Sherlock Holmes

by Lyn McConchie

  I slept soundly that night and woke with a feeling of anticipation.

  5

  Holmes and I breakfasted peacefully, and once we had eaten he addressed me. “I plan to go and see my brother at lunchtime, Watson. What do you have in mind until then?”

  “Do you wish me to go with you?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Mind? Why, I’d be delighted. You really think him to have the solution to Mr. Addleton Senior’s actions?”

  “I do.”

  “Then I shall be delighted to accompany you, Holmes. As to my occupation until then, I had thought that I might talk to other publishers. As you know, I have some small contacts there and I thought that they might, perhaps, be able to tell me more about Loughton Hall’s beginnings.”

  “An excellent idea.”

  And with that encomium in my ears I set out to talk to an editor or two. I was fortunate to find one of my own editors at his office, an elderly man who knew about the Addletons and who was kind enough to put aside his work and spend an hour or so telling me what he knew, once we’d talked about our own business and a sale had been satisfactorily concluded.

  “Loughton Hall eh? Old Addleton. What do you want to know?”

  “How did he get started?”

  He leaned his chair back and nodded. “Ah, well, he had money behind him, didn’t he? His father started it. He got into doing pamphlets, the scientific type.”

  “To whom did he sell them?” I was interested.

  “Not exactly sell, it was for students, you see, Doctor.” I did. Some of the better-known specialists who take students have leaflets printed that may be given around the class, a mix of diagrams and descriptions that the student may retain as a form of lecture or case notes.

  “And he did a good job? But that isn’t true publishing, is it.”

  “He did a good job, and no, it wasn’t publishing, more just printing really, but it gave him an entry. He did it as a hobby, but things like that have a habit of growing. Being a hobby, he wasn’t so bothered about making a big profit, an’ when a couple of specialists asked him to do textbooks for them he took it on, and that was publishing.”

  “And they were satisfied with the work, so they recommended him to others?” I queried.

  “Ah, that’s it. Next thing he’s got this publishing place, no name yet, and part of it a printing works and he’s doing medical pamphlets, the occasional broadsheet, and textbooks. No real money in it, but he’s breaking even and he’s happy. Nobody in the publishing trade knows much ’bout him, as all his work comes from word of mouth and as he’s doing work no one else much wants—all finicky work, you see, such as takes a really educated man, and with only slight profit—so he doesn’t run into any trouble. Then his son gets interested in what his pa is doing and he comes on board. That’s when things start to change.”

  “How?”

  “Sonny reckons there’s more money to be made, and while old Addleton is satisfied to muddle along with the work none of the rest of us want, Sonny has other ideas. He sees that women are reading; he has a wife and maybe she’s talked of the books women read, and I’d guess he talks to a few of her friends, an’ the next thing we know he’s got some female writing horrid novels for them. And they sell. I’ll tell you, Doctor, they sell like bread to the starving. There’s others that have jumped on that bandwagon, before and after, but he does well for himself. A couple publishers resented it, so they went around and broke up a printing press, and next thing they knew police were knocking on their doors. I don’t know how and nor does anyone else, but old Addleton has an almighty pull somewhere, and the word goes out that it’s safer to leave him alone.”

  “And did they?”

  He grinned, laying a finger against his nose. “No questions, no lies. Let’s say that any more trouble he had wasn’t so obvious after that, and they found it harder to find someone to blame for it. Pa Addleton lived outside London, in some small village somewhere, and next thing we know the manager of his printing section retires, and he’s sold that to a young up-and-comer who’s kin to the Camden gang, while Sonny moved out to Loughton, lock, stock, and family. No idea where he got the money to buy house and business, he weren’t doing as well as all that. Calls his new business Loughton Hall Publishers and Sonny’s running it all cozy, with Pa giving him a helping hand when he feels like it. A few years back they took in an apprentice and then a second lad and they’re away, doing well for themselves.”

  “And did they keep having trouble?” I queried.

  “No, they did not.” My editor friend eyed me over his glasses. “Camden gang’s nothing to mess with, an’ one of his cousins came around to a few of us and made that clear. As for Loughton, it isn’t a big place. Anybody going there to cause trouble sticks out. And the one an’ only time somebody tried it, as soon as the boys went in, saying ‘all stand back and no one’ll get hurt,’ an’ started smashing up the furniture, the police were there making arrests, and the judge, you’d have thought it was his own home they were wrecking. The boys got sentences they wasn’t expecting, just for a bit of wrecking and no one hurt, and no one was game to try after that, see?”

  I saw.

  My friend looked at me. “I don’t know who old Addleton knows, but whoever it is, he’s got pull and those against him thought that next time the pull could be someone’s neck in a rope. So Addleton goes his way and no one bothers him. I can say, he doesn’t bother anyone either, keeps himself to himself, and that suits everybody. That’s all I know. Now if you got no work to do, I have.”

  I made my farewells and left, considering all I’d heard as I walked briskly towards my rendezvous with Holmes. If there was one thing that stood out, it was that my friend’s information matched some of what I’d heard in Epping Downland. Addleton Senior had bought his original property for cash, appeared to have an ongoing private income, and he’d had a fine education—that tuition not at all the sort of learning obtained at a village school, more the type received from a decent boarding establishment for the sons of gentlemen.

