With a shrug, she pulled a key out of her pocket and opened the door.
Given the man’s limited time at Underbyrne and his rather simple lifestyle, the room held few personal possessions. One of the larger servants’ rooms, it still contained minimal furnishings: a single bed, dresser, desk, and wardrobe. They seemed meager—almost monk-like.
The servants were enjoying their normal Sunday free half-day, going into town or visiting family, but I felt compelled to tiptoe. Every noise seemed amplified. Even Mother’s footfalls in her knitted slippers resembled heavy boot strikes to me. As we moved about the room, my body remained tense, primed to flee at the slightest sound.
In addition to the furnishings, a trunk and a small chest sat open on the floor, a few items already resting in it. He was wasting no time in preparing to leave. Mother stepped first to the chest and examined its contents.
“I see nothing in here except for some of the equipment used in the baritsu instruction,” she said and closed it. “I’ll take the trunk. You check what he hasn’t packed yet.”
While she busied herself carefully lifting out each item, I opened the top drawer of the bureau in the corner. A few white shirts were folded and stacked neatly on one side and several pairs of men’s drawers on the other. I relaxed a bit as I completed the same cautious but thorough examination of the contents, mimicking Mother’s process. My first reaction was relief that I’d been included in this task. It would have been inappropriate for my mother to handle another man’s undergarments.
When I opened the bureau’s middle drawer, I glanced over my shoulder. She’d turned her attention to the desk and the books lined there. She was flipping the pages of each before returning it to its place.
“This one must be a baritsu instruction manual. I wish I could read Japanese,” she said and placed the book back on the desk.
Turning back to the drawer I’d just opened, I saw it contained socks and…
“Hello,” she said.
My heart skipped a beat as I spun about. Had someone come in?
Mother was staring at a piece of paper lying on the floor. She still held a book in her hand.
We stared at each other for a moment before she reached down and picked up the tissue-thin paper. I knew immediately she had found what we had been seeking even before she unfolded it. I joined her to study its contents.
Several detailed drawings of Uncle Ernest’s crossbow from different angles were arranged in neat rows across it.
“These are too detailed to have been done all at the same time,” she said, glancing up at me. “He’s made more than one visit to the workshop.”
“Do you suppose he has more?”
She shook the book. No others fell out.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs a moment later. Both of us froze, our gazes locked on the threshold. Mycroft appeared and said in a harsh whisper, “Father has him in the library. You need to leave. Now.”
Mother replaced the drawing and the book while I did the same to the items in the drawer. After a quick glance about the room to determine if all was as we’d found it, we rushed into the corridor. Mother locked the door and followed me and my brother down the stairs. About halfway to the second floor, we heard voices coming toward us. I glanced at the others, cold sweat breaking out on my forehead. I might have remained frozen on the stairs had Mother not passed me and Mycroft to continue down. Her calm bolstered me, and I followed her sedately to the second-floor landing where she turned into the hallway leading to the bedrooms. We had just stepped away from the stairs when my father’s voice floated up the stairwell.
“Thank you so much, Moto, for that information.”
“My pleasure.”
We continued to move away from the stairwell and only stopped once we were inside Mother’s sitting room once again. After shutting the door, she leaned against it, laying a hand on her chest. “We were fortunate.”
Someone pushed on the door and she stepped away. Father joined us.
“Did you find anything?”
She nodded. “As Sherlock reported, he has made quite an elaborate study of Ernest’s device. It had to have required several visits to the workshop.”
“The man appeared almost as soon as I reached the first floor. I didn’t even have time to warn Mycroft or think up a good excuse for calling him into the library. I pulled out my beetle collection and asked if he was familiar with any of the species in Japan.” He shook his head. “He wasn’t and was very annoyed at my questions. Thank goodness Mycroft got to you in time.”
Mycroft said, “We were able to make it to this floor by the slenderest of margins.”
