A little less proofing than usual, but I've been awake for way too many hours now. Apologies in advance for typos.
From sirensbane: "The Importance of Being Earnest" by Oscar Wilde
Directly follows Special Delivery
"I suppose it's as good a plan as any, but you do know this is Gregson's case, right?"
Of course he did. My friend buried a smirk in adjusting the wig and prosthetic that made him appear a much older man. "He told me to go to you."
I doubted that—highly. Gregson would never tell Holmes to give a case to his greatest rival. Lestrade's incredulous look declared he knew that as well as I did.
"He told you to give me his case?"
"Essentially." Another moment finished with the wig, and a glance confirmed no one nearby before he focused on Lestrade. "He told me that he had too much work and to give a new case to you," he elaborated smugly. "Someone tried to poison us. Twice. If the culprit happens to be the same person that dumped three bodies in the Thames…"
The comment trailed away with such a clear smirk that even I caught it. Gregson had obviously proven himself an irritant during this conversation, and Lestrade's sudden understanding just as quickly became evident amusement.
"Right. I suppose you will provide the rest of the evidence after we arrest the owner?"
Naturally.
"Naturally."
I barely covered a laugh when Lestrade mouthed the word in unison. Holmes never voiced his deductions before the denouement. The one time I had asked why, he had replied with something about ensuring his target did not gather too much information, but I suspected the true reason lay more in dramatic effect. Holmes was nothing if not a performer.
Not that I would call him on it. His silent question prodded me to my feet, and the Yarders disappeared into the grounds as Holmes and I approached the main entrance.
"Welcome to Aldwick Nursery, the most comprehensive nursery on the island!"
The booming greeting rang from the trees the moment we cleared the gates, then a man a few years younger than us ducked a branch to give a wide smile.
"I am Don Aldwick, at your service. How can I help you?"
"Adam Pearce." Holmes' smile conveyed a geniality not reflected in the almost dismissive tone. He scanned the trees as if looking for someone specific. "Is your father around? Mr. Ernest? He supplied me with several intriguing plants a few years ago, and I hoped he might do so again."
A frightening light froze Mr. Aldwick's gaze, though his tone never changed. "No, sir. I am the only one here this week, but I'm sure I can assist you. What are you looking for?"
"Poppy and castor bean," Holmes replied willingly. "Oleander, too, if you still have it. My wife so enjoyed the flowers. I thought I would surprise her with another plant."
"Ah." The cold light slowly thawed despite Mr. Aldwick's clear dislike. Requesting his father had not started the conversation in a favorable manner. "I wish I could help you, but I believe you have the wrong nursery. All those plants are highly toxic."
"They are," Holmes agreed, "but I know we came here. The safe word at the time was nightbell."
"Nightbell, you say?" Mr. Aldwick stared at us, apparently debating whether completing a sale was worth dealing with someone that preferred his father. Several long seconds finally eased some of the angry tension. "In that case, I suppose I could show you what I have. This way."
He turned on his heel, though repeated glances ensured we followed. He slowed marginally when Holmes simply matched my pace, and something like realization relaxed him further when an uncharacteristically pitying motion took my arm in Holmes'. A distracted thought wondered at the almost evil smile Mr. Aldwick quickly concealed.
"Slow down," Holmes muttered just barely loud enough to hear. "Limp more. Rest occasionally."
Make your health look worse than it is, that said. I frowned but complied. Perhaps one of the Yarders needed another moment to find his place.
Mr. Aldwick gradually led us to a gated portion of the grounds. Well away from the main entrance and hidden deep in a copse of apparently native trees, stately wrought iron framed a large garden. A glance at Holmes prevented Mr. Aldwick from suggesting I stay outside.
"He warned you, I'm sure, not to touch, smell, or approach any plant in this area."
The elder Mr. Aldwick had done no such thing, of course, but Holmes nodded anyway. We certainly did not need the reminder. Five feet from the gate, scent alone had already identified three possibly lethal plants.
And entering found many more. Widely dispersed flower beds held everything from nightshade and oleander to the aconitum he had delivered first, but a truly giant version of the hogweed that had led us here caught my attention. Holmes bypassed a blooming patch of bloodroot to stop three feet from the towering plant.
"What a magnificent specimen! Your father did not have this when I was last here. Hogweed, is it not?"
