The Secret Documents of Sherlock Holmes
Page 11
‘Which leaves only the dog,’ Holmes observed with a humorous air.
I saw Mr Thackery’s austere features soften a little at Holmes’ jocularity and, for the first time during the entire interview, he permitted a small, chilly smile to touch the corners of his mouth.
‘Write Bonny out of her will!’ he exclaimed. ‘Such a thought would never cross Lady Ferrers’ mind. It would be no exaggeration to state that she dotes on the creature. It hardly ever leaves her side except for those occasions when Donkin takes it for a walk. It even sleeps in a basket at the foot of her bed. And now, gentlemen,’ Mr Thackery continued, rising to his feet, ‘I shall return to the office and arrange for Mr Allardyce to write to Lady Ferrers apprising her of your arrival on Friday morning. I shall also send by special messenger that other sample of her ladyship’s signature you requested. And may I also thank both of you for agreeing to look into the matter? It has made me much easier in my mind.’
After he had taken his leave and departed, Holmes took a turn up and down the room, chuckling and rubbing his hands with delight.
‘A fascinating case, is it not, Watson?’ he inquired.
‘So you think there may indeed be some irregularity in Lady Ferrers’ decision to dispense with Mr Thackery’s services?’
‘My dear fellow, how many times have I told you it is a fundamental mistake to speculate about a case until one has collected up enough evidence?* No, it is Lady Ferrers herself who interests me the most.’
Striding over to the bookcase, he took out volume ‘F’ of his encyclopaedia and turned over the pages, murmuring under his breath as he did so.
‘Fleming, George, arsonist. Fungu poisoning.† Now that was an extraordinary investigation! Fisher, William, the notorious burglar. You recall him, Watson? The bandy-legged little fellow who could scamper up the side of a house like a monkey? Ah, here we are! Ferrers, Lady, formerly Agatha Potts, daughter of William Potts, coal merchant of Stepney, and Mrs Sarah Potts. Made her name on the music-hall stage as a Spanish dancer, under the soubriquet of Juanita Vicario. A famous beauty, known popularly as the Flamenco Queen. Her marriage in 1854 to Sir Cuthbert Ferrers caused a considerable stir in aristocratic circles. Well, are not you eager to meet her?’
‘I suppose so, Holmes,’ I agreed a little reluctantly. ‘But surely she must now be in her seventies?’
‘My dear fellow, how you disappoint me!’ Holmes remonstrated. ‘Where is your sense of romance? I had imagined that you, of all people, with your natural inclination towards the fairer sex,* would have positively relished the thought of meeting her. Why, in her heyday, she was the toast of London! It was said her admirers stood ten deep at the stage door simply to catch a glimpse of her and the old Duke of Dungeness once sent her five hundred red roses by liveried footmen. I am looking forward immensely to making her acquaintance on Friday. And now, Watson, I suggest we postpone any further discussion of the case until Mr Thackery sends us the second sample of her ladyship’s signature.’
With that, he returned to the task of indexing the Abergavenny papers while I resumed my perusal of the Daily Telegraph.
The special messenger arrived within the half-hour with an envelope which Holmes eagerly tore open. Extracting from it a single sheet of paper, he carried it to his desk where he laid it side by side with the letter Mr Thackery had given him earlier. I looked quickly over his shoulder at the two documents. To my untutored eye, they looked exactly the same, the main body of both letters being written in Mrs Donkin’s small, neat writing with Lady Ferrers’ bolder signature scrawled across the bottom of each page.
Sitting down at his desk, Holmes took up his magnifying glass with which he carefully scrutinised the two signatures, remarking to me as he did so, ‘The writing is undoubtedly a woman’s,* Watson, with the right-hand slant showing a passionate and emotional nature. As for the formation of the letters, the upper loop of the “h” as well as the crossing of the “t” correspond. So do the downward strokes on the capital letters, each of which begins with that very distinctive flourish, suggesting vanity and a strong need to dominate.’
To my surprise, he now put aside the lens and took out a ruler which he laid below each signature in turn before, straightening up, he announced, ‘The measurements also agree exactly. That is one detail which even expert forgers sometimes fail to take into account. Well, Watson, I think we may safely say that we are not dealing here with a case of forgery. I will stake my life on that. We must now wait until Friday morning to find out what, if anything, it does concern although, in my opinion, Mr Thackery has started up a hare which, at the end of the chase, will prove to be nothing more substantial than a shadow.’
