The Parting Glass – Part 9

Sherlock:

Lighting my pipe I began thinking over the evidence, only to be interrupted as soon as I was onto my second pipe – by Mr and Mrs Summerly, who barged in without so much as knocking on the door.

"You must help us, Mr Holmes!" the lady cried out excitedly, her face a brilliant shade of red.

I was pretty sure to know what would come next. Their younger daughter had eloped. Good for her!

And sure enough: "My daughter Mary has disappeared without a trace. Gone! My dear Susan, Mrs Whitshaw that is, went up to her room only to find it empty. Mary was gone. They searched the whole house, but my dear child was nowhere to be found. You need to go to London straight away, Mr Holmes, and find her. Bring her back."

Taking a deep breath I replied that I was busy at the moment and that in this instance she had to contact the police.

"But that might lead to a scandal, Mr Holmes, and then perhaps Lord Banbury will not want to marry her any longer."

"Perhaps she is with him," I suggested.

"You think so? Oh, they are such lovebirds." The lady smiled, while her husband's mouth was set in a firm straight line, showing he did not believe in this possibility at all.

"Mr Holmes," he, at last, said in a cold tone of voice - the first words I had ever heard him speak, "if we believed my daughter was visiting her betrothed we would hardly apply to you. If she had gone to visit Lord Banbury she would have said so openly, or at least left a message."

"That might very well be, but as it is, I am currently busy here and considering the time, there is no possible way I would be in London before late tomorrow morning."

"Then finish this unpleasant business here and leave with the earliest train tomorrow. It is getting tedious anyway to be stuck inside this house. One easily gets the impression it is us you suspect to have killed Sir Robert." the man huffed.

"No, I will not go to London tomorrow, nor within the last few days, as I have been invited by my brother in law, to stay for a couple of days."

"You give precedence to visiting your relatives instead of finding my daughter?"

"So it appears, Mr Summerly," I replied calmly, emptying my pipe to re-stuff it.

"But Lord Banbury!" his wife cried out.

Looking at the clock I gave a small sigh before deciding that it was time to tell them what was going on.

"I think you might want to sit down, Mrs Summerly, as to what I have to tell you now will come as a bit of a shock."

Both now stared at me suspiciously, and rightly so and eventually the stout woman sat down on the offered chair.

"You know something..." she probed, her beady eyes fixed on me, glaring.

"Yes," I admitted, sure that the pair was well on their way to Scotland by now. "Yesterday your daughters have consulted a Dr Stephens.

"Never heard of the man," Summerly interjected.

I refrained from pointing out that my wife was decidedly female.

"They requested an abortion, which was declined, of course."

"Why would my Susan want to… - you know?" Mrs Summerly stuttered, looking confused.

"Because it is your daughter Mary who is with child."

I let this information hang in the air, while both parents gaped at me. At last the ladies mother flared up: "That is absolutely impossible! She is to marry Lord Banbury, she cannot possibly be in the family way."

"There is no doubt, however, that she is."

It was the father who at last, with a toneless voice: "I hope she has not done herself any harm. We have to contact the police, Octavia."

"But Lord Banbury..."

"Oh, hang Banbury! It is our daughter and she is in danger. I rather have her alive and disgraced than floating in the river. What do I care about Banbury?" he flared up, worry written all over his stern face. "Please, Mr Holmes, find our child. I beg you."

"There is no need to because I know where she is, or rather where she is going to. - And also that she is not alone. She is merely following her own heart, nothing more."

"Gretna Green," Summerly whispered and I nodded.

"She always had her own mind." there a small, proud smile crossed his features. "But who is her companion?"

"The father of her unborn child: Mr Charles Atwell."

"You meddling scoundrel!" Octavia Summerly screeched, jumping up from her chair which ended up on the floor with a clatter.

Her husband only looked at me with a wry expression which told me that at least for him the happiness of his daughter was more important than any illustrious match that would make her unhappy, bowed and then pulled his lady from my room.

xxx

At last, I could get back to the actual problem. – Who had killed Sir Robert Atwell? Again I lit my pipe, leaned back against the upholstered headboard of the comfortable bed and thought over the case.