"Giant hogweed," Mr. Aldwick corrected. A note of pride entered his tone as he wound closer. "Not to be confused with its lesser cousin, but yes. I found one near the creek and claimed some seeds before we eradicated the patch. It seems to like this crowded corner."
It certainly did, if growing nearly twenty feet tall was any indication of plant pleasure. I limped slightly to one side, ostensibly to get out of Mr. Aldwick's way while ensuring he could not stand directly behind me. One flower smelled like rotting flesh.
And another like bitter tea. I shifted closer to Holmes.
"I have never seen one so large," he enthused, apparently enraptured by the poisonous weed, "but what is this?" He leaned closer, hands and clothes well away from the stalk he inspected. "Someone has damaged your plant. See here?"
A hinted frown implied Mr. Aldwick had not wanted Holmes to ask about that. "The blooms were simply too nice to leave in the garden," he shrugged after a moment. "so I put that branch in a vase in my sitting room. The white contrasts the walls wonderfully."
They would make a good centerpiece, I admitted silently, if not for the extreme toxicity. The large umbrella blooms formed a hand-sized spot of color almost perfectly round. Such an impressive flower would be the talk of any party.
Especially when people discovered hogweed's other effect. Holmes' ready hum pretended agreeing indifference, but I took another step to the side when Holmes removed a familiar bundle from his coat. Mr. Aldwick's calm apathy flipped to deadly interest, then cold anger.
"Where did you—"
"How very interesting." Holmes' posture and voice changed to cut Mr. Aldwick's growl in half. "The tool marks on your stalk match the branch someone used to try to poison me, Mr. Aldwick."
Holmes turned, a wide smirk popping the prosthetic into his hand. His wig fell to the grass a moment later to make Mr. Aldwick's anger change to a murderous roar. The man lunged.
Only to trip over my cane. Holmes nearly pounced in his haste to prevent Mr. Aldwick from gaining his feet, and his full weight drove the blackguard's face into the paving stones.
"I should thank you for targeting me." Holmes' conversational tone did nothing to hide the boasting retribution in its depths. Leaning far enough to give Lestrade room still did not lift Mr. Aldwick's face from the ground. "This case had an unfortunate lack of clues until a poisonous flower appeared on my doorstep."
Dirt muffled an answering growl, but the cuffs clicked before Lestrade let the man move. I shuffled closer to the gate as the other officers hauled Mr. Aldwick to his feet. Perhaps the subtle hint would make them take this to the safer part of the garden.
Or not. Lestrade pulled a small journal from his pocket.
"You said he is responsible for the barrels?"
"All four of them."
Holmes nodded, but an unfamiliar voice interrupted to spark a strange degree of relief. A young woman poked her head into view, then carefully crawled from the far corner. Her rude gesture answered Mr. Aldwick's colorful greeting. "He tried to do the same to me, but I escaped."
"Miss Aldwick. Alnwick," Holmes corrected at her frown. "I am pleased to see you unharmed."
"Thank you, sir." Gliding steps brought Miss Alnwick to our group, though she gave the many plants a width berth. "Were you able to find enough evidence to charge my brother with embezzling as well?"
"I was—"
"Embezzling?" Lestrade interrupted incredulously. "From the nursery, I assume?"
"Of course." Holmes' look conveyed a clear what else would she reference? "Don Aldwick has been siphoning funds from the nursery profits since the day he started work for the senior Mr. Aldwick, and he used his father's poison garden to dispose of anyone that looked too closely."
"Why the barrels?"
"Convenience."
"They were available," Miss Alnwick answered simultaneously. Holmes obviously would have preferred to lay out the entire story himself, but he waved her to continue. "Our neighbor to the east is a woodworker, and one of his cousins regularly delivers maple boards. Bill—Don, to you—steals an armload from every delivery to make his disgusting 'silencing barrels.' My own is probably still sitting in his torture chamber—excuse me. I mean workshop."
Mr. Aldwick growled something insulting at his sister's dig, but the other Yarders dragged him away before he could try anything. Minor vertigo made me lean harder on my cane. I had not yet identified the plant, but something nearby poisoned by proximity. We needed to leave before the others started showing symptoms.
Except they completely ignored my attempt to say as much. Lestrade glanced up from scribbling in his book.
"I take it he poisoned your father and dumped the body in the river?"
