Chapter Seven:
The Horror Of Tarminster Castle
A figure had slipped out from the castle entrance, and it was now soundlessly making its way across to the tree line. Holmes patted my arm, and we followed the cloaked apparition through the night-shrouded wood as silently as possible.
After about a minute, our quarry stopped in a small clearing. We quickly hid behind cover, as the hooded shape turned its head to ascertain that it was alone. Then, satisfied, the strange figure knocked twice on a broad oak – then paused and rapped twice more on the bark.
Nothing happened at first. I strained to hold myself still as the familiar thrill of stalking in Holmes's company gripped my heart. In the still silence that had fallen, I could hear only my companion's light breathing and the thumping within my chest, given my apprehension over what we were dealing with.
From somewhere in the darkness an owl hooted.
Suddenly, another dark-cloaked apparition emerged from the cover of the nearby trees. It was carrying a rucksack of some kind.
The two figures met in the centre of the clearing, as the pair hurried over to each other. Both of them threw back their hoods – and I sucked in my breath. The shorter hooded one that we had followed was none other than the cook, Lillian Vaughan. The other was a balding man of similar years – and the physical exchange of affection between the two, followed by the snatches of conversation I managed to overhear, left me in no doubt as to his identity.
"You are late, Lillian! We were meant to meet at half-past eleven. It is now nearly midnight!"
"It could not be helped, my darlin'! Holmes had arrived! He and his doctor friend have only just left the castle. And the area around the secret door in the Castellan's Walk is guarded – as we feared it would be, followin' Blanchard's death!"
"He's done for, then? Good. What is to happen now? I was to wait here for instructions, remember?"
"Yes, of course I remember, Sebastian! We are to escort our guest out of the castle. Now we must alert him. He doesn't know that Holmes was within our walls. And I don't know if he got the jewel back, when Blanchard got what was coming to 'im. I used my skeleton key to access Blanchard's room when no one was about. It ain't in there…!"
The two of them left the clearing together, both clearly agitated. Holmes nudged me, and we followed the couple through the gathering mist, as they weaved through the wood and stopped at the mound that provided the base to the outer aspect of Tarminster Castle's keep. Mrs Vaughan, after casting a last glance around, brushed aside a dusting of twigs and earth on top of what had to be a trap door – which they lifted. Then, with the man lighting a small lamp he had with him, they disappeared into the earth itself – their departure masked by the neighbouring bushes and trees.
Holmes and I waited for some moments, to ensure that they were not about to re-emerge – then we dashed over to the trap door. There was a metal ring handle set into it. Although somewhat heavy, we soon lifted it ourselves.
"Before we go in, Holmes…," I breathed. "…I assume that was Mister Vaughan?"
Holmes lowered the trap door before addressing me. "It was, Watson. He is, as you found out, a shopkeeper. Specifically, he is a jeweller. And Inspector Mackenzie has held suspicions that he is also a forger."
"The ruby in Violet Boyd's hand…," I muttered, realising.
"…has been tested, and found to be genuine, Watson! However, I showed it to Lord Cavendish, after he had calmed down somewhat from seeing an uninvited guest or two within the castle. He recognised the jewel straight away as the Wexford Ruby – and he rushed over to the vault with Inspector Hopkins. They came back with a duplicate ruby lying in the vault – in the place where the original was placed. Hopkins now has this second jewel – whilst he gave the original to Miss Lebrun to look after, after consulting with me. No use placing the ruby back in the vault, only to risk being taken again by our thief."
"My word… Then the duplicate is the fake…"
"Quite so. Someone took the original over to the keep. And Violet Boyd saw what was going on, when she entered the keep via the boarded-up door in the courtyard. Remember, Hopkins told us there was a big-enough gap for people to squeeze through. Inside, she seized the real gem – only to suffer the consequences for her interference. Now, we should follow the Vaughans…"
"Wait! Who is this 'guest' that the Vaughans were referring to?"
Holmes gave me an expression that made me realise his mind was troubled. "I do not yet know, my old friend. I should wager that it was the hand that stabbed Sir Tristram. Anyway, I mean to find out – by the use of my own eyes. Now, let us get this trap door opened up again…"
We did so, to reveal a set of stone stairs leading down into the mound, before leveling out. The dark, damp and dreary tunnel – lined with stone – that we followed, took a couple of turns before opening into an airy chamber.
