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charleygirlTitle: Jack In The Green 5/10
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 3169
Characters involved: Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson
Genre: Mystery, Drama
Disclaimer: These characters, while out of copyright, were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and do not belong to me. Hope Barton and its inhabitants do, however.
Summary: Molly tells the truth...
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four
JACK IN THE GREEN
CHAPTER FIVE
I saw a maid in my father’s garden
A maid of honour she seemed to me
Until a young man, he stepped up to her
He said, ‘My darling can you fancy me?’
- performed by Magpie Lane
He said very little once we returned to Molly and Samuel’s house and, knowing well his behaviour during an investigation, I did not press him. I took a turn with Molly in the garden, and when I glanced up at the house I happened to see him at the window of his room, apparently looking out over the fields behind us.
“Has Mr Holmes had any success with my problem?” Molly asked, following my gaze.
“A little,” I said. “Holmes always keeps most of his information to himself in the early stages of a case.” I had a sudden impulse to ask her why she had felt the need to hide from us her meeting with Henry Edwards, but quashed it, aware that Holmes would wish to question her himself. I only hoped that he would be somewhat less abrasive than he usually was with a client who had withheld information.
Molly was still looking up at the window. There was a flash of movement, and Holmes vanished from sight. “He is a curious creature, just as you have described. Mr Paget has done neither of you justice, though.”
I glanced at her, and we both laughed. Whatever her motive for omitting some of the facts, I could not think ill of her for it, and I was very glad to be in her company once more after so many years. I said as much, and she squeezed my arm.
“Come along,” she said, steering me towards the house. “Supper will be almost ready. Perhaps I will be able to persuade Mr Holmes to eat something this time.”
***
Holmes was largely silent during the meal, and ate sparingly despite the stern physician’s glares I shot him across the table. To make up for my friend’s lack of conversation, I found myself telling Molly and Samuel about our afternoon, culminating in our visit to the church.
“Ah, you met Jack, then,” said Molly with a broad smile.
I blinked in surprise, for we had encountered no one of that name. “Jack?”
“The Green Man, I fancy, Watson. I doubt if Mrs Foster refers to Mr Prior with such warmth,” said Holmes raising an eyebrow.
“Indeed I would not, Mr Holmes. I mean our Jack in the Green, on the church. He looks after the harvest, ripens the wheat,” Molly explained. “Been watching over the village for a good few centuries.”
“Scared off a few vicars, too,” Samuel added in evident amusement. “Not many can handle something like that staring down at them every time they enter the church to take a service.”
“I can understand why!” I said with feeling. “Why has it not been removed?”
“Remove old Jack? John, how can you suggest such a thing?” Molly exclaimed, affronted. “We’d never grow another crop again! Jack’s been there longer than any of us can lay claim to, and he’ll still be there when we’re gone.”
“It’s all superstition, of course,” said Sam, spearing some chicken with his fork. “There’s some that don’t like it much these days, say its heathen and want to be rid of the Maying for the same reason.”
Molly’s eyes flashed angrily, and she cut through the bread she was slicing with more force than was strictly necessary. “They should keep their busy-body town noses out of matters than don’t concern them. The Maying’s been happening here for over two hundred years, ever since it was reinstated after the Restoration. There’s folk about who want to destroy every tradition we have left, and it’s not right!”
Holmes was listening to the discussion with evident interest, but I could see that the subject was a contentious one, and could rapidly rise into a heated argument, so I said the first thing that popped into my head, which turned out to be,
“Holmes and I encountered Mr Henry Edwards this afternoon, at the Green Man in the village.”
My friend’s sharp grey gaze immediately snapped to Molly, and I realised too late that I had inadvertently brought the subject to the matter I had been trying to avoid. There was nothing I could do about it now, little as I wished for an interrogation over the supper table.
“Really? I had thought that he was going to visit relatives in Oxford today,” Molly said, her tone casual as she offered me the bread.
“He did mention an appointment,” Holmes responded. “If he were intending to catch a train he could have made the station swiftly on his bicycle.” He laid a stress upon the final word, his eyes still upon Molly, and she put down the plate, looking up to meet his gaze. “I believe that is something you and he have in common, Mrs Foster. The two of you are the only people in the village I have seen who possess a bicycle – no doubt you often meet as you journey about the countryside.”
