The Darlington Substitution (From The Deed Box of John H. Watson MD)

by Ashton, Hugh

  “I see,” said Holmes. “This certainly is unfortunate. Are there any other instances of this?”

  The Earl sighed. “Indeed there are. Pray, do partake of your wine, both of you, if my conversation is not spoiling your appetite.”

  I sipped the noble beverage and it was, indeed, of a quality such as I had seldom encountered, though as his Lordship had intimated, my palate was somewhat blunted by the disturbing tales we were hearing.

  “Yes, indeed,” continued our host. “The old superstition about spilled salt seems to have been taken to heart in his case. Usually, the custom after spilling salt is to throw a pinch over one’s left shoulder, is it not?” This was addressed to me, and I nodded in agreement. “Well, in the case of my son, this has been taken to extremes. Not only does he throw the salt over his shoulder, but this ritual is preceded by his rising and circling the table three times in an anti-clockwise direction.” He sighed. “There are other similar superstitions that he continues to observe, but I will not bore you with them.”

  “And these superstitions include the Mace?” asked Holmes.

  “Indeed they do. Though he has hardly ever seen the Mace, except on those rare occasions when I have opened the cabinet to allow his wife to wear the jewels to a social occasion, hardly a day seems to pass without his mentioning it.”

  “But he does not express a wish to see it?” asked Holmes.

  “He merely wishes to be satisfied that it is in a safe place, it seems. But it preys on his mind, especially since his wife, er... discovered that she was to be delivered of a child.” His voice tailed off into a discreet silence. “I fear that he would become totally deranged were he to discover that the Mace was missing. He has become overly sensitive to such matters. There was a time when he was as manly a young person as one could ever hope to meet. Now,” he shook his head sadly, “he weeps at the smallest thing and can become quite inconsolable over such accidents as the discovery of a dead sparrow. His moods of elation are just as sudden. This confounded hunting fall has completely disturbed the balance of his mind.”

  “When did this unfortunate hunting accident take place?” asked Holmes.

  “A little less than nine months ago.”

  “And his wife’s reaction?”

  “She gives the appearance of being a most solicitous spouse,” replied the Earl. “She sympathises with him and humours him in his fancies. I take this to be deleterious to his mental state, but she will not be dissuaded.””

  “Pardon my intrusion into your family affairs,” said Holmes, “but could you tell me whether their bed-rooms are close to yours?”

  “They occupy two adjacent apartments, separated by a common bathroom, at the other end of the wing from the room where I sleep, and on the second floor,” replied the other, obviously somewhat puzzled by Holmes’ query.

  “Thank you. Now if we may return to the question of the cabinet and the missing Mace. Where do you keep your key?”

  “It is on my watch-chain here. You may see it here,” displaying a large key of the Bramah pattern. “It never leaves my chain.”

  “But your chain must leave your person sometimes,” pointed out Holmes.

  “When I am asleep or bathing, naturally. On the other hand, I am a light sleeper, as a result of this confounded gout, and I am certain that I would be awakened if there was an attempt made to remove the key from my side.”

  “Very good. Let us return to the subject of the Mace itself. Can you provide us with a description?”

  “It is, as I mentioned, a curiously twisted root of the hawthorn tree, a little over two feet in length, with a curious knobbed end. In that end there is one silver penny and ten slits into which the previous generations’ pennies were inserted. The penny is blackened by tarnish, and would not be instantly recognised as a coin by any person who had no knowledge of the artefact. I can see no reason for any thief to take it.”

  “How many people knew of its disappearance and its significance?” enquired Holmes.

  “My son, his wife and myself. This is not something that we wish to be noised abroad, as you can imagine. The story itself is no secret, of course. The manuscript describing Earl Edward and Mad Maggie is kept in the library, in the family records, so it is possible that one of the servants, for instance, Bouverie, could have chanced upon it and read through the family history, but frankly, I see that as being unlikely, and there would be no reason for him to take the Mace. In any event, he would not know where the Mace was secreted. The cabinet is let into the wall of the library, and is usually hidden by a portrait – ironically, that of the third Earl Edward, with whom this whole business began.”

  “So you would wish me to investigate? I shall be ready to do that in a few days. There are one or two trifling matters that I would like to see completed before I set myself on the trail of your mystery. In the meantime, I am sure that Watson here will have no objection to travelling to Hareby Hall for one or two nights until I arrive.”

  It was a very thinly disguised hint, which I took, accepting the Earl’s hospitality.

  “Excellent,” said he. “I shall be taking the night sleeper to Berwick from King’s Cross this evening. Shall I ask my man to reserve you a berth on the same train?”

  “With pleasure,” I replied.

  “And now,” said Holmes, “maybe we should talk of different matters. May I ask your opinion on the Balkan situation, sir? Are the Serbs justified, in your opinion, in seeking their independence from Vienna?”

  The meal passed pleasantly enough, and we parted from Lord Darlington, after he and I had made arrangements for our meeting at the station later.

  -oOo-

  “WELL, and what do you make of that pretty little puzzle?” asked Holmes, as we strolled back to Baker-street.

