The White Worm

by Sam Siciliano

  “You do not care for Rider Haggard?” Arabella asked.

  “No—and especially not this particular novel. I did read it, heaven knows why.”

  “Quasi-divine eternal females whose beauty instantly bewitches all men are not to your taste?” Her voice had a lilting taunting quality, and behind her green spectacles her eyes were playful.

  “I fear not.”

  “And you, Mr. Holmes?”

  “I have little time to waste reading idle fantastical fiction.”

  She stared closely at him. “But you read it—admit you read it!”

  He sighed. “I did. Utterly ridiculous from beginning to end.”

  I looked at Diana. “Have you read it?”

  She shook her head. “I had to stop halfway through. There was so much death, all those ancient corpses in the caves of Kôr.” Her shoulders rose in an involuntary shiver. “It gave me nightmares.”

  Arabella shook her head. “You are too sensitive, my dear. It was only a story, all those corpses merely plot embellishments, so to speak.”

  The bookshelves were all crammed to their fullest, and crates with more books were on the floor. The other half of the library consisted of much thicker, taller volumes on natural history, geography, science, exotic lands and peoples. Arabella gestured toward the shelves with her long, slender fingers. “I have incorporated my own library into Robert’s. My tastes were always quite different from his.”

  Holmes glanced down at a large volume on the table. He turned it toward the lamp, then flipped to the title page. “Marine Animals of the British Isles. So you have also a taste for aquatic biology, Lady Verr?”

  “Oh yes. I only wish I had the money to create a giant aquarium and raise exotic fish. I am thinking of at least getting some goldfish. I also have grand plans for a pond on the grounds which I shall stock with koi.”

  Holmes nodded. “There is nothing more tranquil than watching brightly colored koi gliding about in a pond. That is the central feature of many grand conservatories.” He turned a few pages. “This looks very interesting.”

  “Feel free to sample our library at will while you are at Diana’s Grove, Mr. Holmes.” She glanced at me. “You, too, Dr. Vernier. That is why I wished to show it to you.”

  Diana said nothing, but her thin, reddish eyebrows were creased inward just above her nose, her eyes troubled.

  “Thank you, Lady Verr.” Holmes turned to Diana. “And thank you, Miss Marsh. I appreciate your hospitality, and in fact, I believe I shall take you up on your offer just now and have a look at this particular volume before I retire for the evening.”

  We said our good nights, and I went down the hallway to my room. I sat in a large leather chair and stared at the coal glowing on the fireplace grate. The company of the two beautiful redheads had merely reminded me how much I missed my own special one. This was my fourth night away from London, and I would have given anything to have Michelle lying in that large comfortable bed waiting for me.

  The day had also left me troubled, our visits with Dr. Thorpe and the Reverend Sloap disquieting. I tried, too, to tell myself that Evans had probably just taken the money from Selton senior and headed for London, but I did not believe it. This was too much like the Grimswell case. There, a footman had gone missing and had been discovered with his throat ripped open a day later in a wood. If Evans’s body showed up, I would certainly telegraph to Michelle and ask her to come. I was already sorely tempted. Given all the eccentricity bordering on insanity, I missed her stable, down-to-earth good sense. And of course, it was not just her mind or her personality I missed! Men went off on safaris, expeditions or hunting trips all the time, leaving their wives for weeks or months, but they were made of sterner stuff than me. I always felt incomplete without Michelle nearby.

  I was still gazing at the fireplace when Holmes came into the room. He opened his mouth, but I quickly said, “Don’t say it—don’t say, ‘Amorous thoughts, Henry’. You know I hate it when you do that!”

  He laughed. “I did not intend to say any such thing. You have given yourself away, although it would not be hard to deduce.”

  “No, it wouldn’t.”

  He stared at the fire. “Would you allow me the luxury of a single cigarette, Henry?”

  I sighed. “Oh, very well. You have earned one, I suppose.”

  He took a poker, got it hot on the glowing coal, then used it to light the cigarette. He exhaled a cloud of smoke. “The case is progressing nicely.”

  “Is it really?”