There was a pause, during which Samuel looked confused and I almost held my breath.
Then Molly said, carefully laying down her bread knife and clasping her hands together, “This is a small community, Mr Holmes. I meet many people.”
“That is almost exactly what Mr Edwards said.” Holmes’s expression softened slightly as he looked at her, and he continued, “I am aware that, as a mere stranger Mr Edwards would be reluctant to tell me of something close to his heart, but I am disappointed that you have asked me to investigate this matter but do not give me all the facts. I might have hoped that my long-standing friendship with your cousin might have persuaded you to trust me a little more.”
I will admit to being surprised by the gentleness of this little speech, knowing how caustic Holmes could be when discovering that his investigations had been deliberately impeded (however well-intentioned) by a client. My friend does, despite his general dislike and distrust of their sex, possess a remarkable instinct for handling women, and it was that talent I found on display at this moment. There would be nothing to gain from brow-beating Molly, something he had no doubt gauged upon meeting her.
She sat, her head turned away, for some moments, before eventually she nodded. “You are right. I must apologise for misleading you, Mr Holmes, but I did not act out of a deliberate desire to cause difficulties. Rather I - ”
“You lied to protect your young charge. That is in itself an admirable sentiment, if perhaps a little misguided in the circumstances.” Holmes reached into his pocket and withdrew his silver cigarette case, tapping one out upon the lid before he realised he had run out of matches. Instead of putting the cigarette away again, he continued to hold it between two fingers, gesturing with it as he spoke. “Shall I tell you what really happened on Tuesday afternoon?”
Samuel was looking at his wife, a frown creasing his brow. “I for one would like to know.”
Molly said nothing, and I could think of no useful contribution, so Holmes, having the floor by default, said, “Very well. It is quite a simple chain of events. You were indeed cycling back from town, Mrs Foster, where you had been posting your latest manuscript to your publisher. That much is clear from the tracks your bicycle tyres made in the fresh mud – there has been no rain and little subsequent traffic in the last few days to obliterate them. You did not, however, stop close to the hall merely by chance. You met someone you knew, someone cycling up the path from the hall, someone you were not surprised to see there. That someone was Mr Henry Edwards, the man who took over the control of the village school when you decided to devote yourself to your writing.”
“Edwards?” Samuel said in surprise. “What the devil was he doing up at the hall?”
“That is an excellent question, and I one believe I can answer. Mr Edwards and Miss Melville are in love, are they not, Mrs Foster?”
I will confess to sharing Samuel’s surprise when Molly nodded. “They confided in me after I came upon them together in the school room one day. Harry didn’t want to tell me, but Miss Charlotte insisted they could trust me. She made me promise to tell no one – she knew that her father wanted her to marry a man of her own station, a man of property. He would never agree to her giving her hand to a penniless teacher.”
“So you helped them to meet in the knowledge that Miss Melville will shortly be of age and can marry whom she chooses. But then came the day, a week or so ago, when you realised you had not seen Miss Melville for a few days. Presumably they would arrange their trysts on a regular basis, and Edwards told you that she had agreed to meet him and not arrived,” said Holmes.
“Yes. I said that perhaps she had been detained at the house, her father not being a well man these days,” Molly replied delicately. “But the next time she failed to arrive I began to worry. I spoke to Mrs Carter, the housekeeper up at the hall, and she told me Miss Charlotte had gone to France for the summer. I did wonder whether the woman was lying – she has not held her position for long, and I know that Miss Charlotte does not like her.”
“And you became suspicious because she would not have gone without seeing her fiancé first,” I said.
“Exactly. Harry – Mr Edwards – became frantic, and went up to the hall to try and discover what was happening. I met him on my way home, and he told me how he had attempted to gain entry but was met by Mr Jack who threatened to set the dog on him if he put one foot on the estate again.”
Holmes and I exchanged a glance, and his lip curled in disdain. “Yes, we have met the charming Mr Prior.”
“Unpleasant young brute,” I muttered.
