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

‘It was evident that Edward was saddened by the remembrance of these events and I sought to cheer him. I asked him to tell me more of his family. His brow cleared and, with the ready smile which so often illumined his handsome features, he consented.

‘“Some say that there has been a streak of insanity in the family all along,” he began. My face must have betrayed the surprise I felt at so bald a statement on such a dreadful subject, for Edward took one look at me and let out a roar of laughter. I knew then that he was teasing me, as he had done upon numerous other occasions. I chided him, but could not, I confess, resist a smile myself. There was something so noble and refined about him that the lightest of remarks could sound sublime when it was he who spoke them.

‘“I will tell you of the family legend,” he continued after a moment, the same smile still playing about his features.

‘“Please do,” I returned eagerly, for I had heard him allude before to some old legend which concerned his family and their ancestral home at Shoreswood.

‘“It is said that the Hall holds a dark secret,” he began, “a secret whose origins lie in the distant past. There is, so it is said, a mysterious chamber hidden deep within the bowels of the Hall and it is in this chamber that the secret lies. Of its nature, none can tell. Some say that a terrible monster is kept there, some hideous, unspeakable beast for which the family is in some way responsible; but there are numerous other opinions upon the matter, none of them very pleasant.”

‘“Surely you do not believe these old legends?”

‘“Of course not, dear,” Edward replied, smiling warmly and taking my hand in his. “But, really, I can speak with no more authority upon the matter than the local guide-book; for it is only when the heir takes possession of the estate that the secret is vouchsafed to him. It is said, however, that knowledge of the secret turns each happy heir into a sorrowful man.”

‘“Has your father ever spoken of the legend, or of the secret room?” I asked.

‘Edward shook his head. “I used to ask him about it when I was young, but he always brushed aside my questions without answer. Once, however, when I was eighteen, I chanced to raise the subject again, one dark evening after dinner. ‘Listen very carefully, Edward,’ said my father then, in a grave voice, ‘and remember my words. I am going to speak one sentence to you and it will be the only sentence I shall ever speak upon the subject this side of the grave. It is this: The lord of the manor of Shoreswood does not refer to the legend – never , you understand – neither of his own volition nor in answer to the question of another.’ With that he stood up from the dinner-table and walked from the room in silence. Of course, it all seemed a little exaggerated to me at the time, but I could not help but be deeply impressed by the serious tones in which my father had spoken. Moreover, from that day to this he has been as true as his word.”

‘“What does it mean, Edward?” I asked, anxious to hear again that laughter which could dispel all my fears and doubts.

‘He shook his head, however, and there was a look of perplexity upon his face. “My father is the only one who can answer that question at present,” he replied at length, “and he is not disposed to speak upon the matter.”

‘I did not take any of this very seriously, at the time, Mr Holmes,’ said Lady Davenoke in an unsteady voice, ‘but now—’

‘The old manor-houses of England are full of such legends, Lady Davenoke,’ said Holmes briskly. ‘They are relicts of a bygone age, an age of darkness and superstition, fit material for a history of human folly and wickedness, but of no other value. I have myself often considered writing such a history, but have been deterred by the sheer volume of material available.’

For a second, our client’s eyes flashed fire and a look of resolution came over her wan features.

‘You would not speak so glibly of old tales had you spent a night at Shoreswood Hall,’ said she angrily. ‘You would not make merry on human wickedness did you feel it all around you, every waking minute of your life – yes, and in every troubled moment of sleep, too.’ She paused for a moment, then continued in an altered tone: ‘Oh, but I see it now. I see by your face, Mr Holmes, that you were deliberately provoking me. You hoped to solve my problems for me by ridiculing that which I fear.’

‘Nevertheless, Lady Davenoke, what I say is true. There is nothing to be gained by dwelling upon vague and ancient fears.’

‘But if the fears become more tangible and immediate?’

‘Then they may be justified and I may be able to help you. Pray continue with your story. Despite the various misgivings to which you have alluded, you accepted Edward Davenoke when he asked for your hand, I take it.’

Holmes leaned back in his chair once more, his eyelids drooping, his fingertips together, the very picture of motionless concentration.

‘Edward proposed to me on Saturday, November the twenty-seventh, last year,’ said our visitor, her eyes shining with evident pleasure at the memory. ‘I had never been so happy in my life and, in truth, I believe Aunt Juliana was as thrilled as I was. We at once cabled my parents, who came over as soon as they were able, and we all spent Christmas at Shoreswood, before returning to America in the new year. It had been decided that the wedding would take place here in July, and so it did, just over six weeks ago, on Saturday the eighth. It was then, incidentally, that I first met Lady Congrave, who has recently been so kind to me. She is a distant cousin of Edward’s, upon his mother’s side.

‘We were to have left for the continent immediately afterwards, but Edward’s father fell ill on the day of the wedding and our holiday was postponed. Three weeks later, Sir John appeared to be completely recovered and we at length began our foreign travels. Alas! we had been in Paris scarcely two days when news came that he had suffered a relapse and that the doctors feared for his life. Edward at once returned to England, but as arrangements had already been made for us to travel to Montpelier, where friends were expecting us that day, it was decided that I should travel on alone, to explain the circumstances. Edward promised that he would keep me informed by wire as to his father’s condition.

‘Four days later I received a telegram informing me that Sir John had died in the night. I returned to England as quickly as I could, leaving most of my luggage behind in Montpelier, but it took me a good three days, and by the time I arrived at Harwich I was almost beside myself with tiredness. To my surprise, there was no one there to meet me, nor any message of explanation, although I had sent a wire to Shoreswood, just before I boarded the boat. I wired again from the railroad depot, to say when I should arrive at Wickham Market station, but when the train pulled in there, the only face I recognised was that of Staples, the Shoreswood groom. He is a sour-faced man, certainly not whom I would have chosen to meet me, and I confess I was bitterly disappointed. He informed me, with little effort at civility, that the funeral of his late master had already taken place and that my husband, Sir Edward, as he now was, had left Shoreswood the previous day. This surprised me greatly and I enquired where my husband had gone; but Staples just shrugged his shoulders in a surly fashion and declared that no one had troubled to tell him anything of the matter. If I wished to know more I must enquire of Hardwick, the butler, for he had driven Sir Edward to the railway station.

‘When we reached Shoreswood I was further surprised to find that Edward had left no letter of explanation for me. Hardwick seemed most distressed about this and almost came to the point of apologising for it himself, as if he felt he were partly to blame. He is an old and trusted servant, who has been at Shoreswood for many years, and I have no doubt he still regards Edward as the small boy he used to know; but, even allowing for this, his manner struck me as odd and inappropriate, in a way I could not quite define. He informed me that Edward had been obliged to leave for London, to attend to certain urgent matters in connection with his father’s estate, but could supply no further details. He had no idea when Edward might return.