The Three Locks Page 9

  ‘I mean to find out.’

  ‘But Madame Borelli?’

  ‘Yes, Watson, I have not forgotten. But the threat here may be more imminent. The severed arm. Cut, not broken. It is an ugly act, after all.’

  ‘Indeed!’

  ‘I am uneasy about Miss Wyndham’s three suitors. When a girl of her nature plays with so many hearts … I fear the message is a warning. And she clearly has no guidance from her family.’

  ‘How would this fellow have obtained the doll from the girl’s room?’

  Holmes nodded in the direction of the house. ‘Do you see that tree? Its heaviest branch extends directly to one of the windows of Miss Odelia’s sitting-room. It would be a simple matter for an agile person to climb in through the window in the cover of darkness.’

  Of course, Holmes had examined that area before entering the house. ‘You saw footprints at the base, I suppose?’ I said.

  ‘Yes, there is evidence of one female and two male climbers. One of the men’s boots has a patch on the right sole.’

  Just then the maid Polly exited a side door to the house and furtively approached us.

  ‘Sirs?’ she began, ‘I can give you the address.’

  ‘Ah,’ said Holmes, ‘I thought so. She is all right, then?’

  ‘She was when I went back to check there this morning.’

  ‘What time?’

  ‘Early. Maybe five?’

  ‘Before dawn. Another risk for you, young lady!’

  The girl nodded, embarrassed, then gave Holmes a slip of paper which he passed to me. On it was an address, written in an extremely untutored hand.

  ‘What is your mistress’s game?’ asked Holmes.

  ‘No game sir. She just needs to … escape.’

  I could well imagine it.

  ‘But I think she needs … She might need …’

  ‘Go on, Polly.’

  ‘Well, Miss Odelia, she—’ began the girl. ‘She might ought to use some help. Three fellows loves her. But I think she is … confused?’

  I suddenly became aware of being watched. I turned back to the house to see the white face of Atalanta Wyndham staring down at us from the third floor. Polly followed my gaze, and her own face paled. Without a word, she ran back into the house. Atalanta Wyndham’s fierce expression was pinned on us. She vanished from the window and pulled the curtains shut.

  That maid would face some trouble, I thought. And so, to my surprise, would we.

  CHAPTER 15

  Bloom Where You Are Planted

  We started out walking towards the address provided by Polly. It was only ten in the morning but already the sun beat down upon us mercilessly. Despite our linen suits and straw hats, I found myself sweating uncomfortably. Holmes seemed oblivious, fired up as he was by the intrigue of the Wyndham family.

  ‘Breakfast, Holmes?’ I enquired.

  ‘A poet, Watson. A poet who is jealous of her sister,’ he said. ‘And yet …’

  ‘Atalanta!’ I cried. Of course! Whatever had been written on the doll was a poem, as he had noted. ‘Could she be the culprit behind the dismembered doll?’

  ‘My thought when I found her book of poems. But ultimately … I lean away from this theory.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘The ink stains on Atalanta’s hand were slight. She is fastidious. But they were of a distinct aqua blue. Not the colour of the note.’

  ‘Perhaps she has more than one colour ink.’

  ‘I saw only one bottle on her sitting-room desk when I glanced inside. No, Watson, I think not.’ He was silent for a moment as we trudged through the sunbaked streets.

  ‘Those footprints!’ he exclaimed. ‘What a tremendous amount of clambering up trees has been done in the name of love. And then the secret archer. Ha! What a family! Have you ever climbed a tree to reach a young lady, Watson?’

  I had to think a moment. ‘No. But I once tried to wade across a river. Ended up a mile downstream. Have you done anything so rash?’

  ‘For a girl? No,’ said Holmes. ‘But neither have I practised archery from my window.’

  We looked at each other and laughed.

  ‘You shoot, then?’ I asked.

  ‘Not for some time. Wait, I think we turn left here.’ We did so.

  ‘Were you any good?’

  Holmes glanced at me with a smile. ‘I was invited into the Woodmen of Arden myself. I declined.’

  ‘Who are the Woodmen of Arden?’

