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charleygirlTitle: Jack In The Green 9/10
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 3960
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: It is time for explanations...
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight
JACK IN THE GREEN
CHAPTER NINE
I am a Bristol lad, though me fortune is bad
And I am most wonderful poor
And indeed I intend all me life for to mend
And to build a fine house on the moor, me brave boys
And to build a fine house on the moor
- The Sheep Stealer, performed by Magpie Lane
“Then he will have to make my acquaintance first,” said Holmes. I did not dare to turn with a gun trained upon my back and an angry dog behind me, but I could hear the cold steel in his voice. “Drop the weapon, Mr Prior.”
Prior laughed. “You think I am afraid of you, Holmes? I am on my own land here, and you are both in my house without permission. The police will not be surprised if an intruder is found mauled by a guard dog.”
There was a loud crash from somewhere within the house, followed by a string of oaths.
“Ah, that will be the police now, dealing with your confederate,” Holmes remarked. “Do be sensible and surrender, Mr Prior. I should not like to see this venerable old building pockmarked by gunfire.”
I heard a snarl which I immediately assumed to be the dog before I realised it had actually come from Prior. “I’ll brook no interference! Who the hell do you think you are, coming here and destroying my plans? I’ve waited twenty years for this!” he cried, and there was a jangling sound which could only be the removal of the mastiff’s lead. “Khan! Kill him!”
Now I did turn, my own fear suddenly vanishing when my friend was in danger. I took a grip on my revolver, levelling it on Prior’s back at exactly the same moment as Holmes withdrew something from behind him and threw it – a large and rather smelly bundle hit the floor between him and the enraged mastiff. The dog stopped, cocked its head to one side in a quizzical fashion, and, after a pause which made my heart leap into my throat, pounced upon the object and proceeded to fasten its enormous jaws about it. As it tore away the wrapping I saw that the thing was in fact an enormous ham bone, which Holmes must have found in the kitchen.
“Miss Melville was kind enough to tell me that Khan is quite a docile dog, if one knows how to handle him,” he said with a slight smile.
The mastiff may have been quite happy, but Mr John Prior was not. With a roar he launched himself towards my friend. I instantly tightened my finger upon the trigger of my gun, ready to disable him if necessary, but to my surprise his advance stopped shortly after it began, and he froze three feet from Holmes.
“It’s all right, Watson,” Holmes said, raising his voice so that he might be heard over the noisy chewing of Khan. “Take his gun, will you?”
I came forwards to see that Prior had been brought up short by the blade of Holmes’s sword stick, which was held at its length with the point just touching the delicate skin of his throat. He stood stock still, both eyes fixed upon the blade and the remarkably steady hand which held it. I perceived barely a tremor, and, recalling how Holmes’s fingers had shaken the previous night, I once again marvelled at his control.
It was the work of a moment to take the hunting rifle from Prior’s slack grip, and I quickly removed and pocketed the cartridges. Holmes did not move an inch, his cold grey eyes boring into Prior’s dark ones. The youth’s bluster and bravado had left him – at my friend’s mercy he actually had the decency to look scared.
“What are you going to do?” he asked after a long pause, during which the mastiff did not even look up from his meal.
“Ultimately, that will be up to a judge to decide. For now you will be taking a journey to the police station and this house will be free of your tyrannical rule,” said Holmes. “Before you leave, however, there are a few questions to which I would like answers.”
“You have no right to threaten me,” said Prior, a hint of his arrogance surfacing as he realised we were not going to kill him. “You are not the police, Mr Holmes. I believe I could put the law onto you.”
“If I have no right to threaten you, then you certainly had no right to threaten, imprison and terrorise Miss Charlotte Melville. Just as you had no right to blackmail and forcibly drug your own father. You are a despicable specimen of humanity, Mr Prior.”
The young man’s face twisted in a snarl. “That man is no father of mine! He abandoned me when I was no more than a babe in arms – he is worse than a stranger to me.”
“Then why have you done all this?” I asked in amazement.
“For revenge, Watson, why else?” said Holmes. He jerked the blade slightly, and Prior flinched. “Into the study if you please, Mr Prior. There are others awaiting an explanation.”
A clattering of footsteps on the kitchen stairs heralded the arrival of Sergeant Taplow, breathing heavily from such a burst of energy. “Ah, you have him, Mr Holmes!” he exclaimed in delight.
“As you can see, Sergeant. What of his friend?”
“Constable Cartwright is pursuing him at this very moment. He won’t get far.”
“Excellent. Perhaps if you would be so kind…?”
