Sherlock Holmes and the Missing Shakespeare (5 page)

“Costarde writes a short comedy ridiculing the whole situation and Maria performs it with her sister Anna and her friend at a party thrown in honor of Don Lorenzo’s arrival in Madrid. Don Lorenzo sees the error of his challenge, but his honor will not allow him to stop pursuing Costarde. He seeks him out in private, slaps him and says his honor is now satisfied.

“They then find Don Ciprian and Maria and they agree Maria will marry Don Lorenzo, who does love her sincerely. Costarde is heartbroken, but cannot agree to anything else without facing another challenge from Don Lorenzo and subsequently from Don Ciprian. He says his goodbye to Maria and prepares to resign his duties in Madrid. As he writes his letter to the King of France begging to be relieved of his position, Anna, Maria’s sister, comes to his chambers and confesses to him she has admired him from afar all this time. She begs him to reconsider withdrawing from Madrid and they begin a courtship. Don Ciprian is happy for the match to take place, to marry his second daughter to a wealthy French nobleman. They wed on the same day as Don Lorenzo and Maria and they all live happily ever after.”

Holmes gave a small bow and I clapped my hands heartily. “A fine tale, indeed,” said I.

“I imagine Shakespeare and Thomas Kydd drew on each other for the names and setting. They probably came to blows over it.”

“It sounds a familiar story.”

“I also imagine Shakespeare drew heavily on his affair with Lady Anne Galham for his inspiration,” he said airily. “Luckily, this is a comedy and not a tragedy.”

“That would seem likely.”

“But, my dear Watson.” He brought his hands down on the surface of the table. “You have been studying all day and I have been busy all day. I reckon it is time to retire and pick up the trail in the morning.”

“The trail?”

“Yes, the trail. You did not think I would ask you to come here if I did not need your assistance in tracking down whoever is at the heart of this case?” With that, he rose and he went up the stairs to the room he had engaged.

Chapter Seven:

Old Friends

“I need you to run an errand for me, Watson,” Holmes said over our breakfast.

I blinked at that but agreed to do what he asked.

“There is a notary here in town. I want to see the will of Lord Galham.”

“The current earl?”

Holmes frowned. “It would seem to me to be elementary that I meant the will of the previous earl.”

“How do you propose I go about that?”

“I believe Mr. Kendricks, who is the junior partner of the notary firm of Jennings and Kendricks, is a brother of a friend of yours. Your natural charms should win his confidence.”

“Winning his confidence does not equate to him breaking the confidentiality of his profession and showing me the will of a respected member of society.”

“I have full faith in you, Watson.”

Holmes did not divulge any further details to me, instead leaving me to my own devices the rest of that day.

And so I sought out the office of Mr. Kendricks, only to discover that Holmes was right, as he usually is. Llewelyn Kendricks was the younger brother of Rhodri Kendricks, a Welshman in whose company I had spent many a happy hour. He had been a coal merchant and settled in London for a while before returning to the Black Hills. I had visited him at his Black Hills residence and he had told me in passing that his brother, Llewelyn, had taken up a position as a solicitor in London. Of course, this was many years ago.

Drawing on my acquaintance with Rhodri, I made my announcement and was received by Llewelyn Kendricks. He offered me tea and we sat and talked for a while.

After an hour, I questioned him on his knowledge of the Galham family and the tragedy that had taken place at Galham House.

“You know, it was, in fact, the old earl who interceded and helped me get this position,” said the younger Kendricks.

“Was it now?”

He nodded. “Lord Galham was a good friend. We met in London, at the Welsh Society.”

“The Welsh Society?”

“Lord Galham’s mother was the youngest daughter of the Marquis of Pembroke. He spent many a month in Wales as a child and he was always fascinated by the history, the language and the culture. The only place close to the center of power to speak the Cambrian tongue was at the Welsh Society, and it is thus we met. We became close friends and spent rather a lot of time together. When his father passed and left the estate to him, he retired to run the house and the estate. I think he felt lonely, and as I was still looking for a steady position in London, he interceded to get me this job.”

“You would not rather have stayed in London? It seems a country notary is not the same as a position in the city.”

“I would, but I decided the security of this position would be preferable over a lower position in London and the uncertainty that often goes with it.”

