A Farewell to Baker Street (17 page)

“A few months later, after a number of unsuccessful applications, I was offered and accepted a position as a domestique in a large French chateau in Bourbon, in the Allier area of the Auvergne Region, not far from the City of Bourges. I was keen to escape the hardships of my home country and start a new life and career in the birthplace of my father. The bureau went with me to France and did not look out of place in my spacious attic bedroom within the
Chateau Roche
.

“Each day I worked hard at my job, learning more and more from the head of service and improving my command of many languages to better serve the family's numerous foreign visitors. Each evening, I sat at the bureau writing out my thoughts and observations in a diary. The initial hostility of the other staff to me being German was lessened by the fact that I had French ancestry, as evidenced by my surname. I was also well regarded by my employer, such that when the elderly major-domo passed away in the spring of this year, I was offered the top job, running the domestic affairs of the Roche household as efficiently as I could.

“One cold April night, as I was putting a few lines into my diary, I observed that the veneer covering one part of the bureau's inner panels, close to the three main drawers, appeared to be loose, as if peeling away from the wood beneath. I pulled gently at it with my forefinger and was surprised to find that the panel came away from its recess revealing a hidden drawer. I was excited by the discovery and amazed that I had never known of its existence. Unfortunately, the drawer was locked and I had no key, but such was my enthusiasm to discover what treasures might lie inside, that I forced the lock with a letter opener. As the small drawer slid open, I found that it contained only a single document - the Harker letter.

“You cannot begin to understand my mixed emotions reading that letter, as I did, some five years after I was meant to. My initial reaction was one of disbelief, followed closely by one of anger - anger that Hilde could have chosen to hide the letter from me, a letter that explained so much about my family's past and that connected me directly to my late father. My mother and I had received the official notification that my father had died in that fateful raid over England in 1916, along with a small package of his belongings recovered from the crash site. Reading Harker's letter, I understood clearly the pain and loss that Franz must have felt as he lay dying in that English wood.

“I could not reconcile how and why Peter Coleman should go to such extraordinary lengths to honour his promise to a dying enemy airman. And remembering the second letter that I had received from Henshaw, I felt an enormous sense of loss and frustration. If only I had made contact with Harker at the time and tried to find out more about the nature of his correspondence! A hundred questions raced through my mind as I stared out from my attic window into the darkness - Could I still put in a claim for what was mine? How could I get to England?

“The chance discovery of the letter perplexed me for weeks, although my intentions became clearer by the day. I could not allow this to be an end to the matter and leave Harker in possession of all my family's wealth. I did not challenge Harker's claim to half of the money and knew that the man had acted with the utmost integrity, but felt I owed it to my father to pursue the matter. On 25
th
April, my birthday, I left
Chateau Roche
for good, armed with an excellent reference and all the money I possessed. Less than one week later, I stood on English soil, planning my journey to Trimingham Manor.

“Being a cautious man, I was keen to find out what I could about the family before introducing myself to the mysterious David Harker. It was not difficult to find Trimingham Manor, set as it was among hundreds of acres of rolling countryside. But I acted with some care, booking myself into a village inn close to the manor, posing as a hill walker. In the days that followed, I chatted to many local people, learning what I could.

“I was immediately disappointed, saddened and then frustrated to discover that Harker and his wife had died overseas in a mining accident. As a result, I was told that Harker's six-year-old son, Gerald, had inherited the estate. Asked about the source of their wealth, local people knew only that the late David Harker had been a successful diamond merchant and a generous man who contributed much to support local charities. Beyond this, I could discover little else, although it was common knowledge that young Gerald was now being looked after at the manor by an appointed legal guardian. The executor also had instructions to recruit a permanent valet for the young man, who could tend to his needs when Gerald was at home from boarding school.

