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

‘It was scarcely the homecoming I had expected, alone in that unfriendly house, save for a handful of unprepossessing servants, to whom I was a virtual stranger. That night Shoreswood Hall seemed colder and more gloomy than I had ever known it before, but I consoled myself with the thought that Edward and I should no doubt be united once more in a few days’ time.’

‘One moment,’ interrupted Holmes. ‘Would you say that your husband’s apparently impetuous behaviour was in character, or not?’

‘He could he impulsive,’ Lady Davenoke replied hesitantly; ‘yes, I have known him impulsive in his actions. But he would always keep me informed. I have never known him inconsiderate in that respect before.’

‘Perhaps,’ suggested Holmes, ‘he did not expect to be away very long and thought that he would be back at Shoreswood before you returned from France.’

‘It is possible,’ returned Lady Davenoke, a note of enthusiasm in her voice. ‘Indeed, I think it very possible; I had not looked at the matter in that way before.’

‘Well, well, pray proceed with your account.’

‘The days passed without any word from Edward and I began to feel that something was very wrong. I felt so isolated and alone in that old dark house. Again I questioned Hardwick, but he could add nothing to what he had already told me.

‘“Sir Edward has gone to London,” said he. “That is all that I know.” And yet, this time I sensed that there was something evasive in his manner, as if perhaps he did know more, after all, but would not admit to it. I felt the same evasiveness when I questioned him as to what Edward had been doing on the days preceding my return. Needless to say, I learnt nothing.

‘At night-time my sleep was fitful and light, and I began to fancy that I could hear strange noises somewhere in the still darkness of the old house. Upon the fourth night I was awakened about one o’clock by the distant and muffled barking of a dog. It brought back to my mind Edward’s beloved Belgian Sheepdog and I realised that I had not seen the animal since my return. When I enquired of the groom next morning where Bruno might be, I was informed that he was locked up in the stables. I asked for him to be let out, but the man refused in the most surly of tones, saying that he was confined upon his master’s own express instructions. Sir Edward had been taking personal charge of the dog’s training, Staples informed me, and feared that if he were allowed to roam loose, without his master’s control, he would forget all that he had been taught, revert to his former undisciplined state and be forever unmanageable in the future. I argued the point with the groom; but he was adamant that he would not go against what he said my husband had told him and eventually I had to accept it, maddening though it was to yield to his insolent manner. Even the company of animals, I reflected, was denied me.

‘I have mentioned that I was having difficulty in sleeping at night, often lying awake for hours at a time, and it was this that took me next day to the family physician, Dr Ruddock. He is a kindly, grey-haired old gentleman, who squinted at me through his old-fashioned gilt pince-nez as I entered his consulting-room. He recommended a herbal infusion for my insomnia and then began to speak to me of the family into which I had so recently married, and to which he had been physician for so many years.

‘“They are a highly strung, nervous family,” said he. “They find it difficult to approach life calmly, and cannot take rest when they ought. I am hoping,” he added with a smile, “that you will have a steadying, calming effect upon young Sir Edward. He is often so serious and intense, and does not feel he can spare the time for leisurely reflection. But he should and you must insist upon it. Matters are rarely so pressing that one cannot lean on a gate-post for five minutes and admire the sunset – yes, and be all the better for it! His father was just the same, you know: always dashing about, as if his life depended upon it. It is my opinion that he might be with us still had he been of a steadier disposition.”

‘“Of what did he die?” I asked.

‘For a moment Dr Ruddock looked surprised. “Did you not know?” said he. “But of course, I was forgetting – you were in France at the time. Sir John had a sudden apoplectic seizure late one night. I was called, but there was nothing that could be done.” He shook his head. “To be perfectly frank, it was not entirely unexpected, sad as it was. However, it is Edward’s health which has been weighing most heavily upon my mind of late.”

‘This was news indeed to me, for apart from a slight attack of megrim, to which he is prone, Edward had seemed to me to be in the very best of health when we were last together, in Paris.

‘“I suppose the death of his father unseated him a little,” replied Dr Ruddock in answer to my query. “The last time I saw him – it would be the day after his father’s funeral – he was in a very agitated state. ‘Can you give me something to provide me with a little extra energy, Doctor?’ said he, gripping my arm nervously as he spoke. ‘My dear boy,’ I returned at once. ‘What you need is a good rest. It is evident that you are overwrought by recent events and by the thought of your new responsibilities. That is understandable, but you must not let things get on top of you. I recommend a week in bed.’ ‘No, no; I cannot,’ said he, shaking his head vigorously. ‘I have much to do and no time for lying idly about.’ With that he was off, before I could remonstrate with him further.”

‘“And I suppose you have no idea,” I asked, “where it was he was off to with such urgency?”

‘“None whatever,” replied the kindly old man, with a shake of the head; “nor what it was that he had to do that was so important as to make him ignore his doctor’s advice! If it were anything to do with the estate, I imagine his solicitor might know, but I’m afraid that I cannot enlighten you upon the matter.”

‘I left Dr Ruddock’s consulting-room that morning feeling more forlorn than ever. I had the disconcerting sensation that things were afoot of which I knew nothing. Before returning home I visited the church-yard, to pay my last respects to my late father-in-law, and stood long in thought beside his tomb. He at least was now at peace and mundane cares would trouble him no longer; the stewardship of Shoreswood, I reflected with a heavy heart, now lay in Edward’s hands and in mine.

‘That afternoon I wrote two letters. I had recalled Edward’s telling me that, when in London, the family always stayed at the Royal Suffolk Hotel in the City, so I wrote to him there, asking him to get in touch with me and let me know when he would be returning, for I felt in sore need of his company. The second letter was to the family solicitor, Mr Arthur Blackstone of Framlingham, informing him that I should be calling upon him, if it were convenient, in two days’ time. I doubted very much that I should learn anything there, but it at least gave me an opportunity to get away for a while from the melancholy loneliness of Shoreswood Hall.

‘I took a draught of Dr Ruddock’s infusion that night and it seemed to be effective, for I fell asleep more easily than before. Some hours later, however, I was awakened quite abruptly by a noise somewhere in the house. I sat up in bed and listened, my ears straining to catch any sound of the night. For a minute, I heard nothing, then, softly, there came the sound of steps approaching my bedroom door. The flesh upon my face seemed to creep and my heart to stop beating, as those horrible, soft, padded steps came closer. Never in my life had I been so terrified as at that moment. All Edward had told me of the family legend came rushing back to my mind in a confused surge. My throat constricted and I could take no breath. Then, as softly as they had approached, I heard the steps pad away, down the corridor, until I heard them no more.’