![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
charleygirlTitle: The Inheritance of Barnabus Aloysius Peabody 6/6
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 3257
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: The conclusion...
Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five
THE INHERITANCE OF BARNABUS ALOYSIUS PEABODY
CHAPTER SIX
Holmes offered no immediate solution to the dilemma.
He made no move to travel out to Harrow the following morning, instead immersing himself in the agony columns and studiously ignoring Mrs Hudson’s frosty treatment. The good lady had apparently been out to do some shopping on Tuesday afternoon and returned to find that the sitting room had been turned upside down, papers littering the floor as though a whirlwind had just blown its way through the house. I was told by the maid that her horrified scream could be heard three doors away.
This was the situation I left on Wednesday to embark upon my rounds, and I was therefore not at all surprised to return a little before four and hear raised voices coming from the floor above. There was no sign of Mrs Hudson, and as I reached the landing I became aware that the voices belonged to Holmes and his cousin. To all intents and purposes they appeared to be continuing their argument from Saturday.
With some trepidation I entered the sitting room, to find Xanthe and Ptolemy seated at the table where our inestimable housekeeper was laying out tea, while their mother stood in the centre of the hearthrug, hands on hips and fire in her eyes, admonishing Holmes. My friend paced up and down the room, exasperation apparent in every line of his body. On the sofa in the centre of all this I perceived a large wicker basket of the kind used to transport animals – as we kept no pets and I had observed none at the Cunninghams’, I could not imagine why it should be there.
As Cressida continued to berate an increasingly irritated Holmes about his love of secrecy, the children noticed me standing somewhat bemusedly in the doorway and called me cheerfully to the table. Mrs Hudson, obviously pleased to have young people about the place who did not leave dirty footprints on the carpet, poured me a cup of tea and, with a roll of the eyes towards the bickering cousins, departed, leaving me to supervise the diminutive Cunninghams. I sat down, grateful for the refreshment for it was warm outside and I had been extremely busy the last few hours. In truth I had been hoping for a little peace and quiet upon my return, but it seemed that was out of the question at present.
My chagrin at walking into the middle of a quarrel must have been apparent from my expression, for Ptolemy glanced at me and said, “Don’t mind Mama, Doctor Watson. She doesn’t really hate cousin Sherlock.”
I paused with my teacup halfway to my lips. “What makes you say that?”
“Because she’s shouting at him,” the lad replied around a slice of Mrs Hudson’s sponge cake. “She only shouts at people she likes. Papa gets shouted at all the time.” Xanthe nodded in agreement.
“What are they fighting about now?” I could not help asking, for the children were very perceptive, and in addition I did not wish to be the one to interrupt Cressida in full flow. Holmes had by now abandoned any attempt to defend himself and sat hunched in his armchair, an unlit pipe in one hand.
“Mama doesn’t like cousin Sherlock’s plan to give Mrs Peabody a new Barnabus Aloysius,” said Ptolemy. He took another bite of cake. “I don’t know why. She did exactly the same thing when Socrates died.”
“Socrates?” I had a sudden irrational vision of someone substituting an identical Greek philosopher upon the demise of the original.
Ptolemy tutted. “My rabbit,” he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
There was little I could say in response to that pronouncement, and so the three of us quietly took our tea and waited for the storm to abate. I became so used to the sound of Cressida’s voice that when it stopped it took me a few moments to notice. The ticking of the clock in the corner was suddenly very loud.
“Have you finished?” Holmes asked after a few moments of blessed silence.
Cressida took a seat in my armchair on the other side of the hearth and crossed her legs in an elegant, fluid movement. “For now,” she said, in a tone which suggested that this was merely a hiatus.
“Then you agree that, given Mrs Peabody’s delicate health, this is the best solution for all concerned?”
She sighed and nodded sharply. “Very well. Though you know that if Eliza ever discovers the deception I shall lay the blame firmly at your door?”
“I am quite happy to accept the responsibility.” Holmes stood up and came to the table. To my surprise he poured a cup of tea, placed a biscuit in the saucer and carried it across the room to present to Cressida with a flourish. She gave him the closest I had seen to a genuine smile and accepted the cup. Ptolemy glanced at me and raised his eyebrows.
