The Adventure in Border Country

Gwen Moffat

What do you know of Cumberland, Watson?' Sherlock Holmes glanced up from his breakfast plate and I answered promptly. 'Sausages. They make excellent sausages in Cumberland. And there are the lakes. And daffodils. A pretty poem of Mr Wordsworth's—' And then I noticed the letter beside his plate. 'A case?' I asked eagerly. There had been no problem of note since November 5, when a certain Mrs Chaffinch took a meat skewer to her husband, dressed the body as a guy, and wheeled it in a perambulator through the East End to be consumed by a bonfire on the bank of the Thames. A simple affair for Holmes, although it had Lestrade stumped. Mrs Chaffinch had neglected to remove the buttons from her husband's old army tunic and they did not burn.

'What do you make of it?' Holmes passed the letter across the table. 'It was delivered by hand/

Dear Mr Holmes [I read],

Some few years ago you resolved a problem for Sir Timothy Eamont who assures me your discretion is of the highest order.

I have come up from Cumberland to ask if you can assist my neighbour in a matter so delicate that the intrusion of police and newspapers could spell disaster for all concerned. I propose to call on you at eleven o'clock this morning.

Yours faithfully, Clement Daw.

I shrugged. 'I assume he requires assistance for his own delicate problem. Blackmail, I shouldn't wonder. The man has become involved with a woman and has panicked.'

^'It is intriguing,' Holmes murmured, and I knew he had not been listening. 'This is an articulate fellow, accustomed to command, but the script resembles that of a boy, and one more at home on the back of a horse than in the school-room. A self-made man, Watson, and labouring under strong emotion, not a rake who has formed an embarrassing liaison with his wife's maid. I look forward to eleven o'clock. Can it be possible that the tedium of Christmas is to be relieved after all?'

'I enjoy Christmas,' I confessed. 'Although this year the weather is hardly traditional.'

During the first half of December we had endured temperatures of such ferocity that a number of poor people had frozen to death in their unheated rooms. And when the cold did relent, a dank fog descended on us. Incarcerated in our sitting room, we had so far kept boredom at bay, Holmes applying himself to the study of bones in a paper recently published by the Royal Society while I was enthralled by a new book on monomania by Professor Gins-burg. Thus, with the fog outside and pungent tobacco clouds within, we occupied ourselves until that gloomy morning when Clement Daw's missive arrived.

The man himself appeared promptly at eleven, shown up by Billy the page. He was a big, hearty fellow with a strong nose and a thin but well-shaped mouth. He put me in mind of a prosperous yeoman farmer and he spoke loudly, like one accustomed to talk against the wind.

Tm not going to waste your time, Mr Holmes,' he began, as soon as he was seated. 'Nor that of Dr Watson. I am a tobacco merchant and a widower. My two sons operate the business in Liverpool, allowing me to spend most of my time on my country estate, which is close to that of a Mr and Mrs Aubrey. It is on their behalf that I have made this journey, and it is necessary here to tell you something of our surroundings.

'Our houses front a lake and behind us wooded crags rise to a bleak moorland, the domain of sheep and grouse. There is a shooting box or cabin some three miles from Aubrey's house—' At this point our visitor checked and frowned, at a loss for words.

'The cabin features in your story?' Holmes prompted.

'That's the puzzle!' Daw cried. 'You see, Mr Holmes, Miles Aubrey has quite disappeared. He has not been seen since last Tuesday evening, when he told his wife he was going to the stables to look at a sick pony.'

'Six days ago.' Holmes was thoughtful. 'You searched of course. What did you find at the cabin?'

Daw said grimly, 'There was champagne on the table: an empty bottle and another a quarter-full. There was the remains of a game pie, and the bed had been ... occupied. There was no sign of Aubrey.'

'What makes you think he had been there?'

'The champagne was from his cellar and the cook recognised her crust on what was left of the pie.'

'Why did you not go to the police?'

Daw slumped in his chair. 'There were two champagne glasses,' he said miserably. 'There is Mrs Aubrey to be considered and, indeed, her daughter. Minnie is only twelve. She is not Aubrey's child. Mrs Aubrey's first husband died of cholera in India. The poor lady is a sad example of the maxim that wealth cannot buy happiness. For she is an heiress: the only child of a Glasgow ironmaster. Widowed while still young, she remarried—' Again he broke off and glowered at us.

'And now the lady has lost this husband?' Holmes pondered his own question. 'What has been done to locate him?'

'When he did not come down to breakfast, Mrs Aubrey sent to see if he was indisposed, and discovered that his bed had not been slept in. She was not greatly surprised. She has confided in me and I knew that this was not the first time he had stayed out all night, and without warning. However, by afternoon, she began to worry, not least because he had taken no horse and no change of clothing, and it had snowed that morning. So she sent for me. I got up a search party but there was little we could do in the short space of daylight left. No one had seen Aubrey in the village, which lies two miles east of his house.

'At first light next morning we started a more organised search. We looked for tracks. I was leading the party that went to the cabin. Now the snow had started quite early the previous morning but there were no tracks about the place; the snow was pristine.'

'Which argues that he left before it stopped snowing,' Holmes put in. 'What of his drinking companion?'

Daw pursed his lips. 'The obvious person denies that she was with him, but then I am not adept at interrogation. Which is why I come to you, sir. We have to discover his whereabouts.'

'Do you suspect foul play?'

'It is possible. Our people are a rough, untutored folk, passionately loyal, but implacable in their hatred.'

'So,' said Holmes when our visitor had left, 'the disreputable Aubrey has at least one mistress in the locality, and someone has seen fit to avenge her dishonour?'

'Or the woman is with child and demands money as the price of silence.'

'Then she would be the victim.' Holmes reached for tobacco in the Persian slipper and started to fill his pipe. He glanced at the window. 'A visit to Cumberland promises escape from this climate and the ennui of Christmas. Moreover, there is the small matter of a fee, and Mr Daw is not without substance.' He glanced at the cheque left by our visitor to retain his services. 'Now why is it Daw who engages me to find the husband, and not the wife?'