  Now this clear testimony that he had ‘pull’ with the police could only mean either that he was magnificently wealthy—and there was no evidence of his being more than comfortably off—or he must be related to some noble family. I considered that as I walked. Who should know more of the possibilities of that being so than Mycroft? I smiled to myself. Yes, that was why Holmes was consulting his brother. I walked faster, eager to meet my friend and hear what Mycroft would say.

  My friend’s brother tends to be found at the Diogenes Club between the hours of a quarter to five and twenty minutes to eight. Quite why these particular hours I do not know and have never dared to ask, but so it is. Mycroft, as I discovered in the past, was a remarkable man, slothful and disinclined to move, but with a brain so keen and incisive it could out-think that of my friend’s on occasion. The club is—the only word I can think of is ‘peculiar’—as are its members. They do not socialize together, indeed the club rules forbid this, with no member being allowed to address another or even to take notice of him without specific encouragement.

  The club is luxurious but is, I feel, wasted on the members. On our arrival, Holmes vanished and returned moments later with Mycroft. Mycroft led the way to their Stranger’s Room, where quiet talk was permitted. Once we had sunk comfortably into leather chairs, drinks had been provided, and Mycroft had ascertained that we were quite alone so that our talking would offend no one, he began.

  “You wished to know about a Mr. Addleton, who lives in the village of Epping Downland. You say that he has a private income, sufficient cash to purchase his home outright upon his arrival, and that he has an education of a type attributable to at least a minor boarding school. You also state that he has books in his bookcase that have upon them a gold crest, and that on one occasion a travelling carriage was seen to stop at his home, a man alighted and spent some time within, and that this carriage also had gold crests upon the panels.”
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  He eyed us inquiringly and I nodded. “I have discovered something else that may be of significance,” I told him.

  “Relate it.”

  I did so, keeping the history of Addleton’s publishing business brief since I knew he was not a man to tolerate digressions.

  “Ah, thank you, that confirms my supposition.”

  Forgetting Holmes, who had said nothing, I jerked forward. “You mean… You think you know the meaning of this?”

  Mycroft folded his hands complacently across his stomach. “Allow me to tell you a tale. Many years ago there was a young man of good family but of little wealth. His father was the third son of an old and noble line, but as such he had no title and only a small property. His parents were fond, and accepting that a young man must have his follies, they told him only that he must never play for more than he had in his pockets, must always keep his word, and must not make advances to women of quality without intending marriage. The lad followed these commandments, particularly the second, for when he found that he had got a girl with child he took her away and married her secretly in a ceremony that turned out to be—for what reason I cannot say—not of legal status.”

  “And she was not a lady of quality,” I said.

  “No, indeed, she was the daughter of a hedger and ditcher.”

  I shook my head. A hedger and ditcher mends and remakes hedges, and as he does so he checks the ditches, deepening them where necessary, or unblocking such as have become blocked. It is worthy employment but ill-paid, and such men are often itinerant, or if not, then hired by a number of farmers and estates within a certain area.

  “Was he employed by any one estate?”

  “Officially yes, by the estate of our young man’s father, and on that land he lived in a small cottage with his wife and daughter. With permission, when there was no work for him on the estate, he was free to work elsewhere and this he did, so that when the young man began courting he was not at home. By the time he returned the damage was done, and it was then that the lad took the girl away to marry her. A wedding arranged in the next county by the lad’s father, or so it is said.”

  It was clear to both Holmes and me at this point that if this were true, why the wedding had been subsequently found not to be legal.

  Mycroft roused himself to drain his glass, obtain another, and continued once the waiter had departed. “The young couple went to London, took rooms there, and the boy continued with his studies. There was scant money so the rooms were on the highest floor, and one night being eager to provide a nourishing meal for her husband, the girl, then only a few days from giving birth, descended the stairs to buy food. On her return she spilled some of the gravy—or milk, or custard—it is unclear, and slipped. She fell the length of a flight of stairs, ending by striking against the wall, and it was not until her husband, who had been delayed in his return, found her, that a doctor was called. She was by that time in labor, and while the child survived, the mother did not.”

  Holmes spoke finally. “And the family?”

  Mycroft lowered his voice. “Lord T––—.”

  “Ah, yes. He subsequently came into the title when his own father and two elder brothers died in an accident overseas. This boy’s father inherited title and estates, and it would not then have been suitable for the heir’s heir to be the child of an estate worker.”

  Mycroft looked bland. “As to that I cannot say. But I would note that through the father’s devices the marriage was not legal, therefore his grandchild was not the heir. With the young wife gone, it may have been that the boy was recalled to a sense of duty. Certainly he married a year later, a most suitable match that was blessed with sons. However, he continued to see to it that his firstborn was not in want. The baby was given into the charge of a woman who had been nurse to the family, and later he was sent to a good school. Upon his graduation he received both a goodly sum of money and a generous annuity for life. That was, I am given to understand, sufficient for him to educate his own son and for the boy to be accepted as from a better class. A further sum was handed to him for the purpose of buying certain property that was the start of his publishing business.”