“He has caused trouble ever since he arrived here,” said Molly, her features contracting into an uncharacteristic expression of loathing. “Miss Charlotte told me how much she hated him, but her father would not dream of asking him to leave. To be honest, I doubt he would go even if Sir George ordered it – he has his feet well and truly under the table now. He is even causing problems for Sam, strutting about the place as though he owns it and questioning every decision Sam makes. If he comes near me I’ll take my hand to him, so I will.”
Samuel looked uncomfortable and turned his attention to his plate. I could see that it would be difficult for him, his loyalty divided between his wife and his employer. Molly was a determined woman, and would not have kept her dislike of John Prior to herself, I was sure.
“What happened when you met Mr Edwards leaving the hall?” Holmes asked.
“He was angry, and also somewhat distressed. I asked him what was the matter, and he said that not only had he been denied access to the hall, but Mr Jack told him Miss Charlotte had gone back to France. When Harry asked him how long for, he said, ‘Forever. Sent away.’ He looked pleased with himself, so Harry said.” Molly looked straight at Holmes. Samuel and I might not even have been in the room – all her attention was devoted to him. “It was a lie, though, Mr Holmes –Harry stopped halfway up the path and by some premonition glanced back at the house. He saw her, just as I told you yesterday, standing at the attic window, her hands pressed against the glass. She saw him, too, tried to say something he couldn’t make out, and then he says she vanished.”
“And what did he do?”
“Tried to return to the house, but the dog was loose and he didn’t dare force his way inside. I met him just after that – I suggested he go to the police, but they did nothing. Sergeant Taplow didn’t believe a word of it, as we had no proof beyond what Harry says he saw. So that’s why I wrote to John.”
“Naturally not expecting us to be away from London.” Holmes nodded. “It would have been easier had we been here immediately following the incident, but the delay was unavoidable. We will have to make the best of the situation. Will Mr Edwards speak to me?”
“If it will help Miss Charlotte, I am certain he will. I did not tell him I was writing to you as I did not wish to raise his hopes. But he is becoming more worried with each passing day. He does not know what to do for the best, poor boy.”
“Where will he be now?”
Molly considered. “If he did not go to Oxford, then he will probably be helping the lads build their Jack. They are almost finished. It will be a magnificent parade this year.” She gave a tiny smile.
“You still maintain all the old traditions?” I asked.
“Of course – the maypole, the May Queen, the Morris Men, Robin Hood and Maid Marian…the children get very excited. Naturally, though the copious amounts of alcohol that were once consumed have been watered down to keep some abstemious people happy.”
“I remember when - ”
Holmes looked impatient. There was a scrape as he pushed his chair back from the table. “I think we should speak to the schoolmaster without delay. Come, Watson, you can reminisce about May Days past later.”
“I will come with you,” said Molly, rising as well and hurrying off to find her shawl.
Samuel caught my arm as I left the room after them. “John – does Mr Holmes really believe all this? Foul play up at the hall?”
“I think he does believe that something may be happening, yes,” I said, knowing that Holmes would not continue an investigation unless he thought there was something in it.
“This is awkward for me. I have always been the recipient of Sir George’s trust, and Molly can be a little - ”
I patted his shoulder. “I know. Better that you don’t get involved, old man. We’ll see to it.”
He looked relieved, though I could tell that he was not easy in his mind. What man would be in such circumstances? I left him to the remains of his meal, and joined Holmes and Molly for the short walk to the village.
***
It was a glorious evening, the sun only just beginning its descent, the air still warm and filled with the scent of the flowers in Molly’s garden. We strolled down the lane – or rather Molly and I did, Holmes striding purposefully out in front. More than once he had to stop to allow us to catch up, annoyance obvious in his expression.
“This way?” he asked as we reached the Green Man and the village green. Without waiting for an answer, he was across the grass and heading in the direction of the row of cottages on the opposite side to the tavern.
There was a group of boys of around the same age as the majority of Holmes’s Irregulars gathered on the green, kicking a ball about. Too old for the school room, they would be of an age to work in the fields and nearby businesses, no doubt taking the opportunity for a little childish play on such a fine evening.
Molly frowned at the sight of them. “Timothy!” she called out, and one of the lads, an urchin with red hair and freckles, looked round.
“Yes, Mrs Foster?”
“Where is Mr Edwards? I thought you were helping him to finish the Jack this evening?”
