by J. R. Rain
Reginald’s being put aside by Roger was what stirred Paul into action. If Roger claimed Reginald couldn’t remain in the succession to the seat of Galham, then Reginald had every right to show his brother what for.
“I... I suppose,” Reginald said again. Kijumbe rubbed his face. Stirring Reginald up was clearly going to be a task. It was important that Reginald feel as strongly about the matter as Paul did if the plan was going to work.
“So how do we make them disappear, Reginald?” Kijumbe asked tersely, hoping his frustration did not show through his voice. No wonder Roger had passed Reginald over, he was such a coward!
“Well, we could...” Reginald started, but then he paused to think a bit harder. “We could make sure they don’t tell anyone else about my legitimacy,” Reginald added, with a mischievous look in his eye.
“Exactly,” Kijumbe said. “We make sure that he doesn’t tell anyone, and we make sure that his will never gets made public. At least, not the one cutting us… I mean you, out.”
“Exactly,” Reginald said. “So how do we get the bugger?”
“I have a plan for that,” Kijumbe said. “I’ll make sure that the will never goes public. I’ve got a man who’s aces at forging signatures. He owes me an enormous debt; he’ll be able to fix up anything you need. We already know that a will has been submitted to the solicitors, but that doesn’t mean it’s a final one. People change their wills all the time. They have two people witness it and it’s legal. When the solicitors call for the last will and testament, I’ll send out the copy we have and all the signatures will pass their inspection, I promise.”
“That’s good. That’s really good,” Reginald said.
“So what will you do now?” Kijumbe asked him.
“Well... I’ll take care of Roger. That’ll be no problem at all,” Reginald said.
“And the others too,” Kijumbe responded.
“Yes. All of them.”
“Good. How do you think you’ll do it?”
“I can sneak in during the middle of the night and smother them in their sleep. I’ll burn the damn house to the ground with them in it if I have to! That’ll make it look enough like an accident,” Reginald replied.
“When will you do it? We don’t want to botch this at all. It will end up looking suspicious,” Kijumbe said. “I can take care of the wills tomorrow. Can you have a plan ready to take care of your end in a couple of weeks?”
“Indeed, I think that will do it,” Reginald replied.
***
The next day, Kijumbe walked into the Coventry Garden part of the city to find his forger, Eli Cobbs. In his days as valet to Lord Sutton, Paul had met Eli when Lord Sutton had bailed him out of a Surrey jail in exchange for Cobbs forging several Bills of Laden for him.
The man had somehow managed to get himself a position in a notary’s office, most likely with the use of false references. Paul was a little intimidated by the opulent office space but, dressed in his valet’s uniform and the livery of the house, he felt a little more at ease and not at all out of place. Furthermore, he was sure the man he was going to see would be able to help them with Roger’s will. He walked in and greeted the receptionist.
“I’m here to see Mr. Cobbs, please.”
The woman did not give Paul so much as a second look and the man was relieved for it. Shortly after she called for him, Cobbs emerged from the rear of the office.
“Cobbs! How are you mate?” he asked jovially.
“Doin’ well Paul, just fine thank ye. What can I do ye for?” Cobbs replied.
“Well, hate to spoil such a lovely reunion and all, but I’m unfortunately here on some business. I was wonder’n, if ye can’t come to lunch with me at the pub so we can talk?” Kijumbe replied.
“Ah... sounds serious...” Cobbs replied slowly.
“As I said, it’s private and along the lines of our previous acquaintance,” Kijumbe answered, keeping a smile firmly on his face.
“Wait here,” Cobbs told Kijumbe, “I’ll just let the clerk know I’m taking off and we can leave.” When he re-emerged, Cobbs gestured to Paul to follow him. “C’mon with me this way.”
