The Secret Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes (4 page)

‘What covert, Holmes?’

‘Why, the one where our fox has gone to earth, of course.’

‘You seem very sure.’

‘Indeed I am, my dear fellow.’

‘How is that?’

‘From our observations last night, coupled with what we have seen this morning.’

‘But we have been shown nothing except a large number of empty rooms.’

‘Oh, we have seen a great deal more than that, including the fingers on the right hand of his lordship’s secretary. Did you not notice that they were stained, not with ink, as one would suppose, but with …?’

He broke off as the spaniel we had encountered earlier rose from the rug where it had been sleeping and came to the foot of the stairs, wagging its tail with the same eager air.

‘A canine assistant!’
*
Holmes declared and, snapping his fingers at it over the banisters, called it up to join us.

It obeyed with alacrity, bounding up the steps and following at our heels as Holmes led the way down the passage and into the Tudor wing of the house which, only shortly before, we had, to the best of my belief, thoroughly examined.

We halted outside the door to Barker’s room, Holmes tapping on the panel as if expecting that, in our absence, its owner would have returned.

In this assumption he was correct for, having received permission to enter, we opened the door to see Barker in the act of laying aside a book and rising to his feet from a chair by the window, his expression full of consternation at our unexpected appearance, the spaniel at our heels.

It was apparent that the creature had never before been inside the room for it halted just within the door, uneasy at finding itself in such unfamiliar surroundings.

Barker had stepped towards us as if about to object to our presence when Holmes sent the dog forward with the words: ‘Go, Handel! Seek your master!’

At this command, the spaniel ran towards the great oaken press to sniff eagerly at its closed doors, its tail thumping against the carpet.

It was at this moment that Lord Deerswood appeared silently in the open doorway behind us, our first intimation of his presence being Barker’s stammered apology.

‘I’m sorry, my lord. I had no idea Mr Holmes or Dr Watson would return …’

Lord Deerswood advanced into the room and, ignoring Barker’s attempt at explanation, addressed Holmes directly, his expression no longer supercilious but full of a brooding melancholy.

‘I can see, Mr Holmes, that it is impossible to deceive you, a fact I should have recognised, knowing your reputation.’

Making a slight bow in acknowledgement, Holmes replied, ‘My inquiries have led me this far, Lord Deerswood, but, without your permission, I shall proceed no further than the doors to this press. Although I am retained by Miss Russell, whose concern in this affair is, I should add, solely on behalf of your nephew, I have her agreement that she will desist from all
further inquiries should you so desire it. If you wish Dr Watson and myself to withdraw, we shall do so immediately.’

For several moments, Lord Deerswood considered this proposition without speaking. And then he seemed suddenly to come to a decision for, turning to Barker, he inquired, ‘Is all well?’ On receiving the man’s assurance that it was, his lordship continued, ‘Then show them the Paradol Chamber.’

At this, Barker crossed to the cupboard and opened its double doors.

As I have already described, the press was large and its commodious interior was divided up into two sections, in one of which clothes were hanging on hooks. The other was entirely taken up by a set of shelves on which some shirts and underlinen were lying.

Stretching one arm inside the cupboard, Barker released some hidden catch at which the whole set of shelves swung inwards like a door.

With a silent gesture of one hand, Lord Deerswood invited us to enter, which we did, followed by his lordship.

Beyond lay a room of a similar size to the one which we had just vacated but so different in its furnishings and appearance that it was like entering another world. In place of the plain drugget, a thick carpet lay upon the floor while hangings of a similar richness disguised the shutters at the window in front of which stood a small reading table and an armchair. Other luxuries in the form of paintings and bookcases occupied the walls and the chimney alcoves where, on the hearth, a bright coal fire was burning.

The only incongruous fittings in this otherwise comfortably appointed chamber were the high iron guard which stood before the fire, the fine mesh screen over the window which would have been invisible from outside, and, most disturbing of all, a pair of leather straps fastened to the frame of a bed which was placed against the wall to the immediate right of the doorway.

