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charleygirlTitle: The Inheritance of Barnabus Aloysius Peabody 3/?
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 2416
Characters involved: Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson
Genre: Mystery, family
Disclaimer: These characters, while out of copyright, were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and do not belong to me. I do however own Cressida Cunningham and her family. Cressida has previously been mentioned in my fic The Puzzle Box and appears in Chapter 11 of Jottings from a Doctor's Journal.
Summary: Holmes is on the scent...
Chapter One Chapter Two
THE INHERITANCE OF BARNABUS ALOYSIUS PEABODY
CHAPTER THREE
The housekeeper was in the midst of a flurry of baking.
“For the church fete on Sunday,” she explained as she welcomed us into her sanctum and tried to press tea and cake upon us. “Mrs Peabody always takes something sweet around this time.” I would gladly have accepted, but a glance from Holmes was quite eloquent enough to encourage me to turn down the offer. Miss Grey, murmuring that she must return to her mistress, glided away. Holmes shut the door after her and turned to Mrs Hanway.
“Now,” he said, “I understand that you put the cat in his basket on Monday night?”
“I did indeed, sir. I always put Barnabus Aloysius to bed,” Mrs Hanway replied. “He had a saucer of milk and settled down quite happily.”
“It is rather unusual, given the concern she shows about the animal’s safety, that Mrs Peabody does not see to him herself,” I remarked. “One would think that she kept him with her at all times.”
“He can be rather difficult,” said the housekeeper. “I’m the only one he’ll allow to put him down in his basket. He’ll sit quite happily at Mrs Peabody’s side, but she can’t do a thing with him. In truth, he’s worse than a child, sir. Once he decided he would only sleep on the piano…” She threw up her floury hands helplessly. “Sukey – that’s the maid, sir – can’t go near him for fear of being bitten, and Miss Grey comes out in red lumps if she as much as touches his basket.”
“Really? That is interesting,” Holmes said, pacing the length of the kitchen. “He is not a placid animal, then?”
“Most assuredly not, sir. I always wondered why Mrs Peabody took such a fancy to him when there were far more affectionate kittens in the litter. Mr Peabody offered her the pick of them, but she chose Barnabus Aloysius.”
“Regarding the events of Monday night - you have had no strangers come to the house lately? No one has had access without Mrs Peabody’s knowledge?”
Mrs Hanway shook her head. “No, sir. Mr Clatworthy, the solicitor, has been once or twice with some papers for the mistress to sign, but that’s all. We’ve had no visitors except yourselves. And the police, of course.”
“Who summoned the police?”
“Miss Grey, for Mrs Peabody was quite hysterical. She kept crying out ‘They’ve taken him, they’ve taken him!’ though I don’t know who ‘they’ should be. Who would want to steal a bad-tempered old cat, sir?”
“Who indeed? Miss Grey tells me that the police found no evidence of any forced entry when they made their investigations,” said Holmes, walking past a succulent-looking fruit cake which stood upon a cooling rack on the table without even glancing at it. I found my eyes continually straying in that direction trying to ignore the rumbling my stomach had begun to make as it was stirred by the wonderful smells coming from the oven. Mrs Hanway noticed my interest and went to the dresser, taking out a plate and a knife.
“That’s true enough, sir,” she replied, cutting a huge slice of cake and presenting it to me. “They said the ground was too dry and hard to make out any footprints in the garden. The back door was still bolted in the morning, so unless they somehow came in through an open window I can’t see how it was done. And there’s something else that’s been bothering me, though I’ve not mentioned it to Mrs Peabody.”
Holmes stopped his pacing and turned to look at her directly. “Yes?”
“Whoever did it must have somehow managed to subdue Barnabus Aloysius. He doesn’t like strangers, you see, sir,” Mrs Hanway added for clarification. “Well, truth be told he doesn’t really like anybody except me and Miss Xanthe from next door, but the first time Mr Clatworthy came to call he flew at him like a creature possessed and almost took his eye out. Terrifying he was! I never thought he had it in him to move so fast, for he’s a lazy thing at the best of times. We had to shut him in the music room whenever the solicitor came after that.”
“A delightful creature,” I remarked around a piece of cake. The housekeeper smiled indulgently as I demolished her cooking, but Holmes looked less than impressed.