'She shuns publicity.'

'So he comes to me knowing I shall be discreet? I have the impression that the lady is less keen to engage us than is this gentleman. There is an attachment? His concern is for her but he referred to her as "poor lady": a term more fatherly than romantic'

'He will be considerably older. He has grown sons, her daughter is a child.'

'A girl of twelve can be precocious.' It was a statement out of context and I disregarded it. Holmes now lapsed into one of those periods of preoccupation which often assail him at the start of a case and which persisted until we were steaming out of London the following morning. We were alone, Daw having gone ahead the previous day. As the first pale ray of sunshine crept into the carriage he fixed me with a sharp stare and announced: 'The motive is not greed. It is the greedy person who has come to grief.'

'You think then that he has come to grief? He could have disappeared in order to escape creditors.'

'His wife would settle his debts. No, Watson, there is more to this than meets the eye. Daw may have it to rights with his talk of unbridled passions. We must not forget that Mr Wordsworth's pretty Lake District merges with the wild border country, where rapine and pillage were commonplace until a few generations ago. I suspect we shall find less of sparkling waves and dancing daffodils and more of Ruskin's "awful curtain of night and death" at the end of our journey.'

How right he was. In Cumberland the absence of fog served only to emphasise the harshness of the landscape. Other passengers alighting from our train and bound for a family Christmas, burdened as they were with packages and fat fowls, these good people seemed positively delighted to view the bleak lines of the mountains, indeed they even grumbled at the lack of snow.

Mr Daw had sent his carriage to meet us, and from the comfort of this, behind a pair of matched bays, I regarded the surroundings with some trepidation. I had thought Dartmoor a wilderness well suited to a savage monster,* but the Lake District was altogether more impressive. The lines of Dartmoor sweep and undulate but here the mountains loomed over us, rising above crags which themselves reared above timbered slopes so steep it was a marvel that any tree could find a purchase.

We had arrived late and the light was fading fast. As we drove westward the afterglow illuminated a vast horizontal mass that gleamed dully about its margin. 'The lake,' observed Holmes, 'and starting to freeze, I see. Now I wonder: did they drag the lake?'

*The Hound of the Baskervilles We passed through a village, doors and windows fastened against the frosty air, although a knot of children accompanied a pony that dragged a log along the frozen street. At the pony's head was a tall woman in a red cloak. In the light from a window we saw her face framed by dark curls and a scarlet hood: large, luminous eyes and sensual lips. I lifted a hand in salutation and she nodded casually, then, remembering her place, dropped a curtsey.

Leafless trees crowded the road and, after a couple of miles they stood back to expose parkland and a large house, its dimensions revealed by the disposition of its lighted windows. 'Aubrey's,' said Holmes. 'Daw's is the second house.'

The village boasted only a rude inn and Daw had insisted that we accept his hospitality. Upon arrival we were shown to adjoining rooms by a man-servant who informed us that his master was at Swithins, the Aubreys' place.

Nothing had been visible of the exterior of Daw's house other than the studded door lit by a porch light, but once inside we realised we were in one of those ancient buildings termed peel towers: relics of a time when even farmhouses had to be fortified against marauding Scots. Such was the servant's contention but I guessed that a similar tale would be told north of the border where marauding English would be the bogeymen.

The window of my room was heavily draped, the casement leaded with tiny panes, the walls over a yard thick. There was no fireplace and I wasted no time descending to the hall where massive logs flamed on the hearth. Holmes joined me and we were regaled with tea and scones until the appearance of our host. He told us that the search for Aubrey had continued but with no result, and that Mrs Aubrey asked that we should call on her at our earliest convenience. 'She is confronting the situation with courage,' he said. 'But then she must retain her composure for Minnie's sake.'

'The daughter is attached to her step-father?' Holmes asked.

Daw hesitated. 'They are not close. Aubrey is younger than his wife and he employs a playful air with the child which she seems to resent. I don't understand it.' He glanced at me, as if a doctor might divine the significance better than a detective.

'Perhaps he tries to get on a footing of equality with the little girl,' I ventured. 'To bridge the gap in age in order to be friends.'

'Quite.' Daw's expression was bovine in its lack of comprehension, which only echoed my own. Holmes, on the other hand, had a devilish gleam in his eye.

'Why are you so interested in Minnie?' I asked when we climbed the stairs after a robust dinner.

He paused at his door. 'I am looking forward to tomorrow. What are the two women like, think you: the lady and the daughter.'

I sighed. I was tired and he was being obtuse. 'Not two women, Holmes. One is a child.'

'Of course. To a physician she is a child. I forget.'

Swithins Hall presented a fine Georgian front that gleamed faintly pink in the morning light. The grounds were well maintained, conifers and hardwoods artfully dispersed on either side of the drive. No man in his senses would abandon this property voluntarily, an opinion confirmed upon our entrance. There were portraits by Reynolds in the hall, while furniture and opulent Eastern carpets spoke of good taste and the means to indulge it.

We were shown into a comfortable drawing room and a moment later the lady of the house entered. Helen Aubrey was neither beautiful nor imposing but we were seeing her at a disadvantage: meeting two strangers whom she knew were conversant with an embarrassing family secret. But although under great strain she bore herself with dignity. She was dressed in grey, her thick chestnut hair coiled about her small head and secured with tortoiseshell combs. She had a stubborn chin and a full and generous mouth. She smiled seldom but when she did, her face lit up—as when her daughter entered and came forward to be introduced.

Minnie was exquisite, with long blonde hair, clear blue eyes and a complexion like rose petals, heightened by a warm blush when she curtseyed to the visitors. I tore my eyes away from that damask skin to find myself observed with interest by Holmes. Meanwhile Daw was in a quandary, unable to broach the purpose of our visit in the presence of the child.

'How are your charges, Minnie?' he asked brightly. 'Minnie has quite a menagerie in the great barn,' he announced, his eyes pleading with us to solve this problem.

