“Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. There is a gentleman waiting to see you. I will have our staff serve you your tea in the parlor if you wish me to.”
“Please, do that,” said Holmes. We entered the front sitting room where a fellow, whose family resemblance was unmistakable, was sitting. He rose and smiled at Holmes.
“Reginald!” said Holmes quite enthusiastically. “So good to see you again.”
He strode over to the fellow, who I now was quite sure must be Reginald Musgrave from Hurlstone, Holmes’s college classmate from two decades back. They shook hands happily, Holmes introduced me, and we sat down together.
“I would,” said Holmes, “that we were meeting under less unhappy circumstances but nonetheless, it is nice to see you. It has been nearly a decade since that dreadful business with Brunton and the Welsh maid. Did you ever track her down?”
“We had some reports that she had run off to America, but with the Welsh, you can never be sure. She might be running a bookshop in Hay-on-Wye for all we know. And you Holmes, you are continuing to live by your wits and doing rather well, if I can judge by the stories I read about you.”
“Indeed,” said Holmes. “We have much to catch up on, but I fear that shall have to wait until a future date. At the moment, I trust you will forgive me if I press you for anything you can tell me about these deaths, two now, in your family. And please accept my sincere condolences.”
“Thank you, Sherlock. But truth be told, we had not been that close. It is only thirty miles, but we may as well have been the Smiths and the Johnsons. The main branch of the family, by which I mean those with the greatest part of the wealth by far, was here in Herstmonceux. We were even more estranged since Billy’s divorce. He pursued his own life and business after that time and had very little to do with us.”
“Did you,” asked Holmes, “get to know his son very well?”
“Which one? He had two. They were both just schoolboys when he and Melody separated. She took Trevor, the second boy, off to London and Shaw stayed with his father. I did not see much of either of the lads after that.”
“Did you speak with Shaw,” asked Holmes, “following the death of his father?”
“Oh yes, I came up for the funeral and such. Shaw was quite composed but determined that he was going to find out who had killed his father. He had nothing but contempt for the silly superstitions about headless kings. I suggested that he contact you, Holmes. I assume that’s what brought you here.”
“Indeed, it did. You say he was convinced his father had been murdered. What did he make of the accusations and suspicions that were directed toward him?”
Reginald Musgrave gave a shrug. “Not much. He generally despised the press, much as Billy did. He knew that all he had to do was offer a prize for the best story of the season on the local hunt, and he would be their darling once again. He learned that from his father, who said he learned it from his fine socialist friends. Always giving prizes to the press, those chaps are. So, no, Shaw did not strike me as being upset at all by that.”
“What about his fiancée?” asked Holmes.
“Fiancée? Did not have one. Not so far as I know. He had just turned twenty and could have had the pick of the crop of any well-bred daughter in London, given all the money he had. In another year all the mothers in the land, Socialist and Tory alike, would be sending him invitations to come up for the season.”
“He was the sole heir? You know the law, Reginald, being a member of parliament as you are. What happens now to the estate?”
“Well, I saw Billy’s will. He had no wife, and he expressly said that the estate and all its trappings were to go to his son, Shaw, and no one else. Shaw was not married, so everything will go to probate and the lawyers will kick it around for a few months and then disperse the money and property. The brother will have a strong claim. I will put in a claim. This other cousin, Rochester Musgrave, will lay a claim. And to make matters worse, we have not been able to locate the certificate of divorce. But eventually it will all get sorted out, and life will go on. The courts are not really as bleak and deadly as Dickens would have us to believe.”
“How then, my old friend, do you explain his suicide note?”
“Most ridiculous thing I ever heard. Unless he had a crushing bout of brain fever last week, I do not believe he wrote that. I suspect that a murderer is on the loose, and I am glad you have to look after that department, Holmes and not me.” He chuckled as he spoke and Holmes responded with a smile.