“Does Mr Clatworthy call regularly?” he enquired, holding up a hand in refusal when Mrs Hanway began to cut another slice.
“About once a month. The old lawyer never used to come so often, but Mrs Peabody has been making some changes to her affairs recently.”
“Ah, so Mr Clatworthy is not Mrs Peabody’s usual solicitor.”
The housekeeper frowned. “I suppose not. He mentioned the other gentleman retiring, and that he had taken over from him, I think, but I can’t remember exactly.”
Holmes nodded. “Thank you, Mrs Hanway, you have been most helpful. Have you finished, Watson?” he asked as I popped the last bite of fruit cake into my mouth. I mumbled something in the affirmative and rose to leave with him. As he reached the door he stopped and turned back to the housekeeper. “Oh, one more thing: are you able to tell me how long Miss Jane Grey has been in your mistress’s employ?”
Mrs Hanway looked surprised at the question, but said, “Just over two years, sir. Mrs Peabody took her on from an agency a few months after the death of her husband. She couldn’t cope alone, you see – her Hector was everything to her.”
“Do you by any chance recall the name of the agency?” Holmes asked hopefully.
She shook her head. “I never knew it, sir. Sukey deals with the postman.”
Holmes looked disappointed, but thanked her again. We were nearly in the passageway when she suddenly called us back and added,
“I don’t know for sure, sir but I believe it might have been in the West End.”
***
“Well, Watson, this case grows in interest,” Holmes said ten minutes later after a futile examination of the path leading from the back door. As both the companion and housekeeper had said, there was no evidence to be found for there had been no rain in over a fortnight and the ground was solid. All Holmes was able to ascertain was that no one had picked the lock, for the keyhole and its surround were both free from scratches.
“You believe so?” I asked, surprised. The whole thing smacked of farce to me.
He gave me a pointed look. “I might have expected you to draw some conclusions from the housekeeper’s testimony, but of course far more important things occupied your attention.” He brushed lightly at his upper lip, and I realised with some embarrassment that I must have cake crumbs caught in my moustache. As I tried to surreptitiously remove them, he cocked an amused eyebrow at me. “Good cake, was it?”
“Excellent. Almost on a par with Mrs Hudson’s.”
“High praise indeed! Well, while you were indulging your sweet tooth, I was exercising my wits.”
“With what results?”
In response he threw open the parlour door and strode into the room, leaving me to bring up the rear. The three women grouped around the empty hearth looked up, startled by his abrupt entrance.
“Mrs Peabody,” he announced with the exuberance I knew from long experience meant he was hot on the scent, “Doctor Watson and I must return to Baker Street now, but I promise you we will be in touch within the next few days.”
The widow blinked at him in astonishment, Miss Grey was impassive and Cressida curious though trying not to show it. “Have you solved it?” she asked.
“Hardly, my dear cousin, hardly! But I have some leads. Good day to you, ladies – we will see ourselves out.” Holmes whirled around and exited the parlour with the same suddenness as he had entered.
I made my excuses and followed, hearing Cressida’s outraged cry of “Sherlock!” behind me. Holmes did not turn and so I also paid it no heed, hurrying after him and smiling apologetically at the bemused Sukey as I passed her in the hall.
It was a full five minutes before Cressida joined us in the garden, as we lingered by the wicket gate. Her expression was thunderous, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Holmes appeared not to notice this, leaning against the gate and examining the magnolia which was growing over the wall from next door. It looked rather out of place amongst the overgrown wilderness which seemed to be rapidly taking over Mrs Peabody’s premises.
“Well?” Cressida said, coming to a halt before her cousin. “What have you discovered?” When Holmes did not reply, she demanded shrilly, “Tell me!”
“Alas, I must decline,” Holmes said with an expression of almost genuine regret. “I would prefer to keep my theories to myself until I have had an opportunity to test them. I am sure you understand.” He turned and opened the gate, slipping through and leaving her standing there, mouth working up and down in speechless rage.