“You know that you are far too clever for your own good, don’t you?” Cressida said, flicking one of her own perfectly groomed brows at her cousin.
Holmes saluted her with his pipe as he went to charge it from the Persian slipper. “It has been mentioned.”
“Am I to understand,” I said, taking the opportunity that this break in hostilities afforded me, “that there is a new cat in that basket?”
“Watson! My dear fellow, I had no idea you were back,” Holmes exclaimed in surprise, looking at me as though I had suddenly appeared at the table from thin air.
“So I observed,” I replied, throwing one of his favourite remarks back at him.
The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Ha! Yes, you are perfectly correct. Ptolemy and Xanthe very kindly agreed to accompany me on a little shopping trip this afternoon. They picked out an animal which they assure me is a very worthy replacement for the late Barnabus Aloysius, though this one is of a far sweeter temper than his predecessor.”
“Agreed is an understatement,” said Cressida dryly. “Their father was almost trampled underfoot when he read out the telegram at breakfast.”
“But surely,” I said, “would it not be far more honest simply to tell Mrs Peabody the truth about the fate of her cat? The whole thing seems a trifle underhand to me – after all, she is not a child.”
“Your scruples do you credit, Watson. My esteemed cousin here also objected due to similar misgivings,” Holmes replied. He was about to touch a match to the bowl of his pipe when he spotted Cressida glaring at him and removed it with a sigh, shaking it out and tossing it into the empty fireplace. “However, Mrs Peabody will already have to come to terms with the knowledge that Miss Grey, whom she trusted and welcomed into her home, betrayed that trust in the most appalling manner. To then be confronted with the tale of her beloved pet’s death at the hands of the same woman would, quite possibly, be more than an elderly lady with a weak heart could stand. No doubt it is indeed underhand of me, but I believe it would be far kinder to break the news to the widow at a later date.”
I frowned. “I had no idea that Mrs Peabody was in poor health.”
“Eliza has had a weakness of the heart and diabetes for some years now,” Cressida explained. “The latter is aggravated by her love of Mrs Hanway’s cooking – they both have a very sweet tooth, which does neither any good. Even Barnabus Aloysius was suffering in that respect, for they would feed him cakes and treats. Even had Miss Grey not ended his life so violently, I have no doubt that sooner or later his heart would have given out under the strain.”
“And Mrs Peabody’s weak heart was precisely what attracted Miss Grey – or rather Miss Courtney, to give her true name – to the widow’s service,” added Holmes. “After all, there would be no gain in altering the will of a healthy woman. Though she is a highly unpleasant individual, she did not resort to murder - of human beings, at least.”
***
It was agreed that Cressida would take the basket and Barnabus Aloysius II back to Harrow with her that afternoon, and Holmes and I would call the following morning so that we might all give Mrs Peabody the news about her duplicitous companion together.
The widow welcomed us into the parlour, calling Sukey to bring refreshments. “I am rather put out,” she said, evidently somewhat puzzled by the strange occurrences in her house of late. “Miss Grey took an afternoon off on Tuesday to go into town and has not been back since. No letter or telegram of explanation has been forthcoming, and I must admit that I am becoming rather worried.”
“Does she often make trips into London?” Holmes asked, declining the butter biscuits Sukey offered him. I could not help accepting a large slice of fruit cake, despite being conscious of the threat to my waistline, my breakfast having been somewhat rushed. She slipped a couple of biscuits onto my plate as well, telling me with a wink that that Mrs Hanway had made them that morning. As I could contribute little to the conversation, I found myself nibbling at them, despite not having intended to.
“On occasion. She has an aunt in Clerkenwell who is not strong – Jane and her family take it in turns to visit the old lady, I believe. I have never known her to stay away without informing me before. It is most upsetting, especially after the disappearance of Barnabus Aloysius.” Mrs Peabody turned hopeful eyes upon my friend. “Please say that you have found him, Mr Holmes! I have no idea how much longer I can live with the uncertainty. Do you know where he is?”
