The Baskerville Curse (Watson & the Countess Book 1) Read online

  “Only one person can answer that question. We need to speak to Dr Mortimer about the will again. He was very vague last time and not at all forthcoming. I would like to read the actual will for myself and he has the only copy.”

  “I’m surprised Sir Olwen doesn’t have a copy since he handles all the Baskerville’s legal affairs. I know there was that fire in London but I would have thought he’d have kept a copy.”

  “I think Lady Laura overstated his involvement. Sir Olwen told me that Sir Henry handled most of his own legal affairs, including tenancies and investments. Sir Olwen retired six years ago and was called upon to witness signatures and that sort of thing but he didn’t have anything to do with the running of the estate or any monies. Sir Henry used solicitors in London for important things. Minor legal business and general correspondence was handled by clerks at Sir Olwen’s old practice in Exeter.”

  They both fell back into their chairs and closed their eyes. The doctor was beginning to doze off when they were alerted to a clinking noise coming from the French window. It was Antonio tapping on the diamond-paned glass.

  “What the deuce is he doing?” said the doctor testily. “I have never seen a servant behave in such a dubious manner. I think he is taking liberties since the death of the baronet. I will speak to Mallard before Lady Laura is besieged by household problems that she cannot be expected to deal with on top of everything else.”

  “He appears to be beckoning us.”

  “What? To join him on the terrace?”

  “He looks somewhat anxious.”

  “He looks somewhat bonkers!”

  “I’ll check to see what he wants. Stay here and throw another log on the fire. I think we might be in for more rain.”

  “Perhaps you can invite him to warm his hands by the fire and join us for a glass of Madeira,” he piped sardonically.

  As soon as she stepped outside the west wind whipped off the lace veil draped loosely around her neck and carried it across the slate-paved terrace. Antonio chased after it and finally caught up to it when it entangled itself around a stone cherub whose dainty arm was raised jauntily in the air. He brought it back and addressed her rapidly, breathlessly, and in his haste lisped out most of the words.

  “Do you recall you asked me to tell Mr Frankland that the funeral would be delayed twenty minutes?”

  She nodded curtly.

  “I went straight to the chapel but he was not there. I thought he might be walking in the garden and tried to track him down. But he was nowhere to be seen. I went back to the chapel. It was still empty. I checked with some of the servants but they had not seen him all morning. Lady Baskerville’s maid said he was not with his daughter either. I then had to stop my search because I had to finish my jobs. Later, I went up to his room at the top of the tower. It was empty but the oriel window was open so I looked out to see if I could spot him in the garden and that’s when I understood why he couldn’t be found. Follow me,” he said earnestly, striding across the terrace.

  “There’s no need,” she called after him. “The funeral is over. It no longer matters. The baronet has been interred.”

  “Oh, yes, it does matter.” Forcefully, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her along. “You need to see why he missed it.”

  “Really! You are taking liberties! And if you don’t unhand me I shall be forced to speak to the butler regarding your behaviour!”

  Antonio continued to pull her along when Dr Watson threw open the French window.

  “What the deuce is going on here!” he demanded fiercely.

  Antonio’s hand dropped away but he stood his ground. “There’s something you need to see. You should both come. Follow me.”

  He marched off at high speed, skirting the south side of the castle and did not look back until he reached the west entrance. The urgency of his tone compelled them to follow. Either the man was a lunatic or he had something important to show them, and the quicker they followed the quicker they would learn whether it was the former or the latter.

  The indomitable twin towers cast no shadow on the earth but had their faces full to the westering light. The grey stone was softened by the roseate glow of the dying sun, and there at the base of the tower a gauche, hidden in the garden bed between plantings of rhododendron, azalea and hydrangea, was the body of Algernon Frankland.

  12

  The Dog that Jumped Over the Moon

  Vindicated, Antonio stood back triumphant, while Dr Watson and the Countess trampled newly planted azaleas and dwarf rhododendrons in their frantic haste. There was something at the side of the body and the doctor almost stood on it. It was Jock.

  The West Highland Terrier began to whimper and the Countess tried to pick it up but it growled menacingly and snapped. She leapt back in fright and the little dog disappeared under a bush. It moved awkwardly as if dragging its back leg. She watched it limp off in the direction of the stable yard and consoled herself with the thought that one of the stable lads or grooms would take care of it in the meantime. She made a mental note to check on the dog later.

  Dr Watson reckoned the old man had been dead for some time. His body was stiff with cold. He checked underneath the corpse and noted that the mulch was dry.

  “He must have fallen very early this morning. It rained during breakfast but the ground underneath him is dry whereas all around here is still damp.”

  “He is wearing his dressing gown; he had not yet dressed for the funeral. That confirms it must have been quite early when he fell. He must have been lying here for hours.”

  Ruefully, the doctor glanced up at the open window set high in the tower. “I should have been more vigilant, more awake to the possibility of another tragic accident. His life might have been saved had he been found earlier.”

  “Do not castigate yourself. And what makes you think it was an accident?”

  “What else could it have been?”

  Antonio’s lisping voice punctuated their exchange. “This was no accident,” he declared. “Same as Beryl’s death was no accident.”

