Continued from last post...




The following morning, Holmes and I made for Lynmouth under the guidance of our Mr. Cuddy, who exchanged much near unintelligible banter with Holmes on the subject of the previous night.

On arriving at the station, the arresting Inspector, a man by the name of Barnsley, was so stunned by our unexpected arrival that he had taken us to the cell of the arrested valet before even thinking to ask why we wanted to speak to him. Sensing that any indication that we were second guessing his arrest would result in our Inspector becoming disobliging, I slipped into my most diplomatic of modes, and assured him that we were here for the hunt primarily, and were only visiting the valet, Pearson, to assuage some slight quirk of the Viscount’s, which allowed the Inspector to believe that we too felt it was a mere foible of the aristocracy. Eager to find himself on the approving side of Sherlock Holmes, the Inspector afforded us a private interview with the valet, just as we hoped.

Albert Pearson, a man in his early forties, proved to be a most open and garrulous individual. Years in service had refined his accent, but his nervousness and eagerness to prove himself innocent to us allowed his cockney origins to slip through. He admitted without prompting his youthful involvement with a gang of housebreakers, having fallen in with them in an attempt to help pay off the debt over his mother’s head when his alcoholic father had left them in penury. Hoping to avoid her being sent to debtor’s prison, he had himself ended up in jail. His loyalty to the Viscount who had afforded him a rare second chance was obvious, and Holmes had to calm him when his indignation at the idea that he would repay his employer by stealing from his guests became too great to bear.

Pearson recounted his evening to us in great detail, starting with his laying out the Viscount’s garments for the evening, and attending outside the dining room during dinner as he always did in case His Lordship required anything. During his time there, he confirmed what Phillip Lynley had said, that all the gentleman bar the Viscount had left the room at one time or another, of them, only Colonel Hapsworth and Mr. Yeates had not gone upstairs, the Colonel having left to fetch his cigarette case from his coat, and Mr. Yeates to head to the foyer and the front entrance for some air. Of those that had gone upstairs, Mr. Parry had been gone the longest, and was met on his return at the bottom of the stairs by Mr. Cobb, only to oddly head straight upstairs again, this time returning straight away with a bottle of single malt whisky he had evidently forgotten. When asked about the movement of the ladies, Pearson said that he could attest to their comings and goings, due to the drawing room where they had resided being located near to where he was.

On attending the Viscount once the ladies and gentleman had rejoined, he had made his employer’s favourite drink, his lordship being so vociferous in his praise of his bartending abilities that he had demonstrated the recipe to the gentlemen as they had gathered around the bar to watch him, and that had been the last official action of his evening.

When the subject of his walk in the garden was broached, Pearson admitted to a bad smoking habit, something with which Holmes could entirely sympathise, and the valet recounted that as it had been a mild night, he had spent some time out there, until he had heard the furore at the house, and upon returning immediately, found all the servants being rounded up.

When asked whether only the servants had been searched, Pearson admitted that the Inspector had not seemed to consider the possibility of the gentry being involved, and besides at that point, they had discovered the necklace in the inner pocket of his uniform jacket, and his perplexed look as he recounted that was plain to see on his face.

“Mr. Pearson…” Holmes reached into his pocket, taking out his cigarette case, and offering the incarcerated man a Woodbine which was accepted eagerly. “Did you have your jacket off at anytime prior to being searched?” he enquired quietly, before lighting both their cigarettes.

“No sir, Mr. Holmes, sir,” the valet replied. “As I say, it was a mild night ‘n no mistake but not so mild as all that.”

My colleague nodded as he took that in. “I see…so you never took it off to say…sit upon the ground…or use it for someone else to do so?” he enquired slowly.

“Someone else?” Pearson repeated with a frown. “I confess, sir, to being at a loss…I was alone as I say, there was no…” He trailed off, as the indignant look returned once more. “Sir!” he gasped, rising immediately to his feet. “I’ll have you know, I’m engaged to a fine respectable young widow here in Lynmouth…” Though at the thought of her, his indignation died a little, and he sagged back to his chair. “It’s bad enough that she finds me in this position.” He glanced up at us. “I would never dally with another girl…Molly is the only one for me,” he insisted, running his hand through his dark hair in misery. “I only hope that I have not lost her over this.”