Hearing voices, Holmes and I paused. Peeping carefully around the opened, half-rotted door, we both found ourselves gazing upon a dusty and ramshackled torture chamber – complete with wall shackles, a rack, various rusting instruments, and even an iron maiden. As we cast our eyes around the various, disturbing apparatus, we both took in the crumbling stonework of the nearest visible wall. To me, it did not look at all to be very stable.
In the torture chamber were three people – the Vaughans, and a third figure who was sat on the floor, his back to us. The latter individual was eagerly devouring what appeared to be a small joint of wrapped meat.
Immediately, my mind flashed back to Mrs Vaughan being caught stealing food from the castle panty, five days ago. Had that meat just come from the castle too? How many times had the cook smuggled food out, and had not been discovered doing so…?
The only illumination in the room came from three lanterns – one being the Vaughans', and the other two hanging on hooks set into the walls.
"We must hurry, sir," Mrs Vaughan was hissing to the seated figure. "I know you've been starvin' – but it couldn't be helped. We need to move now!"
Holmes whispered into my ear. "Get your revolver ready."
I nodded grimly, to show I was keen to get the business done with.
"Go!" Holmes burst into the chamber, followed promptly by myself.
The three occupants of the room shot their faces around, in surprise. Mr Vaughan took a couple of steps forward – only to freeze upon seeing my army revolver pointed at him.
"No! It cannot be!"
Never before had I heard Holmes sound so shocked. The seated man had risen and presented his face to us upon twisting himself round sharply. I stiffened, stupefied by the sight. There was a horrific burn mark marring the man's right cheek – and the flesh of his right ear was disfigured, having almost melted. The startled expression on that terrible visage soon changed into a glare of hatred.
But what had possibly unnerved me most – besides the ghastly appearance of the dark-suited, and gloved, man – was that despite his burns, I was easily able to recognise the melodious voice and the middle-aged, once-noble features as that of Isaac Stroud.
"So, Mr Holmes!" the occupant of the torture chamber rasped. "One minute I'm being warned that you were in the castle – the next minute you and your puppy dog, Watson, show up like the accursed phantoms that you are! But I can see that for all your reasoning, you did not deduce me being here!"
"I too, am human – after all…," Holmes muttered. His voice rose an octave. "That's right! Back against that wall with the others, Mr Stroud. Mind the cracks in the stonework, though! Watson – if they come too close again, you can do more than point your revolver at them! So, Stroud – the explosion of the Friesland left its mark on you, despite you surviving the blast! Drifted ashore on the wreckage during that night, did you?"
Stroud nodded. "When I regained consciousness, I found myself lying on a chuck of debris. Luckily, Vaughan here – a stranger passing by on the shore – discovered me on the beach. He was able to fetch the doctor I requested. A local doctor who was already in my employment. I was thus treated – and recovered as best I could."
Despite the shock at seeing the master criminal alive again, my mind was able to make some sense of what Stroud was saying.
"Dr Phelps… He is the agent you are referring to," I muttered.
Stroud raised an eyebrow, and then burst out laughing. "Oh, very good, Doctor Watson! After all these years of hanging around Holmes, you finally prove to me that you are not merely the unimaginative clod you come across as, in your written case accounts!"
I bristled at his remarks. "Better to be unimaginative, than to be a callous murderer, Mr Stroud!" I remarked. "It was you who knifed Sir Tristram – was it not?"
The criminal snorted. "He was an opportunistic blackmailer. He got what he deserved!" His hands, gloved so as to possibly conceal more disfigured flesh, were moving towards his coat pockets as he spoke – and Holmes and I moved round the rusting instruments of torture, so we could better watch all three of our prisoners.
"Keep your hands where we can see them!" Holmes ordered. "Now, Watson. Let's get them out the way we came, before the other member of the gang gets…"
"Too late for that, Mr Holmes. Drop your weapon, Dr Watson!"
The sudden, familiar voice, and the cocking of the second weapon behind us, was another shock. Whilst we had both been preoccupied with Stroud and the Vaughans, another person had slipped silently behind us into the chamber from an unseen entrance. I shifted my position slightly – to see none other than Giselle Kaplan, the governess, dressed in a man's brown tweed suit and trousers. She was pressing a musket into the side of Holmes's head.
My friend had raised his hands in surrender. When he spoke again, his manner was calm. But his darting eyes and coiled tension conveyed to me that he was weighing his options – and his opportunities – carefully.
