“It were a wonder, sir. We get gentlemen here, passing through always, an’ now and then they have a bang-up turnout. I’ve had young master Townsend here many a time on his way to or from London. But this were, well, sir, it were a treat to see. A carriage, four-in-hand, prime bits of blood, and a coachman sitting up on the box. It pulled up outside Mr. Addleton’s cottage and a man stepped down. Mr. Addleton let him in and they was talking for hours. Then the man come out, coachman whipped up the horses and they were gone, sir. No, they never came here, just went on their way north again. But Maisie Debbs, sir, she saw the carriage panels plain, and she says as how there were a crest, one each side on the doors.”
“Could she make them out?”
“No, sir,” said the landlord regretfully. “All she could say was that they were wonderful bright and all entangled so’s she couldn’t make them out.” I indicated that he should stand himself a drink and he drew a mug of ale, nodding at me politely. “Ah, it were talk of the village fer months, that carriage. I heard t’ minister mentioned it to Mr. Addleton, saying he hoped he’d had a pleasant visit from his friend.” He grinned. “Didn’t get much change there, for all Mr. Addleton said it were ‘very pleasant,’ and no more. He’s a close-mouthed gentleman, but he’s good enough to us here. He’s helped them as needed it a time or two, and expected nothing in return.”
I took the opportunity to walk to the door and stand just outside taking deep breaths before returning to the bar, where I asked questions about Downland and its history, quietly leading him back to the subject of Mr. Addleton’s arrival and his early days here. The landlord waxed loquacious on both topics, and while I learned more than I wished about Downland and its origins, I also heard a lot about Mr. Addleton. I thought little of it to be useful in the case, but much of it was interesting and perhaps odd. It was unusual for a man of education, an independent income, and who had a visitor in a crested carriage of the sort owned by the nobility, to settle in a small village far from any city. Could he be hiding from someone? Or from something, perhaps from the repercussions of some wicked deed he had committed?
I went again to the door and breathed deeply and obviously for several minutes before I went back and drained the landlord of all further information over another hour. I then announced that I must return to London. The landlord, who until now had been happy to talk, eyed me suspiciously. “Tell me, sir, if I’m not asking more than I should. Why did you come here?”
I was ready for him and I smiled kindly. “I am a doctor. Of late I have been over-busy and overworked, you understand?” He nodded. “A friend said that I could not do better than a day in the real country. That I should follow my nose where it led me, find a pleasant public house, take a meal there, a drink or two, and relax, breathe in the good country air and for a few hours forget my practice. I must say that he was right. I believe my day here has done me a world of good, and I shall return to my patients refreshed. More men of my persuasion should do so. It is a true tonic.”
The landlord, no doubt remembering my episodes of deep breathing, let go of any suspicions and beamed approval. “Aye, sir, you’re right. I’ve heard tell of they London fogs. Cousin of mine worked there and he were glad to come home. He said the city weren’t fit for man nor beast, but the air in Downland be entirely wholesome. You come back any time you will. If so be you’d like to stay the night, I have a bedroom I can rent you. You remember us, sir, and tell your friends.”
I said that I would and we parted pleasantly, once he’d found me a ride back to Epping.
Truthfully, I had enjoyed my time in his village and I would recommend it should any ask. But right now I wished for nothing more than to be home by my own fire, eating a dinner of Mrs. Hudson’s excellent cooking, and telling Holmes what I had discovered. I found a train ready to leave once I reached the station and I swung aboard. It carried me swiftly into London and I was home just on dusk.
Holmes looked up from his chair when I entered. “A productive day, Watson?”
I frowned. “As to that, I cannot be sure. I did hear interesting things but what they may mean I have no idea. How went your own inquiries?”
Holmes opened his mouth and paused. “I hear Mrs. Hudson with our dinner. Let us eat, then we can talk.”
We did so, and it was Holmes who began. “Michael Bishop is something of a mystery that I am finding difficult to unravel, as I cannot go directly to the Addletons and demand information….”
“Why not?” I demanded.
Holmes snorted. “Think, Watson. Three members of their family were poisoned, of that there is no doubt, even if we are uncertain who did it. Am I to go to them and say that I do not believe Miss Mary was responsible? If not she, then who? There is no one else save within their family or other employees and that suggests that the person, having been unsuccessful, may try again. They will not wish to hear such a thing. They will repudiate both the idea and myself and refuse to answer my questions. No, we must work behind the scenes until we have sufficient evidence to back any demands.”
“I understand,” I said, abashed.
“With the thought that it might not be necessary to make a direct approach, however, I loitered near Loughton Hall—a fine building, built some hundred years ago I would think, and painted in shades of green with a darker green trim—until the maid, Janet Pierce, emerged. I followed her to a shop and waited until she fulfilled her order there and left, whereupon I approached her openly asking for directions, in a voice that any might hear. She pointed out my way, and in a soft voice I offered money if she would come to a public place but one where we would not be overheard. I said that I would pay well if she answered questions about Miss Mary, and more still if she would carry out a small commission or two for me.”