Mulling over the nine suspects I realised that I could neither prove their innocence nor their guilt, so another starting point had to be found. The motive did not help me either. The deeper I had dug, the more had come to light that could easily serve as one. And then there was the problem of how the poison had ended up in Sir Robert's glass, though there was little doubt that it had. For the butler, it would have been easiest, but as a butler, he would have had many opportunities to kill his master – and less conspicuous ones as well. No, for the moment I ruled out the butler.

Again I had the feeling I was missing something. But what?

Suddenly I startled. Of course! How could I have overlooked such an obvious clue? - The ring! What was it Mrs Summerly had said about Sir James? 'He had fidgeted with it all evening long – such an old-fashioned, ugly, chunky thing'.

But the ring he had been wearing this afternoon had been of a normal size, fairly modern, and though it held his seal it was worked rather plainly into the flat surface of the top. Still, Mrs Summerly might be a terrible gossip and overly ambitious, bordering ruthless, mother, but in this instance, I had complete faith in her observation and if that was the case, then the ring he had worn this afternoon was not the same ring he had worn two nights ago.

Then there was also the fact that the dead man himself had remarked on its hideousness, which again did not apply to the plain ring that had been worn today. What if the ring in question had a hidden compartment? It would make it look chunky, no doubt and it would have been easy enough to apply the poison without anyone being the wiser. I had to find that ring!

I glanced at my watch only to find that it was already three in the morning. Not exactly a convenient time for searching anything I decided, changing into my pyjamas and at last crawled into bed for a few short hours of sleep.

xxx

Harriet:

After Atwell's brief visit I felt restless and nervous. I had intended to rest, but now was pacing my study impatiently, unable to concentrate on my research or on anything else, my mind straying time and time again. Subconsciously ma hand had slid down to my stomach time and time again, and while I was happy beyond anything, I was also terrified, doubting my own abilities as a mother. At one point I was tired of my own moods, which in one moment were elated and put a happy smile to my face only to plummet to the deepest depths of despair and doubt in the blink of an eye. As we would be expected at my brother's in a few days anyway I decided to pack and go down to Lewes – or even Petersfield, depending on my mood. At the moment all that counted was to take action and escape my emotional dilemma. There was little use for Sherlock going back and forth only to pick me up anyway. When I went to bed everything was prepared for me to leave the next morning and as I could not find any sleep either I got up early and managed to take the eight-fifteen to Petersfield with the intention to carry on to Lewes later in the day. But the very least I needed was a smile from my husband.

I reached the Atwell's estate shortly before midday, walking towards the house as I could see, as we approached, that the driveway was blocked by various carriages. When I rounded the last bend in the meandering path I was met with mayhem.

"I swear I have not killed Sir Robert!" A man, already locked into a police cart pleaded, while a woman wailed loudly, crying for her James – presumably the prisoner who momentarily was driven away. Various bystanders were chattering excitedly, some protesting, others exclaiming disbelief.

Both my husband and brother stood calmly in the doorway watching the scene with interest and even pity, but by the expression on Sherlock's face, I could clearly see that it was not an innocent man that was brought to prison. The wailing woman saw me, caught my eye and ran towards me, throwing her arms around my neck. She looked familiar, but I could not recall whether we had been introduced at one point, or not. With her tear-stained face, all red and blotchy it was hard to tell. Bewildered I put my own arms around her back, comforting her as well as I could.

"Please, you must tell them it is a mistake. Not my James."

Why she thought I had any influence in what was going on was beyond me, but I presumed it was because I was neither police nor belonging to the household or the guests.

"Come now, Lady Isabel, come now, he has confessed to it. There is nothing to be done about that." a tall man with an aristocratic face told her, pulling her gently away from me.

"Have you got lost, miss?"

"No, I came here to… -" well yes, why did I actually come here? "To see my husband and see whether I could be of help or not."

"Your husband? Oh well, the house is in an uproar anyway, so why don't you come in?" His eyes suddenly fell on Sherlock, who still had not noticed me as he spoke to my brother, and suddenly the man broke out into a smile. "Mrs Sherlock Holmes, I presume?"

