her fiancé, having leave from his ship, came down to Loughton to call on her and discuss their wedding plans. While waiting for her to finish her day’s work, he spent time at a local hotel, and there heard some of the talk, which by now had Ellen as little short of a prostitute. He struck the man who spoke of her so, and was knifed in return. No,” I broke off to add. “It was a minor wound, a slash across the arm, but he went post-haste at that point to see Ellen. He burst in on the family, saw the Addletons, and told them what was being said of Ellen. I may say in his favor that it was clear to all he did not accept for a moment that she had behaved in this way. He wished merely to know why such lies were being spread.”