บท 8: PRACTICE TO DECEIVE (Parts 5&6 of 6)
PART FIVE: Getting the Knack.
Watson arrived at the jail late in the day, to discover that Holmes had been offered, and accepted, bail the previous morning. Watson was caught off-guard by this as Holmes' cottage had seemed quite empty of habitation and the little maid certainly did not know Holmes had returned. He returned to the cottage to wait, instructing the driver to return for him in the morning, though in truth he had little idea where he might be going. It was simply that the area was remote and he might otherwise become stranded there.
As the evening progressed he set a candle in concave glass and sat in the gloom of the rustic environment, contemplating the many advantages of gas and electricity, which the meticulous Holmes seemed to be doing without.
A tentative knock on the door revealed a cheerful woman carrying a covered basket.
"Hello, Dr Watson?" she called with unnecessary volume. "My Rosie mentioned you were here. I act as cook for Mr. Holmes, and in his absence I though I might do the same for you, being paid already to the end of the month, I believe I should."
She bustled on without waiting for the courtesy of an invitation and set about her preparations. The old wood stove was quite cold and she tutted over lighting it.
"When Holmes was here there was always an ember or two to be had from the previous night, and it gave the room a little heat," she muttered. "These old things don't like to get their bellies cold I tell you. I have a nice bit of pheasant here and some tatties, and some fresh beans which I hope will do."
Watson could only agree that they would do very well, and he had to admit that he was hungry from his travels. The one room cottage made for a familiarity that he wasn't entirely comfortable with, though the cook seemed oblivious as she prattled on. To cover his unease, Watson picked up a book that was resting beside Holmes' bed.
At first he was rather disappointed to find it an old tome on the law, but then inspiration struck him. He held the book between his palms and then let it fall open to wherever the pages parted easiest. It fell to a section of fine print marked in sections by county. Leafing back he found the chapter was on the subject of the laws of primogeniture for various aristocracies, the laws that govern the inheritance of land and title. He pushed the book up close to the guttering candle and read intently.
When he finished the section he closed the book thoughtfully and sat for a moment more in contemplative silence.
The cook's one sided conversation had touched on the topics of vegetable preparation, weather and lambing. Most of which Watson had largely ignored. His attention was caught, however, at the mention of Holmes name."
"...Not such a formidable gentleman after all. I mean I just happened to mention as how Harry had broken his arm and couldn't drive the hay wain for the Maying. Itls not crucial mind, but the children do so love to ride in the wain down to the field and those big old horses are nice to have around for it. Now Holmes says that he could do it if Harry will trust him with the beasts and the rig. Well, there he is the next morning strapping the old girls in and geeing them up like he was born to it, and him quite obviously a city gentlemen really, and the Duchess's children came down and looked after the little ones which is very good of them. They seemed to be very partial to Mr. Holmes; it was funny to watch as how the girl has got no way with children at all, but Bobby, he'll be a dandy father."
Watson considered that he had been neglecting a fine source of information about Holmes doings in these parts.
"He often liked to drive the cabs, in London," Watson offered. "He always said it was a devil of a job to follow a man across the city, if one could simply arrange to be given the address and drive him there yourself."
"Oh but I do wonder, he looks such a gentlemen. I mean he drove that big old wagon, would you believe, wearing a pair of buff evening gloves. He said he hadn't any other gloves, and didn't mind if they were ruined, as he didn't have any use for the things down here anyway. Even the Lord in these parts not tending to go about very much dressed."
He had left his gambit rather late in that once the meal was prepared; she left with alacrity, seemed very uncomfortable in a room where there was no work for her busy hands.
Watson attacked the meal with relish, finding that though simplest was very finely prepared and from the best fresh ingredients. By now it was full dark, but he could hardly consider sleep. Watson walked about the room fitting together the facts that had fallen at his feet. Trying to find some pattern that rang with the pleasing simplicity of the truth. Sleepless and frustrated he began to search the room for a bottle of liquor to help his cognitive processes. Finally he turned to the old bedside cabinet.
He opened the cabinet and within he found the finally clue. All the pieces fell together with an almost audible snap. Holmes gloves lay on the top shelf, somewhat disheveled from their hard use.
Watson closed the door, and found himself now ready for a well earned nights rest.
PART SIX: Dawn
The next morning found Watson beginning to doubt last night's resolution, but events overtook him with a perfunctory knock at the door. He opened it to find his surly driver there, peering at him from the slouched brim of his old straw hat.
"Do come in Holmes," Watson said tersely. "There is a matter or two we need to discuss."
