I paused to consider her options. “The schoolroom?”
We rushed to the next room and threw back the door. The room appeared empty.
Until we stepped in.
Once inside, the door shut behind us.
I spun around too fast with the candle and extinguished the flame. The image I saw before the room darkened, however, seared into my brain. Meredith held my cousin in her grasp, her arm around his throat as we had seen in Mr. Moto’s baritsu manual. He made no sound, but his rounded eyes let me know he was conscious. The hold had to be the same one she’d used to take out my mother, Chanda, and the colonel. From what Mother and I learned from our practice of the move, it would not take much to make anyone faint. A longer hold would result in the victim’s death.
My brain spun. I had to get her to release Trevor before he passed out—or worse.
“Meredith,” Mycroft said in a soothing tone I didn’t believe I’d ever heard him use, “I’ve been searching for you.”
“I wager you have,” she said, the sneer evident even without any light.
“I thought…we were leaving tonight.”
“I know, my dearest. All I needed to do was to tidy up a few things, but”—she stopped as her voice cracked—“it didn’t work out as I planned. Nothing has.”
“We can forget it all. Leave it all. Make a new life. The two of us.”
His voice was farther from me, and I guessed he was making his way toward her.
“I-I can’t forget it.” Her response reached higher tones, sounding more like Aunt Iris during her hysterics. “He was in love with me. I know it. We’d worked so well together as a couple. He said so when we’d pretended to be married. Then, he met her, and she…she stole it all from me.”
Somehow, I knew she was referring to Chanda. Before I could stop myself, I said, “The man in the barn. He married Chanda. So you hatched a plan to rob her of everything, including her husband and her freedom. And stole her mangala sutra.”
“Your little brother is almost as meddlesome as this boy,” she said. “The necklace should have been mine. This one caught me with it, and I almost fixed it, but he found him before it was finished.”
“There’s no need to complete the task anymore. Release him and let’s be gone while there’s still time.” Mycroft’s tone remained coaxing, as if talking to a skittish horse.
She exhaled, ending in a sort of whimper. “I-I can’t go through the charade anymore. I don’t love you. Never have. I would have left you the moment we got to London. You were simply my ticket to get there.”
Silence settled on the room. I strained to hear any indication of the others’ movements. Was Mycroft getting closer to her? Nothing indicated the location of the others until Mycroft finally responded. His voice was now the one that cracked with emotion.
“Y-you don’t mean that,” he said. “What we’ve shared these past few days. You can’t have playacted it.”
“I’m afraid I can, dearest.” The sneer returned to her voice, only to disappear a moment later. “I had only one true love in my life…and now he’s gone. I’ll deal with both of you after I deal with your cousin—”
The word ended in a squeal. I could hear struggling but couldn’t make out more than dark shapes in the dim room. If only…
I remembered the candle and rushed to the teacher’s desk for a match. In the spark that followed, I saw Trevor was now free, but the two others struggled in a sort of wrestling hold.
I caught Trevor’s gaze and shouted at him. “Run!”
He seemed frozen, staring first at me and then at the other two. I pointed to the door. “Get help!”
At that command, he sprinted to the door.
When I turned my attention to Mycroft and Meredith, I realized my brother was no match for the woman. She had obviously trained in baritsu or a similar art, because she was able to dodge and parry his attempts to seize her. The colonel had said she was a street fighter. While my brother seemed to be holding back, as if he were reluctant to physically overpower her as he might a man, she attacked with the viciousness of a rabid mongrel.
If I didn’t help him, I was certain Meredith would overwhelm him.
Searching about for a weapon, my gaze fell on the bookcase at the edge of the candle’s reach. I hurried to the case and once again the breeze extinguished the candle. In the darkness, I grabbed the first book my fingers touched and turned to the two struggling forms. Stretching my arms overhead, I held the book high and brought it down on the back of the smaller figure.
The blow must have surprised them both. Meredith let out a gasp. She shifted, turning toward her attacker.