Holmes did not remove the blade until Taplow had secured Prior. I kept my revolver trained on the young man nonetheless, ushering him into the study, the door having been unlocked by a cautious Molly who had heard the confrontation outside. At the sight of Prior she instinctively crossed to Miss Melville’s side, taking her hand. The young lady smiled when she saw the derbies on Prior’s wrists, her head tilted defiantly. Beside her in his armchair Sir George appeared much more alert, on his way to recovery from this particular episode. I handed my gun to Taplow and went to assure myself of the baronet’s condition.
“Sit down there,” Holmes commanded, gesturing towards a chair by the desk. He himself took the other armchair, which faced the seat into which he had instructed Prior, while Taplow took up a stance by the door. “How is Sir George, Watson?”
“He will be well enough, given time,” I replied, pouring the squire a glass of water and shooting Prior a glare.
“Now…” Holmes turned to the prisoner, who sat straight in his chair, staring at the wall, refusing to be cowed by his discovery and capture. I could see little resemblance between him and his father, which presumably had allowed him to keep their true relationship a secret from the household. Perhaps those who saw them together frequently might discern something familiar, but they would probably not realise what it was. “Will you tell this company your story, or shall I do it for you?”
Prior ignored him, his eyes fixed upon a spot over Holmes’s head.
“Very well,” said my friend, “There are some points upon which I am not clear, and will need your assistance to fill in the details, but until then I am quite happy to do the talking. When I was in France a few years ago there came to my attention a young man who was making the rounds of society ladies, acting as a…companion to them and receiving handsome payment for his troubles. I made a discreet investigation at the request of a friend, but could find nothing of a criminal nature to pin upon this man, and so the matter faded from my attention when events of a more important nature occurred.” Holmes glanced at me, and I knew that he was referring to the Adair murder, the momentous event which had heralded his return from the dead three years before. “However, there was something interesting about this fellow, not least his taste in expensive boots. He had become know as Jacques dans le Verte – Jack in the Green, presumably after the habitual colour of his coats, and from a name probably mentioned to him in childhood by his mother.”
There it was again: Jack in the Green. The name resounded throughout this case. I looked at Prior, and there was a sneer touching his lips.
“A fascinating story, Mr Holmes, but I fail to see what it has to do with me.”
“Really?” said Holmes. “Well, perhaps I should add that you were in France until six months ago, Mr Prior. Miss Melville met you there at a party after you no doubt inveigled an invitation through one of your ‘friends’. You kept a watch on her all night, and made sure that you discovered all that you could about her. At first you considered her as a potential victim, someone from whom you could trick an income, but when you heard her name your interest was piqued that little further, for it was your own. You full name, I believe, is John Prior Melville, is it not?”
“You have no official standing. I do not have to explain myself to you.”
“Then perhaps you will explain yourself to me,” said Taplow, fingering my revolver. “Or do I have to bring in an inspector from Banbury to hear your tales instead?”
“And precisely with what do you intend to charge me?” Prior demanded.
“The imprisonment of Miss Melville; and the murderous attack upon Henry Edwards. Is that not enough for you?”
“You cannot prove I attacked Edwards.”
“On the contrary, I believe we can,” said Holmes. “Once Mr Edwards recovers enough to tell us exactly what happened last night, there will be no question of lacking proof. There is certainly enough circumstantial evidence.”
Prior started, sitting up even straighter in his chair. His face paled. “Edwards is alive?”
“Yes, he is, no thanks to you!” hissed Miss Melville, starting up from her chair. “What did we ever do to you? Harry would never harm anyone!”
“It is all his fault!” Prior exclaimed, nodding towards Sir George. He too stood, but Taplow’s hand on his shoulder pressed him back into his seat. “It is because of him that I have no name, no standing, nothing to live on but my wits! I have been in hell since I was five years old and all because he denied me the life that should have been mine!”
The sergeant looked at Melville. “Is this true, sir?”
For along moment all eyes were turned to the baronet. Sir George was a tired, shrunken man who might once have been handsome but was now white-haired and prematurely aged by worry and care. He closed his eyes under the scrutiny and nodded; his shame apparent to all.