On the Friday morning, we set out for Blackheath by hansom in good time for the eleven o’clock appointment with Lady Ferrers, both of us suitably attired for our roles of solicitor and clerk, I carrying a leather document case containing a legal-looking notebook in which to write down any changes her ladyship wished to make to her will.
Bryony Lodge was a large, handsome Georgian house of cream-painted stucco, set in well-tended gardens and facing the extensive open area of grassy common land which formed the heath itself. Having paid off the cabby, we mounted the steps of the imposing, pillared porch where Holmes rang the bell. The door was opened by a manservant – Donkin, I assumed. He was a stocky, ruddy-faced man, still bearing about him the horsy, outdoor air of an erstwhile groom or coachman, better suited to tweeds and gaiters than a butler’s black apparel although his bearing was solemn enough, even a little melancholy.
As we were ushered into the hall, a middle-aged, pleasant-faced woman, also dressed in black, was in the act of descending the stairs, carrying a tray containing coffee things which she hastened to put down on a table at the foot of the staircase before coming forward to greet us.
‘Mr Holmes and Mr Watson?’ she inquired, bobbing a little curtsy. ‘I am Mrs Donkin, Lady Ferrers’ housekeeper. Her ladyship received Mr Allardyce’s letter this morning.’
‘I trust Lady Ferrers has agreed to the arrangements,’ Holmes replied. ‘Mr Allardyce very much regretted that, on this occasion, he was unable to act as her ladyship’s legal representative.’
‘She quite understood,’ Mrs Donkin assured us although I detected a certain nervousness about her manner which made me suspect that Lady Ferrers’ attitude on receipt of the letter had not been as sanguine as her housekeeper implied.
‘If you would not mind waiting for a few minutes in the drawing room,’ she continued, ‘I shall return upstairs and inform her ladyship of your arrival.’ As she opened a door on the left of the hall, she added, ‘Her ladyship’s feeling a little unwell today, gentlemen, and has therefore decided to keep to her bed.’
The drawing room into which she showed us was sumptuously furnished with a great deal in the way of painted porcelain, buttoned silk, fringed velvet and crystal glass. But dominating even this lavish display was a huge portrait of Lady Ferrers which hung above the mantelshelf. It depicted her as a young woman of about twenty-five, holding an ostrich feather fan in one hand. She was dressed as if for some grand soirée in a gown of blue satin, her abundant black hair swept upwards and adorned with a magnificent diamond tiara, while her throat and wrists were also hung with precious gems. Holmes had spoken of her beauty and certainly the face which looked out of the gilded frame was very handsome, the features strong and well-cut, the smiling lips a lustrous red and the dark eyes as brilliant as the jewels she wore. I could also see in the imperious lift of her head and the stubborn line of her jaw how she might, with the advancing years, become the capricious old lady whom Mr Thackery had described.
I turned to remark on this to Holmes and saw that he, too, was studying the portrait intently. Then, to my utter astonishment, he threw back his head and began to laugh.
‘What has amused you, Holmes?’ I asked, much puzzled by his manner for I could see nothing in the portrait to give rise to such merriment.
‘My dear fellow,�
�� said he, clapping me on the shoulder, ‘the case is solved.’
‘Solved?’ I repeated. ‘How is that possible? What has made you come to such an extraordinary conclusion?’
‘The evidence, of course.’
‘In the portrait?’ I asked, still mystified.
I glanced back at the painting and, for a curious moment, as I met Lady Ferrers’ bold gaze and saw again the painted lips smiling down at me, I imagined that she understood perfectly well the reason for Holmes’ amusement and, what was more bewildering, shared in the jest.
‘I do not follow,’ I said a little stiffly, for I confess I was somewhat piqued at being the only one who could not see the joke.
‘Observation, Watson!’ said he. ‘How many times have I impressed on you the importance of using one’s eyes in an investigation? It is the most vital of one’s senses. You also have seen the two pieces of evidence on which I have based my assertion – the portrait above the fireplace and the coffee-tray which Mrs Donkin was carrying downstairs when we entered the hall.’