“I’m sure, you will not,” I consoled him as soothingly as I could, touched by the man’s predicament and what to me seemed sincere affection for his fiancée.

That sincerity shone through again, as he gazed up at us. “I have not the foggiest notion of how that necklace got where it did…and had I known it was there, sirs, why would I leave it there? I ask you! Even my short acquaintance with the underworld…damnation, even common sense…would dictate that I would hide it! Gentlemen, you must believe me, I did not do it!”

“No, Mr. Pearson,” Holmes said, rising to his feet, and offering him his hand, “I know you did not.”




On returning to Pendragon House, we found the place was a hive of activity. The riders from around the county had begun to assemble, those travelling some distance arriving with horse boxes and others from closer in on horseback, already dressed and ready for the hunt. It was a bright sunny morning, and the gathering was taking place at the back of the house near the stables, with breakfast being served for nearly a hundred people out there, hot food and tea along with spirits to keep everyone warm as conversation and preparation went on apace.

Through it all, the Viscount in his red and the Duchess in her long black riding habit held sway, and the talk was of nothing but horses; for the time being the theft and all other goings on in the House of Lynley were quite put aside. Though we saw nothing of his brother, George Lynley was dressed and outside, a scowl on his face and intriguingly a light bandage on his right hand, as he mingled with the other guests showing off the new Hunter he had acquired specifically for the hunt. Lady Margaret was amongst those purporting to show great interest in the subject, and gave us a rather sneaky smile as we passed by with Cuddy in the dog cart, leaving us both with the impression that she was on some kind of reconnaissance mission, most probably hatched in conjunction with the redoubtable Miss Thurlow.

Martin and Lavinia Yeates were both present, and were receiving glares from Lynley that would have felled an entire regiment of men, such was the vitriol contained within them. Evidently, it was not Holmes that Lynley had decided to take out last night's personal fiasco on, it was Yeates. Holmes’s words about the vindictiveness of the likes of George Lynley rang in my ears...and the look that he was receiving from the young man was obviously having a similar effect on Yeates, who unlike his stoic wife determined to rise above Lynley's boorishness, seemed worried still.

Miss Thurlow was, of course, one of the few absentees...the other noticeable one being Claire Lynley, whom we had already spotted out walking the estate slowly climbing one of the ridges, perhaps seeming to head for a good vantage point. With everyone busy outside, Holmes didn't waste anytime in striking out for indoors as soon as we departed Mr. Cuddy's company.

Inside, it was the downstairs part of the house that was abuzz, as the servants worked at top speed to keep the new arrivals informed, provide all the services they could, and serve food and drink to those already here. It was in the midst of the hubbub that we spied Miss Thurlow above on the landing watching, and made for the upstairs part of the house quickly.

"Miss Thurlow," Holmes greeted her on arrival by her side, "I see downstairs is well occupied, might I assume from your presence here that things up here remain…quiet?”

A tiny, and may I say, almost mischievous smile formed on her lips. "Indeed," she confirmed in an equally low tone, nodding to each of us in greeting as she spoke. "And I have taken the liberty in enlisting Maggie for the role of lookout. Up until the hunt begins, should anyone from that wing make to return inside, she will immediately alert us and attempt to distract them."

"Ahh..." I breathed with a chuckle, "that explains the most charming conspiratorial smile."

She nodded, her own smile turning rather wry. "Not that I could have stopped her from aiding. She has a will of pure iron, I fear."

"And if I were to suggest you go to join her at this point, Miss Thurlow," Holmes enquired. "Would your will to remain be any the less unbending?"

I raised an eyebrow at what my colleague was getting at, and remembered what it was I had meant to say to her the previous night. "No indeed, Miss Thurlow," I said urgently. "You must not think of such a thing as remaining with us. It is one thing for us to get caught trespassing in another’s room, we are what we are after all, but you are a lady and a guest of this house, you should not risk it."