Mycroft sensed the shift in momentum and used it to subdue the woman. Following a rustling noise, I heard him say, “I’ve got you now.”
The next moment, I heard him exhale sharply in pain, as if hit in the stomach. A thud followed, and then a stomach-churning bash as she connected with his body, now on the floor. If the first blow had taken his breath away, the second certainly stunned, if not knocked him out.
At that point I realized she could now turn her attention to me. I spun about, hoping to make the door and possibly the safety of those coming in response to Trevor’s alarm. I only took a few steps before her arm wrapped around my neck. In that split second, I chastised myself again for not heeding Mr. Moto’s admonition to never turn my back on my opponent.
As it had when I had practiced with my mother, the pressure in my head increased. Had the room not been already been dark, black spots would have certainly dimmed my vision.
“I was kind to your mother and Chanda,” she whispered in my ear. “I only put them to sleep. But you…” The pressure increased, and the blood pounded in my temples, threatening to block out her voice. “I’m not so sure I won’t just finish you. You’ve been a thorn in my side since you almost caught me in the barn.”
My heart drummed in my chest, and I knew I had only seconds before her threats might become real. With great effort, I forced myself to think. To recall the countermove I’d found in Moto’s book and practiced with Mother.
Something about my legs…
I reached up and grasped her arm. Swinging my leg to reach behind her, I became tangled in her skirt but pushed back against her. Both of us fell, and I landed on top of her. As soon as we hit the floor, I turned against her forearm and broke free. I rolled to her right and pushed myself to my hands and knees, coughing violently as I gasped for breath.
A swishing sound warned me that Meredith had risen to her feet. Between pants, she said, “You little beast. That meddlesome Moto was no match for me, and neither are you. He might have known some baritsu, enough to teach you, but I know some tricks that aren’t taught in books. And I’ve used them quite effectively.”
An image flashed through my thoughts. Mr. Moto limp on the greenhouse floor. Bile rose in my throat, and I feared I would retch. I tamped down my panic, chiding myself to act.
I rolled away from Meredith in the hopes she would lose me in the shadows. Instead, I rolled into Mycroft. He grunted slightly. At least I knew he was alive. Before I could do more, she pounced on top of me.
Somehow my baritsu training rose to the surface. As her arm went around my neck, I threw my head upward and managed to hit her square on the chin. The blow stunned her long enough for me to roll out from under her. In the time it took for me to draw a breath, I was on my feet, facing her in a crouched position.
I searched about for a weapon—something, anything, to use to defend myself.
At that moment, the door opened, and Trevor stood in the doorway, the tonfa I’d given to him for his protection in his hand. She raced toward him, and he raised the stick, preparing to swing it like a club. Just as I had earlier, she failed to protect her back. I tackled her from behind, landing on top of her, and we both fell forward at Trevor’s feet.
Before she had time to raise her head, I grabbed the tonfa from my cousin’s hands and slid the wooden rod under her throat. Grasp
ing the stick on both sides, I pulled it tight. She took one choked gasp before bucking against me as I sat on her torso. Her arms flailed backward, trying to reach my arms or head, but she was unable to gain a hold before her body slumped forward in my arms.
Despite her slipping into unconsciousness, I continued the pressure on her throat until a small, white hand covered mine.
“Cousin Sherlock,” Trevor said. “Stop. She’s asleep. She can’t hurt us now.”
I stared up at him. Confused by his compassion. This woman had tried to kill him. And succeeded with at least two others. “But—”
“He’s right,” Mycroft said in a raspy voice. “We’ve had enough death in this house.”
Footsteps pounded up the stairs and toward us as I let Meredith’s limp body drop to the floor.
Chapter Thirteen
The foyer clock had just struck eight the next morning when Constable Gibbons took his leave from our house. Meredith had been taken away hours before by one of his deputies. Despite our lack of sleep, the family, Colonel Williams, and Chanda assembled about the breakfast table. Only Aunt Iris and Miss Bowen were absent.
