gray, red, green, and gold. I could see the tiny wounds made by the shot.
“Well, we’ve something to show for our walk this afternoon, Henry. I’ll have the cook serve it, and we’ll have the choicest portions for ourselves.”
I smiled, but I felt a strange dread that I could not quite understand. My ears rang. The sunlight seemed faint and feeble, and I felt cold even though we stood in the sun. The blast had disturbed the crows. They filled the sky with their caws, shards of blackness against a vast blue.
When we were alone that evening, I told Michelle about my conversation with Donald Wheelwright. As she listened, the creases in her forehead deepened. For once she was at a loss for words.
“I wish we could leave this place,” I said. “I wish we could leave Sherlock, Violet, and Donald. I... I am sick to death of the whole business.” My vehemence surprised us both.
“I cannot abandon Violet, my dear.”
I sighed wearily. “Oh, I know. Nor can I abandon Sherlock. All the same... there is something unhealthy and disturbing about the Wheelwrights.”
Michelle stared at the candle flickering on the table. “Surely... surely not with Violet.”
“Her, too.”
Michelle’s hand tightened about my arm. “But... she is only tired. This is all such a strain. If we could get her away from here—away from Donald and the Lovejoys and the gypsy’s threats—then she would be well again. I know it.”
“Perhaps.” I was not convinced, and my face showed it.
Michelle’s eyes filled with tears and she turned away.
That night my uneasiness kept me awake. Michelle was asleep in minutes, but I was up at least two hours longer. As a result, I slept later than usual. After a solitary breakfast I went to the sitting room.
Michelle rose to greet me. Sherlock sat on the window seat playing an informal air on his violin. Violet sat close by, a book on her lap. Gertrude was at a chair by the fire. The day was again spectacularly fair, the green expanse of lawn and the oak forest visible, the light different this early in the day. A small clock showed it was nearly eleven.
“Welcome, slug-a-bed.” Michelle kissed my cheek. “I thought you would never get up.”
Violet seemed more interested in Sherlock than her book. He set down the violin. “This country air does not make one industrious. Rather it has a soporific effect.” He played part of Brahms’
“You seem full of energy,” I said. “What project will you undertake today?”
He raised his long hand, gesturing at the table. “Mrs. Wheelwright must offer me another game of chess. We are tied at one game apiece.”
“You actually managed to win the second game?” I said. “You were losing.”
“I was lucky.”
Violet gave a sharp laugh. “No, I was stupid—I made a very ill-considered move. You may be full of energy, Mr. Holmes, but I do not know if I am quite ready to start another game. Chess takes such concentration.”
Michelle gave her head a shake. “It is far too lovely a day to be playing chess indoors, especially in November. The weather could change at any time.”
A sharp rap came at the door, and then it opened. Collins was dressed in his formal footman’s garb, and behind him were Donald Wheelwright and old Wheelwright. The two Wheelwrights strode into the room.
Violet’s eyes narrowed, but she stood and smiled, a faintly glacial expression. “Father Wheelwright, what a pleasant surprise.”
The younger Wheelwright gazed about the room. He did not appear particularly happy himself, and I remembered him saying how much he disliked working for his father. “Father had some business to discuss.”
The old man nodded. “We can’t all retreat from our everyday affairs. The potted meat trade requires constant attention. I’d never be where I am today—this house would never be in the family—if I had gone running off to the country all the time.” He turned to Holmes. “And have you discovered who attacked my daughter-in-law, Mr. Holmes?”
Holmes shook his head. “No.”
The two men stared at each other. Old Wheelwright wished to compel some explanation, but Holmes would not speak. “It’s a fine business when a lady can be attacked in her own home. Fleeing to the country hardly seems much of an answer. I hope you have not been overrated, Mr. Holmes.”
Violet’s smile had vanished, but Sherlock only smiled. “I hope not.”
Old Wheelwright glanced about angrily, and his gaze fell upon Gertrude. She sat quietly in the chair by the fire, her knitting untouched in her lap. Something about the old man’s thin neck and jerky movements reminded me of a bird, one with a white head and black body. He stepped forward, walking over to her chair. She did not move.
“Here now? What’s this?”
I could see that Gertrude had fallen asleep. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened.
“Sleeping—
Gertrude leaped up, her knitting tumbling from her lap. She clutched at her black skirts and managed a feeble curtsy. She looked pale and tired. “Good day, sir.” Her voice was hoarse. She made her tiny hand into a fist, and then coughed into it.
“If you worked for me, girl, I’d have you go pack your things.” He turned to his son. “Lax. Very lax. Parlor maids sleeping and staying seated when their master enters the room.”
“The girl is ill. Anyone can see that.” Michelle’s voice was steely and she stared sharply at the old man.
His upper lip curled into a brief smile. “Ill?
Gertrude swayed slightly, as if she were about to faint. She coughed again. Michelle went to her side and took her arm. “Sit down, my dear.”
“Oh, ma’am!” Gertrude shook her head, sagging against her.
“Outrageous!” Wheelwright turned to his son. “I hope you’ll deal with her. If you let this kind of behavior go by, you’ll soon have all your household making faces at you behind your back.”
Donald Wheelwright slowly drew in his breath. “She shall be punished.”
“See to it.” The old man strode from the room.
Donald started to follow, then turned to Violet. “See to it.”
Violet’s face was red, but her voice was like ice. “See to what?”
“He’s right. We can’t have servants falling asleep and ignoring our visitors. Make certain it does not happen again.”
“Oh, I shall.” Violet gave a savage laugh.
Wheelwright’s eyes were sullen. He turned and left the room.
Gertrude began to cry. Michelle lowered her into the chair.
“I couldn’t help it,” Gertrude said. “My chest hurts and my head. If I was awake... Someone shoud’ve nudged me.” She turned to Violet. “Oh, ma’am, I’m so sorry! Honestly I am.” She began to cough in earnest.
Michelle put her big hand on her shoulder. “There is nothing to be sorry about. You just sit and stay quiet.”
Violet had not moved from where she stood. Her fists were clenched, and her thin arms shook beneath the silken sleeves. Her upper lip had drawn back, so that I could see her clenched teeth. Holmes’ eyes were full of concern, but he did not move.
“That old... lizard,” Violet managed to say.
Michelle went to her. “The girl has a fever. She should be in bed. Violet?” She seized her arms and felt the violent trembling. “Oh, my dear—it will be all right. Do not...”