Her jaw set in such a way, that I instantly knew that my words were of no avail. "I appreciate your concern, Doctor, and under normal circumstances I may indeed agree with you. However, the moment I was asked to send that telegram to you both, I became involved. If I can aid in this search, then I shall do so. Besides, time is short, and three pairs of eyes will accomplish the task much more readily than two." Her words were in the same soft voice, but there was such a strength and certainty to them, as well as an almost rigid element, that it made me wonder if this was the voice she used when faced with the board at her father's company or one of his foundations.

"Just as I suspected," Holmes said to me with a slight shake of his head. "Come, Watson. Miss Thurlow has an 'agenda' and there is little that dissuades a person of business from their agendas," he teased her, as he turned on his heel and began to walk down the corridor towards the guest wing. "You should know, Miss Thurlow," he informed her as he walked, "that our trip to visit the valet, Pearson, dispelled what little doubt I had that the man is innocent. He is guilty of nothing more than unfortunate timing."

"Indeed," she replied, moving briskly next to me, but having to take two steps to keep up with one of his long strides. "Have you formulated a conclusion how he came to have the jewellery on his person then?"

"I have indeed!" he responded with a tight smile, as he strode on. "And for the future of Mr. Pearson's engagement to his young widow, it is a happy occurrence that it does not feature a second female personage. I have questions for you, Miss Thurlow. Firstly, what do you know of Mr. Cobb and Mr. Parry?”

Her forehead creased a little in thought. “I confess, Mr. Holmes, very little,” she apologised. “Only that they are friends of George Lynley’s from London. Mr. Parry’s father is with the Home Office…Mr Cobb…” Her brow furrowed deeper. “I believe his family is in shipping.” She smiled a little, as she continued, “He went to Oxford with Mr. Lynley apparently, all though Maggie believes that he is not as well bred as he seems.” She chuckled a little at Holmes’s look. “I confess, Mr. Holmes, that Maggie believes that of most people, high or low born. She judges by manners rather than birth...” she explained with clear affection toward her friend, before frowning once more. “Besides, it can scarce be any other way if he’s a friend of Mr. Lynley’s given his outrageous stance on ‘common’ people.”

“I see,” Holmes pondered with a nod. “Let me ask you something else, Miss Thurlow. After the men rejoined you the night of the theft...the Duchess complained about their bragging giving her a headache. She did, in fact, seem somewhat peeved by their brashness. Might it be a safe assumption to make on my part that the Duchess's headache stemmed more from the fact that she was attempting to drive the conversation, only to be drowned out by the men?"

The wry smile once again appeared on her face, as she nodded. "Yes, I believe that is quite a safe assumption. Her Grace is most certainly the type of person who likes to lead rather than be led by a conversation. She had spent many a moment recounting various anecdotes as well as singing the praises of her late husband. It is most obvious that she misses him a great deal, for she spoke to anyone who would listen of the times they had shared, what he had given her, how he the best and finest of men..." She trailed off and shook her head. "I understand she is grieving, but..."

Holmes stopped suddenly by a door, and turned to her. "And during her outpouring of praise for the late Duke, did she talk specifically about the jewellery he had given her and her attachment to it because of him?"

I watched her eyes widen ever so slightly, as she began to follow, just as I was, where my companion was leading with his questions. "I do believe she did," she replied. "Though I must admit I took no notice at the time. She mentioned their quality, fineness, and worth...and some of the circumstances in which he gave them to her."

"Sentimental all, no doubt?" he asked. "Anniversaries, personal mementos, and the like?"

"For the most part, yes," she answered readily. "She was very proud of them and all aspects surrounding them."

"Then we have solved the mystery of the theft, and how the jewels ended up where they did," Holmes announced, as he turned to the door we were standing beside. "All that remains to ascertain is why it occurred in the first place," he said with the smallest of frowns, before opening the door to the bedroom, and marching into the room of Miss Alexandra de Courcy.

I could not contain my surprise as I followed in, checking to make sure that we had not been observed, before following my friend's movements as he moved further into the large guest room. "I don't understand, Holmes," I confessed. "As obvious and unladylike as Miss de Courcy is, are you seriously suggesting she stole the necklace?"

