Sherlock Holmes and the Christmas Demon

by James Lovegrove

  “Are you quite certain Fitzhugh killed the scullery maid?” said Thaddeus. “It is hard to credit. I mean, the man is a slave to self-interest, I am under no illusion about that. But capable of murder?”

  “In my experience, Mr Allerthorpe, self-interested people are the ones to watch out for. They are callous to a sometimes dangerous degree.”

  “But what can have compelled him to commit murder?” said Shadrach.

  “Thereby hangs a sorry tale,” said Holmes, and he proceeded to relate the history of Danningbury Boyd’s affair with Goforth, all the way to its fatal conclusion. “It is my belief that he arranged to meet her in the east wing tower, with a view either to persuading her to quit her position in the household or to rekindling the flame which his wife had so effectively dowsed. Goforth went along to the meeting, perhaps thinking she might use it as leverage against Mrs Danningbury Boyd. It would enable her to extort more valuables, or maybe this time just plain cash. ‘Your husband met me in secret last night,’ she might say. ‘Ask him yourself. See if he can deny it. Nothing happened, but next time I might not be so unforthcoming…’ But alas, there was a spat. Danningbury Boyd ran to the window and opened it. I imagine he was threatening to throw himself out. ‘If I cannot have my way, I shall kill myself.’ A mere ruse, this, but Goforth fell for it. She went over to remonstrate with him, whereupon he sprang his trap. He grabbed her and shoved her out.”

  “Ghastly,” said Thaddeus, agog.

  Shadrach Allerthorpe was even more shocked. “My poor Kitty. She never let on. All this time. It must have been unendurable for her. Married to such a monster. A maniac!” He shot a venomous scowl at his supine son-in-law. “I always thought she was too good for him. I only wish I could have warned her off him. But he seemed to make her happy…”

  “And for Fitzhugh to comport himself so shamelessly under my roof,” Thaddeus added. “The scoundrel.”

  “You know, in hindsight, I ought to have recognised that necklace on Goforth as being Kitty’s,” said Shadrach.

  “In my experience, most men are not adept at identifying jewellery on females,” said Holmes. “One trinket adorns a woman as well as any other. It is all much of a muchness to our sex. Whereas to the acquisitive eyes of a girl on the make like Goforth, that necklace would have been outstandingly and irresistibly alluring. She would have been drawn to it like a magpie.”

  “Well,” said Thaddeus, “this is unquestionably a police matter now. I shall instruct a man to fetch a constable from Wold Newton forthwith.”

  “A capital notion,” said Holmes. “I would advise you to hold off from sending for the authorities, however, until Danningbury Boyd has regained consciousness. The police do not have the wherewithal to look after someone in his present condition properly.”

  “How long do you think it will take him to recover?”

  “Watson is better placed to enlighten you about that than I. Watson? It is unfortunate that Danningbury Boyd sustained a blow to the head during his capture. Sometimes an injury like his can render a man insensible for a good twenty-four hours, don’t you think?”

  My friend had a meaningful glint in his eye, which I picked up on. “Twenty-four hours at least, I would say,” I replied. “Of course I shall tend to him in the meantime, until I judge him well enough to be taken into custody.”

  Holmes gave me a barely perceptible nod, to indicate that I had performed just as required. “There you have it, gentlemen,” said he to the brothers. “The opinion of an expert.”

  “We must at least let the police know about Goforth’s murder,” said Shadrach. “To delay informing them would be immoral as well as illegal.”

  “If it is your desire to contact them, by all means do so. I am sure, however, that a day here or there will not make much difference.”

  The Allerthorpe brothers debated the issue between themselves. Shadrach remained in favour of bringing the police in as soon as possible. Thaddeus, the more bullish of the two, agreed with Holmes that a day’s delay would not hurt.

  “It might look as though we were covering something up,” Shadrach argued.

  “We are Allerthorpes, respected throughout the county,” said his brother. “Throughout the country. Nobody would dare suggest there was anything underhand going on. Nobody of any consequence, at least.”