Amusement glinted in his eyes. “I had mistaken neither her greed nor her wits. In one sentence she told me where we might meet. I went there directly, and she appeared some minutes later from a different direction, settled on a bench nearby, but with her back to me. She asked in a low voice how much I would pay. I looked about but there was no one in sight, so I tossed a florin to her and said for each question she answered truthfully—and I knew much already and would know if she lied—I would pay the same. I pointed out that there was no one present, no one within earshot, and that only the truth would serve. Thereafter it would be my word against hers.”
I was incredulous. “She believed you?”
“She did not know me. I made some suggestion of being a journalist and she knows what all know, that they do not tell of their informants. In short and to begin, she confirmed that she had it in mind, if Miss Mary was discredited, to take her place. This to her satisfaction she has done. It appears that she has been studying and has learned enough by now to lend a hand with household account as Miss Mary did, to cook dishes of sufficient quality to be acceptable to the family on Mrs. Marcham’s day off, and she says that the family begin to rely on her since she spoke in court to confirm Mrs. Addleton’s claims against Miss Mary. She did not confess outright that she swore falsely, but she allowed it to be guessed and said nothing when I stated it as fact.”
“The liar,” I cried angrily. “To swear away the life of one who has done her no harm.”
“Maybe so, Watson, but we are not in her shoes. It may be that being older than Miss Mary she feared for her future. What is she to do, where is she to go, if the family decide that Miss Mary is the more valuable servant and dismiss her? Although,” his brow darkened, “she is yet a liar, and from some of her talk she enjoys the trouble she causes. She is one who sees everyone’s hand against her, so that she must be first to the attack. However, she confirms what we thought, that Miss Mary did not say that ‘she could never again like Mrs. Addleton,’ that Miss Mary did not appear sullen, or that she was pert to her mistress. Rather she agreed that Mary was much distressed at the incident for which she had been reprimanded and feared for her job.”
A thought struck me. “Holmes!” I cried. “You do not think it pos
sible that it was this woman who poisoned the family?”
“It is possible but unlikely, Watson. The sauce she made was not the cause, and how else could she have done so? Miss Mary herself said that Janet, while in and out of the kitchen, never to Miss Mary’s knowledge approached the dough or dumplings. I questioned her carefully on that myself and she showed no sign of guilt. Indeed, I questioned her on a number of points and she satisfied me that she had no prior knowledge and no involvement. I went on to pay her for her information, at which she was most gratified and eagerly asked what else I might want of her.”
“I daresay,” I said sourly. “And what did you ask?”
“I asked her to procure for me a copy of Michael Bishop’s references,” Holmes said simply.
“By heaven, Holmes, that is something which had never occurred to me. An apprentice must have some, I suppose.”
“And also someone to pay the initial apprenticeship fees,” I was reminded. “Not that this was of help here. The papers Janet crept out to give me this evening showed that Michael himself had paid his apprentice fees, but his references were of greater interest. They were from the schoolmaster at an orphan school in Harlow, and from a shopkeeper in a small way of business in the same town, with a third from a maiden lady there who had continued to tutor Mr. Bishop once he departed the school. She says that he worked diligently at his studies and also at the shop until he was eighteen, and used the monies paid him there to advance his education. Once he reached a good level he halved the number of his lessons and began also to save for apprentice fees. He confided to her that he wished to be employed in such a place as a stationers or publishing house.”
He reached for the poker and mended the fire in silence before speaking again. “There is something admirable, Watson, in the lad’s determination to better himself.”
I agreed, and another thought struck me. “Holmes, he saved money, and to do that he would have had an account.”
“Once I had seen his references, Watson, that idea occurred to me, although it is always possible that he merely kept his savings in a box beneath his bed or in some such place. I have asked Janet to see if she can discover with which bank he may have his account, if indeed he does have an account, and promised her five sovereigns for the correct information.”
I complained at the expense and Holmes nodded. “True, it is a large amount, but think, Watson. If we bring Miss Mary’s case to court again, it is likely that Janet’s lies will be exposed. It will also expose Mrs. Addleton as a liar and a malicious woman, the more so if we must bring to court that tale of the Blantons and their lawsuit. In such a position I think it most likely that in a rage she will dismiss Janet and perhaps refuse her a reference.”
I could only gaze at him. There are those who think him cold and unfeeling, yet here he had made an effort to see that a maid who was an untrustworthy liar should still have some means to support herself in the event that his actions brought about her dismissal.
“Holmes, do you think it likely that we will succeed in having the case reopened?” I asked doubtfully at last. “The authorities are never swift to acknowledge they were wrong, and as yet we have few proofs.”
“That is true, however, I am convinced that Miss Mary was wrongly convicted, and I believe that we shall find the proofs,” Holmes assured me. “The simplest method is to discover the real culprit, and should we succeed in that I do not believe the authorities will deny us justice.”
“We can only hope so,” I agreed. “And now, I shall recount my investigations.” I told him of all mine host had recounted, and ended with my own comments.