“That is, as you say, my department and I am inclined to agree with your conclusion. There is something, however, for which I have had no one offer an explanation.”
“And what might that be?”
“What was William Musgrave doing wandering around the graveyard in the first place? I was told why young Shaw was out there, but no one has an explanation as to why the father followed him.”
“Oh,” said Reginald, “I can probably help you on that one. I asked the same question of Sinden, the butler. He had been with Billy when they both heard a child crying for help. It had just gone dark in the late afternoon, and they were in the hallway of the house and heard a voice coming from the cemetery. So, Billy went immediately to see what was the matter.”
“And was any child ever found?” asked Holmes.
“No. So the staff have all reached the only possible conclusion.”
“And that would be?”
“The ghost was on the loose again. King Charlie was out and about and crying for his mommy after losing his head.”
“Thank you, Reginald. I am so glad you cleared up that mystery for me.”
He and Reginald both laughed and Holmes continued.
“But let us put that aside for now and may I enjoin you to eat some supper with us?”
“I would dearly love to, Holmes. But I must now get down to the great manor house since I am informed that the magistrate has named me as the trustee and goodness only knows what I’ll find there. It may be bankrupt, or there may be a million pounds hidden away. You have heard the old legend, haven’t you?”
“We have,” said Holmes, “and I can assure you that the treasure is long gone.”
“You don’t say. And what happened to it?”
“It was last seen being carted off by a headless king.”
Reginald roared with laughter, rose from his chair, gave Holmes friendly clap on the shoulder and departed. The two of us then sat down for dinner and a review of the events of the day.
As the staff were clearing away our dessert plates, the innkeeper came over to our table.
“Gentlemen, I am terribly sorry, but there is a young woman waiting in the parlor who insists on speaking to you. She’s one of the local girls, and I have told her to be on her way, or I will call the constable. She says that she has already seen the constable and an inspector from Scotland Yard, and they sent her over here to see you. Would you mind terribly chatting with her for a minute and then I can show her the door?”
“Not at all. Come, Watson, more data from even the most unlikely sources can never hurt.”
Chapter Six
Cherchez la Femme
IN THE INN’S front parlor, we were greeted by a young woman or, more precisely, a girl who could not have been out of her teen years. She jumped to her feet when we entered, clasped her hands under her chin and closed her eyes briefly as if sending a prayer of thanksgiving to the heavens. She struck me as a normal English working girl, raised most likely on a farm nearby. Her face was round, as was the rest of her body. She did not appear to be in the least obese, but her arms, shoulders, neck, and torso gave evidence of having done demanding physical work since she was a child. She forced a smile on us, which made her appear quite attractive even if her teeth were not entirely straight.
As is our custom when first meeting women of any age, I stepped forward, and Holmes waited behind me.
“Good evening, miss. I am Dr. John Watson, and this is my friend and colleague, Mr. Sh
erlock Holmes. We are told that you wished to speak to us. Is that correct, miss?”
“Yes, sir. Yes, doctor. Yes, Mr. Holmes. Thank you. Thank you.” She nodded as if not sure if she was supposed to bow.
“Please, miss, do be seated and introduce yourself and let us know how we may be of assistance to you?”
We sat down, and she placed her hands in her lap and raised her head to look straight at us.
“I spoke a few minutes ago…”
“Young lady,” said Holmes, interrupting her, “you were told to introduce yourself. Please do so.”
She was quite unsettled by Holmes’s rebuke, but she again closed her eyes briefly and then started again.
“My name is Edith, and my parents are Florence and Edward Tucknott. We have a farm—landowners, not renters—just off the Hailsham Road. The innkeeper here can tell you that what I am telling you is true. I came here because the man from Scotland Yard—I spoke to him at the constable’s office—sent me here and told me I must go and tell my story to Sherlock Holmes. I do not know why he told me that, but I came here to tell you my story.”
