Chapter Seven: The Lucifer Hunt – Part Three
On leaving the family wing, Holmes, Miss Thurlow, and I made for the front door, stopping outside to look at the ridge in the distance where Holmes and I had earlier spotted Mrs. Lynley walking alone. Dressed in pale blue, she had been an easy target to see on this bright day, moving as she did against the hills; now though, there appeared no sign of her.
"Holmes," I said, looking from the ridges overlooking the estate back to him, my tone slightly incredulous, "you don't think such a quiet timid little thing as Mrs. Lynley would consider shooting her husband in plain sight of an entire hunt? She would be hung for certain."
"If shooting him is what's on her mind," he replied. "I doubt that the idea of being hung bears so much as a featherweight's importance to her considerations, Watson." And with that, he began to walk purposefully towards the hills, his new gaiters being employed for the first time in earnest. "Her life is a misery...and unless I miss my guess, from the broken shards of chinaware, the spilled perfume, and the bandage around Mr. Lynley senior's hand, last night, it was made more miserable still after her husband's return."
I heard Miss Thurlow's sharp inhalation of breath beside me, and could see as she struggled to keep up with us, that her face had darkened and grown even more set at the thought of what Holmes was describing. "What if…" she queried as she ran along with us, "I mean I may just be conjecturing, but seeing as there are two who share those rooms, what if Claire was not the one who took the revolver? What if it was her husband? He was after all, as you just said, in a foul mood last night."
"Unlikely, for it does not fit with what we know," Holmes concluded after a moment. "Apart from myself, George Lynley's most likely target, after last night humiliation, would be Martin Yeates. And Lynley's vindictiveness and cowardly streak would far more likely take a longer lasting and more personal avenue of revenge. Namely, he would merely destroy Yeates's life with the information he has on him. He has no need to kill him when he can ruin him. No, Miss Thurlow, not Lynley…but there is another suspect for our missing weapon..."
Her mind did a rapid calculation, before she glanced sharply over at him. "Phillip Lynley!" she exclaimed. "He was not at the preparations for the hunt!"
"No, he was not..." my friend agreed with a nod. "And who would have been more likely to check upon the welfare of Claire Lynley this morning in her rooms, knowing better than all others what she suffers at the hands of her husband. After seeing his brother's manner last night, he would, I'd venture to say, have known that something would have occurred behind closed doors. What if he arrived at her rooms this morning to find that his brother's excesses with his wife had reached new depths?"
Moving swifter still, he continued, "Philip Lynley is undeniably in love with his sister-in-law...we have seen it before time and time again. A man in love, especially a young and earnest one, will smite anyone for the protection of the woman he loves, heedless of his own safety. Mrs. Lynley should, as etiquette demands, have been helping to host the breakfast this morning; instead, she was out wandering the hills. Hiding her injuries? Or seeking the one who plans to avenge them?"
"Perhaps..." I paused, glancing at our companion. "Holmes, perhaps with guns in play, it might be best for Miss Thurlow to remain here?" I suggested.
"No..." he disagreed with a quick shake of his head. "I'm loathe to bring any woman into danger, Watson...but on this occasion with Mrs. Lynley involved one way or another, I believe it will be advantageous to have a gentler, more feminine hand at our side. Miss Thurlow may be able to reach and comfort her in ways we, as members of the gender she must by now mistrust greatly, may not."
"I would very glad to assist you in any way I can, Mr. Holmes," she replied with a grateful tone, her expression showing that she would not have gone so easily.
Walking quickly onwards, we climbed the steep ridge that Cuddy had brought us in by yesterday afternoon. From the top, all of us a little winded, we stopped and gazed around. "Look," I pointed, "the hunt has begun!" Away to our left, we could clearly see the large mass of horses spill outwards from the stable yards, the sound of hunting horns echoing across the verdant landscape, as the hounds led the way in search of a scent, the trotting riders behind them.
"Yes, and nary a sign of our own quarry," Holmes returned, searching around the area for any sign of Mrs. Lynley. "Lucifer's Playground..." he said quietly after a moment, staring from the end of the ridge to the next one, below which the blasted piece of earth was located.
My brow furrowed at that. "But Holmes, why should either she or Philip Lynley go there, if they meant harm to his brother that is? The Viscount clearly stated that the hunt was not to go through there...even if the fox did."
"Because both Mrs. Lynley and her brother-in-law know Lynley better than anyone else alive," my friend responded. "They know his petty, vengeful mind and how it works." His eyes narrowed and glinted in the cold sunlight an instant, before he set off quickly. "Hurry, Watson, Miss Thurlow…one way or another, George Lynley will be at Lucifer's Playground this morning, and if he is there so shall they be…I'll wager twenty guineas on it!"
Crossing the ridge and beyond to the secondary one, we moved to the area above the blasted piece of twisted desolation that was Lucifer's Playground and peered down upon it. Even now with the full beam of a bright sun shining down upon it, it seemed bleak and unfathomable beyond words. The sound of the hunt was now in full flow with the hounds baying, and shouts carrying the distances to us easily on the early afternoon air, as the hounds and riders wheeled across the countryside towards us. "They have the scent of the fox..." I noted, "and it's coming this direction."
We watched as the hunt followed the red dash of the fox, clearly visible to us out in front leading them all a merry dance as it shot ahead of them. At first, it seemed as if the fox was to head straight for the Playground, but as it reached the ridge on the far side, it veered off taking the following swarm around with it. I noted that Miss Thurlow's expression as she watched the red furred animal fly by was one of sympathy, and with a shake of her head she caught my eyes on her. "The other reason I am not fond of riding in hunts, I fear, Dr. Watson. My sympathies lie too much with the animal," she explained, as we began to move towards the desolate patch of land.
The hunt poured past the mouth of the small narrow valley, containing the hunt as we carefully descended into the steep vale. No pathway down existed here, so while we moved as fast as we could, we had to keep in mind the terrain and Miss Thurlow's skirts. And so it was when we were but halfway down and still overlooking the area, Holmes stopped, and pointed with a frown. "Look!" he called to us, as we halted behind him. "Look, there!"
As the tail of the hunt moved past, two riders broke from the ranks, veering off in our direction. The horses were almost wedged together, so close were they...almost as if they had been glued together.
"What are they doing?" and an aghast Miss Thurlow asked.
"Fighting," my colleague replied, his eyes narrowing at the sight. "No doubt the culmination of much baiting."
Peering closely, I could plainly see he was right. The two riders were locked, free hands wrangling and batting at one another with crops and fists...as the horses broke apart at last and barrelled on in the direction we were in. We did not even have to wait to see their faces to know from the size and shape of both men who it was thundering towards the wasted wood.
"Lynley and Yeates." I shook my head, stunned at their foolishness and at how Holmes had read his man right once again.
"Dear God, they are going to get themselves killed," our friend breathed, her grey eyes wide with worry.
"Whatever provocation was simmering last night has risen once again tenfold, doubtless well planned by our Mr. Lynley. Father's decree or no, he intended to force Yeates hand and have his way. It's rare to encounter so petty a mind…even amongst spoiled aristocracy," Holmes murmured, watching as the two riders thunder onwards. Before we could move even another ten feet down the slope, they were at the Playground's mouth, and, shouting obscenities at one another, crashed into the gnarled wood and were obscured from view. Holmes immediately took off...but not downwards, rather across the slope, heading for the far end of the blasted area, leaving us to follow as quickly as we could. However, by the time we reached the edge, nothing had emerged.
With a furrowed brow, my friend peered down at the bramble enclosed covert. "The terrain inside must be tightly packed and overgrown," he commented. "Far more than I would've thought. Even given for poor terrain, horses under such expert riders surely would have..." However, before he could finish, a horse and rider burst from the end of the wasteland, and ploughed onwards, the rider tossing flotsam from him as he went.
"Yeates!" I exclaimed with no small pleasure. "Well..." I continued with a smile, "Lynley's lost his God forsaken wager!"