"Yes."

"Pleased to meet you. Sir Reginald Musgrave. I think we should get Lady Isabel inside and see if Professor Peverell cannot inject her with some laudanum to calm her down."

"Personally I would say a cup of tea and a few drops of valerian essence should do for the moment." I took the lady's other arm and together we approached the front door.

"Harriet? Whatever are you doing here?" Sherlock had, at last, noticed me.

"I just happened to pass by," I replied wryly. "I take it you have solved the case?"

"I found the murderer, but I am lacking a motive."

"Is it important when he has confessed to the crime?"

"Not for court, but I personally prefer to have a complete picture, my dear," he replied with a slight smile.

We were about to enter the house when a plump lady forced her way out of the building regardless of the crying woman we supported and who by now had gone limp in our arms, her knees buckling under the weight of the shame she carried on her shoulders, for being married to a murderer.

"I will not stay in this house a moment longer!" she exclaimed, looking over her shoulder at a man following in her wake.

Staring at Sherlock coldly she fumed: "And you will hear from us. Don't think you will get away with your meddling. No, we will take legal actions and then you will see where that lands you. Helping a girl elope!"

Sherlock Holmes did not answer but smiled disarmingly and I had to suppress a giggle. So this were the Summerlys. Nice people, indeed. - Though the father, even with his stern face, looked slightly more approachable than I had expected. Perhaps there would have been another way after all. But either way, I was sure to soon receive the telegram that would inform us of the young couple's marriage.

xxx

Two hours later the storm was over and the house was quiet again. Most guests had left by now and only the Peverells, Musgraves and Cedric and Imogene were left, shortly to leave as well.

"How on earth did you know it was de Clancy?" Sir Reginald enquired curiously when tea had been served.

"Well, the poison had to be applied somehow and I wondered how it could have been done without anyone noticing - and then I remembered something Mrs Summerly had said and everything fell into place. Tough as said, I am still lacking a motive. Anyway, during Breakfast, I went to Sir James' bedchamber and with the help of a very complying butler soon had found what I have been looking for – a rather large signet ring. But not the one Sir James usually wore, but an old-fashioned one. One that had been made to keep a tress of hair, or a short love note – or poison as in this case. There was still some residue in it, including specks of glass, which I now know have been in there accidentally as the vial containing the poison had broken when Sir James had filled the ring."

"But it indeed could account for the diversion of symptoms in Sir Robert's case, going straight into his bloodstream." the professor remarked thoughtfully. "I still cannot believe it."

"No, me neither." Lady Imogene said. "And I, too, am actually wondering why. After all, Sir Robert and Sir James have been friends for years, have they not?"

"I have found these..." Sherlock said thoughtfully, pulling out some papers from his inside pocket, handing one to Peverell, who read it, glanced up and with a sad expression on his face gave a slight nod.

"It is true, Mr Holmes, if that is what you wanted to ascertain."

"Considering what you have told me I think I can safely assume that it was an act of kindness." Sherlock Holmes smiled back at the man.

Taking his wife's hand Peverell kissed it and she wiped away the single tear which had escaped him. This gesture was so touching I could, once more, feel my own eyes tearing up and before I could help it I was crying.

"Please excuse me..." I stammered, fleeing the room.

xxx

Sherlock:

"Dear me, what is wrong with Hattie?" Imogene asked, her face showing great bewilderment, which at the moment I completely shared.

"I have no idea," I admitted, getting up to follow my wife.

I found Harriet sitting on a chair tucked away underneath the wide stairs, tears streaming down her face which she seemed unable to control.

"What is the matter, my dear? Are you all right?"

"Perfectly so." she sobbed. "I am just being silly. Don't worry, I'll be all right in a moment."

Of that I was not quite convinced, she looked distraught and tired. Pulling her up and into my arms, I comforted her as best as I could and surprisingly enough she quickly calmed down again.

"You, my dear, have worked too much again. I know you are as dedicated to your profession as I am to mine, but you have been looking pale and you have been feeling unwell and I fear I should have insisted that should take more rest." I whispered, kissing the top of her head. "What do you say about a few days at the sea? Just the two of us? It is not as if Martha or Mrs Hudson will expect us to be back before Monday. Let's sneak off."