“I had a long conversation with the Reverend Culver yesterday,” Holmes said, taking up the threads of his narrative once more. “He has been vicar of St Peter’s for nearly forty years and is privy to some fascinating stories. I asked him a little about the Melville family and intimated that I may have some relations in common with them. He agreed to show me some of the parish registers. Of course, I had eventually to reveal the real reason for my enquiries, but when I explained who I was and for whom I was acting, he agreed to help me. In 1870, there was a marriage in St Peter’s between George Stanley Melville, and Alice Edith Prior. According to Reverend Culver, it was a small, private ceremony, attended by only the required witnesses. After the wedding, the couple went their separate ways, he to Oxford to begin his university education, she back to her parents’ house in Banbury. They had chosen to keep the marriage a secret from his parents, knowing that Sir Charles Melville – Sir George’s father – would not approve, as the young lady’s family, though respectable, came from trade. They agreed that once George Melville had made his way through Oxford, and was of age, they would make their union public.”
“Why did they not decide to wait until the marriage would be legal?” I wondered.
It was Sir George who answered. “Because they were in love, sir, that is why. When one is young and in love reason seldom enters into the equation. I wanted to marry no one but my Alice.”
“Unfortunately, however, your father discovered your secret before you could present him with a fait accompli,” said Holmes.
“Yes. He was angrier than I had ever seen him. You see, when I married Alice I was the younger son and of little importance – I had assumed that I would be allowed to live my life as I chose. Sadly, during my time at university my elder brother grew sick from a debilitating disease and died, leaving me the heir to the fortune. My life was no longer my own. I was ordered to put Alice aside, but in a rare act of rebellion I refused to do so. She was my wife, and I had the documents to prove it. However, my father threatened to cut me off without a penny should I not do as he ordered, and, having few talents by which to find my way in the world, I reluctantly did as I was told. Alice was devastated. My father had the marriage annulled on the grounds that I had not been of age when I made the vows, and Alice was given a sum of money and sent to live abroad. I never saw her again, though I remained true to her, and never married.”
“I take it that you were unaware when all this occurred that your wife was with child.”
The unhappy baronet nodded. “I knew nothing of him until John turned up on my doorstep last year. At first I was overcome with joy at the news that I had a son of my own, that he was the result of Alice and my union, but soon things turned darker as he revealed his true nature. He had documents that not only proved his birth but my marriage to his mother, documents I thought long destroyed. He threatened to expose what he called my abandonment of him and my family’s cruel treatment of his mother if I did not do as he said. Bitterness consumes him.”
“I only demanded that which was my right,” declared Prior.
“Demands and blackmail are never a legitimate manner in which to gain anything,” Holmes told him coldly. “I do not condone the actions of the Melville family towards your mother, but they do not excuse your abominable conduct. Only a spoilt child would imagine that they might.”
The young man laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Would you like to know more of my history, Mr Holmes, since you seem to have uncovered plenty of it already? My mother died when I was five years old, and left me no more than a hundred francs and a letter which was not to be opened until my twenty-first birthday. I was placed in the care of an elderly couple who had been friends of hers, but as I grew I chafed at the restrictions they placed upon me and eventually I ran away to Paris. I soon found that a pretty face and a smooth tongue can open doors, even without money. It was not the life I would have chosen, but I had no alternative but to take that which was offered to me.”
“And you found that trusting ladies were easy to manipulate,” I said.
“Do not judge me, Doctor,” Prior spat, rounding upon me. I took an involuntary step backwards at the venom in his gaze. “Until you have been down in the hell that I have seen you know nothing of the world. For years I simply existed. I forgot all about my mother’s letter until long after my majority arrived – I discovered it in a tin box in my lodgings and sat down to read. In it she detailed her marriage and subsequent abandonment by my father, and how such treatment had destroyed her, robbing her of any will to live. God help her, she remained in love with that man until the day she died. I resolved then that I would do whatever it took to gain what was rightfully mine and avenge the woman who had been treated so appallingly though she never wronged anyone in the world.” For a moment his fierce expression appeared to crumple, his eyes glistening, before the savage mask slipped back into place. “I set myself to tracking down my father. It was quite by chance that I met Charlotte at that party. After so recently discovering my heritage, how could I not take an interest in her? Even though she had usurped my place in the family, she was still my cousin and I had had no family all my life. But she repulsed me, preferring the company of that weakling schoolteacher.”
“Harry is twice the man you will ever be!” Miss Melville cried, rising once again, as though to fly at him. Molly held her back.
“So you came to England and found your way to Hope Barton. I wired Inspector Undershaw of the Banbury constabulary, who confirmed that you had been asking questions about the Melvilles both there and in Oxford. He also informed me that the Paris police had been making enquiries in their turn about you,” said Holmes, fixing Prior with a steady gaze. “Unfortunately I did not receive his reply until this morning, when Mr Cranleigh of the Green Man was good enough to accept the cable for me. If I had made the necessary connections sooner, it might have saved Mr Edwards the beating he received last night at your hands, a beating you gave because he had discovered your treatment of Miss Melville and tried to stop it.”
