The Parting Glass – Part 6

Sherlock:

Mrs Summerly walked into the room with an expression of great annoyance and self-importance.

"I really do not see why you would want to talk to me, Mr Holmes. It is not as if I would murder anyone." she declared with decision, plunking down into the armchair opposite of mine.

"I never said you would, madam." I appeased her. "But you might have observed something that is of importance. If you could perhaps recall last night and give me your impression of it."

Instantly she relaxed while on the other hand, her self-importance grew to yet another level. She was short, but stout, and not in a flattering way, with a pudgy face and beady, observant eyes. As little as I liked her, if someone had seen something at all, it presumably would be this lady – unless she had been too busy observing something completely irrelevant for the case that is.

"Oh for sure I have seen a good many things going on. Mr Elliot was violently flirting with Mrs Wilson. And what shall I tell you? Both of them were absent when Sir Robert dropped dead!"

Oh, joy! I had unleashed a beast and if I wanted to have any information at all, I had to let it run wild for the moment. I did not give much credit to the two people not having been present at that time of night. Not everyone liked to stay up so late and as far as I remembered a little bit of flirting was quite a usual occurrence at a dinner party and at any rate, neither of the two people had handled the dead man's drink, whatever they had been up to during the murder.

"And then there was Charles Atwell, who was his usual unpleasant self. Odd young man. Can you believe it, my younger daughter wanted to marry him. But I told her that she could do much better, and what shall I tell you, now she is engaged to be married to Lord Banbury! Yes, THE Lord Banbury."

At that moment I thanked God for my own wonderful mother in law, as formidable as she was, she was also amiable and certainly not a gossip. I had to tell her on occasion.

Before I could throw in a word, Mrs Summerly carried on with her ceaseless chatter however and I had to pay close attention lest something of importance might escape me in this flood of nonsense which currently threatened to drown me.

"As said, Charles Atwell was highly unpleasant. I had the misfortune to sit next to him and he dared tell me he is not in the slightest interested whom my Mary is going to marry. He could at least have pretended to be happy for her. Are you always fidgeting with that ring of yours?"

I glanced down at my hands. I had indeed fiddled around with my wedding ring as while listening to her ceaseless chatter, I had tried to separate the important from the unimportant information that was currently thrown at my feet, the former still conspicuously absent, however.

"It seems a habit nowadays. Sir James was continuously playing with his signet ring as well, the whole evening long. Ugly old-fashioned thing that. Very chunky and impractical, but he seems to be quite partial to it. I asked him if I may have a closer look, but he refused point blank, said he could not take it off. Well anyway, nice man that, though he seemed a bit absent last night. Then again, no surprise in this weather, is it? I have been feeling slightly off lately as well. I am really looking forward to returning to London. I have so much to prepare still. And my Mary so nervous about her upcoming wedding. She is a bundle of nerves."

I wondered why that was…

Mrs Summerly's ramblings went on and on and after little more than an hour I had given up hope that anything of importance would come from her. She glanced up at the clock on the mantelpiece and startled.

"Oh dear, is it this late already? I am most sorry, but I have to go to bed. At my time of life I am dependent on my beauty sleep." she smiled coquettishly before heaving herself out of her seat and left with an air as if she had single-handedly solved the mystery.

People like her were the most trying to work with in my line of work. One wrong word, carelessly thrown in, and they would shut up like an oyster, while on the other hand, the benefit of letting them speak out of their own accord was but minute. Tired I ran my hand across my face, deciding that perhaps, for now, I should call it a day.

But no sooner had I decided to do so when Sir Reginald appeared.

"Musgrave!"

"I presumed you wanted to talk to me as well, Holmes. After all, I have handed Sir Robert his cup of hemlock, have I not?"

"Yes. But unless you knew what it contained I dare say you have little reason to feel guilty about it."

He gave me a weak smile.

"You have always been a rational man, but I cannot make so lightly of it, I am afraid."

"Cedric told me you have heard rumours about Sir Robert, regarding money." I began, keeping in mind what Whitshaw had told me.

"Yes. They quite disconcerted me, I have to say."

"Was it about Sir Robert taking money to rule in favour of one party or another in his work as a magistrate?"

Reginald Musgrave stared at me aghast.

"Yes." he stammered. "I did not pay them much heed but was concerned enough that I asked Sir Cedric what he would do if, hypothetically, something like that came to his attention. I did not say I was speaking about Sir Robert however, so it is beyond me how he could have guessed it."

"Apparently you kept your eyes on the man all the while you spoke to Sir Cedric," I told him, at which he laughed out.

"I have never been very good at the art of deception. I was not aware you knew Sir Cedric. He said you went to school together?"

"Yes, we did. I also happen to be married to his sister." I grinned at his flabbergasted expression.

"You of all people are married? - You are not having me on, are you?"

"No. I have been reeled in at last. Most willingly so, I have to admit."

My mind strayed to my wife and I could feel a smile spread across my face, but only for the shortest of moments as I had one more question for my old friend.

"Where and how have you heard these rumours, Musgrave?"

"As a magistrate myself I was applied to by a young woman who claimed she had been wronged. It was about a small piece of land she said she had inherited from her father. The other party claimed it had been sold to them but were unable to produce any valid document to prove such a claim. Now said lady has very few means, while her opponent is a wealthy farmer and though in my opinion the matter was clear and it should have been ruled in her favour it was not. Now, this might, of course, be for various reasons, but it seems that Atwell had offered her assistance if she paid him for it. This, of course, is highly unethical and I could not believe it of Sir Robert. But somehow, in light of what has happened, I might have to re-assess my judgement. I would be very sorry though if it were true, I have to say."

"Still you could not completely put it past him?"

