Treachery in Torquay

by Lawler, W. P. ;

  Question #4: Are you aware of any hidden rooms, passages, etc? Are any areas restricted from your perusal?

  Mr. Holmes, in truth, I know of no hidden rooms in the house proper. There are porticoes and cells once utilized by the religious brothers who once resided here. We have a storage cellar as well, but I have rarely had need or opportunity to investigate to any great extent. And I have never been denied access anywhere.

  Question #5: How often do you get to leave the estate, and if you do, where have you gone in the last four months?

  I have no restrictions in regard to remaining on property. As to when and where I may have traveled, I feel no need to reply. I mean you no disrespect, sir, but it’s really no concern of yours.

  Question #6: Do you have any close friends with whom you visit on occasion who might be of a suspicious nature?

  I do have a small circle of local residents that I have the great pleasure of calling my friends. I can assure you, however, that they are among God’s finest examples of humanity.

  When I had finished reading the responses, Holmes asked, “Tell me, Watson, what do you make of the butler’s answers?”

  “Truthfully, Holmes,” I replied, “I can find no fault in most of his responses. They appear to be straight, honest efforts to answer your questions. However, I am concerned about the matter of Mr. Randolph being confined to his quarters when certain visitors came to call. I believe that situation might bear further study.”

  My friend shook his head in the affirmative, offering, “I, too, feel that way, Watson. Malcolm Randolph seems to be a truly honest man, but he may be hiding something from us.”

  “Now, good fellow, it is time to get some rest. I will see you in the morning,” he whispered, closing the door to his bedroom.

  Return to Torre Abbey

  Wednesday, December 20th

  “Cra-a-a-ck, a flap-a-dap-a-dap...”

  At that noise, I jumped from my bed, only to find Holmes standing by my bedroom window, angrily adjusting the window shade that had slipped from its bindings.

  “Blast it all,” Holmes blustered, still struggling with the flapping blind. “Please excuse my clumsiness, but this window shade has certainly seen better days.”

  “Egad, Holmes,” I entreated with some mild agitation, “what is the matter with you? Can’t a person enjoy a good night’s rest without being shocked into consciousness?”

  “Yes, yes, Watson,” he replied. “Rise and shine, old boy. We have a busy day ahead of us.”

  Ten minutes later found us downstairs, breakfasting on some of the most delicious scones I had ever tasted. Looking out the panoramic windows to our left, we could see small vessels making their way across the Channel, slowly disappearing into a receding fog bank. A bright winter sun was slowly breaking through, signaling the arrival of a most charming winter’s day.

  I watched my companion dip his bread into a poached egg, much too occupied with the morning paper to notice the yolk dripping onto his sleeve.

  “Holmes,” I snickered, “look out, friend! You’ll soon be wearing your breakfast!”

  It was too late and seconds later, the sticky yellow substance had taken up residence on his right arm and also decorating his tweed vest. The look on his face was priceless as he quickly diluted the stains, dabbing them with some drinking water.

  Upon seeing his actions, I couldn’t resist jesting, “Hmm...it seems the yolk is on you, Holmes.”

  Of course, his sense of humor wouldn’t allow him to credit my snide remark, but he did offer, “Yes, Watson, very clever of you,” while still trying to remove the stubborn stains.

  His annoyance was soon interrupted by the appearance of one of the hotel bellboys.

  “Excuse me, gentlemen,” he stammered, “but there is a young lady who wishes to know if she can join you.”

  Holmes and I quickly turned toward the entryway and spied young Aggie Miller, smiling as she waved in our direction.

  “Please see to it, young man,” Holmes suggested, rising from his place while still laboring over his vest.

  I took another piece of my scone and sipped some tea as the young lady arrived at our table. She was smiling broadly, obviously excited about what this day might have in store for her.

  “Ah, Miss Miller,” Holmes welcomed her. “How are you this lovely morning? Please have a seat. Are you hungry, young lady?”

  “Thank you, Mr. Holmes,” she replied, adding, “I’ve already had my breakfast... my mother’s excellent oatmeal.”

