The Adventure of the Murdered Gypsy

by Liese Sherwood-Fabre

  “Would you like to check out the items?” Mother asked, rising as well.

  Heaviness pressed upon me once again as I contemplated Mr. Moto’s things leaving our house. The image of the man lying on the greenhouse floor rose unbidden to my mind. He had saved my life in a way. Trevor’s use of his tonfa had interrupted Miss Meredith’s effort to strangle me enough to allow me to break free.

  “This is all?” the man asked, studying the large and small trunk now in the middle of the foyer.

  Mr. Simpson and Mr. Straton stood back by the door. Simpson nodded to my mother, although the information wasn’t necessary because she and I had packed them.

  Without a word, our visitor opened the larger trunk and inspected the items inside, lifting the things on top to check what lay below. He did a similar review of the smaller trunk. “It appears that all is in order.” He glanced at the front door. “I have a wagon outside and can take them to the station now.”

  “You wouldn’t care for some refreshment before you leave? The tea should be here shortly.”

  “No, thank you. I have a long journey ahead of me, and I would prefer to continue it as soon as possible.”

  “Of course,” Mother said and directed the two men to carry the items outside.

  The men stepped back to the trunks but paused when Colonel Williams and Chanda appeared from the breakfast room.

  “Colonel Williams,” Mother said when they moved toward our guest, “allow me to introduce you to Mr.—”

  “Tokikane,” the colonel finished for her. He turned to our guest. “What are you doing here?”

  “My government asked me to retrieve Mr. Fusamoto’s effects and return them to Japan.”

  “He’s a student,” Mother said. “Or rather was. He just completed his studies.”

  Williams stared at the man, but our guest remained poised, as if such scrutiny wasn’t occurring. In the end, the colonel said in a cool tone, “He’s no student.”

  Father’s gaze moved from one man to the other as he considered the information. “Are you saying…?”

  “Our paths have crossed more than once. He’s an agent of the Japanese government. These things will not be returned to Moto’s family.”

  Color rose from my father’s neck into his face, flushing his cheeks. “I would suggest you leave. Now.”

  “As a representative of the Japanese Empire, I have the right to—”

  “As a representative of the British Empire,” Williams said, drawing himself to military attention, “I can confirm you have no rights to be in this house when the owner has revoked his invitation. Furthermore, I am now impounding these items in the name of the queen. If your government wishes them back, I would suggest formal diplomatic channels through the Home Office.”

  For a brief second, Mr. Tokikane’s reserve broke. His eyes narrowed and flashed over thinned lips. I drew in my breath in anticipation of some angry outburst from the man. Instead, he bowed low at his waist. When he rose, the same unreadable expression he’d shown under Williams’s scrutiny masked any emotions he might have felt.

  “You will be hearing from us,” he said.

  He might have wanted to say more, but Father waved his hand at Simpson and Straton, and the two stepped to each side of the man. The three turned and left the house together. A moment later, the crunch of wheels on the gravel drive signaled his departure.

  When the men returned, Father pointed to the trunks. “Take them back into storage.”

  “Holmes,” Williams said, “would you mind if I had a go at them?”

  Father glanced about at those assembled and nodded.

  “Did Tokikane examine anything before we arrived?” the colonel asked. After Mother described what she had observed, the man opened the larger trunk and pulled out the articles Tokikane had removed. He pulled something from the trunk and straightened. A tonfa.

  “That’s the mate to the one upstairs in the schoolroom,” I said.

  My breathing quickened when I recalled using it against my attacker’s throat last night.

  If he noted my agitation, the colonel said nothing as he turned the weapon about in his hand. After careful examination of the stick, he twisted the end of the handle. Everyone gave a little gasp when it came off in his hand. The handle was hollow. He pulled out the drawings Mother and I had found earlier. “I’ll arrange to have these things shipped to London, where they can be more thoroughly examined. He may have collected and hidden more information.”

  “Do you suspect he came here specifically to steal Ernest’s inventions?” Mother asked.

  I knew her unasked question. It was the same as mine. Had we been duped by our baritsu instructor just as Meredith had hidden her plan for revenge? Had Mother’s innocent effort to help develop our defensive skills somehow put her brother’s ideas—and perhaps the whole nation—at the mercy of a spy?

  “Not specifically, no,” Williams said. “The government has been sending over ‘students’ these past few years—some of them legitimately to study; others to gather information on our country, its strengths and weaknesses. Tokikane was one of the latter, and I suspect Moto as well. They have learned to blend in and observe. Moto was more likely sent to study and observe British country life. Stumbling upon Ernest’s creations in the workshop during the baritsu lessons was just a lucky happenstance. And also his undoing.”

  Mother’s lips formed a thin line. “You’re referring to Meredith.”

  “She said…” I swallowed past the lump in my throat and began again. “She said he was stronger than she expected, but she knew things—from the streets—he didn’t.”

  “Meredith’s love had warped into a sort of obsession that provided a logic allowing her to kill the one she loved and have her rival accused of his murder,” Mother said, shaking her head, as if the movement would banish the ideas from her mind.

  Engouement.