"Lavinia will not be pleased all the same," Miss Thurlow said softly beside me. "She was most adamant that her husband not go into the Playground."
I could not help but chuckle, so pleased was I to see the arrogant man proven wrong. "Well, he's emerged none the worse for wear it seems, and he's proven his point to Lynley...and taken his money to boot no doubt. That is if the bounder lives up to his word...she may let him off lightly."
"Where is he?" Holmes voice intruded on us, his hawkish eyes watching the ground below avidly as he ignored our chat.
In the distance, at the far end of the narrow valley, the hunt hoved into view again, having wheeled around to the other entrance on the discovery of the loss of two of their riders...and precisely which two riders they were. We could see Mr. Yeates riding on towards them, before gradually slowing up and stopping upon meeting them, no doubt engaged in some kind of conversation as to what happened. And yet while all this occurred, his co-rider and challenger still failed to emerge.
"I have a very foreboding feeling about this," Miss Thurlow said anxiously beside myself and Holmes, and as if to punctuate her words, an instant later, there was a rustling noise, and the sound of hooves, followed by a horse breaking through and free of the waste ground.
Unlike before, however...there was no rider aboard.
Holmes was gone like a bullet from a gun...leaving me to help Miss Thurlow down the steep slope as best I could. Scrambling downwards, half slipping and sliding his way, and even tumbling once or twice, my colleague reached the bottom and made for the clearly spooked horse, which was darting around wildly, its whinnying loud and aggressive. Seeing the hunt beginning to start down the narrow valley floor towards us, he left the animal to their imminent care and turned, before moving into the undergrowth, and calling us on after him.
Finally reaching the bottom of the rift, and on entering the Playground, we were immediately struck by the halving of the light, so dramatic it was that we both stopped completely, our eyes needing to readjust themselves to the other worldly twilight we had just stepped into. The twisted canopy of branches which looked so impenetrable from above had precisely the effect we thought they would have under them. The end product inside was one of constant dusk with the sun only penetrating here and there in bright lines of sunlight striking the ground here and there. In those spots would grow tiny spots of greenery amongst the blackened earth...for everything else was either bare black ground, walls of woody brambles, or rocks and boulders covered with mosses and lichens as such a gloomy place would dictate.
There was no sound to speak of...no birds that we could hear. The silence was such that when a rustling in the undergrowth that mostly consisted of the twisted briars occurred, it was a slightly unnerving sound. Despite myself, Cuddy's words came back to me and as they did I could easily imagine this place being full of malign spirits and creatures. Beside me, Miss Thurlow swallowed and tried to keep a brave face, but I could see this place did not sit well with her either.
We could see the churned up ground where first Yeates's horse and then Lynley's had passed through the narrow gap in the briary undergrowth, obviously having to leap a boulder further back to do so...and as we made our slow way through the uneven, rocky, thorny terrain, I shook my head at the madness of racing through here. "I withdraw my earlier remark..." I said to Miss Thurlow, as much to hear a sound in that dead place as anything. "Lavinia Yeates was perfectly right to be as concerned as she was...to ride through here is sheer folly!"
"Indeed," she agreed in a low voice.
We had taken but five more steps, when Holmes's cry echoed through the shaded, unpleasant wood, bouncing off the boulders and distorting the direction terribly. "Watson!" he called again, and, taking hold of Miss Thurlow's hand, I moved as quickly as I could...now wishing I had brought my own revolver into this blighted place. Our progress was hampered by the briars, which almost seemed to reach out and grab hold of our clothes, with Miss Thurlow's dress by far the worst affected, so that we were both cut and torn by the time we arrived into something of a clearing, and skidded to a halt at the sight of Holmes kneeling over the prostrate, woody debris strewn body of George Lynley, lying face down on the ground.
"Oh no," Miss Thurlow breathed at the sight. "Is he...?"
"Dead." My friend stood, wiping the earth from his hands. "Quite dead...a wound to the neck...the jugular vein...he lost consciousness and bled to death while we waited for him to emerge."
That our lady companion neither gasped nor swooned at that came as no surprise, as I, and indeed my companion, had learned early on in our associations with her that she was made from sterner mettle. "He was a horrid man, but I would not wish this fate on anyone," she murmured with a slow shake of her head, as she moved forward to join Holmes with a sad but resigned look on her face.
My colleague regarded the floor of the clearing with a frown. "Watson, examine the wound, will you? I'd be interested to know what you think, he asked, his eyes moving around the place. "You'll note he's face down. Raise him up if you must, but leave him back where he lay...the police will no doubt appreciate it."
With a nod, I moved across the forest floor, as off to our left there was the sudden sound of horse's hooves taking off. A moment later, we could hear the rumble of yet more as the bulk of the hunt arrived at the entrance we had come in by. Ignoring it, I crouched down to the young man's body, and raised it up to peer down at the mangled throat of George Lynley.
"What say you, Watson?" Holmes asked after a moment. "No bullet wound, eh?"
"Indeed not..." I concurred with a shake of my head, "if anything, it appears to be a stab wound."
"From what? Can you tell?" Holmes paced across the ground, before bending down again, his hand skimming the ground without touching.
"Hard to say..." I responded, examining the wound closely and noting it was relatively clear of blood, as most of it had dripped to the ground. "It's deep but it is a torn, jagged wound. It passed right through the neck of his cravat…it could have been made with a broad serrated knife, I suppose."
"A hunting knife?" he quizzed, still peering the ground.
"Perhaps..." I concurred, as I lowered Lynley back to his resting place. "But whoever did it was obviously taller than our man here. The blow was deep…very deep and straight in, so the assailant must have stood in height a good deal over him. The tearing is lighter, indicating it came on being drawn out. There is the beginning of bruising on either side where the hilt must have landed…it was a most violent strike, Holmes."
"That accounts for most of the men here," Miss Thurlow pointed out. "And indeed, Mr. Yeates was taller than Mr. Lynley as well."
Holmes rose quickly to his feet. "Miss Thurlow is perfectly correct. Given the size of Mr. Lynley that unfortunately hardly narrows our field much." His eyes took in the ground and the body again. "And our friend was not stabbed upon his horse, so there is no balancing of height to be gained that way."
We both stared at him for a moment, before Miss Thurlow enquired, "How do you know he was stabbed upon the ground?"
Holmes pointed to the ground he had been examining. "The ground is soft here, as it is with most wooded earth…there is an indentation, a fresh one, and one consistent with the fall of a man Lynley's size…which would explain the forest debris upon the back of his hunt jacket, when he lying dead upon his front, exactly where he fell."
I nodded, as I pictured the events that occurred. "So a struggle, a fall, and then the stabbing."
"It would seem so…" he replied with a frown. "Except…." His eyes fell to the floor, again searching for something amongst the scuffed up ground. "Watson...Miss Thurlow," he said after a moment, "the hunt is upon us...I'd be obliged if you would inform them of what has occurred and keep them from trampling over everything here." Bending his head, he perused the dented, hoof torn ground again, pointing again at the indentation some few feet away from the body of Lynley. "There are things here I don't want disturbed...not yet. Let only his father, wife, and brother enter...though I somehow doubt the latter two will be amongst our visitors."
On hindsight, I should have expected what followed next. As, as soon as we emerged and word broke as to what had occurred, and after the Viscount had fled into the copse to confirm the dire news, the hounds were not the only things baying for blood. With the large following of Lynley's friends in the group, and the shocked and distraught Alexandra de Courcy, it was not long before the accusations flew, and Martin Yeates was wrested from his horse by irate men claiming him a murderer.
It took the intervention of the Duchess of Monmouth and the timely re emergence of the diminutive rotund Viscount from the wood, smaller seeming even than before and ashen faced on seeing his dead son, to restore order to proceedings. "Your Lordship, please!" Yeates called out, as he struggled against those who held him. "I swear to you George lived when last I saw him."