  Aggie took her seat next to me, and sheepishly offered, “Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson. Thank you for allowing me to join you. I trust that you both are well-rested. I can assure you that I am most eager to get to work on our investigation and trust you feel the same.”

  Holmes winked at me as he turned to the young girl, replying, “Miss Miller, we are both of us well-rested and ready for whatever the day may bring. And you, how did you sleep last evening?”

  Pausing ever so slightly, the young girl softly responded, “Actually, if you must know, I had very little sleep. It must have been because I was so excited thinking about today, that my mind wouldn’t let me relax to the necessary state where sleep might occur.”

  Before either of us could respond, she continued, “Gentlemen, what is our next step? I simply can’t wait to get started!”

  Anticipating a response to her terse statement, Aggie’s eyes moved back and forth from Holmes to me and back and forth again.

  I gazed once more at my companion, curious as to how he might respond to our young detective’s unbridled enthusiasm. Holmes slowly folded the newspaper, took a sip from his teacup, and, gingerly leaned toward our young, inquisitive ingénue.

  “Miss Miller,” he offered, almost whispering, “Dr. Watson and I are still formulating our plans for the day, but please be assured that we have included you. However, I must remind you, you must promise to follow our directions exactly.”

  Aggie beamed at his comment.

  He continued, “It is now 9:00. I would like you to make your way over to the Cary residence in one of the hotel carriages, making sure to exit on Church Street. From there, you should walk to the Abbey and meet with your friend, Margaret. If she is at home, we would like you to spend the day with her, keeping your eyes open for anything that may seem the least bit out of the ordinary. Please pay particular attention to the new housemaid, Mrs. Bedlam. Of course, you must be careful not to raise any suspicions in her. Do you understand?”

  Aggie interrupted. “But Mr. Holmes, what shall I do if Margaret is not at home?”

  My friend quickly added, “Miss Miller, if that is the case, have a polite visit with Mr. Randolph. I believe you told us last evening that he was most friendly to you. If we haven’t arrived after a brief conversation with the butler, please say your ‘good-bye’ and have a nice walk around the property.”

  Once more the child chimed in, “but Mr. Holmes, I want to do more. How can I help if I merely wander aimlessly about?”

  My friend, smiled and replied, “Miss Miller, Watson and I will find you outside and we’ll simply put Plan B into effect.”

  “Plan B,” she stated, “fine, plan B. Pardon, sir, what in the world do you mean by Plan B?”

  “You needn’t worry about that for the moment,” Holmes assured her. “Now, if you are certain that you know what you are to do, please get along. The driver will be waiting for you. Simply go to the stable and ask for young Toby. Off you go!”

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” she responded confidently. “I understand, and I am most anxious to see you both at the Abbey.”

  After that remark, Aggie Miller skipped away from the table and waved as she disappeared into the hotel hallway.

  Aggie Miller was most content as her carriage headed through the crisp morning air toward Torre Abbey
. The thrill of her assignment was almost too much for the young girl. No one could be that happy, or could they? Aggie Miller was no ordinary child. There was a certain something about her that everyone who had met her came to discover. Even the carriage driver noticed something very special about the young girl.

  “I say, Missy,” the young hotel driver, Toby, commented, “might I ask why you seem so joyous this morning? Could it be that Father Christmas will soon be here?”

  Aggie’s appearance suddenly changed at his remark. She was ready to angrily deny the existence of Father Christmas, and provide a stern rebuke to the pleasant driver when her maturity held sway.

  Forcing a smile across her face, the young girl issued, “Oh, sir, is it that obvious?”

  “Well, it’s true,” she continued, “I just can’t wait till he visits!”

  The young driver just smiled and said, “Well, you must have been a good little girl, judging by the happy look on your face. Good for you, Miss.”

  After that comment, Toby yelled to his team, “Whoa, whoa there!”

  “Miss,” he continued, “here we are at the corner of Church Street and Belgrade Road. Now, you have a nice day and a Happy Christmas!”

  “The same to you, Mr. Toby,” the young girl politely replied, stepping down from the carriage. Aggie waited for the carriage to disappear before continuing on her way. One couldn’t be too careful these days.

