The avoidance of scandal was the tricky part. Should they be caught while still at home and no one outside the family alerted, marriage might be avoided. Discovering them after leaving home, either on the way or in Gretna Green, would most certainly end in a wedding anyway.
As I pushed through the sparse woods to Constance’s home, I considered various scenarios, from the ridiculous to the feasible—locking one or both in their rooms, disabling the carriage, putting something in their food to sicken them.
I paused at that idea. Any number of plants in Mother’s greenhouse would do the trick. Enough to make them too ill to consider travel without truly injuring them. The delicate part would be assuring only they consumed the item. Quickening my pace, I knew how that might be achieved.
Constance opened the door in response to my knock and frowned when she saw who it was. “What do you want?”
“To apologize. And to bring you something.”
I pulled several ribbons from my pocket. Mother had allowed me to take them from her own collection. Recalling the ones she had considered at the market, I’d selected some similar in texture or color.
She opened the door wider to allow me to pass. Her younger brothers and sisters ran up to me when I entered.
Her sister Mildred eyed the ribbons I held. “Oooh, them’s pretty.”
“They’re for Constance,” I said, feeling rather foolish I hadn’t considered something for the others. “What color do you like? Maybe I can bring one for you later.”
“Pink,” the girl said without hesitating.
I nodded. “Pink it is.”
Before I could say more, Emily stepped through the front door, several logs in her arms. She must have been to one side of the cottage. I hadn’t seen her in the yard.
“Oh, Master Sherlock, I wasn’t expecting you. I thought it was Joseph. That is…Mr. Straton. Did you need him for something?”
Despite the heavy burden in her arms, she remained in the open doorway, as if unsure what to do. Without knowing why, I shoved my hand into my pocket to hide the ribbons I’d been displaying and stepped up to her.
“I came to see Constance for a moment. We weren’t able to rehearse today, and I hoped to set up a time tomorrow,” I said, holding out my arms as an offer to take her load.
She hesitated, then dumped the three split logs into my arms. I carried them to the fireplace, and she shut the door behind her. “I was making dinner for the children before I had to get back to help Cook.”
She studied me and Constance for a moment, and then turned her attention to a pot hanging over the fire. After learning about the gossip servants shared among themselves, I hesitated to speak to Constance in front of Emily. I had no way of knowing what might be shared.
Seeing Emily fill the kettle from the water barrel gave me a means of speaking to my friend privately.
“Let me fetch some water before I go,” I said, picking up a bucket next to the barrel. “Constance, can you help me with the pump?”
“I’ll go,” Mildred said.
Constance had glared at me slightly when I’d asked her to come outside with me, but she spoke up quite fast when her younger sister offered to help. “No. You’re not strong enough yet to pump the handle.” She spun on her heel and headed toward the door.
“Take your shawl,” Emily said, her back to us. “It’s quite windy out there.”
My friend rolled her eyes but grabbed a shawl from a hook by the door. Together we stepped into the darkening afternoon.
As soon as we were away from the house, I brought out the ribbons again. “I hope they didn’t wrinkle.”
She took them and hung each over her fingers. “I can press them, if they are. They’re grand,” she said and raised her gaze to mine. “What are they for?”
“To say I’m sorry.” I stared at the hard ground below my boots. “I shouldn’t have said what I did about Emily.”
When I glanced up at her, she stared at me, her head tilted to one side. “You came all the way out here. Just for that?”
“How else was I going to apologize?” I glanced back at the house. “I didn’t know Emily was going to be here.”
“I told you. She’s workin’ her way in.” She took several steps toward the pump. “Come on. We need to get the water like you promised.”
When we were returning to the house with the water, I tripped on a root and the bucket swung forward, splashing water on her. She stopped and faced me. My hand flew to my mouth.
“I’m so sorry,” I said as she blinked at me. “I-I tripped on a root. Check and see if it passed through the shawl. It’s not ruined, is it?”