  “She did quite a job of setting Chanda up,” Father said with a nod.

  The colonel turned to my uncle. “I’m grateful to still be here and able to stop Tokikane from leaving with the plans for the crossbow and possibly others of your inventions. I do think the government will have an interest in the bow, as well as other creations.”

  “You don’t consider them irrelevant?”

  “As you noted, if the Japanese government has an interest, shouldn’t we?”

  The grin that spread across my uncle’s face stretched literally from ear to ear. “I do have a few more devices I could show you.”

  “Don’t forget the spectacles,” I said, hoping to include one of his more singular inventions to the list. “They’re almost like a portable microscope.”

  Williams drew back his chin. “You don’t say. I do think a thorough review of all your tinkering might be in order.”

  “I’m at your service,” Ernest said, bowing slightly at the waist.

  Mother, however, was the one who caught one detail in Colonel Williams’s remark. “You will be moving on to London, then?”

  “I received a communication from my superiors. I have been called home, if you will. But not until after Christmas. It seems now that I will have something to show them when I arrive.” He turned to my uncle. “Of course, we’ll need to have you come and explain things. I do hope you’ll be willing to come to London for some extended stays?”

  “Well, I…” Ernest glanced at Chanda and another grin flitted about his lips. “I think it can be arranged.”

  A few days later, Constance and I stood in front of a semicircle of two rows of chairs in the parlor. The family, including my Aunt Rose and Uncle Peter and their daughter, Lily—all newly arrived from London—were politely applauding our rendition of “Angels We Have Heard on High.” Those standing in the back behind them, however, showed much greater enthusiasm. Mother had invited all the servants to listen to this part of our Christmas celebrations. After all, they knew Constance better than those who were seated. Her singing in French had to impress them as well. She’d do
ne two of the four verses in that language.

  Mother stood up from her seat at the pianoforte, and the three of us took our bow.

  “I do hope you all enjoyed our little recital,” Mother said with a smile. More applause came in response. “Please join us for refreshments in the dining room.”

  The invitation was only for those seated, the staff knowing to return to their duties. When I turned to follow the others heading to the dining room, I realized Constance hadn’t followed me. She shook her head when I turned to check on her.

  “I shouldn’t go in there,” she said, dropping her gaze.

  “Don’t be silly,” I said. “You’re here as a guest. My guest.”

  She shook her head again and blinked several times. “My papa tole me I wasn’t to be gettin’ airs just cuz you’re learnin’ me to sing and speak French and Latin and all that.”

  She glanced at me, but I didn’t answer immediately as I pondered an appropriate response. I couldn’t very well tell her to go against her father’s orders, but then again…

  “And who told your father this?” I asked. If my father or mother had been the one who spoke to Mr. Straton, then I knew to whom I would direct my request to allow Constance to join us.

  “I-I don’t know. He just said it weren’t proper for me to be thinkin’ I’m above my station.”

  “Will he be in the kitchen? I’ll speak to him,” I said, stepping past her on my way to confront her father.

  “Please don’t,” she said, pulling on my jacket sleeve.

  I turned to her. “I’m not going to argue with him. Just let him know you’re invited.”

  Laughter floated from the dining room into the corridor, and Constance glanced at the door. She blinked again, her features softening and her shoulders drooping. I saw in her stance a longing that I was beginning to understand in her. She wanted to be in that room with us but was held back by social conventions. With a sigh, she let go of my jacket.

  “I promise,” I said, laying a hand on her arm, “I’ll not argue. Just ask permission.”

  She bit her lower lip but nodded.

  The staff all turned when we stepped into the kitchen. I realized I had disrupted their own celebration. The scent of spices, apples, and warm bread surrounded me and reminded me I hadn’t eaten before the recital. I was too nervous about missing notes in my accompaniment of Constance’s singing to do so.

  “Master Sherlock,” Mrs. Simpson said, “may we help you?”

  “Is Mr. Straton here? I wanted to speak to him.”

  The woman ran her hands down her skirt before she answered. “He’s gone back to the barn. I could send a boy to fetch him, but—”

  “Yes, please.”

  I shifted on my feet and observed the others go about sipping from their cups and nibbling at the food from the plates on the kitchen table. The laughter and conversation we’d heard in the passageway had disappeared when I’d entered. While they did speak, it was in low voices and only after a glance in my direction.

  The sigh of relief from the assembled was almost audible when the pounding of boots echoed from the back entrance. Mr. Straton stepped into the room, his cap held in both hands in front of him. “You sent for me, Master Sherlock?”

  “Yes, I wanted to ask your permission to allow Constance to join us in the dining room. Just for a little bit.”

  The man pulled on his collar. “Well…”

  He drew out the vowel and glanced to his right. Emily straightened her spine as his attention rested on her. One might almost have missed the slight shake of her head, the signal was so subtle. I knew then who had given Straton his directions, and I prepared additional reasons for the man.

  Before he could respond, however, the door opened, and Mother joined us. “Sherry, dear, there you are. Everyone has been asking for you…and you, Constance.”

  “I came down to ask Mr. Straton’s permission—”

  “’T ain’t right, ma’am.” Straton’s gaze slid in Emily’s direction and back before he added, “Constance needs to know her place.”