  After Aggie had departed, Holmes and I had been in no great hurry to finish our meal, giving our young detective a bit of time to arrive at the grounds of the abbey before us. Five minutes later, we were back in our rooms, preparing for the day’s adventures. Shortly thereafter, we headed downstairs and out through the front door, only to find that our driver was still hooking up his team. It didn’t take long to complete his chores and we were quickly on the road leading back to Torre Abbey. As we traveled the wintery roadway, Holmes informed me of his plans to take a closer look at Cary’s library, that is, if Cary was not at home.

  “Holmes,” I inquired, “what if we find that Cary is home? Won’t that spoil your plans?”

  “Watson,” he scolded, “it matters not a whit whether he is there or not. I will still be able to examine the room. The only difference will be that he will unknowingly be helping me!”

  That made no sense to me, and I was about to tell him so, when he whispered, “Watson, don’t worry, you’ll soon see what I mean...”

  For the rest of our ride, we rested, quietly enjoying the slowly melting icicles as they trickled from the branches of the glorious oak trees that lined our way.

  “Well, look who’s here? If it isn’t the legendary Miss Aggie Miller, soon to be a student in Paris, France,” teased the Cary butler. “And she’s come to visit her friends here in Torre Abbey. To what do we owe the very great honor of your visit?”

  The friendly butler bowed as he welcomed his young friend through the main entrance.

  “Oh, Mr. Malcolm,” spoke the smiling youngster, “you’re so silly. You know that I’ve come to see Margaret. I hope that she’s here today!”

  The smile disappeared from the manservant’s face as he informed Aggie, “Young Miss Margaret, I’m very sorry to report, is still away at the country estate. And I really don’t expect to see her today, Miss Aggie.”

  While the butler was responding, a slender figure was furtively descending from the main staircase landing.

  Frowning mildly, Aggie voiced, “That’s fine, Mr. Randolph. I expect she’s having a grand time there, just the same.”

  “I say, Miss Miller,” Randolph suggested, beckoning to the maidservant, “even though Margaret’s not here, would you like to join Mrs. Bedlam and me for a nice hot cocoa? It’s awfully cold outside and it will give you a chance to warm up before you start back home.”

  Before Aggie had a chance to respond, Mrs. Bedlam spoke up, “Miss Miller, Malcolm is right. Why don’t the three of us have a nice hot drink and chat awhile before you must leave?”

  Aggie looked at the two servants and, shrugging her shoulders, offered, “Why thank you. I’d like that very much.”

  The Cary kitchen was one of Aggie’s favorite rooms. A large window overlooked a tall stand of hemlocks, draped with ivy. Often, she and Margaret would sit at the large oaken preparation table, doing their drawings and creating wonderful adventure stories. They would then entertain each other, playing the parts of some of the fictional characters they had newly created.

  While Mrs. Bedlam readied the cocoa, Malcolm and Aggie sat and talked. The kind butler wanted to hear more about Aggie’s plans to study in France, while Aggie, for her part, was thinking about other things. She listened patiently while Randolph described his trip to Paris, many years ago. He talked of visiting some of the finer restaurants and, of course, the Eiffel Tower. The young girl sat there, feigning interest, but he kept going on and on...

  Quite, out of the blue, she suddenly turned to the maid, and inquired, “Mrs. Bedlam, I hope you don’t mind my asking, but where did you work before you came to Torre Abbey?”

  As soon as it was out her mouth, Aggie realized what she had done, but it was too late.

  Mr. Randolph appeared stunned by the question and offered, “Miss Aggie, that’s really none of your concern. Young lady, I’m very disappointed and surprised at you.”

  Aggie lowered her head, and turned away from her friend, knowing that she had indeed, crossed the line.

  “That’s quite alright, Mr. Randolph,” the tall housemaid softened. “I have noticed that young Miss Miller is a most inquisitive child and I certainly don’t mind answering her question.”

  At that, Malcolm excused himself, “Very well, I’ll be right back. I believe someone’s at the door.”

