Truth or dare – Part 5

Sherlock:

Leading us upstairs we entered a light room so unlike the rest of the house. It was elegant and comfortable if not a bit frilly with the overuse of lace and tucks and paper flowers and the bright pink satin curtains. And yet it did befit the young girl whose room this had been, a girl that in her death had looked more like a fairy than a woman of flesh and blood.

There, on the large four poster bed a battered rag doll lay, lovingly leaned against the pillows and looking out of place in its well-loved shabbiness. This single item was more touching than anything that could have been said about Davina Adams – a young woman and yet still a child. Searching the room I quickly found her old diaries, but a diary containing such a secret would surely be kept somewhere more secretive. Had she still been at school, I would have wagered that she had hidden it underneath her mattress, but with a maid making the bed, this was not a good spot to hide anything. I at last found it wedged underneath the lowest drawer of her chest of drawers. It was nothing more than a thin booklet with a blue paper backing.

"May we take it with us for the moment? It will be returned to you, I promise." I enquired, flipping through its pages. It was almost completely filled with Miss Adams' innermost thoughts, many pages blotted with tears, some all but obliterated by them.

"If it will help." the aunt answered, gently caressing the doll, both of them looking so incredibly forlorn.

"It might," I told her, pocketing the item, realising that there was nothing more to be found out here.

On our way downstairs Hopkins enquired how they would have dealt with the baby once the child had been born.

"I have acquired the address of a most reliable lady who takes care of young infants, living in Reading. A couple of weeks ago I have visited Mrs Dyer to talk over the particulars and she assured me that the child would be well looked after. She is a very friendly woman and seems to be a capable guardian."

Raising an eyebrow I wondered what Harriet would say to that. My wife was fighting ceaselessly against the practice of baby farming trying for better conditions of the women finding themselves in similar positions than Miss Adams had, though knowing that with a number of unwanted pregnancies this would be a long and strenuous struggle.

xxx

After a small description of the way, we took the route Miss Adams must have taken on that fateful evening in March we walked over to the Fairchild's house – a house of similar dimensions than the Adams', but more modern and with a smaller garden.

It was quite unfortunate that we should arrive in the middle of the Christmas preparations, as the housemaids busily hung up holly, ivy and mistletoe while in the corner of the entrance hall a large Christmas tree was already decked. Mrs Fairchild, who after a wait of almost twenty minutes decided to greet us, just as she realised we would not just go away again, was a haughty woman of a rather dark complexion.

"You are aware that we are quite busy?" she greeted us ungraciously.

"So are we, Mrs Fairchild." I could not help retorting. "And we will not keep you from your preparations any more than necessary, but as it is, we would like to speak to your daughter."

"What would you want from my daughter?"

"Only ask her a few questions, madam. - Regarding Miss Adams."

"Oh? Is something the matter with Miss Davina?" her tone of voice did not show the slightest hint of concern.

"She is dead."

This, however, had an almost immediate effect, as Mrs Fairchild all but fell into one of the armchairs conveniently scattered all around the stuffy room.

"Oh dear! I had no idea. - But I still don't understand, why you would want to speak to my daughter."

"Miss Adams did not die a natural death, I am afraid." Hopkins at last opened his mouth.

"No, this cannot be!" another voice sounded from the door as a young girl about the same age then Davina Adams entered the room.

Miss Leonor glanced from one to the other, eyes wide with disbelief.

"But I am afraid it is, Miss Fairchild," Hopkins spoke softly.

"What happened to her?"

"She was strangled and thrown into a pond in Regents Park."

"You know, the last time I saw her was yesterday when she suddenly ran from our shared dressing room?"

"Yes, we have been informed of that, which is why we are here."

"Why did you not tell me so?" Mrs Fairchild now enquired, looking at last equally shocked.

"When was I supposed to do so, mother? When Lattimer and I returned, you and father had already gone out and this morning you were so busy for tonight's party, you hardly spoke a word to me."

There was no accusation in her tone, as she said this matter of factly.

"Miss Fairchild, you would not know why your friend left so suddenly and without informing anybody?"

The young woman shook her head sadly.

"No. She turned pale and ran out. We all thought she might have felt sick, and only when she did not return after several minutes I went after her to see if I could be of any use. But the lavatory was empty and Davina was nowhere to be found."

"Mr Clairemont said she might have taken the back door. Did you know there was one?"

"Yes, in summer it is regularly left open to air the place." Mrs Fairchild interjected. "I think everybody visiting there frequently knows about it."

"Miss Fairchild, do you remember an evening in March this year, when you went to a charity bazaar together with Miss Adams?"

For a moment Leonor Fairchild looked confused, then nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes, I believe so. Yet it is so long ago I cannot recall any particulars. Why?"

"Did Miss Adams act any different after that day?"

