“She’s not goin’ after your father. Always laughin’ at his jokes, smilin’ at him all the time, oohin’ and aahin’ over the children, tryin’ to get ’em to like her too.”
I paused. The laughing, smiling, was that…flirting?
“You mean she wants…she’s thinking of—?”
Tears now shimmered in her eyes again, and her chin quivered as she spoke. “My mama barely cold in her grave, and that…that hay bag settin’ her sights on him, gettin’ him to forget about her…and us.” The tears now spilled over and slid down her cheeks. “And you’re goin’ to do the same thing too. Forget all about me.”
“How could I forget you? You’re my friend.”
“That’s what you say now, but you’re headin’ off to that Eatin’ place. There’s gots to be girls there. Lots prettier and smarter than me.”
“Constance, it’s a boys’ school. Only boys. The only females there are the house dames and some of the servants. They’re all old. Older than my mother.”
She sniffed and swiped at her cheeks. When she raised her gaze to meet mine, I could see how the tears had dampened her lashes, forming them into tiny points. A small smile, however, graced her lips. “You mean it’s not like the school the vicar runs? For boys and girls?”
With the help of his wife, the Reverend Adams opened a Sunday school to provide the village children with some basic instruction. He made pleas for books and funds on a regular basis during services, but I had only a vague understanding of how it operated. All the same, I knew it was quite different from what waited for me after the holidays.
“Eton isn’t a Sunday school. But even if there were girls there, it wouldn’t matter. I could never forget you.”
“I’m goin’ to make sure of that. Your mother has already said I can writes you.”
“I’d like that very much. I promise to write to you as well.”
We made one more attempt to practice a piece, but it seemed clear neither of us could concentrate. After my third mistake, I dropped my bow and violin to my sides. “Maybe we should try later?”
“What’s so important in that paper then?”
“I’m not sure,” I said, storing my instrument in its case. “But it seemed to be for Colonel Williams.” I related the man’s actions during breakfast this morning.
When I concluded, she asked, “Do you think it has anythin’ to do with that gypsy what got kilt in the stable?”
“How did you know—?”
Her eyes went upward again. “I heard my father and that Emily talkin’ about it.”
“I don’t know if the man in the barn and the paper are related. I just thought the colonel’s actions were…odd.”
“Why don’t you take a gander now? I won’t mind. Maybe I can help you look.”
I spread the copy of the same newspaper Williams had been perusing at breakfast on the schoolroom desk. As I had noted in the pages at breakfast, it appeared to be simply listings of various advertisements. I flipped to the pages the colonel had carried away with him and studied each. My first impression was that the variety of items for sale was mind-boggling. Everything from furniture to animals (big and small) to farm implements. The first review indicated nothing out of the ordinary. Based on the number of announcements regarding secondhand wardrobes, I wondered if the colonel was in the market for that item. After all, he’d just returned to the country and might be in need of one.
I sighed and straightened up in the chair. “I can’t find a thing that makes sense. Maybe I should show it to Mycroft? He’s probably in the library.”
“If he is, I bet he’s not alone.” Constance covered a smile threatening to appear. “I saw him on the way over walkin’ with some lady.”
“That would be Miss Meredith, the colonel’s niece.”
“They was comin’ back from the stable. I could tell she was a lady by the way she carried herself and all. Breedin’. It shows. That’s how you get a gent.”
“I do suppose it helps,” I said, my mind working on what Miss Meredith had been doing in the stable—with Mycroft. As long as I could remember, he rarely moved beyond the library, his room, and the dining room, with an occasional visit to my uncle’s workshop for special reasons. “What were they doing? Could you hear what they were talking about?”
“Just walkin’. Strollin’ like.” She shrugged. “They was talkin’ too low for me to hear what they were sayin’.”
The whole idea was a little more than I could fathom. Mycroft and Meredith? Another area requiring more investigation.
As if summoned by our discussion, Mycroft stepped into the entrance, a stack of newspapers under his arm.
“Oh, you’re here,” he said, drawing to a stop at the entrance. “I thought… Blast it. Are you practicing in here? I’d hoped to find some peace this high up.”
“What’s the matter with the library?”
“Colonel Williams is the matter. And Uncle Ernest. The two of them are using the room to play ‘do you remember’?” He pulled back his chin and took on a broader accent. “‘I say, Herbie, do you remember that lieutenant who found a cobra in his bed?’ ‘Screamed like a little girl, if I recall.’ ‘Ha, ha, ha. Jolly good times.’”
“And what’s Miss Meredith doing?” Constance asked with a giggle.
She slapped her hand over her mouth when my brother glared at her but didn’t drop her gaze under his scrutiny. My respect for her grew when she didn’t kowtow to his intimidation.
“She’s lying down, if you must know.” He gave her another hard stare. “Not that it concerns you.”
“Excuse me, your majesty,” she said with a slight curtsy.
With a harrumph, he faced me, giving his back to her. His mouth pulled down. “God, I’d give my eyeteeth for the quiet of my Diogenes Society.”