“I can solve the disappearance of both Miss Grey and Barnabus Aloysius,” said Holmes. “The two are in fact inextricably linked.”
“Linked…? You don’t mean that - ”
“I am afraid I do. Miss Grey is currently in custody, awaiting an appearance before a magistrate. It was she who took your cat, Mrs Peabody. I knew no one else who could have done.”
The colour drained from the widow’s face, and she sagged in her chair, her eyes rolling up into her head. My bag being back at Baker Street, Cressida and I were obliged to revive her with burnt feathers and smelling salts before she was able to listen to Holmes’s account of the case. At the end I thought that she might faint again, and upon checking her pulse found it to be far too rapid. I murmured to Cressida that I considered a visit from Mrs Peabody’s own physician to be beneficial, and she nodded, assuring me that she would see to it that afternoon.
“I cannot believe it,” Mrs Peabody said, shaking her head and plucking at the ribbon holding her lorgnette with nervous fingers. “She was always so solicitous, if a trifle aloof. I could not fault her service. It is true that she was never fond of Barnabus Aloysius, but I put that down to the unpleasant rash she sustained when I once asked her to put him back in his basket for me. He never took to her, but then he is very nervous around strangers. That was why he attacked Mr Clatworthy. I suppose they decided to steal him because they both disliked him so. And to think that I employed her because she told me how fond she was of animals.”
“The cat was of secondary importance to them,” said Holmes a trifle impatiently. “Their main objective was always the acquisition of your money, and they set about it with considerable ingenuity.”
“Oh, why must it always come down to money?” the widow lamented. “Those children of my sister’s were the same, trying to get their hands on my money. I will admit that I was convinced it was they who had stolen Barnabus Aloysius, in order to try and force me to change my will in their favour.”
“They are dead, Eliza,” said Cressida. “Sherlock discovered that they perished en route from India some years ago.”
Mrs Peabody was hardly listening, apparently uninterested in the fate of her niece and nephew. She sank her head on one hand, pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve with the other. As she dabbed at eyes which, as far as I could see, were not exactly full of tears, she said, “What am I to do now? A woman alone, her companions gone?”
“I believe we may be able to help you with that,” Holmes announced. After a moment she raised her head and blinked at him. He rose and went to the door, opening it to reveal Xanthe standing there with a large ball of white fluff in her arms. I had observed Holmes and Cressida talking quietly together before leaving the house, and assumed that between them they had arranged for the children to bring the cat over, for Ptolemy followed behind with the basket. I confess that I could not tell one Persian cat from another and neither, it would appear, could Mrs Peabody, for she sat up in her chair, joy radiating from her fleshy face as the children carried the animal towards her. “Of course,” Holmes added as Xanthe surrendered Barnabus Aloysius II to his new mistress, “you will observe that his recent ordeal has had an effect upon him. He is a little less…belligerent than he was.”
“He is glad to be home,” Mrs Peabody said, as the cat made itself comfortable on her lap after some half-hearted struggling. “One can see that immediately. Oh, and he has lost so much weight! Was that nasty woman not feeding you, my darling? We will have to get Sukey to bring you some treats, won’t we?”
“You must also summon Mr Montague Clatworthy at the first opportunity to amend your will,” Holmes continued, though she was paying him no attention by now, her eyes only for her feline friend. She murmured to it as one would to a baby. “If you do not, Miss Grey will still be able to profit from her schemes.”
“Did you hear that, Eliza? You must ask the solicitor to call,” said Cressida loudly. “It is vitally important.”
Mrs Peabody glanced up in annoyance. “Yes, yes, of course,” she replied, and immediately resumed her cooing over the cat. It yawned widely and proceeded to settle down to sleep, oblivious to anything around it. She did not look up again.
Holmes and I took that as our cue to leave. My friend obtained an absent-minded thank you from the widow, but nothing more, much to his annoyance. He did not always expect payment for his services, but gratitude for a job well done was no more than his due. It was quite clear where Mrs Peabody’s priorities lay, and I found myself thinking that she must have been an easy target for Miss Grey. Had she not had the luck to count a member of the Holmes family as her friend, her fortune would have gone the way of those other unfortunate widows, into the hands of a grasping and unscrupulous woman.