"Be silent!" Lynley's friend Parry, one of those holding him, barked at him. "You have done enough!"
"I have done nothing!" Yeates railed. "I have no clue what might have happened to him! Lavinia will tell you! George taunted and barracked me every step of the hunt when it started…he threatened..." he paused, "he forced my horse into his as we reached the valley ,and veered us in here. He struck me…taunting me until finally I gave him his way!" He gazed around wildly at the gathered crowd. "Once we were inside, we jostled again, for the wood is narrow and difficult to navigate, and were neck and neck, until we burst into a clearing and collided once more. George lost control of his horse, and it reared…he fell…I rode on…when I looked back, he was on his feet. He was fine…I swear it!"
Miss Thurlow and I exchanged glances as Holmes's preliminary deduction proved in keeping with Yeates's words, but even as Martin Yeates pleaded his innocence and ignorance of what had happened, after that, his wife in tears beside him, he was roughly trussed by the hands, and ridden back to the house on the orders of the Viscount, where the police were to be called.
Miss Thurlow spent much of her subsequent time calming the now almost hysterical Mrs. Yeates, who firmly stated over and over that her husband could not possibly have hurt Lynley. That he was competitive when provoked yes, but that to hurt someone was simply not in his character.
The Viscount, visibly keeping himself restrained, took note of Mrs. Yeates's state, and turned to her comforter. "Miss Thurlow," he said, his voice low and shaking, "perhaps you might be...be so good as to take...my son's horse..." He glanced at the now contained animal. "And ride with Mrs. Yeates back to the house?"
"Of course, Your Lordship," she acquiesced with a soft, consoling smile, before gazing warily at the horse, as Mrs. Yeates got back on her steed, and then over at me askance.
With an encouraging nod, I walked over with her to the horse, which had quieted down considerably, and glancing at its rump, I could see that it had taken quite a thrashing, as could Miss Thurlow. "It seems..." I said quietly, "that Lynley was set on winning this duel...and was no more successful with his heavy handed tactics then the last time." I gave her an encouraging smile. "The horse should be fine," I told her, and stood back to help her mount it.
She continued to appear most unsure, as she climbed onto the animal, her lack of recent experience riding rather obvious, as was her expression, which clearly showed her desire to be off the animal. However, for a moment, her expression flickered as she fingered the reigns, holding her thumb and forefinger outwards and peering at them keenly, even going so far as to bring them to her nose.
"Are you well, Miss Thurlow?" I solicited of her state, looking from her to the weeping Mrs. Yeates again.
She glanced down as though distracted from a deep thought, and nodded. "Yes, everything is fine...well...almost..." She paused, glancing down at the horse, and then over to her charge, before returning her attention to me once more. "I shall see you both when you return?"
"Straight away, I'd warrant," I replied with a nod. "Ride slowly and safely, and you'll be fine."
"I shall," she murmured, and after gingerly nudging the horse into motion, both she and Mrs. Yeates headed back to the house.
I waited with Holmes for a while, until he sent me on my way, saying that the police would be swarming here soon enough, and he required some solitude as he felt strongly there was something he was missing. On heading back to the house, I was in time to see Martin Yeates be manhandled into the stables by George Lynley's friends, and was only barely so to stop what was sure to have happened next, reminding the group of fellows with sundry sticks and whips in their hands that the police would shortly be there and would be interested to know how Mr. Yeates got into any…difficulties…should he show up the worse for wear.
There were some tense moments, choice words, and leery looks, the latter passing especially amongst Mr. Cobb and Mr. Parry, but common sense prevailed, as did I upon a few stout, local yeomen, who were there for hunt, and had no grudge against Mr. Yeates, when I asked them to guard his makeshift cell. On returning from the stables, I saw Holmes make his way back down the slopes and across the gardens towards me. His hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, a cigarette lit and leaving a trail of smoke behind him, he was the picture of contemplation, and it was plain to see that whatever it was he was missing, he had not found it.
On glancing up and seeing me, his expression turned to sheer exasperation. "Watson, it is the most annoying thing in the world to place all parts of the jigsaw neatly in order, but to miss the final one that would complete the puzzle. Far better to have it half finished then missing that one small item." He sighed and turned his full attention to me. "Where have they put Yeates?"
"In the stables," I said, before recounting to him Yeates's words about what had occurred within Lucifer's Playground with Lynley, and how events seemingly fell in line with his theory, as well as informing him of the lynch mob that had been forming.
Taking this in, my friend slowly nodded. "Well done," said he, patting me on the shoulder. "And the police?"
"They are on their way, Mr. Holmes," the soft, melodious voice of our friend answered him, and we turned to see Miss Thurlow emerge from the house. "They were called for immediately upon our return."
"And Claire Lynley?" I asked of the still missing pair. "Or Philip…have they been sighted?"
She heaved a great sigh, as she joined us, shaking her head in the negative. However, there was a slight light in her eyes. "No...they have not been sighted, however, Claire's maid was most forthcoming. It seems the pair have...run off."
"Run off?" I repeated with astonishment.
"I told you, my dear fellow, that I thought it doubtful we would see either of them," Holmes said, seeming unsurprised, before turning his eyes back to Miss Thurlow for the rest of what she had to say.
She sighed once more. "Where to start...well, it seems our assumptions on whether Mr. Lynley took his...frustrations...out on his wife last night were well founded. For he beat her, the worst beating she's had, her maid said. So after her husband left early this morning, she fetched Philip to see to her mistress...and it seems Claire finally agreed to his suggestion to leave with him. So while the women packed, Philip apparently took the gun for protection, well that is what he told her maid, and then left to get his horse. Her maid said before he departed she heard them speaking of something they had to do before they left."
She paused and took a breath. "Now that the maid has heard of Mr. Lynley's death...she fears that perhaps the torment and fear was too much and that either her mistress or Philip may have...well...found a more permanent solution."
"Perhaps…" Holmes nodded. "There was no doubt they were at Lucifer's Playground."
"They were?" I asked. "But we did not see them."
"No...but we heard them...or rather the horse they were on when they bolted for home," my colleague replied.
"Ah..." I breathed, before nodding as well. "The single sound of hoof beats before the hunt arrived in earnest."
"No doubt heading to where they had stashed their belongings, as the events at the Playground affording them the chance to slip away unregarded," Holmes agreed. "The question remains though as to what hand they had in this...if any? It seems more likely than ever they made their way to Lucifer's Playground to confront Lynley...for they must have known with his nature, he would never have rested while they were out there. But..." He slid his hands back into his pockets with a frown. "If they did do this, then they did not use a gun...and showed all the fleetness of foot of one of Mr. Cuddy's Will O The Wisps. For I could find no trace of another's footprints save George Lynley's on the ground…all though the earth was badly churned up by hoof prints."
He paused for a moment, before turning his eyes to me again. "Watson, was Yeates in possession of a knife of any description when taken in?"
"Nothing on him," I answered. "He was well searched by that mob, of that I can assure you. Nor did I see any traces of blood on him when he was taken, besides a few scratches to the face which were clearly caused by the thorns in the wood." I paused for a moment. "Of course, he may have discarded the knife."
"Mr. Holmes?" came the respectful voice of the butler behind us. "His Lordship would very much like to speak to you."
"I expected as much," my friend intoned, before turning to us. "Watson, Miss Thurlow, when they arrive, exercise all your considerable powers of diplomacy and persuasion to keep the police from taking Mr. Yeates into custody if you can. Tell them to keep a detail guarding him if they must, but that I asked them to concentrate their efforts on the fleeing Lynleys. There are stones yet to overturn in search of this one final piece of the puzzle..." he instructed, as he moved up the steps.
When Inspector Barnsley arrived later, we did as asked, and after much flattery and persuasion, he did what was requested of him. Holmes spent a great deal of time with the Viscount, while the guests were cleared to leave and the mass exodus began. On emerging from his talk with the distraught father, Holmes met with the Inspector, and Mr. Cobb, Mr. Parry, and the pale Miss de Courcy, who I had seen wandering the halls of Pendragon house in the aftermath of Lynley's death bewildered, were all asked to remain in the house for the time being.
