Young Sherlock Holmes: Fire Storm

that they would rather did not become public – and he threatens to expose them if they don’t pay him money on a regular basis.’

‘Are you implying,’ Sherrinford said, a quiet note of warning in his voice, ‘that this criminal has somehow discovered a secret about this family? I am a respected biblical scholar, and my wife is a pillar of the local community. What secrets could we possibly have that would attract the attention of a villain of this calibre?’

Sherlock shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter what he may or may not have discovered. The important thing is that all of his files – his entire collection of documents and letters – have been destroyed.’

Mrs Eglantine gasped, and brought a hand up to her mouth.

‘Are you sure?’ Sherrinford Holmes asked, leaning forward. ‘ “But the tongue can no man tame; it is an unruly evil, full of deadly poison.” James, chapter three, verse eight.’

‘Absolutely sure,’ Matty interrupted through a mouthful of sandwich. ‘We did it together.’

‘You saw it?’ Sherrinford asked. ‘You saw it yourself?’

‘I did. The contents of every box have been rendered unreadable.’

Sherrinford Holmes leaned back in his chair and ran his right hand across his brow. With his left hand he reached out and patted his wife’s arm. ‘Then the nightmare is . . . over.’ He sighed.

There was silence in the room for a minute or so. No noise, no movement, but something changed. It was as if a cloud had moved away from the sun. The room seemed lighter and warmer than it had before.

‘You have done this family, and many others, a great service,’ Sherrinford Holmes said. ‘I can see the same mark of character in you that I see in your brother, and also in your father – my brother. I am in your debt.’ He turned to face Mrs Eglantine. ‘And I am no longer in thrall to you, evil woman that you are. Whatever you were looking for in this house, you will never find it. Pack your bags. If you are not out of this house within the hour then your possessions will be placed in a pile and I will personally set light to them and then horsewhip you into the bargain. I wish never to see your face or hear your voice for as long as I live. You are not welcome here.’

‘I still know what I know!’ Mrs Eglantine proclaimed, stepping forward. ‘You will not get rid of me so easily.’

‘Nobody will believe you,’ Aunt Anna said. She stood up, her diminutive form seemingly towering over the tall housekeeper. ‘England is full of former housekeepers with a grudge. Nobody believes their stories, and for good reason. “Gossiping and lying go hand in hand,” as they say.’

Sherrinford nodded. ‘“Thy voice shall be a rebuke unto the transgressor; and at thy rebuke let the tongue of the slanderer cease its perverseness,”’ he quoted softly. ‘Leave here now, woman, while you still can.’

Mrs Eglantine glared at the four of them – Sherlock, Matty, Uncle Sherrinford and Aunt Anna. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, as if she knew she wanted to say something but she didn’t know what exactly. Then she turned and slipped out of the room like a shadow banished by the opening of a curtain.

‘Can it be that simple?’ Sherrinford asked. He reached out to take his wife’s hand.

‘You’ll have to watch out for her,’ Sherlock replied. ‘She may try to take something. She may even try to slip back into the house when there’s nobody around. There’s something here she wants, and I can’t see her giving it up easily. But it’s going to be a lot more difficult for her now. Her power base has been taken away.’

‘I almost can’t believe it,’ Aunt Anna said. ‘She has been such a malign presence here for so long that I almost cannot imagine life without her.’

‘Do you have any idea what she was looking for?’ Matty asked.

Sherrinford shook his head. ‘She never said. It was some time before I even realized she was searching for anything. She applied for the job of housekeeper three years ago, and since her references were impeccable I gladly gave her the job, but she was sullen and the staff did not take to her. Eventually I asked her to leave, but she revealed that she knew . . . certain facts about this family that I would not wish to be revealed. She forced us to let her stay, and she forced us to make payments to her that she transferred on to that odious man Joshua Harkness.’ He sighed. ‘One day I found her searching our bedroom. I demanded to know what she was doing. She told me to mind my own business. I told her that she was in my house and it was my business to know what she was doing. She laughed scornfully, and said that it was her house now.’