My mother clasped her hands together and rested her elbows on the table, forming a sort of tent over her plate, her gaze set on Chanda. “What are your plans now?” she asked.
The woman shifted in her seat, glanced at the colonel, and gave a small cough. “We truly haven’t had time to discuss it. I only know I can’t go back to India.”
“I know Mr. Holmes’s original request was that you leave today, or rather quite early this morning, but I’m not sure the urgency remains.”
Father raised his head at the mention of his name and opened his mouth as if he planned to comment on the change in circumstances.
Mother, however, continued without a glance in his direction, and he snapped his mouth shut. “Why not stay through the festivities?”
During the next silence while Chanda and the colonel exchanged glances, and then both readjusted themselves on the chairs, I clamped my teeth together to keep my mouth from dropping open as my father’s had. I knew Mother well enough to suspect she had an ulterior motive, but her purpose was beyond me. We had more than enough guests without them.
My next thought brought me up straight in my chair. I glanced at Trevor, who was beaming at me and had already figured out what I had just concluded. With Chanda’s true identity no longer a secret, she could not be expected to remain in the servants’ quarters. Even if she wasn’t given Miss Meredith’s—my—room, someone would have to occupy it, and my only option was to remain in the nursery, along with Trevor.
Oddly, I found the prospect less disturbing than I had when I first took up residence on the third floor. Instead of a nuisance, I now viewed my young cousin as more insightful in some respects than I. His enthusiasm for the holidays gave a fresh appeal to all the activities that would be occurring over the next weeks. At that moment, I determined that even if the colonel and his charge decided to leave, I would request to remain in the nursery with Trevor during his visit.
When I returned my attention to the discussion around the breakfast table, I perceived a slight battle of the wills playing out.
I caught only part of Chanda’s response. “…couldn’t possibly impose any more. We’ve created enough chaos.”
“But where will you go?” Ernest asked.
Mother’s gaze shifted between her brother, his friend, and Chanda, and I thought I understood her interest in keeping our guests here awhile longer. With the arrival of his friend, my uncle had been more animated and open than I had ever known him. I knew his time in India had changed him because my mother explained his sometimes-odd silences and tinkering in his workshop stemmed from that experience. She must have seen something of the brother she had known long ago in his interactions with the colonel, and perhaps was loath to lose it too soon.
The colonel gave a final pause before answering. “We do have connections in London. That was where we were to go when we arrived. There’s no danger for us to do so, as we had been led to believe.”
“Meredith was truly diabolical in her approach, wasn’t she?” Mycroft said.
Williams shook his head. “I’m afraid so. I had no idea learning of Captain Rodgers’s marriage to Chanda would unhinge her. She hid it quite well, concealing it on our voyage as she developed her plan. She was the one who reported that Chanda had been followed. I grew suspicious when Rogers shared he’d heard no such reports. I only got confirmation after we arrived here.”
I drew in my breath. “The advertisement from St. Barrens.”
“Mycroft confronted me about it,” he said with a nod. “That’s when I drew him into my confidence and asked him to keep close to Meredith.”
“I’m afraid not close enough.” Mycroft frowned. “Mr. Moto would still be alive, otherwise.”
“He left the library that first night and caught Meredith returning through the greenhouse. I’m afraid he was quite mercenary. He’d sent a note to Meredith to meet him in hopes of extorting something from her. She then used it to lure Chanda to the workshop and eliminate two threats with one blow. During her convalescence after her ‘attack,’ she managed to sneak out of her room that first night when Mycroft and the maid had fallen asleep. She searched Moto’s room for the evidence he said he had. But she found nothing.”
We all fell silent at that point—some to recall the losses we’d experienced that night, and Mycroft, most likely, his inability to stop Meredith. After a moment, I felt the need to shift the mood settling over the table.
“I have to agree with Mother,” I said before I lost my nerve. All heads turned in my direction, but I plunged on before anyone could interrupt me. “You must stay. Constance and I have worked hard on our pieces, and we need an audience.”