Mrs Aubrey knew what was required. 'You may go to the barn for a quarter of an hour,¹ she told Minnie. 'Your fur coat and hood, dear, and your warmest muffler—' She hesitated. 'Take Salkeld.'

'Salkeld?' The child looked astonished.

Mrs Aubrey said firmly, 'They tell me there is a tramp in the woods. I do not want you to go outside the house alone.' When she had gone her mother turned back to us. 'Events have made me nervous,' she confessed. 'We don't know who may be about the place.'

'A natural reaction,' Holmes said. 'And now perhaps we may have a few words before we visit your cabin. Tell me, madam, do you want your husband found?'

She started and her eyes widened. 'But that is why you are here! Not want h\m found?*

Daw was dumbstruck. Holmes was in no way abashed. 'There is the possibility that he has disappeared of his own volition. Threatened, perhaps?'

She collected herself and considered this. 'You mean, he has enemies?'

'If he has left of his own free will, would you wish him found?'

Her face set as if she were resigning herself to a further invasion of her privacy. 'It would depend on the circumstances,' she said bravely. 'I would most definitely want him located. If he were with a... friend, I would wish to be told. But,' she added quickly, 'I would not want him to know that he was discovered.'

'You know where he is, madam.'

'Mr Holmes, sir!' Daw was outraged. 'If the lady knew, you would not be here!'

'Quite. I apologise.' This time he did look chastened. 'My thoughts had taken a different tack.' His tone changed. 'Perhaps I may view your husband's rooms, madam. Meanwhile, with your permission, Dr Watson shall talk to the servants.'

'I will see to it,' she said evenly.

When she left the room Holmes drew me aside and whispered that I should speak to Minnie. By good fortune I avoided Mrs Aubrey and, following directions from a maid, I emerged from the rear of the house to cross a courtyard to the great barn. I found Minnie on the upper floor, swathed in sealskins and crooning to a large white rabbit in her arms.

'What have you done with Salkeld?' I asked, scratching the animal's skull.

I sent him to the tack-room,' she said calmly. 'There is no tramp, you know. My mama is frightened of shadows. No one can harm me on our own property.'

'Why is she frightened?' I pretended to study the rabbit with a clinical eye. 'I think this animal is a trifle overweight.'

'She is with child.'

My jaw dropped. 'The rabbit,' Minnie said impatiently. She placed it in its hutch and we moved to the next, where now a black rabbit hopped to the wire and begged for food. She opened the door and gave it some dandelion leaves.

'You were about to say who had frightened your mama,' I prompted. When this produced no response I went on, 'No doubt she is afraid that the person who attacked—' I stopped, appalled; I had been about to imply that her step-father had been murdered.

She said gravely, 'I understand Mama because of my animals. There is my cat, Tabitha, and he gave orders for traps to be set in the woods because martens take the pheasant poults, but Tabitha hunts in the woods, and I told him he was not to set traps. Mama feels about me as I do about Tabitha.'

I let her prattle on. Aubrey would not let her ride out with a groom, only with himself, whereas Mama insisted a groom accompany them because she said Aubrey was a reckless rider. He set traps, Mama ordered them to be taken up (Mama thought pine martens were beautiful and pheasants were silly, noisy birds). Mama liked eagles and falcons. He said they were vermin. He said Mama lived in fairyland and ...

There was a step on the wooden stair. A young fellow appeared. 'Who art tha?' he shouted, glaring at me and approaching with menace.

'Now, Salkeld,' chided my young companion. 'This is Dr Watson. He is a visitor.'

The fellow apologised in his uncouth dialect and turned to his charge. 'Quarter of an hour, they telled. Ah, miss. Us maun go back. It's verra cold, tha knows.'

'One moment, Salkeld.' She moved along the bank of hutches, passing in leaves as I opened doors. 'Mama is not ill,' she persisted, as if arguing with me. "She is sad because my papa died, and she is concerned about'—she glanced at the footman who turned his back in confusion—'about the estate,' she whispered. 'It is a heavy responsibility.' She regarded me solemnly with those cornflower eyes.

'Your mama looks remarkably well,' I said. 'And I should know.'

'I had forgotten you were a physician. Mama is quite well? She will not have to go away? Truly?'

With sudden horror I was aware that her mother might be suffering from some major disorder and here was I blithely assuring the child to the contrary. Her face fell as her eyes searched mine. 'You're not sure,' she said dolefully, and turned away. 'He said you couldn't tell because it was inside her head.' She stamped her foot. 'I hate him! And he hates her. There!'

The footman was terrified and, scarcely aware of the action, he gripped her wrist. 'Away now, Miss Minnie, or us'll be in a fine mess.' He threw me a frantic look and almost pulled her down the stairs. I could hear her protesting staunchly: 'I do hate him because he says—' The rest was lost in the clatter of their boots.

I was unable to acquaint Holmes with the gist of this exchange, for no sooner did I emerge from the barn but I was caught up by the party setting off for the cabin. We were escorted by the coachman and two grooms. Daw having elected to remain with Mrs Aubrey.

Speech was impossible, first due to the angle of the path that climbed through the hanging woods behind the house, then by virtue of the hazards it presented as it traversed above sheer cliffs. We were equipped with alpenstocks, but even with their aid we were forced to watch our footing where streams had overflowed the path and frozen. Gullies between the crags were plugged by massive ice falls, green and bubbly, and treacherous as glass. In such places the local men chose a route some distance back from the edge, chipping footholds across the ice by means of their iron-shod staffs.

The cabin was a simple stone structure with a slate roof, the sparse dusting of snow about it trampled  by hobnailed boots.

While the men waited outside, we entered and looked about us. After a moment Holmes said, 'Nothing can be as it was found; the champagne bottles have been removed, and the remains of the pie; even the bed has been tidied.'

On a bedstead, blankets had been neatly stacked to reveal a mattress from which the odd straw protruded. Holmes grimaced. 'A strange love nest for the master of Swithins Hall—but then, to a man driven by lust, the furnishings would be of little moment.' He went to the door and summoned the coachman: a responsible, middle-aged fellow. 'Is there a path to the village from here?' he asked.