They went a short distance down the road to a local place where the workers in the area often had their tea and luncheon. Paul thought it best he pay for the man’s meal to ease the weight of the situation he was about to put him in. So over a hearty meal of lamb stew and brown bread, washed down with cool ale, Paul made his request to Cobbs and the forger was more than happy to oblige him. Paul handed him the original and a list of changes that he needed to be made to the document. Cobbs looked over the list carefully.
“So when can you get it done already?” Kijumbe asked Cobbs as they made their way to the exit of the pub.
“I just needed to confirm a few things,” Cobbs replied happily. “But I don’t think it’ll be longer than a week.”
“Of course, of course,” Paul replied. “How about lunch again then? Next week Friday will give you a week and a half.”
“Certainly we can do that. You know where to find me!” Cobbs said.
“I do. See you then.”
Cobbs made to respond to the man but Kijumbe was already stepping across the street.
***
Two weeks later, Reginald was outside Galham House waiting patiently.
Finally, he heard the church bells in the distance chime midnight. He made his way silently through the groundsman’s shack and out onto the lawn. There was no light for him to move by but that did not bother him, he knew the gardens well enough. As a precaution, he proceeded slowly anyway, and finally made his way to the side door of the kitchen. He opened it silently.
Once in the kitchen, managing the crowded room proved to be a challenge... and he did not even have the pale light of the stars to guide him. He made his way slowly and carefully to the main dining room and then into the hall. As he was taking his first step toward the staircase, he transferred his weight from his left foot to his right, and felt the board groan under his weight. His heart raced and he felt the first beads of sweat form on his brow. He was no professional at this but a baser instinct took hold. He paused there, waiting for any sign of movement or alertness from the rooms above. Hearing none, he softly exhaled, not even realize he had been holding his breath.
He continued up the stairs, testing each one before sliding his foot parallel with the step to transfer his weight, thus allowing him to determine whether or not it would creak. At the top of the stairs, he crouched again in darkness, waiting to see if anyone was moving about. Once Reginald determined that he was still passing through unnoticed, he made his way to the bedroom where he knew his brother Roger and his wife Mary were sleeping.
He was rather surprised to find that the door had been left ajar but after a pause to ascertain if either Roger or Lady Mary were about the halls, he went in. He slipped in silently and ghosted his way over to the bed and swiftly administered the chloroform to Roger, but rather than waiting for it to take effect, he immediately grabbed a pillow and placed it over Roger’s mouth. Roger’s breathing became fitful but he did not wake up. His wife, on the other hand, became a problem as she heard her husband gasping against the pillow.
“What in the world is going on?” she asked sleepily. “Reginald? What are you doing here?”
Reginald launched himself onto the bed in an attempt to restrain his sister-in-law, but she fended him off. She struggled against him a while longer and managed to land a punch to his face. He felt something crack near his eye. She gave a muffled cry of pain. Reginald was fairly certain she had broken something in her hand from the impact.
He grabbed her wrist, forcing her hand back toward her head. She yowled and screamed against him, but he finally managed to hold the damp rag over her mouth and nose long enough for her to pass out. He backed off to a corner of the room and waited.
After he was convinced that the drug had taken effect on both his victims, Reginald approached the bed again. He reached into his
pocket and withdrew the bottle of poison he had brought with him. With a dropper, he administered ten drops of nightshade orally to Lady Mary... and her body immediately began to convulse. Once he was sure that she was dead, Reginald went to the other side of the bed, threw the limp body of his brother over his shoulder and exited the room.
He left Roger by the upstairs banisters and entered the children’s nursery. Neither of the sleeping figures stood a chance of survival. Reginald’s knife flicked out quickly and sliced. The boy grabbed at his throat but was unable to cry out because the knife had bitten so deep it severed his vocal cords. Reginald grabbed the younger child and made quick work of him as well. He left the children where they fell, then went back down to the groundkeeper’s for a long length of rope.
