Chapter Eight:
A Resolution
As quickly as it was possible, Lord Cavendish and a recovering Stanley Hopkins had hurried off to raise the alarm, driven by the urgency of the situation. Sergeant Young was not badly hurt, but he was not able to go far. So, nursing his head with a clean handkerchief, he was able to watch over the injured and now-grieving Mrs Vaughan. For my part, I was called over by the sound of Holmes calling for my help.
Excusing myself to the sergeant, I then took the right-hand exit from the torture chamber and hurried past a set of old, decrepit cells – some of which bore evidence of having been used by Isaac Stroud in the past week. Then, following the only way on, I climbed up the stone staircase and found Holmes pushing desperately at the stone door before him.
"Watson! Thank you. The devils have blocked this door from the other side."
Between us, we were able to force the heavy door ajar, and dislodge the pile of stones that had been gathered to hold us back. We found ourselves on the first floor of what had to be the semi-ruined keep, complete with the boarded-up window. At one stage, this could well have been the site of the great hall, I reflected. Before the more modern part of the castle had been built.
With the lantern Holmes had taken from the torture chamber, we were able to see what was around us in the flickering light. The wide, circular chamber must have looked more imposing centuries ago, with tapestries and colourful furnishings in place, and with logs burning in the huge fireplace opposite us. Now we emerged from the hidden stairwell at the edge of the structure and strode across a bare chamber that consisted of cold stone walls and a rubble-strewn floor. The only exit I could see was a doorway that led onto a landing set in-between the flights of an outer staircase. Heading over to it, we saw that the stone steps on our left led to a higher level – whilst to the right, the stairs descended to the ground-level entrance door.
On the small landing of the staircase, Holmes cried with excitement. He had found a dried bloodstain on the stone surrounding the open arched window set before us. We peered through the space, to be greeted by the chill night air, as we stared down into the courtyard, towards where…
"Violet Boyd landed…down there," I breathed, recovering from my exertions. "This is the window…that she fell from, Holmes."
He nodded and pointed at the blood mark. "And she struck the stonework just here, before she passed through the opening. But what do we hear now? Hah! Good for Hopkins! He's raised the hue and cry – and our foxes have nowhere to run, except for returning back here… To the scene of the first crime, no less! Have you your pistol, Watson?"
"No," I answered. "It's somewhere in the rubble of that torture chamber."
"Ahh… The same goes for that musket Miss Devlin threatened me with. But wait! Our friend Stroud has grabbed a sword for himself, I see. From a suit of armour in the gatehouse, perhaps. Let's stay right here."
I saw Stroud and Devlin hurrying back along the fenced-off section of the north ramparts, pursued at a close distance by Hawker and Captain Kendrick. The captain was bearing a shield – possibly from the same suit of armour that Stroud had taken the sword from. Meanwhile, Hopkins and the Boyds' – the couple dressed in their night-clothes – were now running across the courtyard, as they joined in the hunt, pinning in our collective quarry.
"Isaac Stroud and Miss Devlin… Surrender! You are surrounded!" Hopkins yelled. The Inspector's face bore an expression of grim determination that I had never seen on him before.
"Get inside, Honora!" I heard Stroud snap to her. Then the door to the keep was slammed to. "Help me to lift this old chest over to the door! There, that will slow them down!" he panted. "Now – where do we go?"
"Back to the torture chamber - and the exit to the woods beyond it! It is the only way, now!" the governess replied in her agitation.
The two of them ran upstairs, even as the door to the keep was slammed against the chest that the fugitives had used to delay their gathering pursuers.
Stroud and Devlin froze as they reached the staircase landing, seeing us ready to greet them.
"Always on my tail, I see," Stroud rasped. His gaze narrowed – whilst the lady's eyes blazed with fury.
"You're done for, Stroud." My friend kept his voice calm and even. "Put that sword down, and gallantly accept defeat!"
"Oh, if I'm to be captured, let it be for the murder of you, Holmes!" With roar, the disfigured criminal flung himself at us.
Holmes swiftly blocked the first attack with his swordstick, and then leapt back.
I side-stepped – eager to avoid the sweeping blade of Stroud's weapon. But his anger was focused on Holmes. My companion held his own - but was soon forced back up the stairs to the upper level of the keep.
