Chapter 5 – Anne Summerley

Thank you to Amberlin, Elsie Cubitt and Susana for your reviews. I'm intending this to be one of three stories, perhaps four depending on how things go. Thank you very much for your encouragement.

The morning brightened as the day wore on, and by midday, though it was cold, the sun was shining brightly in a clear blue sky and the landscape was bathed brilliantly in its light; the grass, still wet form the rain the night before, glistened with the morning dew.

The manor was situated on top of a large hill, and so the scenery was spectacular all around; as was the manor itself.

Sherlock Holmes, after interviewing the servants of the house, walked down to the village where he spent most of the morning obtaining all the local gossip.

He was making his way back to the manor, and had just reached the top of the hill, when he saw the solitary figure of a constable walking towards him.

When he had gained some distance, he recognised him as Constable Jefferson, with whom he had shared another case in the past.

The constable waved cheerfully.

"Mr Holmes! How good of you to come; I doubt you have ever been more needed."

"If I remember correctly constable, those were the very words you used the last time we met."

The constable chuckled. "Yes, indeed; and I also remember how brilliantly you captured the murderer. Do tell me; are you any nearer to shedding some light on this mystery?"

"Mystery! Oh Jefferson, I would hardly call this poor man's murder a mystery, it is really quite simple to the man who is able to observe and deduce!"

"Then you know who the murderer is?"

"I have suspicions, at the moment they are nothing more, though I hope to enlightenyou soon. Tell me Jefferson, you have lived in Cumbernauld all your life, have you not?"

"Yes sir."

"So you know everyone in the area?"

"Fairly well sir, yes."

"I hear the Smith, the butler, is quite new?"

"He's been here for three months; a quiet boy, but I believe Scotland Yard have looked at him and have found nothing against him."

"Yes, I know; you say he is a quiet boy, yet at the village it would appear he has quite a taste for drink according to the landlord of the inn."

"Well, a servant's behaviour may differ when he is off duty to his behaviour on duty, Mr Holmes. The boy becomes a bit wild, but nothing criminal."

"Yes… Well… What of Miss Summerley, what can you tell me of her?"

"Miss Summerley was an orphan girl from Canada, brought here by Mrs Harrison. Not much is known about her past life, but she is very well known here."

"A distinctive beauty is she?" Holmes asked with a smile.

"Not exactly Mr Holmes. She is very pretty to be sure, but what is most attractive about her is her individuality; she is strong minded and independent, and very intelligent."

"And brave too, to have scaled the roof of the school," Holmes added.

Jefferson chuckled. "Ah yes sir… She is very unique."

"She and Miss Allan are close friends."

"They're like sisters, sir. When they were children they were inseparable, and old Mr Allan treatedher as another daughter."

"Yes; Miss Allan told me her father was good enough to have a cottage built for Mrs Harrison and Miss Summerley on the estate, to alleviate their financial difficulties."

"Yes indeed," replied Jefferson, "Green Gables; and you will never find a more cheerful cottage. You can see it there in the distance."

Holmes looked to where the constable pointed, and made out a small white cottage sitting quite isolated amongst the many fields and trees, on the border of the estate.

"How far away is Green Gables?" he asked.

"Oh, a good three miles sir," Jefferson answered.

"I see…" Holmes said softly, still gazing at the cottage, "well thank you Jefferson."

"Always glad to be of assistance, Mr Holmes."

Holmes gave him a short nod as he walked by him.

His eyes following the direction of the path, he hardly gave any thought to where he was going until he reached the manor.

He stood in the foyer and looked outat the cottage once again,when he saw someone walking in line with the cottage, towards the manor.

As he watched, the figure jumped over the fence surrounding the estate, and began trudging through the fields.

Sherlock waited until the figure was closer and saw with surprise that it was a woman wading through ankle deep mud.

She had auburn hair that sparkledgolden in the sunlight as itflew wildly in the wind. She didn't wear a coat, though it was bitter cold; she wore a white blouse and a navy blue skirt which was getting dirtier by the minute.

Some time passed before she came to the manor, and his presence startled her when she reached him.