"Ah, Miss Kaplan… There you are! So, we have Isaac Stroud, Sebastian and Lillian Vaughan, and Giselle Kaplan. I am still curious as to who 'H' is!"
I saw the governess narrow her eyes. The Vaughans took a step away from the wall they had been pressing their backs against, but they otherwise stayed still and silent – whilst Miss Kaplan and Holmes conversed animatedly.
"Explain what you mean, Mr Detective!" the governess snapped.
"I have broken your code, you must realise." Holmes smiled. "It was quite a three-pipe problem. I spent several hours of effort, before I translated your so-called 'ghost writing' into the secret communication that it really was. How did it read now? Something like: 'I agree to your terms of payment'. 'Enter castle through secret door'. 'Will meet you at stroke of midnight. H.' So I will press the point – who is 'H'? Hawker has done nothing to implicate himself – and Harriett Walden is definitely innocent of any crime here."
"I am 'H', Mr Holmes! My real name is Honora Devlin," the governess announced proudly. "I am a member of the Order of Abraxas!"
I drew in my breath sharply. "Devlin… Fitzroy Hennessy's widow married a man named Devlin," I blurted.
"Ahh…," Holmes replied. He managed a smile. "So that explains it. The Hennesseys built this torture chamber and the secret passages of the castle. Those secrets – unknown to the Cavendishes – were passed down by your ancestors, Miss Devlin. Is that not so?"
"You are too clever, Mr Holmes." Honora Devlin curled her lips.
"Now that I have this data, let's speculate further," my friend proclaimed. "You manage to obtain the position of governess, and so worm your way into the affections of Lord Cavendish. Your influence possibly leads to Mrs Vaughan here being employed. The two of you are conspirators – or became so at some later stage. Thanks to you, Lord Cavendish arranges for the series of séances to take place. You wrote – or rather etched – the messages. And either you or the cook was responsible for the stone-throwing at the workmen in order to… Ah, of course… To prevent this chamber from being discovered by the demolition workers! So, to who was the coded messages addressed, Miss Devlin?"
"They were for Lillian to pass onto her husband here." Devlin smiled broadly. The musket in her hand remained pressed against Holmes's head. "After she was caught stealing food from the pantry, Algernon took a low view of her. Although I persuaded him to give her another chance, he discouraged me from having any contact with someone below 'my more worthy status' in his eyes. Hence, I had to find another way of communicating – and the two of us had already dabbled in codes, unknown to anyone else."
"His lordship thinks I'm filth – he does!" the cook spat in disgust.
"Surely there were simpler ways for you pair to have passed messages to each other, in secret?" I spoke up.
"Oh, yes, doctor. But Lillian knew I would reply, via our agreed method, when her husband wanted payment for agreeing to smuggle Isaac into the castle," Devlin continued. "Besides – like yourself, Mr Holmes – I can't resist a touch of the dramatic. And the appearance of the 'ghost writing' had the desired effect upon dear, gullible Algernon. He ordered the renovation work to be stopped. Later on, at the séance scheduled on the night Sebastian and Isaac were due to arrive, I had my opportunity to 'faint' and leave early. Everyone else was preoccupied – whilst I saw to my secret rendezvous."
"And at the séance, earlier tonight…," I reasoned. "Whenever Miss Lebrun was about to say anything regarding Violet Boyd… You two ladies created misdirection in whatever way you could, to distract us all…"
"No one blew into my ear, that's for sure. I made that up," Mrs Vaughan admitted. "And I made the loud footstep."
"I believe Miss Lebrun to be a genuine medium, yes. But we couldn't allow her to reveal anything of my beloved Isaac here." Devlin's eyes turned hard.
"The Wexford Ruby from the Cavendish vault," Holmes speculated. "That was the 'payment terms' in the first part of the coded message. Ahh…, as mistress to his lordship, you would have had opportunity to take an impression of the vault key – for later copying by Mr Vaughan, the counterfeiter. But how did you create such a worthy copy of the Wexford Ruby, Mr Vaughan?"
The forger gave a short, harsh laugh. "I didn't!" he exclaimed.
"He made a copy of the jewel's twin – the Wicklow Ruby, which I inherited." Devlin gave a smug grin.
"Enough!" Stroud declared in his regal tones. "Holmes is paying for time, Honora! There is still that Scotland Yard Inspector and the police sergeant to deal with."