  “And the establishment the father began as a hobby,” I concluded, “has become a business employing the son, two apprentices, and a part-time clerk—who is our subject.”

  “Exactly so. It may be that in starting such a trade it was in the father’s mind that it would continue in the family and they could make a good living when he dies and his annuity ceases. All this is a matter of some delicacy. Mr. Addleton Senior is not the heir despite being the oldest son, but there is the question of the legitimacy of the marriage. It was not legal, but both parties certainly entered into it believing that at the time it was. It could be argued, therefore, that this being so the senior Addleton is heir to Lord T––—, which would be a great embarrassment to Her Majesty. What? A man of questionable birth and the grandson of an itinerant farm worker, to sit in the House of Lords?”

  “Does Mr. Addleton Senior say anything about this?” I questioned.

  “I am told that he has no great wish to inherit either estates or title. He is a private man, and while he loves his son, he does not think his son or his son’s wife to be fit for such a position. Therefore they know nothing, and the secret will die with him.”

  I nodded. “What of Mr. Addleton Senior’s wife?”

  “He wed a girl from a better class, but she died in childbed with their second son and the babe died with her. The woman who brought up Addleton Senior’s son was the daughter of the father’s old nurse.” His gaze swept to me and then to Holmes. “I have been given leave to tell you this so you will understand the position and make no inquiries which may be embarrassing for those in high places.”

  Holmes raised an eyebrow. “There is no need for further questions on this subject. We wished only to know if there were some discreditable secret which might have caused the original tragedy,” he said quietly. “This scandal is none of our concern.” And with that he swept us out after a brief farewell.

  Once on the pavement I turned to him. “Holmes, was that the truth?”

  “Yes. Do you not see, Watson, it explains things that we found suspicious. The payment for the cottage, the income, the education.”

  “The crest,” I cried. “The gold crest on the carriage.”

  “Yes, that may have been the father come to call, or perhaps his man of business finalizing the deed of annuity.”

  “The books, too,” I added. “They had gold crests upon the face and spine. Perhaps they were a gift to the son by his father.”

  “Indeed. Now, Watson, while it is always possible that the man attempted to poison his son and daughter-in-law for some reason we have not yet come upon, I think it unlikely.”

  “That,” I said dismally, “could be said of almost everyone in the household.” I ticked them off on my fingers. “Miss Mary we believe to be innocent. However, Janet Pierce was certainly in and out of the kitchen, as was Michael Bishop. And if they were so, and Miss Mary says that on one occasion she was out of the kitchen herself, what is to say that there was not a positive procession of all the family and staff past these accursed dumplings. Is it known how long she was gone?”

  “No. This is where, Watson, we must endeavor to see the girl and ask questions that may give us useful answers.”

  I smothered a groan. I well know of what like are prisons. They are dreary, miserable, and often brutal places in which their inhabitants languish. Nor are those who work there of much more cheerful mien. Nonetheless it was to the prison that we went the next morning, Mycroft having smoothed our way in consideration of our silence in the matter of Lord T––—.

  The prisoner I knew to be a girl of not quite twenty-one, but looking at her I would have thought her to be ten or more years older. Her hair, normally a shade of chestnut, was dark and hung in uncombed tails. Her hazel eyes were dull, her skin pasty, and her look sullen. She was escorted in to sit ac
ross the table from us, her warder leaving us at a word and gratuity from Holmes. I greeted the girl, brought myself to her remembrance and introduced my friend, saying that we did not believe her guilty and had come, if possible, to aid her.

  “If you think me innocent then you are alone in that,” she said bitterly. “The Addletons, for whom I worked seven years, not only think me a poisoner, but spoke against me in court. Michael, whom I thought my friend, refused to appear, and Janet, who has always disliked me, could not blacken me sufficiently.” As she talked her hands moved, plucking at her bodice, her hair, her sleeves. “They would not permit my father to speak for me, and each time I asked for Michael they brought Jonathan, who could tell nothing of the truth and who is against me, too.”

  I reached over the table to take her restless hands. “Mary, child, listen to me. We are looking into the case. Please answer any questions my friend may put to you and it may be we can find light in the midst of your darkness.”

  “Ask then, and I shall answer you as honestly as I did the court, and likely with as much good.” She began to laugh, a sound that became coughing and then laughter again. I rose, took the water glass, and flung the contents into her face. The sounds stopped and she sat, breathing deeply, until she straightened in her seat and spoke.

  “I am sorry. My distress makes me fail in courtesy. Ask your questions.”

  Holmes caught her gaze with his. “You say Janet dislikes you. Tell me of that.”

  “What good…” At his look she sighed. “I promised to answer. Janet dislikes me for several reasons. The greatest is that while I am six years the younger, I am paid almost half again the amount she receives. I have been the better educated, have a more responsible position, and while she does only the work of a maid, and sometimes does scullery work if the cook demands it, I am called for an hour or two most days to work as a clerk by keeping the household accounts, and even once or twice I have been permitted to help with a simple manuscript.