Sherlock Holmes - Found Dead

  Table of Contents

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  ALSO BY LYN McCONCHIE

  DEDICATION

  DEAD IN A KITCHEN CHAIR

  TO WHOM IT MAY CONCERN

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  Copyright © 2018 by Lyn McConchie.

  All rights reserved.

  Published by Wildside Press LLC.

  wildsidepress.com | bcmystery.com

  ALSO BY LYN MCCONCHIE

  Sherlock Holmes: Repeat Business

  Sherlock Holmes: Beastly Mysteries

  Sherlock Holmes: Poisonous People

  Sherlock Holmes: Catalyst

  Sherlock Holmes: Familiar Crimes

  Sherlock Holmes: Strange Events

  DEDICATION

  To Bibi Lewis, who very kindly allowed me to use her first name as a character, and to Linda Lefau, an ornament to her profession and her company—Vodaphone.

  DEAD IN A KITCHEN CHAIR

  1

  I was reading the newspaper when I heard the sound of an automobile drawing up outside. I glanced out the window and spoke to Holmes, who sat perusing a new book on fossils.

  “Lord Temberton is calling,” I said.

  “Alone?”

  A smaller, slighter figure joined our acquaintance on the pavement. “No, he has a young lady with him.”

  “Ah, a relative most probably, one with a problem beyond his lordship, thus she is brought to us.”

  As we discovered, once our visitors had arrived, settled themselves and prepared to explain, Holmes was right.

  Temberton began. “This is my second cousin, Miss Bibiana Paget. Her mother is my father’s cousin. She has a story to tell you, but first permit me to explain some of the background.”

  And that he did. Miss Bibiana lived in a small village named Ashwood, near one of Lord Temberton’s principal estates. Her family settled there when her father, an ambassador to Persia for some years, returned home on the death of his father, to settle into the life of a country squire. Miss Bibiana, the only child of her parents, had been given her name from a Persian word meaning ‘lady.’ From the age of five, when the family had returned to their native land, she had been raised to care for the village people, that being the duty of a squire and his family.

  “In later years this had fallen more and more upon her, since her mother has become an invalid and her father is concerned with her care. Bibi, as she is more commonly known, reads to the housebound, brings delicacies to tempt the appetite of the sick, and generally goes amongst the people of the village helping where she is able. Amongst those whom she visited was a man named Collin Melrose.”

  Holmes raised an eyebrow. “She was permitted to visit a man? Alone?”

  Temberton grinned. “Collin was in his early sixties and dying from a kidney and liver ailment. It was all he could do to move from his bed to a chair by the fire for a few hours each afternoon. Bibi would have been in no danger from him, even was he so inclined.”

  I studied the young lady. She would be around eighteen or nineteen, dressed neatly and with propriety, but in clothing that looked to be more comfortable than any extreme of fashion. Her eyes were a shade between hazel and light brown while her hair was a medium brown with the gloss of health. She did appear to be generally healthy, in fact, and while she was not above average height, the tendons in her wrists were strong, suggesting that she rode, and possibly that she also, in the course of her ministrations, lifted heavier items quite regularly. I broke in.

  “Miss Bibiana, do you aid in nursing the sick?”

  She looked at me. “I do. Why do you ask, Doctor?”

  “And do you ride?”

  A slight flush colored her high cheekbones. “I have a hack with which I find it easier in the fine weather to reach the outer areas in the village and to visit the outlying farms. We have a pony trap I use, too, but for some visits its use makes the journey far longer. With George, my horse, I can cut across country.”

  I sat back. Yes, that explained her look of health and strength. It was likely her family accepted that a sick man could not easily—or silently—overcome her, even if her unaccompanied travels were a little unusual.

  Lord Temberton eyed me with amusement. “I should say,” he added smoothly, “that many of my kinsman’s postings over his career sent him to rather wild countries. The lady he married is neither faint of heart nor deeply conventional even now, and they feel that Miss Bibiana should not be taught to be over-nervous in her excursions. When she drives, her nurse commonly accompanies her, and when she rides, her groom is usually available, but on occasion it is true that she does go out unaccompanied, nor does her father object so long as she is circumspect.”

  The girl spoke quietly. “Poor Mr. Melrose was in no fit condition to attack me, if that is your consideration, Doctor. I leave Peter, my groom, outside, since the cottage is small, and Peter—is not.” A sudden flashing smile lit her face. “Indeed, he is also tall, and to enter he would have to bend down, and on the only occasion he did accompany me inside he forgot to bend again when departing and struck his head a stunning blow. Mr. Melrose was deeply distressed, and after that I left Peter outside with the horses.”

  Holmes nodded. “Mr. Melrose was ill?”

  “He was dying,” Miss Bibiana said quietly. “He was my father’s boyhood friend, the son of my grandfather’s gamekeeper. He learned a profession and went on to work in London for many years, coming home to the cottage—which he earlier inherited—when his illness came upon him seven years ago. He had savings and said to me that he was unlikely to outlive them. My father told me that he would see that Collin did not die in want, whatever happened.”

  Her fingers abruptly twisted against each other.