It did not take her long to recover from her paralysis, and she was striding up the path after him at an impressive rate given the way her skirts hampered her movements. “Oh, I understand!” she shouted after him. “I understand that you are being deliberately infuriating. You always did want to explain everything at the last moment for maximum dramatic impact. Well, I am not one of your grateful clients ready to be dazzled by your brilliant deductions, Sherlock! I asked you here to assist a friend of mine, and the least you can do - ”
“Asked?” Holmes stopped, and she almost walked into his back. He turned, and fixed her with a gimlet stare. “You did not request, cousin, you demanded my presence. As you have failed to extend any courtesy to me I fail to see why you should expect me to do so for you!”
Cressida looked as though she would at any moment explode. Colour had stung her pale cheeks and her eyes glittered dangerously. “Why, you insufferable, arrogant - ”
“Ah, there is the end of a peaceful afternoon,” a voice said at my shoulder as I contemplated slipping away to retrieve my hat. I jumped, and turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman of a similar age to myself standing there regarding the warring cousins with amused exasperation. Soberly dressed, he had a handsome face, impressive chestnut whiskers and a twinkle in his green eyes. He held out a hand. “Charles Cunningham. Late of the 2nd Dragoons and hen-pecked husband of yon firebrand over there. You must be Doctor Watson – Ptolemy has just been telling me all about you.”
I took the hand and had mine shaken firmly. “I rather think Master Cunningham was more taken by Holmes than myself,” I said.
“Not a bit of it! The lad’s got his heart set on joining the army, and he just reminded me that you were out in India some years ago, before you met Sherlock.”
“Indeed, and Afghanistan. Terrible times.”
“Which regiment were you attached to, if you don’t mind my asking?” said Cunningham, and when I told him we enjoyed a good few minutes’ conversation on the subject before an enraged scream and a slammed door alerted us to the end of the argument between the cousins. Holmes had fetched our hats and sticks and came swiftly down the path towards myself and the colonel. “Of course,” Cunningham said, “for all their dramatics they do have a respect for each other. An extremely grudging respect, it is true, but respect nonetheless. Unfortunately, they are so similar in temperament that they have always contrived to rub each other up the wrong way.”
“So I see,” I responded as Holmes reached our spot beneath the chestnut tree.
Cunningham started forwards, hand outstretched. “Sherlock. Delighted to see you! It’s been too long.”
Holmes’s austere face broke into a broad smile at the sight of the colonel, proving to my relief that his animosity towards his cousin did not extend to her husband. “A good twenty years, I believe,” he said. “Mycroft told me you had retired, Charles.”
“Indeed, yes. Cressy finally convinced me to buy myself out. Working for the Army Board is taking a little getting used to, I have to say, grateful as I am to your brother for helping me obtain the position. I had no idea he had so much influence these days!” When Holmes did not respond to the mention of Mycroft, Cunningham continued, “All this talking about action rather than taking part in it is damned frustrating, I can tell you!” He laughed, but I could understand how difficult a transition to civilian life could be for one used to a regimented existence in the field. We walked towards the gate, and he accompanied us. “Any news of Old Mother Peabody’s cat?”
“You knew Cressida had consulted me?” Holmes asked in surprise.
“Knew, disapproved and attempted to dissuade her. I told her that you had far more important cases to occupy your time, but you know what she’s like when she gets the bit between her teeth. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d turned and high-tailed it back to London as soon as this storm in a teacup was mentioned.”
“We nearly did,” I said, but Holmes waved a dismissive hand.
“There are one or two points of interest,” he declared. “I need to be satisfied upon them before I can come to a conclusion, but I do not anticipate the case dragging on beyond Wednesday at the latest.”
Cunningham looked relieved. “I am glad to hear it. Mrs Peabody has been driving Cressy to distraction over it, and Xanthe is very attached to the ridiculous animal - ”
The sound of the front door of the house opening suddenly drew our attention – two small figures flew out, racing down the path towards us.
“Cousin Sherlock! Cousin Sherlock!” Ptolemy cried breathlessly, almost tripping over himself as he came to an abrupt halt before Holmes. “We were afraid you had gone! Mama wouldn’t let us tell you, but we think you should know.”
Holmes frowned. “Know what?”
“A vital clue! We simply must tell you!”
“A clue?” I repeated.
“Yes, Doctor Watson!” Ptolemy insisted. “Xanthe saw the person who took Barnabus Aloysius!”