  “If it comes to it, blame me,” said Holmes. “Tell the police that you were following Sherlock Holmes’s advice. My reputation at Scotland Yard has earned me some latitude within the crime-investigation fraternity.”

  That settled it as far as Thaddeus was concerned. “We shall wait until tomorrow. The police can come then to collect Fitzhugh, and at the same time Goforth’s body. Now, Shadrach, I don’t know about you, but I could do with a good stiff drink. Mr Holmes? The key to the room is in the lock, as you can see. I am entrusting Fitzhugh to your and Dr Watson’s care. Frankly I want nothing more to do with the blackguard. I wash my hands of him.”

  “Seconded,” said Shadrach, with feeling.

  The brothers departed, leaving Holmes and me alone with the insensible Danningbury Boyd.

  “Now then, Holmes,” I said, “perhaps you’d explain why you had me pretend it will take him so long to come round. You know as well as I do that unconsciousness lasts a quarter of an hour at most. He will surely begin to revive soon.” Already Danningbury Boyd’s fingers were beginning to twitch, a sign that his senses were returning.

  “You have caught me out in my little subterfuge. What I need you to do is keep him in a comatose state for as long as you safely can. Have you brought a sedative with you to Fellscar?”

  “No, but Eve has a plentiful supply of chloral hydrate. I can borrow some of hers. I strongly caution against this course of action, though. Apart from anything else it is highly unethical.”

  “I would not have you behave in a way that contradicts your Hippocratic oath, Watson. All I am asking is that you bend the rules a little.”

  “What for? I don’t understand your rationale. Here he is. A murderer. We have him bang to rights, as the saying goes. You have solved the mystery of Goforth’s death in record time. What is to be gained by keeping the culprit on the premises and tranquillised? The sooner he is in police hands, the sooner you and I can go back to London. Unless…”

  “Yes, Watson? Unless…?”

  “By thunder, Fitzhugh Danningbury Boyd is not the murderer after all!” I declared.

  “A touch louder, old fellow. I don’t think the entire castle heard you.”

  Somewhat more softly I said, “You want everyone to believe he is the murderer in order to make the real murderer think he has got away with his crime scot-free.”

  “The sight of comprehension dawning in your eyes is one that never palls. I hope I shall continue to see it for many years to come. It is immensely gratifying.”

  “You know, come to think of it, I did find your analysis of Goforth’s meeting with Danningbury Boyd somewhat curious. Would the girl really have tried to blackmail Mrs Danningbury Boyd further, when that would have violated the terms of their pact and brought about undesirable consequences for her?”

  “It was a plausible fabrication,” said Holmes, “sufficient to convince Thaddeus and Shadrach. I am just glad you refrained from voicing your doubts at the time.”

  “But why do you wish to lull the real murderer into a false sense of security?”

  “Go on, old fellow. Keep those cogs turning.”

  “It is so that he will become overconfident and make some crucial mistake that gives him away.”

  “But the fact is, I already have a fair notion who the killer is. I do not need him to identify himself.”

  “Then you are leaving him at liberty for another reason.”

  “Namely?”

  I racked my brains. “It cannot be in order to allow him to kill again. You would not be so cavalier with the lives of others. He is up to something else. That would imply that Goforth’s death was not a crime of passion but rather a calcula
ted effort to cover up another crime. Can it be that the murderer is also the Black Thurrick? The two things are somehow connected?”

  “Yes and no,” said Holmes. “You have come so far, yet you are still unable to piece together the evidence into a coherent whole. But no need to be downhearted. There remain gaps in my own understanding of events here at Fellscar. I need this extra twenty-four hours to accumulate the final few scraps of data that will tie everything up neatly. But look. Danningbury Boyd’s eyelids are fluttering. Time is short. Fetch that chloral hydrate, would you? And make it quick. There’s a good fellow.”

  Eve was still sleeping. I took the bottle of sedative from her bedside table and hurried back.

  Fitzhugh Danningbury Boyd was awake by the time I returned.

  “My head,” he moaned thickly. “It aches something awful.”

  “And I have medicine that will help with that,” I said.

  “What is it?”

  “Paregoric.”