‘We became aware that she was searching every room, one by one,’ Aunt Anna said quietly when it became apparent that Sherrinford wasn’t going to continue. ‘But we never found out what she was looking for. It’s not as if there are many valuables in the house.’

‘She had blueprints of the house,’ Sherlock remembered. ‘They’re in her room, hanging outside the window. You should get them back, before someone else finds them.’

Sherrinford shook his head, and smiled. Sherlock couldn’t remember ever seeing his uncle smile before. ‘I believe that I have a bottle of Madeira which I have been keeping for a special occasion,’ he said. ‘This is probably as close to a special occasion as I will get in my life. I appreciate that you are both barely more than children, but I feel that God and your families would forgive me if I offered you a glass. A small one, of course.’

Sherrinford Holmes peered sideways at his wife and raised an enquiring eyebrow. She nodded, and he went to the sideboard to get a bottle and some glasses.

‘I feel that we owe you an explanation,’ he said as he returned and sat down. ‘Mrs Eglantine has made your life here unpleasant, to put it mildly, and after what you have done for us the least we can do for you is tell you what it was that she knew.’

‘Sherlock shook his head. ‘It’s not necessary,’ he said. ‘All families deserve to have their secrets.’

‘But this secret affects you,’ Sherrinford said. ‘We have kept it from you for long enough.’ He squeezed his wife’s arm, and she patted his hand in reassurance.

Sherlock felt as if the ground beneath his feet was sliding slowly sideways. A secret that involved him?

Sherrinford opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. He gazed at Matty, frowning. ‘Perhaps . . .’ he ventured, ‘this should wait until later. When we can discuss things between ourselves.’

Sherlock looked over at Matty. ‘Whatever it is,’ he said firmly, ‘I don’t want to keep it secret any more. Matty is my friend. There isn’t anything I don’t want him to know about me.’

Sherrinford looked unconvinced. ‘Even so, Sherlock, this is a family matter. Is it appropriate that others find out? Perhaps your brother should be consulted before we speak in front of others.’

‘Others have already found out.’ Sherlock’s gaze moved from his uncle to his aunt and back again. ‘Look, I once heard Mycroft say that sunlight is the best cleaning agent. I thought he meant it literally at the time, that rooms with the curtains drawn get dusty and cobwebby, but I’ve come to realize that he was speaking figuratively. What he was trying to say was that hiding things away just makes the situation worse. Knowing the truth, letting everyone know the truth, is usually the best course of action.’

Sherrinford sighed. ‘Very well,’ he said slowly, pouring the Madeira into the glasses. ‘This involves your father. It goes back to when we were children together. Siger – your father – was a strange child, even then. Some days he would be bright and full of energy, able to climb any tree and jump any fence, bolting his food and speaking faster than people could understand. Other days he would just lie in bed or mope around the house, listless and uninterested. Our father said that he would grow out of it. Our mother was less sure. She called in various doctors to give a diagnosis. The ones who came when he was running around and not stopping for breath said that he was naturally boisterous. The ones who saw him when he took no interest in anything around him said that he was sensitive and maudlin in nature – melancholic. When the melancholia or the mania became too much for our father and mother to manage, he was taken into an asylum and looked after there.’

‘My father was . . . is . . . insane?’ Sherlock whispered.

‘I would never have used that word to describe him,’ Sherrinford said sternly. ‘He was . . . is . . . my brother, and there were days when you could not tell there was anything wrong with him.’ He paused. ‘But on other days he would become so excited that he could be dangerous, or so maudlin that he talked of ending his own life. I say he was “looked after” at the asylum rather than “cared for”, because I visited him once, and I will never forget the abject horror of his surroundings. They left their mark on him, I am sure.’ He paused, staring at the table, but Sherlock suspected that, in his mind, he was seeing things from long ago. ‘One physician in particular who saw him when he was living at home, in between visits to the asylum, was particularly well read. He had heard of a Frenchman who had described a disease which he called folie a double forme, or ‘ “dual-form insanity”. Well, this particular physician tried various remedies – a tincture of black hellebore to induce vomiting, a decoction of foxglove, and hemlock juice. They had some effect, but