  ‘An honorary society of men who practise archery with the longbow. Invitation only. One must be an accomplished archer and also have friends who are Woodmen. Something of a closed society. They do have tournaments and prizes, however.’

  ‘Robin Hoods, then?’

  ‘Ah, Watson, always the romantic,’ said Holmes. ‘Sportsmen, to be sure.’

  ‘I think we turn right, here. Let me see the map. But you turned them down?’

  Holmes smiled. ‘I am no joiner, Watson, you know that.’

  Carrying on through the town, we discovered we were lost. A student then misdirected us, but we eventually found the place we were seeking.

  The address belonged to a lodging house behind a brewery on the eastern edge of the town. A small pub fronted the building, The Cross and Anchor. We walked into the low-beamed, darkened interior, and Holmes introduced himself and asked to see the owner. As he did, I eyed some tempting ham sandwiches on the counter. But Holmes was not to be delayed.

  The Wyndham name and a half sovereign were sufficient to induce the owner, a surly elf of a man, to cooperate, and he unlocked a door to a stairway leading to several lodging rooms above.

  Holmes asked whether he had seen Miss Odelia Wyndham of late.

  ‘You won’t hear that name from me,’ said the man. The fellow gestured to the stairs. ‘Two flights up. Room Three.’

  We were up the narrow, worn stairs in a rush and then encountered the door marked ‘Three’. We knocked. There was no reply. Holmes tried the knob. It was locked. He put his ear to the door and listened, shook his head.

  ‘It appears no one is home,’ he whispered.

  He then withdrew a familiar small leather kit from his frock coat and opened it to reveal an array of precise metal instruments. Holmes had the door unlocked in what seemed mere seconds, and in complete silence. His timing had improved since I had witnessed a similar display in an earlier case.

  We opened the door to a surprising sight. It was a large room painted in white, as Dillie’s bedroom had been, with a large double bed in one corner, long blue curtains with sheer panels flapping in the breeze from an open window, and a long blue velvet sofa, on which sat a poised young woman. She was motionless, calm, and obviously expecting us.

  Miss Odelia Wyndham, or Dillie, lounged in a curiously studied pose in the centre of this sofa, her arms extending along the back of it, head tilted back, replicating the languid, arrogant bearing of her father, Richard Wyndham.

  She took us in haughtily – two strange men who had unlocked the door to her private sanctuary – but said nothing. Her position and attitude struck me as odd in the extreme, given the circumstances.

  ‘Miss Odelia Wyndham, I presume,’ said Holmes, formally.

  ‘Mr Sherlock Holmes, I presume,’ said the lady. Clearly her father’s daughter, she managed to be dismissive and wry at the same time. It was a peculiar effect coming from an eighteen-year-old.

  She was, as the deacon had described, singularly beautiful, with mocking eyes and golden hair arranged in a knot high on her head, and curls escaping around her face in a look of disarray that was both casual and becoming. She was dressed in a striped cotton summer frock, and from the bottom of it peeked long matching bloomers. These ended in curiously large white tennis shoes of the kind I have worn on the court myself.

  She was clearly one of the new sporty breed of young ladies who bicycled and partook of racquet sports. I glanced around me, and there was indeed a tennis racquet leaning up against the wall under the window. I was cert
ain she must own a two-wheeler parked nearby. I could well imagine Atalanta would be jealous of this glowing creature, who possessed not only beauty but, perhaps even more enviable, vibrant good health.

  Holmes said nothing to her but took in the room in his comprehensive manner. I followed his gaze to an open closet door, from which hung a young man’s suit of dark blue summer linen, a boater hat, and a wrinkled white shirt and navy tie. I inferred a regular visitor.

  He turned to the lady. ‘Miss Wyndham,’ said he severely, ‘since you know my name and were expecting me, you have been informed that I have been called in from London to find you. You have given your family and friends quite a fright. Was that your intention?’

  She stared at him before answering, as if deciding whether or not he was worth her time.

  ‘I can have you arrested for breaking in on a young lady who is minding her own business,’ said she, pleasantly.

  ‘You will not, however,’ said Holmes, ‘as you do not want the police to know of this private sanctuary. Who sent word we were coming? It certainly was efficient.’