The boy shook his head. “We were, but Mr Edwards isn’t here. Old Man Rafferty says he got called away all of a sudden – locked up and went off on his bicycle about an hour ago, he did.”
“Is that unusual?” I asked as we caught up with Holmes, who was waiting for us in front of a square whitewashed building on the end of the row. A small cottage stood to one side, close enough for me to guess that it must belong to the teacher, given its proximity to what could only be the school room.
“I did not lie when I told you he had relatives in Oxford. Perhaps one of them is ill,” Molly said, though she still looked concerned. “I am surprised that he went off without sending word to the boys, though. That is most unlike him.”
We related this fresh information to Holmes, who looked momentarily irritated that his chief witness had upped and vanished. He turned towards the cottages. “This is Mr Edwards’s home?” he asked.
Molly confirmed that it was, and we walked up to the building. All the doors were locked, as were those of the school room. Peering through the window, I could see the same desks and blackboard as furnished every similar institution in the country. The walls were decorated with maps and children’s drawings, as was usual, but the great thicket of greenery in one corner was a somewhat eccentric addition. I mentioned this to Molly, who smiled and said,
“That is Jack. Jack in the Green,” she added when I looked at her blankly. “He is part of the May Day festivities, a personification of our own Jack. One of the boys will wear the framework, which will be covered in leaves.”
I nodded, comprehension dawning. So many Jacks…it was quite confusing to keep up with them all.
Holmes had joined us, having walked round both buildings looking for a point of entry and evidently failed to find one. “This is most awkward,” he said, tapping his stick against his boot in frustration. Had we been in a more remote spot, or even in the heart of London, he would have had no compunction against using his lock picks to force the door. There was not a lock in England that could remain impervious to his skills as a burglar, but in such a small community his every move would be noted, even under the supposed cover of darkness. I could see a curtain twitching two doors down – he would have to be more circumspect. “It seems that there is little we can do until either Mr Edwards returns or we can gain access to the hall, whichever event occurs first.”
“And in the meantime?” I asked.
He smiled slightly, despite his annoyance. “We sleep on it, Watson. Perhaps the morning will bring clarity.”
TBC
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 3169
Characters involved: Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson
Genre: Mystery, Drama
Disclaimer: These characters, while out of copyright, were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and do not belong to me. Hope Barton and its inhabitants do, however.
Summary: Molly tells the truth...
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four
JACK IN THE GREEN
CHAPTER FIVE
I saw a maid in my father’s garden
A maid of honour she seemed to me
Until a young man, he stepped up to her
He said, ‘My darling can you fancy me?’
- performed by Magpie Lane
He said very little once we returned to Molly and Samuel’s house and, knowing well his behaviour during an investigation, I did not press him. I took a turn with Molly in the garden, and when I glanced up at the house I happened to see him at the window of his room, apparently looking out over the fields behind us.
“Has Mr Holmes had any success with my problem?” Molly asked, following my gaze.
“A little,” I said. “Holmes always keeps most of his information to himself in the early stages of a case.” I had a sudden impulse to ask her why she had felt the need to hide from us her meeting with Henry Edwards, but quashed it, aware that Holmes would wish to question her himself. I only hoped that he would be somewhat less abrasive than he usually was with a client who had withheld information.
Molly was still looking up at the window. There was a flash of movement, and Holmes vanished from sight. “He is a curious creature, just as you have described. Mr Paget has done neither of you justice, though.”
I glanced at her, and we both laughed. Whatever her motive for omitting some of the facts, I could not think ill of her for it, and I was very glad to be in her company once more after so many years. I said as much, and she squeezed my arm.
“Come along,” she said, steering me towards the house. “Supper will be almost ready. Perhaps I will be able to persuade Mr Holmes to eat something this time.”
***
Holmes was largely silent during the meal, and ate sparingly despite the stern physician’s glares I shot him across the table. To make up for my friend’s lack of conversation, I found myself telling Molly and Samuel about our afternoon, culminating in our visit to the church.
“Ah, you met Jack, then,” said Molly with a broad smile.
I blinked in surprise, for we had encountered no one of that name. “Jack?”
“The Green Man, I fancy, Watson. I doubt if Mrs Foster refers to Mr Prior with such warmth,” said Holmes raising an eyebrow.