  “I have most of the salient facts. On Monday I shall go to Whitby to speak with the family solicitor.”

  I found myself frowning. “Do you suspect there may be more of a fortune than we have been led to believe?”

  “I do not.”

  “What then?”

  The corners of his lips rose. “Do you know the story of the three bears, Henry?”

  “What?”

  He laughed. “Goldilocks and the three bears. Do you know it or not?”

  “Of course I do, but I cannot see any possible relevance.”

  “No? Remember that the first porridge was too hot, the second too cold, and the third just right? I suspect that I shall find that the family income is ‘just right,’ so to speak.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Think about it for a while. Perhaps it will come to you.”

  “I hate mysteries,” I snarled. “I do hate them.”

  “You must relax, Henry, and enjoy this peaceful interlude. I fear it will not last long.”

  “Is Lady Verr going to throw us out, then, so she can resume nude sunbathing?”

  He laughed. “You are in rare form. No, we need not fear that. Tell me, what have you noticed about Lady Verr and Miss Marsh thus far in our stay?” I gave him a curious look. “What is the nature of their relationship?”

  I shrugged. “Lady Verr does seem fond of her niece, although…”

  “Although?”

  “She is rather domineering.”

  “Exactly, Henry—exactly. Think about what has happened here. Lady Verr has moved into the house and simply taken over. She has dismissed many of the older servants. She has commandeered many of the rooms and half the library. She even drags her niece out onto the terrace naked, although the girl is obviously horrified and unwilling. It is a relationship based on total domination—and on Miss Marsh’s willingness to accept it.”

  I frowned. “Yes, it is. Perhaps… That has been bothering me, although I couldn’t exactly put my finger on it.”

  “It became obvious within a few minutes of meeting Lady Verr that she is a woman who could never be subjugated, who could never play second fiddle to anyone. She knows only too well that she is beautiful, witty and charming, and she uses these attributes against men with the utmost skill. Sir Nathaniel and Dr. Thorpe are positively bedazzled by her.”

  “Odd,” I said. “I can understand it, but… she does almost nothing for me.”

  “Both Sir Nathaniel and Dr. Thorpe are old bachelors. Little wonder they are putty in her hands. Then, too, you are relatively immune. Your association with Michelle has… inoculated you!” He smiled at this mock-medical metaphor. “Unlike so many of her sex, she is honest, true and absolutely good-hearted. She has made those females who deal in artifice, flattery, vanity and cruelty distasteful to you.”

  I smiled faintly. “She is a paragon—I won’t argue with you. Though I’m hardly objective.”

  “But I am, Henry, and I can see it, too.”

  I stared closely at him. “And yet… you seem inoculated as well.”

  He nodded. “I am, Henry. In my case, the higher centers of reason are firmly in control.”

  “Caswall seemed somewhat ambivalent toward her. He hardly seems to be madly in love.”

  “When two titanic egos meet, neither one is going to simply shrivel up and yield to the other.”

  “You are full of interesting observations and metaphors this evening,” I said. “In
the end, perhaps the best thing would be for Lady Verr to marry Caswall and go to Castra Regis, leaving Miss Marsh in peace.”

  “And yet, Caswall is the wildest of wild cards. Reason and deduction cannot predict what a madman will do. I suspect that for once Lady Verr has met her match. He will not exactly outwit her—but she will not have her way, either.”

  I shook my head. “Poor Diana.”

  “Poor Diana indeed.” He snuffed out his cigarette butt on the stones of the fireplace, then hurled it onto the grate. “Tomorrow should be interesting. I am looking forward to it.”

  I frowned. “Why do I feel worried? Where are we going?”

  “To the heart of Diana’s Grove, Henry, the ancient sacrificial site overlooking the sea.”

  “So long as you understand you won’t get me anywhere near that pit!”

  “You are safe, Henry. Selton is going to join us, and he is bringing some rope.”

  “Rope?”

