Emma Holloway - A Study in Ashes

Watson heard the call to action in his friend’s voice and felt his blood stir. “What made you join in this Baskerville affair?”

“My brother, Mycroft, believes he recruited me.” Holmes gave him a serious look. “But any doubts I had about the cause vanished the moment the steam barons pushed the makers underground. No nation can survive when the free play of thought is outside the law.”

It was a sobering observation. “How did the Baskervilles become involved in the rebellion? I’ve seen their home. It looks ordinary enough.”

The detective looked down the length of the yew walk toward the house. “Prince Albert was a planner. Even after he had suppressed the steam barons, he could see they would not remain obedient to the Crown and so he set up safeguards. If only he had lived a little longer, he would have strengthened those plans, but he did not. So we are left to work with an imperfect solution—but at least he pointed the way. And he made Sir Charles the keeper of his plan.”

Watson shook his head. “That’s not an explanation. That’s not even a hint.”

Holmes laughed, his mood suddenly light. “Work with it, Doctor; you have all the pieces you need.”

He’d said that to Watson on far too many cases, leaving him stumbling behind in the dark. “Holmes, I loathe it when you say that!”

“And I enjoy watching you puzzle it out. It is most entertaining.” Holmes turned and walked toward the house.

After a moment of stewing frustration, Watson followed. A steam-assisted carriage, looking rather like a smoking horse-drawn tea caddy, had pulled up in front of Baskerville Hall, and both Holmes and Watson hurried to greet the newcomers. The doctor blinked in the gloom as they entered the front hall, but quickly spotted Evelina Cooper and Tobias Roth, accompanied by a lady’s maid no doubt meant in part as chaperone. Evelina launched herself at a slightly flustered Holmes with a squeal of delight. She looked pale, but as pretty as ever, with the waves of her dark hair pulled up under a black straw hat adorned with a spray of pheasant feathers. Mary would like that hat , Watson thought, then remembered his wife was gone.

Evelina turned from greeting her uncle, her lovely blue eyes wide with happiness. “Dr. Watson, I’m so glad you’re here! It’s been ages.”

“Delightful as always to see you, my dear girl.” Watson squeezed her hand, feeling suddenly old. One glance said that she wasn’t actually a girl anymore. He’d heard a little of her misadventures from Holmes, and that experience showed in her confident manner—and in the shadows behind her eyes. Perhaps maturity is the knowledge of how much we can survive .

More greetings were made—congratulations on the birth of Roth’s son, condolences on Mary’s death. Watson paid little attention, instead studying Tobias Roth. Holmes had said it was his job to keep the young man distracted and, if necessary, drugged. It would have been easier to simply kill him, but no one was prepared for cold-blooded murder when a bit of medical mischief could get the job done.

But unless he was mistaken, something was already amiss with the young man. It was hard to tell when they were still wrapped up against the moor winds, but Roth’s color wasn’t good. He looked almost green, and the circles under his eyes were the purple of fading bruises. It was obvious, from the way Evelina hovered near him, that she was worried, too. As Baskerville Hall’s two servants—a surly caretaker named Barrymore and his surlier wife—moved in to deal with luggage, coats, and fresh linens, Watson took the opportunity to pull Roth aside.

“I have been consulting on your sister’s case,” he said, and then wondered about the nurse Holmes had asked him to recommend as a substitute at Hilliard House. Watson had never learned the details, but Holmes had hinted that she might uncover a clue as to what was ailing Miss Imogen Roth.

“Ah, yes, I know.” The young man gave him a tired smile. “My sister still clings to life, for which we all have to thank your excellent care.”

Watson wasn’t so sure about that, but he moved on. “Perhaps, if you have time later, you would permit me to discuss a few ideas for treatment. I am wondering if an unwholesome substance might have brought on this latest fit.”

They were moving toward the stairs, lagging a little behind the others. Tobias was puffing harder than someone of his age and obvious fitness should have. “What do you mean? That my sister was poisoned somehow?”

Actually, Watson was making it up as he went along, but he nodded. Anything to engage Roth in a long conversation that might involve a drug in his brandy, the theft of a key, and so on—although now Watson felt cautious about administering a sedative to someone whose breathing was already compromised. “Since I have worked with Mr. Holmes, I have acquired quite an extensive knowledge of poisons and their antidotes, and what I do not know I have means of finding out.”

For the first time since he’d arrived, a spark came into Roth’s eyes. “Yes, indeed, Doctor, we shall have that conversation.”

Watson gave his most trustworthy smile, exuding the aura of a serious medical professional. “Come to the library once you are settled. The scenery here isn’t much, but Baskerville has a most satisfactory stock of brandy.”

MRS. BARRYMORE, THE HOUSEKEEPER, SHOWED EVELINA TO a small bedchamber that was as spare and old-fashioned as the rest of Baskerville Hall. The only modern convenience she’d detected was the glimpse of a steam-driven lift running up the side of the barn for delivering feed. The steam barons hadn’t yet invaded with their gaslights and engines—but she’d seen plenty of their soldiers patrolling the moor.

The sight of her room did little to comfort her. Like everything else in the house, it felt oppressive. Dark beams crisscrossed a low ceiling and heavy leading made a diamond pattern of an old casement window. The only furniture was a sagging bed, a washstand, and a wardrobe large enough to hide a body. Even the student quarters at the college had been luxurious by comparison.

“Thank you,” said Evelina, wanting to bring a smile to the dour woman’s face. “This is most pleasant.”

Her good manners had little effect. “Your maid can have a bed in the attic with the other servants. We will ring the bell when meals are served. Will that be all, miss?”

Evelina hesitated, slightly taken aback by the woman’s tone. But she had to remember that the Barrymores had suffered a loss, too. “Were you a long time in Sir Charles’s service?”

“Aye, miss.”

“I am very sorry for your loss.”

The woman’s face softened a degree. “Thank you, miss. But there have been so many comings and goings of late that it was no wonder Sir Charles up and died. It was too much for the old man.”

“You have that many visitors here?” Evelina could not help being surprised. They were a long way from anywhere.

“Aye, miss. One gentleman after another, it seems, in the last month. But I suppose with a new head of the household, we’ll be faced with entertaining more.”

“I imagine Mr. Edmond Baskerville will be a pleasant master.”

“He is not the heir, miss. Sir Charles took him in as a babe and raised him as one of the family and he turned out as good a young man as you please. But there is a nephew, Mr. Henry Baskerville—Sir Henry now—who will be coming home from Toronto to take up residence at the hall.” And she didn’t sound particularly pleased about the fact.

So Edmond took Sir Charles’s name, but was never formally adopted . That kept things simple where an entailed estate was involved, but it was still an interesting fact, especially where there was suspicion of murder. If Sir Henry was overseas and Edmond was not the heir, that weakened any argument to include them as suspects.