NowHolmes was not a man that was easily impressed, made even harder by his poor opinion of women; but even so, he could not help butbe impressed bythis woman.

She was at least five years his junior, with a young face vibrant with energy. Her skin was free of any blemishes, and was very fair save for the freckles about her rosy cheeks and nose. She was slender and tall, though she was nothing compared to Holmes who was at least six feet, and he towered over her.

Her eyes were a bright emerald green colour, and they sparkled magnificently from the exercise.

She was undoubtedly very pretty as the constable had said; yet not beautiful, at least… not in thesuperficial sense. It was difficult to describe, but Holmes found it fascinating.

They stood for a moment, looking at each other intently, and Holmes observed a deep suspicion in her glare.

After a moment, Holmes touched his hat to hergiving her his usual brief smile:

"Miss Summerley, I presume," he said, for there was no need for introduction on her part.

"And you must be Mr Sherlock Holmes," she said with a small nod, though she did not return the smile.

"I have come to enquire after my friend, Miss Allan."

Holmes glanced back at the cottage and the distance she had covered.

"On foot?" he asked.

"As you see." She retorted.

Holmes's smile returned and this time stayed on his face, though it was small.

Obviously his appearance was of some annoyance to her, and she was making no attempt to conceal it, as most women would have.

"You evidently have much affection for Miss Allan if you are willing to go through three miles of muddy fields, jump over a fence and not care for the state of your clothing."

He glanced down; her feet were covered up to the ankles in mud while the hem of her skirts were so badly ruined it was a wonder she was not embarrassed to be seen out in public. But she paid no heed to them and stated simply; "the housekeeper, Mrs Phelps sent word to me this morning that Judith had taken ill, so here I am."

"Ah! So you intend to stay at Gable Manor?" Holmes asked.

"Gable Manoris as much my home as Green Gables."

"Well of course, after all you are her closest friend."

"Yes," she answered in impatience, "I have no doubt that you wish to ask me questions in relation to your investigation of Harry's death; but I must ask you as a point of courtesy to wait until I have settled at the manor and have seen to my friend. At dinner tonight I will be more than willing to answer any questions you may have. Will that suffice, Mr Holmes?"

Holmes nodded. "It will."

Miss Summerley smiled, though it did not reach her eyes. "Then if you would be so kind as to let me by?"

Sherlock stepped aside and watched her stride into the manor, where the housekeeper was waiting at the porch for her. The two women embraced and went inside together.

"Miss Summerley…" Sherlock thoughtfully, as Dr Watson arrived in a carriage from the coroner's office.

He jumped out beside Holmes and followed his friend's gaze into the house.

"Holmes?"

"The energetic Miss Summerley has arrived and is staying at Gable Manor."

"Indeed? What do you make of her?"

"A most remarkable woman: young and vibrant with an intellect unique amongst the female species."

"I have the coroner's report as you requested."

"Later, Watson. What is important is thatMiss Summerleyis here, and unless I am very much mistaken, her appearance will shed more light."

"You believe she is connected in this somehow?"

"We shall see what dinner will reveal to us."

When darkness fell, the manor seemed to fall into an isolated, gloomy depression that echoed throughout its many corridors and empty rooms.

In the dining room, Sherlock Holmes, Dr. Watson and Miss Summerley sat for a while eating in silence. But Dr. Watson, being of a very sociable disposition, was soon able to break the ice, and Miss Summerley proved to be a very charming hostess. The two were soon chatting like old friends, while Sherlock sat in silence, neither eating nor it seemed, paying any attention to their conversations.

At one pointshe surprised both men, though Holmes made no appearance of being so, with her knowledge of the war in India; at which Dr. Watson dove deep into his many adventures while the lady listened in deep rapture.

When dinner was over, they went to the lounge, where Dr. Watson continued with his tales, moving ontohis adventures with Holmes. Again Sherlock sat in silence, causing many curious glances from Miss Summerley.

Aftera particularly gruelling tale of the Creeping Man, Miss Summerley sat subdued, her attentions now fully focused on Holmes, who sat in an armchair by the huge roaring fire with his eyes closed.

