The Three Locks Bonnie MacBird (best non fiction books to read .TXT) 📖

‘Pull yourself together, Ianthia,’ the professor said crisply. The maid led the feeble woman from the room. Holmes and I exchanged a glance.

‘May I have a look at Miss Wyndham’s rooms, please?’ said Holmes.

The professor waved a dismissive hand at my friend, then called out, ‘Polly!’ A pale young servant with red hair and a starched cap rushed in and curtseyed nervously to us. ‘Show them to Miss Odelia’s room. Hadley, a moment, please,’ he said to the senior policeman.

He gave Holmes a hard look. ‘I don’t know who is paying you, Mr Holmes, but it will not be me. Be out of here within the hour, before the students arrive,’ he ordered, and departed the room.

CHAPTER 13

Polly

We were escorted upstairs by the young servant. Holmes paused in the hallway at the entrance to the missing girl’s sitting-room, and beyond it, her bedroom. He glanced across the hall to what looked like a similar suite, but this one with a closed door leading into the bedroom. ‘Her sister’s rooms?’ Holmes asked the girl.

‘Yes. Miss Atalanta.’

‘Older?’

‘By two years. Atalanta is twenty.’

We next entered Dillie’s sitting-room, and we passed through to her bedroom. It was a large, airy room, with windows on two walls, the leaves of a large plane tree next to the window providing a lacy screen through which another grove of trees was visible at some distance. Behind that, the beautiful Cam glittered in the bright morning sun. The furniture including the canopy bed was all in white, and the bed was made up. On it sat several dolls, with a vacancy where the drowned doll must have resided.

Holmes’s magnifying glass was out, and he began his typically minute examination of the room. He started with the windows, opening each in turn and examining the sills. As I waited for him to do this, I perused the bookshelves. In addition to Greek and Roman history volumes, which I assumed had been influenced by her famous father, there were the usual Jane Austen, George Eliot and Dickens. But there were also two colourful rows of novels and poetry I did not recognize, presumably aimed at young ladies. They had titles such as Penelope’s Terrible Surprise, The Tragedy of Annie LaMonte and Faded Blossoms.

I looked idly at Dillie’s dressing table. It was impeccably neat. In fact, the entire room was.

Holmes asked the maid for a glass of water, then as soon as she was gone he went through the bookshelves like an automaton, stopping to study the colourful collection of girls’ novels. He examined one or two, opened one, lingered upon it briefly, then pocketed it. From another pocket he retrieved a small notebook and silver pencil and made some notes.

He then looked under the bed, examined the carpet, and inside the closet. He was looking through the lady’s shoes when the maid returned.

‘Holmes,’ I signalled.

He looked up and smiled at the nervous girl. ‘Ah, my water. Please come in and tell us your name,’ said he.

‘Polly,’ said the maid with a slight curtsy. She served him a glass from a silver tray. She was a fresh-faced girl of perhaps sixteen, with red hair tucked away in a neat knot under her maid’s cap, freckled hands clenched nervously before her.

‘I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is Dr Watson. You are a ladies’ maid, then?’

‘Yes, sir. For Miss Odelia and Miss Atalanta.’

I noticed the girl’s distinct discomfort. ‘You may be wondering why we are here,’ I said. ‘Miss Odelia’s doll was found in the Jesus Lock, Polly. We are concerned for her safety, and we hope to discover something that will help us find her.’

The girl nodded.

Holmes, in his usual manner, leapt in. ‘I understand that your Dillie, er, Miss Odelia, disappears on a regular basis?’ said he.

‘I wouldn’t say “regular”, sir, but yes, she has done so before.’

Holmes moved to Miss Wyndham’s dressing table. ‘Where is her hairbrush? Something to clean her teeth? Pomade? Powder? A number of personal items one expects to see are missing from this table, are they not?’

The maid remained silent.

Holmes scanned the room. ‘There is no sign of violence here. She was not abducted; she packed to go somewhere,’ said Holmes. ‘That is a good sign. Might she have taken the doll with her?’

‘No, sir. She never liked that doll, sir.’

Holmes looked up sharply at her. ‘Then the doll was still here on Monday?’

The girl nodded.

‘When did you notice it gone?’

‘Er … Tuesday, sir.’

‘When exactly?’

‘Night. Nine-thirty, sir.’

‘What were you doing in her room on Tuesday night?’

The girl shifted uncomfortably. ‘I often checks all the rooms, sir, afore I goes to bed. To make sure no lights are left lit. Close the windows.’

‘What did you do when you discovered the doll missing?’

‘I felt sick. Somebody were in the room. Secret, like. I was scared.’

‘Perhaps Dillie herself returned for her doll?’

‘No, sir. Like I said.’ A shy smile. ‘It’s her mother likes dolls, not Miss Odelia.’

Holmes shrugged. ‘But anyone could come in. What about her sister? Or Mrs Wyndham? Why did you not first think of a family member?’

The girl hesitated. ‘That window.’ She pointed to the largest, adjacent to the tree.

‘It was open?’

‘Yes, a little.’

‘But not when you tidied the room earlier?’

‘No, sir.’

Holmes moved to the window, examined the lock, opened, shut it. He stood motionless for a few seconds, then turned back to the girl with that piercing stare that intimidated all who encountered it.

‘And what of yesterday? When Deacon Buttons arrived at this house with the drowned and dismembered doll. What time was that, I forget?’

Of course, Holmes forgot nothing. The girl hesitated. He did not take his eyes from her.

‘Nine, or so,’ said she.

‘Mrs Wyndham did not hear of the doll until ten-thirty,’ he said. ‘Where were you in the hour and a half between Deacon Buttons arriving with it, and when her parents were informed?’

The girl froze, eyes wide.

Holmes sighed, then made an effort to soften his approach. His voice took on a gentler tone. ‘You were not