“While we now have proof of his subterfuge, we’re no closer to learning of Moto’s motives or plans for the drawings,” Mother said with a sigh. “I fear he might pass them off before we know to whom or for what purpose.”
“And we have very little time,” I said. “He’s leaving in two days.”
“I can promise you this,” Father said, his voice taking on a harsh tone. “He’ll be leaving with them over my dead body.”
“Mr. Holmes,” Mother said with a gasp, “you must be careful with such prophetic pronunciations. For the moment, I’m afraid I must see about dinner. To avoid any suspicion, I will leave first and each of you exit one at a time, with some period between.”
After Mother left, Mycroft spoke up. “I’ll go next. I have…something to do.”
***
At dinnertime, Mycroft’s errand became apparent.
When we assembled in the drawing room prior to dinner, neither he nor Miss Meredith had appeared when the clock struck the hour. Because we were expected to wait for all guests before entering the dining room, Colonel Williams, Uncle Ernest, Mr. Moto, and I were all dispatched to search for them. Never considering the two would be together (despite Constance’s gossip, Mycroft with a woman—any woman—seemed absurd to me), I went to the library because it wouldn’t be the first time he became so absorbed in some book he failed to hear the dinner chime.
To my stomach’s disappointment, the room was empty.
At that point, I reexamined the situation. Perhaps they were alone together? While social conventions dictated against it, they had been spending time together.
I hurried to the kitchen to ask the servants if any had seen either of the two.
“I don’t know where Miss Meredith is,” Mrs. Simpson said in response to my queries, “but your brother asked about the lady as well. I told Mr. Mycroft fifteen minutes ago, and Colonel Williams five minutes after that, Miss Meredith had inquired about going riding tomorrow.”
“And neither has returned?”
She shook her head.
“Would you please tell my father I’m seeking them out and perhaps they should start dinner without us?”
She wrinkled her nose but said, “I’ll keep the plates for the three of you warm.”
I thanked her and headed outside, choosing to ignore her warning that I needed my coat.
Within two steps from the back door, however, I doubted my decision. Despite my wool jacket and pants, a strong wind cut through the cloth, chasing away any vestiges of the kitchen’s warmth. Ducking my head against the gust, I pushed on to the stables, in part to avoid giving Mrs. Simpson the satisfaction of knowing she had been right about the coat.
I’d almost reached the door when the wind carried a woman’s scream in my direction. At first, I thought it just the wind whistling in my ears, but a second, longer shriek had me turn in the direction of my uncle’s workshop. I took off toward the structure and was knocked forward, face-first into the frozen ground when someone hit my right shoulder. A boot landed inches from my nose. I might not have recognized its owner if Mycroft hadn’t shouted over my head at the same moment.
“Meredith? I’m coming,” he said over the wind and continued at a clip toward the building.
I pushed myself off the ground and followed after him, shouting his name. In all my thirteen—almost fourteen�
��years, I had only seen my brother run once. When he was fifteen, a large dog had chased him across the village square in pursuit of the meat pie he had just purchased. His agility at this moment bested even that youthful exertion. He didn’t slow down until he reached the workshop’s door.
I managed to catch up with him just as he placed his hand on the knob to open it. “Stop,” I said with a gasp. “Don’t open it. They might still be inside.”
He stared at me as if considering my instructions before asking, “‘They’? What ‘they’?”
“Whoever or whatever made Miss Meredith scream. Crack the door open and see if you can see who’s inside.”
Mycroft gave me a raised eyebrow for one second before pulling back the door slightly and peering inside. A moment later, he threw the door back and would have hit me square in the face if I hadn’t jumped out of the way. The doorframe provided a border to the tableau before us. Meredith was clearly visible several yards from the door, lying facedown next to one of my uncle’s work benches. Chanda was leaning over her mistress’s prone body. My brother rushed forward, pushing the rajkumari aside. She pinwheeled backward but managed to maintain her balance. I followed at a more measured pace after checking over my shoulder for anyone behind the door. I hadn’t forgotten Mr. Moto’s lesson of never giving my back to my opponent.