Miss Devlin paused on the landing. She glared at me, as I prepared to grab hold of her. We were both unarmed.
"You would not dare, Mr Mathison!" she hissed.
My mind flashed back to the discarded scrap of paper Holmes had found earlier in the library – the one that revealed that one of those gathered had seen through my disguise.
The parlour games hostess herself. The one was conducted the anagram puzzles, amongst others…
I took a step towards her, my face impassive.
Devlin quickly slipped away from my outstretched hand. She ran up the stairs, following her beloved associate as he continued to battle with Holmes, somewhere out of our sight.
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
I bounded up the remaining steps in pursuit, feeling tired and short of breath. The roof of the keep lay before me – a perfect circle bordered by the parapet wall, and broken only by an outlying turret overlooking the Irish Sea. The Union Jack hung at an angle from the turret in the misty sea air, and fluttered faintly as the chill of the night made me shiver inside my coat. The sweat on my face began to freeze.
The moon shone overhead – but it was a dim light, straining to cut through the fog that was forming. The moon – and the gas lamps from the main buildings of the castle, on the far side of the courtyard – provided enough light for us all to see to the terrible scene being enacted before us.
Isaac Stroud and Sherlock Holmes were still engaged in their bitter struggle. Both Honora Devlin and I watched, enraptured, as the two men whirled their way through the steps of the deadly dance. Holmes was occasionally catching the criminal mastermind by surprise, and wounding him – but Stroud wielded the sword two handedly, and with a skill that made me recall he was a fencing expert, and so was no stranger to armed combat. Also, his fury was goading him to destroy the great detective, once and for all.
In horror, I saw Holmes – injured and weakening – being pushed back by the force of Stroud's blows. Some of them Holmes was able to deflect, sending the blade of the criminal's weapon cutting into the old stonework of the battlements, close to the flag pole. Finally, the sword sent the swordstick flying out of Holmes's hands. He retreated and ducked to avoid the next deadly 'swish' of the fugitive's blade. Bumping his back against the wall behind him, my friend slipped and cried out. In the next moment, he was down upon the hard stone platform of the keep, twisted to one side.
"Holmes! No!" I yelled.
Stroud gave a ringing laugh, and stepped forward – raising the sword with both hands above his head. "Time for the coup-de-grace, Holmes!" he sneered.
Quickly as a flash, Holmes raised a bent knee - then shot his leg straight. His foot impacted directly into his would-be executioner's knee cap.
"Yowwll!"
Stroud twisted backwards and fell. As he landed, he gave another scream.
"Honora! I have cut my shoulder on the sword!"
"Isaac!" Devlin rushed forwards.
I moved, and grabbed hold of her arm – but the governess spun round and landed a rabbit punch to my stomach. Startled, and winded, I fell to my knees and watched helplessly as Devlin snatched up Holmes's swordstick from where it had rolled to, against the battlements.
"You are…a very remarkable woman, Miss Devlin…," Holmes coldly declared, as he tried to scramble to his feet. His voice was thin – and I could see he was bleeding and nearly exhausted. "…but it does…not have to end like this!"
"No more words, Holmes. You are a dead man!" Devlin directed her burning gaze upon Holmes, who was now slumped against the battlements at his side; whilst he fought to straighten himself fully by reaching for the flag pole, close by. Stroud's accomplice then lifted the swordstick high – an awful, murderous gleam etched into her attractive features.
Suddenly, she froze.
The temperature on the roof of the keep had been dropping whilst we had emerged onto it. And as I gasped and grabbed hold of the nearest part of the battlements and pulled myself upon my feet, I saw – just a yard or so away from me – a most peculiar sight.
I had already stated that the fog had been forming in the air around the castle. But the swirl and density of the patch of mist now with us was somehow different. An indistinct shape seemed to quickly take form inside the isolated white cloud materializing amongst us. The outline was that of a young woman with long black hair, dressed in a dark, gown-like garment.
The hairs on my neck rose, as – for the second time that night – my mind struggled to take in what my eyes were taking in. I had seen that gown – and those dark locks of hair – before. But that had surely been in the mortu-
The misty, blurred figure seemed to subtly alter. Was an arm now raised? Was something resembling a finger now pointing at the governess?
