Mike Ashley - The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures

While the patrons about us rocked in their seats with laughter, Holmes sat silent, his fingers steepled across the front of his evening clothes, watching the performance under slumbrous lids. I had the impression, however, he was watching the little man's antics intently.

The following day, to my surprise, he dressed for his appointment with the Abernettys without his usual disguise.

"The game's up,Watson," he answered my look. "I think both parties are now aware of my identity and interest."

"Do you think we'll be introduced to the mother?"

"I have no doubt of it."

A pall of fog lay over London. The church bells sounded muffled and melancholy. It showed no signs of dissipating by early afternoon and I was amazed when Holmes suggested we stroll to Grosvenor Square.

"In this pea-souper? You must be mad, Holmes! Why on earth…?"

"I want to arrive at Grosvenor Square in a certain frame of mind and that only the fog can achieve. If you don't wish to accompany me by all means stay by your cosy fireside, but if you want to experience one of the strangest adventures you've ever put to paper, and I know how you like to jot down these little cases of ours, then put on your hat and greatcoat, your warmest muffler, take your stoutest stick and oh, yes, your service pistol."

"My pistol, Holmes? Surely you don't expect to encounter any danger from that pair?"

"It would be wise to prepare for any eventuality."

I found the next half-hour or so distinctly unpleasant. I flatter myself that I am not a nervous man or highly imaginative, but I seemed to feel the fog crawling on me like ghostly fingers. Lampposts stood out like beacons eagerly attained and reluctantly abandoned. The snickerings of leaves along the pavements seemed like the pattering of feet running up behind us. I was obliged to restrain myself from constantly glancing over my shoulder. A hansom looming at us suddenly like a phantom coach as we crossed Oxford Street gave me quite a start.

"Nearly there, Watson," chuckled Holmes.

"Mayfair seems almost deserted. Every sensible person in indoors."

Charles Abernetty evinced not the slightest surprise or curiosity at his new acquaintance's shorn hair and moustache. He greeted us with the same cordiality and drew us to the fire in the small salon.

"How damp your clothes are!" he exclaimed.

"We walked."

Charles blinked rapidly several times. "Through the fog? How extraordinary!"

"May we please see Lady Abernetty?" requested Holmes, rather tersely.

"Ah, here's Sabina. Sabie, the gentlemen would like to see Mother now."

"I'm afraid she's taking a nap, gentlemen. But rest assured, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson, you will meet her this afternoon."

Miss Abernetty's face was pale above a gown of maroon merino trimmed with velvet and lace, elegantly draped to a slight bustle. Her manner towards my friend, although distant, was not overtly hostile.

"Shall we play a hand or two while we're waiting?" suggested Charles.

An expression of annoyance flitted over the detective's face, but he shrugged and sat down at the table. It was an uncomfortable game in a charged atmosphere. Only Charles seemed determined to make it companionable. I noticed that my friend observed Charles closely. Under the prevailing circumstances, the fellow seemed in unnaturally high spirits.

A knock at the door was followed by the appearance of the tall, gaunt butler.

"What is it, Minter?" asked Charles, peevishly. "I didn't ring for you."

"This just came for you by messenger, Sir." The butler presented a letter on a silver salver.

Charles excused himself and slit open the envelope. "It's from Randell Burke."

"One of my brother's thespian friends," explained Sabina. "He's mislaid his script and wishes to borrow mine.

Gentlemen, I'm afraid I shall have to step out for a minute." "Oh, Charles, in this weather?" demurred his sister.

"It's only in Brook Street. A brisk walk will do me good. If our friends can walk from Baker Street I can manage a swift jaunt around the corner. It's a pity to spoil our game, but there is is."

Holmes crossed to the bay window and held aside the curtain. Presently we saw Abernetty hurrying past the spiked fence in greatcoat and muffler.

"May we see your mother now?" He turned to Miss Abernetty. "I'll see if she's awake." She pulled the bell-rope. "Meanwhile, will you take tea?"

"Miss Abernetty, we both know this is not a social occasion, but strictly a business matter. Please allow me to see your mother at once."

"Mr Holmes," she came close to him and looked earnestly into his face, "please allow me to apologize for my words of Friday evening. My sister and I have not been on good terms for many years, but it still shocks me that she would hire a detective to spy on us. Are you aware of her motives?"

"I am not at liberty to discuss Mrs Bertram's motives," Holmes replied, coldly.

Minter re-appeared, pushing a tea-trolley. Holmes refused to partake and returned to the window. Feeling rather embarrassed, I joined Miss Abernetty in a cup of tea, but refused the seedcake.

"Are you watching for Charles?" enquired Sabina, almost tranquilly. "He shouldn't be long."

She lingered over her tea, making desultory small talk with me. Instead of becoming impatient, Holmes in his expression grew grimmer. When at last a bell sounded somewhere in the house there was a gleam of irony in his eyes.

"I think your mother is ready to receive us. Shall we go up?"

With the strain on my nerves occasioned by our eerie walk through the fog, I fancied the dim passage had a clammy feel as if the fog had seeped into the walls. Sabina moved softly, almost stealthily before us until she came to the door of the sickroom.

"Mother, I've brought some gentlemen to see you." She pushed open the door.

The shadowy figure in the four-poster bed hunched itself up on the pillows. Wisps of grey hair from under the frilled nightcap straggled over the forehead, eyes glared peevishly from a face grey with age and ill-health. Her hand came up from beside the bed, holding a walking-stick.

"What's this, you know my orders. I won't see anyone," she shrilled at us, querulously. "Go away, all of you. Get out of my sight."

"Mother, don't upset yourself," the daughter glided towards her, but was driven back by the flailing stick.

I will never forget the scene that followed; though I do not remember the words, the tone of the dreadful imprecations, the humiliating insults and cruelties that stripped the soul of our companion bare have never left me. I felt a deep shame at being, however obliquely, the cause of Miss Abernetty's discomfiture.

Throughout she was calm, but at last she turned to us and said in a low, tremulous voice. "Will that be all? Are you satisfied?"

Holmes turned abruptly and walked out of the room and I was fast on his heels. The strident voice followed us down the stairs. In the hall, Miss Abernetty faced us gravely. Her eyes looked large and dark in a face that had been drained of all its colour.

"Miss Abernetty, I owe you the profoundest of apologies and bid you good afternoon," said Holmes. "Minter, my Ulster." The elderly butler was hovering by the front door.

"You are leaving," she said, quickly. "Won't you wait until my brother returns? Don't you also owe him an apology?"

"Pray convey to him my regrets. Come,Watson, we must go." "At least allow me to send Minter down to the corner for a cab."

"Thank you, no, we will return as we came – on foot."

I smothered a groan as I struggled into my damp greatcoat and picked up my stick.

"That was an embarrassing exposure for Miss Abernetty," I observed, when we had regained the square. "I hope you're satisfied." I could not suppress the note of censure that crept into my tone.