“What can you tell me of the sleepwalking episodes?”
“Nothing of great moment. She did so the night after Jackson’s death, and again the next night, and no more. She did so again after the death of Mathew, but once only.”
“So she is prone to do so after an event that caused her great sadness.”
“Yes, that is a fair summation.”
He poured the last of the bottle of beer into our glasses. I drank my share, and we parted with expressions of mutual esteem and a promise on his part to swear before a judge or in court as to Miss Mary’s innocence in the matter of her brothers’ death if that should ever be required of him.
I reached home even as Holmes was alighting from a cab, and we entered the house together. Holmes led the way to the study, walked to stand, back to the fire, and addressed me. “Today I have discovered several thing of interest in this case, Watson.”
“As have I, Holmes.”
“Then you shall speak first.” And he composed himself to listen.
“I found the Felloweses at home and heard of the death of their elder son,” I said. “I am convinced from their evidence that Miss Mary could not have been responsible for it in any way. They were also able to give me the direction of the doctor who attended the boy, and he corroborated that. Then, too, he attended the younger child and could tell me of that.” I related all I had been told.
Holmes listened alertly, saying once I was finished my story, “Yes, that is satisfactory. And you say that the doctor is angry on behalf of the family and will testify if asked?”
“So he promised, and I believe him.”
“Excellent. And I have found the direction of the writer. He writes broadsheets and is also a freelance reporter for certain newspapers, being paid for whatever they use.” He looked up at the rattle of dishes. “Here comes our dinner. Let us eat and then there is more I have to tell you.”
We ate hungrily and once the remains of our meal were cleared, Holmes sat back and looked at me. “We have sufficient evidence and testimony to show that Miss Mary could not have been responsible for the death of either of her brothers. Put that together with what I discovered and we may be able to scotch this snake. I spoke to certain contacts and they were able to tell me that the writer is a Mr. Pettigrew. He is an unpleasant man, given to obtaining minor information by bribery and inflating that into a scandal for which he will be well paid. I, in turn, found his address and talked to his landlady’s maid, a girl who heartily dislikes him and who was delighted to tell me all she could.”
I smiled. “In short, the biter bit.”
“Exactly. At my instigation, Pettigrew being out, she gave me access to his rooms and I was able to peruse his papers. I have the names of those who gave him information on the deaths of the Fellowes brothers, the episode of the scarf, and Miss Mary’s claimed attack on her friend.”
“Who were these people?” I demanded angrily. “I hope they will pay.”
“They have already done so,” Holmes assured me quietly. “Both the talk about the scarf and of the attack on Mary’s friend came from a maid at Colonel Denham’s home. She heard gossip in the servants’ hall, and when Pettigrew came nosing around, offering money, she related the tales. I believe her to have told only the truth as she knew it, and it was Pettigrew who inflated the events and added details that turned a gift to a small girl and an act of heroism into claims of attempted murder and a violent attack. Colonel Denham talked to the maid once I had found her out, and she has been sent to work in the Denham’s country seat.”
“Good!” I exclaimed.
“Yes. At first he thought of turning her off without a character, but I pointed out that it had not been the girl who had changed the stories into vile calumnies.” His eyes glittered in amusement. “The colonel, however, is not at all happy, and plans to bring an action against the newspaper that printed these lies. If your doctor goes with him, Watson, that will be of considerable use. Now, as to the story that Mary was in some way involved in her brothers’ deaths, this was nothing but local gossip, talk of how unfortunate the family had been.
“Pettigrew got hold of the older brother of the lad who’d been playing ball when the boy fell under the dray, and after plying him with strong drink, managed to persuade him into saying that he did not know but that Mary had been home at the time.
“On the foundation that she may have been home, but not, you will note, Watson, anywhere near the scene of the accident at the time, Pettigrew built a story of her being responsible. His notes were clear. He wrote that if she were home, then she might have gone to call the lad in and distracted him so that he dashed into the street.”
I snorted. “Which is far from murder. This tale of her even being home is a tissue of lies.”
“Yes, we have been able to discount these newspaper claims, and once they have been interviewed by Colonel Denham and your medical friend, as well as others who have interested themselves in this case, I think we will hear far less of Miss Mary’s so-called murderous propensities. And I must thank you for your earlier suggestion, Watson. I did indeed talk to Mrs. Hudson about eggs and cutlery.”
I was immediately alert. “She was able to explain that to your satisfaction?”
“She was. She cannot be certain of conditions in the Addleton kitchen and we will have to approach the household and question the cook, but I believe that I have an answer to the blackened cutlery. You told me, Watson, that cooked eggs can cause this tarnish and I talked to our good landlady on the subject. She tells me that scrambled eggs, once put upon the plate, may leave the pan still with an amount of the eggs clinging to the pan’s sides and bottom. If this residue is left to harden it can be difficult to remove, and because of that it is the custom of most cooks to set the pan to soak by filling it with water as soon as the eggs have been dished out.”
I sat up. “And if someone then placed the cutlery in that water….”