Claire and Phillip Lynley proved as luckless in their flight from Pendragon as they had been in their stay there, and only another two hours had passed by, when they were escorted back into the foyer of Pendragon House, miserable and dejected.
On their arrival, as Miss Thurlow, Lady Margaret, and I emerged from the drawing room where we had been seated with the gravely silent Duchess and her beloved pet, the Viscount burst from his study, his customary whip in his hand, and before anyone could stop him, accosted his younger son.
"Fiend!" he roared, his tiny frame no deterrent to his attack as he whipped his son soundly. "Cain! That you would plot against your brother so!"
Miss Thurlow gasped beside me, her eyes widening at the display, and took several steps forward. "Your Lordship! Please!" she entreated, as several of us moved to young Lynley's aid. However, Phillip Lynley made no attempt to fight back, and it took myself, Holmes, and the butler to stave off the attack on the tall, young man, his father's size much like his deceased elder son, belying his strength. Pulling him back, we restrained him as his grief manifested itself as rage.
"You have always envied your brother...always!" he growled. "His sporting prowess, his popularity...his way with the ladies...even to his own wife, sir! His own wife!"
"Yes...his wife!" Phillip returned, turning around slowly as his father's words echoed through the vaulted room and died…his own voice in contrast was quiet and controlled. "I have always envied him his wife...but then, I have always loved his wife, Father...even if from afar, as you well knew when you arranged the match between them."
That particular revelation took most people within earshot by surprise, myself included.
"The match was made with the family, and that was that!" the Viscount replied. "She was always a better match for your brother than you. He was the heir to this estate and she to hers!"
"He was a brute, Father," the young man fired back, and moved to his sister-in-law, whose head was bowed, her scarf to save her hair while travelling outdoors, obscuring her reactions to this exchange. Gazing at her tenderly, the young man reached up and touched her face, encouraging her to look up, as he turned his own face back at his father. "And you were blind, Father...look at what your better match brought about," he continued, stepping back to show the black and blue contusions and swellings all over Claire Lynley's face and neck.
"In Heaven's Name!" the Duchess gasped from the drawing room door.
"You poor girl." Lady Margaret's heart felt sympathy followed, as the now widow blushed under the collective gazes, and lowered her head again quickly, as she leaned into the younger Lynley for protection.
Like her friend, Miss Thurlow appeared torn, and knowing her as I did, I was sure every instinct in her was driving her to go and comfort that poor woman, but she was also keenly aware of this being more of a family moment, and so she held back, though I could see her outrage flare as she took in the mass of bruises. The Viscount's struggling slowed and ceased as he took in his daughter-in-law's battered visage.
"Please don't pretend you didn't know, Father," Lynley 's voice echoed around the marbled foyer. "I told you often enough, and saw you turn your eyes away from the bruising peeking out from her sleeves or gloves…you cannot abdicate your part in this," he said coldly, while the petite woman beside him flinched at the reminders, as she seemed to shrink more within herself.
Another quiet gasp emanated through the foyer, and I caught sight of Alexandra de Courcy, her handkerchief to her mouth, her red rimmed eyes staring at Claire Lynley and what her erstwhile lover had done to her...a fleeting glance, perhaps, of her own future with him had it come to pass crossing her mind.
"I never cared that he was your favourite..." Lynley said to his father, his arm going about Claire protectively. "You were affectionate enough to me...I cared only that your favouritism went so far as for you to turn your eyes from all his failings...and, Father," he shook his head, before glancing at Miss de Courcy, "they were legion."
"But were they enough to warrant his death?" His father's whisper crossed the space to him. "For you to kill him?"
"I...we...did not kill him, Father," young Lynley answered him, taking Claire's small hands in his, as he straightened. "Though I will not deny that we went to Lucifer's Playground to face him down...and had he raised a hand against either of us, I would have done what was necessary to protect us." As if on cue, the arresting officer produced the missing gun and handed it to the Inspector, underlining Phillip Lynley's words perfectly.
"We went to tell him we were going, and to warn him off us...we knew he would not let us rest. I was there to threaten him with what he knew of what he'd done," he explained.
"What he'd done?" The Viscount frowned. "You mean to Claire?"
"No, sir...for the law is not sufficient...not sufficient at all to my mind to protect a wife against the machinations of a drunken or vicious husband...no sir...for his embezzlement against the estate and most particularly that of Claire's." Phillip raised his chin as he saw his father's building objections to the accusation. "And before you say more, Father, I have proof enough."
"Yes, he does, Your Lordship," Holmes cut in. "And further proof myself, the good doctor, and Miss Thurlow, all have seen." Holmes eyes went to Miss de Courcy, whose face immediately turned away.
"Indeed, we have," Miss Thurlow agreed, glancing over at me.
"If that was not enough to keep him away," Lynley continued, "then..." He drew himself up. "Then, I would have done what was necessary to protect Claire. But...as it happened, we never had the opportunity to face him." Pausing, he frowned in the recollection. "We saw them come...Yeates and George...just exactly as George had told Claire he would do in his blind rage last night after you admonished him for his behaviour. We intended to catch George's attention, but they moved too fast through the wood...we followed on the other side, and then heard a crash...and then yelling...and then subsequently a short cry..." Lynley recounted. "I tried to make my way in from the side, but the undergrowth was such that the briars were almost impenetrable...by the time I got close enough to see anything...all I saw was you Mr. Holmes making your way in...and I knew my chance to talk alone with George was gone...and with the hunt closing in, I knew we had to leave...that the commotion over George's foolishness would give us a chance to slip away..."
Reaching into his pocket., he continued, "I drafted this note to send to George from Portsmouth...with my knowledge and threat if he should follow us...I wrote it just before we left...I…I did not know what had happened to George."
Holmes walked across to the young man. "May I see it?" he asked, taking it as it was offered to him. On reading it, he nodded. "It is as he says...an explanation and a threat...dated and timed to this morning after the events at Lucifer's Playground...not proof per se...but certainly believable." He looked at Phillip Lynley, as he handed the note to the Inspector for his perusal. "And backed by the fact that from the location of where you must have been when we heard the horse carrying you and Mrs. Lynley away, no one could have penetrated the wood, just as you say."
"Portsmouth?" the Viscount repeated, staring at his son. "You were planning to flee the country together?"
Mr. Lynley took a long breath, before answering. "I...I planned to locate Claire with some friends of mine in France, to give her time to recover." He glanced at her, and then back at his father. "I would have you know, sir, that your daughter-in-law is blameless in all aspects of this. She never encouraged me in my admiration for her, certainly not after her wedding, and it was I who convinced her to leave George. She knows of my feelings for her, but she has never responded, and has at all times been a lady in her behaviour." His voice faltered a little. "I do not deny...I had...hopes...but I know too that being the brother of the man who maligned her so...would not have made it easy for her to..."
He cleared his throat to continue, but the lady in question placed a hand on his arm, a soft smile on her lips as she shook her head, needing no words to convey her feelings towards him, before blushing and lowering her eyes. However, she did not remove her hand from his arm.
Phillip Lynley looked down at her with the sudden amazement of any man who had finally realised something akin to a dream and even with the soberness of the circumstances, a small smile could not help but touch his features before he dragged his eyes from her and turned them to his father. "In any event, Father...I would have taken her there, and stayed to protect her, yes."
"Chivalry is not lost to the Lynley line yet, Maxwell," came the quiet voice of the Duchess once more, her admiration for her younger grand-nephew's actions evident.
"Chivalry or murder, Your Grace," voiced the Inspector suddenly. "Despite Mr. Holmes's thoughts...it remains to be seen which yet." Approaching the younger Lynley, the gun in his hand, he enquired, "Mr. Lynley, you say you heard a crash?"
