“Kitty is not taking visitors right now, Doctor. She has no desire but to be left alone.”
“I understand, madam,” I said. “I merely wished to enquire whether there was anything I might do to help.”
“Who is it, Mama?” a reedy voice called out from within.
“Dr Watson. I have told him you will not receive him.”
“No, you may show him in. He knows full well my situation. I have nothing to keep from him.”
Mrs Danningbury Boyd sat in bed, propped up on pillows. She looked listless and wan.
“You are kind to call on me, Doctor.”
“Not in the least. How are you feeling?”
“Wretched. I am not sure I will ever be quite the same.”
“Might I suggest a spoonful or two of laudanum? You have had a trying time of it.”
“Trying?” She gave vent to a bitter laugh. “You have some knack for understatement. My life is in upheaval. My marriage is in tatters. No drug is going to make any difference. I have just one query. Is Fitzhugh behind bars yet?”
“As good as.”
“Good. I hope he hangs for what he has done.”
I wondered if she meant for killing Goforth or for the tribulations he had put her through as her husband. Either seemed as likely.
I left her to wallow in her misery. For some patients, that can be as efficacious as any patent medicine.
Holmes and I had agreed to reconvene in the library, and that was where I found him. The sound of carol singing filtered through to us from next door. The Allerthorpes were in the midst of a rousing rendition of “Good King Wenceslas”.
“Finished with your rounds, eh?” Holmes said. “A pity you are not getting paid for your professional services here.”
“I know. It would be proving quite a lucrative few days otherwise. What is our next move?”
“Yours, my friend, is to go to your room and get some rest. You look worn out.”
“Two wakeful nights in a row will have that effect on a person. But I am prepared to forge on regardless.”
“No, I would much rather you caught up on your sleep, for another wakeful night looms.”
“I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
Holmes chuckled. “Your querulousness may not be misplaced. Tonight you and I are going to keep vigil in the east wing.”
“How delightful. Watching for ghosts, I presume.” I said this with a lightness of tone which hitherto I might not have been capable of mustering. I was now satisfied that the Fellscar phantom was nothing more than a figment of Mrs Trebend’s imagination, built upon Becky Goforth’s spurious invention.
“Ghosts and other things that go bump in the night,”
said Holmes. “Speaking of which, what did you make of our spectre at the feast earlier?”
“Erasmus? Made quite an entrance, didn’t he? I presume he was out carousing in Yardley Cross last night. He may even still have been drunk when he got home, or if not, then terribly hung over.”
“He certainly seems to have embraced the yuletide role of Lord of Misrule. What about that shiner of his? How do you think he came by it?”
“The state he was in, I would not be surprised if he sustained it in exactly the way he claimed. A trip and a fall.”
“Yet in gaining a black eye, he appears to have lost something else.”
“His dignity? Not that he had much of that to begin with.”
“Lack of sleep has not blunted your pawky sense of humour, Watson. No, I am referring to a gold signet ring, the one he has previously been wearing on the fourth finger of his right hand.”
“I must confess I did not notice he had a ring.”
“Just as well one of us is observant, then. Until yesterday, when the family departed for church at Yardley Cross, Erasmus was the possessor of a signet ring imprinted with the Allerthorpe coat of arms. His father and uncle each has one to match. Although it is hard to distinguish real gold from fake by sight alone, I would stake my reputation on all of the rings being the genuine article. Would an Allerthorpe even dream of owning a gilt counterfeit?”
“I strongly doubt it.”
“More likely the rings are made of twenty-four carat gold – nothing but the best – and therefore worth a pretty penny. So we must ask ourselves how come Erasmus no longer has his and why he has not seen fit to refer to its absence. One answer is that he has mislaid it.”
“He might have lost it while inebriated, I suppose. It slipped off, or he removed it and forgot where he put it.”
“But,” said Holmes, “rings seldom simply fall off the finger, and one does not tend to take off certain kinds of ring, especially signet rings, without good reason. They are a more or less permanent fixture on one’s hand.”