  “But his savings out-lasted him,” my friend said softly, “and you do not think this was quite as expected. You believe his death to have been perhaps—hastened?”

  Temberton cut in. “That is so. I believe it improbable. There is no motive, no reason anyone should have wanted the man dead. But Bibi…” He broke off.

  “But…” The girl took up his narrative. “She does not have any proof, or any specific motive for such an act, yet she believes Collin Melrose did not die from his illness, and there she sticks. I really could not tell you exactly why I believe that there was something unusual in Collin’s death, but so I think.” She faced us, my friend and I, a steely quality in her eyes.

  “And until I know, I shall not leave this be. I have said nothing to my parents, for it would distress them to think that Collin died other than peacefully, but I will know the truth, nor will I rest until I do. I brought this to my kinsman, knowing he would not brush off my concerns, as he has not.” And I could see by the determination on her face that she meant every word.

  Holmes glanced across at me and then at the clock, and I nodded, rising from my chair to call down to Mrs. Hudson. Once the afternoon tea-tray was brought up, we ate and drank, uttering mere commonplaces about those in town known to all, about the curious affair of a possible spy—yet again in the Naval Offices—and about the next archaeological expedition Temberton planned. Once we were done and the tray piled with empty, crumb-strewn plates, I removed that and returned to my chair, waiting for Holmes to speak.

  He leaned forward slightly, fixing his eyes on the girl. “Begin from when you first met Collin Melrose. Tell me of him, all you were told or learned.” He saw the beginnings of a frown and spoke more curtly. “In knowing a victim, you may also learn of his murderer. Your village is somewhat isolated, and it is unlikely that someone should travel to it to commit a robbery. You have said nothing of disorder in the cottage or of items missing. Therefore, if murder this was, someone went t
here specifically to carry it out, for they made no attempt to make it appear to be robbery, believing their act would be unrecognized as murder.”

  “Or it was not a murder, is what you mean,” she said in reply. “You think me a silly child, seeing phantoms where there are none.”

  “No,” Holmes replied levelly. “I think you may be right. Waste no more time and tell me what you can of this man.”

  Perhaps reassured by his very terseness, she nodded once and began her tale. Collin Melrose had indeed been the boyhood friend of her father, and when Mr. Paget had gone on to university, Collin obtained a small scholarship that enabled him to train as a schoolmaster. Since the schoolmaster in the village was firmly entrenched and there could be no place for Melrose there for many years to come, he trained in London. There he remained, working at three schools in the course of the next thirty years, rising to be headmaster, valued and esteemed by pupils and school boards alike. Ten years ago, the old schoolmaster in Miss Bibiana’s locale wished to retire, and several wealthy men of the area decided they would like a new, larger school, more evenly placed between the nearest three villages.

  “Cousin Temberton gave the land, the others provided the funds, and a new school was built that is twice the size of the original. It has a roll of almost ninety pupils, with a headmaster and three teachers, and attached to the school are a number of scholarships.”

  Temberton nodded. “Not all are for further schooling,” he added. “Three are to assist other learning at need. In cases where a boy is the support of a widowed mother, for instance, and could not afford to take up an apprenticeship, the scholarship would provide an allowance until the lad completes his apprenticeship and brings in an acceptable wage. We have seen nine cases of this so far, all recipients are now in full employment and their families greatly benefitted thereby.”

  I could only agree. “Yes, and to have someone who now has full qualifications would also improve a village in general. The more so if they remain and later take on an apprentice themselves.”

  Miss Bibiana learned forward eagerly. “That is so! I have often heard Collin—Mr. Melrose—talk of this. He says that each boy whose life is improved becomes a higher step from which the next generation can begin to climb, enriching themselves and their lot. He says, too, that the obverse are the lads who had the interest and the ability but not the money or the training, and their promise is a light extinguished.”

  Lord Temberton laid a hand on her arm. “You are right, cousin, but, ah…”

  He stopped, and her gaze met his.

  She laughed. “No, cousin, I promise that while I liked Mr. Melrose, and I esteem him—esteemed him—highly, my feelings for him were those of a young woman for an uncle. And, while I may flatter myself, I think he was fond of me, considering me as a niece, or perhaps the daughter he once told me he had always wished for but never had.”

  I saw Lord Temberton’s face relax. A short silence was broken by Holmes.

  “Tell me of your first meeting with Mr. Melrose. How did you come to visit him?”

  Miss Bibiana settled back, “The doctor mentioned him. He said that Mr. Melrose was ill and would not recover, but that it could take him a long time to die. His patient found reading exhausting, and perhaps I would see my way clear to visit now and again and read to him

  “I went the next day, introducing myself and finding that I would be most welcome.” She smiled. “I think that of the two of us, I benefitted the most. He had a good mind and was always happy to discuss current events, argue over government decisions, and dissect newspaper articles or stories. I learned to think more clearly and to argue cogently. I learned, too, to appreciate a wide range of topics.

  “He knew much about horses, as well, and I took his advice when I looked for my newest mount. Indeed, one of the women in the village told me that in his youth he had been a very fine rider, and my father confirmed it.”

  Her eyes abruptly glittered. “Then some busybody in the village complained to my father of the time I spent with Collin. My father told them contact with a fine mind was rarely to anyone’s detriment, and I would never come to harm there.”