"Mr Holmes?"

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at the young lady.

She was wearing a simple white dress with puffed sleeves and a purple sash around her waist. Her arms were covered by her gloves and her hair was now tied back in a bun, though some loose curls fell about her face, which she pushed behind her ear.

"My friend, Miss Allan hired you to look into the death of her brother Harry. I must first of all tell you that I was against the idea, though I have read Dr Watson's accounts. I hardly think a private detective is necessary, but Judith did not share my view. Now that you are hear Mr Holmes, can you tell me nothing of what you have found out so far?"

"My dear Miss Summerley, what makes you think I have found out anything?"

Miss Summerley smiled.

"Apart from your activities today, you have done nothing else. Since you are not at any pains this evening to continue, you've obviously discovered something."

Holmes nodded to her. "Miss Summerley your faculty for observation astounds me."

Miss Summerley said nothing.

"It is true that I am a step closer to solving the case," he said,"but before I elaborate, I must first ask you those questions you were so eager to leave until now to answer."

Miss Summerley bowed her head. "Of course."

"First, what was your relationship with Mr Allan?"

"There is no great mystery; we were not friends but we got on reasonably enough. Harry knew that Judith and I couldn't get on without each other so he strove hard, as did I, to keep things amiable between us."

"But there were a few disagreements?" Holmes asked.

Miss Summerley smiled. "You put it delicately, Mr Holmes. In truth, Harry was jealous of his father's affection for me; there was a bond between us that he couldn't share and he often vented his frustrations on me. I was not trying to undermine his relationship with his father, and I often stayed away from the manor whenever Harry was there, so they could spend some time together. But old Mr Allan, the dear man he was, had no idea of the conflict between us and hewould askfor me, especially during his last months and his mind wasn't what it used to be."

She clenched her fists together, and for a moment Sherlock feared she would break down into tears; something he was never able to cope with, but Miss Summerley kept her composure.

"Mr Allan died a year ago, is that right?" Watson asked softly.

"Yes."

"Yet, Miss Allan seemed to think her brother wassuffering before then, around the time when Mrs Harrison died."

Miss Summerley nodded. "She kept him out of trouble, and he was always grateful for that; she motivated him to achieve great things and be a good, generous person like his father. But the moment she died, it seemed a part of Harry died with her. He was never the same again."

"Quite understandable," replied Dr. Watson comfortingly.

"Yet… despite all this, he was very intent to talk to you on the day of his death." Holmes continued.

"Yes, I received his message in the early evening; I was very curious so I sent word that I would meet with him the next day as he requested."

"But by that time the crime had been committed."

"I was walking up to the manor, when I was met by Smith running down the path, greatly agitated. He told me they had found Harry dead in his bedroom and that Judith had fainted. I sent him for the police and went immediately to Judith."

Sherlock remained silent for a while; then he asked: "Do you have any idea what Mr Allan wanted to speak to you about?"

"I think it might be about my financial situation and old Mr Allan's will; he left me money you see."

"Can you tell me the contents of the will?" asked Holmes.

"I'm afraid I cannot," Miss Summerley replied, "You would have to ask Mr Rankelior, the family lawyer. He will be visiting this week to discuss affairs with Judith and myself."

Sherlock nodded, apparently satisfied. He was on the verge of excusing himself when Miss Summerley spoke.

"I have answered all your questions, Mr Holmes. Will you now return the favour, and enlighten me on Harry's death?"

Holmes looked at Watson, who was now watching him intently.

"Certainly," he replied, "though there is very little mystery to it. Firstly, it should be pointed out that there was no one in the bedroom when Mr Allan was killed."

"But the window was open," Watson said in surprise.

"And the room situated on the second floor; the walls are smooth with no ledges, there is no ivy and no ladder on the premises, so unless man has the ability to somehow fly that is unknown to me, that conjecture can be done away with."

"Then how did Harry come to his death?" Miss Summerley asked.