“Could it have been stolen? Mrs Danningbury Boyd told us various trinkets have been going missing. Erasmus’s ring might just be the latest.”
“But those thefts have all happened around the castle. Erasmus was wearing his ring when he left yesterday. He is not wearing it today. But he has not, as far as we know, been present at Fellscar in the interim.”
“Good point. Then it was taken from him. By force.”
“A much more plausible scenario, and one which would account also for his injury.”
“He was attacked and robbed in Yardley Cross,” I said.
“Precisely.”
“But then why did he not mention that when Thaddeus asked him about his black eye?”
“Embarrassment. Shame. A reluctance to cause upset.”
“We are still talking about Erasmus Allerthorpe, aren’t we?”
Holmes laughed. “Quite so. None of the qualities I just enumerated can be ascribed to him. But supposing he neither mislaid the ring nor was robbed. What does that leave?”
“He parted with it voluntarily.”
“Yes.”
“Why? As a gift?”
“Consider this. What if Erasmus was not in Yardley Cross all this time? What if it was him in the tower room in the east wing last night?”
“There with Goforth? He is her killer?”
“On the face of it, the evidence supports that possibility. Erasmus’s feet are size eight, for one thing. And before you ask, I know because a size eight shoe is ten and one eighth inches long from heel to toe. The floorboards throughout the castle are five inches wide precisely. I measured them with a ruler after lunch, just to be sure. I have seen that Erasmus’s foot spans two of the boards with an eighth of an inch to spare. It is a simple computation.”
“Then his supposed overnight stay in Yardley was only a cover story,” I said. “He came back to Fellscar in secret at some point yesterday. He met up with Goforth during the small hours, murdered her, then hid somewhere in the castle until lunchtime in order to make everybody believe he had been away all that time.”
“There are plenty of places in a vast, rambling pile like this where a man might conceal himself without fear of discovery.”
“And the black eye – he received that from Goforth during their struggle in the tower.”
“It is clear the girl was more of a hellcat than we first thought. She did not go to her doom meekly.”
“But what about the signet ring? How does that fit into this?”
“Erasmus may have proffered it to Goforth before they fought,” said Holmes.
“What for?”
“I must acknowledge that I can only speculate as to a reason. Might it be that he was tendering it as some kind of bribe or peace offering? If so, in either case it did not meet the requirement. Goforth balked. She slapped the ring out of Erasmus’s hand, or else took it from him and hurled it into a corner of the room. Erasmus snatched it up afterwards, pocketed it and forgot to return it to his finger. That or he left the room in such haste that he neglected to retrieve it.”
“But we did not see the ring there, and we surely would have. You,” I amended, “surely would have.”
“Which suggests that it could have fallen
between two floorboards or into a crack beneath the wainscot. Erasmus could not collect it because it was beyond recovery.”
“Or, alternatively, Goforth did accept the ring after all and it was in her possession when she fell from the window,” I said. “In a pocket of her dress, perhaps.”
Holmes nodded. “That is a possibility. Inspection of the body would settle that question one way or the other.”
“But if all of this is true, what was Erasmus’s motivation for killing her? What connects the two of them?”
“Erasmus may have learned of Goforth’s and Danningbury Boyd’s affair. His purpose in meeting her was much as I outlined to Thaddeus and Shadrach in respect to Danningbury Boyd’s assignation with her. He wished to convince her to leave the Allerthorpes’ service. He tendered her his signet ring to sweeten the deal. When that did not work, he resorted to more extreme measures.”
“In that case I am surprised Goforth did not accept the ring. She had no qualms about dunning Mrs Danningbury Boyd out of her diamond necklace.”
“Yet,” Holmes said, “all of this paints Erasmus in a rather noble light. Too noble.”
“Murdering Goforth?”