Sergeant Taplow glanced at the young woman, who sat ramrod straight in her chair, her eyes never moving from Prior’s face. “Is this true, Miss?”
She nodded. “I had no idea what Jack’s plans were until I felt ill on Tuesday morning and went upstairs to lie down. He must have drugged me, as when I awoke I was in the box room, and the door was locked. Terrified and unaware of what was happening, I went to the window and beat my hands upon it, screaming for help. It was then that I saw Harry cycling up the drive from the house – I had been due to meet him that afternoon, and he must have come looking for me when I did not arrive. He heard my cries and glanced back – I saw him ride back the way he had come but then lost sight of him. Barely ten minutes later Jack burst into the room in a rage, calling me any number of obscene names and demanding that I agree to marry him. He had seen that marrying me was the only way he could gain control of the estate and Papa’s money. I refused, repeatedly, and he threw me into a corner, leaving with a vow to break me in any way he could.”
“Presumably that was when he told you the truth about his relationship with your adopted father,” said Holmes.
“Yes. I did not believe him at first, but when he showed me the documents I could not deny it. But I still refused to marry him. How could I do such a thing? He kept me locked up in the box room with barely any food or water. I would have gone mad wondering what was happening in the house, and whether he had harmed Papa, had not Betty, one of the maids, found a way to slip me notes through a loose floorboard under the door. She risked her job to do so, but she managed to smuggle a letter from me to Harry.”
“A letter Mr Prior intercepted. He met Mr Edwards when he came to the house in answer to your plea, attacked him and left him for dead in his own school room, removing – so he thought – the only witness to his imprisonment of you and his rival for your affections in one swoop.”
“But what of you, Sir George?” asked Taplow. “Surely you noticed that your only daughter was missing?”
The baronet shook his head miserably. “I have not been well, and in truth I have spent the past few days in a haze. I barely know whether I wake or sleep, and when I am awake things have seemed strange, disordered. As this continued I began to believe that there was something horribly wrong with me, but I could not summon the energy to do anything about it. It was as if my body belonged to someone else. Only now am I aware enough to even consider what is happening around me.” He looked at me imploringly. “What is this terrible complaint?”
“You have been dosed regularly with opium, Sir George,” I said. “It was a calculated amount designed to keep you in a state of reduced awareness. The substance has been added to your whisky, and, I suspect, your food, over a period of days.”
“Good God!” Sir George stared at his son. “Is there no level to which you would not stoop, sir? Is not destroying my happiness and my home enough for you?”
“It will never be enough as long as you are alive and in charge of my birthright,” Prior snapped.
“All right, that’s enough,” said Taplow, laying a heavy hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I think I’ve heard all I need to for the present. To think that if it hadn’t been for Mr Holmes here you might have got away with your evil schemes! Mr John Prior, I charge you with the wilful imprisonment of Miss Charlotte Melville, and also with the near-fatal beating of Mr Henry Edwards. You do not have to say anything - ”
Before he could finish speaking, Prior leapt up from his chair and hurled himself at Holmes, his bound hands reaching for my friend’s throat. For a moment we were all frozen with shock before first and I and them Samuel threw ourselves at the wild young man as Holmes tried to break his hold, the chair almost overbalancing under our combined weight. Behind me I heard Taplow yelling something, Miss Melville crying out in alarm. I wrestled with Prior, who seemed to have strength of the very devil himself, at last managing with the help of Sam and the sergeant to drag him away. They held him securely while I turned my attention to Holmes, who was coughing and massaging his throat. I anxiously checked him over.
“It’s all right, Watson, nothing wrong that a brandy won’t cure,” he said hoarsely as I pulled his hand away to reveal what would no doubt be some rather unsightly bruising come the morning.
“I think you had better take him away, sergeant,” I told Taplow, who nodded.
“Come along, then. We’ve a nice warm cell waiting for you back at the station,” he said to Prior.
The young man ignored him, his gaze fixed upon Holmes. “You have ruined me,” he spat. “What business was it of yours to stick your nose into my affairs?”
“The business that I have made my own – that of seeing justice done,” my friend replied. “Just because you have a grievance against the world, it does not entitle you to break the law.”
To be concluded…
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 3960
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: It is time for explanations...
