“Come here,” he told me, beckoning. “Now aim the light at her face. Do you see who it is?”
“Why, it is the scullery maid. Goforth.”
The girl’s face bore that queer look of shock which I have beheld all too often on the just-deceased. It always makes me think that dying, one thing we all have in common, still comes as a surprise to some.
“Indeed. And hullo! What is this? Alter the angle of the beam slightly downward, would you. Just so. See that?”
I glimpsed something sparkling at Goforth’s neck, just above her collar.
Holmes reached out a hand and undid the top button of the collar to reveal that, beneath her blouse, she was wearing a pendant necklace. Jewels glittered brightly in the lantern light.
“Bless me,” I said. “Are those… diamonds?”
“They appear to be.”
“Fake, surely.”
“I do not think so, not with that lustre. And the chain they are strung upon appears to be sterling silver. I am no jewellery expert, but I think we are looking at a very expensive piece of feminine adornment.”
“But no scullery maid could afford such an item, not on the pittance her sort earns. She must have stolen it.”
“Let us not leap to a conclusion,” Holmes said, straightening up. “Speaking of which…” His gaze travelled upward, taking in a finial-capped turret which perched atop the east wing, directly above us. A window casement stood ajar there, and I had no difficulty extrapolating the trajectory of Goforth’s fall hither from that aperture. It was a straight downward plummet.
“Is that the window from which…?” I began.
“From which Perdita Allerthorpe threw herself? I would wager good money on it. We know that she was in the east wing when she died, and did Eve not tell us that she plunged from the castle’s highest tower? We are looking at the castle’s highest tower. Goforth seems, for whatever reason, to have emulated Mrs Allerthorpe’s example.”
“But why?”
“That is something we must establish, along with the reason the girl is wearing a diamond necklace which, for one such as her, is hopelessly unaffordable.”
Holmes’s eyes narrowed. His expression became grave.
“Watson, the game grows more complicated,” said he. “I was already convinced that this case is about more than Lady Jocasta’s money, or a sinister figure from folklore, or ghosts. Now I am surer than ever that dark forces are at work in Fellscar Keep. They may not be of supernatural origin but they are no less dangerous for that. Notwithstanding Thaddeus Allerthorpe’s demand, you and I are honour-bound to remain here and see this thing through. Do you not concur?”
What else could I say to that but yes?
Chapter Sixteen
NO ACCIDENT
“I… I don’t believe it,” stammered Shadrach Allerthorpe, staring down at Goforth’s body.
His brother beside him was even more lost for words. The sight of the dead scullery maid had left him utterly dumbfounded.
It was Holmes who had proposed we get Shadrach out of bed first, rather than go straight to Thaddeus. He had thought Thaddeus would take the news of Goforth’s death better if he heard it from his brother, rather than from two people towards whom he currently bore a deep resentment. Not only that but, given the manner in which the girl had died, Thaddeus might need the kind of moral support that a close relative could provide.
“Was it – can it have been – an accident?” Shadrach was not so much asking a question as expressing a wish.
“There is a remote possibility that it might have been,” said Holmes. “Perhaps Goforth was cleaning the window. She leaned out in order to polish the outside of the panes, overreached herself, and lost her balance. Until I inspect the room, which I mean to do shortly, I cannot discount this scenario. It would seem, however, on the face of it, somewhat improbable. At four in the morning? I know a scullery maid works long hours, but isn’t her first task of the day relighting the stove and otherwise setting up the kitchen in readiness for preparing breakfast? And who cleans windows in the dark? It is a daylight job, surely.”
“What’s worse is that it is that window, of all the windows in the castle,” said Shadrach. “I take it you are aware of its significance.”
“Yes. Not to put too fine a point on it, it is the window from which Mrs Allerthorpe also fell to her death. For another person to meet their end not just in a similar manner but by plunging from the exact same spot… Well, suffice it to say that, where suspicious deaths are concerned, I do not believe in coincidence.”
