The Web Weaver (38 page)

Holmes shook his head. “No.”

The two men stared at each other. Old Wheelwright wished to compel some explanation, but Holmes would not speak. “It’s a fine business when a lady can be attacked in her own home. Fleeing to the country hardly seems much of an answer. I hope you have not been overrated, Mr. Holmes.”

Violet’s smile had vanished, but Sherlock only smiled. “I hope not.”

Old Wheelwright glanced about angrily, and his gaze fell upon Gertrude. She sat quietly in the chair by the fire, her knitting untouched in her lap. Something about the old man’s thin neck and jerky movements reminded me of a bird, one with a white head and black body. He stepped forward, walking over to her chair. She did not move.

“Here now? What’s this?”

I could see that Gertrude had fallen asleep. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened.

“Sleeping—
sleeping?
I cannot believe it! Get up, girl! Where are your manners?”

Gertrude leaped up, her knitting tumbling from her lap. She clutched at her black skirts and managed a feeble curtsy. She looked pale and tired. “Good day, sir.” Her voice was hoarse. She made her tiny hand into a fist, and then coughed into it.

“If you worked for me, girl, I’d have you go pack your things.” He turned to his son. “Lax. Very lax. Parlor maids sleeping and staying seated when their master enters the room.”

“The girl is ill. Anyone can see that.” Michelle’s voice was steely and she stared sharply at the old man.

His upper lip curled into a brief smile. “Ill?
Ill?
That’s no excuse. Servants have no business being ill—not on our time.” He glanced about, but no one said a word.

Gertrude swayed slightly, as if she were about to faint. She coughed again. Michelle went to her side and took her arm. “Sit down, my dear.”

“Oh, ma’am!” Gertrude shook her head, sagging against her.

“Outrageous!” Wheelwright turned to his son. “I hope you’ll deal with her. If you let this kind of behavior go by, you’ll soon have all your household making faces at you behind your back.”

Donald Wheelwright slowly drew in his breath. “She shall be punished.”

“See to it.” The old man strode from the room.

Donald started to follow, then turned to Violet. “See to it.”

Violet’s face was red, but her voice was like ice. “See to what?”

“He’s right. We can’t have servants falling asleep and ignoring our visitors. Make certain it does not happen again.”

“Oh, I shall.” Violet gave a savage laugh.

Wheelwright’s eyes were sullen. He turned and left the room.

Gertrude began to cry. Michelle lowered her into the chair.

“I couldn’t help it,” Gertrude said. “My chest hurts and my head. If I was awake... Someone shoud’ve nudged me.” She turned to Violet. “Oh,
ma’am, I’m so sorry! Honestly I am.” She began to cough in earnest.

Michelle put her big hand on her shoulder. “There is nothing to be sorry about. You just sit and stay quiet.”

Violet had not moved from where she stood. Her fists were clenched, and her thin arms shook beneath the silken sleeves. Her upper lip had drawn back, so that I could see her clenched teeth. Holmes’ eyes were full of concern, but he did not move.

“That old... lizard,” Violet managed to say.

Michelle went to her. “The girl has a fever. She should be in bed. Violet?” She seized her arms and felt the violent trembling. “Oh, my dear—it will be all right. Do not...”

“What if she is sick?” A ghastly smiled appeared on Violet’s face. “She must continue to work. She must stand and curtsy. She must... As if she were a machine—as if she were not even alive! They must smile and bow and scrape and serve us like slaves, and if they make the least bit of unpleasantness, they must be thrown out on the street without references and made to starve and suffer.” Her voice was raw with rage. “Of course they are not real people. They are only animals—only insects—grubs.”

Michelle’s big hands gripped Violet’s shoulders. “
Stop it
.” Violet’s brown eyes lost some of their wildness.

“You must not let them upset you so. Let’s go for a walk. The air will do us all good.”

Violet nodded. Tears seeped from her eyes, but she rubbed angrily at them. “Oh, yes—let’s do that. Let’s get outside.” She was still trembling.

Michelle had her by the arm. “We shall get our coats and some comfortable shoes. And we must put Gertrude to bed.”

Gertrude was crying and coughing. “Oh, I mustn’t.”

“You will!” Violet exclaimed. “By God, you will.”

She and Michelle led Gertrude out of the room. Michelle turned to me.
“Meet us downstairs.”