  “I am in the dark,” I confessed. “First of all, it is a mystery to me how such a man as the Earl can believe in that superstitious nonsense, reminding me of nothing so much as the balderdash we used to hear in India.”

  “Maybe I am more tolerant of such things than are you,” replied Holmes.

  I stared at him. “My dear Holmes, are you telling me that you too are a subscriber to this ridiculous rigmarole?”

  “By no means,” he replied. “Let me explain. When I say that I am tolerant of such things, I do not mean that I myself believe in them. Rather that I find them as absurd as do you, but I am more tolerant of those who do find some comfort in them.”

  “What possible comfort can anyone find in the story of a piece of wood that is believed to kill the heirs to the line?” I retorted. “I can understand that some of these tales may provide some sort of solace, but this one really does not seem to fall under that heading.”

  “The comfort in this one, Watson, lies in the fact that his family is considered important and significant enough to suffer under a curse. The Curse of the Harebys has a certain ring to it, do you not think? The phrase ‘the Curse of the Watsons’ lacks the same majestic note, I feel.”

  Despite myself, I laughed at Holmes’ idea. “As far as I know, none of my ancestors has ever suffered in that way. I suppose there is some truth in what you say.”

  “I know it to be the simple truth,” replied Holmes. “A family haunting or a curse lifts the clan in the eyes of others.”

  “How long will I be at Hareby waiting for you, and what do you wish me to do there?”

  “There are several things that I wish of you,” replied my friend. “First, I wish you to act as a companion to our friend who has just provided us with lunch. From his description, he is a lonely man, and his son and his wife would appear to provide little comfort. Endeavour to raise his spirits, if you can. He is sociable by nature, it would seem, and lacks the opportunity to talk and converse as he would wish. I am fearful that he may fall into some sort of decline if he is on his own, and the consequences of his illness and death could indeed be serious. That is your first task.”

  “There are others?”

  “Indeed there
are. As a doctor, even though you have not specialised in nervous diseases, your opinions regarding the eccentricities of the heir would be most welcome. Observe and note all that you can in that area, and it will be of great value to me.”

  “And what of the wife?”

  “There you have a conundrum. The Earl hardly spoke of her, did he? I wish you to observe what sort of relations obtain between the three major players in this little drama: the Earl, his son, and his son’s wife.”

  “You believe there to be no-one of significance in this drama outside those three?”

  “It is possible there will be other players, but if so, they will not be at Hareby. They are more likely to be here in London, where I will be for the next few days. I would highly appreciate it, Watson, if you would send me regular reports from Hareby.”

  “Regarding what?”

  “You know my methods. Write to me regarding anything that, in your opinion, will help me deduce the solution to this case. You are to send a telegram if possible, but I know that in rural areas the post-office may be at some distance, and in those cases the regular postal service will have to suffice. I would advise, by the way, packing your doctor’s bag and its accoutrements.”

  “Why?” I asked in some surprise.

  “I rather anticipate that your skills as a physician may be in demand.”

  “By the Earl? Or by his son?”

  “Either. Or both. Or possibly by another,” he replied, enigmatically. “Also,” he remarked, after a silence of some minutes, “I feel that adding your Army revolver and some ammunition to your luggage would not come amiss.”

  “You have suspicions already?”

  “I have inklings, Watson. Mere inklings as yet, and though some would write these off as being merely irrational fancies, I am sufficiently in touch with my inner self to realise that these are the result of rational thoughts that have yet to find their full expression. I fear we are dealing with some dark forces, and I do not refer to any supernatural agency here, but rather the evil that lurks in the hearts of human beings.”

  -oOo-

  Chapter 2: Hareby Hall

  IT was therefore with some trepidation that I packed for the journey, including those items that Holmes had recommended to me. I reached King’s Cross Station at the time that the Earl and I had appointed, and discovered him waiting for me.

  “Ah, good. First-class sleeping berths have been secured for the two of us. Have you eaten dinner?”

  I assured him that I had.

  “I too. But perhaps you will join me for a nightcap before retiring?” I remembered Holmes’ thoughts about this elderly man and his possible feelings of solitude, and accepted the invitation.

  As the train pulled out of the station, we sat companionably in the dining car over our drinks, chatting of this and that. At length, he yawned mightily.

  “Forgive me,” he apologised to me. “As an older man, I need my sleep.”

  I reassured him that I too needed my rest, and that he was not inconveniencing me by his retiring.

  The sleeping compartment that had been reserved for me was comfortable, and I drifted off to sleep, to be woken early the next morning by the train attendant, knocking on the compartment door to inform me that the train would arrive at Berwick in about thirty minutes. I rose and dressed, but omitted much of my toilet, since I had no wish to shave on a moving train, hoping that the Earl would likewise omit this procedure and that I could make myself presentable when we reached Hareby.

  As we pulled into Berwick, we left our compartments at almost the same time, and greeted each other in the corridor.

  “A little colder than London,” he observed, pulling his travelling coat around him. Indeed, there was a distinct nip in the early morning air. The sun had only just risen, and the morning mist had yet to disperse as we stepped onto the platform.

