The Parting Glass – Part 4

Sherlock:

But first I decided to take a look at the maid, who to my information still was unwell and resting. When I entered the small attic chamber which she shared with another girl, my brother in law and Sir Reginald towing behind me, she was in a state between sleep and delirium and it was obvious that she was far more affected than anybody had led on. Concerned I entered, wishing Harriet had come with us or having asked Watson to join me, as a doctor was clearly needed. But as neither was there all I could do was entreat the butler to at least send for the apothecary if not preferably the doctor as quickly as possible.

The room was dingy and cold, the tiny fireplace unlit, frost clung to the windows that were iced over and even in my coat I felt the chill. The only bit of comforting warmth that had been provided to the shivering maid had been a hot water bottle, now also cold and useless. With some irritation, I asked Musgrave to go and get the butler or housekeeper, but in his stead, Cedric, seemingly equally appalled by what he saw, went and truth be told I would not have liked to be on the receiving end of his current irritation.

Sitting down on the edge of the narrow bedstead I felt for the girl's carotid pulse and found it fluttering and irregular while her low breathing was ragged and laboured, which meant she suffered from the side effects of the poison and not some respiratory disease. Her muscles were affected, not her lungs. Had I first intended to only examine her quickly, it became clear that first, she would have to be taken care of lest she would die on us in the process.

"What do you think it is?" Reginald Musgrave asked, looking into the coal scuttle next to the grate and thankfully finding some coal in there began lighting a fire, though with some difficulty unused to the task at hand. Well, he had never been a very practical man after all.

"If I had to venture a guess I would say aconite. The symptoms are typical – at least with the maid, with Sir Robert, it is another matter, but then again, in this case, there are some most unusual factors which might account for it. At any rate, aconite is relatively easy to apply and fast. It does have a bitter taste but mixed with mulled wine or punch it might be covered without much difficulty as very little of the poison suffices to kill a man." I answered reaching into the inner pocket of my coat where since the Winchester murders I had taken to keep one or two pressed tablets of charcoal.

"Is there an antidote?" Musgrave pressed further having, at last, ignited some crumpled paper and was now feeding the fire with bits of coal, careful not to smother it again.

"No, there is not, but this might just help flush it out of her system a bit faster and thus have her recover sooner." I held up the tablet with my left while reaching for the water glass on her bedside table with my right. Fortunately, it was still more than half full.

At that moment Sir Cedric re-appeared, an elderly woman following him. That she was not happy with us was quite apparent, as her mouth was set in a thin line and her eyes glared daggers at my brother in law.

"You know we cannot stay at a maid's bedside all day long just because she has taken ill." she huffed.

"No-one is asking you to, Mrs Murray, but this does not relieve you from the responsibility of checking on her comfort once in a while." Cedric, who had been the one she had addressed, replied unrelentingly.

"Well, we have other things to do with Sir Robert being dead and the police all over the house which is full of guests anyway. Do you have any idea in what state the whole of the household is? All of us thought she would be all right."

Something akin to shame had appeared on her face as she saw the young woman lying there, pale, sweaty and shivering violently and her harsh features softened.

"When she had been brought up here she had been unconscious but woke shortly after and was allowed to stay in bed for the day. I had no idea she had taken a turn for the worse." she carried on explaining, stepping towards the bed and gently stroked two wet strands of hair from the girl's forehead. "By the way, your wife is asking for you, Sir Reginald."

With a deep sigh, Musgrave got up from his knees and straightened himself before shrugging his shoulders and marching out of the room, softly closing the door behind him.

"Has a doctor been sent for?" I enquired, seeing that it would be a pointless task to question the sick woman while wondering if she would live to see the next day.

"Yes, I have sent for our local doctor as Professor Peverell has his hands full with Lady Mary and Lady Mathilda." at the mention of the second name she rolled her eyes showing her low opinion of the latter lady before adding: "I have also made sure a fresh supply of coal will be brought up, as well as a hot water bottle and a few extra blankets. Do you think it is worth trying to feed her some broth?"

"I can't possibly say whether she can stomach anything or not, but I dare say it is worth a try," I answered just when the expected maid arrived laden with the requested supplies.

"Oh my, Lotty does look bad!" the short, stout woman exclaimed. "I will be right scared she dies while she is lying there, and me sleeping in the bed next to her without realising it."

I could not help feeling her fears to be justified as I watched both domestics take care of the third. It was then when at last they pulled out her hands from between the sheets where they had been tucked away, that I saw her right hand was bandaged.

"What happened there?" I asked, pointing at the slightly stained gauze, which obviously had been wound round the hand before she had to clean up the puddle of spilt poisoned punch Sir Robert had consumed, as red wine stains blotted the outside while a bit of dried brown blood shone through the layers.

"She cut herself this morning while putting away the dishes – we were all a bit nervous after last night and one glass had a crack and broke in her hand as she placed it on the tray." Mrs Murray, the housekeeper, replied. "But surely this cannot account for her poorly state of health, sir."