'Yes, sir: two. A footpath less than two miles long, and an easier track for the ponies. That be rather longer. Both have been searched.'

'I have little doubt that the identity of the person who met your master here is common knowledge.'

'It wasna her!' The man blinked at the tidy bed. 'We asked her: first person us went to!'

'Her name?'

'Why, 'tis Rosie Yewdale. She lives below there, at Cunning Garth. But 'twasn't her this time, sir. And place were never left in such a state before'—he gestured at the cleared table—'keepers woulda let on. Master didna seem to care who saw—why, the lady coulda been with us!'

'Hardly.' Holmes's tone was dry. 'So if not Rosie Yewdale, who was here with your master?'

'I wouldna know that, sir.' He paused deliberately. 'I serve the mistress,' he said, meeting Holmes's eye with a hint of defiance. 'And now, by your leave, gentlemen, I must be getting back. The lady needs the men for to bring in the holly and such.'

'You propose to keep Christmas?' I cried. 'With your master missing?'

'He could be with a friend, Doctor. And the children must have their party. Mistress said as how the festivities was to go on as usual for the littluns' sakes.'

Holmes shook himself like a man emerging from a reverie and clapped his mittened hands together. 'We are keeping you from your duties, but before you go, show us the path to the village.'

We were directed to the start of a trampled track that descended easily, graded for horses. Here we could walk side by side, and I acquainted Holmes with the result of my talk with Minnie. He was less interested in her feeling for her step-father than her concern for her mother's health. 'Jealousy of a step-parent is not uncommon,' he murmured, 'but the suggestion that her mother is unbalanced is curious; the woman gave no indication of madness. And the girl had this from Aubrey? Dark waters, Watson.'

'Did the lady say more after I left?'

'She did not return after sending the butler to me—and he was as informative as the Sphinx. Nor did I learn anything from Aubrey's rooms except confirmation that he took nothing with him other than his normal outdoor clothing. No luggage, no toiletries, and we know he did not take a horse.' He stopped walking. 'What are those birds?' Two large black shapes beat by with heavy wings.

'Ravens,' I said. 'No doubt they have scented a sheep that has tumbled over the crags.' The birds were coming in to the crags beyond the cabin. 'They searched all along the foot of those rocks,' I reminded him.

He started walking again. 'First things first. I smell wood-smoke. Why did the fellow prefer to meet his paramour in that bleak hovel rather than in a warm house?'

At first sight the cottage had little to distinguish it from the cabin but the woman who answered our knock, bare-armed and glowing, exuded a vitality that was quite startling. I recognised her immediately: the dark curls, the lustrous eyes. It was the woman in the red cloak whom we'd passed in the village last night. She bobbed a curtsey in which there was nothing of subservience. In different circumstances I might have found her striking in her coarse country fashion but I had been seduced by the shy blonde beauty of little Minnie. In contrast I found Rosie's bold gypsy colouring alarming.

The house was filled with the delicious smell of herbs and roasting meat, and Holmes hung back from the cheerless parlour, suggesting we talk in the kitchen. She showed no surprise, had shown none at our arrival on her doorstep; one might almost have thought that she expected us.

We were seated at a scrubbed table where the meat sizzled in the oven and the fire-box produced a welcome heat. Without fuss she set about the making of a pan of mulled ale and to my astonishment asked whether we would prefer it flavoured with brandy or rum! Holmes glanced at me. It was a signal.

'You treat us like honoured guests, my dear,' I said in my avuncular fashion. 'A joint in the oven, brandy in the ale.'

She gave me a radiant smile. 'The mutton will not be roasted for an hour, sir, but if you will stay so long?'

'Thank you, Rosie, but I was admiring your style, not pleading for an invitation to dinner.' I pride myself on my rapport with women of the lowest rank. 'You keep sheep then?' I glanced meaningly at the oven.

'Oh, no, sir. The mutton is a present. As is the brandy. Folk are generous hereabouts.'

'They appreciate your value,' I said gallantly. 'You live alone?'

'Mostly, sir. I have no time for men about my feet.' She chuckled and her eyes danced.

Holmes said sternly, 'You do not seem greatly concerned at Mr Aubrey's disappearance.'

'Why should I be?' She was amazed. 'It is no business of mine.'

'You are his friend.'

'I would not be so presumptuous.'

He held her eye. 'Where is he, girl?'

'Why, with someone of his acquaintance?' She paused, seeming to gauge our reaction. 'He has gone away to escape the children at Christmas,' she suggested—and that did not ring true either.

'When did you see him last?' Holmes asked.

She looked at the brandy bottle, smiled slyly and said nothing. 'He gave you the brandy,' Holmes stated. 'And the mutton. Christmas presents?'

'He is very good to me,' she murmured.

'Tuesday night a week since?'

She shrugged and wouldn't answer, trying to assume the pose of the stolid peasant.

'Why did you go up there to him,' Holmes pressed, 'rather than he come here? This place is warm and cosy.'

' 'Tis Christmas and I have more callers than is customary, and unannounced. He wouldna want to meet one of his own servants here.'

Holmes tried another tack. 'How was he when he left you?'

'He was tired, and he had drunk a good deal of wine.'

'Was it your custom to leave the cabin in such a state: bottles, glasses, the remains of supper?'

She looked shifty, I woulda gone up on the morrow but I slept in an' then I left it 'til next day, and then the searchers was here asking had I seen him and o' course I said I hadna. They had to report back to Mrs Aubrey, so I said what they'd expect me to say.'

'If there has been foul play, who would you think responsible?'

She shook her head. 'I don't understand you.'

'How many men bring you meat and bottles of French brandy? There must be resentment of one who is so lavish.'

She threw back her head and pealed with laughter, firelight caressing the strong white throat. 'Bless you, sir! There are no such feelings in this house. I favour no one.' Of course not; others would bring her venison and pheasants—poachers all. 'There are the women,' she added, more soberly: 'mothers, sweethearts, wives.'

'Mrs Aubrey.'