I nodded. Holmes’ face was pale, his gray eyes showing anger and concern. “He is a foul old serpent,” I said, “full of poison. No wonder Donald does not like working for him.”

Holmes stared at me. “He told you so?”

“On our walk yesterday.”

“Indeed? I want to hear about this walk, but I must change my clothes. If you would care to accompany me?” I told him about our talk near the pond while he changed from a frock coat and striped trousers to a Norfolk suit. At one point I hesitated, then mentioned Wheelwright’s saying I was a lucky man. Holmes smiled.

“Perceptive of him. Did he say anything more of interest?”

I hesitated again. “He said Violet hates him, and he hates her, but...”

Holmes raised his eyes from his boot. “But?”

“But he is not as good at it as she is.”

Holmes lowered his gaze. “Ah.”

Holmes and I went downstairs and through the great hall. Luckily we did not see either Wheelwright
père
or
fils
. Rather than waiting in the gloomy entranceway, we went outside. A gravel road ran before the house, a small roof providing shelter for carriages, but the vast expanse of lawn was lush, green, and still wet. The moisture glistened on the toes of our boots.

A tin bucket full of the gardener’s hand tools stood near one of the roof columns, and Holmes poked about in the bucket with his stick. He had on his cloth traveling coat and deerstalker hat; somehow the cap made his nose appear even larger. He looked washed-out under the bright sunlight.

I heard an odd scrambling sound: A youth on a bicycle pedaled vigorously uphill, standing almost upright as he did so. He came to a stop a few feet from us, and then withdrew an envelope.

“Does either of you gentlemen know where I might find Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”

Holmes raised his stick. “I am he.”

“I’ve a telegram for you, sir.”

“Thank you.” Holmes handed him a shilling.

The boy grinned at the coin. “Thank
you
, sir.”

Holmes slipped his long finger into one end of the envelope, then tore it open and withdrew the paper. His lips formed a smile and he laughed sharply. “Imbecile.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“The chickens have flown the coop. It’s from Lestrade. The Lovejoys have vanished.” Sherlock whacked at the gravel with his stick, then drew a line. “I expected as much.”

“I wonder if we shall ever see them again.”

Holmes shrugged. “I wager we shall, and probably sooner rather than later.” He withdrew his watch and opened it. “I wonder what is keeping the ladies.”

“Their clothing is more complicated than ours. Violet was surely angry.”

Holmes’ nostrils flared as he whacked at the gravel. “Yes. I wish...”

I waited, but he did not finish. “What do you wish?”

“I wish... I wish I could help her. I wish I might break the enchantment and rescue her from this—” he raised his stick and pointed at the gray stone walls of the immense house— “this castle, this tower, where she is imprisoned. If she is imprisoned.”

I smiled. “You wish to save her from the giant. And the old ogre.”

“I only wish to save her. And I wish this case were over and done with.”

“I told Michelle the same thing last night.”

“One way or another, it will be over soon.” He stared down at the
gravel. “I have never been so caught up in a case, never felt so...” Again he struck the gravel. “It makes everything so much more difficult. Usually I pursue the truth. That is my guiding light, my main principle, but now I am not certain I want the truth. All the same, there is no other way. First I must have the truth. Then we shall see.” He stared out across the lawn.

Wanting to comfort him, I blurted out, “She does love you.”

He winced as if I had struck him and turned away.

“I am sorry. I only...”

“That also makes everything more difficult.” He would not look at me.

“I wish I could help you.”

He raised his eyes and smiled at me. “You and Michelle have been invaluable. I am glad you are both here.”

“Michelle thinks you will find a way.”

“She would. I have never met a more generous spirit.” His eyes were sad, his smile pained. “But you know better.”

I opened my mouth, but I could not lie to him.

He shrugged. “So do I.” He raised his stick and rested it on his right shoulder.

We heard a noise behind us. Michelle and Violet had changed their shoes and put on their hats and heavy coats. Michelle carried a wicker hamper with two handles. She was flushed with excitement while Violet appeared pale.

“I’m sorry we were so long,” Michelle said, “but we had the cook put together a picnic lunch. It is almost noon, and this way we can stay outside longer.”

Violet gave a curt nod. “And we can avoid the ordeal of lunch with my father-in-law, an event which would be a dyspeptic extravaganza even for those with stomachs made of stronger stuff than mine.”

I could not help but laugh at this. “Let me carry the basket.” I took it from Michelle. “Goodness—how many people did you tell her you were feeding?”