“Recognising that I needed to act, I decided to visit Trimingham Manor during my second week in England. Instinctively, I approached the tradesman's entrance, enquiring at the door about vacancies for domestic staff. The housekeeper, Mrs Dawson, was very friendly and showed me into the kitchen, where I was asked to wait. When she returned a few minutes later, I was told that Barrington Henshaw, Gerald's guardian, would be pleased to see me there and then. I was a little taken aback, recognising Henshaw's name and wondering if he recollected my name from the letter he had sent me in 1923.

“I was led into what I now know to be Harker's study, where Henshaw greeted me. I was disarmed instantly by the man's relaxed demeanour, his friendly smile and the casual way he offered me a seat and a glass of whisky. I accepted the whisky and sat with him at a small marble table in the corner of the room. He explained that my timing was good, for the house was in need of a valet for Gerald Harker. Henshaw had taken on the role of guardian with some reluctance and wished only to fill the vacancy as quickly as possible, to enable him to get back to his primary role as solicitor in a local legal practice. He then asked me about my background and experience.

“Having given Henshaw an outline of my short career in France, I then produced my written reference from the Roche family, albeit written in French. Henshaw rose from his chair and paused briefly to glance at the letter, clearly unable to understand a word of it. He then extended his hand to me as I remained seated at the table and without any further hesitation, offered me the job, suggesting that I start immediately. No mention was made of my German upbringing.

“I had mixed emotions about taking on the job. It seemed that my name meant nothing to Henshaw. I imagined that if I were to confront the man with the facts about my claim, he might refute my story and have me removed from the house, effectively ending any chance I had to claim my inheritance. On the other hand, I was at least within the house, and close to all of the wealth that my family's diamonds had helped to create. Until I could think of something better, I decided to accept the new role.

“Since being at Trimingham, I have been content to serve Gerald, acting as a mentor to the young Englishman. It is a relationship I have worked hard to foster, hoping that one day I might be able to confide in Gerald and explain all that had happened in the past. Unfortunately, subsequent events at the manor seem to have deprived me of any such opportunity.

“Yesterday, I had planned to take a long walk around the estate while Gerald was out for the day visiting the boarding school that had been selected for him. Barrington Henshaw was over for the day and I told him of my plans over breakfast. Having left him in the dining room, I returned to my room to collect a small rucksack and then headed out down the drive of the estate. However, within minutes I turned and walked back to the manor, realising that I had left my new ordnance survey map on the dining room table.

“When I re-entered the dining room, Henshaw was nowhere to be seen, but as I picked up the map, I could see across the hallway that the door to David Harker's former study was ajar. Apart from the day of my interview, I had never known the door to be opened. It had been made clear to me that Henshaw kept possession of the only key to the study and that we were all prohibited from entering the room.

“Curious to know what the man was up to, I crept across to the door and peered in. There appeared to be little light in the room, as the curtains to the study were permanently drawn, but I could see Henshaw behind a large writing bureau, illuminated only by a small green desk lamp. Unaware that I was watching him, the solicitor then stood and turned to face a small painting on the wall behind the bureau. Deftly, he removed the painting and placed it on the desk. Set into the wall, I could now see a small safe, which Henshaw then proceeded to open using a key he had taken from the top drawer of the bureau. I then watched incredulously as he began to remove bundles of white banknotes from the safe, bending to place them into his briefcase which sat open to one side of the bureau.

“There was little doubt in my mind as to his intentions and I knew instantly that this was the fortune that David Harker had sought to preserve. I was also in no mood to let Henshaw make off with the money. Entering the room quickly, I was halfway across the study before he turned to face me. I stopped instantly. The initial look of surprise on his face quickly turned to one of conceit, and he smiled condescendingly as he summed up the position he now found himself in: ‘Caught like a rat in a trap, you might say, Herr Descartes.'

“He stepped out from behind the bureau and came across the room towards me. I could feel the adrenaline pumping through my body, but tried to keep my emotions hidden. ‘Perhaps you could explain what you think you are doing, helping yourself to David Harker's money?' said I.