Cressida followed us into the hall.
“Thank you, Sherlock,” she said curtly. “I could not have made sense of this mess alone. If you will send me your bill, I will ensure that Eliza pays it. She is not in a receptive frame of mind at present, as you can see.”
Holmes nodded. “I would in turn be grateful if you could give her a message from me.”
“Of course. What is it?”
“It is my suggestion that she uses some of the money she intends to hold in trust for that animal to employ a gardener, an odd-job man and a financial advisor, if she wishes to avoid this sort of thing happening again. And if she intends to seek a new companion, references and testimonies are of far more use than a professed affection for the animal kingdom!”
Cressida’s lips twitched, and she inclined her fair head. “Very well. Though I will naturally do so with more tact.”
“That, my dear cousin, goes without saying.” Sukey had brought our hats, and Holmes turned towards the door. “We will bid you good day. It has been…interesting to see you again, Cressida.”
“And infuriating too, don’t deny it. The feeling is mutual.” She laughed for the first time, a loud, unexpected noise rather like a donkey braying. I am ashamed to say that I jumped, though thankfully she did not notice. “It is just as well we defied Aunt Sophronia all those years ago, is it not?”
The door to the parlour opened behind us at that juncture, no doubt to Holmes’s relief, and Ptolemy came running out. He caught hold of Holmes’s sleeve, tugging at it.
“You’re not going yet, are you, cousin Sherlock? I wanted to show you my telescope! Papa told me the names of all the constellations, and I know I saw Orion’s belt last night!”
I tried not to smile at that, for Holmes and I had argued the importance of astronomy in the early days of our friendship. He still maintained that it mattered little to him whether the earth revolved around the sun or moon. Telescopes were a useful tool for observation at a distance, nothing more.
“Ptolemy, cousin Sherlock has lots of work to do in London,” said Cressida sternly.
“Another time, perhaps,” Holmes replied with a brief smile at the lad, which was returned.
His cousin looked askance at him. “Does that mean you will come back?”
He put on his hat, tapping the crown. “If invited rather than summoned, possibly,” he said, and with a pat on the shoulder for Ptolemy and a nod to Cressida he strode off into the sunlight outside. I bade my farewells to them both, receiving a nod of approval from Mrs Cunningham, and followed, catching up with Holmes at the garden gate.
“Just think, old man,” I said mischievously as we made our way up the street towards the station, “that young lad could have been yours.”
“I think not, Watson,” came the reply, laced with a touch of amusement. “There are too many of his father’s amiable qualities in him. Cressida and I are distant cousins to be sure, but could you imagine the result of two strains of Holmes blood mixed together?”
“In truth I cannot, though no doubt it would be worth observing.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “It would indeed! It is, however, one experiment in which I will never indulge.”
“Thank goodness,” I replied, with exaggerated relief.
“Amen to that, friend Watson. Now,” Holmes said, checking his watch, “it is a little after eleven, and as Mycroft is expecting us at the foreign office at three, I suggest we take the quarter-to train back to town.”
“This business with Siam?” I enquired, recalling the elder Holmes’s price for assisting his brother.
“Unfortunately, yes. However, I think we may be permitted to stop for a leisurely lunch on our way. What do you think?”
I nodded, and he smiled broadly. “Excellent idea, Holmes,” I said, but added, the cake and biscuits still heavy in my stomach, “Though for goodness’s sake, please let’s avoid dessert!”
FIN
Author: charleygirl
Rating: G
Words: 3257
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: The conclusion...
THE INHERITANCE OF BARNABUS ALOYSIUS PEABODY
CHAPTER SIX
Holmes offered no immediate solution to the dilemma.
He made no move to travel out to Harrow the following morning, instead immersing himself in the agony columns and studiously ignoring Mrs Hudson’s frosty treatment. The good lady had apparently been out to do some shopping on Tuesday afternoon and returned to find that the sitting room had been turned upside down, papers littering the floor as though a whirlwind had just blown its way through the house. I was told by the maid that her horrified scream could be heard three doors away.
