Pecunia non olet – Part 1
Sherlock:
I had been successful in convincing my wife, that another day or two of rest would be nothing but beneficial for her and so, with her propped up on the sofa in her study on one side and me on the other, sharing one blanket, each of us spent the morning reading a book. Outside the rain was pouring down and the wind was howling in the chimney making it a perfect arrangement. Had I first been tempted to follow up on Watson's advice, I had ended up reading Hardy instead, while Harriet read 'The heavenly twins'.
Not sure, whether my choice of book annoyed me because of its accurate depiction of our society or not, I put it aside after the first five chapters realising, that my wife had fallen asleep again. Gently I caressed her lower thigh and feet, that were sprawled across my lap, forgetting that she was quite ticklish. With a jerk she was awake again, almost kicking me in a rather delicate part of male anatomy.
"Dear me, you have scared me!" she exclaimed and then began laughing at my sheepish face.
"I did not mean to startle you," I apologised and then listened intently. "Do you hear footsteps?"
"Yes," she answered, looking unconcerned. "I presume it's Tom..."
"No, I have sent him over to Baker Street to fetch me, when I am needed there. So if he has returned, he would call for me, but whoever this is, seems to be wandering about."
I glanced insinuatingly at the ceiling as the footsteps were now sounding from above us. A moment later they descended the stairs again and approached the door to Harriet's study, which momentarily was flung open to reveal a surprised looking girl of at most twenty, carrying a feather duster.
"I…-I am sorry." she stammered, looking from Harriet to me and back, slightly frowning at our comfortable arrangement on the settee.
"Oh, don't worry, Martha." my wife smiled, getting up. "I have not expected you back today at all. Did you send a note?"
"Yes, I charged Ned to bring it to the post office, but knowing him, he presumably has forgotten all about it."
"Who is Ned?" I enquired, while the girl tried her best to keep her composure.
"My younger brother, Mr Holmes." she curtsied. "I am sorry, Mrs Holmes, I did not think you would be at home or else I would have knocked."
I gawked at her in astonishment before remembering, that she was the daughter of one of Sir Cedric's tenants.
Harriet started to chuckle, reaching out her hand to greet the maid properly: "I see you have spoken to my mother. How are you, Martha? You do look well, considering."
"Yes, I have. And I am well, thank you. I am sorry I could not return any sooner, but..."
"Never mind, I know. "
"Thank you." was the grateful and quiet reply.
At this moment, the doorbell rang and with a small curtsey Martha hurried down the stairs.
"I wonder who that might be?" I muttered exasperated, getting up from the sofa likewise and stepping towards the window I looked outside and could make out a small boy wearing a grey coat and brown corduroy cap and a man wearing a large tan coloured mackintosh and a bowler hat. The boy I knew was Tom and the man, judging by his stature and the way he carried himself looked suspiciously like Lestrade.
A moment later my suspicions were confirmed and we were informed that indeed Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard would like to talk to me.
"I think we might want to sit in the back sitting room. It is well heated and we have ready access to our teapot." Harriet suggested, meaning the little parlour towards the back that was always a little dark, but so cosy that I knew it to be her favourite room to sit in. A room that had the irresistible charm of a country cottage. Whenever we had no guests, that was where we ate and where my wife did her sewing.
The inspector was dripping wet and he looked apologetically at us as did Tom.
"I am sorry, sir," the boy started. "I know, I was supposed to fetch you, but the inspector said he would be all right coming with me as he was drenched already anyway and it would be of little matter if he were drenched a bit more..."
"Don't worry, Tom, Inspector Lestrade is all right to bring or send here, as would be Inspector Hopkins," I assured him. Intending to normally spend the day in my old rooms, and coming back home from work in the evening, like any other man, if not a case demanded otherwise. - Unless of course, Harriet decided to stay at Baker Street, too, as it was closer to Lisson Grove and consequently Saint Anne's. And yet, once we had a family, this would be the better choice of housing at any rate, and I decidedly wanted for it to stay crime-free if I could possibly help it.
xxx
The inspector gratefully sat down and took the mug of steaming hot tea from my wife, who, to my dismay, looked curiously at the official. This must be, how Watson must have felt, whenever he had told me I should rest or else I would have a complete breakdown. Now it was me, who was sitting next to Harriet and was likely just as irked by her incapability to relax when there was a mystery to solve than my friend must have been with me.
"You said the other day, that I could ask for your assistance in case I need help with finding the jewels Kershaw stole."
"Yes, I did and I will, of course," I answered, lighting my pipe and leaning back in my chair.
I had still been abroad myself when the robbery happened but had already stayed at Montpellier, where I had little trouble of receiving the latest news and was not solely dependent on my brother for information. Thinking about it, it made me wonder, why it was, that the heir had taken almost a year to arrive in England to make his claims.
"Oh, the man arrived from Argentina about seven months ago, went through all the legal matters, only to find, that the jewels are still missing and with much dismay he contacted the superintendent and after Belcher had not succeeded and Everett Trenton – that is the heir – made such a fuss, that I was assigned the case last week, only to seem to fail just as miserably as Inspector Belcher has."