He and a few friends had formed a small group and taken over a space in the attic of one of Eton’s dormitories. There, they would study or read in complete silence and had dubbed themselves “The Diogenes Society.” Mycroft and the others who joined him at Oxford had continued the practice and the name. Those still at Eton had invited me, but I’d found their habits stifling rather than stimulating. My thought processes required more activity to remain engaged.
“You can have this room. We’ve finished practicing and were about to leave,” I said, standing and gathering up the advertisements we’d been studying.
He stepped toward the table, and his eyebrows first dipped low, then arched upward. “What, in God’s name, are you doing with that rag?”
My face burned from Mycroft’s rebuke, but I recounted the events at breakfast, concluding with, “It’s a rather odd publication. Mostly personal advertisements from what I can tell. People selling the odd item and the like. I’m afraid I haven’t found anything that makes sense.”
His palm outstretched, he motioned with his fingers. “Allow me to examine it.”
With great reluctance, I handed over the ruffled pages, knowing full well he would lord it over me if he worked out the puzzle.
After he spread out the paper, I pointed out to him which were the ones Colonel William selected. He ran his finger down each column of announcements, flipped the pages over, and did the same thing again.
After flipping it back to the first side, he pointed to one. “There.”
I read the brief announcement aloud. “‘For sale: Steamer trunk. Empty. Contact Giles, c/o St. Barrens post.’ Why this one?”
He drew himself up and took a deep breath, puffing out his chest. “There is no St. Barrens in England. In fact, there is no St. Barrens anywhere because there is no Saint Barrens.”
I knew I could check his assertion by consulting the books in the library for Saint Barrens, town or person, but I had no doubt of Mycroft’s knowledge of geography or religious history. “What does the message mean?”
“That is less clear. I would assume the key term here is ‘empty.’ It could mean ‘all is clear,’ or ‘not ready,’ or even ‘danger.’ Wit
hout more context, I’m not certain.” He glanced about the room. “But for heaven’s sake, whatever you do, don’t ask the colonel. If he thinks you’re spying on him—”
“I wasn’t, but you have to admit, his behavior was—”
“Causing a guest to presume they are under scrutiny is the height of poor manners.”
“Not to mention causin’ problems with Miss Meredith,” Constance said.
Both of us faced her. I sucked in my breath. For the second time, she’d called Mycroft out and I feared was finally about to experience his temper. While he prided himself on his ability to be above it all, at times, his emotions would get the better of him, and I now braced myself for the impending explosion. His cheeks sucked in and puffed out as he took several deep breaths in preparation for the verbal berating.
Checking on my friend, I could tell she had no idea of the eruption she’d set in motion. She remained calm, a smile playing at her lips.
He leveled his gaze at her and spoke with a steady but sharp tone. “You may think you have some special standing, given your acquaintance with my brother. But I remind you, your father is a servant in this house, and you, my dear, are overstepping your position.”
His rebuke had more of an effect than a punch would have carried. Two bright scarlet spots formed on her cheeks, and she blinked rapidly as if to keep tears at bay. She glanced at me, and I dipped my chin to study my shoes. That peek struck me as a test of her early observation regarding her importance to me. I’d promised her only minutes earlier I would always be her friend. Mycroft, on the other hand, was my brother. In addition, one had to consider their temperaments. Constance could explode, but Mycroft had more opportunities to make my life miserable. In the end, as much as I wanted to defend her, I calculated my brother’s reaction as the greater threat.
Following a moment of silence while I contemplated these various ramifications, she asked, “You’re not goin’ to stand up for me?”
My gaze shifted between her and Mycroft as I rocked on my feet seeking the words to rescue me. Ultimately, Constance concluded the encounter for me.
“So much for you bein’ a gentleman. I’m goin’ home. At least the children appreciate me.”
She stamped out, leaving the door open.
A part of me wanted to run after her. I knew I should apologize. My brother’s frozen posture, however, kept me rooted in place. Only after her footfall on the servant staircase echoed through the passageway did I take a breath. Mycroft merely sniffed and glanced about the room, as if to select the best place for him to read his papers, but after a moment, his gaze settled on me. “You have to be careful, Sherlock. You are getting too familiar with that girl, and it’s affecting her attitude. Her remarks about Miss Meredith—”
“She was merely making a reference to having seen the two of you together earlier.”
“We were seen?” He shook himself as if to resettle himself and his thoughts. “Regardless, she shouldn’t be speaking to her superiors in such a forward manner. It bodes poorly for her to forget her place. Her father is the assistant steward, and she needs to remember that. She certainly lacks the breeding of a lady, so clearly exemplified in Miss Meredith.”
The remark jolted a puzzle piece into place. His reaction to Constance, although justified to a certain extent, was a misdirection from the true source of his irritation. I recalled his inability to eat at dinner, his furtive glances at the woman, his remaining with the women after the discovery of the body. “You…fancy her, Miss Meredith, don’t you?”
“What? No. Well, she’s certainly pleasing to the eye, but I-I-I’ve only met her.”
“Then why did you walk with her to the stables?”