There I had to disagree. Aconite was a most potent poison even if only touched and if the girl had an injured hand, this accounted for her being affected this badly. As soon as she had been placed back into her narrow bed as comfortably as was possible, considering the ancient springs and thin mattress, I carefully took off the bandage and saw that indeed the punch had seeped through it and reached the surprisingly deep cut. Reaching for the washcloth hung over the rim of the cracked wash bowl I carefully cleaned it and wrapped it with a clean handkerchief of mine.

xxx

When Cedric and I stepped back into the dark corridor to find our way back to the more comfortable part of the house he held me back.

"Holmes, do you think we are in danger here?"

As there was no use in beating about the bush I answered with a simple: "Possibly."

After all, if the murderer had been desperate enough to kill Atwell at such a public display he might as well be desperate enough to do so again if we came too close to him – or her.

xxx

Harriet:

The evening passed quietly and it was just as well as my back ached and I was tired to the bone, almost falling asleep in front of the fireplace where I had made myself comfortable to read a bit. But my mind was distracted by thoughts of my afternoon visitors and I was too wound up to find any desperately needed rest. I was still irritated and at the same time felt oddly sad about the Miss Summerly knowing her situation was a hopeless one. I had spent some time wracking my brain to come up with a solution but the only one I had come up with was confiding in her parents – which presumably lead to them pestering me with the very same request her sister had come up with. It was just like Charles Atwell to cause such kind of trouble, seducing a young lady only to leave her with child. But this thought I had to correct, as he had not exactly left her, moreover from Mrs Whitshaw's report I had to even doubt he knew about the baby.

Something else bothered me as well. The more I thought about the telegram I had sent to Sherlock, the more I got the feeling this had been done prematurely. A dead Charles Atwell would not have provided a solution to the situation in the least, quite the contrary, now that I thought about it. Heaving myself out of the well-used armchair my husband normally occupied I went downstairs to get myself a cup of tea and to bid everyone good night and if necessary send Tom to bed. Though the latter proved to be unnecessary as he had done so already out of his own accord – a first for him. Then again, it was late already and he had had a long and weary day.

I was about to ascend the stairs again when the doorbell rang hesitantly and with a sigh, I went to answer the door, tea in hand. To my utter astonishment, it was Miss Summerly, wrapped up tightly in a cloak a good deal too big for her.

"I am sorry to bother you once again, but I needed to speak with you without my sister present." she apologised stepping into the hallway and out of the cold.

"If you have come to try and persuade me into aborting the child I can tell you now that I will not change my mind. I will not perform an abortion." I told her shortly, my temper already flaring with indignity.

"No, that is not what I have come here for as I don't want to kill my baby – Charles' baby. Doctor Stephens, I want this child! What I do not want is to marry Lord Banbury, though. You know Mr Atwell and I thought you might be able to help me in regards to him. I love him so very much, I would do anything to engage his affections."

This at least was something to work with. Her parents and sister might disagree, but after all, it was this lady's happiness that was at stake here not theirs. Pressing the cup of tea into her hands I beckoned her to wait for me while I was fetching myself another one and then sat down on one of the steps to make sure Miss Summerly's visit was but of a short duration. Smiling shyly she took the hint and sat down next to me. Something in what she had said had caught my attention and I needed to ascertain whether my assumptions could possibly be correct.

"You said you would do anything to engage Charles Atwell's affection, Miss Summerly." I began.

She nodded in agreement.

"Even go as far as to get yourself pregnant with his child so he would have to marry you?"

From the way the cup shook in her hands and she averted her eyes I knew I had hit the truth.

"What else was I to do?" she at last asked. "He is utterly taken by the sister of Sir Cedric Stephrey, you might know him as well, considering you know Charles. He told me she is the only woman he has ever considered marrying and that as long as she is unmarried either to him or another man he would not give her up."

"That is what Charles Atwell said?" I asked flabbergasted. I had always assumed he had wanted to marry me because it would have been convenient – not that it would have changed my mind in the slightest. Still I was surprised.

"Yes, he said she was the only woman who ever dared to stand up to him and he is insistent that he is not inclined to settle for a wife who has no backbone."

Ah, there, at last, was a less flattering explanation which I could believe a great deal better than Charles Atwell being head over heels in love with me.

"She must be a very formidable woman, don't you think?" Mary Summerly asked a self-deprecating smile on her her face. "What am I to such a lady?"

"Oh I know her and let me tell you, she is a handful. I doubt a man like Atwell could handle her. But you might be pleased to hear that she has recently got married to a very good man."

The face of the young lady beside me lit up with hope and I had to suppress a chuckle.

"But what am I supposed to do, Doctor?" she asked me, her eyes wide and her cheeks flushed.

"I think telling Charles Atwell about the baby might be a good starting point, don't you agree?"

Reluctantly she nodded and after finishing her tea asked: "And then?"

"We will see."