She spread her hands in a gesture of helplessness and gave us a demure smile. 'What would you have a girl do? He is my landlord.'

'He is not her landlord,' Holmes said as we walked away, directing our steps towards the lakeside road. 'Mrs Aubrey owns the estate.'

'What's hers is her husband's,' I pointed out. But she would surely insist on the eviction of such a woman. It is not only her husband who is involved; think of the village youths, the disruption among families.'

'Aubrey would not allow her to be evicted. Not while she pleases him.'

I regarded the lake, the plum-coloured clouds lowered on ashen mountains. Flakes of snow floated gently to settle on the frozen mud of the road. 'We must be approaching them,' came Holmes's voice, bewildering me. 'The birds,' he explained. 'The ravens.'

'We are in for a blizzard. We must make haste for shelter.'

'Nonsense. We are on the road, not the high moors. Come, make a noise; if they are about we shall startle them. Mark where we put them up.' He strode forward, uttering shrill cries.

The ravens rose from the cliff with loud croaks, and they were joined by buzzards that soared above our heads, mewing like cats. Doves clattered through bare branches, a blackbird scolded—and Holmes was scrambling up the screes like a man demented. I sighed and followed. Normally I have no trouble with the old wound, but this ground was rougher even than Dartmoor. Beside Holmes I was an old crock. When I reached the foot of the crag he was nowhere to be seen.

The snow was now falling quite heavily. 'Holmes!' I shouted— and jumped as the response came from close above.

'Here, Watson.'

His head seemed to protrude from the rock some five yards above ground level. 'I have found Aubrey,' he said. 'Or rather, the ravens have.' I gaped at him, speechless. 'Stay there while I complete my examination,' he went on. 'Do not attempt to scale the face with your leg.'

He disappeared. I realised he must be on an inward-sloping ledge where the body had lodged. A few feet to the side was the base of one of those frozen waterfalls that festooned the gullies. Evidently Aubrey, his judgement clouded by his exertions and champagne, had attempted to follow the path instead of crossing the icy streams a discreet distance from the edge. One slip above those glassy cascades and nothing could stop his plunge into the abyss. I started to hunt through the withered undergrowth and after a few moments I gave a cry of triumph. There it was, most of it hidden by brambles but obvious when you knew it should be in the vicinity.

Holmes reappeared and, turning his back to the drop, he descended with agility, his eyes lighting up when he saw that I held two alpenstocks. 'Of course,' he breathed, 'it fell with him. He died immediately, by the by; the skull is shattered like an eggshell and all the limbs are fractured. There would be gross internal bleeding.'

He fastened his muffler to a tree to mark the spot and we slithered down the screes through snow which was now ominous in its intensity. 'So our task is completed,' I announced when we reached level ground. There was no response. 'There was nothing untoward about the body?' I persisted.

'Not about the body, but I found no knapsack. How did he carry two bottles of champagne, a pie, a joint of mutton and the brandy, not to speak of an alpenstock?'

'That is simply answered: Rosie used it to carry the meat and brandy to her cottage.'

He stopped and looked back. You cannot return to her now,' I said. 'Wait until the snow stops.'

'Go to Swithins and send a groom with a spare horse to the girl's cottage. Do not mention our discovery. I need to observe their reactions. Hurry, Watson, there is no time to be lost.' He bounded away, in a moment as insubstantial as a phantom.

Mrs Aubrey was supervising the decoration of the large room where the children's party was to be held. There was a spruce tree, mounds of holly and boxes overflowing with pretty baubles. She heard me out with disapproval but she was too well mannered to ask why Holmes should be at Rosie Yewdale's cottage. "Pursuing his enquiries" was how I put it. She ordered that a horse be taken to him immediately.

After the groom had left, I turned back to the stables, where a boy was sweeping out the empty stalls. 'I thought all hands were needed for the party,' I said pleasantly. He was a sharp-looking lad and he stood to attention when addressed.

'I had to saddle the ponies, sir. I shall go in to help when I finish here.' He followed my gaze to a handsome grey eyeing us through the bars of a box. 'That be Miz' Aubrey's mare: the prettiest horse at Swithins, and my lady be the best rider. Why, her even stuck on when Sheba there tried to throw her at back end.'

I considered the grey's intelligent eye. 'She doesn't look a nervous horse.'

'Her's steady as a rock, but what horse wouldna be startled at a shot fired by her ear?'

'What!'

He gaped and swung round, blundering against the side of the stall. 'Hold up there,' I said calmly. He stood rigid. 'Was it a poacher?' I asked. 'And you were told to keep quiet?' He muttered something. 'Speak up, lad.' I was sharp now.

'I said as it were a poacher.' He wouldn't meet my eye.

'And what did others say?'

'They searched the woods. It's said there were no poacher.'

'So who fired the shot?'

He looked on the verge of tears. 'They said she imagined it.'

I could get no more out of him and I went into the great barn and communed with the rabbits until Holmes returned, white as a snowman, and shed his outer garments in the stable. I was avid to know the result of his talk with Rosie but he hushed me. "Walls have ears," he whispered.

Mrs. Aubrey received us in the drawing room. Daw was still there, as if she anticipated bad news and had need of support. Holmes told her simply that, as had been suspected, her husband had fallen from the lofty path. She sat stiffly, her face like stone, one hand pressed to her bosom. Daw took the other. 'We were afraid of it, my dear,' he said gently. He turned to Holmes. 'It is still a dreadful shock,' he added meaningly.

I rang the bell and when the butler appeared, sent him for brandy and water. At that the lady addressed me. 'Thank you, Doctor. And you, Mr Holmes. If you would inform Mr Daw of the location of the—of my husband, he will make arrangements.'

'I shall attend to everything,' he assured her. 'You must go and rest now. There is nothing to worry about.'

Holmes and I returned to the tower on a couple of trusty ponies, leaving Daw to oversee the removal of the body to the village to await the coroner. There was no sign of the road along the lake-shore but the ponies had no more trouble with it than if it had been marked by stakes. It was still snowing and we rode in silence. At the tower, changed into dry clothing and invigorated by hot toddies, we drew up to the roaring fire and regarded each other quizzically. 'So how did Aubrey carry all that food?' I asked.