“Not that. Stepping in to rid the household of a stain on its reputation. Making a well-intentioned – but, as it turned out, disastrous – attempt at protecting his cousin Kitty’s honour. Erasmus Allerthorpe, after all, is a young man who cares about no one except himself.”
“Himself and Eve. When he feared that she was dead, his relief upon learning to the contrary appeared entirely genuine. She, I believe, is the only member of the family for whom he feels any kind of affection. It is perhaps his only redeeming feature.”
“You may be right about that,” said Holmes. “Moreover, were he Goforth’s killer, he would have known immediately that it was her death to which Thaddeus referred. He would not have made the assumption it was his sister’s. Unless, of course, his misapprehension was feigned. But I think, like his reaction to the news that Eve was safe and well, it was genuine.”
“Could Erasmus have been conducting a clandestine affair with Goforth too?” I posited. “She, having acquired a taste for handsome, wealthy young men with Fitzhugh Danningbury Boyd, fixed her sights on him, with a view to profiting financially from it in the end. Where one act of extortion had been so successful, another might.”
“Quite the Machiavelli, our young slavey.”
“Too scheming for her own good, as it transpires.” Holmes shook his head and clucked his tongue. “No. It’s a nice idea, Watson, but it does not add up. None of it does. The more I think about it, the more I feel we are trying to force Erasmus into being the culprit, as though dressing him up in a suit that simply does not fit him. He has something to hide, mark my words, but I have a fair notion that it does not pertain to Goforth’s death.”
“Then this entire exchange has been redundant,” I said somewhat ill-temperedly.
“Not so. You have proved to be, as usual, an excellent sounding board. But here is another collaborator, with whom I hope to spend a profitable afternoon.”
The door that joined the library to the music room had just opened, letting in the strains of “Once in Royal David’s City” and also Shadrach Allerthorpe.
“Thank you for agreeing to come and assist me with some research, Mr Allerthorpe,” Holmes said. “You are done with carolling for the time being, I take it.”
“I am hardly in the mood for a singsong,” said Shadrach, closing the door behind him. “I endured it as long as I could, but all I can think about is Fitzhugh and his appalling acts. I’ve half a mind to strangle the miscreant.”
“You would do better to restrain yourself.”
“No jury on earth would blame me if I killed him.”
“No jury on earth would acquit you, either. Let us channel that passion of yours into something more useful. I have need of you both as an historian and as a resident of Fellscar Keep. You must be familiar with this library.”
“More than. It is a marvellous resource to one such as me. I have whiled many a happy hour in here.”
“Whereas to me, it is dauntingly well-stocked. It might take me ages to locate a particular book. With your assistance and experience, however, the task will be made considerably easier.”
“Will this help convict Fitzhugh of murder?”
“It will not hinder my investigations,” Holmes said.
I could tell, even if Shadrach could not, that my friend was choosing his words with care. Since I knew that Holmes did not reckon Fitzhugh Danningbury Boyd to be the murderer, his reasons for conducting research in the library must lie elsewhere.
“And you, Watson,” he said to me, “are surplus to requirements. Please take this opportunity, as I proposed, to rest and refresh yourself. You have earned it.”
In my room, I lay down on the creaking, unforgiving bed, not expecting that sleep would come my way. In the event, I was out like a light the moment I closed my eyes, and I did not wake up until shortly before supper.
Chapter Twenty-One
THE DEVIL WORSHIPPER AND THE HELL STONE
Iate with gusto that evening. One could hardly not do so when presented with such fare as calves’ foot jelly, pork griskin, stewed cardoons and potted lampreys, all cooked to Mrs Trebend’s usual high standard.
At Holmes’s insistence, however, I restricted my alcohol intake to a single glass of wine. He had told me I would need my wits about me later that night. I would also, he had said, need my revolver.
Trebend did not make it easy. He kept plying me with splendid wine after splendid wine, and I, with the utmost regret, kept having to refuse.
“You are missing out on this superb Château Cos d’Estournel,” he said at one point, holding the bottle of Médoc under my nose like a trophy.