"She was severely ill for a couple of weeks and I did not see her and yes, after that she seemed more withdrawn than ever before. You must understand she was very shy and has never been very open to anyone. Still, she was my best friend – presumably because of it." she smiled sadly.

"Why do I knot know about this?" Mrs Fairchild dug deeper.

"I am sure I did tell you, but anyway, she recovered and there was no need to fuss about it, was there?" her daughter retorted.

"You walked home alone that evening?"

"Yes, Mrs Thomas needed to return home soon after we had arrived as one of her children got ill. - It is suffering from croup and wanted its mother, so she left. It is but a short walk and it was not very late in the day, so Davina and I walked home by ourselves."

"Parting at Albert Road?"

"Yes."

"Last evening you were accompanied by your brother?"

"I was."

"Could we speak to him also?"

"He is at his club, escaping the preparations." the mother informed us, getting up from her seat. "If you'll excuse me, I have to oversee my staff. As unfortunate a business, this is, we still have a party to attend to."

"Will you excuse me from attending?" her daughter asked quietly, eyes pleading.

For a moment it seemed her mother would force her to partake but then agreed that if she felt unable to do so, she would be excused.

xxx

The club was just down the road and through the small park once again, well within walking distance. It was an honourable establishment like so many others of its kind. We applied to the butler and were led into a visitors room, where we waited till young Lattimer Fairchild felt obliged to appear. It seemed the Fairchild family was well practised in keeping everybody waiting.

Lattimer Fairchild looked very much like his mother and bore the same haughty expression, yet, there was something defiant about him and I thought to myself that deep within there was a fairly insecure young man who was desperate to keep up his façade. It was barely two in the afternoon, but still, he seemed to have enjoyed several glasses of the one or other alcoholic drink. His breath smelled strongly of brandy.

"Yes?" he enquired, sounding almost bored.

"We have come to ask you about Miss Adams." Hopkins began the conversation.

The young man looked startled then taken aback.

"What have I to do with Miss Adams?"

"She disappeared and was found dead last evening."

"Has she now? And pray, what has this to do with me? I did not even know the lady."

As so often, those who should have the best manners displayed their worst. He slumped down on a settee lighting a cigarette stuck into a tip, looking more like a spoiled child than a young man of some status and consequence.

"She was killed shortly after she left Madame Clairemont's. You were there, accompanying your sister, so perhaps you have seen something?"

"No."

"You did not see her running out?"

"No."

"Where were you waiting? For your sister I mean?"

"What do I know? I was lingering around in the hallway for some time till I decided that I had enough and stepped outside."

"In this weather?"

"I could hardly smoke inside."

"As strongly as it was snowing I doubt you could have done so out of doors, Mr Fairchild." I reasoned, remembering how the snow had whirled around us with increasing density as we had walked.

"So? Have you ever heard of porches? They are quite handy when one wants to smoke out of doors in the rain."

Calling the details of the short street to mind, I refrained from pointing out that none of the houses there had a porch roof.

"Is there anything else you would like to bother me with?" he asked, dropping the butt of his cigarette into an empty glass on the side table next to him.

"I think we have a pretty good picture of what happened last afternoon, thank you, Mr Fairchild," I answered evasively.

There were many more questions that came to mind, but none he could answer, but rather some for me to ponder on.

Outside the weather, as Jacob Adams had predicted had become viler and I invited Hopkins to join me for a cup of tea at home, which he declined.

xxx

The house was almost completely dark save for the light in the hallway that shone through the stained glass window of the front door. I unlocked the door and followed the voice of Tom who seemed to do some reading practice. And for sure, there he sat, Harriet opposite of him, knitting, while the baby was fast asleep once more in its laundry basket next to her.

Looking up my wife smiled at me then turned serious.

"Mr Adams has been here. But I guess you know that" she informed me. "He is currently gone to engage a nurse to take care of little Clara and then will come back to inform me, from when he will be able to take care of his granddaughter."

"You don't seem happy about, my dear."

"I just wonder if it wise to have him take care of her while the case is as yet unsolved."

"I doubt it is any of the family who has their hand in Miss Adams' murder," I replied, looking around me and realising I quite liked what I saw. - A family. Realising what my father had meant when he had told me a few years back, that a family was worth all the trouble that might spring from it. Perhaps I should write to him and thank him for this valuable piece of advice.

"It is not him, I am concerned about, but the person who killed the mother. Is it not possible, that this person wanted for both of them to be dead? What if he finds out, that the child is still alive?"

This was a thought that had admittedly not crossed my mind yet. I had been so caught up in the idea that no-one knew about her condition, that it had not occurred to me, that this, in fact, might not be the truth. Yet there were at least two people who had known – her aunt and Andrew Clairemont. There might be more – one of the maids perhaps, who took care of her clothes and the washing, her doctor, Miss Fairchild.