Watching her pull the shawl around and squeeze out the water, I chewed my lip, waiting for the conclusion.
“It should be all right. I’ll put it on the chair in front of the fire. It’ll dry out. Thing is, it isn’t mine. I grabbed the first shawl on the peg. It belongs to Emily. I suppose she can borrow mine to wear back to the big house tonight.”
“‘The big house’?” I asked. “Is that what you call where I live?”
“Well, ain’t it?” she said with a shrug. “What else should I call it?”
Staring at her for a moment, I considered our home compared to where she lived. Ours was certainly much larger. In comparison to Hanover, the Devonys’ manor house, Underbyrne shrank considerably. Once again, the difference between my family’s fortune and those of the Stratons and others like them became evident to me.
She pulled off the wet shawl and bundled it so the dry end covered the wet. “Hurry up. I need to get inside before I freeze to death.”
“Let me tell Emily about her shawl,” I said when I stepped to get next to her. The water sloshed in the bucket, and I slowed to keep from spilling it.
She stopped and faced me. “If you don’t mind…”
I shook my head.
“She might think I did it on purpose.”
True to Constance’s prediction, the woman’s features hardened when she learned about the shawl but seemed to temper her emotions when I explained what happened and apologized for splashing the wrap. I even offered to accompany her back to Underbyrne, so Cook wouldn’t scold her for being late because we took so long fetching the water.
Emily seemed quite appeased by our solutions, and shortly after, we returned together through the woods. The afternoon had grown quite dark, and I regretted not having a lantern to light the way in the woods. Emily, however, seemed to have little problem with the path and warned me more than once of a root or large stone that might have tripped me up in the dark.
Once we passed the stables, the woman turned to me. “I can walk from here alone. You don’t have to follow me into the kitchen.”
“But I promised to speak to Cook.”
She glanced first at the door leading directly into the kitchen and then at me. After shifting her weight about, her gaze strayed to the barn, and she shrugged. I realized she’d wanted a moment to see Mr. Straton but then decided against it.
“Let’s get inside,” she said with a sigh. “It’s getting cold.”
Together we made our way across the lawn. At one point, I thought I heard one of the outbuilding doors creak—whether opened on purpose or by the wind, I wasn’t certain. Checking behind me, however, all seemed secure, and I decided I’d been mistaken. With so much wind, almost anything could have creaked.
After assuring Cook wouldn’t discipline Emily for any tardiness, I returned to the third floor to check on Trevor. Miss Bowen reported that he had fallen back into a deep sleep—due at least in part to a draught Mother had prepared after he’d drunk his broth. She left word, through the governess, that I was to dress for dinner. Despite more than a few in the household preferring to sup in their rooms, Father must have sent word we should dress properly for dinner this evening.
As expected, those at the table were few: Father, Mother, Mycroft, Uncle Ernest, and myself. With only the immediate family present, we soon lapsed into our regular habits
. French was chosen for the langue de jour. Even though Mycroft usually chose this time as an opportunity to correct something about my ability to speak my grandmother’s native tongue, he paid no attention to my pronunciation, word choice, or grammar. His distraction was so complete, I even baited him once or twice by using a totally incorrect word. He didn’t lift an eyebrow.
Of course, I knew what lay behind my brother’s preoccupation, and I wondered what his decision would be about Miss Meredith’s proposition. Were they eloping?
His expression was inscrutable. I had no clue as to his plans regarding Gretna Green.
If the others had similarly noticed his inattentiveness, no one questioned it. All seemed lost in their own thoughts. The usual table conversation boiled down to “please pass the salt” and the like. Had I had a room of my own to which to retire, I would have requested that I be excused.
After the meat course, I set my fork down and prepared to ask to be excused anyway. Before I could speak, the sound of someone running drew everyone’s attention to the dining room entrance. Mr. Straton rushed in.
Father rose. “See here, Straton—”
The man panted out his words between gulps of air. “Come. Quick. The. Barn.”