"As well as my suitor and two employees," Miss Alnwick agreed. "He tried to kill me when I pieced together the cause from Father's symptoms, and since then, I have—"
Wafting breeze became a true gust to worsen my vertigo. She cut herself off with a grimace, but a glance behind Lestrade produced a muttered euphemism.
"—haven't kept as careful track of the buds as I should have," she finished instead. The apologetic tone joined an insistent wave toward the gate—which she emphasized with two steps in that direction. "We shouldn't linger in this area. The nightshade is in bloom."
Yes, that made sense. The increasingly pungent scent came from nightshade, but I ignored my own discomfort to reach for Lestrade. A large clump of those darkly delicate blooms clustered directly behind him, and his color had abruptly worsened when the wind shifted.
"I'm fine." He tried to wave me away even as he swayed. "I just—"
He faltered and paled further, but gripping his arm only made me sway with him. The overwhelming odor grew exponentially stronger next to the plant.
"You just need to leave," I finished. A small nudge aimed him toward the exit. "As do I. Go."
He swallowed, hard, but nodded when Miss Alnwick returned for him. Stumbling steps never noticed I did not follow.
Holmes did, however. This attempt to take my arm held only an urgent concern.
"Watson?"
"Nightshade." Vertigo strengthened to forcibly close my eyes, and my entire concentration narrowed to staying on my feet. I barely felt him drape my arm over his shoulders. "Just…need out. S't."
The last word faded even to my ears. Jostling suggested rapid movement before I felt myself lowered to a patch of grass.
"Sip some water, Inspector," Miss Alnwick said to my left. "The nightshade's gotten all of us at least once. That's why we always went in pairs."
"Watson, can you hear me?"
Yes, though I needed two deep breaths to hum a response. My vision slowly cleared to reveal Holmes kneeling in front of me. Escaping worry vanished the moment I focused on him.
"Alright?"
"Yes." Or I would be in a minute. I had never ventured that close to nightshade in bloom. My old professor had downplayed the symptoms.
"What was that?"
"Lightheaded." Another deep inhale eased the worst of the vertigo. "Nightshade is poisonous, Holmes. Very."
As he knew, I belatedly remembered. I distantly wondered what he truly asked, but nearly silent footsteps wandered closer before I could find the words.
"I appreciate your help in Bill's arrest, Mr. Holmes," Miss Alnwick said when he glanced up. "You have saved me and several others from meeting the same fate as my father."
"Not a problem at all." Holmes shifted enough to maintain a polite eye contact despite remaining next to me. "May I contact someone for you? I gathered you have been living in the gardens since his attempt."
"And stealing from the house," she confirmed. "I will be fine, thank you. With Bill in jail, there is no one to contest my taking over the nursery. It will be nice to reclaim my room." A long pause directed her gaze at those iron gates. I thought she might voice a farewell and leave, but a musing tone eventually put thoughts to hesitant words. "You never did answer my question, you know, and I would hear your opinion. What do you think of 'Alnwick'?"
What did we think of…misspelling her name? Holmes' face must have mirrored my own confusion, as she laughed.
"I'm sorry. Did Bill prevent that note as well?" He murmured an affirmative. "With Father gone," she continued, "I share the name 'Aldwick' with no one but my brother, and I have no wish to be associated with him." Utter scorn directed the word at where we could faintly hear the murderer being forced into a hansom. "My father used the name Ernest when trading for our special garden, but his given name was Nathan. Bill followed his example—somewhat—by introducing himself as Don."
"Why the aliases?"
"A sense of security," she told me with a shrug. "More imagined than practical, obviously, but Ernest existed only in the minds of previous customers—we thought, at least," she amended with a questioning look at Holmes. "A supposed former customer asking for Nathan lied about something, and those who do not agree with our garden did not have a name to trace. Ernest Aldwick doesn't live here and never has. I thought to replace Bill's stolen initial with Father's given one as a way to make a new start, but I have no one else to ask for advice. You are older than I. Do you see any reason I shouldn't?"
"I do not." A smile twitched his mouth. "Your faithful customers will not care about a single letter, and I doubt anyone else would notice."
"Good." Tension drained from her shoulders. "I should finish giving Inspector Lestrade everything I found on Bill. Thank you again."
She hurried away without waiting for a reply, and with the world no longer spinning disorienting circles around me, I pointedly ignored Holmes' frowning question to gain my feet. I would not let a simple plant slow down his case.
After all, I would much rather a close brush with some nightshade than a tedious evening alone in our flat.
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