“Unfortunately, even Lady Avery has never been privy to the particulars of that alienation,” said Lord Ingram. “She did, however, pinpoint the last time the brothers were seen together, which was in August of fifty-nine, twenty-seven years ago. The previous summer the Sheridans’ only child had died. For a year afterward the parents did not move in Society. That August marked their first outing at a house party. Lady Avery was there in person and remembered the brothers being very affectionate.
“Later that year she heard that Mr. Sackville had left for an extended stay in the south of France. She thought nothing of it. He was a wealthy bachelor and south of France a fashionable place. It was quite some time later that she noticed he had not returned. Then rumor had it that he did come back but not to the bosom of the family. She tried to pry some information out of Lady Sheridan, but Lady Sheridan was apparently in the dark as well. She was under the impression that Mr. Sackville had suffered severe personal trials and was hurt that he didn’t come to the family to seek comfort and succor, but rather shut himself away, locations unknown.
“And that was all she was able to tell me. That and something that may or may not be related to the case. Inspector, you said you had verified that Lord Sheridan had been in town throughout the time period of interest. But did you ask about Lady Sheridan’s movements?”
“No, I did not. It didn’t occur to me.”
“Lady Avery mentioned that she recently saw Lady Sheridan at Paddington Station, getting off a train by herself, without a maid in tow. She is sure that was the day Mr. Sackville died.”
Paddington Station served all points west of London, including Devon. It would be very interesting if Lady Sheridan’s travels had taken her to the vicinity of Stanwell Moot. But again, a tantalizing clue that did not amount to concrete evidence.
“Anything else, gentlemen?” asked Miss Holmes.
Inspector Treadles produced all the transcripts and reports that had been generated in the course of the investigation, from the inquest onward.
“I will take this to my brother. Please excuse me.”
They both rose as she departed. Lord Ingram remained on his feet and moved slowly about the room, examining the furnishing. Treadles, without thinking about it, reached for the notebook she had left behind.
It was new. And almost completely blank except a single word on the first page: Barrow-in-Furness, his place of origin, written in an unfamiliar hand.
He frowned and set the notebook down again.
Lord Ingram was before the mantel, looking at framed photographs, his brow furrowed. Treadles moved to the bookshelf and picked up a slim volume lying on its side, by none other than Lord Ingram himself, titled A Summer in Roman Ruins. Treadles remembered his lordship mentioning that he’d explored the remnants of a Roman villa on his uncle’s estate. He didn’t know Lord Ingram had also produced a written account.
The book was dedicated to “that wellspring of warmth and good sense, my friend and ally, J. H. R.” The next page bore an inscription, To Holmes, Long may you carry on as a reprobate of the first order. Ash.
“Holmes dictated that inscription,” said Lord Ingram from across the room.
Treadles chuckled. He’d read only two pages when Miss Holmes said, a hint of mirth in her voice, “Oh, the twists and turns in the plot of Lord Ingram’s archeological adventure.”
Treadles returned the book to its place. “Mr. Holmes has read everything?”
“Yes.”
“And does he have any fresh insights?” asked Treadles, almost embarrassingly eager to receive what bounty of perspicuity Holmes might have to impart.
“He noticed a discrepancy about the curtains in Mr. Sackville’s room.”
“Oh?”
“Becky Birtle, the maid who first found Mr. Sackville in an unconscious state, said in her testimony at the inquest that she opened the curtains as soon as she went to Mr. Sackville’s room. But in your interview with Mrs. Meek, the cook, she is recorded as saying that she and Mrs. Cornish, the housekeeper, opened the curtains after they reached the room, to have a better look at Mr. Sackville.”
Treadles hoped his disappointment didn’t show. “I noticed that as well, but I attributed it to the vagaries of memory—witnesses almost always recollect the same events with noticeable differences. What does Mr. Holmes see as the significance of that discrepancy?”
Miss Holmes glanced at Lord Ingram. “With regard to the reconvening of the inquest tomorrow, nothing. It will be easily dismissed as vagaries of memory, as you said. Overall Sherlock concurs with your assessment that there isn’t enough evidence to persuade the coroner’s jury to return a verdict that will allow you to carry on with the investigation.”
This time Treadles didn’t bother to hide his dismay. “Is there nothing we can do then?”
Miss Holmes tapped the tips of her fingers against one another. “You can test the bottles of strychnine in Dr. Harris’s and Dr. Birch’s dispensaries.”