“My challenge produced an unexpected response. ‘I am surprised you did not refer to the money as the
Descartes Inheritance
given your desire to reclaim what I imagine you believe to be yours.' He smiled again, looking less confident than he had.

“I was determined to extract some sort of confession from him. ‘So, Harker let you into his little secret did he? And having seen your client pass away with no one coming forward to claim the inheritance, you thought you could have the money all to yourself, did you?' I could see that my directness had hit a nerve.

“He was quick to bite back. ‘Yes, Harker consulted with me in 1921 and asked about the legalities surrounding the potential transfer of £40,000 to a young German he had never met. Having helped him to track you down, I was amazed that you did not come forward to claim the money. I then did all I could to persuade him against further correspondence with you on the matter, but he insisted on me writing a second letter. And still you did not make contact! I was, of course, sworn to secrecy, but when the Harkers died earlier this year, I realised that I had easy access to all of the money, as long as you did not appear.' He raised his chin in defiance.

“I continued to press him. ‘You knew who I was, when I first arrived at Trimingham, didn't you?'

“He scoffed at me. ‘Of course I knew. A young German arrives in the village asking questions about the family and then has the audacity to arrive at the manor enquiring about a job. Didn't you think it strange that I took you on with such feeble credentials? I thought it better to have you here, working for me, until I could work out how best to get access to the money.'

“I could not resist taunting him. ‘Well, it seems I have thwarted your plans somewhat, Mr Henshaw. What do you plan to do now?'

“Once more, his response was not what I expected. ‘Well, I am more than happy to capitulate and let you have your £40,000, of course.' I saw that the relaxed smile had returned to his face.

“I think it must have been his patronising manner that finally brought my anger. I grabbed at the lapels on his tweed jacket and began to push him back across the room. He continued to smile at me in his sickly manner, as I gave his hapless body one final push away from me. I then watched as he stumbled and fell backwards against the mantelpiece. I was incensed that he had tried to buy me off with what amounted to my own birthright and think that he could then take what was rightfully young Gerald's. I had fallen prey to my emotions and realised all too late that my final push had killed the man. His body lay in the grate, the back of his head smashed in and a growing expanse of blood filling the hearth.

“I panicked in that moment, realising what I had done. My only hope was to try and escape and make it back to the continent. In those final moments, I counted out exactly £40,000 and left everything else as it was. I found Henshaw's key and locked the study behind me, hoping that it would be some time before anyone might find the body. I then set off and walked some miles to the nearest railway station, where I caught a train to Poole and booked into a small guesthouse. Had your men not detained me yesterday, I may well have succeeded in making the passage across to France.”

Holmes opened his eyes and looked across at Descartes. He had been listening intently to every word of the valet's story, and with the conclusion of the narrative, he was quick to interject. “Chief Inspector Wattisfield and his officers have a clear duty to ensure that this matter is brought to a conclusion in the most satisfactory manner, in accordance with the laws of this land. For what it is worth, I am convinced that you have told us all of the pertinent facts in this case, both clearly and honestly. I do not believe you are guilty of murder and would say that a strong case could be made for this to be viewed, more appropriately, as an accidental death. What say you, Watson?”

I nodded in agreement, adding that justice had to be served, but could see little point in pressing for a charge against Descartes in the circumstances. Henshaw's manner and intentions had not been honourable and I imagined that none of the staff would shed much of a tear for his passing.

Wattisfield, of course, would not allow us to brow beat him into any sort of decision there and then. He busied himself with practicalities for the rest of the morning. Descartes was told that he would be kept under house arrest for the foreseeable future, in the charge of one of his original captors. Mr and Mrs Dawson were told what had happened at the same time as Gerald Harker, although the full story of the
Descartes Inheritance
was kept from them. After some telephone calls back to Scotland Yard, Wattisfield announced that a car would be arranged to take us back to Holmes' farm. By the early afternoon, the two of us were once again seated around my colleague's comfortable kitchen table enjoying a plateful of Holmes' garden produce. An hour later, I bid Holmes farewell and made the journey back to London.