  ‘Polly. You’ve met her,’ said she. She smiled and stood up. ‘She preceded you here by minutes.’ She was clearly proud of the fact. ‘You are not familiar with Cambridge?’

  ‘Not as much as I intend to be,’ said he. ‘Miss Wyndham, I have reason to believe that you may be in danger. A doll designed to look like you was found in the Jesus Lock last night. Mutilated, I might add.’

  She threw back her head and laughed. It was a tinkling, charming laugh. ‘That is creative!’ said she. ‘And so somebody called a London detective.’

  Holmes and I exchanged a look.

  She sized us up and came to some kind of decision. We were not prepared for what came next. Dillie Wyndham approached Holmes and stood before him, dangerously close and most improperly. She proceeded to inspect him minutely in a presumptuous and arrogant manner. A man doing such a thing would have received a sharp retort or worse. To his credit, Holmes did not move a muscle.

  ‘You are not so terrible up close,’ she said with the hint of a friendly smile. ‘Though I wouldn’t have you.’

  Holmes said nothing but returned her unwavering look.

  She reached out and straightened his tie. It had not needed straightening. Holmes was nothing if not fastidious in his dress. The girl was outrageous, and it was clearly a cultivated act.

  ‘You are too thin,’ said she. ‘You live on, I don’t know, coffee and nerves, perhaps? Or worse. Your eyes are tired. There is a sadness there.’

  Holmes did not reply, which frustrated her. She changed tactics.

  ‘I do not care about this or about you!’ she exclaimed. ‘Be sad. Be whatever you like. You think you are much smarter than you are. Some women find you attractive. I do not.’

  My friend appeared not to respond but I noticed his right hand twitch almost imperceptibly. I guessed it was from her proximity rather than her words.

  I stood at the ready, but for what I could not fathom.

  Without stepping back from Holmes, she looked over at me. ‘And you! You have the appearance of a faithful dog, awaiting scraps to be thrown to you. But ready to defend the pack with loud barking and perhaps even a bite or two. Down, boy.’

  I stifled a retort and wondered at this peculiar display.

  She turned her attention back to Holmes. ‘Now what are you going to do?’ she said, thrusting her face inches from his.

  Again, he did not move. ‘This act must impress your young university gentlemen,’ he replied coolly. ‘Daring, I suppose is what they think. Daring and exciting! How often do you disguise yourself in men’s clothing and accompany them to parties and sporting events?’

  She looked momentarily surprised, then backed off to glance over at her closet at the man’s linen suit hanging there. She exhaled sharply in frustration, then jabbed a long delicate finger not so delicately at Holmes’s chest more than once for emphasis as she said, ‘You don’t know that. What makes you think that that is mine? I may not be so daring after all. Just extremely improper. Perhaps that costume belongs to a suitor.’

  She poked him once more, hard. She was trying to provoke him, and I wondered why.

  He reached up and clasped her hand, lowering it gently to her side. ‘Perhaps. As I assume someone, not your father, is paying for this room. And yet those clothes are yours,’ said Holmes, indicating the blue linen suit. Then, with surprising impropriety equal to the young lady’s own, he reached out and placed his hand flat upon her hair at the top of her head. She recoiled, and I noticed a moment of extreme fear. But of course he would never hurt the girl. Instead, he deftly removed a long hairpin. She gasped.

  He held it up before her.

  ‘You have pinned all of your hair up under that straw hat over there and have done so recently. The dampness I remark on that linen shirt hung out to air – and on your own hair there – indicates a recent outing in the hot sun. You have not bothered to change your shoes – men’s tennis shoes, I wager – since you have returned. And that pair of dark spectacles meant for the bright sun, there on your bedside table, added an effective touch to your disguise. One of the better male impersonations, I would imagine, and the trousers, being a bit worn at the hems, tell me that this was certainly not your first such adventure.’

  As he spoke, her fear transformed into anger at having been so revealed, and a storm of emotions clouded her beautiful face. Clearly she had not expected his response. But then fury won out and she slapped him. Hard.

  He winced only momentarily, averting his face from the stinging blow, then looked back at her, undaunted. The red imprint of her hand showed on his pale face.

