Cry of the Innocents

by Cavan Scott

“No, the tea. You don’t even add milk.”

  Redshaw tutted at his daughter and, lifting the lid, stirred the contents of the teapot with a silver teaspoon. He then proceeded to pour the weak liquid into the cups and passed them round. I looked into my own cup and noted that the liquid did indeed have a green tinge to it.

  “Fumeiyo,” said Redshaw, raising his cup to me before taking a sip. The rest of the gathering echoed the strange word, some with more gusto than others.

  “Fumeiyo?” I asked Sutcliffe as we sat on the settees.

  “It means ‘drain your cup’,” Redshaw answered for him.

  “Lord Redshaw is my most accomplished student,” Sutcliffe said with a condescending smile that Redshaw seemingly failed to notice.

  I sat in a rather uncomfortable chair and tried the tea. I soon realised that I agreed with Lady Anna. The taste was earthy and bitter, leaving an unpleasant tang in the mouth. I took another sip to be polite and then sat with the cup and saucer in my lap, letting the contents go cold.

  “Well?” Redshaw asked, seeking my approval.

  “Lovely,” I replied. “This evening has been most illuminating.”

  “Which reminds me. I fetched you this.” Placing his cup on a nearby table, Redshaw handed me the thick book he had brought in with him. I took the opportunity to rid myself of my own frightful brew.

  “The Life and Charity of Edwyn Warwick,” I read from the spine.

  “The definitive biography, if you ask me.”

  The book opened on a portrait of a man I recognised from the monument at St Nicole’s. “And here he is,” I said. “The man himself. Edwyn Warwick.”

  “Such an inspiration,” Sutcliffe offered.

  “Indeed he is, Victor, indeed he is,” acknowledged Redshaw.

  I seized upon the opportunity to turn the conversation back to the events of the day. Perhaps I could continue to gather information that Holmes might be able to use on his release. “The disappearance of his body must have come as such a shock.”

  “It has, old chap.”

  “And then the revelation of Father Ebberston’s part in the conspiracy.”

  “C-conspiracy?” Clifford queried, his curiosity finally compelling him to join us rather than to remain sulking beside the chimney breast.

  “He’s been arrested,” Sutcliffe revealed. “That inspector chap seems to think that he knew the body was missing, and tried to hush it up.”

  “I’m afraid it’s more serious than that,” I said.

  Lord Redshaw frowned. “How so?”

  “Holmes believes that Ebberston poisoned both Father Kelleher and Monsignor Ermacora.”

  “The Monsignor is dead?” Lady Marie exclaimed.

  “I’m afraid so. We believe that Father Ebberston tried to stop the Monsignor from bringing the missing body to Holmes’s attention.”

  “Nonsense,” Redshaw said. “I’ve known Ebberston for years. He is a good and honourable man.”

  I was too wrapped up in the conversation to stop myself from contradicting my host. “Inspector Tovey agrees with Holmes’s assessment of the situation.”

  “Well, you know what I think about that young man,” Redshaw reminded me.

  “I do, but the facts seem incriminating.”

  “I won’t believe it.”

  “Do you th-think Father Ebberston has something to d-do with the r-ring?”

  “Harold, not now,” Sutcliffe warned, the menace in his voice for all to hear.

  “If not n-now then w-when?” Clifford continued, refusing to be silenced. “Surely you can s-see how sus-sus-suspicious this all is. Warwick’s ring goes m-missing, and then his b-body v-vanishes. Now M-Mr Holmes finds himself incarcerated in the very same pr-prison as the man he accused of p-poisoning. What else are we s-supposed to think?”

  “I think you have read too many second-rate detective stories,” said Sutcliffe. “No offence to Dr Watson.”

  “And n-now he insults B-Benjamin’s guest.”

  “Really,” I insisted. “There’s no need to—”

  Clifford would not listen.

  “He b-bullies everyone to get his own way, and when that d-doesn’t work the accusations start flying. Well, I’ve h-had my fill of it. I’m sorry you’ve had to w-witness this, Dr Watson, but it feels as though Anna and I are being p-pushed out by this cuckoo in the n-nest, or should I say s-snake in the grass.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  POST-DINNER CONTROVERSY

  Now even Lady Anna joined the chorus of voices against her husband. “Please, Harold, this is not the way…”

  “Indeed it is not,” agreed Lord Redshaw. “You will be silent, sir, or you will leave!”