"Yes, Inspector Barnsley," he replied with a nod. "We both did."
"And then yelling?" the Inspector continued, narrowing his eyes.
"Yes, sir...George's voice raised," the young man responded dutifully.
"Did you hear what he was saying?" came the rapidly fired question.
"It was muffled, distant...but it sounded like a threat about crossing him...and teaching someone a lesson," Lynley answered. "And then...then I heard the cry as I said."
The Inspector folded his arms. "Your brother?"
"It's hard to say...but yes, I believe so," the young man agreed with a nod.
"It was him," whispered Mrs. Lynley. "It...it was awful..." She shuddered, and turned her head away.
The Inspector nodded and looked towards Holmes. "Well, sir," he said, "threats and shouts of 'crossing him,' I don't know about you, but I believe it is looking rather bad for our other suspect. Constable!" He turned to one of his men at the door. "Take another man, and go prepare Mr. Yeates for transportation to the jail at Lynmouth." The police man looked at young Lynley and nodded. "And I'm afraid, sir, for the moment...you'd best come along too."
That appeared to be too much for the young mistreated woman beside him, who swooned, and would have fallen to the floor if her brother-in-law had not caught her quickly. As several people, including Lady Margaret, the Duchess, and Miss Thurlow moved swiftly to aide Mr. Lynley with the young woman, a chorus of voices were raised in disapproval at the police inspector's decision.
Holmes turned to him. "Really...Inspector, arresting two men on the same murder charge?"
The other man shifted uncomfortably. "They might have colluded," he ventured with more bravado then conviction.
"Unlikely," Holmes replied. "Unless they are spectacularly bad at communicating. And given that you already have one innocent man languishing in your jail, I don't believe your reputation could take the addition of others."
"Innocent?" Inspector Barnsley raised a bushy eyebrow. "Who?"
"Mr. Pearson, Inspector." My friend sighed, as he crossed over towards myself and Miss Thurlow as we attended on Mrs. Lynley. "He is completely innocent of the crime of which you have convicted him."
"What? But the man was caught with the goods on him!" the officer bellowed. "Can you prove your words?"
"Indeed, I can Inspector...just as I hope to settle this unfortunate matter with George Lynley once and for all...if you will allow me a little more time?" Holmes asked.
The Inspector's moustache twitched, unsure of all this, and not overly keen, I would have said, on the feeling he was being undermined.
"Oh come, come, Inspector!" The Duchess's strident voice rang out. "Don't be ridiculous; do as you're asked!"
The police officer blinked. "Your Grace?"
"Time!" She tapped her cane impatiently on the floor. "Give the man some time!" she demanded, before arching an eyebrow. "Or must I write a letter to my cousin in the Prime Minister's Office?"
Coughing lightly, as yet another member of this family showed their adeptness with threats, the Inspector nodded. "Very well, Mr. Holmes...till sundown, eh? Then we need to get the body of the deceased and whatever suspects we have back to town."
Nodding, Holmes beckoned myself and Miss Thurlow to him. "Miss Thurlow, Yeates's and Lynley's horse, which stable were they left in when you got back...and can you take me there?"
"Yes, of course," the young woman agreed, patting the now roused lady's hand, and rising to her feet, beckoned us to the door, intending to lead us out.
We were about to leave when Holmes's attention was caught by the rapid departure of Miss de Courcy, and Miss Thurlow and I found ourselves following quickly when Holmes changed direction and took us upstairs after her. On knocking on her door and receiving the word to enter, Miss de Courcy gazed upon us from where she stood with her maid, discussing when they might leave. Sending the servant out, Miss de Courcy, her icy cool demeanour long shattered by the day's events, turned to face us.
"What would you have of me, sir?" she said, raising her aristocratic chin, while doing her best to regain her poise.
"We would have an answer, Miss de Courcy," Holmes said pointedly, stepping inside.
"And why would I tell you anything, Mr. Holmes, when you helped drive poor George to his death?" she responded turning away.
Holmes shook his head slowly. "Come, come, dear lady, you are hardly so blind and without intelligence as to believe that. You know enough of your late paramour and his behaviour to know that no one drove him to anything save himself and his own foolish, unchecked desires." He moved further into the room, and we after him, Miss Thurlow closing the door behind us. "No, rather he drove others to his desires…including you…to the tune of some six thousand pounds, a quite considerable sum for an heiress who has yet to inherit."
Miss de Courcy turned in outrage, her eyes going immediately to her desk where Miss Thurlow had found the banking letter. "How dare you invade my privacy, sir!" she flared up in anger, only for my friend to incline his head in acquiescence.
"My apologies, Miss, if you wish to press charges, the Inspector downstairs, I'm sure, would do his duty," he replied. "And I will have my day explaining the situation regarding why I was there and…what I saw…to the court, assembled press, and public which would no doubt included your esteemed father, of course."
Whatever the blonde beauty had planned to say next died in her throat, as the proof of our deduction regarding the true circumstances of her loan from the bank with the fraudulent use of her father's name was writ large across her face, and staring at Holmes, she sank back to her chair like a stone.
"What am I to do?" she whispered, "My father will be incandescent that I borrowed against my inheritance and used his name to do so." Her eyes were fixed down on her lap, her hands wringing with agitation. "George begged the money of me…told me it was to aid in…in repaying what he'd taken secretly from this estate to pay off his gambling debts so everything would be above board when he began the process of…of his divorce. Something that was to have occurred months ago." A moment later, the bitter tears of regret and realization of longstanding foolishness that so often come when a woman deludes herself so began to pour down her cheeks. I am sorry to say, I had no feelings of empathy for the woman…older and more worldly then the deceased Lynley, she had allowed herself to be swayed by a scandalously unrestrained passionate nature and played for a fool. Her behaviour had earned her this disgrace.
My friend merely nodded. "And when you finally realized George was no nearer that task and that the bank was looking for the loan to be repaid, you demanded its return and his following through on his promises to you…your 'due.' A snippet of your conversation on which was overheard by Lady Margaret," he said of Miss Thurlow's friend.
She looked up to us, all trace of bravado eclipsed once more. "What can I do now? He is dead…the money is lost to me. Even if the scandal of our affair was to be hushed up, the bank will call time on this loan, and it will all become known."
"I suggest," said I, without particular pity, "that you throw yourself on the mercy of what I hope is an indulgent father."
"That is, of course, unless the Duchess chooses to press charges." Holmes said, moving to stand by the window that looked out over the lake.
Miss de Courcy swivelled rapidly in her chair, her riding habit still on her. "Charges?" she exclaimed. "But I had nothing to do with George's plans…" She trailed off, as she realised what she'd said.
My colleague turned back to her, and shook his head as she dropped hers. "Worry not, Miss de Courcy, you have revealed nothing that I did not already know. I know the why, how, and who of the robbery…all I would ask you, and for your answer I will intercede on your behalf with Her Grace, is to confirm to me that Mr. Cobb, like Mr. Yeates and Lynley, went to Cambridge and was a friend of both, and that his family business would have had a part to play in it."
Swallowing slowly, she nodded. "Yes…to the first and I would imagine so to the second…if history is any judge. No doubt Mr. Cobb's uncle Lord Mount's business would have been utilised, unbeknownst to His Lordship."
Walking briskly back through the room, Holmes inclined his head. "My thanks, Miss de Courcy. I would say that you are free to go…I shall do as I say and speak to Her Grace…I'm inclined to think in the circumstances that charges will not be pressed on this matter, but you have worries of your own to attend to, and your presence here will be even less appreciated when the truth goes out.." He bowed quickly, and left with us following.
"If history is any judge?" I asked him, as we walked back downstairs to the front door.
"You have all the pieces now, Watson, Miss Thurlow…" he replied, before stopping on the stairs and looking back at us behind him. "Surely you can assemble how the night progressed, and how it was Mr. Pearson ended up indicted?" he challenged us, before turning to Miss Thurlow. "But as you do so…Miss Thurlow, as you promised, take us to the deceased's mount."