  They both forgot the wiry old retainer was still there and turned simultaneously to face him.

  “What makes you say that?” posed the Countess.

  “The little dog,” he delivered epigrammatically.

  “What about the little dog?” queried Dr Watson.

  Antonio rubbed his stubbled chin. “Old Frankland could have fallen out that window if you choose to stretch the facts but the little dog could not.”

  The doctor looked unconvinced. “Mr Frankland might have had the dog in his arms when he lost his balance and fell. They might have fallen at the same time.”

  Antonio looked up the window, inviting them to do likewise. “The window juts out but the opening is small as is the way with oriel windows. Oriels are built for show. They are not like bay windows built for giving views and bringing light into a big room. The old man would have to be leaning far to fall out that little window. And if he was leaning out far he would be foolish to be holding onto his little dog. And Mr Frankland may have talked like an old fool but he was not as daft as he seemed.”

  The doctor and the Countess were impressed with the Costa Rican’s reasoning. It was perhaps not so surprising that Sir Henry had appointed him as his valet. Years of working on paddle-steamers on the Mississippi had probably given him a keen eye for detail, and years of living with Jack Stapleton at his school in East Yorkshire had most likely honed his brain. The intelligent way he had arranged the historical artifacts retrieved from the mire should have alerted them to the fact he was also not as daft as he seemed either. But after years of working with Sherlock Holmes the doctor was naturally wary of people who tried to steer him in a certain direction.

  “There is a stool by the window where Mr Frankland had set up his telescope,” said the doctor. “He could have been standing on the stool and looking out at something that caught his eye when he lost his balance and fell. And the dog may have leapt out after the master; not real
ising there was a seven storey drop.”

  Antonio didn’t quite scoff at the explanation but his thin lip curled to one side, giving the appearance of a sinister grin. “It were a cow what jumped over the moon, not a little dog!”

  “So what do you think happened?” pressed the Countess.

  Antonio didn’t take long to think. “The old man was pushed, same as Beryl was pushed.”

  “And the dog?” quizzed the doctor.

  “The little dog was thrown out the window.”

  The wizened old retainer sounded certain but it begged the question how he could be so certain if he was not privy to the event.

  “What time did you first spot Mr Frankland lying here in the garden bed?” asked the doctor.

  “Soon after you went to have your lunch. I saw you coming out of the chapel and saw that Mr Frankland was not with you. So I picked up my search for him. I had had to drop it earlier because I had to finish filling up the fire baskets in the great hall and the library, and then I had to light the fire in the dining room so the room would be warm when you all came for your lunch. I went to check Mr Frankland’s room and saw the window open and looked out to see if I could spot him in the garden, and that’s when I saw some stuff caught on the window latch.”

  “What stuff?’

  “A bit of blue cord from his dressing gown.”

  “So when you saw the bit of blue cord you checked further?”

  “Yes, I peered right out the window; right over the side and downwards to the garden bed.”

  “So that was about one o’clock?” clarified the doctor.

  “Closer to half past one,” corrected the retainer, “because the funeral had been delayed half an hour.”

  “And you immediately assumed he had been pushed?”

  “Yes, because I had to lean out far to spot the body, and the stone sill of the oriel is built wide and I didn’t fear at any time that I might topple over and fall. You can try it for yourself,” he invited with another crooked grin.

  The doctor was starting to suspect he was being led by the nose, which in turn made him feel hot under the collar, and the sinister smile did nothing to allay his suspicions. “Am I correct in assuming you alerted no one else to this tragedy and waited all this time to inform the Countess and myself, though you spotted the body at one-thirty and it is now almost five-thirty – four hours later?”

  “Yes, you would be correct to assume that.”

  The Countess noted the censorious tone and decided to intervene before Dr Watson put the retainer offside and they learned nothing further. She intuited Antonio had more to say. And she still hadn’t quizzed him about the studio. She had to keep him on-side for the time being. “Why did you not alert us earlier?” she stated calmly.

  “I knew you were taking lunch with the other visitors and I did not wish to disturb you.”

  “Good God, man!” shouted the doctor. “Did you not consider the tragic death of Mr Frankland to be serious enough to disturb a mere lunch!”

  “I did consider it carefully, sir. And I came to the conclusion it would not benefit Mr Frankland to have lots of feet trampling the ground around him and surmising wildly as to his death.”

  “What if he had still been alive but lying here unconscious!”