  “Ah, Hanshaw,” commented the Earl to a red-faced tweed-clad man of about sixty years of age who met us and touched his cap in greeting. “Thank you,” as our baggage was loaded onto a porter’s trolley. “This is Doctor Watson,” indicating me, “who will be staying with us for a few days.”

  “Pleased to make your acquaintance, sir,” replied the coachman. “It’s a raw morning, sir,” he addressed Lord Darlington. “I’ve placed the travelling rugs and I’ll be putting some hot-water bottles in the trap. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll just go and get some hot water from the refreshment room for the hot-water bottles. That is, sir, if you don’t want to stop for a cup of tea there before we set off for the Hall.” His manner, while respectful of the Earl’s position, was nonetheless cordial, and bespoke a genuine affection for his elderly master. He spoke with the local accent which, though at times difficult to understand, nonetheless recalled to me my service with the Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers where the dialect and everyday speech of the barrack-room resembled that which I was now hearing.

  “Thank you, Hanshaw. That is most thoughtful of you,” replied Lord Darlington. “Watson, what say you to the idea of a cup of tea before our departure from here? It is approximately forty minutes’ drive from here to the Hall.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir, but it’s closer to an hour’s journey today. The rains of the past few days have washed away the bridge near Blythedale,” commented his servant.

  “In which case, a spot of tea is definitely called for. Please join us at our table when you have finished your preparations, Hanshaw.”

  We moved into the comparative warmth of the station refreshment room, where the Earl was recognised and greeted by the staff, and a steaming pot of tea was set before us. I could not refrain from asking my companion about his previous invitation to his servant to join us.

  “Hanshaw’s a good man,” he replied. “I don’t want to see him shivering with cold as he drives us home, when I could so easily make his life more comfortable. In any event, he is my window onto the estate. He knows everybody and everything in the area, and I can find out more about the way things are going in five minutes by talking to him than I could find out by myself in five days. Quite frankly, outside London, I have very few concerns about the rank or station of those with whom I converse. In Town, of course, it is a somewhat different matter. One has a position to keep up.”

  Sure enough, Hanshaw joined us in a short while, and he and Lord Darlington were soon engaged in conversation about people and places of which I had no knowledge. The conversation on both sides was cordial and courteous – the Earl obviously respectful of the knowledge of his servant, who in his turn showed the due regard for his master’s rank that I had previously remarked. I was amused to see the peer’s usually aristocratic speech take on some of the local colour as he conversed with the coachman.

  At length the conversation between master and man came to an end, and we set off for the Hall in the trap. The sun had now risen, and the morning mist had burned off. The rugged countryside of dales and becks, with the Cheviot Hills forming a backdrop, formed a deep impression on me, and I mentioned the lonely aspect of the countryside to my host.

  “Yes indeed, it is a wild landscape,” said he. “One can well imagine the moss troopers sweeping down from the north and carrying off cattle, and the redcoats vainly trying to stop their depredations.”

  “Or your ancestor making his raids to the Scottish border,” I ventured, “and carrying off Mad Maggie.”

  “Yes,” he said shortly. It was obvious to me that he had no wish to pursue the subject further, and I held my tongue on the matter, choosing instead, after several minutes had passed, to enquire after the peculiarities of the Cheviot sheep dotting the green fields with specks of white, with rough stone walls marking the boundaries between fields. There were few other signs of human habitation, other than scattered hamlets, often consisting of no more than three or four houses huddled together, as if for shelter from the cold winds that sweep across the high expanses of the moors.

  While conversing on such bucolic matters, we turned into the drive leading to the
Hall, which I now beheld for the first time. A once-handsome building that I judged to have been built in the late Elizabethan or early Jacobean era, it had suffered from the ravages of time, as well as those of well-meaning architects, who had tacked on undoubtedly practical, but at the same time discordant, additions to the building. The whole effect was now decidedly unbalanced to my eyes, and was not altogether pleasing.

  However, this did not impress itself upon me nearly so much as did the change in my companion’s countenance. While up to this time he had been cheerful enough, as he caught sight of the Hall, his face seemed to fall, and his spirit seemed to shrink, almost visibly.

  I could only ascribe this sudden change in his spirits to the thought of his son, once a healthy young man, and now bogey-ridden and childlike, who would inherit the place, and decided to hold my peace about the subject.

  -oOo-

  THE trap drew up outside the front door of the Hall, which was opened from within.

  “Ah, Bouverie,” remarked the Earl, his spirits apparently somewhat lifted by the sight of the retainer. “It is good to be back again.”

  “And always a pleasure for us to see you back here, sir,” replied the butler. I was pleased to see that the same spirit of easy camaraderie with their master, mingled with respect, was shared by both Hanshaw and Bouverie. I was intrigued by this attitude, which was somewhat at odds with the rather conservative politics that had been displayed by the Earl in the Cabinet post that he had held some years previously.

  “Is Lord Hareby here?” the Earl asked.

  “No, sir, he is walking in the park. He went out immediately after breakfast.”