“I would, I think, enjoy that very much,” Chanda said, dropping her gaze to her plate. “I have read about your English Christmas. I wouldn’t want to miss an opportunity to experience it.”
“It is settled, then,” Mother said, buttering a piece of toast. “We’ll discuss changing the rooms about this afternoon.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Uncle Ernest steal a glance at Chanda. Just how long would social convention allow the two to remain at Underbyrne? For those with large estates, it was not unusual for guests to remain for a summer or winter, but ours was not so grand. All the same, if the pair’s presence remained therapeutic for her brother, I felt Mother might extend the invitation indefinitely.
Before anyone could dispute Mother’s conclusion, a knock at the door caused us all to turn toward the front of the house.
“Who could that be?” Father asked. “It’s too early for Rose. She said they would be taking the evening train.”
A moment later, Mrs. Simpson entered the breakfast room and said in a low voice, “There’s a man here to see you, Mrs. Holmes. A Chinaman.”
If Mother was as puzzled by the ethnicity of her visitor as I was, she didn’t show it. She raised one eyebrow and said, “How interesting. Please show him to the parlor and let him know I’ll be there in a moment.”
Mother stifled a yawn and stood. “Mr. Holmes, will you be so kind as to accompany me? I think Sherlock also.”
Once in the foyer, I asked, “Do you know who it is?”
“My speculation is that someone has come in response to my telegram to the Japanese embassy and sent someone to collect Mr. Moto’s things.”
A thin Asian man in a suit, a bowler in hand, rose from his seat as we entered the parlor. He was young but old enough for a thin mustache. He bowed from his waist and then spoke with only a slight accent in his voice.
“I thank you for seeing me, Mrs. Holmes. My name is Yamana Tokikane, and I am a student here. I received a request from the Foreign Ministry in Japan to collect some items left by a Mr. Takahashi Fusamoto.”
My heart skipped at the name and glanced at Mother. While we had been instructed to refer to him as Mr. Moto, I recognized the full na
me of our baritsu master. Her letter to the British consulate had produced a response—much quicker than I had anticipated.
“Yes, of course, Mr. Tokikane. Mr. Mo—Fusamoto’s trunk and other items have been stored away. I’ll see about having them brought down.” After introducing my father and me, she pointed toward a settee. “Please have a seat while I make those arrangements and call for some tea.”
The man gave another bow and perched himself on the edge of the couch. He sat erect, his hat on his knees.
Father and I took seats opposite him. After settling in the chair, Father asked, “Did they also provide instructions concerning Moto’s…remains? That will require a trip to the coroner’s. I can accompany you, if desired.”
“A very kind offer,” the student said. “I’m afraid I was only told to request his personal items…for his family.”
Until that moment, I hadn’t considered the final fate for Mr. Moto. What were the customs in Japan? As much as they might wish for his return, the long ocean voyage would prohibit doing so. He might have even been interred already, although I doubted it.
At once, a mixture of feelings, melancholy being the most prevalent, swept over me. It gave me no joy to think of him buried in the pauper’s graveyard, but at the same time, he’d deceived all of us and committed treacheries against my uncle as well as Miss Meredith.
Mother stepped back into the room and broke into my thoughts. She smiled at Mr. Tokikane. “The trunk and other items will be down shortly. I must say I hadn’t expected someone to come for them, but rather simply provide an address where to ship them.”
“I cannot elucidate on my government’s decision for requesting me to come to collect them in person. My studies here have been supported by the empire and are now ending,” the man said. “I am only responding to their appeal for assistance to include them with my things as I return to my country.”
“Of course,” she said and flashed another smile.
A clatter of footfalls echoed outside the room, followed by a heavy thump. All of us started at the noise, but Mr. Tokikane leaped from his seat. “I would assume the trunk has arrived.”
The Adventure of the Murdered Gypsy Page 23