“Indeed I would not, Mr Holmes. I mean our Jack in the Green, on the church. He looks after the harvest, ripens the wheat,” Molly explained. “Been watching over the village for a good few centuries.”
“Scared off a few vicars, too,” Samuel added in evident amusement. “Not many can handle something like that staring down at them every time they enter the church to take a service.”
“I can understand why!” I said with feeling. “Why has it not been removed?”
“Remove old Jack? John, how can you suggest such a thing?” Molly exclaimed, affronted. “We’d never grow another crop again! Jack’s been there longer than any of us can lay claim to, and he’ll still be there when we’re gone.”
“It’s all superstition, of course,” said Sam, spearing some chicken with his fork. “There’s some that don’t like it much these days, say its heathen and want to be rid of the Maying for the same reason.”
Molly’s eyes flashed angrily, and she cut through the bread she was slicing with more force than was strictly necessary. “They should keep their busy-body town noses out of matters than don’t concern them. The Maying’s been happening here for over two hundred years, ever since it was reinstated after the Restoration. There’s folk about who want to destroy every tradition we have left, and it’s not right!”
Holmes was listening to the discussion with evident interest, but I could see that the subject was a contentious one, and could rapidly rise into a heated argument, so I said the first thing that popped into my head, which turned out to be,
“Holmes and I encountered Mr Henry Edwards this afternoon, at the Green Man in the village.”
My friend’s sharp grey gaze immediately snapped to Molly, and I realised too late that I had inadvertently brought the subject to the matter I had been trying to avoid. There was nothing I could do about it now, little as I wished for an interrogation over the supper table.
“Really? I had thought that he was going to visit relatives in Oxford today,” Molly said, her tone casual as she offered me the bread.
“He did mention an appointment,” Holmes responded. “If he were intending to catch a train he could have made the station swiftly on his bicycle.” He laid a stress upon the final word, his eyes still upon Molly, and she put down the plate, looking up to meet his gaze. “I believe that is something you and he have in common, Mrs Foster. The two of you are the only people in the village I have seen who possess a bicycle – no doubt you often meet as you journey about the countryside.”
There was a pause, during which Samuel looked confused and I almost held my breath.
Then Molly said, carefully laying down her bread knife and clasping her hands together, “This is a small community, Mr Holmes. I meet many people.”
“That is almost exactly what Mr Edwards said.” Holmes’s expression softened slightly as he looked at her, and he continued, “I am aware that, as a mere stranger Mr Edwards would be reluctant to tell me of something close to his heart, but I am disappointed that you have asked me to investigate this matter but do not give me all the facts. I might have hoped that my long-standing friendship with your cousin might have persuaded you to trust me a little more.”
I will admit to being surprised by the gentleness of this little speech, knowing how caustic Holmes could be when discovering that his investigations had been deliberately impeded (however well-intentioned) by a client. My friend does, despite his general dislike and distrust of their sex, possess a remarkable instinct for handling women, and it was that talent I found on display at this moment. There would be nothing to gain from brow-beating Molly, something he had no doubt gauged upon meeting her.
She sat, her head turned away, for some moments, before eventually she nodded. “You are right. I must apologise for misleading you, Mr Holmes, but I did not act out of a deliberate desire to cause difficulties. Rather I - ”
“You lied to protect your young charge. That is in itself an admirable sentiment, if perhaps a little misguided in the circumstances.” Holmes reached into his pocket and withdrew his silver cigarette case, tapping one out upon the lid before he realised he had run out of matches. Instead of putting the cigarette away again, he continued to hold it between two fingers, gesturing with it as he spoke. “Shall I tell you what really happened on Tuesday afternoon?”
Samuel was looking at his wife, a frown creasing his brow. “I for one would like to know.”
Molly said nothing, and I could think of no useful contribution, so Holmes, having the floor by default, said, “Very well. It is quite a simple chain of events. You were indeed cycling back from town, Mrs Foster, where you had been posting your latest manuscript to your publisher. That much is clear from the tracks your bicycle tyres made in the fresh mud – there has been no rain and little subsequent traffic in the last few days to obliterate them. You did not, however, stop close to the hall merely by chance. You met someone you knew, someone cycling up the path from the hall, someone you were not surprised to see there. That someone was Mr Henry Edwards, the man who took over the control of the village school when you decided to devote yourself to your writing.”