Mycroft now knelt over Miss Meredith, his hand suspended over her mouth. His shoulders relaxed slightly. He must have felt her breath.
I took in a deep breath of my own and turned to Chanda.
She remained in the same place where Mycroft had shoved her, her eyes wide and a hand over her mouth.
“What happened?” I asked her.
She shook her head, unable to take her gaze from her mistress. “I do not know. She left me a note, requesting I join her in your uncle’s workshop. I found her like this when I entered.”
“Then it was you we heard scream?”
“Did I scream? I’m not certain…”
Mycroft rose from Meredith’s side and spun about to face the woman. “What did you do to her?”
“I?” she asked, moving backward. “Nothing. As I said, I-I found her like this.”
When he took another step forward, my jaw tightened. Never had I seen his nostrils flare as they did now. I truly feared for Chanda’s safety. Without thinking on it, I inserted myself between them. “Maybe you should go and fetch Mother? I’m sure Miss Meredith is in need of attention.” At my words, he shifted his gaze to me, and I cocked my head toward the door. “Go on. I’ll see to her until you get back.”
His arm shot out, and he pointed to Miss Meredith’s maid. “Do not let that woman near her.” With that command, he rushed out into the night.
As soon as the door slammed shut, I knelt at the unconscious woman’s side to examine her. I saw no blood or other obvious injuries. I asked Chanda to help me turn her over, and with great care, we got her on her back. The cause for her fainting was immediately apparent. Her forehead displayed a lump at her hairline, and blood seeped from a scrape at its center.
Chanda sat on her heels on the other side of the woman and studied the abrasion I pointed out to her. “I don’t know how she got that,” she said, as if I’d accused her of making it. “When I came in, I found her just as she was. I hadn’t had a chance to even turn her over before you and Mr. Holmes entered.”
“Perhaps she somehow hit the worktable?” I said. “She is right below it.”
At that moment, the woman moaned, and her eyelids flickered as if she were awakening. When she opened them completely a minute later, she stared at me as if trying to identify me. Her gaze then shifted from me to Chanda, and her mouth dropped open in a silent scream. She raised herself onto her elbows and crab-crawled backward away from the rajkumari.
“Meredith,” Chanda said, her voice laced with distress, “what is it? What is the matter?”
She raised her arm and pointed at her companion. “Get her away from me. She was the one who did it.”
“But I—” Chanda shifted her gaze to me. “I swear I haven’t touched her.”
“Liar!”
Meredith’s voice bordered on hysterical, making Chanda’s calm report seem more credible to me. All the same, I found little to indicate who was speaking the truth. Before I could voice any opinion, however, Mycroft returned with Mother and Father.
I joined my father and Chanda to watch Mother kneel next to the woman and examine her. Mycroft knelt on Meredith’s other side, scrutinizing every movement our mother made.
Meredith’s earlier emotional display must have sapped her strength, for now she swooned on the floor, unable to speak above a whisper.
“You took a rather nasty blow on the head here,” Mother said, peering at the woman’s wound. “Any dizziness? An upset stomach?” When Meredith reported the room did seem to spin a bit, Mother’s brow wrinkled. “Let’s see if you can stand. Mycroft, please take her elbow to help her up.”
My brother reached out as if to take her arm, only to pull it back before touching her. He took a deep breath and extended his hand again. With a tenderness I’d never seen him show before, he cupped her elbow, and together, he and Mother helped her to her feet. Once upright, the girl wobbled a little and leaned a shoulder against Mycroft. Even in the workshop’s rather dim light, I could see his cheeks deepen to a dark crimson.
“Oh dear,” Mother said. “You do appear more than a bit unsteady. I think it best you not try to walk all the way to the house. If you would permit it, Mycroft should be able to carry you in his arms.”