“And being close to a friend, I take it?”

Kendricks smiled. “And that too.”

“Is there not a Mrs. Kendricks?” I asked him then.

He looked down and shook his head. “Alas, no. It, therefore, has been rather lonesome here since the tragedy that shook us all to the very cores of our beings. All I have had to distract me from the tragic loss of my friend is my work and that is hardly a suitable distraction all the time. And unfortunately after several years, I am still essentially a stranger here. An alien, so to speak.”

“I can understand that. My wife hails from Berwickshire and still often feels an alien in London. It must be worse still in a country town like this.”

***

After our conversation, Mr. Jennings, his business partner, came into Kendricks’s office and invited both of us to supper with him and his wife. I tried to decline, but I could not do so gracefully and thus accepted.

I left Kendricks for a few hours, allowing him to complete his business for the day and allowing myself to enjoy the old town of Stratford-upon-Avon. I bought a hat for my wife and found one shop that sold excellent stockings, which I also obtained for her. A bookshop provided me with some more reading material for that evening, including the local newspaper. I returned to the inn for a while to have some tea and then joined Kendricks again.

Together we walked to the edge of the town, where he resided. A boy opened the door and, upon recognizing Kendricks, he let us in. He led us through the house to the parlor. His father, Mr. Arnold Jennings, was seated in his chair in the sitting room at the back of the house. The parlor was an unusual room, as one wall was nearly taken up by an entire window, but I could see why it had been constructed in such a manner. The room faced south and was flooded with light. The view was of their sizable garden and the river beyond. I remarked upon it and Jennings graciously and smilingly accepted the compliments.

“Some stately homes have rooms like this, but it is rare the middle classes will have such a design. I invested a fortune rebuilding this part of the house, but it was worth every penny.”

“When did you have this done?” asked I.

“Only in the last two months. Some investments of mine worked out rather well and after a little conclave with my wife, we decided this would be a marvelous way to spend the money.”

“It is indeed,” I replied. “My wife would dearly like to have a room like this in our own home. I doubt, however, it will work as well in London as it does here.”

Jennings smiled. “Indeed. Maybe it will work in Chiswick or Twickenham though?”

“Ah, but that would require even more good fortune to relocate to such towns.”

Kendricks and Jennings both laughed and it was then the maid came to summon us to the dining room.

Mrs. Jennings and Jennings’s boys and daughter were waiting there. The table was wonderfully laid out with a roast, roasted vegetables and potatoes. It was a meal that made my mouth water immediately, as it was a rare treat to find this bounty in the center of London. Even with the income of a doctor, as I had the fortunate disposal of, access to this kind of fresh country produce was very limited.

The conversation over the meal inevitably turned to business and of course life in London. Mrs. Kendricks was quite interested in the social affairs of the city, the gossip of town and what was currently in the theater. The latest play I had seen was a production of Marc Anthony and Cleopatra at Drury Lane and she was quite keen to hear about it, even if the play itself must have been well known to her.

At the end of the meal, the maid servant brought in a trifle, which was consumed with relish to the last spoonful. Mrs. Jennings and the children then retired and Jennings produced some excellent brandy and choice cigars.

“You do have a superb taste in tobacco, Jennings,” remarked Kendricks.

“A gift from Lord Galham, Kendricks.”

“You are close with the new earl?” I inquired of Jennings.

He nodded, blowing out a large cloud of smoke. “We have known each other for quite a while. Reginald and I went to Sunday school together, right here in Stratford-upon-Avon. They, of course, were taught by a governess and tutors, but their mother insisted they attend local Sunday school. Reginald and I, being the same age, we became fast friends.”

“Why did she insist on that?” Kendricks demanded. “Does Galham House not have a chapel?”

“It does, but Lady Edith, the Dowager Countess Galham, is the daughter of a parson. She insisted the family attend a service in the town church every week.” Jennings grinned. “Though there was a rumor about it at the time that she did so for less than holy reasons.”

“An affair?” I asked.

“With Reverend Jones, yes.”

Kendricks blinked. “Reverend Jones? The retired minister? Does his land not border the dowager’s?”

Jennings touched his finger to the side of his nose and said no more.