Holmes nodded. 'The nub of the problem. Rosie is devious but her mind runs on one track. I asked her who reached the cabin first. She thought about her answer. She should not have needed to think. When she realised that she said quickly that it was herself, but her own long silence had rattled her, and subsequent questions were answered too fast. She betrayed herself. Did he take the knapsack away? I asked. She looked blank and then said she didn't know. It was not with the body, I told her, nor in the cabin, so it must be with her. She ignored this and asked where the body was. She appeared deeply shocked when I told her. I asked her to produce the knapsack and she claimed she did not know what I was talking about. I asked how she carried the mutton and brandy home on Tuesday night—and then, Watson, she thwarted me! She said that it was another night she was at the cabin; she had been mistaken, she said, and then confided that she had an addiction to drink and was often in an alcoholic stupor. I ignored that as an obvious lie and asked her where she was on the Tuesday night, thinking I had her to rights. She said she was home. Could that be substantiated? She looked at me boldly and said, "Oh, yes, sir, I was with one of the grooms from Swithins. All night." In fact, she held a party for several of the Swithins servants. The fellow that brought the pony for me bore her out. She has an unbreakable alibi—but that knapsack! Aubrey carried the food to the cabin in some container. Where is it? And why is it important?'

'But his death was surely an accident!' I exclaimed. 'He fell from the path.' Holmes was silent, staring into the flames. 'A stable lad told me something curious,' I told him. 'In the autumn Mrs Aubrey came in with a story that someone had fired a gun close by when she was riding, and her mare had nearly thrown her. No poacher was found. Pigeons flying up could have startled the mare, and the clatter they make might be misconstrued as a shot by an unbalanced mind. It is a symptom of monomania that the sufferer believes himself surrounded by enemies. What do you think, Holmes?'

'I think we must speak to Daw. He is as close to her as anyone.'

'Is he her lover?'

'No, a lover would be discreet. He took her hand quite openly when I informed her of her husband's death.'

A door slammed and the man himself came tramping into the hall, shedding snow and shouting for grog. He addressed us as he threw off his hat and cape. 'I sent up two of the most nimble fellows and they lowered the body with ropes.' He shook his head.

'To say I'm sorry would be hypocritical; I cannot but feel that man received his deserts.'

'He treated her abominably,' Holmes murmured. Daw looked at him sharply but at that moment the servant entered with a steaming jug and fresh glasses.

'I see they've been looking after you.' Daw regarded our depleted tray. 'But you will join me now in a glass of grog. Only the best Jamaica rum, gentlemen.'

Holmes accepted but refused to be diverted. 'Watson is making a study of monomania,' he said. 'A form of madness.'

'Servants' gossip!' Daw blurted.

'It is more than that.'

Daw's shoulders slumped. 'Aubrey was to blame. His recent behaviour would drive anyone mad. Rosie Yewdale! On his own doorstep! His wife's position was untenable. And Minnie. The child is sharp; it could not be long before it reached her ears. But there,' he cried. 'What could be done?' He became aware of our attentive silence and suddenly his whole demeanor changed and he beamed in great amusement. 'Minnie helped bring in the Yule log last week,' he began, for all the world as if to embark on a piece of family tittle-tattle. 'She caught a chill, and on the Tuesday Helen—Mrs Aubrey—kept her indoors. By Tuesday evening the child had a fever and her mother never left her side until Wednesday morning. How do I know? Because Minnie's room can be approached only through another, and that is occupied by her old nurse, who is a light sleeper. Moreover, she was wide awake during the night and she could see her mistress reclining on a couch by Minnie's bedside. There was a night-light. I know because when I called on Wednesday morning the nurse was coming downstairs to make her small charge a hot drink.'

'Where were you last Tuesday week?' Holmes asked.

Our host sighed. 'I supped with Sir Humphrey Spooner at Troutbeck and we played cards until three in the morning, when we went to our beds. I stayed the night there,' he added carelessly. 'Come clean now, Holmes; you suspect Aubrey was helped on his way to his much-deserved death, but how can you hope to prove it—and do you care? You have solved the riddle of the fellow's disappearance, you have earned your fee; what more do you want?'

'Resolution. I put up the fox, I have to run it to earth.' 'You will have plenty of time for it.' Daw was indulgent. 'They say the roads are blocked by great drifts. We shall have the pleasure of your company over the holiday.'

This was no disaster as far as we were concerned, and we were off to a good start when it transpired that we were invited to Swithins the following day, Christmas Eve, where we were to take tea and stay for cards and dinner.

It was four o'clock when we reached Swithins the following afternoon, travelling with Daw's men and their families, the babies swaddled in shawls. The riders took it in turns to break the trail for the road was deeply drifted.

Mrs Aubrey greeted us with raised chin and steady eyes. Minnie was at her side, enchanting in deep blue velvet.

We were served tea. The talk was of Swithins in summer, while I said something of my lighter moments in Afghanistan. There was no mention of Aubrey. Occasionally we heard bursts of merriment from a distance and shortly a buxom person entered, Minnie's old nurse, and took her away to the party.

'Minnie shall play hostess,' said her mother. 'We will join her later for distribution of the gifts.'

I found myself inexpressibly touched. An old warrior, a doctor, twice married (but childless)—'I should enjoy that,' I said eagerly, and Holmes glanced at me in surprise.

'Of course. Doctor,' said Mrs Aubrey. Everyone is invited.' The atmosphere was permeated with good humour. I could not help but feel that Swithins had lost not its master, but an incubus.

When the butler came to summon us we trooped out, Holmes with a gleam in his eye, and a jaunty step that had me puzzled; apart from the urchins of the Baker Street Irregulars, he has no interest in children. When we came to the room where the party was in progress, he settled himself against the wall near the big spruce tree and watched the proceedings keenly.