This was the situation I left on Wednesday to embark upon my rounds, and I was therefore not at all surprised to return a little before four and hear raised voices coming from the floor above. There was no sign of Mrs Hudson, and as I reached the landing I became aware that the voices belonged to Holmes and his cousin. To all intents and purposes they appeared to be continuing their argument from Saturday.
With some trepidation I entered the sitting room, to find Xanthe and Ptolemy seated at the table where our inestimable housekeeper was laying out tea, while their mother stood in the centre of the hearthrug, hands on hips and fire in her eyes, admonishing Holmes. My friend paced up and down the room, exasperation apparent in every line of his body. On the sofa in the centre of all this I perceived a large wicker basket of the kind used to transport animals – as we kept no pets and I had observed none at the Cunninghams’, I could not imagine why it should be there.
As Cressida continued to berate an increasingly irritated Holmes about his love of secrecy, the children noticed me standing somewhat bemusedly in the doorway and called me cheerfully to the table. Mrs Hudson, obviously pleased to have young people about the place who did not leave dirty footprints on the carpet, poured me a cup of tea and, with a roll of the eyes towards the bickering cousins, departed, leaving me to supervise the diminutive Cunninghams. I sat down, grateful for the refreshment for it was warm outside and I had been extremely busy the last few hours. In truth I had been hoping for a little peace and quiet upon my return, but it seemed that was out of the question at present.
My chagrin at walking into the middle of a quarrel must have been apparent from my expression, for Ptolemy glanced at me and said, “Don’t mind Mama, Doctor Watson. She doesn’t really hate cousin Sherlock.”
I paused with my teacup halfway to my lips. “What makes you say that?”
“Because she’s shouting at him,” the lad replied around a slice of Mrs Hudson’s sponge cake. “She only shouts at people she likes. Papa gets shouted at all the time.” Xanthe nodded in agreement.
“What are they fighting about now?” I could not help asking, for the children were very perceptive, and in addition I did not wish to be the one to interrupt Cressida in full flow. Holmes had by now abandoned any attempt to defend himself and sat hunched in his armchair, an unlit pipe in one hand.
“Mama doesn’t like cousin Sherlock’s plan to give Mrs Peabody a new Barnabus Aloysius,” said Ptolemy. He took another bite of cake. “I don’t know why. She did exactly the same thing when Socrates died.”
“Socrates?” I had a sudden irrational vision of someone substituting an identical Greek philosopher upon the demise of the original.
Ptolemy tutted. “My rabbit,” he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.
There was little I could say in response to that pronouncement, and so the three of us quietly took our tea and waited for the storm to abate. I became so used to the sound of Cressida’s voice that when it stopped it took me a few moments to notice. The ticking of the clock in the corner was suddenly very loud.
“Have you finished?” Holmes asked after a few moments of blessed silence.
Cressida took a seat in my armchair on the other side of the hearth and crossed her legs in an elegant, fluid movement. “For now,” she said, in a tone which suggested that this was merely a hiatus.
“Then you agree that, given Mrs Peabody’s delicate health, this is the best solution for all concerned?”
She sighed and nodded sharply. “Very well. Though you know that if Eliza ever discovers the deception I shall lay the blame firmly at your door?”
“I am quite happy to accept the responsibility.” Holmes stood up and came to the table. To my surprise he poured a cup of tea, placed a biscuit in the saucer and carried it across the room to present to Cressida with a flourish. She gave him the closest I had seen to a genuine smile and accepted the cup. Ptolemy glanced at me and raised his eyebrows.
“You know that you are far too clever for your own good, don’t you?” Cressida said, flicking one of her own perfectly groomed brows at her cousin.
Holmes saluted her with his pipe as he went to charge it from the Persian slipper. “It has been mentioned.”
“Am I to understand,” I said, taking the opportunity that this break in hostilities afforded me, “that there is a new cat in that basket?”