Chapter Eleven
When we arrived at the stables, we found Mr. Simpson and Emily sitting on a hay bale. The girl shivered despite the shawl and Mr. Simpson’s arm around her shoulders. Mr. Straton knelt in front of her but addressed my mother.
“I found her just outside the stables. I’m not sure how long she’d been lying there. There was a dish not far away. She was bringing me my dinner.”
Mother knelt next to Mr. Straton and dipped her head until she could see Emily’s face. She took the woman’s hands in her own, rubbing them for a few seconds, and then stood.
“She needs to lie down. Find a blanket and wrap it around her so we can take her back to the house. I will need a glass of your brandy, Mr. Holmes.”
“What is it, ma’am? What’s happened to my Emily?” Straton asked.
“H-h-hit me,” Emily muttered through chattering teeth. “S-s-somebody hit me. P-pushed me down.”
“We need to get her warm. Calm her down,” Mother said. “Let’s get her back to the house.”
I rushed to the tack room and pulled a blanket from a stack on one shelf and hurried back. Straton and Mr. Simpson helped her to stand, and we wrapped the blanket around Emily’s shoulders. With her leaning on the widower, we all made it back to the house. Mr. Straton seated her near the fire, and Mother gave her a cup of tea laced with brandy.
Once she seemed calmer, Father asked her what had happened.
“I don’t rightly know,” she said with a shake of her head. “I was taking your steward his dinner when someone hit me hard on the back. I fell, and someone reached about my neck from behind. I couldn’t breathe. Everything turned black. The next thing I knew, I was in the barn with Jo—Mr. Straton.”
“You saw nothing? Heard nothing? No reason given for the attack?” Father asked.
She shook her head. “No, sir. One minute I was walking toward the stables. The next, I was on the ground.”
I exchanged a glance with Mother over the woman’s head, my brows knitted together. We both knew exactly what the woman had experienced after she was struck from behind. While we hadn’t blacked out, both of us had gotten close when we’d practiced the hold shown in Mr. Moto’s baritsu manual. Someone else had been trained in this Japanese form of combat. And was quite willing to use it with force.
Emily shifted about, checking around the chair and then opening the blanket.
“What is it, lo—Miss Emily?” Straton asked. “Are you missing something?”
“My shawl. I know I had it on…”
Mr. Simpson held out a woolen wrap. “Is this it? I found it on the ground. Must’ve fallen off when we put the blanket around you in the barn.”
He passed it to Straton, who held it out to her. As she started to reach for it, he pulled it back. “This isn’t yours.”
“It belongs to Constance. Mine got wet when I was over there fixing dinner for the children. She loaned me hers to come back tonight.”
I opened my mouth, ready to support her story when Mother shook her head ever so slightly. Best not to let Father know I’d been over there. Again.
Another thought, however, snapped my mouth shut. Emily had been wearing Constance’s shawl when we returned together to Underbyrne. In the twilight, the older woman could have been mistaken for my friend if the most identifiable item was the shawl. If so, the attacker might have realized the mistake after knocking Emily down and the shawl fell from her head. No one would mistake Emily’s dark hair for Constance’s red. Perhaps the attacker choked her merely to put her to sleep in order to get away.
If that was the case, what had the attacker planned for Constance?
My breath caught in my throat, and I fought the urge to run out of the house toward the Straton cottage. Somehow, something had put her in danger, and I wanted to warn her. To be on guard for…what? Whom?
Who had something against her strong enough to provoke an attack? The only one I could identify as harboring such animosity toward my friend was…Mycroft. A flare of anger formed in my chest, and I felt its flush travel through my body.
My hands curled into fists at my sides. It made no sense, but the only way to know for sure was to ask him.
Forgetting all social convention, I turned and rushed from the room. Only when I made it to the hallway did I realize I had no idea where my brother might be. He’d been at dinner with us but hadn’t followed my parents and me to the stables when Straton appeared. Surely he wouldn’t have quietly completed his dinner while the rest of us had seen to Emily’s comfort?