  “Yes. For my descent into the pit itself.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Saturday, a cold white mist had settled over everything, hiding the sea and even cloaking the dark trunks and limbs of the trees. I didn’t think this boded well for our expedition, but Holmes seemed confident it might clear. We spent a quiet morning in the library with Diana. Holmes was still interested in the volume on sea animals. Twice, he closed the book, put his hands on either side, supporting it upright, then let it fall open.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Just an experiment. Finding the most well-read pages.”

  I shrugged and tried to read the latest issue of The Lancet, which I had brought with me, but under the best of circumstances I find medical journals hard going. We left around eleven, before Arabella appeared. Diana watched rather forlornly as we departed. Holmes had told her we had further business in Micklethorpe, a harmless enough lie.

  We went down the main road, then turned at last to follow the narrow path into the trees. The mist was very cold, and with the sun gone, the woods were transformed. The colors were all muted: the dark green leaves of yews and holly trees, the black trunks of ancient oaks, brighter green ferns sprouting everywhere amidst the grass and the large stones splotched with lichens or mosses. I was grateful for the path—one could be lost in an instant in this damp gloom. I was also wondering where in the woods the adders might live. Worse yet, it actually began to drizzle. I could only imagine how miserable it would be in a downpour like that one on the night we first arrived in Yorkshire. Holmes was actually humming some air from a Gilbert and Sullivan opera.

  “You said it would clear,” I muttered reproachfully.

  “And so it will, Henry, so it will. Perhaps not for another week…” I groaned at that, and he laughed. “But I believe it will clear sooner than that.”

  The path curved and twisted, rose and fell, finally opened up before us. Seven tall gray-white stones stood before a wall of white fog, and the gently sloping ground was all small rocks and green grass. A single giant blasted oak stood to one side of the clearing, black and leafless with broken limbs, obviously centuries old. Holmes stared out at where the sea must be: we heard the low rumble of the waves coming and going, and the cries of gulls. As if on command, the mists stirred faintly, grew more tenuous overhead, even as a faint swath of blue appeared.

  Holmes nodded. “Definitely sooner.” He withdrew his watch from his waistcoat pocket. “Selton should be here any moment now.”

  Near the summit of the grassy slope were several ridges of gray-white limestone, bare and glistening with moisture. Holmes and I started round and saw, amidst the long grass, a jagged opening which resembled some enormous mouth with lips of rock. On one side were the yellow-green fronds of a fern, the plant plunging into the gap. The rock along the other was gray-white on top, limestone, but within a few inches it became reddish-brown sandstone. Holmes promptly walked up to the very edge, but I stayed well back.

  “Miss Marsh was wrong about the pit’s being boarded up. There is not even a warning sign. The opening approximates an oval of about five by eight feet.” He held the handle of his stick tightly as he leaned over and peered down. “What a stench! It would certainly dissuade most people from coming this close. The bottom cannot be seen. There is a small ledge, and… That must be the source of the smell, some small decomposing animal. The opening narrows, becoming more rounded even as it curves slightly to one side. Yes, one could easily imagine a giant white worm slithering up from down there.”

  I shook my head. “You needn’t have said that.”

  “The beaches along this part of the coast abound with fossils of primitive sea animals from millions of years ago, and those standing stones go back to at least Neolithic times, millennia ago. One can imagine generations of men and women trudging to this sight to worship or sacrifice, to stare out at the sea by day or up at the stars by night. Yes, looking into this abyss, one can comprehend Sir Nathaniel’s willingness to believe an ancient beast from the dawn of time lives on, dwelling deep in the bowels of the earth.”

  “Do you actually think that might be possible?”

  Holmes turned to smile at me, even as he shook his head. “I do not.” He leaned forward slightly.

  “For God’s sake—be careful!”

  “I am always careful.” He suddenly knelt down, stretched himself out prone on the ground, then thrust his head forward over the opening, turning slightly. “Ah, as I suspected. I can hear the sea. Dimly, but there is definitely a connection. This is not just a hole into the ground.” He looked about, found a small stone and dropped it into the pit. A few seconds later he spoke. “I heard it strike something, then, possibly a splash. If so, it was far down.” He turned to me. “Why not have a look, Henry?”