Taking us around the house to the stable yards, our young companion cast a glance at the two constables organising Mr. Yeates's transfer to the house, as she led us past several other stables to the large one she had disembarked at. When we reached it, we found our Mr. Cuddy lounging against the wall in the declining sunlight chewing on his tobacco.
"Genlman…Miss. Turbul business, turbul." He shook his head on our approach, spitting the juice to the cobbles at his feet. "Didden I tell yez tha' place was Hag-rod," he said, nodding in the direction of the distant wood. "An now it's reaped its latest soul! Eee mark my words on it, um ghostisiz be after adden to thur number with Maister George!"
The grizzled man's brow furrowed, as he recollected, "He wur a likeable nipper, a righ' lil eller, sporty like, wi' a smile as broad as a summer day…till hiz Mam up 'n died. Went off the rails summin' turbul affer tha'. Iz Pa indulged he far too much…spoiled he…'n he turned into a noggerhead 'n cow-baby to boot."
"Noggerhead?" asked Miss Thurlow.
"Cow-baby?" I queried almost simultaneously.
"Fool and coward," Holmes translated reflectively, as Cuddy nodded. "From happy, mischievous child to that. A parent's affection and good intentions gone wrong."
"A good drubbin' wi' a gad when he wur younger woulda saved a world o' woe when he grew up…especial fer his wife like." He looked back out over the countryside. "Tha' which lives in Lucifer's Playground knew what wuz comin' to him…and took him." He sighed, and spat again. "It kilt him dead sure'n I'm standin' here."
On opening the large stable door for us, Cuddy stood by and watched as Holmes walked in and glanced around. The stable was a large one, holding some thirty horses or so.
"Where is Mr. Lynley's horse?" my friend asked, peering down the row of stalls.
"Theez all be Maister Lynley's horses," the other man replied, garnering a look from all three of us. "Aar…'Rabians, Irish bred, even un of um fancy whi' horses from Austria tha' prance like. Maister Lynley allus buyz hunters and racers too like thurs no tomorrah…" He spat on the ground on realizing his words. "If yiz'll pardon the 'spression," he apologized. "Anywuz…this be the horse thee be seekin'." He pointed toward the horse that I recognized as the one George Lynley had been riding.
Entering the stall, Holmes eased his way towards it, calming the highly strung animal, as well as noting the same welts I had observed earlier, and moving past the animal, he stopped by the saddle and bridle which were hanging on the wall. A frown creased his brow on examining them. "These have been cleaned already."
"Aar…" Cuddy agreed with a nod. "Stable boy's allus do a quick job 'n Maister George's things, too affeared not too. Force o' habit, I'd say."
"Blast!" Holmes breathed, shaking his head in annoyance. "I should've given instructions!"
Moving after him, and noting the objects on the wall, Miss Thurlow coughed. "Mr. Holmes..."
"What were you looking for?" I asked, taking a closer look.
"Blood..." he muttered with an irritated expression. "Something to give an extra clue to the angle of attack."
"Mr. Holmes?" she voiced again. "I don't want to intrude, but as you are looking, I thought you should know...that earlier, when I was riding the unfortunate beast back to the house, I noticed that there was a greenish substance on his bridal." She frowned, as she thought back. "However, I did not see any blood."
Holmes stared at the bridle and reins for a moment longer, before turning his head in her direction. "Describe it," he demanded.
"Well...it was green...powder like...a definite moss like smell to it. It could have been the residue from lichen, I suppose," she replied, her brow furrowing further as she recalled the memory. "But I must admit, I am not sure."
"Lichen...where?" he asked her, turning to face her. "Specifically on the bridle?"
She nodded quickly in reply, her curiosity most evident on her face. "Yes...I do not recall seeing it on the saddle. Do you, Doctor?" she enquired, turning her eyes to me.
"No..." I answered with a nod. "I recall seeing it only on your hands."
"On your hands..." Holmes repeated, quickly moving to her. "So not just the bridle...but on the reins!" She nodded in reply, as she watched his actions keenly. There was no denying the sudden light in his eyes, as he took several paces out from the stall and through the stable, his brow furrowed, his hands moving in stages through the air, and then sweeping down in an arc, the signs of his mind turning over and re-sorting pieces until finally he snapped his fingers. "Miss Thurlow..." He swung back towards her. "I believe you've uncovered our killer."
Her wide grey eyes blinked slowly. "I...I did? How? Who?" she stumbled, appearing rather shocked.
His eyes, alight with the anticipation of a case resolved, turned towards us both as he smiled with that air of pride in his own achievements. "Mr. Cuddy would you be so good as to fetch us a dog cart and take us back to Lucifer's Playground?"
Some fifteen minutes later, we were on our way with Cuddy at the reins and Holmes seated across from Miss Thurlow and myself. My friend's mind was clearly fixed ahead of him and in the direction of which we were heading, while we sat staring at him and waiting for him to speak. Looking back at us as we waited respectfully, Cuddy removed some of the tobacco juice from his mouth in his usual accurate way, and sniffed at the silence.
"Dang I…" He shook his grizzled head. "Awrigh,' Maister Holmes, be ye gonna sit thur like a mommet, whilst we be waitin' on ansurs?" he admonished him. "We be waitin'! Out wi' it ! 'Ave you done detectorin or baint you? Wha' d'ye know?"
Both Miss Thurlow's eyebrows and mine rose at that, though I confess we concentrated more on our attempts not to laugh at the unaccustomed forthrightness with which Holmes was faced. The urge to laugh, as so often the case, made worse by the tenseness of the situation, and in an effort to hold hers in, Miss Thurlow leaned towards me, while watching Holmes glance up at Cuddy in surprise.
"What's a mommet?" she murmured, the smile if not on her face, definitely evident in her voice.
"A statue," Holmes replied before I could begin to deny the faintest clue, a smile tugging at his own lips. "And you're quite right, Mr. Cuddy. We've prevaricated enough."
"Aar …tha ' you 'ave…" The other man nodded confidently, another dart of tobacco juice striking the ground we travelled over, before he looked back at myself and Miss Thurlow. "Wha' be…prevarigated…then?"
The snort of laughter that indelicately emerged from my lips does me no credit in so grave a situation, and earned me a reproving look from my friend. On my explanation, Holmes sat back and began, as we jaunted towards the deep narrow valley in the distance.
"Let us take what we know for certain," he said. "George Lynley was taking from all around him, the estate, his wife, his mistress…all no doubt to fuel several habits as extravagant as his lust for the collection of prime hunters. He did intend to put his wife aside in favour of Alexandra de Courcy of that we can be sure. He had bled her dry, and though the marriage had brought land to the match, land was of no use to the spendthrift George, and Claire Lynley's inheritance in capital terms was small in comparison to that his mistress would come into. Miss de Courcy was to be his next font of cash, as the dowry she would receive on her marriage would be considerable."
"So…" Miss Thurlow ventured, "when Margaret overheard Miss de Courcy demanding her due, it was for both money and the position of his wife he had promised her and had not yet set in motion. Only he had no way of paying her back."
"Save one…" I added. "The fortuitous arrival of his great aunt and her celebrated collection of jewels."
"Precisely…" Holmes agreed, "and to Lynley's great good fortune, or so he thought, he had precisely the instruments within the house to organise the theft and disposal of not only his great aunt's jewels but those forged items of his wife's which were no doubt also due to disappear that night…saving him any awkward explanations come a divorce."
"But why weren't they taken?" Miss Thurlow asked with a frown.
My friend smiled at her a little. "For the same reason the jewels of the Duchess ended up in the pocket of Mr. Pearson…an attack of conscience and fear on the part of our cracksman…Mr. Yeates," he explained, before leaning back as we watched him.
"Mr. Yeates?" Miss Thurlow breathed, leaning forward. "A professional thief? But he's a gentleman…and comfortable…surely from what you say, Mr. Cobb and Mr. Parry were much more conspicuously active that night."