“I didn’t walk with her. I met her in the yard. She was returning from the stables. Mrs. Simpson had said she had expressed an interest in riding, and I went to see if I could help her select a horse to do so.”
“When do you help anyone select a horse?”
“I-I….” His face’s crimson tinge told it all.
Rarely did I find a vulnerable spot in my brother, and this obvious liability proved quite tempting. At the same time, I could understand his interest also created a concern I hadn’t considered until this moment. With my brother’s feelings so exposed, the possibility of injury also increased.
Before thinking, I said, “Be careful, Mycroft. Don’t share your feelings until—”
“You think I would be so dim as to actually express anything to her? Social convention alone would prevent me.”
“Of course, I only meant—”
“I don’t even know how we got onto this conversation.” He pointed at the door. “Now leave me in peace.”
He escorted me from the room and shut the door behind me. I sighed as the full import of my current situation hit me. At the moment, I had no room of my own to which I could retreat, and my best friend considered me a traitor. Currently at sixes and sevens, I decided to seek out my mother to help her in the greenhouse and perhaps even get an explanation of what I should have done and how I might repair the rift I’d caused with Constance.
The scent of damp earth and green growing things filled the warm, humid conservatory. The one item in the room Mother allowed the servants to touch was the stove in one corner. They were expected to maintain the temperature for her plants survive to the winter. Five rows of wooden benches ran from the wall the room shared with the house to the windows facing south and opening onto the backyard.
Mother continued to work along the middle row without even glancing toward me as I entered.
“Sherry, dear, can you please put on a pair of gloves and help me trim off the dead leaves on that row?”
“How did you know it was me?”
“Primarily by your footfall,” she said. “Men’s shoes sound different from women’s. Heavier. And the heel on a woman’s shoe is shaped differently. Also your steps are not as solid as that of a full-grown man, although yours is becoming stronger. I suppose before long, I won’t be able to tell yours from Mycroft’s.”
Following her directions, I headed to the last row of pots.
She clucked her tongue. “With all the attention I’ve been giving to our guests, I’m afraid I’ve neglected my duties in here. But you didn’t seek me out just to prune plants. What’s troubling you?”
“And how did you know—?”
“Please, dear. I’m your mother. Some believe a psychic connection exists between mother and child, perhaps related to the umbilicus during pregnancy. I’m not certain of that strong a connection, but I have been aware of your moods since you were a babe, and your broodiness is not a mystery to me, only its origin.”
I paused to snip off a leaf from the first plant, seeking to determine which of all the bits of news I should share with her and which should be first. As much as I was curious about Colonel Williams’s behavior, I decided the mysteries of the female sex lay more at the root of my current disquiet. I faced her and summarized first Constance’s report of Mycroft and Miss Meredith’s conversation, then her exchange with Mycroft and my failure to defend her.
Mother’s mouth drew further and further down as I did so. When I finished, she shook her head.
“I’m afraid I’m at fault in allowing your familiarity with Constance.” She sighed. “In France, despite your Uncle Horace’s renown, an artist—even a Vernet—is considered part of the bourgeoisie. While the noble class still exists there, the English have much more marked distinctions than in France. Liberté, égalité, fraternité have never passed through British lips nor stirred hearts to revolution. You carry a more democratic spirit than your brother. Perhaps you inherited it along with your nose. We must recall, however, your father has a position within society here, and we must respect it.”
“Are you saying?” I swallowed before speaking further. “Should I…should I avoid Constance in the future?”
“Not exactly, my dear.” She turned her attention to the plant in front of her but continued to speak.
“But I do believe you need to be mindful of your duties as the son of a country squire, albeit a second son. You will be expected to make your own way in life and, as such, have more freedom than your brother. All the same, your position will require you to keep appropriate company.”
I paused to consider her observation. Until this moment, I hadn’t thought of the future extending much beyond my returning to Eton and graduating in order to attend university, as Mycroft was now doing. In my mind, life here at Underbyrne would continue as it always had—with my mother and father in charge. I hadn’t considered how I might be expected to find a path outside the borders of my family’s modest estate.
Nor had I truly understood the expectations placed on Mycroft, of carrying on in my father’s place someday as the inheritor of our family home and my father’s position. Of course, there would be an expectation for him to marry and produce additional heirs. Was that partly behind his interest in…
“Miss Meredith,” I whispered.
“What’s that?”
“Miss Meredith,” I said in a louder voice. “Mycroft fancies her.”
Her mouth turned downward again. “I’m afraid your brother has had little experience with women. Living in the country as we do, few eligible prospects exist, and we have been negligent in affording him opportunities to meet young women. I must discuss that with Mr. Holmes. We will need to see he makes a good match. I fear he lacks context for evaluating her qualities.”
“You have some reservations about her?”
She glanced away from me, down the row of plants, and blinked. I had the impression she was somewhere else, remembering another time. When she spoke, her voice was soft, and the remark was more to herself.
“First loves are so very special.” She turned to me and added, “They can also be all-consuming, negating all except the two in love. Such an intense emotion devours everything, including the love itself, leaving nothing in its wake. Engouement.”
The Adventure of the Murdered Gypsy Page 6