TBC
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 2416
Characters involved: Sherlock Holmes, Doctor Watson
Genre: Mystery, family
Disclaimer: These characters, while out of copyright, were created by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle and do not belong to me. I do however own Cressida Cunningham and her family. Cressida has previously been mentioned in my fic The Puzzle Box and appears in Chapter 11 of Jottings from a Doctor's Journal.
Summary: Holmes is on the scent...
THE INHERITANCE OF BARNABUS ALOYSIUS PEABODY
CHAPTER THREE
The housekeeper was in the midst of a flurry of baking.
“For the church fete on Sunday,” she explained as she welcomed us into her sanctum and tried to press tea and cake upon us. “Mrs Peabody always takes something sweet around this time.” I would gladly have accepted, but a glance from Holmes was quite eloquent enough to encourage me to turn down the offer. Miss Grey, murmuring that she must return to her mistress, glided away. Holmes shut the door after her and turned to Mrs Hanway.
“Now,” he said, “I understand that you put the cat in his basket on Monday night?”
“I did indeed, sir. I always put Barnabus Aloysius to bed,” Mrs Hanway replied. “He had a saucer of milk and settled down quite happily.”
“It is rather unusual, given the concern she shows about the animal’s safety, that Mrs Peabody does not see to him herself,” I remarked. “One would think that she kept him with her at all times.”
“He can be rather difficult,” said the housekeeper. “I’m the only one he’ll allow to put him down in his basket. He’ll sit quite happily at Mrs Peabody’s side, but she can’t do a thing with him. In truth, he’s worse than a child, sir. Once he decided he would only sleep on the piano…” She threw up her floury hands helplessly. “Sukey – that’s the maid, sir – can’t go near him for fear of being bitten, and Miss Grey comes out in red lumps if she as much as touches his basket.”
“Really? That is interesting,” Holmes said, pacing the length of the kitchen. “He is not a placid animal, then?”
“Most assuredly not, sir. I always wondered why Mrs Peabody took such a fancy to him when there were far more affectionate kittens in the litter. Mr Peabody offered her the pick of them, but she chose Barnabus Aloysius.”
“Regarding the events of Monday night - you have had no strangers come to the house lately? No one has had access without Mrs Peabody’s knowledge?”
Mrs Hanway shook her head. “No, sir. Mr Clatworthy, the solicitor, has been once or twice with some papers for the mistress to sign, but that’s all. We’ve had no visitors except yourselves. And the police, of course.”
“Who summoned the police?”
“Miss Grey, for Mrs Peabody was quite hysterical. She kept crying out ‘They’ve taken him, they’ve taken him!’ though I don’t know who ‘they’ should be. Who would want to steal a bad-tempered old cat, sir?”
“Who indeed? Miss Grey tells me that the police found no evidence of any forced entry when they made their investigations,” said Holmes, walking past a succulent-looking fruit cake which stood upon a cooling rack on the table without even glancing at it. I found my eyes continually straying in that direction trying to ignore the rumbling my stomach had begun to make as it was stirred by the wonderful smells coming from the oven. Mrs Hanway noticed my interest and went to the dresser, taking out a plate and a knife.
“That’s true enough, sir,” she replied, cutting a huge slice of cake and presenting it to me. “They said the ground was too dry and hard to make out any footprints in the garden. The back door was still bolted in the morning, so unless they somehow came in through an open window I can’t see how it was done. And there’s something else that’s been bothering me, though I’ve not mentioned it to Mrs Peabody.”
Holmes stopped his pacing and turned to look at her directly. “Yes?”
“Whoever did it must have somehow managed to subdue Barnabus Aloysius. He doesn’t like strangers, you see, sir,” Mrs Hanway added for clarification. “Well, truth be told he doesn’t really like anybody except me and Miss Xanthe from next door, but the first time Mr Clatworthy came to call he flew at him like a creature possessed and almost took his eye out. Terrifying he was! I never thought he had it in him to move so fast, for he’s a lazy thing at the best of times. We had to shut him in the music room whenever the solicitor came after that.”
“A delightful creature,” I remarked around a piece of cake. The housekeeper smiled indulgently as I demolished her cooking, but Holmes looked less than impressed.