"But my brother's party..." she snivelled, searching for her handkerchief. I handed her mine.

"Your brother's party is postponed until the summer. Your sister in law did not think it appropriate in the face of the recent events to celebrate."

"She has got a point there," Harriet muttered, blowing her nose and wiping her eyes.

"Yes. So? Seaside, just us?" I asked, pulling her closer again.

"It is January, Sherlock."

"And?"

"It will be freezing cold. Have you ever been at the seaside at this time of year? The wind is devilish!"

"We can stay indoors all day long if you wish. We have each other – and a crackling fire. Perhaps we can get a book or two."

She began laughing at my persistence, caressing my cheek gently. Then her expression turned unreadable.

"Sherlock, there is just one thing you should know."

I stared at her with some alarm.

"It will not just be the two of us going to the seaside."

Now she had me utterly confused. Who could she be talking off? I certainly was not prepared to take another person, be it my mother in law or Tom or whoever, I told her so most decidedly. Then I saw her smile. I had often seen her smile, but never like this. It was the most wonderful expression I had ever seen on her lovely face and my heart skipped a beat. Carefully Harriet took my hand and gently placed it on her abdomen.

"I fear this one person we will have to take with us, whether you like it or not, Sherlock."

xxx

I think upon our return to the sitting room I must have smiled like a fool, but the happiness at my wife's news was beyond anything I had ever felt, and even had I wanted to, I knew I would not have been able to suppress it.

We came back to a room of indignant looking people reading through the notes I had left on the table. No-one noticed our smiling faces and the sparkle in our eyes. Not that I would have cared anyway. If it had been for me I would have shouted it from the rooftops. But Harriet had reminded me that it was still very early on, a time when most women would not even know they were expecting and that the first months were the riskiest ones. The sound of that had dampened my mood but very slightly. There was no use in worrying too much after all.

"Had someone ever told me of this side of Sir Robert, I would not have believed it," Musgrave exclaimed, breaking my most pleasant thoughts. "Personally I would say we take the lot of them and burn them. Keeping them for any kind of reason will do no-one any good."

This could hardly be denied.

"You know, there is an odd surplus of first names starting with an 'S'. One would have thought 'J' was the most common first initial, along with C, G and H." Harriet suddenly remarked and thinking about it, she was right. More than half of the initials were 'S – something'.

She reached for one of the sheets and glanced at it thoughtfully.

"Could it not be that this SJ does not refer to an S. So-and-so, but to Sir J…? If that is the case, then this could be your missing motive, Sherlock."

Her brother took the paper from her, then nodded.

"You seem to be onto something there, Hattie."

"But Sir James is a married man and he has four children." Musgrave threw in.

"Which does not necessarily mean he cannot also have liked the company of men," I answered. "But for now we can only assume it is him, perhaps at the trial, he will be more talkative."

Reaching for the papers I threw them into the fire and all of us watched them burn, no-one saying a single word till the paper had turned to a pile of flimsy ashes.

A knock on the door broke our reverie and the butler entered with a message for me. I caught Harriet's eye and got up, hoping it would not be another case waiting. I had been serious when I had suggested a short stay at the seaside, and if we were snowed in all the better. It was not a new case, however. These news were decidedly more cheerful. - Well not as cheerful as the ones I had received not an hour earlier, but still a happy ending to this horrible affair.

"I think it is time to leave. It is getting late and dark already." I said, looking at the expectant faces in the salon, presumably wondering what the telegram had contained. I did not have them wonder any longer, smiling I told them: "However, there is a glimmer of hope for this family and it seems all this now ends in a fairly happy ending. Charles Atwell has gotten married and is on his way back here with his new wife. I think the news they have to share will comfort Lady Mary enough to recover from the severe shock she has had."

"Atwell? But… - Holmes, you are impossible!" Cedric cried out, shaking his head. "So that is why he disappeared, allegedly keeping to his room. You know, the two of you are impossible! What else are you hiding?"

Harriet and I only grinned at one another before leaving, hand in hand. The sea was waiting, mid-winter or not.