“Edwards?” Samuel said in surprise. “What the devil was he doing up at the hall?”
“That is an excellent question, and I one believe I can answer. Mr Edwards and Miss Melville are in love, are they not, Mrs Foster?”
I will confess to sharing Samuel’s surprise when Molly nodded. “They confided in me after I came upon them together in the school room one day. Harry didn’t want to tell me, but Miss Charlotte insisted they could trust me. She made me promise to tell no one – she knew that her father wanted her to marry a man of her own station, a man of property. He would never agree to her giving her hand to a penniless teacher.”
“So you helped them to meet in the knowledge that Miss Melville will shortly be of age and can marry whom she chooses. But then came the day, a week or so ago, when you realised you had not seen Miss Melville for a few days. Presumably they would arrange their trysts on a regular basis, and Edwards told you that she had agreed to meet him and not arrived,” said Holmes.
“Yes. I said that perhaps she had been detained at the house, her father not being a well man these days,” Molly replied delicately. “But the next time she failed to arrive I began to worry. I spoke to Mrs Carter, the housekeeper up at the hall, and she told me Miss Charlotte had gone to France for the summer. I did wonder whether the woman was lying – she has not held her position for long, and I know that Miss Charlotte does not like her.”
“And you became suspicious because she would not have gone without seeing her fiancé first,” I said.
“Exactly. Harry – Mr Edwards – became frantic, and went up to the hall to try and discover what was happening. I met him on my way home, and he told me how he had attempted to gain entry but was met by Mr Jack who threatened to set the dog on him if he put one foot on the estate again.”
Holmes and I exchanged a glance, and his lip curled in disdain. “Yes, we have met the charming Mr Prior.”
“Unpleasant young brute,” I muttered.
“He has caused trouble ever since he arrived here,” said Molly, her features contracting into an uncharacteristic expression of loathing. “Miss Charlotte told me how much she hated him, but her father would not dream of asking him to leave. To be honest, I doubt he would go even if Sir George ordered it – he has his feet well and truly under the table now. He is even causing problems for Sam, strutting about the place as though he owns it and questioning every decision Sam makes. If he comes near me I’ll take my hand to him, so I will.”
Samuel looked uncomfortable and turned his attention to his plate. I could see that it would be difficult for him, his loyalty divided between his wife and his employer. Molly was a determined woman, and would not have kept her dislike of John Prior to herself, I was sure.
“What happened when you met Mr Edwards leaving the hall?” Holmes asked.
“He was angry, and also somewhat distressed. I asked him what was the matter, and he said that not only had he been denied access to the hall, but Mr Jack told him Miss Charlotte had gone back to France. When Harry asked him how long for, he said, ‘Forever. Sent away.’ He looked pleased with himself, so Harry said.” Molly looked straight at Holmes. Samuel and I might not even have been in the room – all her attention was devoted to him. “It was a lie, though, Mr Holmes –Harry stopped halfway up the path and by some premonition glanced back at the house. He saw her, just as I told you yesterday, standing at the attic window, her hands pressed against the glass. She saw him, too, tried to say something he couldn’t make out, and then he says she vanished.”
“And what did he do?”
“Tried to return to the house, but the dog was loose and he didn’t dare force his way inside. I met him just after that – I suggested he go to the police, but they did nothing. Sergeant Taplow didn’t believe a word of it, as we had no proof beyond what Harry says he saw. So that’s why I wrote to John.”
“Naturally not expecting us to be away from London.” Holmes nodded. “It would have been easier had we been here immediately following the incident, but the delay was unavoidable. We will have to make the best of the situation. Will Mr Edwards speak to me?”
“If it will help Miss Charlotte, I am certain he will. I did not tell him I was writing to you as I did not wish to raise his hopes. But he is becoming more worried with each passing day. He does not know what to do for the best, poor boy.”
“Where will he be now?”
Molly considered. “If he did not go to Oxford, then he will probably be helping the lads build their Jack. They are almost finished. It will be a magnificent parade this year.” She gave a tiny smile.