‘Coffee-tray!’ I began but Holmes cut me short.
‘For the time being, we shall proceed with this little charade. I need one more piece of evidence, or rather the absence of it, in order to confirm what I have already deduced, which will also supply the missing motive. So you will continue in your role of solicitor’s clerk and please, my dear fellow, do take that look of astonished disbelief off your face and replace it with a more suitable expression.’
At that moment, there came a knock upon the door and, on Holmes’ invitation ‘Come!,’ Mrs Donkin entered to announce that Lady Ferrers was ready to receive us.
Holmes nodded to me before following her out of the room, while I, with one last backward glance at the portrait, fell in behind them. But whatever Holmes had seen in the painting to convince him the case was solved still escaped me. As for the missing evidence to which he had so puzzlingly referred, I was as much in the dark about this as well.
The housekeeper led us up the broad mahogany staircase and along an upper landing to a door on which she knocked before showing us into a spacious bedchamber.
Like the drawing room, it was furnished in a splendid fashion and it was similarly dominated by Lady Ferrers, not by her painted likeness on this occasion but by the lady herself. She was sitting upright in a large four-poster bed propped up against a great many embroidered pillows, a lace cap upon her head and a fine silk shawl about her shoulders. Although the luxuriant black tresses were now white and the handsome features withered by age, I fancied I could still discern in the dark eyes, which regarded us so directly as we entered, something of the same bold imperiousness which had gazed down at us from the ornate gilt frame. However, I was a little disappointed that she seemed much smaller than I had anticipated for I had imagined her possessing the imposing, statuesque figure of a Juno or an Artemis.
‘Mr Holmes and Mr Watson, your ladyship,’ Mrs Donkin announced from the doorway. She turned as if to leave the room when Holmes put out a hand to detain her.
‘If I may speak to you in private, Mrs Donkin, I shall be very much obliged,’ he said.
Her shock and confusion, apparent in her face, were no less than my own. I was also appalled at his discourtesy towards the elderly and distinguished Lady Ferrers. But before I could protest, he had added curtly, ‘Come, Watson!’
Left with no choice, I followed him out on to the landing where he came to a halt a few yards from the bedroom door. Folding his arms, he confronted the housekeeper.
‘The game is over, Mrs Donkin,’ he declared, an expression of utmost sternness on his lean features.
‘I do not understand you, sir,’ the poor woman stammered in a trembling voice.
‘No? I think you do. But since you seem reluctant to give an explanation, then allow me to do so on your account. The lady we have just seen is not your mistress. I am correct, am I not? In fact, I think I may hazard a guess at her true identity. She is your mother, Mrs Campion, whom you have substituted for Lady Ferrers with your husband’s connivance. Your motive for doing so is also perfectly plain. Lady Ferrers had threatened to cut you both out of her will.’ He paused for a moment as if waiting for the housekeeper to speak and when she remained silent, he continued in a gentler tone, ‘What happened to the dog, Mrs Donkin?’
The effect on Mrs Donkin of this simple but to me quite mystifying question was dramatic. She immediately burst into tears.
‘Oh, sir!’ she sobbed. ‘It wasn’t my husband’s fault. He had taken Bonny out as usual to the heath for her evening walk, when the dog started up a rabbit. Before he could stop her, she bolted into the road straight under the wheels of a hansom. I know he should have had her on the leash, sir, but he only had the dog’s best interest at heart. The poor little creature liked to run about free after being shut up in the house for most of the day, not getting the proper exercise she needed. She’d always come to heel before when he called her. Alfie begged her ladyship’s forgiveness. He even went out the very next morning to the kennels where Lady Ferrers had bought Bonny and found another terrier of exactly the same size and colour which he paid for out of his own pocket but her ladyship refused even to look at it. Her mind was made up and nothing would change it. “Donkin,” she said and her voice was so cold it turned my heart to ice, “you and your wife shall pay dearly for this the next time I see Mr Thackery.” Oh, sir, I knew what she meant!’
Pressing her handkerchief to her lips, she broke into renewed sobbing.
‘She proposed to cut you out of her will?’ Holmes suggested gently. ‘But why you as well, Mrs Donkin? The accident was hardly your fault.’