“I find it strange, Holmes. This man comes to live in a small, out-of-the-way village. He arrives with a small child said to be his son and a woman said to be his wife. She is seen no more after seven or eight years. She did not die, or if she did, her body was smuggled away, no local doctor certifying her death, and her body buried elsewhere. The man has no known employment, however, he has sufficient money to purchase a cottage for cash. He can afford to pay two part-time workers, to support himself, and to travel regularly to Loughton. It is said that he was a publisher, but where or for who is unknown. Why, even his given name is unknown.”
“That I can tell you,” Holmes stated. “He is Bertram Addleton, and he is seventy-one years of age. Such things can be discovered from government papers. He banks with the Westminster Bank, which receives an amount paid into his account annually, that amount being portioned into twelve and remitted to him monthly by their branch in Loughton. Before that, he received a great sum that opened the account, and some of that was later used to buy Loughton Hall and the business.”
“From where does the money come?”
“Ah, that is another mystery. I have talked to a member of their staff, who said that no one knows the origin of the payment save the head of the bank in London. It is paid into a holding account in cash annually by a firm of lawyers. It is my suspicion that they also receive it in cash. Following the trail could be a long and arduous journey.”
“And of what value should you reach the end,” I said thoughtfully. “There is no certainty that whoever sends him the money has anything to do with Miss Mary’s case.”
“Exactly so, Watson.”
“So what trail shall we follow now?”
“I shall continue to seek out Master Bishop’s antecedents, let you see if you can uncover more of the mystery surrounding Mr. Addleton. I would suggest you see if you can discover where he lived before coming to Epping Downland, for it is likely that his roots lie there. Surely there is someone in that village who saw him arrive. It is my experience that in small villages there are always watching eyes. There may be no one in sight, yet nothing is unknown.”
I smiled. “Yes, that is true, but what excuse shall I offer them this time?”
“Why, take a couple of my Irregulars with you. Say you benefited so well from your own trip that you have brought this time two orphans from London, that they might breathe clean air.”
Next morning I made arrangements to have two of his Irregulars—John Baker and James Ferguson—travel with me, and also to order that an Epping fly available for hire meet us at the station to take us to Downland and return us to catch the last train that evening. Once on the train, I spoke in an undertone, the boys listening intently. They were good lads and astute, and children speak to children. I explained their mission, and I gave each of them a handful of copper farthings, halfpennies, and pennies, and a couple of silver threepenny bits.
“Spend that with care, but at midday come back to the inn and I’ll buy you food. You can take it outside again and continue to talk to any about.”
Epping was busy, but our conveyance was waiting and we bowled merrily along the country lane until we halted near the King George. On our arrival there I paid our driver a part of his wages, told him that we should be here several hours and I had no problem if he wished to walk about, eat at the public house, or sleep a while in the fly, so long as he was available when we wished to return to the town, and not too drunk to direct the horse. He beamed at that and disappeared in the direction of the public bar.
I went to the private room and ordered food, greeted the landlord as an old friend, and confided to him my errand, of which he loudly approved.
“You couldn’t bring them to a better village, sir, clear air, as you says yourself, room to run about without harm, and I daresay you told them how to behave.”
“I did. They know that should they do anything of which I disapprove, they shall be on the way home again before they know it.”
In fact, all of the Irregulars were too smart to steal or do anything that would set the villagers against them and I had merely issued a general warning about closing any gate after them, and not throwing stones at an animal. They were not to begin any fights either, although I would say nothing if someone attacked them first and they merely fought back—so long as their attacker admitted that.
In the event, al
l was peaceful for the four hours that we remained in the village. The pair appeared from the midst of a pack of village children at noon, ate hugely of the food I provided, and vanished again, amiably discussing, so far as I heard, what a penny could buy here as against what could be had for that amount in London. When next they passed the window, I observed that all were sucking enormous pieces of toffee in an atmosphere of great friendship. I hoped that they’d had their mouths free to talk for most of that time, and later found my hopes fulfilled once we had returned to London and John, James, and I joined Holmes in his study.
(The fly’s driver had also fulfilled hopes, it seemed, since he sang merrily much of the way from Downland to Epping, driving the vehicle well enough, however, that I said nothing and paid him in full at the station.)
Once the lads were settled in chairs, all four of us had eaten, and Mrs. Hudson had cleared the table and departed, I settled back, as did Holmes. “Now lads,” he said. “Dr. Watson asked you to obtain, if you could, any information or suggestions as to where a Mr. Addleton might have come from when he arrived in that village.”
Both nodded agreement and the older of the duo spoke up.
“Us did that, Mr. Holmes, sir. Kids was hanging about looking at his carriage when he arrived. You know no one notices us, and we overhears things adults don’t.”
“I know it, that is why I suggested that Dr. Watson take you. I know you for bright lads who notice and listen well.”
Both appeared deeply gratified and embarked on the tale, at the end of which Holmes and I ushered them out with coins clutched firmly in their grubby hands while we repaired to his study.
“Holmes,” I said as we sat again and I picked up my glass of whisky. “What are we to make of such a tale? Can it be true?”
“It may be. I had wondered at the account of books with gold crests, and of that tale of a carriage with crests on the door panels. Then there are the monies paid to Bertram Addleton each month. Yes, I believe the boys heard right, and tomorrow I will make further inquiries on that particular matter.”
Sherlock Holmes Page 5