Methinks the lady absent – Part 10

Harriet:

With a sigh I made my way upstairs, wondering whether a new case was waiting for Sherlock or if Miss Jenkins had dropped by for whatever reason. I seriously hoped for the latter, but all those hopes where squashed when I saw one of the most unpleasant people in the room I had ever come across. There, sitting in one of the armchairs by the fireplace impatiently drumming the armrest with her fingers was none other than Lady Cecily Metcalf.

"Ah, at last there you are!" she cried out even before turning around towards me and as soon as she had, her face hardened and with a resigned shrug she sat back down in her chair.

"I presume you expected my husband," I replied as neutral as I possibly could even managing a small smile. "Well, he should be back any time soon."

At least I hoped so for the lady looked determined to stay for as long as it took.

"What would I want with your husband?" she huffed indignantly.

"Is that not the reason you came here?" I wondered if I should baffle her with courtesy and order up some tea.

"I came here to see Mr Sherlock Holmes, Madam. - Do I know you? You do look familiar."

She had turned around again to eye me suspiciously and with some contempt.

"Yes, Lady Metcalf, we've met before. I am Sir Cedric Stephrey's sister and we had our coming out together."

"Ah yes, the wallflower... - But then again, who would look at you, or any other woman, when I am around? Are you still a 'Miss'?" she inquired haughtily, well aware of her impoliteness judging by the sickeningly sweet smirk on her, admittedly very pretty face as she ogled my stomach in an insinuating manner.

How on earth did one woman manage to display such an array of unpleasant expressions and manners all at once?

"Considering that I just told you that I have a husband, obviously not," I snapped, taking off first my gloves and then my hat.

"You can just as well go home, for I have been here before you. - And besides, I doubt you have anything important to speak about to Mr Holmes unless your husband has done the runners, that is."

It took me some self-restraint to refrain from snapping at her that after all I was not her and that consequently my husband had no reason to run from me, but I managed ti keep faily calm and instead I replied: "This, Lady Metcalf, is my home and it is my husband you want to talk to."

After her unsavoury display of conceited arrogance she now looked confused, so much so that it was almost comical – but her bafflement was short lived and she returned to her usual self by asking: "And since when is Mr Holmes married? I have not heard of such an occurrence and I am sure I would have considering that his friend publishes these quite interesting little stories about 'the great detective'"

"Other than the likes of you, some people prefer to keep their private lives private, and besides, Dr Watson always sees that a year or more passes before he publishes anything and since we have not yet been married for a year, that might very well explain why you haven't heard of our marriage."

It was obvious that she was about to remark that apparently the wedding had been out of necessity when Sherlock's voice sounded from the half-closed door even before he entered: "And as far as I am concerned, the public will never hear about it."

It was pretty obvious that he had been standing there for some minutes. Typical!

"Not that I am ashamed, far from it, for I am immensely proud of my wife, but in my line of work I have to be on my guard not to put my family at risk."

He smiled at me and gently pecked me on the cheek before pulling out a chair for me.

"And yet, you told me," Lady Metcalf replied smugly getting up from her seat.

"Yes, but after I looked into the matter of your husband's death I dare say you will keep quiet about it."

She blanched visibly and her hands grabbed the back of the chair she had just vacated.

"I am, of course, aware that he was abusive and that the deaths of his two previous wives have been most suspicious, though never could ever be proven," Sherlock carried on.

"One wife," she whispered, her face as white as a sheet.

"No, two wives – before you. You were the third. The first did not make it past their honeymoon, when she had an accident during a boating trip and went 'overboard'. Her body was never recovered. The second lasted several years longer but eventually fell down a flight of stairs – in your London townhouse - and I dare say, your demise would also have been inevitable in the long run had you not killed your husband before he had a chance to murder you and while I don't condone such a thing, I can't, with a good conscience, judge you for having killed such vile a man."

"Vile a man he was... - But you have no proof that I am responsible for my husband's death, Mr Holmes. You cannot possibly prove anything!"

In all my bewilderment at the turn of conversation I could not help noticing that she didn't deny my husband's accusation.

"Oh, the evidence is circumstantial, but what does it matter, if all it takes for you to be convicted of murder is a jury believing you have done so and for that, the evidence is strong enough. People have been hanged with less to prove their guilt."

"Then how am I supposed to have done it?"

"Well, it was by coincidence that I figured that one out and everything fell into place, when yesterday I passed by your townhouse in search of my wife and saw that you had, though it was a little overgrown, a rather exotic fern garden. And as it happened, one of the plants that caught my attention was a pretty sturdy Ricinus plant, looking very lovely and thoroughly inconspicuous amongst the ferns and other evergreens. I highly doubt there are many people who would recognise it. To make a long story short, your husband was found in his dressing room, where he had been smoking a pipe. Though he had never shown any signs of a weak heart, he suffered a heart attack and died from it before help could arrive. Now, as it is with so many other poisons, the symptoms are often very similar to the one or other disease and can easily be overlooked and often are, I am sad to say."

