Sorry for this rather short…and slightly depressing...chapter!

Normal Disclaimers Apply

Chapter 13

Watson

"Now," said Holmes. "The next clue. My Lady Jane, are you aware of any answers to the last part of the riddle?"

The woman shook her head. "I am afraid not, Mr Holmes. I cannot think where it could be."

Holmes stood, and started to pace the floor in front of the fire, his hand on his chin. I watched him, then my eye was caught by something just beyond him. A large painted picture hanging over the fireplace. The painting was of a large grey-stone castle, among the highland hills of Scotland. In front of the castle was a large body of water - a loch or…river. "Holmes!" I said, excitedly.

He turned to me, puzzled. "Watson?"

"The painting!" I pointed at it. Holmes turned and surveyed it, then let out a cry of triumph. "Ha!" He turned to Meredith and Jane. "This castle…where is it?"

The two women exchanged glances, then Jane said, "The Castle. Yes…"

She seemed strangely reluctant to continue, and Holmes looked at her closely, then shifted his gaze to Meredith. Under his stern gaze she squirmed but a little, then sighed. "It is not a pleasant story."

"I did not suppose it to be. When two young ladies both sit shooting glances at each other and looking decidedly uncomfortable, there is something unpleasant to be told. But for the sake of your family, you must tell us." The last sentence Holmes spoke quietly, almost sympathetically.

Meredith nodded. To my distress, Jane started to cry. I got up, and walked over to her, handing her my handkerchief. Meanwhile, Gwendolyn had returned and was looking in confusion from Meredith to Jane. "What on earth…?" She began to say, but was stopped by a look from Holmes.

"Go on, Meredith" my friend said, and the girl met his eyes for barely a moment, before turning to the fire, and addressing all further speech to the fireplace.

"When we were small, our parents used to take us to the Castle on holiday. It is the family seat of the Duke of Kintyre. The former Duke, Lord Kirkpatrick, who was father's friend, and who died six years ago, used to invite us to the castle for weeks at a time. The castle is in a particularly remote part of the highlands, twenty or thirty miles from any village or town. Indeed, the friendship between our families is of almost an ancient nature - our great-grandmother was of the family, and her grandmother, and others as well. But there has always been a dark legend attached to the river outside the castle. Hundreds of years ago, a great wind came up on the river, and flooded the castle, killing the Duke, the servants…"

"And have there been other deaths since then?" I asked, curiously.

Meredith sighed. "A few. Servants who have gone rowing on the river and disappeared, one of the former Duke's brothers went fishing and did not return…"

"Why did you not tell us of this before? Surely it was completely obvious to you that the 'River of Death' was at this castle?" Holmes' voice rose. He does not suffer fools gladly, and indeed, to him, this was the epitome of foolishness, to not see something so plain and simple. I also believed that there maybe something more in his distress. He was disappointed in the girl? Disappointed that she could miss so obvious a clue because of her feminine sensibilities?

"Holmes…" the girl said quietly. "It honestly did not occur to me that that could be it. I know it seems unintelligent, but perhaps if I tell you…you will see why I have tried so hard to forget it."

Holmes seemed unconvinced, but he nodded, and sat. "You know, of course, that our mother died when I was eleven, from a fall down the stairs. What is not common knowledge - indeed, I believe only Marcus, Gregory, Jane, Ralph and I know of it, is that my mother was pregnant when she fell."

"Pregnant?" I was surprised, and disgusted. From what we had seen of the father of the Throckmortons, it was completely obvious that he had murdered his wife - but to kill her whilst she was pregnant…

"She was eight months pregnant, and the baby survived. A little girl - Lydia. But she was deformed…and brain damaged. Father was terribly angry…you saw yourself how disgusted he was with weakness of all sorts. The child…had the most beautiful blue eyes though…" her eyes misted, and I saw Holmes shift a little in his chair. Meredith set her eyes upon him, drew herself up, and continued. "Not long after mothers' death, only a couple of months, Father took myself, Ralph and Jeremy up to the Castle. One day he went out on the boat with Ralph and Lydia. When he returned, our little sister was dead. She had been drowned. Father tried to blame Ralph - said that the boy had fallen, knocked himself unconscious, and the baby had fallen over the side. But father was bone-dry and the boy was adamant that when he fell unconscious, something had hit him on the head. The Duke's son, James, who is now the Duke, after his father's death, tried to save her as soon as the boat washed up on the river's banks. But he could not. So, we buried her in the little chapel at the castle, and came back down to Morton Manor. Now do you see? Do you see why I tried to forget?"

I looked over at Holmes. He was staring at Meredith, his mouth slightly open in horror. Then, he nodded, and said, "There is no harm done. Erm…thank you for telling us."

Meredith nodded, then sighed "River of Death, indeed. That is a little melodramatic."

I felt my lips upturn in a smile, and saw that Holmes was smiling too. "Your great-grandmother," I said "Was obviously an excellent storyteller."

"We must go up to the Castle." Holmes said, his voice loud and commanding, suddenly. "I am sure that that is the answer to the last clue. That is where we will find the treasure."

Ooh, more reasons to hate that awful Lord Throckmorton. Really, really not a nice guy. Anyway, sorry for the rather short chapter. The next one will be longer, I promise. And anyway, we are on the home straight, as it were.