“I see. Where can I find this Matthew Bass?”
He gave us an address near St. Bart’s in one of the lodgings where many of the medical students lived. My brother had resided in a flat there when he was in training. “He knows a doctor who lives round there,” Abnett said. “He was sharing a room with him, I think.”
“Good. Thank you. Good night then, Abnett.”
With that, we left and I strained to keep up with Sherlock as we made our way toward Giltspur Street. The wind was howling and rain beat down so hard, it stung my face as we walked. Amid the gale, we searched and finally found the right location. Sherlock pounded on the door.
“Go away,” said a man from within.
“I need to speak with Matthew Bass.”
“What if he doesn’t want to talk with you?”
Sherlock’s eyebrows arched. “I have word of your daughter, sir.”
The panel snapped open. A man in his late thirties with long, black hair and a rough beard opened it and rubbed his eyes sleepily. “What? What are you going on about?”
“Are you Matthew Bass? The swan keeper? The swan killer?”
The man’s knees gave way. He pitched backward and slumped to a camp bed.
“I am Sherlock Holmes and I need to speak to you about the swans.”
“Not about my daughter?”
“Only incidentally, sir. I understand that your daughter was injured in the moat at Wells Cathedral.”
“Who told you that?”
“Irrelevant. Is it true? What happened? Was she injured in the moat? Or was she attacked by a swan?”
As if some long-repressed anger and rage could keep still no longer, he said, “First it was the dog. And then it was my sweet girl.”
“I don’t understand,” I said quietly.
“You killed the swans for revenge, didn’t you, sir?” Sherlock asked.
Suddenly, finally defeated, Bass’s eyes welled up.
“The damn swans. They were always fine except at breeding time. We warned everyone to stay away then. But the dog got loose and took off and ran into the moat.
“Elton was just playing. A spaniel, he was. He was playing and jumped in the water. Provoked the cob, I guess. He and his lady lost cygnets in some kind of shooting incident earlier in the year. And them cobs, they’re territorial. They attacked him, killed him. Drowned him. We told everyone not to go near them. But dogs are stupid. And some people. A couple boys were rowing one day and they were out near the nesting spot and the male was upset and it went at the boat, tipping it. I went out, waist deep, and helped the boys out of the water.”
“I told you, Sherlock. They can be very defensive if they feel threatened.”
“And then my little girl,” Bass croaked and averted his eyes.
“Yes, yes,” Sherlock said. “Go on.”
“My little girl. She didn’t know better. She addled the eggs in the nest. They were damaged and couldn’t hatch. And the next time she went down by the river... you see, the eggs. We found them in a nearby nest and they were addled, so they couldn’t hatch,” he repeated. “She didn’t mean it.”
“What happened to your daughter?” I whispered.
“Her eyes. The animal poked out her eyes!” he cried, his eyes red now from crying. “I broke its neck. I snapped it. And they fined me! They fired me! The damn swans are more important than people.”
“How did you come to be employed here, tending to the royal swans?” Sherlock asked.
“I used the name of a swankeeper who died a few years ago, before Bishop Hervey took over. My real name is Will Stockett, but they didn’t ask a lot of questions. It was easy. It was all easy. I answered an advertisement and bought some thornapple. And then I... I...” He stuttered and sputtered a moment. “I am not proud of what I did and I know I am a horrible person. I wanted to show them all. I wanted all of them dead, every swan in the empire. My girl can’t see and yet the swans were more important than she was. I wanted to show them.”
“You must come with me. You must-”
I touched Sherlock’s arm. “A word?”
Stockett buried his head in his hands. We moved to a corner of the room. “Sherlock, can’t we just let him go? His little girl is blind. It’s difficult to blame him.”
“But you yourself told me of the fines and penalties for-”
“His little girl is blind,” I repeated. “Because of the swans, she’s blind. Can’t we let him go? Sherlock?”
Sherlock took a deep breath and turned back to Stockett. “Where is your daughter now, sir?”
“In Bristol, with my wife and her parents.”
“Your freedom depends upon your compliance with what I say. It is essential now that you follow my advice in all respects.”
“I don’t understand, Mr. Holmes. I-”
“I believe that the Somerset & Dorset Joint Railway now has service to Bristol, sir. I suggest that you get on the next train to join your family.”
“What?”
“I will be round again in 48 hours. Do not be here, sir.”
We left quickly and were once again standing in the cold with the fog swirling at our feet. Sherlock put his hands on my shoulders and asked, “So, Poppy, are you up for a trip to the Cotswolds to solve our next case?”
Chapter 23
Within hours, and after a terrible argument about it with Uncle, we were off to Chippy.
We took the train to Oxford. Then we transferred to the Chipping Norton Railway, which carried us to the depot that linked the town with Kingham via the Oxford, Worcester and Wolverhampton Railway. Sherlock and I both felt the tedium of travel, but we also highly anticipated what we would discover upon our arrival.
As the train pulled into town at nightfall, Sherlock turned to me and said, “Did you know that Sarah Averell Wildes was born here?”
“Who?”
“One of the Salem witches. She was wrongfully convicted, of course, and executed by hanging, though she maintained her