  “He was not. I checked the body for a pulse as you did and found none. The body was already stiffening up. I tried to catch the little dog as you did, Countess, but he did bite me.” He showed where some teeth marks had broken the flesh of his hand. “I let him be as he seemed to want to curl up by his master and gather his strength – what was left of it. He was whimpering with pain. I think his back leg might be broken. But he wouldn’t let me touch him so the kindest thing I could do was to let him be. I considered alerting Mallard but he would have made a mess of it. I thought the best thing was for you to see the body untouched. I checked for footprints as I saw you do, Dr Watson, when you went in search of Sir Henry. There were none. Now there are three sets of prints. Mine, yours and yours.” He looked from the doctor to the Countess as he said it and drew breath before continuing. “The body had landed face down as you see it now. So it appears like he did fall face first but the little dog did not land near the body.” Come over here. He led them to a spot a short distance to the left where an azalea had been completely crushed. “I think the little dog landed here. This plant is flattened and there are some paw prints around its main stem.” He pointed them out. “But they are not clear because the little dog was not walking on all fours as it should have been had it run down the stairs after the master. It was struggling to stand up and then dragged itself along the ground. You can see the way the loose mulch has made a shallow channel. The little dog then nestled in here.” He pointed to a rounded spot by the side of the body. “And that’s where he stayed until he ran away. That’s why I can say the little dog was thrown from the window. He did not land near the body but much further away. Unless he has wings and can fly, he was thrown. I checked on the body of Mr Frankland all day to make sure no one disturbed it. For four hours it has been as it is now. No one has touched it.”

  No one said anything for several minutes but their brains whirred.

  “You have done well,” praised the Countess, breaking the silence. “And I think Dr Watson will agree with me when I say that your summation of this tragedy has been precise and accurate. Sherlock Holmes could not have done better. Please join me in the library for a glass of Madeira while Dr Watson organizes to have the body of Mr Frankland moved into the gun room for further examination.”

  By daring to issue such an unseemly invitation the countess hoped to achieve several things. First, she would incense Dr Watson’s sense of decorum and eliminate his presence. He would occupy himself with the corpse and vent his fury in private and not interrupt them for a good length of time. She probably wouldn’t see him until dinner. That would give her at least two hours to gain Antonio’s trust then casually suggest they check the oriel window, whereby she could carefully steer the conversation around to the twin tower. There were several unanswered questions attached to the studio and she meant to get to the bottom of them.

  Her thoughts turned fleetingly to Jock, but Westies were a tenacious breed, cute as buttons but hardy; no doubt as soon as word spread that Mr Frankland was dead the injured dog would be showered with attention. The kitchen staff would make a huge fuss of it and the frightened little thing would probably get to sleep in Tabby’s basket by the coal range.

  Dr Watson hailed a couple of gardeners who were sweeping some errant autumn leaves off the immaculate green velvet sward that swept down to the Yew Allee. They downed their besom brooms and ambled up to the front entrance.

  “These men can carry the body to the gun room,” he said decisively before adding sternly, “by the way do not, under any circumstances, inform Lady Baskerville of the death of her father. Her health is teetering on the edge and any more bad news may push her over the brink. Is that quite clear?”

  The Countess and Antonio acknowledged his directive as they walked away together.

  Ten years of service with the Baskerville’s had shaped Antonio’s notion of propriety. He remained stiff and formal, refusing to sit down in a chair, until after his second Madeira. He was then persuaded to take the weight off his spindly legs and settle on the brass fender. Like most people who had recently lost a loved one he opened up about his dear departed.

  “Beryl was a graceful dancer like her mother. She was born to it. It came natural to her. But her mother was even more graceful and beautiful. You look at me now and you wonder how I could have had a beautiful wife. But I was handsome once. I was tall and strong and proud. But misery has bent my bones and screwed up my features. The frost and ice, the bitter wind, the winter snow, they have all played their part. They have worn me down and worn me out. Now I am nothing but a rag and bone man in a cold place far from home.”

  “Did Beryl hate the cold too?”

  “The young don’t feel the c
old like the old folk do.”

  “Beryl sometimes sang to the children?”

  “Yes, she had a lovely voice, clear and operatic. She could sing in French and Italian as well as English. She worked hard at different accents. She was ashamed of her roots. But the more she lost her first accent, the more the lisp that runs in our family took hold. Jack Stapleton teased her mercilessly. She hated him for that. During our years in Mississippi she developed a bit of a southern drawl. Singing showboat tunes day and night would do that. But after we came to this country she lost the drawl and the lisp came back. She wanted to sound like a proper English lady, but she never quite got the hang of it. Some accents are harder to manage. You have to be born to them. Take that American engineer – he is not a born Yankee - though his twang sounds good to those who know no better.”

  She decided to humour him, though she had met Russians who sounded French, Germans who sounded Russian, South Africans who sounded Dutch, Americans who sounded Irish, Irish who sounded English, and Australians who sounded like nothing on earth! The American engineer’s accent was perfect as far as she was concerned. And like her, he had travelled extensively. He was bound to have a mélange of accents. Steam trains and clipper ships had opened up the world. In the future there would be only one accent. It was time to move on.

  “I would like to take a look at the oriel window in Mr Frankland’s room,” she said, placing her empty glass on a library table centred with a rare Sevres vase. “Would you be so kind as to show me where you saw the bit of blue cord on the window latch?”

  He ushered a few steps behind her, remembering his place once again, and did not speak until they reached the top of the tower.

  “Here they are,” he said, pointing to the iron latch before standing back to let her squeeze into the oriel bay without knocking over the telescope. “I did not remove the bits of cord. I thought that you or Dr Watson might want to see them.”

  “Mmm, yes, they are wound around the metal catch. I see what you mean about the width of the sill too. It would not be easy to fall by accident unless you were leaning out with the greater part of your body.”