Just as I was about to inform Harriet about my findings, the doorbell rang and Jacob Adams appeared once again, telling us he had found a good nurse, that she was willing to start the over next day and that by the day after tomorrow he would take care of his little Clara.

"So her name is Clara?" I inquired curiously.

"Your wife has given her the name and I thought it quite fitting. After all, she is a ray of light in all this darkness, is she not?"

None of us could deny this.

"Have you found anything yet?" Adams carried on, stroking the girls tiny head with loving gentleness, which made me think that his daughter might have fared a lot better, had she confided in him as well as her aunt.

"I might. I have your daughters diary and perhaps it can give me a definite clue as to what has happened to her. Till then, I would suggest, you keep the existence of your granddaughter quiet."

xxx

Harriet:

"So, how was your day, my dearest?" I asked my husband as Adams had left, picking up our conversation where it had left off when he had arrived.

"I cannot possibly say, though the most befitting word would be diverse. I have brought some reading material, perhaps it will even get enlightened," he answered, pulling out a small booklet from his inner coat pocket.

"That is her diary?"

"It appears so. You were right, by the way, her aunt knew about the baby, who incidentally is the result of a rape."

Glancing at the tiny creature becoming restless I swallowed hard. If a child had been conceived Davina Adams would not have stood a chance against her violator in any court of law. If a child was conceived this inevitably meant, at least according to our legal system, that the woman had enjoyed the act and as this, it went against the notion of it having been a rape.

Considering that many a wife did not enjoy the physical attentions of her husband, I wondered who had gotten this stupid idea into their head in the first place. Seemed that with the declaration of ones wedding vows this theory did no longer apply.

"And you think the rape and her murder are connected?" I dug deeper.

"I am not yet sure, but I am not ruling it out. Miss Adams was a sheltered young woman and extremely shy. How likely is it, that she would fall victim to a crime twice within less than a year?"

Sherlock repeated what had happened to the young lady according to her aunt. After he had finished I sat there, brows knitted, staring into space. An expression I knew all too well on my husbands face. I was so deep in thought that I did not even register that Clara had begun to stir, whimpering. It was Sherlock picking up the baby that woke me from my not so pleasant reverie. With the squirming child in his arms, he made his way over to the kitchen to ask Martha to prepare the bottle.

"Sherlock, don't you find it odd, that with both crimes, Miss Fairchild was nearby?" I asked as he came back.

"But Miss Fairchild could neither have raped her nor did she leave the dressmakers when Davina Adams was killed," he replied, looking slightly helpless as Clara grew more and more fretful, her little feet kicking and her tiny hands clenched into fists.

This was, of course, right, still was it not my husband who claimed that all possible connections are worth taking into consideration and that with everything else eliminated the one possibility left, no matter how unlikely must be the correct one?

Smiling he looked at me before answering: "You do have a point, of course, it is odd. But I will have to think the matter over more thoroughly."

"So I take it I will sleep on my own again, tonight." I teased.

"No, you'll have Clara."

At that instance, Martha came in, and unceremoniously pressed the milk bottle into Sherlock's hand. Perplexed he stared at it before with a wry expression, he began feeding the little girl.

"Well, it was you who asked for it, my dear." I laughed.

"I did, didn't I?"

xxx

Turning in early I was surprised when shortly after midnight my husband joined me in bed. He smelled strongly of tobacco – a scent which had recently become so familiar to me and somewhat comforting. If he went to sleep he either had solved the case or needed more information to do so. Seeing no triumph in his features meant it was the latter. As I snuggled up to him I could feel him smile. Wrapping his arms around me it took him only a short time to fall asleep, while my thoughts kept me from doing so still. When after another half hour sleep still did not come I crept out of his embrace and tiptoed downstairs to make myself a cup of tea. It took me a while as the fire needed to be re-stoked and I had just poured water over the dried leaves when Sherlock trudged in, looking quite adorable in his sleepiness, his hair standing in every direction as it was in the habit of doing as soon as it had come into contact with a pillow.

"Clara is hungry again – and I think she needs a change," he informed me, yawning and looking slightly irritated.

Grinning I told him: "If you take care of the latter, I take care of the former."

"Hm." was all the reply I got, as he turned around and walked back upstairs.

When I entered the bedroom he was still struggling with the new nappy as it refused to sit straight while at the same time falling apart halfway again as he had not folded it the right way and the gown through all the squirming of our little charge constantly slipped down and into his way making it even more difficult for him.

"Why do they not come with any instructions?" Sherlock Holmes grumbled exasperated.

"Nappies or babies?"

"Both!"

"Do you want me to show you then?" I enquired, putting down both my tea and the milk.

"Please. At least the dirty work is already done." He remarked quite proudly, though wrinkling his nose and I could not help but ruffle his hair affectionately.

"You know, Sherlock, I dare say, you are the first man, who did not feel compelled to wake the maid for this kind of job."

"I was too tired to think of that." he yawned, while I could once again not help laughing.