Devlin turned to face the vague apparition, and screamed. The swordstick fell from her loosened grip. She stepped backwards – and clutched the side of the parapet, as her face turned white.
"No! Stay… Stay back! It… It was an accident, Violet! Damn you, girl! If – if you hadn't sneaked into the keep that night… If you had not grabbed the ruby that I took… I… I'm sorry for striking you…and making you fall!"
Devlin had now fallen upon her knees, sobbing. The dropped swordstick lay besides her. I shifted my attention to Holmes. He was slowly righting himself, using the flagpole – his eyes fixed on the apparent apparition between us. Stroud continued to grunt and press a hand against his wound – but he was evidently gazing at the same sight that we were all arrested by.
Then a breeze licked at the mist floating before the bowed governess, and it dispersed. I fancied that I heard a sigh of relief – one that did not come from any of the four people present.
For several moments, nobody moved.
"Holmes…," I finally whispered. "Did… Did you see that?"
"I saw…something, Watson," he replied. Holmes sounded shaken. He took a couple of cautious steps towards Devlin.
The governess looked up at him with her tear-stained eyes. Then suddenly, screaming in frustration, Devlin sprang to her feet, grabbed the stick once more, and flung herself at Holmes.
My friend gave a cry, as he was sent flying back against the parapet. Only the quick reactions of his hands prevented him falling from the outlying turret.
Devlin took a step back, and raised the swordstick again – ready to ram the tip into Holmes's throat.
"Die – Mr Holmes!" she yelled fanatically.
A shot rang out.
Devlin gasped and staggered sideways – dropping her weapon. She felt the bullet wound on her neck, then stared in shock at the blood on her hand. The governess turned slightly, to face whoever had shot her.
I took in the sight of the woman's wide eyes and open mouth for a split-second – then the governess's balance faltered, and she fell neatly into the recess between the battlements, directly behind her.
Stroud's partner-in-crime screamed as she toppled over the edge of the keep.
Horrified, Holmes and I were in time to witness Devlin splash into the sea at the base of the keep's western edge. She wailed as she fought to stay afloat.
And now, we both realised who Holmes's saviour was. Stanley Hopkins quickly joined us at the battlements, his pistol still in his hand. Behind him was Mr Boyd. Both men, along with Holmes and myself, gazed down with a look of amazement and horror at the wounded woman below us.
Before long, it was over. Honora Devlin – Giselle Kaplan – soon disappeared beneath the waves, never to see the surface again with living eyes. The fire of the hateful lady's namesake – the Devlin – had been extinguished by the tide of the sea.
"My god… No time to warn her… I had to shoot – I had no choice," Hopkins breathed.
Despite his wounds, I saw the corners of Holmes's lips curl into a smile. "And I will be forever grateful that you did fire, Inspector! Now, you should find Stroud no longer has any fight left in him, I believe. Whilst you deal with him, Hopkins, I must entrust myself to the doctor's good care!"
I nodded in agreement and moved in to help Holmes. He had hurt his ankle in the fight. Stroud, meanwhile, was silently weeping – dumbfounded by the death of his lover.
Before long, all of us had left that horrific stage of tragedy that had proven to be the scene of one woman's last act.
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
Not much more needs to be said for that dramatic night. Lord Cavendish was soon alerted as to the fate of Miss Devlin, and he quickly dispatched Captain Kendrick and a couple of the male servants to where the woods outside the castle met the coast. However, they were unable to retrieve the governess – and her body was finally pulled out from the sea by policemen the next morning. In the meantime, Mr Boyd took charge during the night whilst his lordship was distraught with grief. The secretary allowed myself – plus Holmes, Hopkins, and Sergeant Young – to have somewhere to sleep and recover from the night's events. I recall that I had hardly collapsed into my bed, before I was lost in the realms of unconsciousness.
In my absence during the morning, Holmes (who was now hobbling only slightly) and Hopkins explained everything to Lord Cavendish and the Boyds. With the permission of Miss Lauren, who was also present at that meeting, his lordship finally learnt of the role his daughter had played in exposing the truth behind Violet Boyd's death – and how Lauren had put Holmes and myself on the scent that had ended in so spectacular a fashion.
"We left Lord Cavendish to spend some time alone with his daughter, Watson," Holmes told me, when me met afterwards in the hallway. "That man has been too cold and remote with the young lady, in the time he was beguiled by that hateful governess. Now he realises that he owes her a debt of gratitude."