"But as you might recall, Mr Holmes, there has been in inquiry and neither the tea nor the brandy he had in his dressing room had any trace of poison in it."

"That is because it was mixed into his tobacco, which, needless to say, had not been tested at the time, and while some poisons can lose their potency due to burning, however, inhaling ricin is just as deadly as ingesting it, if not more so."

"You can't prove that!"

"Alas, I can. I had just been in doubt where the ricin might have come from since, other than arsenic it is not readily available for purchase and that, as I have said, I have recently found out. Castor oil is common enough, of course, and slightly poisonous, but the amount you would need to kill someone with it, is impossible to apply without raising suspicion and besides, there are certain side effects."

I could not help grinning at the latter part. Well, yes, the 'side effects' of castor oil were unpleasant indeed.

"That there is a Ricinus plant in my garden doesn't prove anything, Mr Holmes. As it stands you can't even know whether he was killed with ricin or not."

"Alas, I can. I was owed a favour by one of the men in the yard and he gave me access to the things your husband had on him the night he died – things you never claimed, I may add – and, after having read the coroner's report, I took a sample of the residue left in the pipe..."

"It doesn't prove it was I who killed him."

"No, not in itself but you were the only person who benefited from his death. Also, you were the only person other than his valet, who, as far as I understood it and as unusual as it is, was also responsible for cleaning his master's chambers, had access to his private quarters. In short, you had the means, the opportunity and the motive. You, no-one else. That is what is making the evidence circumstantial after all."

Lady Metcalf shrugged at that and for a moment I almost thought she was going to cry, but her moment of weakness passed quickly and instead she flared up: "And? It was for the better. My husband was a monster nothing more. He had many enemies and he knew it. He was very cautious and for good reason. So you are right, hardly anybody else had an opportunity to kill him and he never left the house without his most burly footman. He also never ate anything before giving some of the food and drink to his dog. Poor creature! It was then that I began looking for alternatives and the only thing that passed his lips without Jethro having a taste first, was his pipe. - By the way, did you know that I was all but sold off to him when my father found that he couldn't pay him back his debts of honour? - I was nineteen then. Nineteen! Just come out and with every chance of finding a good husband. That ruddy old pervert was fifty-eight then. It was disgusting to lie with him and his 'preferences' were even more so. Close to seven years I had to live with him, had to do his bidding had to bear with his constant humiliation and the violence..."

"As said, I understand you completely, otherwise I would've had you arrested weeks ago."

"And still you use this knowledge to blackmail me," was her cold reply.

"No, only to show that we all have things we rather keep private," Sherlock smiled. "But that was not why I tried to speak to you. Not at all, actually. The reason why I sought you out was, that this time around you have been the victim of a crime."

"Pardon?"

Lady Metcalf looked so confused it was almost comical. It was the first time I had truly seen her as being as human as the rest of us and not a cold-hearted witch intent on playing and insulting others.

xxx

Sherlock:

That it would be so easy to find our men, I had not dared to hope and by the looks of it neither had Hopkins, but on occasion it happened that when people get too sure of themselves they ended up thinking that they were untouchable, and that most certainly applied to the lot we found at Peterson's Press - up to a point where they had not even realised that Miller had been caught or bothered to check on him when he didn't report back. So, as organised as they had gone about the business, they were obviously amateurs after all. It was another surprise that apparently Miller hadn't told his accomplices about his mistake. Then again, men like him didn't like to admit making mistakes. Well, men like him never thought that their plan might go in the first place. It was the difference between men like Moriarty and people like this. James Moriarty always had a 'Plan B' and was well aware that the human factor was a fallible one. And in this case, Miller's blunder had been a severe one, putting their whole plan in jeopardy of which they had been blissfully unaware all these last couple of day. Another thing that would never have happened by the man now resting, hopefully not all that peacefully at the bottom of the Reichenbach-Fall. As it was, their negligence meant that, after all, Harriet had not been in danger when I had found her the day before. There had been no second man in London. Still, better be safe than sorry.

Which reminded me, that I needed to speak with Watson and request that in his stories he would never mention that I had a wife and children. - Right, one child at present that wasn't even born yet, but oddly enough, since my fairly unsettling dream I couldn't help thinking about our little one in the plural, especially after Hattie's remark that 'they' could be girls. I knew very well, that she had thought it had escaped me, but the awareness on her face as soon as she had realised what she had said, did have me wonder. And besides, a sibling or two later on, was certainly not out of the question.