  Mortified, I offered my apologies and made to leave myself, but still Clifford raged.

  “And go where, exactly? You were the one who persuaded me to s-sell the house my father b-built! You were the one who en-ensured that we are f-forever in your debt. And now you expect me to s-stand by when you let Sutcliffe w-worm his w-way through your d-door.”

  “How dare you!” Redshaw said, his voice ominously quiet. “How dare you embarrass me in front of my guest, in front of my daughters. After everything I have done for you.”

  “After everything you have d-done to me,” Clifford snapped back. “If you w-want me gone, then I shall be only too hap-hap-happy to oblige.”

  “Stop it!” Lady Anna’s shout silenced the argument in one. “I can take no more.”

  Then the lady toppled forward in her seat. Clifford grabbed her, stopping her from hitting the floor.

  “Doctor?” Redshaw called to me, but I was ahead of him. I helped Clifford lay his wife out on the sofa, and asked Victor if he could fetch some water.

  “Please,” came Marie’s dismissive voice from the chair she had occupied throughout the conversation. “The last thing we need is Anna’s histrionics.”

  “Your sister is unwell, Marie,” Redshaw snapped. “Show some compassion.”

  “No,” Anna murmured from the sofa, her face as pale as a porcelain doll. “I am not unwell. I am with child.”

  “W-what?” Clifford stammered, dropping down on his knee to take his wife’s hand. “My darling, is it t-true?”

  The smile the lady returned was almost enough to wipe away the unpleasantness of the last few moments. She grasped her husband’s hand in hers. “Yes. Yes, I believe so.”

  Clifford laughed in amazement and then turned to me, his own smile crumbling into concern. “Doctor, the b-baby? If I had known, I would never have…” Tears started to well in his eyes as he turned back to Anna. “I am so s-sorry. Shall I h-help you to b-bed?”

  She stroked his face tenderly. “I am not an invalid, merely a little overcome.” Once again I was brought into the moment between husband and wife. “Is that not right, Doctor?”

  I took the water that was in Sutcliffe’s hand and passed it to the lady. “All will be well, with a little rest. You must try not to excite yourself, that is all.”

  “In this house?” Lady Marie commented behind me, a strange quaver to her voice.

  All the while, Lord Redshaw had stood where he had raged moments before, staring at his youngest daughter as if she were the most incredible creature on God’s earth.

  She, in turn, looked up at him with beseeching eyes. “Papa? Are you happy for me?” She squeezed Clifford’s hand. “For us?”

  “Happy?” the older man replied, his face finally breaking into a rapturous smile. “Of course, I am happy!”

  He lunged forward, clapping Clifford on the back with such enthusiasm that his son-in-law was in danger of being propelled across the room. Lady Anna rose and let her father embrace her.

  “My first grandchild. I can hardly believe it.”

  A sudden movement caught my eye. I looked up to see that Marie had grasped the edge of her seat so hard that I thought her fingers might disappear into the armrest.

  “Marie?” Redshaw said, bringing his daughter to everyone’s attention. “Won’t y
ou congratulate your sister?”

  Anna smiled at Marie, although I could not help but notice that the expression was tempered by a hint of triumph. “You’re going to be an aunt, Marie, and I a mother.”

  Lady Marie’s own features were brittle. When she spoke, her voice was as glacial as her demeanour. “Congratulations, sister. I’m sure you will be very happy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must go to bed.”

  With that, she rose from her seat and strode from the room without another word.

  Sutcliffe made to go after her, but she shut the door firmly behind her, leaving her fiancé with us.

  Clifford was quick to capitalise on Sutcliffe’s obvious discomfort. “Don’t mind M-Marie. You know what a c-cold fish she can be.” Then he turned his attention back to his wife. “You will be such a wonderful mother, so kind and warm. We shall be a family, the three of us. And then there will be more; brothers, sisters…”

  Anna let out a delighted giggle, touching a hand to her corseted waist. “One step at a time, Harold.”