"Oh, I would not worry about them – Isaac, my love!" Devlin laughed. "I separately gave both men a hefty whack with a gauntlet I borrowed from a suit of armour in the hallway! I can handle myself well in a fight. Does that surprise you, Mr Holmes? That some women can actually stand up for themselves, physically?"
"I think nothing more you personally do or say can surprise me any further, Miss Devlin," Holmes replied coolly. "You intercepted Mr Boyd's invite to Sir Tristram, so to insert that message which lured him to his death by Stroud. And I now think it is safe to say that Violet Boyd died because she became aware of a candle or lantern light in the keep. She entered the ruined tower via a gap in the broken door that faced the courtyard, saw… Let's see… Mr Stroud's burnt face, perhaps? She tried to flee, having already snatched the Wexford Ruby you had taken from the vault, Miss Devlin. Only she paid the price for her intrusion."
"So who killed her?" I croaked, still wondering what the outcome of this dangerous encounter would be. My throat had turned dry with fear.
"Oh, I would have said our old friend Stroud," Holmes considered. "But given that the ruby was about to be passed by Miss Devlin to Sebastian Vaughan, maybe…"
"That is enough, Mr Holmes!" Honora Devlin snapped. "It has been satisfying watching the great detective sweat – but of course neither of you two gentlemen are going to testify against any of us." She nodded to Stroud. "I will let you have the privilege, darling."
Stroud gave a malicious grin. "Let us avoid unnecessary noise, then!" Passing my captured army pistol over to Sebastian Vaughan, the head of the Order of Abraxas reached into his waistcoat and produced a slim knife. Although wiped, the blade still bore clear traces of red – and I shuddered, realising that this was the weapon that had taken the life of Sir Tristram.
"This will be a pleasure, indeed!" Stroud rasped, as he stepped forward to murder Holmes with his weapon.
"Halt! Stay right there!"
Everyone was caught by surprise by that commanding cry. I shot my eyes beyond our party, to see Inspector Hopkins, baring a gash to his temple, emerging from the left doorway of two exits, at the far side of the torture chamber. His pistol was aimed at the governess.
"Drop the gun…Miss Devlin!" Hopkins spat, in fury.
I saw an expression of rage sweep across Honora Devlin's face, as she switched her gaze from the Inspector to Stroud. Then she nodded to her partner-in-crime, and she swung her musket round to shoot at the Inspector.
Looking back upon the events, what happened next seemed to unfold more slowly than it actually did. I have heard of people referring to time 'slowing down' at a moment of crisis. This was apparently the case here, as my stretched anxiety finally exploded into action – triggered by what Holmes's own deeds.
My friend struck out at the governess, in the instant before she could level her weapon at Stanley Hopkins – and grabbed her gun arm. Seeing this, Stroud leapt forward to stop Holmes.
"No!" With a bellow that shocked even me, I jumped upon Stroud before the Vaughan's could act. For a few seconds – no more – there were two pairs of struggling combatants, as we all fought for control of the weapons held between us – a musket and a knife.
My intervention sent Stroud crashing into the nearby torture rack, and the lantern there was knocked off. It smashed onto the hard stone floor, and the chamber was left illuminated by the remaining two lanterns only.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Honora Devlin clawing at Holmes's face with the nails of her free hand, as the two of them swung round in a deadly dance – both of their hands locked together over the musket.
In the sudden confusion of action and shifting bodies, both Inspector Holmes and Mr Vaughan (still grasping my pistol) were afraid to open fire in the now dimly-lit chamber Mrs Vaughan screamed out her frustration.
Then the musket – deliberately pointed towards the wall above the Vaughans by Holmes's staining hand – went off.
The deafening 'BOOM' in the enclosed space was bad enough, but the shot had another effect. The dislodged stonework created further cracks in the old, crumbling masonry – and with an ominous rumble, the section of wall broke apart. It crashed down upon those nearest to it, including me.
There was a medley of yells and screams. Undoubtedly, one of those voices was my own. I remember being shoved aside by Stroud as he cried out in terror – then I felt the weight of bricks pushing me back. Dust and rumble filled the air – then a flying loose brick caught my shoulder, bruising it. I went spinning to the floor, disorientated. As I fell, landing on my back, I heard the iron maiden - with its pole - topple over. It landed on top of me.
But it did not land on me.
