Chapter Twelve
The footmen guarding Rachel's door had long since been relieved by one of Knightley's constables, who stiffened back to attention as the four men came into view, staring blankly at the opposite wall. Watson hid a smile as he caught a whiff of cigarette smoke – he ought to know himself how deadly dull sentry duty could be!
"Mr. Holmes and I will see Miss Howells now, Pike." Knightley gestured impatiently for the man to unlock the door. "Nurse Woolsey can accompany Mr. Musgrave and Dr. Watson."
"Begging your pardon, sir, but which nurse d'you mean?" said Constable Pike apologetically, fishing the key out of his pocket. "The day nurse has already gone, her replacement came half an hour ago."
"Replacement?" Watson frowned. "I didn't know the night nurse was already here! She should have..." Oh no...
"Get that door open, Pike, on the double!" Knightley snapped, as the wide-eyed constable jammed the key into the lock. "Hurry it up, man!" But the inspector must have known as well as the rest of them what they would find: Nurse Woolsey stretched out on Rachel's narrow bed, eyes closed, her breathing the slow, heavy breath of the sedated, and no sign of her erstwhile charge or the new arrival.
Watson saw his medical bag standing open on the bureau and checked the contents. "Looks like the sleeping pills have been opened – this bottle isn't as tightly corked." He brought out his stethoscope and listened to Woolsey's heartbeat: slow but steady, she'd likely wake in a few hours with no ill effects. But poor Rachel... If only he had let Holmes question her sooner! Would she still have been desperate enough to flee if she'd known the detective was acting on her behalf?
"And that jug of water on the table is almost empty," Holmes noted, doing an admirable job of suppressing his frustration for the moment – Knightley was certainly swearing enough under his breath for everyone just now.
"I'm sure I'm very sorry, sirs," Pike stammered, "but the inspector never gave me no orders not to let the nurses through!"
Holmes nodded ruefully. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Constable. I suppose you never actually saw Rachel Howells' face when you were stationed outside the room, or Nurse Woolsey's? Then you couldn't have known it was Miss Howells leaving the room, especially if she was wearing the new 'nurse's apron and cap!" The detective crossed to the window and examined the catch. "And since they couldn't both walk out of the room under Pike's nose..." He opened the window and peered down. "She must have waited until the other woman reached the ground, then shut the window after her. It's not as difficult a climb as one might suppose, although there is a deep impression in the soil of the flower bed below – she was fortunate it rained last night!"
"But who was she, then, this woman?" Musgrave said dazedly, finding his voice at last. "And why would she risk helping Rachel escape?"
"Never mind that now!" Knightley thundered, red-faced. "Thanks to the good doctor's mollycoddling, we now have two fugitives to apprehend! You can go and round up the other men, Pike, since you've proven yourself such a marvellous escort! Mr. Musgrave, what dogs do you have around the place?"
~0~
"I did tell you, Inspector," Musgrave sighed. The four stood with Keeper Tregellis amid a milling pack of dogs on the back lawn, who were mostly sniffing excitedly around the men's knees rather than the ground. "They're all gun dogs, not bloodhounds! Unless Rachel and her companion have suddenly grown feathers, they probably won't be much help."
"Oh no?" smiled Knightley. The nearest dogs to the woods had stiffened at a sudden shout. "We'll just see, shall we?"
"Inspector!" Pike and another constable came running out of the trees. "The lake, sir! We've found something!"
"The women's tracks?" Knightley said eagerly, shooting a smug glance at his colleagues.
"...Hard to say, sir. You'd better come see for yourself."
As they reached the mere, Watson's heart sank like the proverbial stone. A steep bank overlooked the deepest part of the lake, where a single trail of footprints ended abruptly, the soil at the very edge ploughed up into a patch of mud, the plants torn and bedraggled... "Merciful God..." Holmes, you don't think... Holmes?" But Watson was talking to the empty air at his elbow, the detective nowhere in sight. "Inspector, did you see..." The doctor trailed off, Knightley was far too busy issuing orders for dragging the lake to have noticed a thing. "Holmes!" Wonderful! Where had the damn fool run off to now?