  I had stepped back, allowing the couple to share the moment that would change their lives for ever. Lord Redshaw joined me, shaking his head in continued disbelief. “Watson, I must apologise. Dinner at Ridgeside Manor has been more eventful than I planned.”

  “Every family has its drama,” I told him, but my eyes were on Sutcliffe. Etiquette forbade him going after his fiancée after she had retired for the night. He was obviously a man who liked to be the centre of attention, and to find himself so cruelly set aside affected him greatly. The balance of power in the house had shifted in the space of a few minutes. Victor Sutcliffe suddenly looked every inch the outsider, and I could scarcely help but notice the resentment that burned in his eyes.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  A VISITATION AT MIDNIGHT

  Thankfully, the evening at Ridgeside with its strange concoction of accusation and revelation soon drew to an end. Sutcliffe made his excuses and called for his carriage, while Lady Anna retired to bed.

  It appeared for a moment that Clifford was aiming to persuade Redshaw to join him in a celebratory drink, but his father-in-law soon dismissed any thought of late-night revels.

  “Tomorrow is fast approaching, and with it a good many meetings in my calendar; I must be off to bed myself. Besides, I shall need to conserve my strength if another generation of Redshaws is to charge through this house.”

  The disappointment in Clifford’s face was painful to see, especially when he piteously commented, “The child w-will be a C-Clifford.”

  I took the opportunity to return to the Tombo Room, clutching Warwick’s biography beneath my arm. Within half an hour I was in my nightgown, attempting to lose myself in the book. I had never been one for biography at the best of times, and this precise time was anything but. I couldn’t help but imagine Holmes, lying on a cot in a dirty cell. He would have despised the evening’s events, of course, but would at least have been free. Having read enough to make polite conversation the following day, I shut the book and went to bed. My host had meetings in the morning, as did I. I would visit Holmes, both to check on his welfare and to see if he had made any progress on the case. I knew that incarceration would prove no fetter for that magnificent mind of his. Indeed, the isolation and solitude would only focus his deductive powers. The thought of seeing him again raised my spirits as I closed my eyes.

  Exhausted by the events of the day, I slipped easily into sleep, only to be awakened seemingly seconds later by a sharp rap at my door. I looked to the clock on the mantel. It was twelve minutes past midnight. Who would be calling on me at this hour?

  Pulling on my dressing gown, I crossed to the door and opened it to reveal Clifford standing in the hallway outside, a flickering candle in hand.

  “My apologies, D-Doctor,” he said, his feeble moustache looking all the more unconvincing in the candlelight. “Did I w-wake you?”

  “Is it your wife?” I asked. “Is she unwell?”

  He waved away my concern. “N-no, it is n-nothing like that. I m-merely wished to extend an invitation t-to you.”

  I frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

  “You seemed interested when we spoke of the L-League’s collection of artefacts. Of the r-ring and periwig.”

  “How could I be otherwise? They cause quite a stir.”

  “Victor is a f-fool, and Benjamin… well, let us just say that, for all that nonsense with d-dinner, my f-father-in-law is a t-traditionalist. Yes, the League operates largely b-behind closed doors, but I think that’s wr-wrong, and so do others. The disappearance of the r-ring, and now Warwick’s b-body, have caused great c-consternation. The two events h-have to be linked. There is no other e-explanation.”

  “It would seem a remarkable coincidence if they were not,” I agreed.

  “Will you c-come with me then?”

  “Where?”

  “To the L-Lodge.”

  “Is that allowed?”

  “You would be my g-guest. Ideally I would ask Mr H-Holmes to accompany us.”

  “Ideally he would accept.”

  “But you know his m-methods. You may see something that Hawthorne has m-missed.”

  “Inspector Hawthorne is investigating the theft of the ring?”

  “If that is what you can c-call it. From what I understand he’s barely set f-foot inside the p-place. Will you do it, Dr Watson, will you come with me?”

  “It would be my pleasure. But I plan to visit Holmes first thing, so it will have to be later in the day.”

  “What say I m-meet you on Corn Street at noon?”