On the bed, under the linen sheets and the thick embroidered quilt, lay a young man, so heavily asleep that I suspected he had been drugged. He neither stirred nor opened his eyes as
we entered but lay immobile, his head resting on the monogrammed pillows.

It was a tragic face despite its youthfulness for the man was only in his mid-twenties, but so ravaged that the features appeared those of someone much older who had endured many dark and bitter experiences.

‘My nephew, the Marquis of Deerswood,’ his lordship announced.

He was standing at the foot of the bed, gazing down at the motionless figure, his face as drawn and as haggard as the young man’s with an expression of agonised compassion.

‘If you have seen enough, gentlemen,’ he continued as Holmes and I remained silent, ‘I suggest we retire to the library where I shall give you a full account of how my nephew came to be reduced to this pitiable state. I know I may trust your discretion. Your reputation in that respect has also followed you.’

Again Holmes inclined his head and, preceded by Lord Hindsdale, to accord him his proper title, we vacated the chamber and returned downstairs to the library where, on his lordship’s invitation, we seated ourselves before the fire.

However, it was Holmes who opened the interview, pressed to do so by Lord Hindsdale.

‘Before I begin my own account,’ he said, ‘I should prefer to hear yours, Mr Holmes. It might save my having to repeat certain facts with which you may already be acquainted. Besides, I am curious to know by what methods you have so far proceeded in discovering the truth.’

‘I know only what I have deduced from my own observations and a little research I undertook after Miss Russell and her solicitor first requested me to inquire into the case,’ Holmes replied. ‘There is no need for me to repeat her account of what she saw in the grounds of Hartsdene Manor; she has already given it to you herself. However, I should like to explain that
her concern arose not out of idle curiosity or from a desire to spread scandal. She was – is – genuinely fond of your nephew and it was for his sake that she consulted me.

‘Her statement prompted me to look up in my own records the newspaper reports of your nephew’s apparent death in a boating accident last summer in Scotland. However, as I have already explained to my colleague, Dr Watson, certain features about the tragedy intrigued me. My curiosity was further aroused by Miss Russell’s account of her first meeting with the young Marquis which occurred when he fell and hit his head while climbing over a stile.

‘And then there was your family history, Lord Hindsdale, which went part of the way to solving your nephew’s apparent return from the dead. It involved the arrest of one of your ancestors for his part in the Babington Plot in 1586.’

Turning to me, he added with a smile, ‘I am afraid, Watson, that I caused you some bewilderment by referring to it. The explanation is, however, quite simple. The Babington Plot was a conspiracy to replace the Protestant Elizabeth Tudor by the Catholic Mary Queen of Scots.

‘This suggested,’ Holmes continued, resuming his narrative, ‘that at the time the Deerswoods were Catholic sympathisers. Now, it was often the custom for recusant families during the reign of Elizabeth I to have constructed in their houses a secret chamber where the resident priest could be hidden should the house be searched. Although there was no reference in any books that I consulted to such a hiding place in Hartsdene Manor, I nevertheless decided to put my supposition to the test. If there was a secret priest’s room, it would be in the original part of the house.

‘Consequently, Dr Watson and I kept watch last night on the Tudor wing where we saw a man, whom I later recognised as Barker, closing the shutters on a pair of lighted windows on the upper floor. However, when I examined Barker’s room this morning, I observed that his bedchamber had only one window.

‘Now, as the room next to Barker’s on the right was a windowless linen closet, it could not have been there that the light appeared. It had to be some other chamber, situated
between Barker’s bed-chamber and the linen closet, its presence concealed from the casual observer by the irregularity of the passage. I further deduced that its entrance must be through Barker’s room. Your nephew’s dog confirmed its position by going immediately to the large press against the wall when I ordered it to seek out its master.

‘I was already curious about Barker’s presence in your household. As Miss Russell did not recognise him when she saw him in the garden, he must have joined since her last visit here in the summer, a supposition you confirmed by stating that he had been recently appointed as your secretary. But I noticed that his fingers were stained with iodoform.
*
Only a doctor or a nurse would normally handle such a medicament.

