“So it was a combination of both their conditions that led to their inability to produce children?”
“Well, yes and no,” Watson came back to the present. “In point of fact, neither of them would have been able to conceive, regardless of other partner, in my educated opinion. And I’ve kept up with the research on that, too,” he added with a grin.
“So even were Mr. McFarlane to have had an affaire de coeur with a…a healthy woman,” Sherlock put it delicately, “it is highly unlikely offspring would result?”
“Unlikely? More like impossible,” Watson snorted. “As I said, his sperm weren’t viable. What few of them there were.”
“And you would swear to this?”
“I’d stake my professional reputation on it.”
“Would you be willing to testify in a court of law, were it to come to that?”
“I’ve testified in murder and rape cases.” Watson gazed calmly at the detective. “I’d be honoured to testify for one of your cases. In fact, I’ll have a written testimony ready for you in a couple of days, if you like.”
Grey eyes warmed as they gazed into brown ones.
* * *
“Oh, you’ve got to take me to meet him at some point,” Skye said softly, watching the glow in her husband’s eyes as he told the tale. “He sounds delightful. And he’s just like an older version of your Watson?”
“Insofar as I could tell, in the short time we visited,” Sherlock nodded, deeply moved. “Yes, I should like you to meet. I was pleased you got to meet my Watson, in your brief visit to my original continuum, but you never got to know him. Perhaps, in this Watson, you shall.”
“Yeah, that’d be great,” Skye grinned, delighted. “But so this new will is—surprise, surprise—a total fraud?”
“Absolutely.”
“But why? If the farm is small and invaluable in itself, what is there about it that would make someone want it enough to create a fraudulent will and back story in order to get it? And probably be willing to murder in the process?”
“There has to be something about the land itself, not the farm, the house, or its contents.” Sherlock shook his head. “There is something intrinsic to the land, and someone wants it for that reason.”
“But what’s that reason?”
“That is the question.”
* * *
January 24
As though matters were not interesting enough, an unexpected turn of events seems to have, in an odd sort of way, returned Watson to me. For imagine my surprise when, during the course of my investigation of this “new” will, I find the doctor of record is no less than one Dr. John H. Watson, M.D., or that his visage is precisely what I would have expected of an elderly version of “my” Watson. Moreover, his personality, voice, and mannerisms are near perfection. It would have been quite easy to slip into a comfortable, familiar camaraderie with him. Thus I had to be on my guard constantly to avoid betraying the secret of my origin.
However, I think perhaps that guard is of no use. Watson—this Watson—is aware of the…I believe the term is “open source literature” articles which Skye has written in the past. He is astute enough to realise the possible ramifications of her work, and has strongly hinted he suspects I really am “the” Sherlock Holmes, from a different continuum—as, of course, I am.
He is quite willing to help in our little investigation, and has promised to arrange to have legal copies of the McFarlanes’ medical records sent to us as soon as may be. He is also willing to testify before a court of law, should it come to that. All in all, he is everything I would have expected—and hoped—of him.
And he desires not only to remain in touch, but also to meet Skye.
Now, if we may only survive this latest threat to the multiverse, and successfully complete my little case, I suspect my transition to my new life will be happily complete.
* * *
The next day Ryker brought a formal copy of the supposed new will.
THIS IS THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT of James McFarlane.
Firstly, I desire all my just debts, funeral and testamentary expenses be paid and satisfied by my executor hereinafter named, as soon as conveniently may be after my decease. §
And I do nominate, constitute, and appoint Walter Cunningham to be executor of this my Will, and hereby revoking all former or other Wills by me at any time heretofore made, I declare this to be my last Will and Testament. §
And, Secondly, I give, devise, and bequeath unto my son Michel Fereaud by Jeanne Fereaud of Wimereaux, France, my household furniture, linen, wearing apparel, books, plate, pictures, china, horses, cattle and other livestock, automobiles, farm equipment, carriages, carts. Also all and every sum and sums of money which may be in my house or about my person, or which may be due to me at the time of my decease; and also all other my monies invested in stocks, funds, and securities for money, book-debts, money on bonds, bills, notes, or other securities. And all and every other my estate and effects whatsoever and wheresoever, both real and personal, whether in possession, reversion, remainder, or expectancy, to and for his own use and benefit, absolutely. §
In Witness whereof, I the said have to this my last Will and Testament set my hand, the 21st day of June in the year of our Lord one thousand-eighty and two. §
James McFarlane
Signed and declared by the said the Testator, as and for his last Will and Testament in the presence of us, who at his request, in his presence and in the presence of each other, have hereunto subscribed our names as witnesses. §
Walter Cunningham
Jeanne Fereaud
* * *
“Now that’s interesting,” Skye noted, reading over Sherlock’s shoulder as he perused the legal document. “Other than McFarlane, has anybody around here ever even heard of these other people?”