“Does Mr Clatworthy call regularly?” he enquired, holding up a hand in refusal when Mrs Hanway began to cut another slice.
“About once a month. The old lawyer never used to come so often, but Mrs Peabody has been making some changes to her affairs recently.”
“Ah, so Mr Clatworthy is not Mrs Peabody’s usual solicitor.”
The housekeeper frowned. “I suppose not. He mentioned the other gentleman retiring, and that he had taken over from him, I think, but I can’t remember exactly.”
Holmes nodded. “Thank you, Mrs Hanway, you have been most helpful. Have you finished, Watson?” he asked as I popped the last bite of fruit cake into my mouth. I mumbled something in the affirmative and rose to leave with him. As he reached the door he stopped and turned back to the housekeeper. “Oh, one more thing: are you able to tell me how long Miss Jane Grey has been in your mistress’s employ?”
Mrs Hanway looked surprised at the question, but said, “Just over two years, sir. Mrs Peabody took her on from an agency a few months after the death of her husband. She couldn’t cope alone, you see – her Hector was everything to her.”
“Do you by any chance recall the name of the agency?” Holmes asked hopefully.
She shook her head. “I never knew it, sir. Sukey deals with the postman.”
Holmes looked disappointed, but thanked her again. We were nearly in the passageway when she suddenly called us back and added,
“I don’t know for sure, sir but I believe it might have been in the West End.”
***
“Well, Watson, this case grows in interest,” Holmes said ten minutes later after a futile examination of the path leading from the back door. As both the companion and housekeeper had said, there was no evidence to be found for there had been no rain in over a fortnight and the ground was solid. All Holmes was able to ascertain was that no one had picked the lock, for the keyhole and its surround were both free from scratches.
“You believe so?” I asked, surprised. The whole thing smacked of farce to me.
He gave me a pointed look. “I might have expected you to draw some conclusions from the housekeeper’s testimony, but of course far more important things occupied your attention.” He brushed lightly at his upper lip, and I realised with some embarrassment that I must have cake crumbs caught in my moustache. As I tried to surreptitiously remove them, he cocked an amused eyebrow at me. “Good cake, was it?”
“Excellent. Almost on a par with Mrs Hudson’s.”
“High praise indeed! Well, while you were indulging your sweet tooth, I was exercising my wits.”
“With what results?”
In response he threw open the parlour door and strode into the room, leaving me to bring up the rear. The three women grouped around the empty hearth looked up, startled by his abrupt entrance.
“Mrs Peabody,” he announced with the exuberance I knew from long experience meant he was hot on the scent, “Doctor Watson and I must return to Baker Street now, but I promise you we will be in touch within the next few days.”
The widow blinked at him in astonishment, Miss Grey was impassive and Cressida curious though trying not to show it. “Have you solved it?” she asked.
“Hardly, my dear cousin, hardly! But I have some leads. Good day to you, ladies – we will see ourselves out.” Holmes whirled around and exited the parlour with the same suddenness as he had entered.
I made my excuses and followed, hearing Cressida’s outraged cry of “Sherlock!” behind me. Holmes did not turn and so I also paid it no heed, hurrying after him and smiling apologetically at the bemused Sukey as I passed her in the hall.
It was a full five minutes before Cressida joined us in the garden, as we lingered by the wicket gate. Her expression was thunderous, her arms folded tightly across her chest. Holmes appeared not to notice this, leaning against the gate and examining the magnolia which was growing over the wall from next door. It looked rather out of place amongst the overgrown wilderness which seemed to be rapidly taking over Mrs Peabody’s premises.
“Well?” Cressida said, coming to a halt before her cousin. “What have you discovered?” When Holmes did not reply, she demanded shrilly, “Tell me!”
“Alas, I must decline,” Holmes said with an expression of almost genuine regret. “I would prefer to keep my theories to myself until I have had an opportunity to test them. I am sure you understand.” He turned and opened the gate, slipping through and leaving her standing there, mouth working up and down in speechless rage.