‘Given all these facts, I came to the conclusion that your nephew was alive but was kept concealed in a secret chamber, attended by a doctor or a male nurse, and was allowed out only at night. Only two explanations presented themselves. The first was some disfiguring illness such as leprosy
†
which I dis missed as a possibility as your nephew had never, according to Miss Russell, travelled outside this country.

‘I was therefore left with my second hypothesis – which has proved only too tragically correct – that he was suffering from some mental aberration which made his appearance in public impossible. The fact that his mother had died in a Swiss clinic, ostensibly of consumption, tended to confirm my supposition.

‘I should like to assure you again, Lord Hindsdale, that I expect no explanation from you but, if you should honour Dr Watson and myself with your confidence, no word of what we have heard or seen here today will ever be repeated outside these walls.’

Lord Hindsdale, who had listened to Holmes’ statement
without interruption, his chin sunk on his breast, now raised his head to look across at my companion, his austere face drawn down into deep lines of suffering.

‘You are correct in every particular, Mr Holmes,’ he said. ‘For this reason and because I know you and Dr Watson are men of your word, I have no hesitation in confiding in you. Indeed, it is a relief, having borne the truth so long in silence, to speak openly about it for it has weighed very heavily on both my mind and my heart for many years.

‘While still in his early twenties, my eldest brother, Gilbert’s father, fell in love with and married a young lady, Blanche Seaford, a dazzling and enchanting creature. Her family was rich but obscure, having farmed in South Africa for several generations, and was therefore unknown in English society. On the death of her husband, Mrs Seaford sold up the family estates and brought Blanche, who was then seventeen, to London in order to complete her education. It was there that my brother James met and fell in love with her, marrying her on her eighteenth birthday. For the first two years, they were blissfully happy but, after the birth of Gilbert, my sister-in-law began to show certain symptoms which, over the next eighteen months, degenerated rapidly into lunacy. Later inquiries showed that it was an inherited madness. A grandfather had committed suicide; an aunt had died in an asylum.

‘Although everything was done in an attempt to save her reason, she was beyond medical aid and, when her behaviour grew so violent and unpredictable that it was considered unsafe to keep her under the same roof as the child, my brother, with great reluctance, arranged for her to be admitted to a private clinic for the insane in Switzerland.

‘We are an old, proud family, Mr Holmes, but tragically ill-fated. My brother, fearful of the effect it would have on his son if the truth were generally known, had it put out that his wife had died of consumption. In fact, she lingered on for another fifteen years, a helpless lunatic.

‘My brother was most anxious about his son, his greatest fear being that Gilbert might have inherited from his mother that tendency towards mental instability. For that reason, he was
kept at home where he was tutored privately in the hope that if he followed a quiet regimen with no excitement or emotional strain to tax the brain, he might escape the same fate as his mother.

‘You are probably aware of the rest of the story, Mr Holmes. My brother was killed in a hunting accident when Gilbert was fourteen. As his guardian, I came to live here at Hartsdene Manor in order to supervise his education and upbringing. My brother and I had often discussed what should be done if Gilbert became insane. James was only too painfully aware that, should he die, a terrible burden of responsibility would be placed on my shoulders. It was no burden, Mr Holmes. I love my nephew as I would my own son!’

The stern features were convulsed momentarily with a spasm of emotion and he turned his face away, murmuring, ‘Forgive me, gentlemen, it is a most painful subject.’

It was several seconds before he had sufficiently recovered his composure to continue his account.

‘And then, last spring, Gilbert met Miss Russell and, as his father had done with Blanche Seaford, he fell in love with her at first sight. It was a hopeless situation. Marriage was out of the question as, by that time, he was already showing signs of incipient madness. Indeed, it was during a minor fit that he fell and struck his head whilst out walking and first became acquainted with Miss Russell.

‘I was most reluctant to permit the acquaintanceship to continue but Gilbert pleaded so hard to be allowed to see her again that, very much against my better judgement, I finally gave way. It was an unwise decision. Further meetings only deepened Gilbert’s feeling for Miss Russell although I believe the young lady felt no more for him than friendship and a strong pity; at least, I hope that is the case for her sake.