  Holmes smiled at this improbable creature, and I marvelled at his self-control. My friend was never fully at ease with women, and at times could be oblivious. But he was always civil and usually a gentleman, except in the face of duplicity. To have two women slap him in the space of twenty-four hours was certainly some kind of record.

  I almost suppressed a laugh at the thought, but the remarkably spoiled young lady before us did not find this humorous at all. She glanced at me.

  ‘Stop smiling. It is not funny. Get out! Both of you!’ she cried.

  CHAPTER 16

  An Uneasy Alliance

  Holmes did not move. ‘Or what, exactly, Miss Wyndham?’ said Holmes gently. ‘We have already agreed you will not call the police.’

  ‘Do not be so sure! I … I will say you attacked me!’ said she. ‘You broke in here and attacked me! It will not go well for you.’

  I stepped forward. ‘Young lady, I am a witness here and will stand up for this gentleman. He is known by the London police, whom he assists on a regular basis, Miss Wyndham, and his reputation is impeccable.’

  Her own reputation would clearly be compromised had she called the police, but the situation was not without risk, and Holmes and I knew it.

  She was improvising, frightened, and the momentum of her anger seemed to add wind to her sails. ‘The two of you came in and attacked me!’ She stepped away from my friend and slammed her wrist hard on the edge of the table with a cry of pain. ‘You see!’ She exclaimed, holding her arm out before us, her eyes shining. The blow brought up an immediate welt.

  Holmes glanced at me uneasily. This young woman seemed dangerously unbalanced. He held up his hands and took a step back towards the door.

  ‘All right, Miss Wyndham. I realize you do feel invaded,’ he said, gently. ‘This room is a kind of sanctuary from a life of dissatisfaction. I suppose if I were a female, and felt, well, as excluded from life as you do, I might consider not only securing an escape like this one – but also defending it with the same passion and conviction. Please calm yourself. I do not intend to force you to do anything you do not want to do, nor to give you away.’

  She stared at Holmes uncertainly. This was not the response she was expecting.

  ‘You are patronizing me.’

  ‘Miss Wyndham, not at all,’ I said.
‘Mr Holmes has only your best interests at heart.’

  ‘Why should I trust you?’ she said.

  ‘Why not? I am here to help, not point a finger,’ said Holmes. ‘May I suggest we all sit down and discuss the dilemma of your disappearance in a civilized manner? No one wishes you harm. In fact, just the opposite. Let us attempt to negotiate a truce.’

  Holmes stepped further away from her on the pretext of setting down his hat on a table. He looked about for something on which to sit, espied a low stool tucked under that same table, drew it out and sat down. ‘Do join me, Watson. Sit here.’

  I noticed another stool under the table, drew it out and sat next to him. It felt extremely awkward in that strange room, seated so low to the floor, facing the standing young woman. She faltered, not expecting this. But the odd choreography had the intended effect. It allowed the girl to feel in charge.

  She paused. Then, with sudden resolve, she returned to her blue velvet divan and resumed the relaxed position she had occupied when we entered the room, now peering haughtily down at us.

  Holmes had successfully averted disaster.

  ‘I would like to help you, Miss Wyndham,’ my friend said, as though everything that had just transpired had not happened. ‘And at the same time put the fears of those who care for you at rest. Let us come to a method together. First of all, do tell me your reasons for this subterfuge.’

  ‘It is obvious,’ said she, angrily. ‘I am suffocating at home.’

  ‘Tell me about this,’ said Holmes.

  She paused, but not for long. ‘You have no idea of the frustration a person of my position endures. The constraints upon my life! The boundaries of propriety, of position, of womanhood, of God knows – everything. It is enough to drive one mad. Mad, truly! I cannot go to the market alone, play tennis with a boy, say this, do that, wear clothes that do not constrict my body here!’ She put her hands to her waist. ‘Or here!’ Both hands went over her heart. ‘All the rules, the whispered admonitions, yes, and even the shouted ones! I cannot bear it, cannot bear it I say, and what you see here is the culmination of years of planning. If you give me away, it will go very badly for you, sir! Of that I will make certain!’