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight
JACK IN THE GREEN
CHAPTER NINE
I am a Bristol lad, though me fortune is bad
And I am most wonderful poor
And indeed I intend all me life for to mend
And to build a fine house on the moor, me brave boys
And to build a fine house on the moor
- The Sheep Stealer, performed by Magpie Lane
“Then he will have to make my acquaintance first,” said Holmes. I did not dare to turn with a gun trained upon my back and an angry dog behind me, but I could hear the cold steel in his voice. “Drop the weapon, Mr Prior.”
Prior laughed. “You think I am afraid of you, Holmes? I am on my own land here, and you are both in my house without permission. The police will not be surprised if an intruder is found mauled by a guard dog.”
There was a loud crash from somewhere within the house, followed by a string of oaths.
“Ah, that will be the police now, dealing with your confederate,” Holmes remarked. “Do be sensible and surrender, Mr Prior. I should not like to see this venerable old building pockmarked by gunfire.”
I heard a snarl which I immediately assumed to be the dog before I realised it had actually come from Prior. “I’ll brook no interference! Who the hell do you think you are, coming here and destroying my plans? I’ve waited twenty years for this!” he cried, and there was a jangling sound which could only be the removal of the mastiff’s lead. “Khan! Kill him!”
Now I did turn, my own fear suddenly vanishing when my friend was in danger. I took a grip on my revolver, levelling it on Prior’s back at exactly the same moment as Holmes withdrew something from behind him and threw it – a large and rather smelly bundle hit the floor between him and the enraged mastiff. The dog stopped, cocked its head to one side in a quizzical fashion, and, after a pause which made my heart leap into my throat, pounced upon the object and proceeded to fasten its enormous jaws about it. As it tore away the wrapping I saw that the thing was in fact an enormous ham bone, which Holmes must have found in the kitchen.
“Miss Melville was kind enough to tell me that Khan is quite a docile dog, if one knows how to handle him,” he said with a slight smile.
The mastiff may have been quite happy, but Mr John Prior was not. With a roar he launched himself towards my friend. I instantly tightened my finger upon the trigger of my gun, ready to disable him if necessary, but to my surprise his advance stopped shortly after it began, and he froze three feet from Holmes.
“It’s all right, Watson,” Holmes said, raising his voice so that he might be heard over the noisy chewing of Khan. “Take his gun, will you?”
I came forwards to see that Prior had been brought up short by the blade of Holmes’s sword stick, which was held at its length with the point just touching the delicate skin of his throat. He stood stock still, both eyes fixed upon the blade and the remarkably steady hand which held it. I perceived barely a tremor, and, recalling how Holmes’s fingers had shaken the previous night, I once again marvelled at his control.
It was the work of a moment to take the hunting rifle from Prior’s slack grip, and I quickly removed and pocketed the cartridges. Holmes did not move an inch, his cold grey eyes boring into Prior’s dark ones. The youth’s bluster and bravado had left him – at my friend’s mercy he actually had the decency to look scared.
“What are you going to do?” he asked after a long pause, during which the mastiff did not even look up from his meal.
“Ultimately, that will be up to a judge to decide. For now you will be taking a journey to the police station and this house will be free of your tyrannical rule,” said Holmes. “Before you leave, however, there are a few questions to which I would like answers.”
“You have no right to threaten me,” said Prior, a hint of his arrogance surfacing as he realised we were not going to kill him. “You are not the police, Mr Holmes. I believe I could put the law onto you.”
“If I have no right to threaten you, then you certainly had no right to threaten, imprison and terrorise Miss Charlotte Melville. Just as you had no right to blackmail and forcibly drug your own father. You are a despicable specimen of humanity, Mr Prior.”
The young man’s face twisted in a snarl. “That man is no father of mine! He abandoned me when I was no more than a babe in arms – he is worse than a stranger to me.”
“Then why have you done all this?” I asked in amazement.
“For revenge, Watson, why else?” said Holmes. He jerked the blade slightly, and Prior flinched. “Into the study if you please, Mr Prior. There are others awaiting an explanation.”
A clattering of footsteps on the kitchen stairs heralded the arrival of Sergeant Taplow, breathing heavily from such a burst of energy. “Ah, you have him, Mr Holmes!” he exclaimed in delight.
“As you can see, Sergeant. What of his friend?”
“Constable Cartwright is pursuing him at this very moment. He won’t get far.”
“Excellent. Perhaps if you would be so kind…?”