The widower spoke up. “Nobody goes there now.”
“I beg your pardon, Mr Allerthorpe? Would you care to elaborate?”
“The room.” Thaddeus’s voice was choked with emotion. “I have made it plain that nobody should go there any more. It is to be left alone.”
“I see,” said Holmes. “Then that, I’m afraid, lends weight to the notion that this death was no accident. If Goforth was not supposed to be in the room, she was disobeying your edict for a specific purpose, and that purpose in one way or another may well have contributed to her demise.”
“She was there to meet someone, who pushed her out of the window?” Shadrach said. “Is that what you are telling us?”
“Or, driven by some unbearable inner torment, Goforth decided to follow in her late mistress’s footsteps. Again, until I have gathered more data, I cannot assert or reject anything with any definitiveness. I trust that in this one instance you will make an exception to your embargo, Mr Allerthorpe, and permit me to enter the room?” My friend addressed this last remark to the senior of the two brothers.
Thaddeus’s gaze went from Goforth to the window and back again. He could only have been thinking of his wife and reliving the moment of her suicide. Were it not for the lake’s thick skin of ice, servants would now be dragging its waters to look for a body, just as they had done a little over a year ago.
“I could call the police, I suppose,” said he.
“And I would recommend it,” said Holmes. “But not yet. Before the officials become involved, give me a chance to establish first whether we have a murderer in our midst or there has simply been an unfortunate recurrence of a tragedy. You must know that there is no one more capable in this regard than me. You should also bear in mind that the local police may find themselves out of their depth and an inspector will have to be summoned from London to handle the case. I know for a fact that Scotland Yard is currently snowed under with work, no pun intended. You would be lucky if the fellow arrived by this evening. It is far more likely you would have to wait till tomorrow. Do you really want this hanging over you in the meantime, with all your houseguests present?”
“Do you honestly think you can clear the matter up quickly, Mr Holmes?” asked Shadrach.
“I promise to give it my best try.”
Shadrach turned to his brother. “Thad, I say we should take Mr Holmes up on his offer.”
Thaddeus gave a noncommittal grunt, but Shadrach persisted, and now I understood that there was an additional reason why Holmes had insisted on waking up the latter and bringing him in on this. He had foreseen that Thaddeus might need cajoling, and Shadrach stood a far better chance of succeeding on that front than we.
At last Thaddeus gave in. “Very well, Mr Holmes,” he said, with a nod of assent so tiny it was scarcely a twitch of the head. “You get your wish.”
“Thank you,” said Holmes. “Just for clarity’s sake, Watson and I are no longer to be summarily ejected from Fellscar?”
“You are not.”
“And what about Dr Greaves, your family physician?”
“What about him?”
“Do you still wish to call him in to attend to Eve?”
“I don’t see why not.”
“Might I suggest instead that Watson remain her doctor for the time being?”
Thaddeus eyed my friend warily. “Is this because I told you of my plan to have Greaves evaluate her mental condition
?”
“In part, yes.”
“You do not think that I should.”
“I think that it is your prerogative as a father to do whatever you feel is best for your daughter,” Holmes said. “It is not my place to tell you what is and is not appropriate where she is concerned.”
“Too right, sir. What you have perhaps failed to grasp is that I am motivated by nothing but concern for Eve’s wellbeing. I am not seeking, through Greaves’s auspices, to prove that she is in some way mentally deficient. On the contrary. I would be less than diligent if I did not have him assess her, in the hope that he will give her a clean bill of health, in spite of her present affliction. Then it will be official, with no room for doubt, and all can proceed with the execution of the will as planned. I have no desire for her to lose out on her legacy from Jocasta. I did not much care for the woman myself. Far too bossy and strident for my tastes. But she was my wife’s sister, and if it was her wish for Eve to receive her money, then I must respect it and do all I can to see that it is fulfilled.”