It did not take her long to recover from her paralysis, and she was striding up the path after him at an impressive rate given the way her skirts hampered her movements. “Oh, I understand!” she shouted after him. “I understand that you are being deliberately infuriating. You always did want to explain everything at the last moment for maximum dramatic impact. Well, I am not one of your grateful clients ready to be dazzled by your brilliant deductions, Sherlock! I asked you here to assist a friend of mine, and the least you can do - ”
“Asked?” Holmes stopped, and she almost walked into his back. He turned, and fixed her with a gimlet stare. “You did not request, cousin, you demanded my presence. As you have failed to extend any courtesy to me I fail to see why you should expect me to do so for you!”
Cressida looked as though she would at any moment explode. Colour had stung her pale cheeks and her eyes glittered dangerously. “Why, you insufferable, arrogant - ”
“Ah, there is the end of a peaceful afternoon,” a voice said at my shoulder as I contemplated slipping away to retrieve my hat. I jumped, and turned to see a tall, broad-shouldered gentleman of a similar age to myself standing there regarding the warring cousins with amused exasperation. Soberly dressed, he had a handsome face, impressive chestnut whiskers and a twinkle in his green eyes. He held out a hand. “Charles Cunningham. Late of the 2nd Dragoons and hen-pecked husband of yon firebrand over there. You must be Doctor Watson – Ptolemy has just been telling me all about you.”
I took the hand and had mine shaken firmly. “I rather think Master Cunningham was more taken by Holmes than myself,” I said.
“Not a bit of it! The lad’s got his heart set on joining the army, and he just reminded me that you were out in India some years ago, before you met Sherlock.”
“Indeed, and Afghanistan. Terrible times.”
“Which regiment were you attached to, if you don’t mind my asking?” said Cunningham, and when I told him we enjoyed a good few minutes’ conversation on the subject before an enraged scream and a slammed door alerted us to the end of the argument between the cousins. Holmes had fetched our hats and sticks and came swiftly down the path towards myself and the colonel. “Of course,” Cunningham said, “for all their dramatics they do have a respect for each other. An extremely grudging respect, it is true, but respect nonetheless. Unfortunately, they are so similar in temperament that they have always contrived to rub each other up the wrong way.”
“So I see,” I responded as Holmes reached our spot beneath the chestnut tree.
Cunningham started forwards, hand outstretched. “Sherlock. Delighted to see you! It’s been too long.”
Holmes’s austere face broke into a broad smile at the sight of the colonel, proving to my relief that his animosity towards his cousin did not extend to her husband. “A good twenty years, I believe,” he said. “Mycroft told me you had retired, Charles.”
“Indeed, yes. Cressy finally convinced me to buy myself out. Working for the Army Board is taking a little getting used to, I have to say, grateful as I am to your brother for helping me obtain the position. I had no idea he had so much influence these days!” When Holmes did not respond to the mention of Mycroft, Cunningham continued, “All this talking about action rather than taking part in it is damned frustrating, I can tell you!” He laughed, but I could understand how difficult a transition to civilian life could be for one used to a regimented existence in the field. We walked towards the gate, and he accompanied us. “Any news of Old Mother Peabody’s cat?”
“You knew Cressida had consulted me?” Holmes asked in surprise.
“Knew, disapproved and attempted to dissuade her. I told her that you had far more important cases to occupy your time, but you know what she’s like when she gets the bit between her teeth. I wouldn’t have blamed you if you’d turned and high-tailed it back to London as soon as this storm in a teacup was mentioned.”
“We nearly did,” I said, but Holmes waved a dismissive hand.
“There are one or two points of interest,” he declared. “I need to be satisfied upon them before I can come to a conclusion, but I do not anticipate the case dragging on beyond Wednesday at the latest.”
Cunningham looked relieved. “I am glad to hear it. Mrs Peabody has been driving Cressy to distraction over it, and Xanthe is very attached to the ridiculous animal - ”
The sound of the front door of the house opening suddenly drew our attention – two small figures flew out, racing down the path towards us.
“Cousin Sherlock! Cousin Sherlock!” Ptolemy cried breathlessly, almost tripping over himself as he came to an abrupt halt before Holmes. “We were afraid you had gone! Mama wouldn’t let us tell you, but we think you should know.”
Holmes frowned. “Know what?”
“A vital clue! We simply must tell you!”
“A clue?” I repeated.
“Yes, Doctor Watson!” Ptolemy insisted. “Xanthe saw the person who took Barnabus Aloysius!”
TBC