"I am suggesting nothing, Watson," he replied, his eyes scrutinising the room carefully. "Miss Thurlow, would you kindly check the writing desk for letters or papers?" He pointed at it briskly with one long finger. "Miss Thurlow was quite correct when she suggested previously that the motivating factor behind all the events of her stay here was money. We have thievery, blackmail, and even adultery all driven by money.”

“Adultery?” I queried with confusion, as the young woman quickly made her way over to the desk and began to methodically sort through the various papers on it.


“Most assuredly,” Holmes agreed with a nod of his head. “I doubt that Mr. Lynley cares anymore for Alexandra de Courcy then he does for his wife. We are here not to prove her part in the theft, but rather to discover her role in how and why that theft came to be," he explained, as he moved to her bedside locker and began to search.

Frowning at Holmes lack detail about what was going through his mind, I nevertheless crossed the room to search her wardrobe on his instruction, drawing out her expensive cases and bags, and starting to look through them. After a good five minutes of some rather fruitless searching on my part, I heard a Miss Thurlow inhale sharply, and on moving to her side, I saw her reading through a letter, before with a smile and nod of satisfaction, she handed it over to me for my perusal. "Mr. Holmes," she called, beckoning him over. "I believe I have found your clue."

Indeed, she had. For I was reading a letter from the banking firm of Jasper & Wright that clearly stated that a loan that Miss de Courcy had been granted for some £6,000 some eight months prior was now in fact due for immediate repayment, and if it was not settled within the next couple of weeks, the bank would be forced to contact her father instead.

Holmes hastened from his post to take the letter, and scanned it quickly. "Nicely done, Miss Thurlow," he murmured. "Nicely done, indeed."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she replied, a rather pink hue spreading over her ivory cheeks.

“Six thousand pounds!” I hissed, my mind trying to place this latest piece of Holmes's puzzle in its proper place. "She is in severe financial distress,” I theorised with the data we had. “Her father is her guarantor…”

“Ah ah!” Holmes held up a warning finger with a smile, and after a moment, I nodded slowly and began again.


“Her father is apparently her guarantor…” I corrected with a slow smile. “Might she have taken the necklace after all...hoping to pay back the loan she had taken out? Driven to it perhaps because her father was somehow unaware of her having taken the loan despite his being guarantor? The necklace would certainly be worth something akin to that," I broached as a hypothesis.

"Or blackmail?” Miss Thurlow mused beside me. “This letter does seem to explain why Maggie heard her saying she would get her due. Perhaps she asked Mr. Lynley to pay back the loan money she had taken out, and used without her father’s knowing, and he would or could not pay…and she threatened to expose their affair publicly?"

Holmes looked up from the letter, neatly returning it to its position where Miss Thurlow had taken it from, and flashed me a quick smile. "You're coming along, Watson. Not quite right...but not quite wrong either," he replied, before turning his attention to Miss Thurlow, to whom he gave a respectful glance. "And an admirable and logical connection, Miss Thurlow. Though again a little off the mark. Take your data and reconsider…taking into account that their personal relationship does not seem to have ended as it would have done if Miss de Courcy was merely blackmailing him into paying her debts...there is a little more for you to uncover yet," he said to both of us, but before we could say more, he was back across the room tidying up what he had disturbed and heading for the hallway again. "Onwards, ladies and gentlemen."

Stepping out into the hallway, he suddenly took a sharp turn right, heading for the family quarters. "We have seen the mistress...now to attend to the wife," he told us. "While I easily ascertained our fellow guests’ quarters, I took the liberty of enquiring of one of the servants last night which were the suite of rooms belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Lynley." He stopped by a set of large double doors, and opened them. "Time to take a closer look at another lady’s jewels."

Moving into the room, Holmes gauged the layout of the suite, and led us into the bedroom of Claire Lynley, his eyes scanning the room until they fell on the dresser and the jewellery box thereon. Stopping by the dresser, he bent and touched the ground, his fingertips bringing up something like shards of porcelain, and upon glancing around, found a discoloured damp patch on the carpet which he also tested with his fingertips, before sniffing them lightly. Rising up with a slight frown on his face, he turned his attention back to the box, though on trying it, it proved to be locked.