“Not that our unit has been able to discover,” Ryker noted grimly. “Nor, for that matter, has anyone over in France heard of them. Oh, McFarlane is remembered well enough, as a kind, honest, and generous provider of dairy. But as for the rest, not even the supposed mother has been identified. And not a sign of her or the son in the records in this Wimereaux township, or any other nearby villages.”
“How very delightful,” Holmes smiled, in a way he had that boded ill for those who had crossed the law. “This does make for fascinating reading. Has anyone noted that the will was supposedly written before the wife had died? And there is no provision made for the properties to be left in trust for the wife, for the duration of her lifetime? This, from a man whom all witnesses declare to be deeply in love with his wife? One might suppose McFarlane might embark upon an affair in order to produce an heir to his estate; but that he should then completely neglect his wife’s provision upon the occasion of producing such an heir is notable.”
“Ooo, now you mention it, you’re right,” Skye agreed, rapidly scanning once more down the document. “That looks like a great big woops to me.”
“I’d have to agree,” Ryker noted. “I can’t wait to see what the other will looks like.”
A knock sounded on the front door.
* * *
Skye rose stiffly and moved to answer it while the two men continued to peruse the will in the sitting room.
“Oh, yes, please,” Skye could be heard to say. “Do come in, you’re most welcome. No, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. We were just looking over the contesting will.”
“Good, then,” Jonathan Carver noted, following Skye into the sitting room. “Oy got yer copy o’ th’ real will, Mr. Holmes.” He pulled an official looking document out of his tweed jacket pocket.
“And this is Captain Braeden Ryker, one of our associates,” Sherlock smoothly introduced their companion. “Ryker, this is Mr. Jonathan Carver, neighbour and dear friend of the deceased, and a truly excellent breeder of spaniels.”
“Pleased,” Ryker nodded with a pleasant smile to the newcomer.
“Likewise, Cap’n,” Carver smiled back. “Oy
see now why th’ single ladies in these parts ‘re so int’rested in ye. A right handsome chap, ye are. Both o’ ye, an’ Mrs. Holmes’d do well t’ keep ‘er eye on ‘er ‘usband, cuz there’s some hereabouts ‘tisn’t so much ladies.” Holmes and Ryker both flushed, and Skye’s eyes widened.
“This here’s th’ real will. That there,” Carver continued, nodding at the paper in Sherlock’s hands, “is a bald-faced, slanderin’ lie writ up by some bleedin’ rotter.” He handed over the paper in his own hands. “Jus’ you have a look at this ‘un.”
* * *
THIS IS THE LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT of James McFarlane.
Firstly, I desire all my just debts, funeral and testamentary expenses be paid and satisfied by my executor hereinafter named, as soon as conveniently may be after my decease. §
And I do nominate, constitute, and appoint Jonathan Carver to be executor of this my Will, and hereby revoking all former or other Wills by me at any time heretofore made, I declare this to be my last Will and Testament. §
And, Secondly, I give, devise, and bequeath unto and as to all the rest, residue, and remainder of my estate and effects whatsoever and wheresoever, both real and personal, whether in possession, reversion, remainder, or expectancy, I give, devise, and bequeath the same unto executors and administrators,
Upon trust, to permit and suffer my dear wife Magdalene to have the use and enjoyment of all such parts thereof as shall not yield income, and to invest the residue of such of my estate as shall not have been applied in payment of my debts, and funeral and testamentary expenses and legacies, in some or one of the Government stocks or funds of Great Britain (not being terminable Annuities), and to pay the dividends and produce thereof. And also the dividends, interest, or annual produce of all such other parts of my said estate as shall yield income, unto my dear wife during the term of her natural life. And from and after her decease, I give, devise, and bequeath the same and every part thereof unto and among all and every my children, both sons and daughters, who shall
be living at the time of the decease of my said wife, in equal shares and proportions, and the issue of such of them as shall be dead (such issue taking only the share to which their deceased parent, if surviving, would have been entitled), to and for their own use and benefit absolutely. §
In the event of there being no issue of my dear wife and myself, either natural or adoptive, then I give, devise, and bequeath the same and every part thereof unto my nephew Ian McFarlane of Glasgow, Scotland, my household furniture, linen, wearing apparel, books, plate, pictures, china, horses, cattle and other livestock, automobiles, farm equipment, carriages, carts; and also all and every sum and sums of money which may be in my house or about my person, or which may be due to me at the time of my decease; and also all other my monies invested in stocks, funds, and securities for money, book-debts, money on bonds, bills, notes, or other securities; and all and every other my estate and effects whatsoever and wheresoever, both real and personal, whether in possession, reversion, remainder, or expectancy, to and for his own use and benefit, absolutely. §
In Witness whereof, I the said have to this my last Will and Testament set my hand, the 18th day of March in the year of our Lord one thousand seventy and eight. §
James McFarlane
Signed and declared by the said the Testator, as and for his last Will and Testament in the presence of us, who at his request, in his presence and in the presence of each other, have hereunto subscribed our names as witnesses. §
Jonathan Carver
Hazel Carver
* * *
“Well, that looks like the right fair goods,” Ryker decided. “A lot more inclusive than the other one, and only a couple of years earlier. You wouldn’t think McFarlane would re-write his will and completely forget to provide for his wife.”