Holmes did not remove the blade until Taplow had secured Prior. I kept my revolver trained on the young man nonetheless, ushering him into the study, the door having been unlocked by a cautious Molly who had heard the confrontation outside. At the sight of Prior she instinctively crossed to Miss Melville’s side, taking her hand. The young lady smiled when she saw the derbies on Prior’s wrists, her head tilted defiantly. Beside her in his armchair Sir George appeared much more alert, on his way to recovery from this particular episode. I handed my gun to Taplow and went to assure myself of the baronet’s condition.
“Sit down there,” Holmes commanded, gesturing towards a chair by the desk. He himself took the other armchair, which faced the seat into which he had instructed Prior, while Taplow took up a stance by the door. “How is Sir George, Watson?”
“He will be well enough, given time,” I replied, pouring the squire a glass of water and shooting Prior a glare.
“Now…” Holmes turned to the prisoner, who sat straight in his chair, staring at the wall, refusing to be cowed by his discovery and capture. I could see little resemblance between him and his father, which presumably had allowed him to keep their true relationship a secret from the household. Perhaps those who saw them together frequently might discern something familiar, but they would probably not realise what it was. “Will you tell this company your story, or shall I do it for you?”
Prior ignored him, his eyes fixed upon a spot over Holmes’s head.
“Very well,” said my friend, “There are some points upon which I am not clear, and will need your assistance to fill in the details, but until then I am quite happy to do the talking. When I was in France a few years ago there came to my attention a young man who was making the rounds of society ladies, acting as a…companion to them and receiving handsome payment for his troubles. I made a discreet investigation at the request of a friend, but could find nothing of a criminal nature to pin upon this man, and so the matter faded from my attention when events of a more important nature occurred.” Holmes glanced at me, and I knew that he was referring to the Adair murder, the momentous event which had heralded his return from the dead three years before. “However, there was something interesting about this fellow, not least his taste in expensive boots. He had become know as Jacques dans le Verte – Jack in the Green, presumably after the habitual colour of his coats, and from a name probably mentioned to him in childhood by his mother.”
There it was again: Jack in the Green. The name resounded throughout this case. I looked at Prior, and there was a sneer touching his lips.
“A fascinating story, Mr Holmes, but I fail to see what it has to do with me.”
“Really?” said Holmes. “Well, perhaps I should add that you were in France until six months ago, Mr Prior. Miss Melville met you there at a party after you no doubt inveigled an invitation through one of your ‘friends’. You kept a watch on her all night, and made sure that you discovered all that you could about her. At first you considered her as a potential victim, someone from whom you could trick an income, but when you heard her name your interest was piqued that little further, for it was your own. You full name, I believe, is John Prior Melville, is it not?”
“You have no official standing. I do not have to explain myself to you.”
“Then perhaps you will explain yourself to me,” said Taplow, fingering my revolver. “Or do I have to bring in an inspector from Banbury to hear your tales instead?”
“And precisely with what do you intend to charge me?” Prior demanded.
“The imprisonment of Miss Melville; and the murderous attack upon Henry Edwards. Is that not enough for you?”
“You cannot prove I attacked Edwards.”
“On the contrary, I believe we can,” said Holmes. “Once Mr Edwards recovers enough to tell us exactly what happened last night, there will be no question of lacking proof. There is certainly enough circumstantial evidence.”
Prior started, sitting up even straighter in his chair. His face paled. “Edwards is alive?”
“Yes, he is, no thanks to you!” hissed Miss Melville, starting up from her chair. “What did we ever do to you? Harry would never harm anyone!”
“It is all his fault!” Prior exclaimed, nodding towards Sir George. He too stood, but Taplow’s hand on his shoulder pressed him back into his seat. “It is because of him that I have no name, no standing, nothing to live on but my wits! I have been in hell since I was five years old and all because he denied me the life that should have been mine!”
The sergeant looked at Melville. “Is this true, sir?”
For along moment all eyes were turned to the baronet. Sir George was a tired, shrunken man who might once have been handsome but was now white-haired and prematurely aged by worry and care. He closed his eyes under the scrutiny and nodded; his shame apparent to all.
“I had a long conversation with the Reverend Culver yesterday,” Holmes said, taking up the threads of his narrative once more. “He has been vicar of St Peter’s for nearly forty years and is privy to some fascinating stories. I asked him a little about the Melville family and intimated that I may have some relations in common with them. He agreed to show me some of the parish registers. Of course, I had eventually to reveal the real reason for my enquiries, but when I explained who I was and for whom I was acting, he agreed to help me. In 1870, there was a marriage in St Peter’s between George Stanley Melville, and Alice Edith Prior. According to Reverend Culver, it was a small, private ceremony, attended by only the required witnesses. After the wedding, the couple went their separate ways, he to Oxford to begin his university education, she back to her parents’ house in Banbury. They had chosen to keep the marriage a secret from his parents, knowing that Sir Charles Melville – Sir George’s father – would not approve, as the young lady’s family, though respectable, came from trade. They agreed that once George Melville had made his way through Oxford, and was of age, they would make their union public.”