“Watson! My dear fellow, I had no idea you were back,” Holmes exclaimed in surprise, looking at me as though I had suddenly appeared at the table from thin air.
“So I observed,” I replied, throwing one of his favourite remarks back at him.
The corner of his mouth twitched in amusement. “Ha! Yes, you are perfectly correct. Ptolemy and Xanthe very kindly agreed to accompany me on a little shopping trip this afternoon. They picked out an animal which they assure me is a very worthy replacement for the late Barnabus Aloysius, though this one is of a far sweeter temper than his predecessor.”
“Agreed is an understatement,” said Cressida dryly. “Their father was almost trampled underfoot when he read out the telegram at breakfast.”
“But surely,” I said, “would it not be far more honest simply to tell Mrs Peabody the truth about the fate of her cat? The whole thing seems a trifle underhand to me – after all, she is not a child.”
“Your scruples do you credit, Watson. My esteemed cousin here also objected due to similar misgivings,” Holmes replied. He was about to touch a match to the bowl of his pipe when he spotted Cressida glaring at him and removed it with a sigh, shaking it out and tossing it into the empty fireplace. “However, Mrs Peabody will already have to come to terms with the knowledge that Miss Grey, whom she trusted and welcomed into her home, betrayed that trust in the most appalling manner. To then be confronted with the tale of her beloved pet’s death at the hands of the same woman would, quite possibly, be more than an elderly lady with a weak heart could stand. No doubt it is indeed underhand of me, but I believe it would be far kinder to break the news to the widow at a later date.”
I frowned. “I had no idea that Mrs Peabody was in poor health.”
“Eliza has had a weakness of the heart and diabetes for some years now,” Cressida explained. “The latter is aggravated by her love of Mrs Hanway’s cooking – they both have a very sweet tooth, which does neither any good. Even Barnabus Aloysius was suffering in that respect, for they would feed him cakes and treats. Even had Miss Grey not ended his life so violently, I have no doubt that sooner or later his heart would have given out under the strain.”
“And Mrs Peabody’s weak heart was precisely what attracted Miss Grey – or rather Miss Courtney, to give her true name – to the widow’s service,” added Holmes. “After all, there would be no gain in altering the will of a healthy woman. Though she is a highly unpleasant individual, she did not resort to murder - of human beings, at least.”
***
It was agreed that Cressida would take the basket and Barnabus Aloysius II back to Harrow with her that afternoon, and Holmes and I would call the following morning so that we might all give Mrs Peabody the news about her duplicitous companion together.
The widow welcomed us into the parlour, calling Sukey to bring refreshments. “I am rather put out,” she said, evidently somewhat puzzled by the strange occurrences in her house of late. “Miss Grey took an afternoon off on Tuesday to go into town and has not been back since. No letter or telegram of explanation has been forthcoming, and I must admit that I am becoming rather worried.”
“Does she often make trips into London?” Holmes asked, declining the butter biscuits Sukey offered him. I could not help accepting a large slice of fruit cake, despite being conscious of the threat to my waistline, my breakfast having been somewhat rushed. She slipped a couple of biscuits onto my plate as well, telling me with a wink that that Mrs Hanway had made them that morning. As I could contribute little to the conversation, I found myself nibbling at them, despite not having intended to.
“On occasion. She has an aunt in Clerkenwell who is not strong – Jane and her family take it in turns to visit the old lady, I believe. I have never known her to stay away without informing me before. It is most upsetting, especially after the disappearance of Barnabus Aloysius.” Mrs Peabody turned hopeful eyes upon my friend. “Please say that you have found him, Mr Holmes! I have no idea how much longer I can live with the uncertainty. Do you know where he is?”
“I can solve the disappearance of both Miss Grey and Barnabus Aloysius,” said Holmes. “The two are in fact inextricably linked.”
“Linked…? You don’t mean that - ”
“I am afraid I do. Miss Grey is currently in custody, awaiting an appearance before a magistrate. It was she who took your cat, Mrs Peabody. I knew no one else who could have done.”