For a brief moment as he walked across the lawn, Reginald wondered why he felt nothing toward sister-in-law and his nephews as he had so heartlessly taken their lives, but just as quickly, he reminded himself that his legacy was what was at stake. He wouldn’t be made to pay for his mother’s conniving indiscretions and lies; it wasn’t his fault he wasn’t Earl Galham’s son. He would end Roger’s craven vendetta against him for good and then there would be no one left to treat him like a useless hanger-on.
Back upstairs, he made his way to Roger’s still body, put the noose around his neck and tightened it as far as it would go. He tied off the remainder of the rope to the balcony railing, then in one steady motion, he lifted and heaved Roger’s body over the edge. The rope snapped tight and swayed sickeningly in Reginald’s night vision. If Roger was not dead before, and Reginald was pretty sure he was, then he certainly was now.
Chapter Thirteen:
The Conclusion
“Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man can invent.” —Sherlock Holmes
The next morning, we had all gathered in Kendricks’s office at Holmes’s request.
He had invited the two arresting constables from the night before so that they could take a proper statement. In reality, Holmes was finally ready to deliver his version of what he thought might be the best explanation for the series of events our latest case had put us through.
Lady Jessica of Harcourt and Avon was there; understandably, however, her parents were absent. They were now the inheritors of the Galham Estate and all its holdings and the legalities were overwhelming for them. She sat demurely beside her new fiancé, Gerald Fitzwilliam, who I was pleased to see was as doting as he was expected to be. I felt sorry for them that their monumental engagement should have to start like this, especially after having admired each other in secret for so many years.
Llewelyn Kendricks was, as always, the ever-gracious host. He’d seen to ensuring there were comfortable seats provided for everyone and refreshments in abundance, though I did not think any of us were in a mood for it.
As soon as we had all arrived, we took our seats and Holmes stepped out in front of us. His pipe was firmly held between his lips but out of courtesy to the police and Lady Harcourt, he had not lit it. As we sat in anticipation, the detective took a few moments to slowly pace back and forth before us. I knew he was doing his best to sort out the series of events in his mind and formulate a plan for how he would deliver his narrative. Soon, he began to address us all.
“Welcome, everyone. I am particularly relieved to announce that we have come to the conclusion of our game and now it is only right that I lay the facts out before you as Watson and I have deduced them, for you have all indeed been players in the game.
“However, as I had discussed last night with my dear friend, Dr. Watson, this caper has mostly been about the ‘hows’ of the case rather than the ‘whys.’ The reasons were basal, instinctual, driven by pure self-preservation on Reginald’s part and these are emotions we all too clearly understand as human beings. As members of civilized society, we keep them at bay, at an arm’s length, but for some, they remain within easy reach still.
“How Reginald started this whole palaver was with the murder of his brother, Roger Galham, and his family. When Reginald had learned from Roger during a family squabble over his ridiculous spending habits that he was the bastard son of the reverend and not the Earl of Galham’s son at all, he lost his mind in a fit of rage.”
The account of how Roger and his family were murdered were gruesome enough for Miss Harcourt to succumb to her feminine sensitivities, but, for one reason or another, Holmes felt it important, especially for the constables present, for us all to understand the ruthlessness that had been employed in the act. Holmes held nothing back.
Holmes was silent after his retelling and stood before us, slowly shaking his head. He walked over to a table that was covered with a white sheet in the corner of the room and pulled the sheet off throwing it to the ground. There were three metal boxes with matching locks laid out side by side on the table. The smallest one first, the largest one last. Iron keys lay in front of the first and second but the third had none.
Holmes lifted the first key and turned it in the lock. The lid of the box rose easily and Holmes withdrew from it the altered last will and testament of Roger Galham. He threw it down on the table, disgusted, and stepped away, pacing in front of us again.
“Once the family had been murdered, and the false will was read and accepted, the pathology and police investigations closed, and the funerals conducted, Reginald was free and clear to assume his new position. There weren’t a great many more obstacles set in his way. What he foolishly hadn’t accounted for was Paul Kijumbe’s treachery.