“Look at the circumstances, Watson. Miss Mary cooks first a large pie for the servants’ dinner. She then cooks the yeast dumplings and these are taken in to the family, while the servants sit to share their pie. But before any of that begins, she had cooked scrambled eggs and made toast for Mrs. Danforth. A fully employed cook might wash the pan before sitting down to her own meal, or have the scullery maid do so. Mary is merely a girl who once a month cooks two or three meals for her employers and her fellow servants. She is not imbued with the habits of a regular cook, and there is no scullery maid in the household. So she sets the pan to soak and eats her dinner. It may have seemed more sensible to her to wait until the Addletons’ meal was concluded, their dishes returned to the kitchen, and Mrs. Danforth’s tray fetched from her room, and then she could wash everything at once.”
I nodded agreement.
“The servants eat their meal, the remnants of the Addletons’ meal comes back to the kitchen, and since both Mary and Master Turner seized upon the uneaten food to share, Mary places their cutlery also into the saucepan filled with water, again to prevent food that clings to the cutlery from hardening, making it difficult to remove. Had it remained in the water only five minutes, as would have been the intent, the cutlery was unlikely to tarnish, but both servants were taken ill, as were the Addletons. Instead, the cutlery remained in water that contained sulfur leached from the scraps of scrambled eggs for a number of hours. This would have blackened the silver. That, too, may be a matter of perception, for normally the silver is polished. Now it is tarnished and dull. It is not black, but it is blackened to a degree. And Mr. Addleton, used only to seeing it polished and shining, refers to it, remembers it, as ‘blackened,’ giving the impression in court that it was turned all black. The doctor who took his word for its condition may have genuinely misunderstood. I wish to corroborate all of this during our visit to the Addletons and the doctor, if it is possible.”
I understood. “And so we need to interview the cook?”
“First, we shall visit Miss Mary again. I want to ask
her of the progression of events. If she did set the egg pan to soak, and if she recalls what she did with the family’s cutlery.”
This we did the next day, during a visit in which I may say that the girl confirmed both actions, looking somewhat guilty at her admission of leaving work, which should have been done at once.
“But what do you think, Mr. Holmes?” she cried after her admission. “My fiancé has visited me many times and yesterday he said that we shall be married as soon as I am acquitted. That way my name shall be changed and people will forget it was I who was accused.” Color glowed in her cheeks. “He says that he loves me and has always known I did nothing wrong.”
“What does his father say to this?” Holmes asked.
“Why, his father was with him and agreed. My father has been telling him of your discoveries and he understands that you are in a fair way to proving I committed no crimes.” She smiled joyfully. “Mr. Hemming even says that perhaps an action may be brought and I could receive compensation from those who lied about me. Would that not be wonderful?”
I agreed, and Holmes nodded slowly. “But we have some way to go before that,” he said cautiously. “Those who have sworn to events do not like to retract their oaths, and in an action against them, your side must prove they lied. The burden of proof is then against you, and an action costs money.”
The girl drew herself up. “Mr. Hemming has said that if you show me to be innocent he will bring the action and bear the cost.” She looked puzzled. “He appeared pleased if he could do so. But it is good that he too believes me innocent, and if such a case is successful, the money would be useful. We could expand the business.”
We had left the prison’s gloomy walls behind us before I asked Holmes something that had caused me to wonder.
“Why would Hemming be pleased to bring an action against a newspaper and others? It did not sound as if it were the money alone that he might win.”
Holmes grunted. “No, Watson, but you may recall the reason Sergeant Fellowes gave for Hemming being pleased to welcome Mary into the family: that he desired an educated girl for his son. That other, better families of educated daughters would not agree to a marriage, since Hemming’s mother….”
“I remember now. His mother was ‘no better than she should be’ and his father was known as a drunkard. But what has that to do with his desiring to bring an action?”
“Think of whom he might bring such a case against, Watson. The editor of the offending paper is the son of a well-known family. The Inspector who investigated the case is the son of a merchant, and if the case is brought, the Addletons could be destroyed, the wife exposed as a liar and moreover one who had previously lied in similar fashion and lost a large sum because of it. The apprentice, Jonathan Turner, and the other maid, Janet Pierce, can be shown to have lied out of malice and a desire to gain a better position. The whole atmosphere in Loughton Hall could be held up as wicked and immoral, and it could be suggested that this is the influence of the well-to-do. He would have a fine revenge on the class of people who despised his parents and would never have permitted him to marry into their families.”
Holmes looked at me. “You do not understand how deep such attitudes may have bitten, Watson. It is my belief that the older Hemming had it brought home to him all his childhood that his family were nothing, and because of that he himself was without value. See how he rose, selling his father’s smallholding as soon as the old man died, buying, not a better piece of land, but a great tumbledown mansion and a large area of worthless land. But what does he have now?”
I spoke slowly. “If the truth be told, an impressive house, a prosperous business, and a son of whom he can be proud.” I smiled abruptly. “Only the waste land has not improved his position.”