He was still not entirely sure until he saw that familiar sardonic smirk flash across the grimy face of his visitor, who shrugged and came inside.
Holmes sat on the edge of the disarranged bed, allowing Watson the chair. "Well, what have you made of it Watson, a fitting challenge?"
Watson refused to be drawn into the banter. "Your situation is hardly a joke, and to have even considered the actions that you did…"
Holmes held up his hand. "You should perhaps tell me what it is you have concluded. You have tended in the past to develop the most outrageous theories."
"Very well," Watson replied with ill grace. "You went to speak with His Grace about his conduct towards Rosie. He on his part may have acted so entirely to lure you over, possibly because he saw you with his wife. On arrival either he berated you or there was a mutual argument. You were possibly unaware of the Duke's terminal liver condition; disease of this kind maintains the subject in good physical health until quite near the end - though his mind was certainly affected. Anyway, he drew a gun, and shot himself. In his state it may have seemed quite a cunning plan. He deprives his step-son of his title, his wife of her estate and possibly implicates the great detective in his 'murder'."
Holmes face showed only mild curiosity, but no contradiction, so Watson continued. "The action may have come as quite a shock to you, as your own conduct was only rational to a point. You knew that the Aslat Barony has a peculiar law of primogeniture. If the Duke dies of ill health, accident or suicide the title descends to the nearest *adult* relative. Only if he dies by murder or in battle will it pass to a son under the age of majority. Thus, you took off the Duke's gloves and put them in your pocket, and you claimed the scene was a murder, in the only convincing way you had, by claiming to have committed it yourself. You did so to protect the lady and her children, of whom you were fond, but I need only have her Grace identify the gloves as her husband's for the deceit to be known."
Holmes smiled distantly. "Oh, well done. I must say that it has been quite a revelation to observe you on the initiative. Though I dare say that if I had destroyed the gloves and book you would have had trouble...."
"Holmes," Watson broke in. "I did not come here to exchange niceties, or to play one of your foolish and deceitful games." He stood, his voice rising in vexation. "What I really wish to know is the answer to the real mystery. Why did you leave London so suddenly? Why did you come here on this flimsy pretense, which you have not even bothered to keep up?" He indicated the dilapidated hives, visible through the window.
Holmes pursed his lips slightly, removing his disheveled hat. "It has nothing to do with this situation."
"Oh nonsense," Watson snapped. "You would not even be here if it was not--and I suspect--Holmes I am not a good detective, I am not the subtle type--equipped to deal with all the permutation of possibility."
"You seemed to do well enough without me," Holmes said in words that shaded into ambiguity.
Watson though at first that he was speaking of his investigation of the 'murder', but it became apparent that Holmes was drawing with a broader brush.
"I hear your practice is more successful than you can easily cope with, now that you are able to concentrate upon it properly. Your health and weight give evidence that you are prosperous and not unduly tried by your industry. Really I think you should thank me, for rather belatedly allowing you to accrue your success."
Holmes observed Watson's frown with apparent surprise. "I am as you have implied, a subtle man, it is a state which has handicaps equal to its advantages. I find that on some most crucial matters I am simply not able to be direct. I lack the courage, I lack the honesty, to simply say the thing, and you my dear Watson lack the subtly to notice the unsaid. Which is a moot point now, the matter is quite eclipsed, quite vestigial now . Now it is clear to me that there is a simpler and kinder way to rescue the Lady Eleanor's fortune and position."
Reluctantly, Watson allowed himself to be distracted from the main scent. "Holmes, what on earth do you mean?"
Holmes stood, tapping the old hat against his thigh as he stared wistfully out into the overgrown yard. "Why, I shall have to marry her, of course. It will maintain the title in her hands until it can pass to her son, and I believe I may be the only man she would entertain a proposal from, given her previous unpleasant experience with the matrimonial state. It seems I shall be staying in Aslat County for some time to come--and as it seems unlikely now that I will be either incarcerated or executed--I need not detain you from our fair nation's capital any longer."
Holmes settled his hat back on his head and stepped towards the door.
"Holmes," Watson forestalled. "I suppose that is a reasonable solution but I don't entirely see the relevance."
Holmes stepped out, a dark shadow against the light of the day. "Think on it, Watson. Having observed you in pursuit of a solution I dare say you will work it out. Having done so I would spare you the embarrassment of discussing it by leaving the wagon here for your use, there is a train to London at midday."
He vanished into the thick gorse with the sudden haste, and Watson stood at the doorway, watching him go.
For several long moments he stood and contemplated Holmes words.
"Oh," Watson said at last. "Oh dear, what a fool I have been. What fools we have both been."
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