I smiled, and shook my head, as I turned to her. "Forgive me, Miss Thurlow, but I suspect that if Holmes is correct, the lack of conspicuousness on Mr. Yeates part was probably what made him a good cracksman."
"A cracksman and a man with a keen understanding of the art of misdirection," Holmes agreed. "It has been obvious for some time now that this is what Lynley has been holding over Mr. Yeates with regard to his 'pre marital nocturnal activities' as he euphemistically called them. I remind you both, that Mr. Yeates, like you Miss Thurlow, came from an impoverished background of nobility…though while you turned to the honourable profession of the seamstress to survive as best you could, Yeates did not give up his comforts, and found himself a more lucrative method of maintaining his position and saving face amongst friends all through his college years. Taking advantage of the social position he held and the houses he was invited to to line his pockets with the belongings of those that could afford it, no doubt until he finally made the honest money that has made him comfortable today."
She nodded slowly, as she took that in. "And Mr. Cobb aided him…using his uncle's shipping firm to send the items abroad for sale? George, as his best friend, found out about it and said nothing."
"Until this visit, yes," my colleague confirmed. "Yeates had obviously tried to put his past behind him, especially upon meeting and marrying his wife, a woman of obvious high moral standing…and one as you quite correctly pointed out Miss Thurlow, to whom he is devoted. Hence his discomfort on discovering Mr. Cobb was here and his avoidance of him. He was doubly stunned, no doubt, when his best and, he thought, most trusted friend then used his knowledge of his past to blackmail him into stealing his aunt's necklace and wife's jewellery, though probably neglecting to tell him the latter was paste."
"So he baited him openly…" she added, "and while we thought he was speaking of past affairs with women…Lynley was repeating the threat brazenly and openly, proving his willingness to do it to Mr. Yeates until he agreed."
"But…where does Mr. Parry come into it?" I queried, turning back to my friend.
Holmes gave me a wry look. "Ah, the handsome Mr. Parry…tall, strapping, a charmer with the ladies…the perfect distraction for an unusual guard."
"The maid!" Miss Thurlow exclaimed rather loudly after a moment, and clasped a hand over her mouth in embarrassment. "That is…" she continued, her cheeks flushing a pale shade of pink, "Her Grace's maid…if she had only stepped out for her handkerchief as she said, there was no possible way she could have been gone long enough for anyone to break into the Duchess's safe. He must have coaxed her away to…oh..." She trailed off, dropping her eyes, her blush growing deeper as she realised what she was intimating. In front of us, Mr. Cuddy let out a loud raucous laugh, and made several comments which served to pinken our demure friend's cheeks even further.
"Yes," Holmes agreed, attempting to hide a smile at our companion's quiet embarrassment. "The Duchess was quite correct; her maid is a flighty girl, and no doubt terrified of losing her position should she confess the true length of time she was away and why. In her absence, Mr. Yeates, who seemingly had not gone upstairs, slipped into the foyer beyond the dining hall and through the serving door built into the wall there, which leads to the backstairs. On seeing Mr. Parry entice the fair maid away, he had the time he needed to open the safe and take the one item that would cover George's debts…before he was to go to the Lynleys' room and take her jewels."
"Only for his conscience to get the better of him…" I said, seeing where his deductions had led. "He thought the jewels were real, and no doubt felt that Mrs. Lynley had suffered enough as it was, having seen her with her husband by this time. So he returned with just the Duchess's jewels…"
"And then…" Miss Thurlow continued for me, her smile returning as she remembered what occurred next, enjoying the reconstruction of the evening complete with answers, "the gentlemen rejoined the ladies in time to hear the Duchess wax eloquent about her husband, his generosity, and how she treasured what he had left her. His conscience pricked him again…as well as fear of discovery, as the Duchess left then to return to her rooms and he knew that the theft would be discovered."
Her enthusiasm was infectious, and I added, "Suddenly a youthful past stealing from the rich seemed a good deal less embarrassing, than the risk of being caught stealing from a bereaved widow whose jewels were amongst the most famous in the land, and therefore most difficult to pawn without being traced back."
"So he panicked." The young woman frowned in thought, until light dawned on her face once more. "His magic act! That's what you meant by his having a keen understanding of misdirection!" she said to Holmes. "Using the slight of hand he had shown…possibly when Pearson was showing the gentlemen how to make the Viscount's drink…he secreted the jewels on his person without his knowing it…and settled down. After which, Pearson left to go out into the garden, where he remained until the police came, and found the jewels on him!" she finished triumphantly.
Holmes's smile grew wide. "Excellent, Miss Thurlow," he approved, causing her to smile happily at him before remembering herself and dropping her eyes, the slow blush returning to her cheeks. "And so our case of theft comes to a close…Mr. Pearson exonerated."
"But, Holmes," I asked with concern. "How do we prove it? We require one of them to confess, and Yeates has allowed an innocent man to languish in jail in Lynmouth for the past few days rather than do so."
"Yes…I know," my friend agreed. "Of all his actions, that is what does not reflect well on Mr. Yeates. He is a gentleman, far more than his deceased friend, and truly repentant of his past, that much we can clearly deduce. But his fear of discovery and the loss of his wife and position have allowed him to act badly in this regard. However, I think as he sits there under the careful guard of the Inspector, knowing he is innocent in the death of George Lynley, he is coming to realise just how Mr. Pearson is feeling…as well as to the value of honesty. I believe that he will do the right thing and confess his part in it. If he does not…" he said lightly, gesturing towards the dark wood which we were drawing up to, "then I will merely tell him I can prove his innocence, but will not until he does confess."
He opened the door as we stopped and jumped down, before offering Miss Thurlow his hand. "However, I have faith in Mr. Yeates…I believe ultimately he will do the right thing…and probably be surprised by the response he receives."
"Forgive me…but can you prove it?" she asked, stepping down and slowly drawing her hand from his as she looked up at him. "His innocence I mean?"
"Why, Miss Thurlow!" Holmes replied with an arch look that belied his amusement. "You wound me to the quick." Grabbing one of the lanterns off the dog cart, Holmes bade us follow him, which we did save Mr. Cuddy whose wary beliefs about the spot would not allow him to venture in.
The wood was darker than ever as the sun declined, and the Exmoor landscape was once again bathed in that mystical golden half light that for all its beauty failed to penetrate this bleakly begotten spot. Lighting the lantern, Holmes sat it on a nearby boulder as we walked into the clearing, Lynley's body thankfully removed by the police after their examinations.
Moving to the far side of the clearing, Holmes paced back and forth quickly, as he following the hoof marks on the ground. "The two horses burst in," he narrated, his eyes on the ground, "but one here…" He paused, as he pointed to the tracks, one clearly ahead of the other. "We saw the welts on Lynley's horse…a new Hunter, at that stage Lynley clearly brought the crop down again, only this time the new horse rebelled," he said, moving to the part of the earth that was badly scuffed up. "The horse reared several times, until Lynley was thrown…" His finger moved to the indentation he had pointed out previously. "At that point, Yeates looked back from beyond, and saw Lynley pick himself up gingerly, while his horse bucked and reared…riding on, he left him."
Holmes turned swiftly to point to the far side of the bramble filled wood. "That is when Phillip and Claire Lynley were to bear audible witness to George's death."
"The shouts they heard," I said, nodding in remembrance. "They were at the horse, not Yeates!"
Holmes smiled grimly. "Yes, done while George made the fatal mistake of raising his crop again to the horse, and attempting to subdue it by force…furious at his fall and the loss of face." He turned again to face Miss Thurlow. "That is where your eye for observation comes in, Miss Thurlow." He pointed at her, and strode over to pick up the lantern.