~0~
Holmes braced his palms against the stones of the cellar stairwell, keeping as far to the left as he could. With no light to carry, he needed the best possible footing on these steps; it wouldn't do to slip and make a sound now! Not that he was overly worried about that, as whoever had reached the cellar before him (carelessly leaving the connecting door unlocked) was making a considerable racket themselves: a chorus of wooden thumps and clatters, punctuated by grunts of effort. Another turn, and the flickering light of a lantern appeared on the walls; one more, and Holmes was peering cautiously around the central pillar into the room. A slender, muffled figure was rifling through the remaining piles of wood on hands and knees, dragging logs and billets away from the walls and throwing them into the center of the room, quite a few going down the hole in the floor.
"Good evening, Miss Tregellis." The stranger stiffened and whipped around, eyes and pupils wide in the lamplight, a few strands of fair, curly hair escaping from under her hat. "I do hope I'm not disturbing you," Holmes continued pleasantly, stepping further into the room. "Please, continue. I blush to confess it took me far too long to realise the treasure had never left the cellar at all – thanks in part to Inspector Knightley's notion of an earlier thief. How much did Rachel promise you in return for her freedom?"
"Not a penny!" a second female voice shrieked behind the detective, and a solid blow to the small of Holmes's back sent him sprawling on the flagstones, his head just over the hole.
"That's enough, Rachel!" Janet's voice came sharply. "Stop! And now, sir, if you'll kindly climb down into that hole?" Holmes looked up with a groan of pain to see the woman levelling a pistol at him. "I don't want to shoot you, but we really can't afford to take chances just now. And don't think for a moment that I wouldn't, Mr. Holmes," as the detective hesitated. "Having a gamekeeper for a father has its uses, and no one will hear the shot from upstairs."
Holmes took in the woman's expression – sad but calm, and utterly resolved – and nodded slowly, trying hard to ignore the flutter of panic in his gut at the thought of being trapped down in the dark, just like Brunton... He would be found soon enough with Watson heading the search, surely! "If you give me your word not to replace the stone completely, madam, I shall comply."
He regretted his words instantly as Janet's eyes flashed with anger, and a hiccoughing sob came from behind him. "My God... do you really think I'd ask that of Rachel, after what happened?" The woman waited until Holmes had gingerly lowered himself and found his footing among the fallen wood, then took a bottle from her pocket and dropped it down to him. "Drink it. We'll have time to escape before you raise the alarm, and no one needs to move that stone again."
"Would it be indelicate, then, to ask either of you what did happen here?" Holmes made himself as comfortable as he could on the billets, grateful for a seat that wasn't freezing stone. He uncorked the bottle, raised it in salute to his captors, and downed the contents in one swallow – the last of the stolen sleeping pills, no doubt.
"That's not my secret to tell, Mr. Holmes." Janet left Holmes's line of sight for a few moments, returning slowly, hand in hand with a pale and trembling Rachel Howells. "You've no idea how brave she's been, just coming back to this room!" Janet smiled warmly at Rachel, putting her arm around the maid's waist in a sisterly embrace. "I probably could have got you down that hole alone – you fell for the searching act, after all – but she chose not to risk it. And your doctor friend thinks he's doing her a favour, shutting her away like china in a cabinet? You men aren't fit to wipe her boots, any of you!"
"I'm inclined to agree," Holmes answered softly, his head and limbs already becoming leaden. "You... have the treasure, then? May I see it?" He would have to content himself this time... with knowing that at least... his deductions... had been correct...
"You can do more than that, Mr. Hoolmess..." Janet gave him an enigmatic smile from what suddenly seemed a very long way away, and produced a stained linen bag from inside her cloak. "Youuu caaan keeep iiiiit..."