From the way Thaddeus spoke, I believed him to be in earnest. I realised I had misjudged his intentions regarding Eve. The error was pardonable, though, in so far as Thaddeus had hitherto given precious little indication that he cared about his daughter, or his son for that matter.
“All the same,” said Holmes, “it might be better to delay bringing Dr Greaves in. This nasty business…” He motioned at the body in front of us. “It will hardly improve your daughter’s condition when she finds out what has happened, as she inevitably will. It may indeed cause a further setback, meaning that Dr Greaves will be more, not less, likely to deliver a negative appraisal.”
Thaddeus Allerthorpe let that sink in for a moment, before giving another of those barely perceptible nods. “I take your point. I shall leave Greaves out of it, for now.”
“Good man. Incidentally, can either you or your brother tell me anything about the necklace Goforth is wearing?”
Holmes pointed to the item of jewellery where it hung around the girl’s throat.
Both brothers peered. Both frowned.
“What on earth is she doing with such a thing?” Shadrach said.
“You have not seen it on her before?”
“Never. I would remember if I had. It is quite remarkable. What about you, Thad?”
“Same. Is it the genuine article, Mr Holmes?”
“To the best of my knowledge, yes. I would say there is in the region of a hundred pounds’ worth of diamonds strung together there. Unless you are exceptionally generous towards your servants, Mr Allerthorpe, that is equivalent to twenty years’ salary for someone such as Goforth.”
“An heirloom?” offered Shadrach.
“Hardly,” said Thaddeus. “The girl hails from a local family of negligible means.”
“And if you were poor in every respect save that you owned a valuable diamond necklace,” said Holmes, “would you still choose a life of drudgery? Or would you not sell the necklace in order to further yourself in the world?”
“Then the only assumption one can make is that she stole it,” Shadrach said. “Do you think that is so, Mr Holmes? The girl is a thief? She has purloined the necklace from one of our houseguests? In which case,” he continued, warming to his theme, “is it beyond the realms of possibility that the necklace proved her undoing? Hear me out. Goforth had an accomplice with whom she was supposed to share the proceeds of her crime. They arranged a meeting in the tower, perhaps to discuss the division of the spoils. There was a quarrel. The accomplice, in anger, pitched her out of the window.”
“Far-fetched but not wholly inconceivable,” Holmes said. “My principal objection to the idea you have outlined is simply this: the accomplice would not have defenestrated Goforth without first wresting the necklace from her possession. It is too valuable for him not to have secured it for himself before killing her.”
“But what if the accomplice was a man, much stronger than her, and the pair argued so strenuously that they came to blows? It stands to reason, then, that Goforth, knowing she would be overpowered and the necklace taken from her by force, might throw herself from the window rather than let him have it. She chose death over being done out of her share of the criminal proceeds.”
“It would account for the fact that she is still wearing the necklace. A desperate measure, but one that afforded vengeance against him who double-crossed her. All of this remains speculation, however, until I have examined the room concerned. Would you, sir, be so good as to show Watson and me the way there?”
Shadrach consented.
“And I will muster up some servants,” said his brother, “and have them bring a blanket to cover the girl with, and boards upon which to carry her off.”
“Where will you put her?” I asked.
“There is a lean-to shed close by the stables. I do not want her in the castle proper.”
“Sensible.”
“You realise I cannot keep this a secret from my family,” Thaddeus said to Holmes. “The servants will talk. Word will get around the castle in no time.”
“You must deal with it as you see fit, Mr Allerthorpe. I would advise making an announcement to your family at breakfast. Perhaps, however, you should refer to the death in terms of a regrettable mishap, nothing more. It will cause less fuss and, so far as any of us yet knows, it is the truth.”
Chapter Seventeen
A DEADLY PAS DE DEUX
From the top floor of the east wing a winding staircase led up to the tower. We arrived at a narrow door, which Shadrach Allerthorpe opened, not without a certain hesitance.
