“She was . . . she was willing to be my . . . paramour before. I . . . ah . . . I assume that hasn’t changed.”
“I see,” said Lord Ingram, his tone even more kindly. “Should Miss Holmes seek my help, I will remember to point her in your direction. Would that be all?”
Roger Shrewsbury’s throat moved. “I know you want to punch me. Why don’t you? Go ahead!”
Lord Ingram lifted a surprised brow. “Mr. Shrewsbury, I’m a married man. I don’t know about Mrs. Shrewsbury, but Lady Ingram would not care to hear that I brawled over another woman.”
Roger Shrewsbury flushed to the tops of his ears. “Of course. Of course. Please forgive me.”
Lord Ingram nodded. “My condolences.”
He turned and walked away.
Roger Shrewsbury would never know how close he had come to being thrashed within an inch of his life.
Lord Ingram looked up from his cufflinks. “Yes, Cummings?”
“I’ve saved the article on Mr. Holmes from the paper,” said his valet. “May I assume you’ll have no more use for the rest of it, my lord?”
Lord Ingram stilled. He had purchased a West Country paper before his return journey, which had sat next to him on the train, unread, as he stared out of the window for hours on end. He vaguely recalled leaving Paddington Station with the paper in hand.
“You may dispose of the paper as you see fit.”
“Very good, sir. I have left the article in your dressing room.”
Lord Ingram waited until his valet had left before heading to the dressing room. Cummings handled the posting and collection of his correspondence from time to time, so it wasn’t surprising that he would remember Sherlock Holmes. But why in the world was there an article about Holmes in the paper—a West Country paper, no less?
The newspaper clipping had for its headline
INQUEST ADJOINED AWAITING FURTHER EVIDENCE.
Lord Ingram frowned as he read the opening account of Mr. Harrington Sackville’s death. Sackville. He had heard the name in passing at Lady Shrewsbury’s funeral. Lord Sheridan’s long-lost brother, whom no one had seen for many years. Lord Ingram didn’t know the man, but the general reaction seemed to have been surprise—of the so-he-was-still-alive-as-of-recently variety.
Inquest testimonies from physicians and Sackville’s household retainers were recorded verbatim in the paper; everything seemed more or less straightforward—and nothing had anything to do with Sherlock Holmes.
Had Cummings clipped the wrong article?
At the end of witness testimonies, the coroner read the following letter from Mr. Sherlock Holmes of London.
Lord Ingram swore.
Dear Sir,
It has come to my attention that Mr. Harrington Sackville’s death, by apparent overdose of chloral, may not be an isolated incident: Lady Amelia Drummond preceded him in death by a week and a half; the Dowager Baroness Shrewsbury followed a mere twenty-four hours later. Lady Amelia was first cousin to Mr. Sackville’s elder brother by the same father, Lord Sheridan, and godmother to one of Baroness Shrewsbury’s children.
All three deaths were unforeseen. As was true in Mr. Sackville’s case, Lady Amelia and Lady Shrewsbury, too, had been in excellent health and spirits. They all perished overnight. The only difference is that Mr. Sackville’s maid came across him while he still drew breaths, albeit weakly, which gave the household sufficient time to fetch a physician and for the physician to diagnose an overdose of chloral, even if that diagnosis came too late for anything to be done.
Had the maid not tried to rouse him, he would have been found dead, and the cause of death would most likely have been given as failure of the heart or an aneurysm of the brain—causes set down on the death certificates of Lady Amelia Drummond and Lady Shrewsbury, respectively. And his passing, however unexpected, would have been treated much in the same manner as theirs, attracting its share of gossip and speculation but no legal notice.
Each death, taken singly, may be accepted as unfortunate but not suspicious. However, the proximity of all three, not only in time, but in their social and familial connection, becomes difficult to ignore.
I urge you, sir, to share this intelligence with your jury.
Yours truly,
Sherlock Holmes
Lord Ingram swore again. By tomorrow the news would be in all the London rags. Holmes never once mentioned the word, but how long before speculations leaped from mere suspicious deaths to the most conspiratorial of murders? He didn’t want to imagine the bedlam that would be unleashed.
Was this circus but a sleight of hand on Holmes’s part, to draw the glare of unwanted attention away from a certain beleaguered relation? No. If a diversion had been all that was required, Holmes would have accomplished it without provoking a public uproar.