“Why did they not decide to wait until the marriage would be legal?” I wondered.
It was Sir George who answered. “Because they were in love, sir, that is why. When one is young and in love reason seldom enters into the equation. I wanted to marry no one but my Alice.”
“Unfortunately, however, your father discovered your secret before you could present him with a fait accompli,” said Holmes.
“Yes. He was angrier than I had ever seen him. You see, when I married Alice I was the younger son and of little importance – I had assumed that I would be allowed to live my life as I chose. Sadly, during my time at university my elder brother grew sick from a debilitating disease and died, leaving me the heir to the fortune. My life was no longer my own. I was ordered to put Alice aside, but in a rare act of rebellion I refused to do so. She was my wife, and I had the documents to prove it. However, my father threatened to cut me off without a penny should I not do as he ordered, and, having few talents by which to find my way in the world, I reluctantly did as I was told. Alice was devastated. My father had the marriage annulled on the grounds that I had not been of age when I made the vows, and Alice was given a sum of money and sent to live abroad. I never saw her again, though I remained true to her, and never married.”
“I take it that you were unaware when all this occurred that your wife was with child.”
The unhappy baronet nodded. “I knew nothing of him until John turned up on my doorstep last year. At first I was overcome with joy at the news that I had a son of my own, that he was the result of Alice and my union, but soon things turned darker as he revealed his true nature. He had documents that not only proved his birth but my marriage to his mother, documents I thought long destroyed. He threatened to expose what he called my abandonment of him and my family’s cruel treatment of his mother if I did not do as he said. Bitterness consumes him.”
“I only demanded that which was my right,” declared Prior.
“Demands and blackmail are never a legitimate manner in which to gain anything,” Holmes told him coldly. “I do not condone the actions of the Melville family towards your mother, but they do not excuse your abominable conduct. Only a spoilt child would imagine that they might.”
The young man laughed, but there was no humour in it. “Would you like to know more of my history, Mr Holmes, since you seem to have uncovered plenty of it already? My mother died when I was five years old, and left me no more than a hundred francs and a letter which was not to be opened until my twenty-first birthday. I was placed in the care of an elderly couple who had been friends of hers, but as I grew I chafed at the restrictions they placed upon me and eventually I ran away to Paris. I soon found that a pretty face and a smooth tongue can open doors, even without money. It was not the life I would have chosen, but I had no alternative but to take that which was offered to me.”
“And you found that trusting ladies were easy to manipulate,” I said.
“Do not judge me, Doctor,” Prior spat, rounding upon me. I took an involuntary step backwards at the venom in his gaze. “Until you have been down in the hell that I have seen you know nothing of the world. For years I simply existed. I forgot all about my mother’s letter until long after my majority arrived – I discovered it in a tin box in my lodgings and sat down to read. In it she detailed her marriage and subsequent abandonment by my father, and how such treatment had destroyed her, robbing her of any will to live. God help her, she remained in love with that man until the day she died. I resolved then that I would do whatever it took to gain what was rightfully mine and avenge the woman who had been treated so appallingly though she never wronged anyone in the world.” For a moment his fierce expression appeared to crumple, his eyes glistening, before the savage mask slipped back into place. “I set myself to tracking down my father. It was quite by chance that I met Charlotte at that party. After so recently discovering my heritage, how could I not take an interest in her? Even though she had usurped my place in the family, she was still my cousin and I had had no family all my life. But she repulsed me, preferring the company of that weakling schoolteacher.”
“Harry is twice the man you will ever be!” Miss Melville cried, rising once again, as though to fly at him. Molly held her back.
“So you came to England and found your way to Hope Barton. I wired Inspector Undershaw of the Banbury constabulary, who confirmed that you had been asking questions about the Melvilles both there and in Oxford. He also informed me that the Paris police had been making enquiries in their turn about you,” said Holmes, fixing Prior with a steady gaze. “Unfortunately I did not receive his reply until this morning, when Mr Cranleigh of the Green Man was good enough to accept the cable for me. If I had made the necessary connections sooner, it might have saved Mr Edwards the beating he received last night at your hands, a beating you gave because he had discovered your treatment of Miss Melville and tried to stop it.”