  “Young lady,” Mrs. Bedlam began, “I came highly recommended from a London friend of Mr. Cary’s. I have references from some of the finest families in England. When I was invited to apply for this position, I was very honored to have been considered by the Cary family. Although I’ve only been here for two weeks, I have been made to feel very much at home by Mr. Randolph and the rest of the staff. Of course, I am still getting to know everyone, and they are likewise getting to know me, as well.”

  Following a short pause, the maid again spoke, “Is there anything else you care to know, Miss Miller?”

  A stunned Aggie Miller quietly, mumbled, “No, Ma’am, I didn’t mean to pry into your affairs. Please forgive my impertinence. I was merely looking for a polite way to instigate a conversation to try to get to know you better.”

  The maid smiled, placing three steaming cups of hot cocoa on the table, just in time for the butler’s return.

  “It was only the wind,” Randolph offered. “My, that cocoa smells wonderful. Thank you, Mrs. Bedlam. Please join us.”

  Once the maid was seated, the butler turned to Aggie once more, “So, young girl, when are you leaving for the continent?”

  For the next several minutes, all three enjoyed the sweet taste of chocolate cocoa, sharing some pleasant conversation. Aggie happily discussed the plans for her upcoming studies abroad. She thanked Mr. Randolph for the information he had imparted earlier and complimented Mrs. Bedlam on the excellent cocoa and cookies she had baked.

  Earlier tensions were just beginning to ease when Aggie again struck a nerve, asking, “Mr. Randolph, I was wondering if you had ever been to the Cary country estate? I’d be ever so pleased to hear about it.”

  Quickly, Mrs. Bedlam rose from her chair to clean the table, stating, “Mr. Randolph, I don’t think you’ve ever been there, have you? At least, I’ve never heard you talk about the family estate.”

  Randolph looked at the housemaid and then turned to Aggie, issuing, “As a matter of fact, Aggie, Mrs. Bedlam is correct. I have never been invited for a visit, but that is acceptable. My work is here, and I have no need to take
on any more responsibilities.”

  “Oh, my,” Aggie, responded, adding, “so you’ve no idea where, in fact, it’s located?”

  “Miss Miller,” a suddenly nervous butler voiced, “I’m afraid that I’ve fallen behind in performance of some of my chores. I do wish Miss Margaret was here for you, but, for now, I must bid you, farewell.”

  Smiling, he continued, “I suppose I might have used the expression, ‘bid you fond adieu’ as they say in France”, as he escorted Aggie to the front door.

  “Good bye, child,” Mrs. Bedlam spoke as the door closed behind Aggie.

  As she started down the front steps, Aggie scratched her head, wondering why she was so unceremoniously shown the door. Mr. Randolph had never acted that way before, and she was left to ruminate. The new maid, Mrs. Bedlam, seemed a decent sort, she reckoned, though she did notice that Randolph seemed very nervous in the housekeeper’s presence.

  The winter sky was still a bright blue, and the sun’s rays made the temperature somewhat bearable as the young girl scanned the horizon for Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson. She surmised that they should certainly have arrived to the Cary home by now. Somewhat concerned, she decided to follow Holmes’s directives and began to make her way down one of the pleasant pathways toward the shoreline. Aggie found that the crisp, clean salty air always lifted her spirits and she quickened her pace, moving ever farther away from the Abbey and closer to the noisy, breaking waves.

  When she had reached the boulders that outlined the rugged coastal inlet, she pulled out a small notepad and began to jot down the little she had discovered at the kitchen table. Mr. Randolph had never visited the Cary country estate. Why not? She jotted that down with an emphatically large question mark. Also, Mr. Malcolm was clearly intimidated by Mrs. Bedlam. Why should that be the case? She seemed to be a respectable, though somewhat secretive woman, a bit eccentric as well, Aggie added.

  Then, suddenly it came to her. Perhaps, the housemaid was lying about her previous employment! Could it be that she had some information about Mr. Malcolm that she was using against him? That might explain his strange behavior of late. Smiling at her conjecture, she quickly finished her notes and put the tablet away.