"The horse reared to avoid the blows…" He demonstrated, standing to the side of the nearest tree to the marks. "Its reins catching on the lower branches…" Walking forward, he reached out and touched a willowy branch just below shoulder height on him, that jutted out from the front of the tree parallel to where we stood, and whose leprous bark was mottled in the extreme. "The reins and lead rein wrapped around it…"
"The lichen," Miss Thurlow stated, moving closer across the wood and alluvium deposits at our feet, as my colleague illuminated the clear scrapes along the branch where the green algae and fungus had been removed from the patchy bark.
Holmes grasped the branch firmly in an approximation of the reins. "The horse shied away from him, pulling back…" he continued, stepping backwards, and drawing the branch back, and, as he moved, we both inhaled slowly as on doing so, on the far face of the branch unseen to us until that moment, was a long, thin, flat spike of wood, the bark of which had been stripped from it entirely.
On its pale surface were the unmistakeable red brown spots that so clearly denoted dried blood.
Moving towards it rapidly, I peered at it closely. "Our blade," I whispered, my gaze moving from it to Holmes, who nodded and indicated for me to step away as he pulled it further and further back, the willowy nature of the branch allowing it to bend almost level with the trunk of the tree.
"Lynley, paying no attention to anything but the horse, stepped after it…and then the reins slipped from the end…and…" Releasing the branch, the bough shot back with incredible force, and I cringed imagining the force of the blow as it struck the young man's neck. "The initial hit stabbed straight in. The follow through caused the tearing as it came out…the impact of the hit sent Lynley reeling backwards…spinning away, he cried out, a cry his wife and brother heard, and fell to the ground." He stepped to the spot where George Lynley's blood still covered the earth.
"Dazed and choking from the blow and lack of air going to his brain from the severing of the jugular vein, he would've passed out quickly," I said. "Even trying to get up would've hastened unconsciousness."
"I searched for blood spots elsewhere on the ground but there were none…Lynley's cravat took most of the blood off the spike when ripped through it. I only searched the ground, never thinking to look up until Miss Thurlow mentioned the lichen." Holmes turned to her and inclined his head in thanks, garnering a small smile, though her discomfort at our surroundings was clear.
On leaving Lucifer's Playground, we returned to the house where Holmes and I fetched the Inspector and brought him back to the wood. By the time we returned, word of how George Lynley had actually died had spread, and Inspector Barnsley gave the order for Yeates to be released. As Holmes had hoped, the young man did the right thing, and, drawing his relieved wife aside, confessed to her his past.
Mr. Yeates, as many men do far too often, had underestimated his wife, and while we were not privy to the exact details of what transpired between them, an hour later they stood together in front of the Viscount and the Duchess while Mr. Yeates confessed his part in George's plan…noticeably omitting the part that Mr. Parry and Mr. Cobb had played in it. The Duchess when asked by Holmes whether she wished to press charges declined to do so, wishing no further scandal to come to the family.
Despite this, Yeates's past still hung over his head, and Mr. Pearson still languished in jail, causing Holmes to speak privately with the young noble and his wife. The outcome of the talk was an agreement, whereby Yeates, with the Duchess's endorsement, would go to Lynmouth and confess to Inspector Barnsley that the theft had been a jape that had gone wrong, and he had not confessed due to a 'falling out' fear of it being taken seriously…the worst he would be expected to face would be a sanction for wasting police time and causing false imprisonment.
No doubt, Inspector Barnsley, who was not privy to the dealings going on at Pendragon but was perceptive enough to be aware of at least some of them, did not believe a word of it, for the man never struck me as a fool. But with the Duchess backing the young man's statement and neglecting to press charges, he had little choice but to accept Yeates's confession and release Pearson.
Yeates's restitution for his actions, past and present, did not end there. Mr. Pearson was given a private apology and a hefty donation towards the fund for his impending wedding. In addition, Holmes asked for a private confession of all his previous actions and the insistence that he make restitution in full to all his victims, even if it was done anonymously. As my friend said afterwards while we packed, there was little point in sending such a man to jail, and ruining his life and his wife's. It would garner them nor his prior victims anything. By making restitution, he would accept the blame for what he had done, and provide the victims with recompense, even if done in secret.
Mr. Cobb and Mr. Parry received similar talks from Holmes, though more succinct and more in the form of a warning. Both being told in no uncertain terms, Mr. Cobb in particular, that their families would both be told of their actions in full should their behaviour continue…and he took particular pleasure in letting them know that now that he knew of their actions it was simplicity itself with his network of informants to keep a close eye on them. Needless to say, both left the house in a hurry.
Holmes and I packed and left the following morning. Pendragon House had slipped into mourning, all though the awkwardness that prevailed was palpable, as the family was divided on how saddened they were by the passing of the heir to the Lynley estate. The Viscount retreated greatly inside himself once the dealings with the theft and his son's death were done, and it was the Duchess who unsurprisingly took charge.
As Claire Lynley was indisposed, recovering from the manhandling she received at the hands of her deceased husband, Lady Margaret Sotherby volunteered to stay at Pendragon to help both her and the family as best she could, with Miss Thurlow naturally electing to stay with her friend. But on our arising to catch the early train back to London, we found our young friend dressed and ready to accompany us on the long journey through the early morning mists that lay over Exmoor that Sunday morning.
This time we were afforded the luxury of the Viscount's personal carriage and a team of horses, and made better time back to Barnstaple, though I confess to missing the openness and ease of viewing of that beautiful part of the world the dogcart had allowed us. I even confess to missing Mr. Cuddy's free and easy ways, and made a note to talk to Mary about taking a holiday in this part of the world once we were wed...a topic now the case was over, I found my mind turning to with increasing regularity.
As we travelled and talked, I also made a note in my mind to speak to my fiancée about the interactions of my two companions. I had seen Holmes 'work' with many young ladies over the course of a case...but the manner in which they discussed the events of the last few days, and talked about discussing it even further on their mutual returns to London when Miss Thurlow was due to visit me, took me by surprise, I confess. And as we arrived at the station, I could not contain the feeling that my Mary would make much of the way Holmes had taken to Miss Thurlow's continued company. For myself, I was pleasantly surprised at his attitude towards her, and I confess not a little relieved that she had held up so well in his estimation during the investigation. Her friendship both to me and increasingly to Mary meant a good deal, and having Holmes think well of her made it quite a bit easier.
As we said our goodbyes at the platform, and I watched the easy manner in which Holmes bid her adieu and her far more relaxed and confident manner with him, and despite my repeated warnings to myself to never again to build my hopes in regard to Holmes and a woman, a twinge of intrigue at what increased meetings between the two might bring passed through me...at least until Holmes admonished me for daydreaming while Miss Thurlow was trying to say goodbye. With both teasing me about my thoughts being on my bride to be, we boarded the train...and with the figure of Miss Thurlow receding into the morning mist as the train departed, my mind did indeed turn from a woman whom might just be good for my friend to the one who I knew was good for me.
Authors' Notes: Greetings and Salutations! I heartily apologise for the lateness of this chapter, but must beg patience once more when it comes to updates. I have now completed my move, but am to be married in less than a month, and with the wedding and honeymoon (which I have been strictly told there will be no computer access at that time)...chapters may be slow going till July. However, we have the next two roughly done, so I expect I can get those out by the wedding. :) And now to questions and comments...thank you all to all who have read and/or reviewed. We really appreciate the feedback and knowledge that everyone is enjoying this story and appreciates the research that goes into it. (Bows to co-writer on the research front) We are trying to keep Holmes and Watson as in character as possible, and it warms us to no end to hear we are succeeding. Now, as for this being a romance story...um...yes. It is...I admit it! Watson and Mary are very romantic, and we would cordially like to invite you to their wedding! Yup, chapter eight is the marriage of our intrepid duo. As for Holmes and Helen...who's to say really...I am not going to confirm nor deny...though I am curious to know what the readers think. That said, I must go and unpack some more...we hoped you all enjoyed the conclusion of our mystery arc, and look forward to seeing you at chapter eight! Hugs to all... Aeryn (of aerynfire)