‘It was because I spoke up for him, sir. Her ladyship didn’t like that. I should have taken her side against him. But Alfie’s always been a true and loving husband to me as well as a loyal servant to Lady Ferrers. I couldn’t bear to see him cast off by her ladyship without standing by him and that made her angry. “I shall write to Mr Thackery today,” she told me, “and inform him of your impertinence.”’
‘So you assumed she would instruct Mr Thackery to change her will?’ Holmes inquired.
‘What else could I think, sir? I knew Mr Thackery was due to arrive this morning. I thought he’d bring the new will with him for her ladyship to sign and that would be the end of everything. We’d be left with hardly a penny for our old age.’
‘Mr Thackery received no letter from Lady Ferrers instructing him to alter her will,’ Holmes told her quietly.
For the first time, an expression of hope passed over Mrs Donkin’s grief-stricken face.
‘Wasn’t there, sir? I knew her ladyship hadn’t sent either me or Alfie out to post a letter but we dared not ask the other servants in case it caused gossip. We didn’t know which way to turn. And then about four days ago, Lady Ferrers was taken ill and the doctor said she was to keep to her bed and stay quiet; no excitement and no visitors. I was going to write to Mr Thackery on her ladyship’s behalf, cancelling his appointment. It was while me and Alfie were talking it over that the idea came to us. If we could find another solicitor to come instead of Mr Thackery, someone who had never met her ladyship, my mother, Mrs Campion, could take her place. That way, we could find out if Lady Ferrers had sent the letter about changing her will and, if she had, then my mother would say to the solicitor that she had thought better of it and did not want her will altered after all. It would give us time, Mr Holmes, as it would be another three months before the solicitor was due to call again on Lady Ferrers. Perhaps by then her ladyship would have forgiven us. We know what she is like, sir; she’s always threatening to cut one or other out of her will. It seemed the best way out.
‘My mother had served for years as her ladyship’s dresser so she knew her ways and could act the part. Besides, she’d been on the stage herself when she was a young woman. So that’s what we decided to do. Alfie drove the carriage over to Hackney late last night after all the servants had gone to bed and brought my mother back here
. She spent the night in one of the spare bedrooms and then this morning, after I’d got her ladyship up and dressed, I pushed her in her bath chair to her boudoir and my mother took her place in the bed. In the meantime, I had written to Mr Thackery asking for another solicitor to come in his place …’
‘Signing the letter with Lady Ferrers’ name?’ Holmes suggested.
Mrs Donkin’s pale, tear-stained face flushed a little pink at this implied criticism.
‘I meant no harm by it, Mr Holmes!’ she protested. ‘Ever since her ladyship’s had arthritis bad in her hands, it’s been her habit to dictate all her correspondence to me to take down and more often than not she would ask me to sign it for her as well. I could write a fair copy of her signature.’
Holmes gave me a brief smile.
‘No wonder, Watson,’ said he, ‘that neither Mr Thackery nor I suspected forgery. We were comparing like with like!’ Turning back to Mrs Donkin, he continued, ‘And what would you have done when Mr Thackery or his replacement was due to make another of his quarterly visits? You could hardly have gone on substituting Mrs Campion for your mistress without rousing her ladyship’s suspicions.’
‘I know, sir. Me and Alfie realised that ourselves. We thought the best way round it was for me to write again to Mr Thackery explaining that her ladyship very much regretted her decision to replace him and that she would be much obliged if he would go on acting as her solicitor. I was going to add a little note of my own, asking him not to refer to any of this on his next visit as Lady Ferrers was rather embarrassed by the matter. I knew Mr Thackery would agree to that. He’d seen for himself how much she disliked him mentioning the times in the past when she’d changed her mind over her will.’
‘And what would you have done if, after the three months, Lady Ferrers still insisted on cutting you off without a penny?’
‘I don’t know, sir!’ Mrs Donkin again burst into tears. ‘Me and Alfie hadn’t dared think about that. Of course, we should have gone on serving her ladyship to the best of our ability for as long as she wanted. Me and Alfie have been in her service too long to think of looking for another place and, difficult as she can be at times, we are both very fond of her. And, deep down, I think she is fond of us, too. If only that poor little dog was still alive, Mr Holmes, none of this would have happened.’