  I felt ashamed as I administered a heavy dose of the chloral hydrate – and with good cause, for I was betraying dearly-held principles. I consoled myself with the thought that, although not a murderer, Danningbury Boyd was a thoroughgoing reprobate. For his mistreatment of his wife, if for nothing else, he did not deserve my sympathy.

  “Bitter,” he said with a cough. “Are you sure that is paregoric?”

  “One of the lesser-known proprietary brands,” I replied, masking the label on the bottle with my hand lest he should see it.

  “You – you attacked me, Mr Holmes.” Through the pain and the fog of concussion, Danningbury Boyd was slowly regaining his wits. “It’s coming back to me now. You came after me and tried to assault me. Tried to push me off that bicycle.”

  “You fled, Mr Danningbury Boyd,” said Holmes. “Remember? After your wife enquired about Goforth and the possibility that you killed the girl, you turned tail and ran like a startled deer. Can you blame us for giving chase? Your actions were patently those of a guilty man.”

  “But… I am not guilty. I did not kill Becky. That is, Goforth.”

  “Then why abscond? An innocent man would have stood his ground and argued in his own defence.”

  “I wasn’t thinking clearly. When I heard at breakfast that the girl was dead, my mind was a maelstrom. It is apparent that you know that she and I… we used to be…”

  “We do.”

  “So you can imagine how I felt.”

  “Relieved. No longer was there this young woman in the castle, carrying around the secret of your affair with her. No longer was there a human bomb waiting to go off and destroy your life.”

  “Somewhat relieved, yes,” Danningbury Boyd allowed. “Now there was no chance Kitty would ever find out about the two of us. Mostly, though, I felt devastated. Becky was a lively lass. I was fond of her still, even though it was over between us. It appalled me that she had met her end in such a cruel and arbitrary manner. And then I learned of your private appointment with my wife. Coming hard on the heels of Becky’s death – well, it looked to me as though the much-vaunted Mr Sherlock Holmes was unearthing the truth about the situation after all. I raced to the library in the hope of forestalling you, before you revealed all to Kitty, but I was too late. The accusing look Kitty gave me. The loathing in her eyes. And, worse, her imputation that I had committed murder. The shock was enormous. It was too much. All I could think was that I must get out of there, by whatever means necessary.”

  It seemed absurd that someone so debonair could look quite so pathetic.

  “I don’t know what you must make of me, gentlemen. I am not a good person, that is certain. A good husband neither. I am aware of my deficiencies but incapable, it seems, of amending them. Nevertheless, please believe me when I say that I… I do not have Becky’s blood on my… my hands.”

  Danningbury Boyd was becoming disorientated, his words faltering. The chloral hydrate was taking effect.

  “I am suddenly very tired,” said he. His eyelids drooped. “I think… I think I shall… rest.”

  His head sank back onto the pillow and soon he was snoring.

  Holmes and I stole out of the room, locking the door behind us.

  Chapter Twenty

  LORD OF MISRULE

  At lunchtime, Erasmus Allerthorpe shambled into the dining hall, looking haggard and more hollow-faced than usual.

  His father, glancing round at him, said sharply, “The prodigal son returns. And where have you been all this time, Raz?”

  “Yardley Cross.”

  “I presumed as much. The clear implication of my question was what you have been up to?”

  “Ah.”

  “And?”

  “Nothing much. This and that.”

  “I see. ‘Nothing much’. How very forthcoming.” Thaddeus’s voice was rising, and with it the colour in his face. “You should have been here, boy. You assured us yesterday that you would be back in time to meet our guests as they arrived. To fail to do so was exceedingly rude.”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Erasmus said. “I was… unavoidably detained.”

  “Were you, now? And what could be more important than your familial obligations? No, don’t bother answering. I have no wish to know. I imagine you found somewhere amenable to stay the night.”

  “The Sheep and Shearer. The rooms above the bar are perfectly acceptable. Now please, Father, I have just walked five miles through the snow. I am famished. Might I be permitted to sit and eat a bite?”

  Erasmus had the chapped cheeks and fingers to show for his long, cold journey. He sported a black eye, too. He was trying to disguise this by allowing a lock of his hair to fall in front of it, but it was all too conspicuous.