***

With the brandy and cigars finished, we had coffee and as the night fell over the town, Kendricks and I quitted the house and each went our way, agreeing to meet for lunch the next day. When I returned to the inn, I found Holmes was not there.

I spent an hour in the common room to read the day’s newspaper while enjoying the inn’s fine ale. With the newspaper read, I made to retire to my room but just as I began to climb the stairs, Holmes entered the inn and waved at me the moment he noticed me there. As I turned and made to descend again, Holmes ran up and took me by the elbow. “Shall we partake of something in the privacy of my parlor, my dear Watson?”

I agreed, although quite filled up with fine food and liquors, and while I waited there upon the step, Holmes darted down to ask for a tray of something to be brought up to his room. He then marched up after me with his long strides.

“I will not ask you about your progress,” Holmes said the moment we entered his room, “as it is still early days for you.”

“You wished to talk to me in the privacy of your room to tell me that?”

Holmes let out a chuckle of laughter. “You are right, of course, in thinking I have an ulterior motive in wanting your presence here.”

“What would that be, Holmes?”

“I need your professional opinion on a matter of great importance.”

There were a table and some comfortable chairs by the window, so I sat down there. A moment later, there was a knock on the door and a maid brought in a tray with brandy and coffee for us. She placed it on the table and went out again after Holmes told her to add it to his tab.

Holmes sat down and pulled a folder from the inner pocket of his coat. “Some subterfuge allowed me to obtain this from the local pathologist.”

“What is it?”

“The report he gave to the coroner investigating the deaths at Galham House.”

I balked at that comment. “But, Holmes, why are you looking into that?”

“In due course, Watson, in due course.”

“But, by Jove, Holmes!” I ejaculated. “Surely you do not think the tragedy at Galham House is related to the manuscript’s theft?”

“I am of that mind.”

I did not know how to respond to that, so instead I took the folder from him. I opened it and began to leaf through the pages contained within. “I will need some time to read through these, Holmes.”

“Take as much time as you need, Watson. I am quite patient.”

“You are? Am I still really speaking to the great and honorable Sherlock Holmes?” I teased him.

Holmes grinned and waved the comment away. “We are getting closer to the truth of this case, Watson. I feel it.”

I held up the folder. “And you think my opinion on the pathologist’s report will get us even closer?”

“It is a piece of this puzzle, my dear Watson. The more pieces I manage to place in the right position, the clearer the picture will get.” Holmes sat down, too and began stuffing his pipe. “I doubt any single piece that is missing will cause me to be unable to see what the puzzle depicts, but every piece I can put into place is one step closer to the goal.”

“Normally you are keen to determine every detail, Holmes.”

“As many as possible, Watson. Deduction can uncover many other details that remain hidden from us. As long as we have the details in place to come to the right conclusion.”

I took up the first page of the report and began to read as Holmes lit his pipe and began contentedly puffing away.

The first pages contained the details on Sir Roger, Earl Galham. The pages were held together by a wire slipped through a round hole punched into the top left-hand corner of each sheet. The next pages concerned his wife, the Lady Mary, Countess Galham. The names of their children were written on a separate pathology report, of which was not included.

I scanned the details and found the pathologist had been very thorough, which caused me to have an acute sense of admiration for his work. Yet it had been a long day and the brandy was taking a stronger hold over me than the coffee was. I felt my eyes slowly closing and I had to shake myself awake.

“I say, Holmes, perhaps I should read these over breakfast.”

Holmes took a sip of brandy and then continued smoking his pipe. “I dare say it is best left to a moment when your mind is capable of processing the data, as you rightly determine. But I trust you will stay for another few moments?”

“Though the brandy is excellent, I must confess I am rather tired.”

“Then perhaps I can persuade you to stay by telling you something about my exploits of the day?”

“I thought you were not going to recount those?”

“No, Watson, I said I would not say anything regarding why I am looking into the tragedy at Galham House.”

“Though of course, Galham House is where the manuscript was found.”

“Indeed.”

“But you think those deaths are related to the manuscript’s discovery and subsequent theft from your rooms?”

Holmes gestured with his pipe. “You know the answer to that question already, Watson. You need not ask it, for that is the question to which you will not receive an answer. Not yet.”

I held my tongue for a moment, taking some brandy. “Well then, Holmes, of what did you undertake this day?”