Only then did I realize both Colonel Williams and Uncle Ernest had not come out with my parents. Meredith’s uncle would have been the logical choice for helping the woman back to the house, and Mother’s suggestion that Mycroft substitute for him caused my brother to do an imitation of a beached trout. His mouth opened and shut in quick succession. Had the situation not been so grave, I would have laughed out loud at the man’s discomfort. Never had I known him to project any image other than one of complete confidence in all things. Only a few moments before, he’d summoned all his courage to even touch our guest. Now, Mother wanted him to carry her?
When Miss Meredith assented to Mother’s proposition, he pulled himself together and scooped the girl into his arms and set off to the house, Mother at his side. After she shut the door, Father glanced about the workshop and then at me and Chanda, a frown pulling down his mouth. “I’ll send Stanton for the constable. We’ll have to report the attack.”
“You don’t think it was an accident?” I asked. “The woman could have tripped. Fallen and hit her head.”
He studied the area where Meredith had lain. “I see nothing to have caused her to lose her footing. If she hit her head, it was because she was propelled forward. Pushed, perhaps.”
When he spoke the last observation, his gaze settled on Chanda. In response, she rubbed her arms and glanced about her. “I do hope you are wrong. For it would mean Colonel Williams and Meredith’s efforts to hide from our enemies were in vain.”
“If we must look that far for the culprit.”
The woman quieted and met my father’s gaze straight on. Her tone was calm but carried an edge sharp as a dueling sword’s. “If you are implying I had something to do with her injury, you are as addled as Meredith is.”
I held my breath, fearing his reaction to someone questioning his good sense. Rarely had I observed anyone confront my father in such a direct manner. He held a position of respect and privilege in our village and was unaccustomed to impudence, particularly from a woman. While he would never raise a hand to a female, he would not be above a verbal lashing if he lost control, and the deepening scarlet beneath his beard hinted he just might.
“Now see here. You may be high caste in India, but I’ll not have you speak to me—”
The workshop door slammed back against the wall, cutting off Father’s thought, to my relief. All three of us turned to find Mrs. Simpson standing in the entrance, a hand o
n her side as if to hold back a pain. She wore no coat and was gasping for air, indicating she had come in great haste.
“Squire Holmes,” she said between gulps of air. “You must….come at once.”
“Is it Miss Meredith?” I asked as her agitation became apparent. “Mycroft was taking her—”
“No, no,” the woman said, waving her arms as if to clear the air. “Miss Iris. Mrs. Fitzhugh. The greenhouse. Immediately.”
Father spun on his heel and rushed from the building. Mrs. Simpson leaned heavily against the opened door and struggled to regain her breath.
Seeing the woman was spent, I decided not to wait for her to provide additional information and took off behind my father.
Chapter Six
Despite my father having left before I did, I passed him less than a quarter of the way to the greenhouse. When I entered the glass-walled structure, I could see Aunt Iris through the row of plants on the opposite side of the room. She sat on a bench in the passageway connecting the greenhouse to the rest of the manor. Her face was pale, and she leaned against the wall behind the bench. Two maids fanned the sobbing woman.
As I raced down the row toward her, I could see out of the corner of my eye, to my left, Uncle Ernest and Colonel Williams, but I was too concentrated on my aunt to determine why they weren’t attending my aunt.
A few steps from the woman, however, I stopped and shifted on my feet as I realized I had little to offer her. Given her emotional state, I could hardly question her, and without more information, little could be done.
My father entered the greenhouse, pushed past me, and rushed to her side. One of the maids stepped back to give him room, and he took her hand, rubbing it between his own, a tenderness and intimacy I had only seen him show to my mother, and then only once or twice.
“Iris, dear, what is it?”
Her response was only to wail louder and shake her head.
Two additional requests to share the reason for her terror produced similar results. I had thought Miss Meredith hysterical, but her outburst failed to rival my aunt’s. Knowing one or more of the herbs growing in the room behind me would calm her down, I considered fetching something to have tea brewed when Trevor spoke up from the corridor’s entrance.
The Adventure of the Murdered Gypsy Page 10