Sherlock smiled. "Might you not take a guess Miss Summerley? The body was found in the bedroom: we have already ruled out the possibility of an intruder, there was no injury, no mark on the body; yet we know he did not die from fear,"

Miss Summerley gasped. "You mean he was poisoned?"

Sherlock nodded. "Would you agree doctor?"

"Certainly; it is plausible. A poison unknown of in this country could certainly cause and apoplectic fit and go undetected. But how would it be administered?"

"The glass Watson! The glass. Remember by the body, there was a smashed glass and a spilt substance on the carpet. I later learned from the maid Jane that Mr Allan would take a glass of water with him to his room in case he needed a drink during the night. When I examined the room, I sniffed at the place where the water was spilt. Icould smell the faint scent of a foreign substance. It was enough to tell me that Mr Allan had been poisoned."

A heavy silence followed, broken by the steady chiming of the grandfather clock in the hall.

It was eleven o'clock at night.

"Are you suggesting Mr Holmes," said Miss Summerley quietly, "that someone, who knew Harry's daily routine, poured poison into his glass of water?"

Sherlock nodded. "Death would have been instantaneous."

"Then logically," continued Miss Summerley, "you suspect one of the servants."

Sherlock looked at her. He didn't say anything, nor did he move, but his gaze was enough to tell her she was right.

"Who do suspect?"

"I cannot tell you at present," Sherlock replied.

Watson glanced at Miss Summerley, who appeared to be suppressing her growing irritation.

"May I ask why not?"

"Because if I told you my suspicions you would see to it the person left the manor instantly, thus raising the alarm."

"The police should be called-"

"The police will only arrest when they are given proof," Sherlock interjected, "I have only suspicions. You must trust me, Miss Summerley. Give me a few days and I will deliver the guilty one; until then you must treat all the servants as you have done until now, or risk raising the alarm."

Miss Summerley looked ready to argue, but she said nothing. Instead, she rose and walked to the door. Both men stood when she did, Watson looking dismayed at having upset the lady; Holmes looking as though he had expected the reaction.

She opened the door half way and then turned round and looked intensely at Holmes, her emerald eyes alight.

"My trust is earned Mr Holmes, not given," she stated, "you are withholding information from me, more than you care to let on – Please! – Don't look so surprised Mr Holmes; it is perfectly obvious. I know of your opinion of the intellect ofwomen, and it is this that makes you surprised that I am able to read you as you read others. You have told me to trust you, now I tell you this: I do not trust you; you have done nothing to be credited with trust and until you have done something to merit it, I will continue to distrust you. Goodnight gentlemen!"

She left them standing in the lounge in dumb silence. Watson stood with his mouth agape, looking at his friend to see his reaction.

Holmes hadn't moved, but stared at the closed door, his face contorted to display a mixture of emotions: surprise, frustration, irritation… Admiration.

He didn't know whether to laugh or scowl, and his expression was so comical that Watson couldn't help but laugh.

"Well, well, well," he said walking to the door himself, "I never thought I'd ever see you silenced by a woman Holmes."

Sherlock glared at him and sat back in the armchair. Watson continued to chuckle. "How do you suppose she knew you were withholding so much from her?"

"She read my mind Watson!" Holmes snapped sarcastically, "How do you think she knew?"

"Steady on old man," said Watson with a smile, "you said yourself she was remarkable."

"All the same," said Holmes,eager to change the subject, "this must not distract us from our main investigation. I will require you to be up early tomorrow."

"No need to worry," said the doctor, opening the door, "I'll be seeing to Miss Allan anyway. But perhaps you could enlist the assistance of Miss Summerley; I doubt anything suspicious would get past her."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Droll Watson. Very droll."

"Goodnight Holmes."

"Goodnight."

Holmes stayed in the lounge way after midnight, and the maid had been round the room turning down the lights, leaving him with the dying fire as his only light.

Still, he did not move, staring at the flames. To anyone observing him, it would appear he was in deep thought over the case in which he had been hired to investigate. Initially, it was so, but as time passed, his thoughts wandered; but always returned, as he gazedinto the fire, to the image of Anne Summerley; her flame colouredhair flying freely in the wind.