I had a good idea why Lestrade would pawn off one of the locals on Sherlock Holmes, and I was sure that Holmes had the same idea. I smiled and nodded and indicated to her to continue. Holmes, however, interrupted again.
“How old are you?”
Again, she paused but took a breath, looked Holmes in the eye and responded.
“I am sixteen years old, sir. I turned sixteen this past August. August the fifteenth, sir.”
“Thank you,” said Holmes. “Go on.”
“I have some information about Shaw Musgrave. I tried to tell it to the inspector, but he wouldn’t listen and sent me over to see you.”
This appeared to catch Holmes’s interest.
“Young lady, I am listening. Please state what you know about Shaw Musgrave.”
“I know, sir, that the story that is going around about how he committed suicide and all is a horrible lie. I knew Shaw, sir. I knew him well, and he would never have taken his own life, sir. I know that for a fact, sir.”
“Do you, now,” said Holmes. “Please, keep going.”
“Shaw was terribly saddened by the death of his father, but he was a very happy man. He was usually that way when he was not feeling sad about his father. Or sometimes he was angry at the police and the press over the things they said about him, but he was not unhappy, sir. He had his plans set to go to school first thing in the new year, sir. He was going to go to Paris. He had been accepted at the Sorbonne, and we were very happy about it.”
“We?” queried Holmes. “Just what was your relationship to Shaw Musgrave, Miss Edith? Allow me to be blunt. Were you lovers?”
“No, sir. We were more than that. He was my husband, and I was his wife.”
She blushed a deep red as she spoke these words and I confess that the first thought that raced through my mind was that we had an opportunistic young gold digger sitting in front of us. Inwardly I sighed, thinking that more of her ilk would likely emerge, every one of them eager to claim a piece of the vast estate.
“And when were you married?” asked Holmes, as if the last piece of news was not in fact beyond belief.
“On August the sixteenth, sir. The day right after my birthday. That was the day when it all became legal, and we could be married without our parents’ permission, sir. We had been sweethearts for over two years and were mad in love, sir. And in August that preacher, Reverend Hugh Hughes, sir, was holding revival meetings in Bexhill, and we went, and he said that anyone who needed guidance for the Lord should come and speak to him after the meeting. So we went, and he told us, real firm he told us, sir, that it was better to marry than burn with lust. That was his word to us from St. Paul. It’s in the Bible somewhere, sir. So, the next morning we came back to see him and said we wanted to be married, and so he fetched his wife and one of the lads who played in his gospel band and they were witnesses, and we were married that day. And we were as happy as can be imagined, sir. And we had plans to go to Paris after Christmas, and we talked about it up as recent as three days ago. So that’s how I know Shaw Musgrave … how I know that my husband could not have taken his own life, sir.”
At this point, her composure failed her, and tears started streaming down her round face. I handed her my handkerchief whilst Holmes sat and patiently waited. I noticed Lestrade and the constable passing the door of the parlor. Lestrade stopped briefly, looked at us, and gave a self-satisfied smirk.
“Miss Edith,” he said a full minute later, “pray continue. I have no doubt that every young woman in this parish has fancied running off to Paris with a handsome, wealthy young man. Can you provide any additional evidence that Master Shaw Musgrave was not of the mind to take his own life?”
Her face, already marked by tears showed the pain of Holmes’s rebuke, but she soldiered on.
“A fortnight ago, sir, his brother paid him a visit. They had not seen each other for seven years, and he was overjoyed. They had been very close, and the divorce of their parents had hurt them both deeply. But with their father dead it opened the door, so to speak, for the brothers to become close again, sir. He introduced me to Trevor, and we planned, in secret of course, that he would come and visit us in Paris. You may go and speak to Trevor if you wish to have his word on that.”
“I may do that. Now tell me, Miss Edith, why you kept all this a secret? Your doing so does not reflect well on you, given the events of the recent past.”
Now her face took on a look of disbelief.