As for the partygoers, children from both estates and the village, they had eyes only for their gifts and their young hostess. Minnie was composed and clearly enjoying herself as she took the gifts from the young stable lad (scrubbed until he shone) and presented them with a few words for each recipient. Again I found myself ridiculously affected and, glancing away, caught Mrs Aubrey's eye. There was that in her look that was more than love, more than pride; there was a fierce watchfulness, a kind of triumph, and it sent a shiver through my bowels.

They had pulled back the drapes and I noticed Mrs Aubrey look towards a window. She stiffened and her expression resolved itself into one of unadulterated hatred. Rosie Yewdale was at the window, her brilliant face framed by the scarlet hood, her lips parted, her eyes alight with pleasure. She seemed fascinated by the Christmas tree, but now, as if feeling the fire of Mrs Aubrey's regard, she shifted her gaze, caught that obsessed glare, and was gone.

I was saddened. Whatever she was, Rosie was another childless soul, and for a moment I felt something like kinship. Christmas is a sentimental season.

Later that evening we dined on roast pork and hothouse fruits. Minnie was at table as a special concession but the ladies left us to our port quite early, Mrs Aubrey pleading the exertions of tomorrow. Daw was beginning to feel the effects of fine wines, and even I was not fully in command of my senses, nevertheless I did not fail to notice Holmes excuse himself and leave the room.

Within ten minutes he was back. Daw was approaching the climax of a thrilling fox chase and was caught up in his own excitement. I looked at Holmes's saturnine face and knew that something momentous had occurred. He was as smug as Pussy after finding a bowl of cream in the dairy. Where had he been? What had he seen—in ten minutes?

It was past midnight before he found the opportunity to tell me. We had returned to the peel tower, imbibed the smallest of nightcaps, not wishing to offend our host, and climbed the stair by the light of our candles. He hustled me into his room and I turned on him eagerly.

'Where did you go?'

'To my lady's chamber. And she was not alone.'

'She has a lover!' I was incredulous for Daw was with me.

'Not a lover, but one for whom she has great regard. There is love certainly, and passionate at that but they have it focused on a third person.'

'Holmes, it is too late for riddles. Who was she with?'

'Rosie Yewdale.'

I collapsed on a chair. 'Rosie ... was ... in Mrs Aubrey's bedroom? Doing what?'

'Talking pleasantly. I couldn't distinguish words, but I did not need to. It was enough to listen to the tones: like that of sisters or close women friends.'

'I don't believe it.' He said nothing. He would not lie to me. 'What is the explanation. Holmes?'

'Minnie.'

'That tells me nothing. I did see Rosie at the window watching the party—but I also saw Mrs Aubrey's face when she caught sight of the woman. I have seen a cobra rear and strike. It was like that.'

'Mrs Aubrey knew you were watching her.'

'She fabricated such an expression? You are telling me she is friendly with her husband's whore!'

'Rosie was hardly that, and most definitely not his friend.'

'Oh come, we have her word.'

'A red herring across the trail. Aubrey didn't chase after women, my dear fellow. That is a blanket story, believed by everyone, unwittingly encouraged by several, emanating from one person: the man himself, and that in order to disguise the truth.'

'What can be more foul than that a married man sought out trollops?'

'That he had a fondness for children.'

I should not have been so shocked as I was. I know such monsters exist—but not in great houses, not among people like ourselves. 'Minnie?' I breathed. 'He ... he didn't... ' I could not go on.

'No. He was stopped in time.'

'By one of those two women after all? Or both in collusion?'

'Or three of them. As I came away from Mrs Aubrey's door I heard a rustle of skirts behind me and turned to see Minnie's old nurse enter the room.'

'Did she see you?'

'We shall know tomorrow.'

We were to know sooner than that. There came a knock at the door and our host was revealed, a greatcoat over an old-fashioned nightshirt. He regarded us in consternation. 'Helen is below,' he gasped. 'She wishes to speak with you, Holmes. What can it be? She rode here alone.'

'We will be with her immediately.' Holmes turned to me and I knew without his saying that the nurse had seen him. As Daw retreated I went to my room and retrieved my service revolver from my valise. It made a conspicuous bulge in my pocket but it might be as well to let our visitor see that we were not defenceless.

She was seated by the fire with Daw in attendance. He regarded us warily, and when she asked him to leave he refused. 'You will regret that you stayed,' she warned him. 'You will be hurt.'

'Nothing you have done will hurt me.'

'Oh, I have done nothing, dear friend.'

Ah, 1 thought, the evasions commence.

'I shall stay,' he said stoutly, and threw more logs on the fire. He brushed his hands and surveyed us: master in his own house, providing sanctuary for a lady (his lady?), offering defiance to anyone who threatened her. He gestured to chairs and we sat. Holmes turned to Mrs Aubrey.

'How much do you know?' she asked.

'About what—' Daw began—and she held up a hand. 'You will be shocked and distressed, Clement, but if you insist on staying, you must listen or we shall never be finished. And already it is Christmas Day,' she added, with a hint of a smile. 'I have much to do.'

Holmes replied to her question. 'You must assume that I know as little of recent events as I do about their origins, madam, although I can hazard guesses. It is obvious you knew nothing of Aubrey's true nature when you agreed to marry him.'

'Do you think for one moment I would have done so had I known?'

Holmes said calmly, 'He would have confessed that he had not led a blameless life where ladies were concerned. You thought marriage would reform him. He told you that Minnie needed a father.' Her eyes were wide. 'It is the standard cant of such men,' he assured her.

'That's what I said!' Daw interrupted.

'I married him.' Her tone was flat. 'And for a time he was most attentive, particularly to Minnie.' Daw let this go, poor fellow, in blissful ignorance of the horror to come. 'Then he started to absent himself for days at a time, pleading business in Glasgow or Liverpool. He was involved in shipping, he said—but said it so carelessly I was not meant to believe it. I came to suspect that he visited cities for other purposes.'

'I begged her to leave him,' Daw said. 'She wouldn't. I couldn't move her.'