“As soon as Reginald discovered that Miss Harcourt had found the manuscript and removed it from the Galham House library, he sent Kijumbe to steal the document from my Baker Street apartments. To ensure the secret of Reginald’s heritage remained safe, it was imperative that the William Shakespeare play never be properly authenticated. If it were ever found to be real, then the rumors of an indiscreet affair between Lady Anne Galham and the Great Bard could possibly be confirmed, and, if that were the case, then the question would be: Why would such a precious belonging of the Avon’s turn up in the Galham Library? It would have been there because Countess Avon, Roger’s mother, gifted it to Edith Galham for graciously accepting Roger into her home and allowing him the protection of his real father, the Earl of Galham.”
At that point, the detective moved toward the table again. He picked up the second key and placed it into the lock on the second box. Again the lock sprang open easily and the lid of the box rose. Sherlock reached into the box and when his hand emerged, he held in it the stolen manuscript of the missing Shakespeare play.
“Earlier today, I asked several document and Shakespeare experts from all over the city to come here to Mr. Kendricks’s office to take a look at this manuscript. There were eight experts, to be exact. Among them was Alexander Richardson the Third of Sotheby’s auction house, a rather renowned authority on Renaissance books and literature. According to Mr. Richardson, the document is as authentic as any other Shakespeare manuscript he had had the honor to appraise or auction. He further commented that it could perhaps be the most valuable he has seen to date due to its pristine condition and the fact that it is proof of something scholars have known for years but have been unable to prove. You see, every famous artist was once a beginner, an apprentice, a novice before they were ever a professional. Therefore, it stands to reason that their more crude or unfinished attempts at their craft and their earliest completed works are out there in the world for us to discover. This is just one of such.”
In conclusion, Holmes mercilessly dropped the priceless manuscript on the table in front of its box and moved on.
“Paul Kijumbe, the valet, as it turned out, was incapable of keeping his mouth shut and had been known for slandering his previous employers in the pubs of south London for years. I had a notion that the habit would not have been lost, considering Reginald should have supplied more than enough material to gossip about. It wasn’t hard to find him and it didn’t take long before the st
ory of the key came out one night at the bar. You see, Paul, the instigator, had made sure that Reginald would never betray his role in the plot by stealing the key to one of the strongboxes. A box that even Reginald himself was unaware was occupied, a box that held the clue to his absolute destruction. Because unbeknownst to Reginald, the new Earl of Galham, his accomplice had not destroyed Roger’s original will.
“The key for that box was kept so closely on Kijumbe’s body that Dr. Watson and I had to relieve the man of his shirt to find it. But find it, and retrieve it, we did. After he woke up on the streets and realized the key was gone, Paul Kijumbe was inclined to make a hasty retreat from both the capital city and Warwickshire county, but I took it upon myself to have him detained at Scotland Yard for possible involvement in the murder of a peer of the realm. And that, dear friends, brings us to the last of our three strongboxes.”
Sherlock made his way across the room again and stood before the table. He reached inside his sport jacket and from the inside left breast pocket, he retrieved a key that was identical to the two he had previously used to open the other boxes on the table. He held it up for all of us to see before slipping it into the lock and turning it. Again, the lock sprang open without hesitation and he reached inside.
The document that Holmes produced from the box was not easily recognizable. No one present in the room had ever laid eyes on it before. Holmes realized quickly that the suspense was being ruined by the fact that we had no realization of what he was holding up.
“Come on now, friends. You are all supposedly intelligent people here. There was one more item of interest that remained missing from the equation.”
After a brief pause, it was Kendricks who offered a response; and it was the correct response to Holmes’s challenge.
“The original, unaltered copy of Lord Roger’s last will and testament,” he announced.
“You’ve got it!” Holmes announced, throwing the pages down on the table. He picked up the last iron key and raised it up high for all to see.