From my vantage point in the foyer, I glanced about me. The stairs leading to the bedrooms on the second floor lay on my right. Father’s office and library were behind me. The dining room and parlor doors were in front of me. If he hadn’t retired to his bedroom, he would most likely be in the parlor. It was the one place he and Miss Meredith would be allowed to be together according to social convention.
I marched across the hall, ready to confront him.
Uncle Ernest turned toward the door as I stepped inside. My rage cooled slightly when I failed to find my target.
“Sherlock old boy,” my uncle said, “I considered following the others, but there seemed to be more than enough people checking on her. I had wanted to show something to Herbert—Colonel Williams—but he wasn’t in his room. I came in here, but he wasn’t here either. How’s Emily?”
“Mother says she’ll be all right. The poor woman was attacked.” I quickly summarized Emily’s story and ended with, “I was looking for Mycroft. Have you seen him?”
“He and Miss Meredith were here when I came in.” He chuckled. “I’m afraid they didn’t appreciate my presence. They left shortly after I arrived.”
The idea of the two of them together rekindled my anger, but it was mixed with concern for my brother and the plans discussed earlier in the stables. They’d agreed to wait until tomorrow night. What if, because Mycroft knew they’d been overheard, they’d decided to leave earlier?
“Thank you,” I said, my thoughts racing as I played out various scenarios in my head. “If you’ll excuse me.”
My uncle stood. “You aren’t thinking of going out in search of them?”
“Well, I—”
“Your father made it quite clear not to go out after dark until this whole situation is resolved.”
“But Mycroft and Meredith—”
“Are adults,” Ernest said. “And are together.”
Shifting my weight, I considered my options. As much as I wanted to determine if they hadn’t left the premises, I feared having my uncle accompany me. Should the two young people be caught in some attempt to leave for Gretna Green or simply in too deep an embrace, a marriage might be forced to avoid scandal. And that was exactly what I sought to prevent. The be
st course of action was to at least appear to follow my father’s directive.
After a moment, I dropped my head in resignation.
“You’re right, Uncle. I’d best stay here. I think I’ll check on Trevor. He was awake earlier.”
“That’s the boy,” Ernest said, but rose from his seat. “I haven’t seen the lad either. Maybe I’ll come up with you.”
A sense of dread urged me to distract my uncle and go in search of my brother, but I turned my footsteps toward the stairs instead. As we passed the library door, Mother opened it and peered out at us.
“Sherry, dear, I’d hoped it was you,” she said, stepping into the corridor and shutting the door behind her. “Mrs. Simpson will take Emily to her room, and I’ve told her to rest for a few days. Beyond the fright from the attack, I see no permanent harm to her. Of course, Mr. Holmes has told Straton to fetch the constable in the morning.” She turned to her brother. “I need to speak to Sherlock, if you don’t mind, Ernest.”
He glanced at me and the stairs before focusing on my mother. I was certain I saw relief pass over my uncle’s face at not having to ascend to the third floor.
“Not at all. We were going up to visit Trevor. We can do it later. I’ll go back to the parlor.”
“Thank you. If you wish, I’ll send Sherlock to fetch you before he goes to the nursery.”
With a nod, my uncle turned on his heel and returned to the parlor. After he’d closed the door, Mother motioned in the direction of the greenhouse. Only when she shut the door to that room did she speak.
“I know you came to the same conclusion I did that the attacker meant to harm Constance. Do you have any idea why someone would wish to do so?”
I stared at the nearest plant, a eucalyptus. From even the few feet away, its scent reached me. Mother often mixed its oil with mint and other herbs and applied it to my temples for headaches. The perfume mix was quite relaxing, and I wished I had some at the moment, for I was anything but calm. I saw no way to share about Mycroft’s attitude and treatment of Constance without also describing Meredith’s plans for Mycroft.
The Adventure of the Murdered Gypsy Page 20