The colour drained from the widow’s face, and she sagged in her chair, her eyes rolling up into her head. My bag being back at Baker Street, Cressida and I were obliged to revive her with burnt feathers and smelling salts before she was able to listen to Holmes’s account of the case. At the end I thought that she might faint again, and upon checking her pulse found it to be far too rapid. I murmured to Cressida that I considered a visit from Mrs Peabody’s own physician to be beneficial, and she nodded, assuring me that she would see to it that afternoon.
“I cannot believe it,” Mrs Peabody said, shaking her head and plucking at the ribbon holding her lorgnette with nervous fingers. “She was always so solicitous, if a trifle aloof. I could not fault her service. It is true that she was never fond of Barnabus Aloysius, but I put that down to the unpleasant rash she sustained when I once asked her to put him back in his basket for me. He never took to her, but then he is very nervous around strangers. That was why he attacked Mr Clatworthy. I suppose they decided to steal him because they both disliked him so. And to think that I employed her because she told me how fond she was of animals.”
“The cat was of secondary importance to them,” said Holmes a trifle impatiently. “Their main objective was always the acquisition of your money, and they set about it with considerable ingenuity.”
“Oh, why must it always come down to money?” the widow lamented. “Those children of my sister’s were the same, trying to get their hands on my money. I will admit that I was convinced it was they who had stolen Barnabus Aloysius, in order to try and force me to change my will in their favour.”
“They are dead, Eliza,” said Cressida. “Sherlock discovered that they perished en route from India some years ago.”
Mrs Peabody was hardly listening, apparently uninterested in the fate of her niece and nephew. She sank her head on one hand, pulling a handkerchief from her sleeve with the other. As she dabbed at eyes which, as far as I could see, were not exactly full of tears, she said, “What am I to do now? A woman alone, her companions gone?”
“I believe we may be able to help you with that,” Holmes announced. After a moment she raised her head and blinked at him. He rose and went to the door, opening it to reveal Xanthe standing there with a large ball of white fluff in her arms. I had observed Holmes and Cressida talking quietly together before leaving the house, and assumed that between them they had arranged for the children to bring the cat over, for Ptolemy followed behind with the basket. I confess that I could not tell one Persian cat from another and neither, it would appear, could Mrs Peabody, for she sat up in her chair, joy radiating from her fleshy face as the children carried the animal towards her. “Of course,” Holmes added as Xanthe surrendered Barnabus Aloysius II to his new mistress, “you will observe that his recent ordeal has had an effect upon him. He is a little less…belligerent than he was.”
“He is glad to be home,” Mrs Peabody said, as the cat made itself comfortable on her lap after some half-hearted struggling. “One can see that immediately. Oh, and he has lost so much weight! Was that nasty woman not feeding you, my darling? We will have to get Sukey to bring you some treats, won’t we?”
“You must also summon Mr Montague Clatworthy at the first opportunity to amend your will,” Holmes continued, though she was paying him no attention by now, her eyes only for her feline friend. She murmured to it as one would to a baby. “If you do not, Miss Grey will still be able to profit from her schemes.”
“Did you hear that, Eliza? You must ask the solicitor to call,” said Cressida loudly. “It is vitally important.”
Mrs Peabody glanced up in annoyance. “Yes, yes, of course,” she replied, and immediately resumed her cooing over the cat. It yawned widely and proceeded to settle down to sleep, oblivious to anything around it. She did not look up again.
Holmes and I took that as our cue to leave. My friend obtained an absent-minded thank you from the widow, but nothing more, much to his annoyance. He did not always expect payment for his services, but gratitude for a job well done was no more than his due. It was quite clear where Mrs Peabody’s priorities lay, and I found myself thinking that she must have been an easy target for Miss Grey. Had she not had the luck to count a member of the Holmes family as her friend, her fortune would have gone the way of those other unfortunate widows, into the hands of a grasping and unscrupulous woman.
Cressida followed us into the hall.
“Thank you, Sherlock,” she said curtly. “I could not have made sense of this mess alone. If you will send me your bill, I will ensure that Eliza pays it. She is not in a receptive frame of mind at present, as you can see.”
Holmes nodded. “I would in turn be grateful if you could give her a message from me.”