I replied that it pained me greatly but I must abstain.
“You and Mr Holmes both, it seems,” Trebend said. “What a temperate pair you are this evening.”
I offered him a doleful smile, which he mirrored before moving on.
After the meal, it was time for parlour games. These included a few energetic rounds of Blind Man’s Buff that had the children squealing at near-deafening levels. The youngsters were no less enthused by the violent combat of Are You There, Moriarty?, which they and the older generations engaged in with glee.
As Holmes and I watched pairs of blindfolded opponents lie on the floor and wield rolled-up newspapers like clubs, each guided to his target by the sound of the other’s voice alone, my friend remarked pithily that “Are you there, Moriarty?” was a question he often posed to himself. I had only the vaguest inkling what he meant, for by 1890 I had heard him mention that particular surname just once or twice, and then only in passing. I had no idea of the full extent of Professor James Moriarty’s evildoing, nor could I have predicted the significant and terrible role the Napoleon of crime would come to play in our lives just a few months hence.
Holmes excelled at being the “guesser” in a game of Pass the Slipper, for nobody could hide the item of footwear behind their back without him instantly being able to tell who it was. Some tiny tic or quirk, invisible to most but obvious to his keenly penetrating gaze, invariably gave it away. Likewise, a memory game proved no challenge to him. Every time, without fail, he was able to identify which of a score of trinkets on a tray had been removed when his back was turned. Because he was so adept at these pastimes and so incapable of disguising his disdain for them, invitations to participate soon ceased.
Bedtime arrived for one and all. Holmes and I took to our respective rooms, waited an hour, then sallied forth through the sleeping castle to the east wing.
“What exactly are you expecting to come of tonight’s enterprise?” I asked as we went.
“A manifestation.”
“Not a ghostly one, surely.”
“In that case I would have suggested you exchange your Eley’s No. 2 rounds for a brand of ammunition capable of inflicting damage upon ecto
plasm. In the absence of such advice, you must be able to infer that the prey we are hoping to roust is all too human.”
“Human but still dangerous.”
“In as much as practically every human being can be dangerous, not least one surprised during the commission of illicit deeds, then it is as well to be prepared.”
“I have been meaning to ask. How went your labours in the library this afternoon with Shadrach Allerthorpe?”
“Our researches turned up some very interesting data.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“All in good time. I have managed to clarify much that was opaque to me, and dot a few i’s and cross a few t’s into the bargain. Fellscar Keep has a fascinating, albeit chequered history. For instance, did you know—? No, you cannot possibly, so I shall tell you. This castle is not the first such edifice to have been built upon the island, you see. So I discovered today. Prior to Fellscar, there was another castle here, erected during the fourteen hundreds. Shadrach was aware of this fact but was unclear on many of the details until he and I dug a little deeper into the library’s archive. The former castle, it transpires, fell into rack and ruin at the turn of the century, in consequence of a devastating fire. The island remained unoccupied from then until it and the land around it were purchased in 1835 by Alpheus Allerthorpe.”
“Shadrach’s and Thaddeus’s father.”
“Correct. Alpheus was the son of Roland Allerthorpe, who founded the Allerthorpe coal-mining and wool empire. Roland may have established the family business but it was Alpheus who built it up into a colossal, moneymaking machine. Work began on Fellscar Keep in 1838, the castle being designed and constructed to reflect Alpheus’s own sense of self-worth.”
“Which, it seems safe to say, was rather high.”
“Ha ha. Judging by the enormity of the place, I would agree. Alpheus was not even deterred by the somewhat sinister reputation the island had accrued just a few decades earlier. Or, I should say, the island’s previous occupant had accrued. For he, Sir Mansfield Allerthorpe by name, was not only a notorious rake and libertine but, by all accounts, a devil worshipper too.”
“Sir Mansfield… Allerthorpe? A direct ancestor of our Allerthorpes?”
Sherlock Holmes and the Christmas Demon Page 18