"Then could you give me all the details of the actual robbery?" I asked the man, who, to my surprise pulled out a thin stack of narrowly written papers and handed them over to me.
"This is a copy of all the notes I have made from the original files, as well as what I have found out to date and what has not been added to them," he answered, getting up to stand in front of the small stove that heated the room more sufficiently than any fireplace would have done.
"Thank you. But you know me, Lestrade, I would actually like to hear it from your lips - or in this case preferably from Belcher's, as he was the first to investigate and the one who got hold of Kershaw. Notes usually do not repeat impressions and yet, they might be essential to solving the crime. - Or, as in this case, the mystery of the missing Trenton jewels, that have been stolen by Kershaw and that despite being arrested about six hours after the murder of Gilad Trenton and the theft of his victim's valuables was still able to let them disappear. - What for example did he say at his trial? I am sure he must have been questioned about the whereabouts of his booty."
"Yes, as far as I know, he was, but he said he never got hold of the valuables and does not know where they might be found."
"As I understand it, Trenton was quite famous for his collection of stones and fine jewellery," I dug deeper, while Harriet refilled our tea cups. "How so?"
"Yes, he was. He had made a considerable bit of money trading in precious stones and gold and was in the habit of once a year for Christmas to buy a piece for his wife's collection. He made a point of having the pieces done by young and promising goldsmiths, who usually worked for little money, but they were permitted to use the piece done for him as an advertisement, showing it for three months at their studios, before Trenton would pick them up and give it to his beloved. Emily Trenton died three years ago and since then up to his death, the man had led a very secluded life, hardly ever venturing out into society, let alone near a jewellers shop."
"And so the myth was born..." Harriet concluded, having followed the conversation quietly, sitting in her favourite chair.
"Yes, so the myth was born. And then, following the call of wealth and gold, Jimmy Kershaw, broke into the house in the wee hours of the morning, to rob Trenton of his valuables, was caught by him, stabbed him to death and then ransacked the house. Later that morning, the woman, who cleaned the house, came in, found everything in disarray and Trenton in his own blood, dying and raised the alarm. The man was, as you said," he looked pointedly at me, "arrested little more than six hours after the alarm was raised and put on trial, was convicted and consequently hung. With that, the case was closed for us, with the exception of the missing jewellery of course – but as long as no-one claimed them, this was not a massive problem."
"It only became one, when Everett Trenton arrived on the scene." once more my wife summarised, showing she had paid at least as much attention to the tale thus far as I had done. Lestrade nodded, drinking his tea contemplatively while I re-stuffed my pipe and lit it again.
"This Everett Trenton, what relation is he to the late Gilad Trenton?" I enquired after a while in which none of us had spoken.
"A cousin twice removed if I understand it correctly."
"Was he mentioned in the will?"
"No, his wife was to be his heiress, she was some years his junior and a famed beauty in her youth. Well, she would have been heiress, had she not pre-deceased him, but Trenton never got around to alter the will. So the inheritance went to the closest living relation – which appears to be this Everett."
"I presume the heir is now living in the house where all of this happened?" I asked, glancing over the notes the inspector had given me.
"Yes, he does, at least for the moment. As soon as the embellishments are found, he plans to return to South America where he seems to own some land." Lestrade at long last looked as if he began to be warm and comfortable in his damp clothing.
"So, considering he is extremely interested in getting hold of this treasure, I dare say he would not mind me having a look around. - While you my dear, take a nice rest." Harriet did look none too pleased with this comment, and was about to contradict me, when I continued, holding up the notes: "And while lounging on the sofa, you could actually go through this and perhaps you might find a clue that has as yet escaped the inspector."
She did not look too happy still, when she took the papers from me, but as she appeared so much paler than usual I would not risk another breakdown and would stay firm, even if it meant we would have our first quarrel. After all, the purpose of her staying at home had been to rest and to recover her spirits, that I was sure were the cause of her overwrought reactions and the, as she had confessed, almost permanent feeling of sickness. But the expected contradiction never came, instead, a single tear flowed down her cheek and what I had been so eager to prevent washed over her again.
With forced calm, she excused herself and pecking me on the mouth with a small smile, left us standing in her little cosy parlour, both of us concerned about her reaction.
"Is she all right?" Lestrade eventually asked, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
"No," I answered quietly. "She, at last, has suffered a break down two nights ago. I presume Hopkins has told you, what happened to her in Winchester?"
The man nodded.
"I wonder if I should write to her mother," I admitted. "Perhaps she can cheer her up."
"Holmes, if I may say so, your wife looks happy enough with you. Give her some time, she'll be all right. You know yourself how it is, to have a mental break down. I am of course no doctor, but what do you expect after two days?"
As pragmatic as his advice was, it was also sensible and sound. Shrugging my shoulders I went in search of Martha, gave her instructions to keep an eye on her mistress, then told Tom where I went and to fetch me if something was the matter with Harriet. At last, I went upstairs to kiss my wife goodbye and then left together with the official detective.