It stopped an inch or so above my body – not touching my limbs or torso, but instead stayed still, apparently in mid-air. To my amazement, it acted as a shield whilst a portion of the collapsed wall broke against it and fell to either side of me.
From somewhere close, I heard a scream being cut off.
Finally, the last of the bricks ceased moving. As I lay on the floor, dazed and only half-comprehending what had just taken place, I watched and felt with my raised hands as the iron maiden rolled to one side of me – not making contact with any other part of my body. Then it crashed down.
As I slowly recovered my breath in the silence and near-dark that had descended, I saw a blue light on the ceiling. It was a soft, azure glow, about the size of a human head. And – it moves me still whenever I think back to it – for a second or so, I distinctly saw framed by that light the face of my beloved Mary.
She was smiling at me, and I felt a sense of love from the vision of her. Then the light, and the face, disappeared.
For some moments – I do not know how long – I was too overcome to do anything.
The sudden cry of shouting and of fighting from somewhere to my left, alerted me to the fact that the dangers of the night had not been vanquished.
Seconds later, one of the lanterns was retrieved – brightening the room once more – and it was placed besides me.
"John! For God's sake, man. Are you all right!?"
It was Holmes's voice – and I was relieved beyond words to hear it. I did not even mind him using my Christian name.
"Yes… I am all right." I tried to get back up, and Holmes helped me. His expression was grim, and his eyes flashed with barely-suppressed anger. I saw his lean frame shake slightly. In the wavering light, his dust-splattered face was bleeding slightly from where the governess had swiped her nails against him.
"The others…?" I gasped.
"Stroud and Devlin got past the Inspector and I, in the heat of the moment. Fortunately, the musket got buried in the rubble," Holmes muttered. "I am so sorry… My plan to make the wall collapse was a desperate resort. I could have killed you, in my stupidity…"
"Thankfully, you did not." I managed to pat his shoulder. "Where is Hopkins?"
"Hopkins is just here," a familiar voice called out.
Our Scotland Yard ally crawled back up from the far corner of the chamber. His face now sported a fresh bruise – and he had apparently been felled by a vicious punch to his stomach.
"Mr Holmes, Dr Watson! Thank heavens that you survived…" As he spoke, there was a low moan from next to the collapsed pile of stones and bricks close by. We carefully walked across the debris-strewn floor, to find a barely-conscious Mr Vaughan – her legs trapped underneath the tumbled masonry. A quick glance revealed to us her husband's position. All we could see of him was a motionless hand protruding from the bricks.
We quickly got to work clearing the rubble away, but I saw that Sebastian Vaughan's ribcage and skull had been crushed. There was no pulse – and I said so to my companions.
"We have to alert the others…," Hopkins rasped. "Stop those fiends, before they escape!"
"I agree entirely, Inspector." Holmes's eyes quickly swept across the room, and then he retrieved his stick from where it had fallen. Twisting it, he removed the wooden piece at the end, to reveal the blade inside. "Which way did they go?"
"Through that exit – the right one!" Hopkins dabbed at his wounds with his handkerchief. "I finally found the way to open the secret door, after that infernal woman attacked me! She thought I was unconscious after I collapsed – but I saw how she operated the opening mechanism. Even then, I had to gather my strength and my wits before I could master the trick to the door."
"And the sergeant?" Holmes pressed him.
"He also recovered. I sent Sergeant Young off to fetch help. But listen! After Stroud sent me flying onto the floor, I saw him and Devlin go through the door to the Castellan's Walk – but they soon shot retreated back in here, and escape through the right-hand exit instead! I don't know why…. Ah, Sergeant Young!"
The sergeant appeared at the left-hand exit – along with Lord Cavendish, who was attired in his dressing gown, armed with his own pistol. The uniformed policeman had a cut to his temple – and his lordship, supporting the sergeant, looked pale and agitated. He stared at both us and the torture chamber with disbelief.
"What the devil is going on!? Who is that man I saw running with Giselle?" Lord Cavendish bellowed.
"The criminal your lady friend has been hiding in the castle for the past week!" Holmes answered. "All will be explained later. But thank you, your lordship, for blocking off one of their escape routes! I suggest that you alert the others in the castle. Miss Devlin mu-"
"Devlin? As in Fitzroy Hennessey's widow when she married…?"
"Oh yes, your lordship." Holmes declared gravely. "Now you'll have to excuse us. Miss Devlin and Mr Stroud must not escape justice for their many crimes!"