Violet smiled. “I fear the dear cook wants to fatten me up. If we cut across the grounds, there is a pleasant path into the woods.”

Michelle slipped her hand about my left arm. Her face was radiant, her happiness apparent. Violet seemed to have recovered her spirits. Her full lips formed the customary ironic smile, but her dark eyes had an almost haunted look.

“What a beautiful day,” Michelle said.

Violet nodded. “It is good to be outdoors.” She stared up at the sun.

“I put Gertrude to bed,” Michelle told me. “The poor girl. I did not like the sound of her lungs.”

Violet sighed. “Her health has never been good. When she first joined us, she was sick all the time, but she has been much better the past two years.” She stared past me at Michelle. “Promise me you will look after her.”

Michelle laughed. “You know I shall.”

Violet stepped before us. We stopped, and she seized Michelle’s arm. “I mean
promise me
that you will look after her—that you will not forget—no matter what.”

Michelle’s smile wilted, but did not quite vanish. “Of course I promise. You know I am fond of Gertrude.”

Violet realized we were all regarding her. The ironic smile returned; she forced a laugh. “Forgive me, I... Because of Father Wheelwright I may not be able to keep her with me for much longer.”

Michelle’s smile was gone. “He would actually have you dismiss her, even if you told him she had been ill with a fever?”

Violet laughed harshly. “Without a doubt. You must have seen that.”

“You were right, my dear. He is an old lizard.” We were all walking
again. Michelle stared resolutely ahead. “I shall find her another place, I promise you. She is such a sweet girl. Oh, it does seem monstrous.”

“Hush,” I said softly. Michelle gave me a wrathful glance. “We must not spoil the day.” Nor must we get Violet all worked up again.

She caught my meaning, even though I did not say the significant part aloud. “Oh, I am sorry,” she said. “Things are barely calmed down, and...”

Violet smiled wearily. “If only you knew what it means to me to have friends who understand, friends who do not snivel and whimper about the ‘servant problem.’ But it is too nice a day, and I must be good. I must think soothing thoughts and put that vile old scoundrel out of mind. Even Donald cannot bear his company—I know no one who can. But there I go again!” We had nearly reached the woods. Violet slipped her hand about Holmes’ arm, then started down the path into the trees. “You are very quiet, Mr. Holmes. Have you nothing to say? Nothing pleasant to say?”

“Idle pleasantries are not my strong point.”

“Oh dear, I do hope you have not been overrated,” she said. A loud laugh burst from Holmes. “Oh, sorry.” But Violet sounded pleased with herself.

We were all silent for a while. The forest air and the sunshine were like a tonic. Violet was the shortest of our group, and she set a leisurely pace. The breeze overhead ruffled the dry leaves, and a few of them came drifting down to join their departed brethren on the forest floor. It felt much damper and colder amongst the trees. We could see the blue sky through the branches, but a few high thin clouds had appeared.

Holmes and Violet stopped abruptly. A squirrel ahead of us on the path dug about and produced an acorn. He glanced up and sprang to the nearest oak, running around and up the massive trunk. The tiny head with the acorn in its mouth stared warily at us.

Violet laughed, then resumed walking, her hand still holding Sherlock’s arm. “That squirrel reminds me of a time I went walking with my father long ago, oh so long ago.” She was briefly silent. “Somehow... something about you reminds me of him.”

“I fear,” Holmes said, “that I know more about footprints, bloodstains, and tobacco ash than flora and fauna.”

“Oh, but it is the same love of minutiae in either case. A walk with him could be tedious, a kind of school lesson. He would be telling me the name of that moss there and what side of the tree it typically grows on. His specialty, however, was spiders—or beetles, rather. He knew everything about them both. Oh, and he was a very good chess player. He taught me the game.”

“Ah—then, he was a
very
good chess player indeed.”

She laughed. “I remember the first time I beat him. I was only about twelve years old, and I think he was even more surprised than you were.” She was silent again. “I took up with Donald shortly after he died. I must have been truly desperate.” A hint of sarcasm had crept into her voice. “I do miss him—my father, that is. Not every day, but often. Is it not odd—how you can still miss someone after almost ten years? How can you still love someone after all that time? If you truly love someone, you cannot ever stop, while if you have never loved someone...” Her voice broke. “Forgive me—I—I’m being so foolish today. I cannot understand...”