  “Not until you tell me how you came by that,” Thaddeus said, indicating the bruise.

  “I slipped. Slipped in the snow and fell and banged my face.”

  His father harrumphed. “While drunk, most likely.” Erasmus disregarded the comment, as though it were beneath him to respond. Instead, he swept his gaze across the other forty or so of us seated at the dining table.

  “Well, well, well,” he said. “Look who’s here. Allerthorpes galore, and sundry in-laws and outlaws.” He seemed to be including Holmes and me in the last category. “Greetings, all. Nice to see you again. Great-Aunt Maud, your hair is looking lovely. I swear it was greyer last year. And Cousin Theobald. Your hair is corresponding more and more with the latter portion of your name. And is that young Timothy? My, how you’ve grown, lad. Not necessarily in the right direction.”

  These barbs elicited mutterings and a few furtive giggles. “Raz!” his father snapped. “Address your kin with courteousness or not at all.”

  “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Erasmus said with an exaggerated bow of remorse. “I am just being mischievous. You know me. A twinkle in the eye. A ready quip. That’s Erasmus Allerthorpe. It is delightful to have you all back under our roof, making merry, after what has been such a difficult year. A difficult few days, indeed.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” said Shadrach.

  “What’s that, uncle?”

  “Have you not heard? No, I don’t suppose you can have. Overnight, there has been a death in the castle.”

  Erasmus’s eyebrows shot up in alarm. “Whose? Is it Eve? I do not see her here. My God. Surely not Eve.” His voice quavered. “Please tell me she is well.”

  “Your sister is fine,” said Thaddeus. “A little overwrought but in no danger. Is that not so, Dr Watson?”

  “It is, Mr Allerthorpe,” I said. To Erasmus I said, “Eve has taken to her bed. I am looking after her.”

  “Thank heaven,” said the young man with a deep, earnest sigh. “If Eve were dead, I should not know what to do with myself. Die too, probably. But if it is not her that has perished, then who?”

  “The scullery maid. Goforth.” Briefly Thaddeus described how the kitchen girl had met with an accident, to which Erasmus responded with astonishment and an appropriate level of const
ernation. “You should also be made aware that Fitzhugh is…” He threw a glance in Holmes’s direction. “Indisposed.”

  “Ill?”

  “Touch of brain fever,” said Holmes. “Sudden and quite unexpected. Watson and I were obliged to pursue him through the castle. He was beside himself and we needed to corral him, for his own good. It all culminated in him falling off a bicycle on the causeway.”

  No one save for Holmes and me knew precisely how Danningbury Boyd’s unsaddling had been brought about. There had been no other witnesses to the event.

  “Cycling?” said Erasmus. “In the snow? Old Fitzhugh really must have lost his marbles.”

  “I’m sure it is only temporary,” Holmes said. “Don’t you agree, Watson?”

  “These things pass,” I said. “It can happen to anyone.”

  Kitty Danningbury Boyd was not present, otherwise she might have had something to contribute to the conversation. She was at this moment up in her room, being attended to by her mother.

  “Honestly,” Erasmus said. “I am away for one night, and everything goes to pot. Good thing it wasn’t longer. Who knows what calamities might have befallen then?”

  The lad took his place at table, and the conversations that had been interrupted by his arrival resumed. The mood in the dining hall was a strange mixture of perturbation and excitement. For the houseguests, this Christmas, with its alarums and excursions, was turning out to be a Christmas like no other. I suspected that some would remember it with a sombre shudder and others with a measure of fond bewilderment, but none would ever forget it.

  After the meal ended, the Allerthorpes decamped en masse to the castle’s music room. There, they sang carols to a piano accompaniment.

  I, meanwhile, took a bowl of beef consommé up to Eve, which she supped gratefully. Then I looked in on Fitzhugh Danningbury Boyd. He was still in the arms of Morpheus, dead to the world. My third and final port of call was Kitty Danningbury Boyd’s room.

  Olivia Allerthorpe responded to my knock. She had appointed herself her daughter’s gatekeeper as well as nurse.