"Damnation," Holmes muttered, before turning in the direction of our female companion with a light frown. "Your pardon, Miss Thurlow," he said swiftly, inclining his head in apology for his swearing in front of her.

"No offence taken, Mr. Holmes, I assure you," she replied, frowning at the box herself.

Reaching into his coat pocket a moment later, he extracted a set of jemmies or lock picks that left my eyebrows in my hair. "Holmes..." I murmured, "you don't intend to break into it, surely! What on earth do you expect to find in that poor, unfortunate girl’s jewellery box that will tie in to the case?"

However, my colleague bent over and began to work on the small lock. "It's what I expect not to find, Watson..." he replied, narrowing his eyes in concentration. A few seconds later, with an alacrity that made me worry for all the secure locks in my rooms in Baker Street, the lock popped open, and with a satisfied smirk Holmes opened the jewellery box, which was quite full of some splendid pieces of jewellery, despite my friend's apparent expectations.

But rather than it fazing him, Holmes's smirk remained where it was, as his hand delved into the jewels on display, and, taking out one fine looking diamond brooch belonging to the young heiress and unfortunate bride of George Lynley, he held it up to the river of sunlight that came through the nearby window. "Paste." he announced quietly, and put it down, picking up another and another, each one getting the same conclusion. "All paste...and all forgeries..." he concluded, as he rooted through the box. "Give or take one or two of the smaller items."

"Just like Mr. Lynley's cravat pin," I breathed, remembering Holmes's retort at dinner the previous night.

"Exactly!" Holmes clapped me on the shoulder. "All forgeries...pretending to be otherwise."

“Forgeries…” Miss Thurlow’s eyes lit up, as she looked up at me. “He’s been selling them off, and replacing everything. Selling his wife’s jewellery, his own valuables, probably some of the estates goods if he can…” She turned to my friend. “Even borrowing from his mistress!” she exclaimed. “She’s not blackmailing him…she just wants back what she gave him before her father finds out.”

Holmes frowned a moment later, as his hands touched something in the box that was not jewellery. Drawing forth a crumpled piece of paper, he unfolded it, and his frown deepened. "Ah…I had assumed that only Mr. Lynley knew these were fakes," he said of the jewels. "However why hide this in your jewellery box where your husband might delve...unless you knew he no longer had any interest in either its contents...or you?"

He handed us the paper, and on opening it again, I read it aloud, "Worry not...you will have your due and more. She will not stand in your way much longer...her usefulness is at an end. I will..." I paused for a moment. "There is a bad spelling error here,” I noted. “It must have been discarded for a fresh one.”

"And found by Mrs. Lynley," Holmes concluded. "It appears Mr. Lynley is as blasé about his written mistakes as he is about his personal ones."

"It looks fresh," I noted. "The ink I mean."

"Poor Claire," Miss Thurlow whispered beside me. "To be married to such a man...to be brutalised, cuckolded, and to have all she has stolen from her and used for his debauched ways."

"It sounds as if he means to put her to one side..." I hedged with a frown, thinking on his reported brutality, "one way or another."

My friend nodded in agreement. "It may well be that Mrs. Lynley is operating under the same opinion now...as you say the ink is new...a few days at most." He reflected on that for a moment. "We should speak to her," he said briskly. "Ascertain what she knows about her jewellery collection and how long it’s been since her husband exhausted that avenue for funds." He turned to me after closing the case and leading us all back out into the main room. "She was up near the first ridge, was she not? Setting to watch the hunt?"

With a nod of my head, I began to move through the room, when I noticed a display cabinet to our right, that was ornately decorated, glass covered, and unlocked. Veering towards it as we walked towards the door, I stopped dead when I noticed what was in it. An entire collection of knives and pistols from around the place...but what attracted my attention most of all was a beautiful, hand carved, mahogany box which lay open inside, exposing the thick purple velvet...and the indentation left there by the gun that should have been occupying its place, but was not. "Holmes," I said quietly, drawing his attention to it.

As he and Miss Thurlow turned back, I gazed at them with anxiety. "Everyone has their boiling point," I murmured, "even the timid. Perhaps...just to be safe, we had better move to talk to Mrs. Lynley quickly."
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