  She sat back, sighing. “He was wrong, perhaps. I admired a man who argued without rancor, examined facts without prejudice, and who taught me to think, examining both sides of a question. For three years I sat as a student at his feet and learned a great deal. I am less inclined now to be attracted to a good-looking person when I find they do not share an open and agile mind. Collin always said that a meeting of the minds is far more important that a meeting of bodies.”

  Holmes caught Temberton’s outraged eye and signaled him to silence. “Yes,” he agreed. “A woman who will inherit must always be cautious, and mutual understanding is valuable. Now, let us go to the day you found your friend dead. How long was it since you had seen him, and at what time of the day did you call? I want to know everything you can remember.”

  With that demand, she proceeded to explain that she had not been there the previous day, since her mother had taken her up to London. She had visited on the day before that trip, however. As a result of her day’s absence, she arrived around eight-thirty. Her friend was always awake by then, and Mrs. James, the local woman who cooked and cleaned for him, would normally have finished her initial work.

  She met our gazes. “Something was sorely amiss. I went alone, tapped on the door, and upon hearing no call for me to enter I opened it. From the doorstep I could see Collin was dead. He was sitting in a kitchen chair, one of the two that always flanked the hearth. He must have died there the previous afternoon, but that is impossible. He was no longer able to reach the chair without assistance and had someone helped him there, they would have returned to help him to bed again. I asked the doctor, the district nurse, those in the village, and all have denied doing this.”

  Holmes considered. “I see why you are incredulous. Why should someone who committed a charitable act then deny it—unless the act was not so charitable.”

  “I suppose it possible that they returned to find him dead and were afraid they might be blamed. I have considered that, yet I am unable to think why that should be. After all, he has been dying for some time. It was no secret to anyone within the village. All knew it was only a matter of time.”

  “Describe to me Mr. Melrose’s cottage,” said Holmes.

  Her fingers twisted together. “As to the cottage, it is four rooms. The largest was the original cottage, left to Mr. Melrose by a bachelor uncle who was a carpenter. To that Mr. Melrose added a double room with a hall down the center. On one side is a kitchen, on the other his bedroom. The large room was his sitting room and library. Along one wall he had added a long, narrow room that served as a bathroom—there was a rainwater tank with a copper inside for laundry and bathwater—and against the wall from the copper was a large cupboard for airing clothing and linens. Within the main room there is a fireplace, which also heats water for kitchen and bathroom. The water comes via a pipe from the outside tank. If the doors within the cottage are left open, the fire is sufficient to warm all. Collin always said that he so appreciated being able to retire to a warm bedroom.”

  “What of outbuildings?” I asked.

  “None, unless you count the room to one side of the back porch. It has a roof but no door and is enclosed on three sides. There he keeps his boots and rain-ware, umbrella, and a stack of firewood and kindling. A window looks out upon the fields. He has a vegetable garden and several fruit trees, and, oh yes, of course, there was a garden shed beyond the garden. But it is merely for tools and contains nothing of value.”

  I noticed that again and again she referred to the gentleman in the present tense, changing to past tense as she remembered. It was clear that she had still not come to terms with his death, which was not surprising if she believed him to have been murdered.

  I asked, “Miss Bibiana, do you believe your friend to have been murdered? Or it that you simply cannot understand the circumstances of his b
eing in that chair when you found him?”

  “Call me Bibi, everyone does,” she said, while a thoughtful look spread over her countenance. “It was strange,” she continued, speaking almost to herself. “There he was in the chair. I thought at first that he was drowsing. But he could not get from bed to chair without help. I suspected that in another few weeks I might not be strong enough to help him and would have to ask Peter, my groom, to come in to support him.”

  I spoke softly so as not to interrupt her remembrances. “I suppose he had medications, such as laudanum, perhaps? Did you check to see if they were still there, and that in none of their containers was there less than there should have been?”

  “Yes. I feared he might have made away with himself, but his medicines were all there, and he told me only three days earlier that the pain wasn’t truly bad as yet. He might have done—something—once he could not move from his bed, but not before, not while he didn’t hurt so much. He still took a great interest in his visitors, his books, and hearing the news. I looked everywhere, just in case, but everything that should have been present was there.”

  “And his visitors?” Holmes said equally quietly. “Who called on him that day you were gone?”

  At this she seemed to recollect herself. “No one, Mr. Holmes. Once poor Collin took to his bed he had his bed moved into the main room. Those in the nearby cottages can see anyone who comes or goes from that door and both the James family and their neighbors say they were home all day and saw no one. It is that which is so odd, don’t you see? Someone must have helped him from bed to chair but they saw no one. And his only callers were those who knew him. They knew he could not return to his bed without aid. Why would a friend leave him sitting, waiting for the fire to die, leaving him to grow cold and miserable?” Something seemed to strike her at that and Holmes noticed.

  “You have recalled something about the fire?”

  “It can be nothing, and yet—when I entered, the room was still very warm. He must have had someone call. The fire would not have burned so well until morning without it was made up and banked quite late, and Mrs. James swears she had not done so.”