“Mr. Holmes, we live in a village. Have you never lived in a village, sir? Everyone knows everyone and everything there is to know about everyone. As soon as the word was let out, they would all know within a few hours. And it would give them all something to talk about, sir. They would all be saying that Shaw, my husband, was no more than a young billy goat who could not wait to lose his trousers, and as I am a farm girl, they would be cruel and nasty and say that I was a greedy gold digger. We were going to go to Paris and by the time we came back in four years, my husband would be of age to take over the business of the estate, and I would be a proper lady and learned how to parlez vous and how to make a sooflay and all and they would have to respect us as a young gentleman and his lady.”
“Indeed, they would,” said Holmes. “However, Miss Edith, I do not have to tell you that now that your husband is dead there will be many who will challenge your story. What proof have you to offer that everything you are telling me is the truth?”
She nodded again and reached into her bosom and extracted a small leather case. From it, she took out a piece of paper and unfolded it carefully.
“This is our certificate of marriage, sir. Reverend Hughes was empowered by Her Majesty to perform marriages, and we registered it with the town clerk in Bexhill. He was a Methodist like Rev. Hughes, and we felt we could trust him not to be a gossip monger. And people can say what they like and say the marriage has to be annulled, but they can only do that if it was not consummated.”
Here she lowered her face and looked down and spoke quietly.
“I can assure you, sir, that it was indeed consummated many times over, and it is possible that I am now with child.”
Again, tears came to her face, and again she took a deep breath and carried on.
“And if there are any who are so cruel as to say that I was only after my husband’s money then you can tell them that they can take the money and give it to the missionaries or to all those poor people in Montreal who died of the pox and then were flooded out of their homes. I have never had any money, sir, and I never expected any. I married my husband because I loved him.”
Holmes’s voice became markedly more sympathetic, and he leaned forward and smiled at her.
“I have no doubt you did, miss. Now, tell me, Edith, did you tell all this to Inspector Lestrade, the man from Scotland Yard?”
“I went first, sir, around noontime, to the office of Mr. Nuttle
s. He’s the solicitor in the village, and he did the legal work for my mum and dad when they bought their farm, and he was the only person I knew who was a solicitor so I went to him. My dad always said that when having to deal with legal matters you had to find a good lawyer if you possibly could and then you had to let him fight your battles for you. My dad used to say that it was not very smart to buy a dog and then do your own barking. So I went straight away to Mr. Nuttles and told him about our marriage and showed him the certificate, but when I told him that I was certain that Shaw had not committed suicide and had been murdered, he stopped me from saying any more and told me I had to speak to the constable and the chap from Scotland Yard. So, I went to them and tried to tell them what I knew, but I hardly got started, sir. When I got to saying that I was married to Shaw Musgrave, he laughed. He laughed in scorn, sir. That’s when he told me to go and tell my story to Sherlock Holmes, sir.”
You have been a brave young lass in doing so,” said Holmes. “I will take what you have told me and will give it my full attention.”
“You will try to find what happened to him, won’t you Mr. Holmes? You will try, won’t you?”
“Most certainly, miss. But let me ask you a question on that matter. Who do you think might have had reason to kill your husband?”
“Oh, my goodness, sir. When there is as much money at stake as there is in the Musgrave family, any number of people might have wanted my husband out of the way and not to be able to claim it all. And, of course, you cannot forget about the ghost, sir. He comes around real regular, and many of the people in the village have seen him, sir, in the past year even, sir. So, you cannot forget about him, sir.”
“No,” said Holmes, “it appears that I shall not be allowed to forget about the ghost. And now I have to give you an even more difficult task than you have already accomplished.”
“Oh, sir. What is that?”
“You really must go back to your home and tell everything to your mother and father. They may be very upset, but you are still their daughter, and they will love and support your and your child. You do have to do that and now is as good a time as any.”
Sherlock Holmes Never Dies - Collection Five: New Sherlock Holmes Mysteries - Second Edition Page 21