“My brother spent the days between Perdita’s death and her funeral sitting in this room, mourning,” he said. “Thereafter, he insisted that it be left untouched. I suppose he wanted it to be a shrine to her memory.”
“Untouched but not locked?” Holmes queried.
“He is not a sentimental man and it is rare he makes requests of that nature. All the more reason for us to respect his wishes, without them having to be enforced by means of a key. To which end, I shan’t myself go in, if you don’t mind.”
“I do not mind at all. Indeed, I would crave Watson’s indulgence and ask that he likewise remain outside, at least for the moment. What I am hoping is that the territory within, having remained virgin for several months until this morning, will yield clues more readily than well-trodden ground would.”
Holmes, lantern in hand, disappeared through the doorway. Shadrach went back downstairs, and I was left standing on the staircase in the dark, twiddling my thumbs.
Fifteen minutes passed, and then Holmes emerged and beckoned me inside.
“Halt just there,” he said as I crossed the threshold. “Not a step further.”
The room was large and cylindrical, occupying the entirety of the topmost section of the tower. Chilly air sighed in through the wide-open window. There was little in the way of furniture, just a pair of mouldering leather-upholstered armchairs, a rocking chair and a couple of occasional tables, one of them upturned. Even before Perdita Allerthorpe’s death, I doubted anyone would have had much cause to come here. The windows dotted all around the room’s circumference would, given the tower’s height, doubtless command panoramic views during the daytime, but aside from that there seemed little incentive to visit.
Holmes was looking pleased with himself. “This has been as profitable an exercise as I could hope for,” said he. “Let me take you through my discoveries. The floorboards, as you can see, are covered with a goodly layer of dust. In that dust you will perceive a number of footprints. Some are mine, but I have been at pains to keep those to a minimum. Remember how I rued the fact that the floor of the room above yours had been newly swept, so that the Black Thurrick had left no tangible trace of his presence there? Here, by contrast, we find a veritable cornucopia of dust-divulged evidence. To begin with, we can tell that a man entered the room first. Observe the line of larger footprints leading away from where you sta
nd.”
“How do you know he entered first?”
“I will come to that in due course. The man crosses to the middle of the room.” Holmes illustrated by walking alongside the set of footprints, picking them out with the lantern’s beam. “He stops here and waits. Note how the footprints cluster together, overlapping one another? They are somewhat like the petals of a tulip, angling out in different directions from a common centre. Our man remains in place but he is ill at ease. Nervous or impatient, possibly both, he shuffles his feet. At last a second person arrives.”
Holmes returned to the door and picked out a second set of footprints.
“These prints are smaller than the others. The heel is narrower. They are unquestionably a woman’s.”
“Goforth’s.”
“They must be.” Again, as with the man’s footprints, Holmes traced their path. “She walks up to our unknown fellow. Notice how her prints are overlaid on his here, and here, partly obliterating them. That is how I know she came in second. Now the two stand facing each other. Presumably there is a dialogue of some sort. Then the man moves off to the window at a fast lick. The outline of his footprints is less well-defined than when he was walking at a more measured pace. The woman goes after him. She is up on her toes, running. As her footprints arrive alongside his, all at once they become scuff marks. He has seized hold of her, do you see?”
Holmes imitated a man grabbing another person by the scruff of the neck.
“But what happens next? As ever, the footprints tell the tale. There is a struggle beside the window. Both sets of footprints slither from side to side. It is now, during this sudden outbreak of violence, that the occasional table lying on its side here gets knocked over. It can only have been then. Goforth fights valiantly but our man prevails and manhandles her through the window.”
So vigorously and convincingly did Holmes perform the mime that I had no difficulty conjuring up the sequence of events in my mind’s eye. I now had a vivid image of Goforth’s final moments as she was propelled from the tower to her death, emitting that last terrible scream. I felt, as if it were mine, her horror, her sense of helplessness.
Sherlock Holmes and the Christmas Demon Page 14