“You still maintain all the old traditions?” I asked.
“Of course – the maypole, the May Queen, the Morris Men, Robin Hood and Maid Marian…the children get very excited. Naturally, though the copious amounts of alcohol that were once consumed have been watered down to keep some abstemious people happy.”
“I remember when - ”
Holmes looked impatient. There was a scrape as he pushed his chair back from the table. “I think we should speak to the schoolmaster without delay. Come, Watson, you can reminisce about May Days past later.”
“I will come with you,” said Molly, rising as well and hurrying off to find her shawl.
Samuel caught my arm as I left the room after them. “John – does Mr Holmes really believe all this? Foul play up at the hall?”
“I think he does believe that something may be happening, yes,” I said, knowing that Holmes would not continue an investigation unless he thought there was something in it.
“This is awkward for me. I have always been the recipient of Sir George’s trust, and Molly can be a little - ”
I patted his shoulder. “I know. Better that you don’t get involved, old man. We’ll see to it.”
He looked relieved, though I could tell that he was not easy in his mind. What man would be in such circumstances? I left him to the remains of his meal, and joined Holmes and Molly for the short walk to the village.
***
It was a glorious evening, the sun only just beginning its descent, the air still warm and filled with the scent of the flowers in Molly’s garden. We strolled down the lane – or rather Molly and I did, Holmes striding purposefully out in front. More than once he had to stop to allow us to catch up, annoyance obvious in his expression.
“This way?” he asked as we reached the Green Man and the village green. Without waiting for an answer, he was across the grass and heading in the direction of the row of cottages on the opposite side to the tavern.
There was a group of boys of around the same age as the majority of Holmes’s Irregulars gathered on the green, kicking a ball about. Too old for the school room, they would be of an age to work in the fields and nearby businesses, no doubt taking the opportunity for a little childish play on such a fine evening.
Molly frowned at the sight of them. “Timothy!” she called out, and one of the lads, an urchin with red hair and freckles, looked round.
“Yes, Mrs Foster?”
“Where is Mr Edwards? I thought you were helping him to finish the Jack this evening?”
The boy shook his head. “We were, but Mr Edwards isn’t here. Old Man Rafferty says he got called away all of a sudden – locked up and went off on his bicycle about an hour ago, he did.”
“Is that unusual?” I asked as we caught up with Holmes, who was waiting for us in front of a square whitewashed building on the end of the row. A small cottage stood to one side, close enough for me to guess that it must belong to the teacher, given its proximity to what could only be the school room.
“I did not lie when I told you he had relatives in Oxford. Perhaps one of them is ill,” Molly said, though she still looked concerned. “I am surprised that he went off without sending word to the boys, though. That is most unlike him.”
We related this fresh information to Holmes, who looked momentarily irritated that his chief witness had upped and vanished. He turned towards the cottages. “This is Mr Edwards’s home?” he asked.
Molly confirmed that it was, and we walked up to the building. All the doors were locked, as were those of the school room. Peering through the window, I could see the same desks and blackboard as furnished every similar institution in the country. The walls were decorated with maps and children’s drawings, as was usual, but the great thicket of greenery in one corner was a somewhat eccentric addition. I mentioned this to Molly, who smiled and said,
“That is Jack. Jack in the Green,” she added when I looked at her blankly. “He is part of the May Day festivities, a personification of our own Jack. One of the boys will wear the framework, which will be covered in leaves.”
I nodded, comprehension dawning. So many Jacks…it was quite confusing to keep up with them all.
Holmes had joined us, having walked round both buildings looking for a point of entry and evidently failed to find one. “This is most awkward,” he said, tapping his stick against his boot in frustration. Had we been in a more remote spot, or even in the heart of London, he would have had no compunction against using his lock picks to force the door. There was not a lock in England that could remain impervious to his skills as a burglar, but in such a small community his every move would be noted, even under the supposed cover of darkness. I could see a curtain twitching two doors down – he would have to be more circumspect. “It seems that there is little we can do until either Mr Edwards returns or we can gain access to the hall, whichever event occurs first.”
“And in the meantime?” I asked.
He smiled slightly, despite his annoyance. “We sleep on it, Watson. Perhaps the morning will bring clarity.”
TBC