"I am glad to hear of it," said I. "And the Boyds?"
"Both Mr Boyd and Hopkins actually heard Devlin's confession, when she saw…that mist."
"Then they witnessed the apparition, also?"
"Mr Boyd said that he did – and consequently, he prevented Hopkins from intervening against Devlin sooner. The Inspector… He announced that he was uncertain as to what he actually saw," Holmes's lip twitched.
"Different people have different degrees of ability to perceive spirits," Clarissa Lebrun remarked to us, as she entered the hallway. She smiled at Holmes. "But you both witnessed Miss Boyd's spirit for yourselves, I believe."
"Like Inspector Hopkins, I can only state that I witnessed…something," my friend replied coolly.
"D'accord, Mr Holmes. I will leave you to resolve your dilemma in your own way." The lady nodded. "Just be aware that death is not really the end of life – it is just a point where we stay on in this world, in spirit – or move on. Or even do both things, by leaving and occasionally returning.
"The warning of danger – and the candle falling on the table," I put to the medium. "Was that Miss Boyd's doing? Her ghost, I mean."
"Oui, it was. I thought she was indicating that Sir Tristram was in danger… But maybe she was trying to point out her killer instead, when it apparently tried to point to Miss Devlin, as you now call her? In any case, I believe Violet Boyd's spirit has found a resolution, with her killer having been identified. She will, I think, rest in peace from this moment on. Anyway, you are about to leave?"
"Yes," replied Holmes. "Inspector Hopkins has made arrangement. He will soon depart with our fugitive, for London. I understand that the railways are now clear of the floods. As for the good doctor and I, we will recuperate in Whitehaven for a little longer – then go back home."
"In that case, I wish you bon voyage gentlemen." Miss Lebrun bowed as best as she could. Holmes momentarily doffed his homburg off to her – then bent down to kiss her hand, as did I.
But barely had the medium hobbled out of the hallway, when we met by Lauren Cavendish – who rushed over to us, beaming. I had time to notice that the tears underneath her eyes had dried, before she kissed me on the cheek. Before Holmes could stop her, he received the same show of affection.
"Thank you, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson!" she declared breathlessly. Her eyes were lit with joy. "I am sorry for father's loss. I hope that in time he will forget Miss Kaplan – and find a better woman. One who is as worthy for him as mama was."
"I am glad to be of service, Miss Cavendish." Holmes smiled.
"Oh! I just realised… What can I give you for your expenses…? I was your client, after all!"
Holmes bowed to her. "My young lady. Dangerous as last night was, I do not believe I would have missed it for the world! Now that I am certain of Isaac Stroud's capture, that is payment enough for me. All I will ask of you, is that you take good care of yourself and your father."
"I will." Miss Cavendish smiled back, and held out her hand. We both shook it. She then surprised and delighted me by presenting my army pistol to me. "Captain Kendrick retrieved it from the rubble in that torture chamber, this morning," she explained.
"My thanks to him, and to you, Miss Cavendish," I replied.
"Will you still be around for Violet's funeral, next week?" she asked.
I glanced at Holmes.
"I'm afraid not," he announced. "Before long, we will be heading back to London – as soon as the trains are running again. And I have no doubt that business will be waiting for us at Baker Street, given our lengthy absence."
"Then, on behalf of my father and I, farewell. And safe journey to you both!" Lauren Cavendish nodded and beamed at us both once more.
Hawker then came along and interrupted us. "The trap is now ready to take you to Whitehaven, gentlemen," he announced in his reedy voice.
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
Out in the courtyard, we passed Isaac Stroud as he was bundled into the police carriage awaiting him – along with a sullen and silent Mrs Vaughan – by the attending policemen. Close by, Inspector Hopkins embraced his tearful sister, Mrs Boyd – before he came over to shake our hands and say goodbye.
From inside the carriage, Stroud glared at us as he straightened himself. In his proud, melodious voice, he made a firm declaration.
"If I break out of prison, you are a dead man, Holmes."
"And many have said as much before – yet here I stand," Holmes calmly replied, with a cold smile.
And with a farewell wave to us from a tired, but relieved Inspector Hopkins, the police and their prisoner departed from the castle.
