Denis Smith - The Mammoth Book of the New Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

Quite what I expected to see as the door swung open, I do not know; but it could not have been the strange scene that now met our gaze. Before us was a narrow chamber, its walls formed of large blocks of stone, which glistened green with the damp. There was no window, but immediately opposite stood another identical oak door, and high in the wall to our right was what appeared to be some kind of ventilation-grille. In the centre of the flagged floor stood an old mildewed table upon which were several piles of old documents done up in tape, and a few loose sheets. Beside these stood two bottles of ink, a box of quill pens and a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles, neatly folded. On the floor to the side of the table was a stack of massive old books, bound in wood and leather, atop which stood a low-burning lamp, whose glimmer we had seen beneath the door. To the right of the table stood a simple wooden chair; to its left, against the damp wall, a crude cot bed, upon which lay a man, fully dressed, face down and asleep.

For several minutes we stood there in silence and might have stood there several more; but all at once, as if he sensed our presence – for we made no noise that could have roused him – the figure on the bed stirred, rolled over and sat up, rubbing his eyes as he did so.

He was a slim, pale-faced young man, with a look of studious perplexity upon his features. His dark hair was unkempt, his clothes dishevelled; but, even so, there was something civilised and sensitive about his appearance. No bank-clerk puzzling over an unbalanced ledger, no country parson pondering his next sermon could have seemed less like a denizen of a strange underground lair than this young man we now saw before us. Absent-mindedly, without turning his head, he reached out his hand for his spectacles.

‘Sir Edward Davenoke?’ said Sherlock Holmes softly. The young man before us started up as if shot, his eyes wide with terror. He sprang unsteadily to his feet, his face as white as a sheet. For a moment I was certain he would faint with the shock of our sudden appearance, but he clutched the edge of the table to steady himself and spoke suddenly and abruptly, in a nervous, breathless manner.

‘What! – who are you?’ he cried, his eyes roaming wildly from Holmes to me and back again, as if he could not control their movement. ‘What are you doing? How came you here? – How dare you!’

‘My name is Sherlock Holmes,’ said my friend in a calm voice. ‘This is my friend, Dr Watson. I have been retained by your wife to find you.’

‘But – but she believes I am in London.’

‘Fortunately, I did not.’

‘But – how came you?’ cried the other again, his voice almost hysterical. Then his eyes wandered to the open door behind us and the long dark passage which stretched away. ‘You have come through the tunnel!’ he cried. ‘No, no; that is impossible! No one knows of it! No one can have learnt the secret!’

‘There is no secret of man’s contrivance that cannot be uncovered,’ said Sherlock Holmes softly.

‘How dare you!’ cried Davenoke, his wild confusion resolving itself into hot anger. ‘How dare you intrude upon the privacy of my house!’

‘Your wife would have us find you wherever you were,’ returned Holmes; ‘that we are here therefore depends only upon the fact that you yourself are here.’

‘Why, you impertinent scoundrel! You interfering busybody! You have no right to pry into the affairs of others!’

‘Nor have I the desire.’

‘What I tell my wife is my own business!’

‘But when you tell her nothing but lies, she has a right to learn the truth from someone else. I act only in her interests and at her request. She has been most grievously worried by your unexplained disappearance.’

‘I cannot tell her,’ said the other after a moment’s hesitation. ‘I am engaged upon a matter of the utmost privacy, which must remain secret, even from my wife.’

‘You are engaged in a study of the family legend, the so-called “Curse of the Davenokes”.’

‘You seem to know a great deal of my business,’ retorted the other, a spark of anger returning to his eye. Then as Holmes did not speak, he nodded his head slowly and when he spoke it was in a more subdued voice: ‘Yes,’ said he; ‘partly that.’

‘Richard Davenoke’s account, in fact, of the troubles which beset the area during his time, in the early years of the seventeenth century.’

‘That indeed forms part of it. You have obviously read something of the matter, Mr Holmes.’ There was a note of respect in his voice and also something of caution. ‘You will be aware, then, that it is only when a Davenoke succeeds to his inheritance that the secret is vouchsafed to him. I am here because I have sworn to be here. I am acting as I was instructed to act, in a letter which my father left for me with the solicitor. He enjoined upon me that before reading the documents he left for me, I swear an oath upon the Bible that I shall at once study all that my ancestors have written upon the subject, communicating with no one at all whilst I am so engaged, and leaving this chamber only at night-time; and that I shall tell no one of what I have learnt, when I have completed the task. So my father instructed me; so his father had instructed him; so each heir is instructed by the one that has gone before.

‘Do not for one moment suppose that I wished to be here when I knew my wife had returned to the house; but there was nothing I could do about it when once I had pledged my word. I had no idea when I began that the task would be so great, and I thought I should have it finished in a couple of days. But there is so much to read, and the script is so ancient and unfamiliar. There are places, too, where it has almost faded from sight altogether, and these passages I am duty bound to copy out afresh, as my forebears have done, that the story be not lost altogether. The history is written in many hands, among which I recognise that of my own father. But, during all the time I have spent here, not five minutes have passed but I have thought of my wife – Heaven knows, I longed to see her again! One night, I even crept to her bedroom window, hoping to catch a sight of her, but the curtains were drawn and the window was closed and secured in some way, so I did not succeed in my plan.’

‘You succeeded at least in putting terror into your wife’s heart,’ said Holmes sternly. ‘It was a most foolish thing to do. She had already observed your creeping about the lawn in the moonlight, and believed that you were a phantom from another age.’

Davenoke sat down heavily on his chair and clapped his hand to his head.

‘You could at least have sent a message to your wife through your confidant, Hardwick,’ continued Holmes, in a tone of remonstrance.

‘No, no!’ cried the other in a pleading tone. ‘You do not understand! The oath forbids me from speaking to anyone, anyone at all. Hardwick brings me food and takes away my empty plates, and that is all.’

‘Lady Davenoke heard him, one midnight. That also frightened her.’

‘I regret that it did so, but the preservation of secrecy was uppermost in my mind. For it is written that he who breaks his holy oath upon any point shall bring down a curse upon himself and his household.’

Holmes snorted. ‘You wrote a letter to your wife,’ said he, ‘which the butler posted for you, to make it appear that you were in London. If you could communicate to the extent of a lie, you could communicate the truth.’

‘Hardwick left a note with my food one night,’ replied the other after a moment, ‘informing me that Amelia had written to the Royal Suffolk Hotel. At first I intended to do nothing about it, but when he later informed me that she was leaving Shoreswood and would not tell him where she was going, I became desperate. I strongly suspected that she would go to London, and in that moment of desperation I broke my vow of silence, instructed Hardwick to follow her, to ensure that she came to no harm, and hurriedly composed the letter you refer to, telling him to post it while away. I did it for her sake, to reassure her. It seemed the best idea at the time, but I was, as I say, desperate, and not capable of proper judgement upon the matter. I knew I was breaking my oath, but prayed that the curse would not fall upon me. Now, what have I gained? I have succeeded only in invoking the curse while achieving nothing, either for myself or my wife.’