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

‘Did the footsteps return the way they had come?’ interrupted Holmes, without opening his eyes. ‘Did they, that is to say, approach specifically to your door and then recede, or did they merely pass it by as they went from one end of the corridor to the other?’

‘I cannot be certain upon the point,’ replied our visitor. ‘I believe they began at one end of the corridor and ended at the other.’

‘Is the situation of your room such that anyone might naturally pass it to reach somewhere else?’

‘It is possible. My bedroom is on the ground floor of the west wing – the only part of the house which is inhabited, in fact – and I suppose that one of the servants might have passed my door.’

‘You sound doubtful.’

‘I cannot imagine what anyone would be doing at that time of night. As far as I knew, everyone had retired to bed long before.’

‘Was your door locked?’

‘It is impossible to lock it, for there is no key.’

‘Very well; pray proceed.’

‘On Wednesday I drove over to Framlingham to see Mr Blackstone, from whom I had received a letter that morning confirming the arrangement. He is a large, jovial man and welcomed me into his chambers with effusive cordiality. When I informed him of the purpose of my visit, however, he was quite taken aback.

‘“To my certain knowledge,” said he, leafing through a sheaf of papers upon his large desk, “there is no outstanding business connected either with the estate or with his late father’s affairs which should require Sir Edward’s attention at the present. There are a couple of trivial matters, but I am dealing with them myself. Furthermore,” he added, a perplexed look upon his features, “that he should need to be in London is a mystery all by itself. For after Sir John retired from Parliament he had nothing to do with London whatever. Indeed, so far as I know, he never went up there once in the eighteen months before his death.”

‘“Edward gave you no indication at any time, then, of what it was that necessitated his presence in London?”

‘“None whatever and I saw him only a short time ago in this very room, immediately after the death of his father. I am sure that had there been anything upon his mind, he would have informed me.”

‘“What business brought him here?”

‘“I had requested that he come in to see me. There was a minor matter to be dealt with, concerning the tenancy of one of the farms on the estate and also an instruction which his father had given me some time ago.”

‘“Could either of these matters have obliged Edward to leave for London?” I asked.

‘“Oh, dear me, no. The first was a very trivial piece of business. The second merely concerned a bundle of old documents pertaining to Shoreswood which Sir John had deposited with me some years ago: upon his death I was to give them to Edward, provided that he had attained his twenty-first birthday at that time.”

‘“He evidently left them with you a long time ago.”

‘“Indeed, yes,” returned the solicitor. He examined his records for a few minutes. “In ’68,” said he at length; “nineteen years ago. Edward would have been only a small boy of seven or so then. Indeed, it is almost back in the time of old Sir Geoffrey, Edward’s grandfather. He was a fine old gentleman. A bit of a madcap, but a grand old fellow nonetheless. What the old documents were to do with, I cannot say, I’m afraid, for the bundle was tied and sealed with Sir John’s own ring, bearing the Davenoke crest, and he did not vouchsafe to me the contents. They appeared, so far as I could see, to be a collection of ancient deeds, depositions and so on – papers of such obvious antiquity that they certainly cannot be of any current concern. I am sorry that I cannot assist you further, but do not hesitate to consult me again at any time. I am always here,” he added after a moment, with an avuncular smile. “Indeed, I have been here longer than I care to remember. I have handled the affairs of the Davenokes for nigh on thirty years, and seen three generations of them come and go in these chambers.”

‘I thanked him for his help and left him sighing at the passage of time, and murmuring “dear, dear” over and over to himself. I felt frustrated once more in my efforts to learn what business it was that had obliged my husband to leave for London so abruptly, and it was with great reluctance that I made my way back to Shoreswood. No letter from Edward had arrived in my absence to cheer me and my heart sank yet further.

‘That night I placed an upright chair against my bedroom door, with a pair of shoes balanced upon the back, as I had done the night before. Should my door be opened whilst I slept, the noise of the falling shoes would surely awaken me. Against whom or what I sought to protect myself, I could not say; I knew only that I feared the vulnerability of sleep.

‘Such precautions began to seem superfluous, however, as I watched the long hours of the night pass without sleep closing my eyes. It was about two o’clock, when a slight noise from the garden caught my attention. It was a hard, clinking noise, as of one stone falling upon another, but distant and faint. I left my bed and pulled aside the curtain. The night was dark and still, and at first I could see nothing, but all at once I descried what appeared to be a faint, yellowish light, moving in silence among the chapel ruins, like a will-o’-the-wisp. For several minutes I followed its movements, round and about the ruins, until it vanished abruptly, as if extinguished. I waited at the window a little while, but it did not reappear. I was turning away, when out of the darkness, from the direction of the ruins, came another faint noise, just the same as the one I had heard before. I pulled the casement shut as best I could, but the wood of the frame is warped and ill-fitting and it is not even possible to close it fully, let alone secure the catch. However, I found a length of ribbon and knotted this around the handles. It was a flimsy safeguard, I knew, but it was better than nothing. As I returned to my bed I realised that I was shaking and trembling in every limb, as if with cold, although the night was a mild one. I hoped with all my heart that the morning’s post would bring a letter from my husband.

‘Alas! my hopes were in vain; my husband had sent no reply. I passed the day in melancholy solitude, scarcely leaving my room except to take my meals in the gloomy, shadowed dining-room. From the walls above me as I ate, rows of dark and faded portraits of Edward’s ancestors gazed down upon me in silence, and seemed to watch me closely with their malicious, staring eyes. The timbers of the floor and the panelling upon the walls creaked and groaned as I sat there. Hardwick informed me that it was the effect of the hot, dry weather upon the old wood, but it seemed to me as if the house itself resented my presence and grumbled with malevolence against me. On a sudden thought, I asked the butler if anyone at Shoreswood had ever seen lights of any kind at night. He shook his head.

‘“Do you mean what is termed the ‘will-o’-the-wisp’, or in some parts ‘jack-o’-lantern’?” said he in a thoughtful voice.

‘“Yes, that’s it, Hardwick. You have seen it then?”

‘Again he shook his head.

‘“I have heard of the phenomenon, madam, but I regret that I have never been privileged to witness it. I believe it occurs in more marshy areas. I have never heard of its being seen in these parts. Might I enquire the reason for your interest in the subject, madam?”

‘“Because I saw a moving light last night, in the ruined chapel.”

‘As I spoke these words, it seemed to me that a spark of fear sprang up in the man’s eyes, but he said nothing. Later in the day I put the same questions to Mrs Pybus, the cook.