  Straton’s glance didn’t escape Mother. She considered the maid before her also. Emily lifted her chin.

  “I would warn you not to take your direction on etiquette from Emily,” she said, turning her gaze to Mr. Straton. “The woman is quite deceitful.”

  Emily glared at my mother, her lips sealed tight and straight.

  Mother retuned the stare and continued without breaking eye contact with the servant. “Miss Meredith has been interrogated about all the attacks occurring the past few weeks. She denied attacking Emily that night outside the barn.”

  Scarlet crept into the maid’s cheeks and her voice took on a sharp edge. “I have the lump to prove it. How do you explain that?”

  “I don’t deny your injury,” Mother said. “Only how it was inflicted. The woman did it to herself. Just as Meredith did.”

  I jerked my head toward my mother and then surveyed the others in the room. All were staring at her, and more than one with an open mouth. This bit of news shocked me as much as any of them. Once I accepted this fact, my next question was…

  “She confessed this too?” I asked before I even realized the words had escaped my mouth.

  Mother nodded. “Although I suspected as much at the time.”

  “How?” Again, the word slipped out before I could stop it.

  “Their symptoms were too severe for the injury,” she said with a matter-of-fact tone. “I have seen more than one person with a head injury, and one or two have lost consciousness, but not when hit where those women were. Meredith had at least the good sense to appear to have a brain commotion. But Emily—”

  “Was back to work the next day,” Straton finished for her.

  “This is getting all twisted around,” Emily said, stepping toward him. “I-I only wanted you to realize how much you truly cared for me. I’d taken care of your children, fixed you meals, b-but you never looked at me the way you did when you spoke of your dead wife.”

  Tears now ran down her face, and she reached out to Constance’s father. He stepped back and raised his hands as if to warn her off.

  “Joseph, please. I love you. When I saw how Mr. Mycroft was so kind to that woman after her attack in the workshop, I knew that i-if something like that happened to me, you’d be the same. And that night, in the barn, for the first time you did look at me that way.”

  She covered her face with her hands and sobbed into them. I almost felt sorry for her. Her pain appeared quite real. A glance at Constance, however, told me she had no sympathy for the woman. She stared at Emily, her head high.

  Apparently, her father had a similar reaction. He pointed his finger at her and then at the door. “You—you viper. Get out of my sight.”

  The maid stood where she was, her lower lip trembling, before lifting her skirt and running to the back door.

  Mother turned her attention to Mrs. Simpson. “She’s run off without a wrap. Send someone to fetch her back and escort her to her room. I’ll expect her gone in the morning.” She turned as if to leave and then turned back to the housekeeper. “Give her two months’ wages and a decent recommendation. Her actions weren’t honorable, but they were not criminal.”

  At the door, Mother turned to me and Constance. “The guests will be wondering where we’ve gone off to. Come along.”

  Only after we were in the hallway, with Mother several strides ahead of us, did I glance at Constance. I’d expected her to be quite pleased with what had occurred, but instead found her mouth and her eyes turned down.

  She caught my gaze and shook her head. “She truly cared for my papa. Only he loved my mama too much to replace her so soon. I should’ve seen that. Maybe told her. Of course, she might’n of not listened. Would’ve thought I was too jealous of her tryin’ to take my mama’s place. And I was.”

  I nodded, recalling her anger the night I’d visited her cottage and helped her bring water into the house. I also considered her observation of
how emotion had tempered her judgment. Had I not acted similarly with Trevor? Instead of jealousy, annoyance had made me push him away, and it almost cost him his life. How did one avoid such errors?

  Then there was my assessment of Colonel Williams, Mycroft, and Miss Meredith. I was certain the colonel had committed the murders and Meredith had besotted my brother. Beyond Mycroft’s acting abilities—which had not manifested themselves to such a degree until this holiday—I had allowed myself to accept and reject data based on my own prejudices. I promised myself not to disregard information in the future simply because it didn’t seem to fit some hypothesis.

  I reached across and gave Constance’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “We can all be blinded at times.”

  From the passage, I heard the family singing a carol, and when we entered, they all continued but raised their glasses in our direction. Trevor brought me a glass of punch, and I accepted it before joining in the last chorus of the song. The genuine affection on display in the room forced me to blink away the tears forming unbidden.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Within two days following the New Year celebration, our guests packed and left for their homes. While I regretted Trevor’s departure, my greater regret and trepidation involved my imminent return to Eton. The very thought created a spasm that shook my body. While I had known my return was inevitable, I also had been able to consider it something that was a while away.

  I could no longer fool myself when I stepped into my newly reclaimed bedroom and found my trunk in the middle of it, ready to accept my uniforms and other school clothing.

  The few weeks I’d experienced before being called home when my mother had been accused of murder had been true torture. Most of the other boys—particularly Charles Fitzsimmons—expressed resentment at my ability to breeze through lessons with little effort.

  I would, however, return slightly changed. I doubted any of the other boys at school had been involved in solving more than one murder, having their life threatened more than once, or saving the life of their younger cousin.