"No."

xxx

Harriet:

I had slept badly without my husband being there, and the problem which had been laid at my door had not helped either. I got up at first light, feeling cranky, tired and slightly nauseous as if I was coming down with a cold.

Sitting down on Sherlock's desk I began writing a letter to him, explaining the new development in regards to Miss Mary Summerly and if he perhaps could inform Charles Atwell of his impending fatherhood. I was aware that this was not exactly fair on my husband, but unless I went down to Sussex myself there was little else I could do. I had first considered writing to Atwell himself but then had thought the better of it. This situation needed too much explaining and perhaps even coaxing the man than to rely on a simple missive which accidentally might end up on a pile of unread correspondence.

It took me some time already to explain everything to Sherlock as it was and by the time I had at last finished my epistle Mrs Hudson served breakfast. I was not entirely sure whether I was hungry or not, or if I could stomach anything, my nausea had increased and at the sight of the food, my stomach revolted. What turned it, in the end, was the smell of the steaming coffee. Quickly I dashed into the bathroom, just in time.

"Dear me, are you all right?" I heard our landlady enquire.

Retching I nodded, feeling already better for it. When I was done I rinsed my mouth before explaining: "There has been a bout of flu down at St. Anne's and I am not much surprised I am at last coming down with it as well. But I am fine, I have no fever and I already feel a lot better. I will try and eat something and then send a note over to the hospital to tell them I won't be coming in today."

"If I may say so, Mrs Holmes, it might be better to tell them you won't be coming in for the rest of the week. You have been looking awfully pale these last few days." Mrs Hudson advised and for once in my life I took it.

I WAS exhausted and I did not feel well. I might not have a temperature, but in this instance, I would neither do myself a favour by going to work nor my patients. No, a bit of rest would do me good and I wondered whether I should drive over to Chiswick instead of staying here. A bit of research would be a welcome diversion and I still had some sewing to do, at last finishing off my new travelling costume after my old one had held so many unpleasant memories that I had discarded of it.

The Summerly sisters, however, seemed to have a knack for turning up at the oddest of times and so, when I stepped out of the door and onto the side walk, a cab came to a halt in front of me and Mrs Whitshaw climbed out of it.

"Ah, Dr Stephens, how convenient to catch you here. It saves me from going to that dreadful place you are working in." she cried.

I most decidedly thought otherwise. Her sister I had found to be surprisingly pleasant if perhaps a little stupid, but Mrs Whitshaw I did not like at all.

"And, have you found a solution to our problem?"

What did she think? That I spend the whole of my waking hours to ponder on their idiotic problems? Well, I had, but she should not take it for granted.

"I have given you a solution yesterday. It was 'call off the wedding', remember?" I asked testily.

"I don't think the street is the right place to discuss this," she remarked coldly.

Reluctantly I led her into the house, but with her, the trick with the stairs did not work. Undeterred Mrs Whitshaw strode up the stairs and entered our sitting room.

"And I have told you yesterday, that that is not a solution, Doctor."

"Postpone it then, till after the baby is born."

"Impossible!" she cried out dramatically. "One cannot simply postpone a wedding to a lord. It is very clear that you have not the slightest concept of how the nobles of this country handle their affairs."

I stared at her before starting to laugh.

"I fail to see what is so funny."

"Nothing, actually. Just your unwillingness to accept the fact, that there are but three ways out of your sister's predicament without completely destroying her reputation and abortion not being one of them, as it happens to be illegal and on top of that more often than not highly dangerous to the mother. The first option is to call off the wedding to Lord Banbury completely with either having her go abroad for the duration of the pregnancy or secondly apply to the actual father to marry her and the third, and actually least favourable one I dare say, is to postpone the wedding to his Lordship till after the baby is born and act as if nothing has ever happened."

As I said these words the letter in my pocket felt like lead, but I would post it nonetheless. Miss Summerly did not want to marry the man her parents and sister insisted on as she loved another and even though I did not think too highly of Atwell, from what I had heard about Lord Banbury, he was by far the better choice of husband. What did I care for an ambitious sister who in turn cared nothing about her younger sister's feelings? No, it was Miss Mary Summerly who needed my help, not Mrs John Whitshaw and I would act accordingly.

"Then I think we have nothing further to say to one another." Mrs Whitshaw, at last, said with a huff and turned on her heel.

"Dear me, what kind fury was that?" I suddenly heard Mrs Hudson behind me. She had been busy cleaning the grate, unnoticed by either of us and shrugging my shoulders I answered, grinning:

"An angry one, Mrs Hudson. I have to say I was slightly disappointed I had expected more vigour."

The smell of the polish the landlady had used on the brass fittings made my stomach turn once again and I suddenly felt quite stupid as realisation of what was really the matter with me dawned on me at last. Now I just needed proof.

When I, at last, was on my way to my house in Chiswick I was certain of the diagnosis. Part of me was terrified and yet I could not help smiling happily. Still, this left me with the quite pressing problem whether I should continue at St. Anne's or not, and if the latter, if there was something else I could do in my line of profession. Well, as my mother always said, a solution would be found in good time and from experience, I knew this to be quite true.

My letter was posted and I was sure that by midday it would have reached my husband. I entered my home, had a cup of tea with Martha and then began finishing my dress. The skirt was quickly hemmed and the buttons equally quickly sewed on and after little more than three hours I was done and quite happy with my handiwork. Yes, this would do, at least as long as it fitted me. Suddenly I was tearing up for no reason whatsoever and for almost ten minutes I was unable to stop sobbing, till my mood lifted again and I actually began laughing at my own silliness. Oh dear! I already began to feel sorry for my poor husband having to put up with this for the foreseeable future.