  “What?”

  “The hole is not large, and it soon slopes downward into blackness. If you lie on the ground, surely you cannot feel vertigo.”

  I inhaled very slowly. “I suppose not.”

  “After all, it is not some sheer cliff where one can see the rocks a hundred feet below.”

  “But you said it stinks. And is there actually anything interesting to see?”

  Holmes shrugged one shoulder awkwardly, since he was lying down. “Well, actually not. A small ledge some six or seven feet down, as I mentioned, and layers of different-colored rock. I wish I knew more about geology. I can also see some moss-like vegetation about ten feet down which probably marks the high-water point of the sea.”

  “Dr. Vernier?”

  I turned to see Adam Selton approaching. He had a big coil of rope over one shoulder, a knapsack in hand. He wore heavy tweed trousers, jacket and a cloth cap.

  Holmes rose up off the ground. “Ah there you are, right on time.” He glanced at me. “The tide will be at its lowest in about fifteen minutes. I checked my copy of the local tide tables before I arranged our rendezvous. That will allow me to go as far down as possible.”

  I shook my head. “It sounds exceedingly foolhardy to me.”

  “We shall secure the rope to that tree there. As you know, Henry, I am something of an alpinist. There is a technique I learned, which the Germans call Abseilen, that allows a gradual descent down sheer cliffs. In this case, there will doubtless be footholds along the way, too, should I wish to rest.”

  “And just how are you going to see?”

  “It is not truly essential that I see, but Mr. Selton also has some long cord. He will gradually lower a dark lantern just at my command. It will proceed ahead of me, so it cannot possibly strike me on the head.”

  I smiled. “That shows wise caution on your part. And how exactly are you going to get back up? Surely you don’t think you can pull yourself all the way up.”

  “I might be able to, but we will go the safer route. You and Mr. Selton will hoist me up.”

  I shook my head. “You have thought of everything, but my opinion remains unchanged—this venture is extremely foolhardy. And is it really necessary? What do you hope to dis
cover?”

  “Perhaps some gigantic worm droppings.” I did not find this amusing, but Holmes gave a great bark of laughter. “Look at the bright side, Henry. My lungs are vastly improved. A week ago I would not have been up to this, but now I feel quite fit.”

  Selton had listened to this conversation with a furrowed brow. Holmes turned to him. “Let me have a look at the rope.” Selton took it off his shoulder, and Holmes set it on the ground, then took up a length of it. “Excellent, premier quality indeed. I had him purchase this in Whitby, Henry. It is a port town, and ships are always in need of various lengths of good sturdy rope.”

  “How long is that?” I asked.

  “One hundred and twenty feet,” Selton replied.

  “Good Lord.” I shook my head. “You would actually go down that far?”

  Holmes smiled again. “No, no, only about one hundred feet. There will be about twenty feet between here and the tree trunk. Well, we must get started. The tide will be at its lowest in another fifteen minutes or so.”

  It was with some dismay that I watched his final preparations. I could think of nothing more terrifying than what he was about to do. He wrapped the rope round the oak trunk, then tied some ingenious knot. Next he withdrew a dark lantern from his own knapsack, the standard variety used by policemen, and lit it. A cord was fastened to the ring on top, and then Selton lowered it into the opening.

  “Let it out very slowly. If it catches on anything, you may need to raise and lower it gently. You can also try moving it to the side.” He took the end of the rope and fastened a double knot about six feet from the end. “This will be my warning that I am nearing the end of my rope. One danger with this technique is to simply run out of rope as you descend, and so plunge to your death.”

  He unwound the rope and dropped it down into the pit. “This is my favorite hat, and I could not bear to lose it. However, I have a substitute I could easily part with.” He tossed the brown hat with the wide brim to the side, and his swept-back black hair and prominent forehead glistened in the light. The mists were dissolving, the blue more prominent. He knelt beside the knapsack and withdrew another hat, a classic deerstalker with the two brims which Sidney Paget had so immortalized in his illustrations of Watson’s stories. Never in all the years I had known him, had I actually seen Holmes wear such a hat!