Upon returning to the Yard Hopkins and I had shortly stopped by the Hanover Square Hotel to try and speak to Lady Metcalf, but found her to be out. Leaving my card we went to see whether more people had been duped, for as it stood, for the last quarter all payments of Peterson's Press had been made with the falsified money they themselves had printed. All their writers had ended up with money not worth anything – and that was, where, much to my astonishment, Lady Metcalf and her townhouse had come into the picture and had us stop by her quarters since they had been on our way anyway.

"You mean I have been paid with false money all those weeks?" she asked indignantly, after I had finished my tale.

"Yes."

"That is despicable!"

I caught Hattie's gaze and judging by her raised eyebrows her thoughts went d'accord with mine.

"As much as I agree with you, may I remind you, that only in January you have tried to swindle an insurance company out of a whole lot of money yourself? Now that it is you on the receiving end, it suddenly is despicable, is it?" I could not help asking.

"Do you have to be such a moraliser all of the bloody time? Dear me, you are no fun at all," she pouted, though a slight blush crept over her cheeks. It seemed as if the lady had something akin to a conscience after all.

Shaking her head Harriet could obviously not help remarking: "Your definition of fun is an odd one, I have to say."

"Well, each their own," the lady in question shrugged, then added with a sly smirk: "But now that I know that you are onto me, I will try and better my ways, I promise."

"Thank goodness!" my wife sighed, "But, Lady Metcalf, what book have you written? I am quite curious, I have to admit."

Ah, well, I had omitted that tiny piece of information until now...

"Oh, it is actually quite successful, Hattie, I wonder you have not heard about it," I answered, as the authoress herself shrugged nonchalantly. "But, of course it was written under a pseudonym."

"Really?"

"Yes, her latest work is named 'The bosom of love' and it is by an author you must have heard about, I am sure - Anonymous."

Hattie's expression was priceless as she struggled not to break out laughing, and not quite with success.

"Did you like it, Mr Holmes?" Lady Metcalf inquired, and to my surprise the corners of her mouth curled up likewise.

"Hm, I have not had the time to read much of it, but I'd say it has the certain 'something' that, as a 'romance' makes it appealing even to men."

"That was very nicely put, Mr Holmes, and you didn't even blush. Come on, be honest, it is horrible!"

"Quite."

"Thank you. So, I shall send you a copy then. - And now, I will have to leave since I have a dinner engagement and as it is, I am already late."

"Remember your promise."

"Oh, I'll remember both of the promises I gave you, for though, on occasion, I find it amusing not to play by the rules, I do keep my word. Always! Mr Holmes, Mrs Holmes, good evening."

xxx

"So, for once Lady Metcalf has been innocent," Harriet mused as we prepared for bed later on that evening.

My father had returned shortly after Lady Metcalf had left and was happy to inform us, that he had indeed purchased 'The Meadows' and was moving back to Langfield as soon as it was inhabitable again. Well, that was quick. And still I wasn't sure how I felt about it.

For the rest of the evening the conversation had been about the house needing a new roof and some windows replacing, but that it was otherwise much as it had been almost twenty years ago and only now did we have the chance to speak of the case.

"Yes, for once she has been innocent. Or at least as innocent as a woman like her can be."

"Do you think she will keep her promises?"

"Probably," I answered thoughtfully. "With all her faults, I have never heard of her being a gossip. As for her changing her ways, well, we will see. After all, she isn't doing anything that many men of the gentry are not prone to either. Betting, gambling, debauchery and trying to find ways to get at more money whether it is in an honourable or dishonourable way is pretty much the foundation of gentleman's clubs like the 'Supremacy'."

"Sadly so," my wife sighed, slipping into bed and trying to find a comfortable position to lie in.

"Very sadly from a social point of view, and gladly so from the one of a detective," I grinned.

"Have I told you lately that you are impossible, Sherlock?"

"No."

"Then it is hight time: You are impossible!"

"Ah, and I love you, too, my dear."

A.N.: So, that's it for this case. Next will be the dinner at the Stanfords where Holmes will recall the incident Stanford referred to before he first introduced Watson to Sherlock Holmes – that he beat subjects on the dissecting table and after that it will be a case of treason and possibly murder, I am not yet sure about the latter. I have started penning down ideas, but as yet I have to wrap my head around it a little more.

As always thank you so much for your support. I really appreciate it and it makes everything worthwhile.

Love

Nic

P.S.: Not edited yet, once again. I think eventually I will edit the whole lot in one go, but at the moment I hardly find the time to write, and I rather not keep you waiting in order to avoid mistakes, though I hope they are not severe ones. You've been so patient with me anyway.