Sergeant Taplow glanced at the young woman, who sat ramrod straight in her chair, her eyes never moving from Prior’s face. “Is this true, Miss?”
She nodded. “I had no idea what Jack’s plans were until I felt ill on Tuesday morning and went upstairs to lie down. He must have drugged me, as when I awoke I was in the box room, and the door was locked. Terrified and unaware of what was happening, I went to the window and beat my hands upon it, screaming for help. It was then that I saw Harry cycling up the drive from the house – I had been due to meet him that afternoon, and he must have come looking for me when I did not arrive. He heard my cries and glanced back – I saw him ride back the way he had come but then lost sight of him. Barely ten minutes later Jack burst into the room in a rage, calling me any number of obscene names and demanding that I agree to marry him. He had seen that marrying me was the only way he could gain control of the estate and Papa’s money. I refused, repeatedly, and he threw me into a corner, leaving with a vow to break me in any way he could.”
“Presumably that was when he told you the truth about his relationship with your adopted father,” said Holmes.
“Yes. I did not believe him at first, but when he showed me the documents I could not deny it. But I still refused to marry him. How could I do such a thing? He kept me locked up in the box room with barely any food or water. I would have gone mad wondering what was happening in the house, and whether he had harmed Papa, had not Betty, one of the maids, found a way to slip me notes through a loose floorboard under the door. She risked her job to do so, but she managed to smuggle a letter from me to Harry.”
“A letter Mr Prior intercepted. He met Mr Edwards when he came to the house in answer to your plea, attacked him and left him for dead in his own school room, removing – so he thought – the only witness to his imprisonment of you and his rival for your affections in one swoop.”
“But what of you, Sir George?” asked Taplow. “Surely you noticed that your only daughter was missing?”
The baronet shook his head miserably. “I have not been well, and in truth I have spent the past few days in a haze. I barely know whether I wake or sleep, and when I am awake things have seemed strange, disordered. As this continued I began to believe that there was something horribly wrong with me, but I could not summon the energy to do anything about it. It was as if my body belonged to someone else. Only now am I aware enough to even consider what is happening around me.” He looked at me imploringly. “What is this terrible complaint?”
“You have been dosed regularly with opium, Sir George,” I said. “It was a calculated amount designed to keep you in a state of reduced awareness. The substance has been added to your whisky, and, I suspect, your food, over a period of days.”
“Good God!” Sir George stared at his son. “Is there no level to which you would not stoop, sir? Is not destroying my happiness and my home enough for you?”
“It will never be enough as long as you are alive and in charge of my birthright,” Prior snapped.
“All right, that’s enough,” said Taplow, laying a heavy hand on the young man’s shoulder. “I think I’ve heard all I need to for the present. To think that if it hadn’t been for Mr Holmes here you might have got away with your evil schemes! Mr John Prior, I charge you with the wilful imprisonment of Miss Charlotte Melville, and also with the near-fatal beating of Mr Henry Edwards. You do not have to say anything - ”
Before he could finish speaking, Prior leapt up from his chair and hurled himself at Holmes, his bound hands reaching for my friend’s throat. For a moment we were all frozen with shock before first and I and them Samuel threw ourselves at the wild young man as Holmes tried to break his hold, the chair almost overbalancing under our combined weight. Behind me I heard Taplow yelling something, Miss Melville crying out in alarm. I wrestled with Prior, who seemed to have strength of the very devil himself, at last managing with the help of Sam and the sergeant to drag him away. They held him securely while I turned my attention to Holmes, who was coughing and massaging his throat. I anxiously checked him over.
“It’s all right, Watson, nothing wrong that a brandy won’t cure,” he said hoarsely as I pulled his hand away to reveal what would no doubt be some rather unsightly bruising come the morning.
“I think you had better take him away, sergeant,” I told Taplow, who nodded.
“Come along, then. We’ve a nice warm cell waiting for you back at the station,” he said to Prior.
The young man ignored him, his gaze fixed upon Holmes. “You have ruined me,” he spat. “What business was it of yours to stick your nose into my affairs?”
“The business that I have made my own – that of seeing justice done,” my friend replied. “Just because you have a grievance against the world, it does not entitle you to break the law.”
To be concluded…
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Date: 2008-07-05 12:21 pm (UTC)What a thrilling climax - I loved it! Will rave more about it when it goes up on FF. :D
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Date: 2008-07-05 01:36 pm (UTC)