Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

Mabel Bertram coughed discreetly behind a lace-trimmed handkerchief. "My stepmother has many admirable qualities, Mr Holmes, but I think it fair to say that with her children she was something of a Tartar. There was never any question of either Charles or Sabina marrying. Her formidable manner drove away any suitors or lady friends. Alice much preferred to have them at her own beck and call. Son and daughter have always been expected to stay close to home and Alice has always kept a tight grip on the purse-strings. Now I hear Sabina's been seen gadding about in new gowns and Charles has joined the Footlights Amateur Dramatic Society."

"Dear me!" Holmes smiled in amusement.

"Mr Holmes, I fear my stepmother no longer has the power to influence her children."

"Would that be such a bad thing?" asked my friend, quietly. "Their indulgences seem innocent enough." He suddenly lifted a piercing gaze to her companion. "In what capacity do you accompany Mrs Bertram, Mr Aston Plush?"

The gentleman hesitated. "As Mrs Bertram's legal adviser and friend."

"You are a solicitor then?"

"Mr Plush handled my late husband's estate and before that his business affairs," intervened Mrs Bertram. "He has been kind enough to act for me in this matter."

"I have written several letters expressing Mrs Bertram's concern and requesting access to her stepmother. Beyond

that my hands are tied. There is no legal way we can obtain admittance to the house on Grosvenor Square. Were we to force entry the Abernettys would be quite within their rights to summon the police."

"I did enter the house through the servants' entrance on the first day I was refused admittance," confessed Mrs Bertram, with a slight blush.

"You did not tell me this…" began the lawyer in a vexed tone.

"My dear, it was a humiliating experience. I was actually ejected by the butler. Charles and Sabina reacted with quite uncharacteristic hostility. Perhaps because I had seen evidence of their neglect of their mother."

"Indeed, and what was that?" Holmes glanced at her keenly.

"It was Lady Abernetty's custom to have a roll with parsley butter for her breakfast every morning. The cook had obviously

prepared the tray, but there was the butter still standing on the table at noon with the parsley quite sunk into the butter. Alice always demanded a well-run, fastidious kitchen…"

"And when did this visit take place?" interrupted Holmes. "On the first day of August."

"And you have not seen Lady Abernetty since." He returned his attention to Aston Plush. "Did you receive any response to your correspondence?"

"Two letters, one from each of the children and each couched in similar terms, reiterating that their mother wished no further communication with Mrs Bertram. There was no cause for alarm concerning Lady Abernetty's health. Would Mrs Bertram please leave the matter as it stands?"

My friend returned his gaze to Mabel Bertram's face. "But you feel you cannot do so…"

The lady leaned forward. "I see I must confide in you my darkest fears. You may think me a fanciful, even hysterical woman, but I fear my stepmother has met with foul play. Only tell me this isn't so, Mr Holmes, and I will never intrude upon them again."

"Of course there is also the matter of the Power of Attorney," interjected Plush.

"Which has been given to the son?"

"Presumably."

My friend was silent for several minutes, his eyes closed, while the lady continued to gaze at him beseechingly. Behind Mrs Bertram's chair, Mr Aston Plush stirred uneasily.

When Sherlock Holmes reached a decision about taking a case he often moved quite abruptly. He did so now, springing briskly from his chair. "I will look into the matter for you."

"Oh, Mr Holmes, you will find me so grateful."

"And generous." Mr Plush had come forward to assist his client from her chair.

She flashed him a glance before she lowered her veil.

"Hopefully you will hear from me within the week. Watson, the door."

"How will you…?" she enquired timidly.

"My methods are my own. Good-day to you," he returned, brusquely.

I ushered out the pair and returned to find Holmes filling his pipe from a tobacco pouch he kept in an old Turkish slipper on the mantelpiece.

"Well, what did you make of that,Watson?" he asked, smiling.

"It seemed to me a tawdry affair. But, of course, the lady's anxiety was genuine."

My friend laughed softly. "One of your most endearing qualities, Watson, is your naivete about the good in people."

I must confess to feeling slightly nettled by my friend's cynicism. "How did she strike you?"

"Here we have a rather theatrical, still-handsome woman who knows how to deploy her charms. Did you notice which chair she took? With her back to the window, away from the daylight and where the firelight would soften and enhance her looks."

"She may not have wished to sully her dress with the rather obvious pipe-ash scattered on your chair," I retorted.

"Well done!" approved my friend. "And what did you make of the silent partner?"

"Mr Ashton Plush? I was surprised a lawyer should take such an interest in a domestic squabble."

"Indeed. I feel he has what is generally termed a vested interest. Did you mark where he stood,Watson?"

"Behind her chair, in a most protective manner."

"No, where his own face was in shadow and he could observe me observing her. He wanted to gauge my reaction to her story. There's more to this than meets the eye, Watson. A lady dressed in the height of fashion in the company of a man some ten years younger than herself. She evinces little sympathy for the plight of her siblings, yet a great deal of concern for her stepmother. What is her real concern? We might look into the father's background." He took down a red-covered reference book from the mantelpiece. "Ah, yes, Abernetty, Sir William, knighted for services to the crown. A son of impoverished country gentry. Made a fortune in the East by mysterious and possibly devious means. Returned to England in 1830 whereupon he married Clarissa, daughter of Sir Arthur Humphrey, and entered politics. Money opens many doors Watson, even one on Grosvenor Square. Wife died in 1848, one daughter Mabel. Married Miss Alice Fernberton 1850, died 1852. Aha, Watson! Made some bad investments in the East Indies, died with his fortune considerably reduced."

"What does that tell us, Holmes?"

"I'm not sure, but it should tell us something. What did you think of the story of the parsley sunk into the butter?"

"Almost ludicrous."

Holmes looked at me musingly. "Did you indeed? I hope to teach you the importance of trivialities. Do you have the time to join me on this adventure, Watson, if it is indeed to be an adventure? I doubt if I can promise you a baboon or a cheetah on this occasion."

"My dear Holmes, if you think I could possibly be of use." I still felt a thrill of pride at having my assistance requested as I had not yet shared as many exploits with my friend as I have to this date and it was all quite new and uncharted to my prosaic way of life.

Holmes smiled in one of his rare flashes of warmth. "Thank you. I shall as always value your company. And your medical expertise may be of value should we chance to meet the invalid. But at the moment I would greatly appreciate your going to your club. You may even choose to spend the night there to avoid the evening fog. I have to give this matter a great deal of thought and I can't predict how many pipes will bring me to a solution."

Being aware of his practice of using tobacco for a stimulus to his thought processes until the room was filled with an acrid pall of smoke, I was happy to oblige.

When I returned next day at noon I was met by an astonishing sight. My friend stood in our little sitting-room transformed into a Bohemian with flowing locks, a flourishing moustache, a hat with a curled brim, a dashing cape and yellow spotted silk bandana knotted at his throat.