“On the contrary. I am told that he brought in wagonloads of compost from farmers’ middens—those that were overstocked—and that he paid good coin for them. For a year the whole of his estate stank until the manure completely rotted down, but once it did so he called in someone who knew their work and had it planted. Trees were moved into the deeper potholes full of the rich earth, flowering shrubs into the folds of land, and elsewhere they planted flower beds, some raised and bordered. He has a showplace these days, Watson, and his revenge on those who saw his family as idle and himself as worthless is almost complete. He has only now to bring the heads of some of their class down to the dust and he will put it all behind him—if he can.”
I was stunned. And when I considered events and those involved, it was also not untrue. Meanwhile talk of Jonathan Turner reminded me of the disappearance of the other apprentice.
“Have you discovered the whereabouts of Michael Bishop as yet?”
Holmes shook his head. “I have men asking questions. Sooner or later they will find his trail and then we shall run him to earth. I have questions I wish to put to that young man. Even if he is not involved, I must be certain that is so before I can safely ignore some of his actions.”
And with that he lit his pipe, while I picked up a magazine that had published one of my tales. I wished to see the illustrations used—and found them satisfactory. Soon after, we withdrew to bed and to a good night’s sleep. If fortune were with us, the morning would bring good news.
8
As we were about to depart the following morning, a letter for me arrived in the morning mail. I skimmed it briefly and put it in my pocket as we took a cab to the station. The information could be useful where we went. By nine a.m. we were on the train to Loughton. On arrival at Loughton Hall, Holmes asked if we might see Mr. Addleton Senior, should he be at home. The maid Janet, who had answered the door, was taken aback at the sight of Holmes.
“You want to see the master’s father?”
“I do. Is he here?”
“He’s to home, but I don’t know if he’ll see you.” She hesitated. “You aren’t here to say anything about anyone?”
“Not about you, but I wish to talk to him about others. Will you call him?”
She nodded, still looking nervous, left us standing at the door, and disappeared into the depths of the house to reappear with a small, spare, gray-haired man, with eyes that belied his harmless appearance. He, too, did not invite us in as yet.
“How may I help you gentlemen?”
Holmes handed him a card. “I am making inquiries on behalf of Miss Mary Fellowes, as you may have heard. There is considerable and growing doubt as to her guilt, and it was suggested that I talk to you.”
“Suggested by whom?”
“By Inspector Lestrade, with whom I have worked a number of times.”
I saw that the name took Mr. Addleton aback. Clearly he had originally taken Holmes to be some sort of mountebank, but someone such as that would not dare to take the name of a well-known and prominent police inspector in vain.
“Inspector Lestrade,” he said genially. “Well, well, do come in. I can make a telephone call to the Inspector at once, for he may wish to speak to you.”
Holmes moved into the hall, drawing me with him. “Certainly. Where shall we wait? Please tell Lestrade I’ll be dropping in on him tomorrow, as there have been considerable developments in this case.”
We were shown into a chilly parlor decorated in shades of peach and white, with chairs upholstered in expensive velvet brocade, and left to wait behind a closed door. Holmes stepped lightly across the carpet and eased the door ajar, speaking softly to me. “He is calling Lestrade. He has reached him. He is being told I have some standing in the matter. He is reluctant but accepts he may have no choice but to speak to me.”
He eased the door shut, strode to a chair, and when Mr. Addleton Senior returned we were both, to the casual glance, ensconced in chairs where we had been sitting all of the intervening time.
“I spoke to the inspector. He says that you are as you represent yourself to be.” He addressed Holmes pointedly. “He also said that the man with you would be a Dr. Watson. Is this he?”
I spoke polit
ely. “I am Dr. Watson, sir. Mr. Holmes finds my medical knowledge useful from time to time.”
“I see. What do you want of me?” He began to seat himself as Holmes walked silently to the door and opened it abruptly for us to see Janet stooped by the door. It was obvious that her ear had been pressed to the keyhole.
“I wish to ask a number of questions,” Holmes said dryly. “Preferably in private.”
Mr. Addleton stared, then produced a sound I can only describe as ‘Tchah!’ “Janet Pierce, you are dismissed. Go and pack, and make ready to be out of this house as soon as I am free to pay you.” He took a step forward. “Waste no time, for if you are not packed by the time I come for you, I shall toss you into the road and you may do without your belongings. Go!” The last work was an autocratic bark that reminded me of several of the members of the nobility with which Holmes had dealt over the years. Mr. Addleton shut the door, returned and seated himself in a large chair opposite us. Holmes also seated himself.
“Now, gentlemen. Ask your questions.”
Holmes did so, and at first all was well. Yes, Mr. Addleton had told the doctor that the cutlery used by the family had been unusually blackened. Yes, he had thought that to be the action of a poison and had said so. Yes, he had found a peculiar insoluble powder in the remnants of the dough still in the pan. Yes, the doctor had been sure that was arsenic. Both he and the doctor had given evidence as to that.
Holmes nodded. “So you did, falsely.”
The man started in his seat. “Do you say that we lied?”
“No, I say that you were wrong,” Holmes told him. “I have had scientific investigations made, and arsenic does not cause silver cutlery to blacken. What does do so can be prolonged contact with cooked eggs.”
“What?”
Holmes explained and Mr. Addleton subsided as he became more interested.
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