“Bloody hell he would!” Carver expostulated, face turning red with anger. “Him as what loved Maggie as ever a man could love a woman, forget t’ provide for her? Oy’d loyke ta have my hands on the blighter what wrote that demned piece o’ riffraff! As if!”
“Indeed,” Sherlock agreed in a soothing tone, as Skye attempted to get Mr. Carver to seat himself. “Not only that, but I see at the least, twelve points of difference between the testator’s signatures in the two documents. That, in itself, is enough to cast sufficient doubt upon the veracity of the second, seeing as how we have upstanding members of the community—in Mr. and Mrs. Carver—to vouch for the first, and no presentable witnesses for the second. And in point of fact, medically speaking, the new will is precisely no more than claptrap, according to…Dr. John H. Watson.” He shot Ryker a surreptitious, twinkling glance, and Ryker’s eyes widened in shock and delight.
“That’s right,” Skye noted, bringing in the tea service with the pot of tea that she’d made earlier under a cozy. “From what Sherlock tells me, sadly, the McFarlanes were destined to be childless.”
“Ah,” Carver said, calming and settling back in the wing chair as he took the cup of tea Skye offered. “So ye went to see ol’ Doc Watson, did ye?”
“I did,” Sherlock nodded. “And he set me straight on the matter. I expect a formal medical report from him any day now.” A thought occurred, and he turned to Ryker. “If there are any legalities needful for him to deliver said report, would you mind, Ryker?”
Ryker nodded affirmation and pulled a pad and pen, jotting a note.
“That’s good,” Carver sighed, then glanced at his cup. “An’ so’s this. You make a right fair cuppa, Mrs. Holmes, f’r an American, if ye won’t take offense by my sayin’ so.”
“No offense taken at all, Mr. Carver,” Skye grinned. “I know Americans and the British don’t make our tea the same way. But Sherlock taught me the proper way to make hot tea, and he’s very picky about his tea, so I do know how to make a good brew.”
“Ye do indeed, ma’am. My own Hazel couldn’t make a better,” Carver averred. “But don’t any of ye be tellin’ her Oy said that, or I’ll be sleepin’ wif my dogs t’night.” They all laughed.
“At any rate, I think nephew Ian need have no fear of losing his inheritance,” Sherlock declared. “There are too many gaping holes showing up in this later will, as is; and Wat- Doctor Watson’s medical reports will likely put paid to the whole matter.”
“I wish we could figure out why anyone would try to beat out Ian McFarlane for the place,” Skye murmured.
“Indeed, my dear,” Sherlock agreed. “Once we have gotten the legalities of inheritance squared away, that must be our next line of inquiry. For if we can determine that, it may well lead us to the murderers.”
Chapter 8—Old, New Friends and New, Old Enemies
TWO DAYS LATER, WATSON SHOWED UP with medical records and a report, as formally requested through Ryker. He arrived at the front door with a smile and a portfolio in hand, and when Sherlock opened the door, the smile grew wider.
“Well, there you are, young Holmes,” the elder Watson greeted him. “And how are you this brisk winter day?”
“Quite well, Watson, quite well. Do come in out of that briskness and warm yourself by the fire.”
“Thank you most kindly, old chap,” Watson nodded, entering past Holmes, who took his coat, cap, and muffler and hung them in the coat wardrobe next the front door. “I thought I might pop by, rather than faxing the records, or some such other impersonal means of delivery. I do hope I don’t inconvenience.”
“Not at all,” Sherlock averred. “Come into the sitting-room and make yourself at home.” He led the way into the room and waved Watson in the general direction of the furniture. “You say you have the medical records of the McFarlanes?”
“I do,” the elderly man noted, settling into the wing chair by the fire, “but I’ll require a ransom for them.” His eyes twinkled.
“And what might that be?” Sherlock’s eyes crinkled in amusement.
“An introduction to your wife, and the truth of the matter of your name.”
“Skye is wo
rking in the study,” Sherlock observed, hiding his consternation at the second part of the request. “Let me notify her of your arrival, and as soon as she can locate a place to end her calculations, she will be in.”
“I’ll be waiting,” Watson smiled.
Sherlock exited the room and headed for the study. There, he found Skye staring into space, pencil in hand, notebook before her, but not writing. He paused, uncertain whether to interrupt.
“It’s okay, Sherlock,” she sighed, coming out of her reverie. “I’m stuck at the moment anyway. I heard a knock at the front door. What’s up?”
“Dr. Watson has arrived, my dear, with the medical records. But he has two constraints he has rather mischievously placed upon their relinquishment.”
“What are they?” Skye wondered with amusement, standing and stretching.
“The first is an introduction to you.”
“That’s easily enough arranged,” Skye grinned. “I’ve been looking forward to meeting him, after all you’ve told me. What’s the second condition?”
The Case of the Displaced Detective Page 98