'Swithins is my house,' she told us with dignity. 'I have responsibilities towards the people on the estate. I could not leave. But nor would he. He laughed at me. He said my suspicions were the result of a diseased imagination and he began to taunt me with what he termed was my steady deterioration into madness.' It was clear from his expression that Daw had not known of this; he made to interrupt but Holmes gestured for silence. 'To obtain proof of his perfidy,' she went on, 'I followed him to Glasgow, but I guessed I would be unable to follow him to his ultimate destination. I knew the hotel where he was staying however and I employed a private detective to track him from there. The result was devastating. I had expected a house of ill fame; what he discovered was so vile that he would not report back to me, would have relinquished his fee rather than tell me. I tracked him to his home'— she smiled grimly ^k—by employing a second detective. Thus I learned the truth about the man I had married.' She turned to Daw. 'He had no interest in women—except as mothers of little girls'—her voice dropped—'and as procurers.'

'What are you saying?' Daw was incredulous. 'Minnie?' He was floundering, his mind refusing to entertain the truth.

'He married me to be close to Minnie,' Mrs Aubrey went on coldly. 'He would have had me certified in order to become her sole guardian. It would be he who fired at me when I was riding, whether to kill me or as part of the fiendish plot to prove me mad, I do not know. After I went to Glasgow I told him I would no longer tolerate his presence under the same roof as Minnie. If he remained another day, I said, I would go to the police. The detective would be called as witness, not to speak of the person in Glasgow who provided the children. He defied me. He said that the detective would never appear in court, that this obscene trade was operated by criminal gangs who would stop at nothing to prevent him. He said that the house he had visited would be abandoned long before the police reached it—in short, I had no proof. On the contrary, people had known for months that my mental health was deteriorating; my story was the ramblings of a madwoman, it could be nothing else. And then he told me something of his nature; he could do that, you see, he had nothing to lose. I was trapped.'

We were, all three of us, torn between horror and compassion. She gave us a thin smile. 'It was Minnie who saved my reason; I had to remain sane in order to protect her. In order to thwart him, at least temporarily, I moved her bedroom to one which could be approached only through another, and there I installed her old nurse—'

Daw had had enough. 'Why didn't you tell me?' he protested.

'You would have ... confronted him.' The hesitation did not escape me. Daw would have killed the devil.

'Certainly I needed a friend,' Mrs Aubrey conceded. 'Nurse was too old, your emotions would impede your actions, Clement, moreover you could never dissemble. I needed a woman, one who was strong and clever and whom I could trust with my life. I went to Rosie Yewdale.'

'But she—how could you do that?'

'I said Aubrey was not interested in women except as mothers and procurers. Rosie loves children and, despite the disapproval of the village women, there are often children about her cottage. Aubrey had visited her, no doubt as part of the facade he presented to the world: that of the incorrigible rake, but his ulterior motive would be the children at that isolated cottage.' She shuddered, then pulled herself together and continued. 'Rosie did not believe my story so I told her that next time Aubrey visited her and his perceptions became clouded by drink, she was to steer him to the subject of children and mark what he said. A week later she came to me and asked what I would have her do.'

'What had he told her?' Daw was belligerent.

'I shall not tell you, nor anyone else.'

Holmes asked, 'What was Aubrey's reaction afterwards, when he realised he had betrayed himself to Rosie?'

'I said she was clever. He thought he had found an ally. Later, when he received a note asking him to meet her at the cabin, he went. The note said it had to be the cabin because she had taken a lodger. It also said they would discuss "the matter". The implication was that she was about to assist him in ... what he did.'

'What did he take to the cabin?' Holmes asked.

She shrugged as if, on the threshold of her story's climax, she had lost interest. 'I did not see him leave. Minnie had a fever and I spent the evening and night at her bedside.'

'No matter. Rosie will tell us.'

'She did not go to the cabin either.'

'She implied to us that she did.'

'And retracted subsequently. In the first place she was protecting me because she thought it was I who went to the cabin— because it was I who directed her to send him the note and I who told her not to go. She retracted when she learned that I had not gone after all.'

You had intended to meet him there?'

'I intended to be on top of the crags as he passed close to the edge. Yes, sir, I planned to kill my husband. I had gone to the cabin when Nurse and Minnie were helping to bring home the Yule log. I set the scene with champagne and the pie, and disordered the bed. I had told Rosie to entertain several men that evening and to make certain that one of them stayed the whole night.'

'Where did Rosie obtain the mutton and the brandy?' Holmes answered his own question: 'From you, of course.'

She nodded. 'So when he failed to return to Swithins, Rosie thought that I was responsible—and in a manner I was. I had arranged for him to be up there: at night, the path sheeted with ice, and himself far from sober, for he never spared the wine at dinner.' She stopped and leaned back in her chair, exhausted.

'An appalling story, madam; you have suffered beyond endurance. Fortunately none of us is called upon to pass judgement on your intentions to bring about his downfall because they failed?' There was the slightest question in his tone. 'He died by accident.'

It was four o'clock when we climbed the stair again. Daw was escorting Mrs Aubrey back to Swithins. She had insisted on returning; Minnie would wake early on Christmas morning. Outside our rooms I leaned against the wall, stupefied with weariness. 'I would say it was less of an accident than divine retribution,' I said.

My companion studied me, the candle flames flickering in a vagrant draught, then he turned, his hand to the latch.

'Holmes!'

'What is it, Watson?'

'You are not satisfied.'

'I am indeed.'

'It was an accident?'

'It was murder. The man was pushed.'

'Then which one? Rosie or the lady?'

'Or one of their alibis: the old nurse, the drunken groom in Rosie's bed? Not him; they would never trust a man. But the nurse was not drunk and she was wakeful. The lady, the nurse and the whore. There can be only one force more dangerous than a woman, Watson, and that is several of them working in league and all morally certain that they are in the right.'

'I believe they were.'

He nodded gravely. 'I agree with you, but would you—would I—have the courage to translate our belief into action? They live by a different code; can you imagine what they might demonstrate if they were criminal?'