  I agreed, adding a little mischievously, “And perhaps you could tell me more about Mr Sutcliffe.”

  “I would t-tell the world if I thought it would r-rid us of V-Victor. So, tomorrow then. M-midday.”

  “On Corn Street,” I said, before bidding him goodnight. Clifford did not wait for me to shut the door before stealing away. As I watched my curious new ally depart, I became aware of a noise drifting through the corridors of the house. I stood there, listening intently. There was no mistaking the sound. Somewhere nearby, a woman was weeping in the dark.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  ALL WILL BE WELL

  The following morning, I arose early and pulled back the curtains. The Clifton Suspension Bridge stood out against a crisp, blue sky, carriages already scurrying its length like ants.

  Ridgeside Manor was quiet as I descended the stairs, this time passing the ‘Daughter of Eve’ without stopping.

  I found only Lady Anna and Clifford at the breakfast table. Lord Redshaw had apparently left already to go into town, and Lady Marie was still in bed, troubled by a migraine.

  “I’m sorry to hear it,” said I. “Has she tried soaking her feet in warm water?”

  “Somehow I doubt it would do any good,” came Anna’s reply. “My sister’s migraines are less a malady than a convenience. It is extraordinary how easily they come on when she wishes to shut herself away from the world.”

  “Now, A-Anna,” counselled Clifford. “Don’t be cruel.” It was clear, however, that the reprimand was for my benefit rather than Marie’s.

  As I sat at the table, I could not help but wonder about the sound of a woman weeping in the middle of the night. Which sister had been so distressed?

  “You must think us a most dreadful family, Doctor,” Lady Anna said as I tucked into a plate of kippers. “To put you through all that last night.”

  “Think nothing of it. I am in your family’s debt.”

  “A dangerous place to be,” commented Lady Marie as she breezed into the dining room.

  I rose, dabbing a flake of fish from my bottom lip. “Lady Marie, it is good to see you. I heard that you were unwell.”

  “Nothing that strong coffee and the morning papers will not cure,” the lady said, taking her seat and waiting for the footman to pour her a steaming cup from the silver pot on the table. “I trust there were no further revelations last night?”

&
nbsp; “Only that you left poor Victor adrift,” said her sister.

  “I sincerely doubt that. He will call on me later.” There was little joy in her statement.

  We ate our breakfast in silence, Marie perusing the Bristol Mercury as I finished off my kippers.

  “Is there any news on the missing ships?” I asked, my hunger sated.

  “I’m afraid not,” Marie replied. “Although the line to Plymouth has reopened.” She turned the page and let out a surprised laugh. “Good heavens. Another one.”

  “W-what is it?” Clifford asked.

  Marie’s answer was not what I expected. “They’ve found another monkey.”

  “Another what?” I asked.

  Beside me, Lady Anna rolled her eyes. “Really, do we have to talk about this now?”

  Marie ignored her. “A few weeks ago a number of chimpanzees were stolen from Bristol Zoo.”

  “Chimpanzees?”

  The lady’s eyes sparkled as she looked at me over the paper. “And that’s not all.”

  “Marie…” Lady Anna warned.

  “The monkeys have been turning up one at a time, quite dead.”

  “Good Lord.”

  “With their little monkey-hearts missing from their chests.”

  Anna threw down her fork. “Well, now I don’t have any appetite at all. First there was Victor and his horrible stories, and now this. Marie, have you forgotten that I am eating for two?”

  The impish smile disappeared from Marie’s lips and she returned her attention to the Mercury. “As if you would let me forget.”

  Silence reigned once more, until Clifford was unable to resist adding: “They’re not m-monkeys anyway. They’re apes.”

  Growing tired of the familial squabbling, I rose and said that I was going into Bristol. Clifford caught my eye and I confirmed our meeting with a nod before leaving the dining room.

  Lord Redshaw had left instructions that I should avail myself of one of his many carriages, so I recovered my hat and greatcoat and braved a morning that was considerably warmer than the atmosphere between the Redshaw sisters.

  As we rattled through Clifton village, I had a smile on my face, due in part to the telegram that had arrived before I left Ridgeside Manor.