“Of course. What is it?”
“It is my suggestion that she uses some of the money she intends to hold in trust for that animal to employ a gardener, an odd-job man and a financial advisor, if she wishes to avoid this sort of thing happening again. And if she intends to seek a new companion, references and testimonies are of far more use than a professed affection for the animal kingdom!”
Cressida’s lips twitched, and she inclined her fair head. “Very well. Though I will naturally do so with more tact.”
“That, my dear cousin, goes without saying.” Sukey had brought our hats, and Holmes turned towards the door. “We will bid you good day. It has been…interesting to see you again, Cressida.”
“And infuriating too, don’t deny it. The feeling is mutual.” She laughed for the first time, a loud, unexpected noise rather like a donkey braying. I am ashamed to say that I jumped, though thankfully she did not notice. “It is just as well we defied Aunt Sophronia all those years ago, is it not?”
The door to the parlour opened behind us at that juncture, no doubt to Holmes’s relief, and Ptolemy came running out. He caught hold of Holmes’s sleeve, tugging at it.
“You’re not going yet, are you, cousin Sherlock? I wanted to show you my telescope! Papa told me the names of all the constellations, and I know I saw Orion’s belt last night!”
I tried not to smile at that, for Holmes and I had argued the importance of astronomy in the early days of our friendship. He still maintained that it mattered little to him whether the earth revolved around the sun or moon. Telescopes were a useful tool for observation at a distance, nothing more.
“Ptolemy, cousin Sherlock has lots of work to do in London,” said Cressida sternly.
“Another time, perhaps,” Holmes replied with a brief smile at the lad, which was returned.
His cousin looked askance at him. “Does that mean you will come back?”
He put on his hat, tapping the crown. “If invited rather than summoned, possibly,” he said, and with a pat on the shoulder for Ptolemy and a nod to Cressida he strode off into the sunlight outside. I bade my farewells to them both, receiving a nod of approval from Mrs Cunningham, and followed, catching up with Holmes at the garden gate.
“Just think, old man,” I said mischievously as we made our way up the street towards the station, “that young lad could have been yours.”
“I think not, Watson,” came the reply, laced with a touch of amusement. “There are too many of his father’s amiable qualities in him. Cressida and I are distant cousins to be sure, but could you imagine the result of two strains of Holmes blood mixed together?”
“In truth I cannot, though no doubt it would be worth observing.”
He threw his head back and laughed. “It would indeed! It is, however, one experiment in which I will never indulge.”
“Thank goodness,” I replied, with exaggerated relief.
“Amen to that, friend Watson. Now,” Holmes said, checking his watch, “it is a little after eleven, and as Mycroft is expecting us at the foreign office at three, I suggest we take the quarter-to train back to town.”
“This business with Siam?” I enquired, recalling the elder Holmes’s price for assisting his brother.
“Unfortunately, yes. However, I think we may be permitted to stop for a leisurely lunch on our way. What do you think?”
I nodded, and he smiled broadly. “Excellent idea, Holmes,” I said, but added, the cake and biscuits still heavy in my stomach, “Though for goodness’s sake, please let’s avoid dessert!”
FIN
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 02:52 pm (UTC)(I'm also trying to imagine how the children of Holmes and Cressida would be...or how long the two would manage to live with each other...)
no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 04:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 04:34 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 04:38 pm (UTC)Glad you've enjoyed it, m'dear! :)
no subject
Date: 2009-05-31 11:42 pm (UTC)I SO want to see more of the extended Holmes family, especially Ptolemy and Xanthe. (They've got such a way with names, that family!)
no subject
Date: 2009-06-01 05:09 am (UTC)I actually have a Xanthe in my own family - one of my mother's cousins saddled her little girl with the name. Fortunately we don't have a Ptolemy... *g*
no subject
Date: 2009-06-01 12:44 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-01 03:45 pm (UTC)BTW, though it may not be a weird name per se, we were all rather nonplussed when my cousin named her son Chase. But then they do live in America, and that sort of moniker is more common there.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-04 04:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2009-06-07 09:25 am (UTC)