The Churchill Casebook of Curiosities
Book Four: The Mysterious Case of the Severed Hand
Chapter Two: The Burden of Proof
I am a scientist, questions are good!
The eye sees only,
what the mind is prepared,
to comprehend.
Tuesday 5th August 1879: London
What is love?
Why does it tease me so?
And, curse his name and the ground he walks upon, why have I fallen for a cur such as Edmund Clement?
The bible contained nothing more than the mysterious message, obviously penned by the Baron. “I am certain the Baron is not a Catholic, so the choice of bible is interesting to say the least.”
I looked around the book-strewn study. “Tell me Silas, how is it possible that bible could be the only book untouched in this room? How did they miss it? Were they perhaps scared of it?”
“They weren’t scared, Gideon. Maybe they didn’t notice it?”
I stared. “Silas. Look at that thing! I dare say it is the most eye catching item in this entire study.”
Silas merely shrugged. “Does it matter? What we need to understand is why he sent us those packages.”
Blackwood piped up with a theory: “We have the head, tusk, and foot of an elephant. Could that be an indication of where the safe may hide in this house?”
(As we were to discover, Blackwood had rather a fixation on finding a ‘safe’ in the Baron’s residence.)
Now it was his turn to get a blankly stare. “Well, Blackwood, I suppose it is possible. But if that were the case I can think of far easier ways to pass the message than sending us what he did, and no doubt great expense.”
“I agree with Gideon,” Silas nodded. “It is too much bother. We will need to make a more forensic examination of the elephant parts when we return to London. But for now—we need to get the Constabulary here as fast as possible. I will write a telegram—”
“—to Clement!” I exclaimed with some delight.
Delight! How foolish I was! The last thing on Clement’s mind was delight. I would be surprised if the man had ever experienced it.
That was cruel. But really!
“To Williamson, Gideon. We don’t need the local plod involved, we need the top.”
“‘Local plod’?! Local plod!? How could you say that Silas after all Clement has done for us!”
“He has done nothing more than follow the instruction of Williamson. This is more important than your fancies.”
“Silas! You go too far! I will write my own telegram to Clement, then we shall see!”
“Do as you must—I will also write to Clement as a sop to you, but do not think that he is anything more than a yes man.”
“A yes man? Who do you think freed us from that horrible, accursed gaol? Clement! We would still be there without him.”
“Williamson freed us, Clement merely signed the papers.”
I scowled darkly at Silas and we busied ourselves at our respective notes, Blackwood watching on bemused. “I will take them to the Thorntonheath post,” he volunteered.
I finished my note well before Silas, I am sure his scribble was typically overdone and ‘plodding’. Mine on the other hand was a direct appeal:
Edmund. Come to me. I await you at Litchfield Hall. Gideon.
“Let us have a wager, Silas. One pound says my man comes before yours.”
“I am not going to wager, Gideon!”
“I’ll just slip out, shall I?” Blackwood said weakly, withdrawing with the three telegrams.
Why did I bother appealing to Clement’s manhood? He was a certainly a man but I now believe his manhood will forever remain unused. It would have been better if I had never telegrammed! Most likely he discarded it and responded only to Silas’s professional beckons. A call to the heart (and more beside)? I think not.
In Blackwood’s absence Silas and I fought a battle of wits best not recorded here. Suffice to say that we eventually ran out of steam and set about investigating the house.
“Clearly they were looking for a book,” I said somewhat obviously.
“Clearly. Or something hidden behind one.”
“I think not,” I protested, pointless argumentative heat rising. (I was obviously on edge—no doubt due to the promise of Clement’s arrival). “Why bother rifling through everything if that were the case.”
“Well whatever it was, they obviously didn’t find it.”
“No. And that is why they took the Baron. No doubt to torture the poor man.” It was a guess, but it made sense to me. The Baron knew something, they hoped to find it written somewhere, and failing that had taken the Baron to eke the secret out of him.
Whoever they were they were rookies. No thief worth their salt would choose such an inefficient means of search—simply run your finger along the spines and you will find what you seek. Flinging books from their shelves, shifting them, ripping them open in a chaotic fashion? This was hasty work, and not in the least thorough.
Silas meanwhile did a quick search of Sanjeev’s body, finding a set of keys that he pocketed before moving upstairs to see what he might discover.
I set about finding from where our elephant trophies had been removed. Finding the spot for the head was easy enough, large as it was. There was large empty space in the hall directly above a polished suit of plate armour. I traced the wallpaper under the missing item, but there was no concealment or hidden message. Next I found where poor Sanjeev had retrieved the talwar with which he had slice free the assailants hand: half way down the stair a shield now stood without its matching blade.
I climbed the stairs and examined the fallen chair: it was on one side, and there was damage to both an arm and the front foot rest. A picture of what had happened formed in my mind.
“Look at this Silas,” I pointed when he returned from scouting upstairs (finding nothing of note other than another more commonplace Catholic bible in the Baron’s room). “My supposition is Sanjeev was bringing the Baron downstairs in the chair, and was surprised by the intruders in the hall. He was forced to release the Baron who crashed into the wall where the wheeled chair has fallen. As Sanjeev descended the stairway. Being a creative man, by necessity serving the Baron, he grabbed the nearest weapon from the wall here, and set to it.”
“It makes sense,” Silas admitted grudgingly. “Though perhaps it is more likely the kidnappers were bringing the Baron down and Sanjeev’s arrival from below forced the Baron’s crash. Or, maybe the Baron attacked one of them by ramming them with his chair.”
“That seems rather fanciful, Silas? The Baron using his chair as a weapon?”
“He may have been one-legged, but he was by no means disabled, Gideon.”
I rolled my eyes.
How wrong I was!
Blackwood arrived back having sent a great number of telegrams, much to the delight of Gladys McGarnicle, the post-mistress. Two to Clement (dear Clement!), one to Williamson, one to the Constable at Croydon (‘Backup,’ Blackwood explained), and one, for reasons known only to him, to Anthony Salvin enquiring as to his health.
“I am going to search for a hidden safe. There must be one here,” he announced, and next moment was lifting bear-skins and hog-rugs. Silas and I helped, but Blackwood was a force of nature, checking every room with an intensity of focus and intent that put me to shame. I was bored after the first two rooms.
I followed Silas upstairs when he mentioned an architectural oddity in the bathroom upstairs, and he was right. A fairly obvious panel hid a door that opened to a spiral staircase. We climbed it to emerge on the rooftop. There was nothing up there other than a fine view of Thorntonheath and we were soon back inside.
I discovered the tusk had come from the mantle above the dining room, but again there were no secrets to be found nearby. Try as I might I could not locate where the poor elephant’s foot had stood, but it seemed that any secrets it held travelled with it, so I was not too bothered.
Blackwood was busily tapping and prodding every surface in the billiard room (ignoring the two fine American rifles that lay stripped atop the billiard green) when he let out a sudden call. “Lady? Lady? There is something here if you could please take a look?”
Lady? Would I ever train him?
I hustled to his side to find him standing before a hinged bookcase! “Why Jack! This is marvellous—I admire your perseverance!”
I do believe he blushed?
“Silas!” I called as I quickly unravelled how to unlatch the hidden door. It swung open to reveal a ladder leading both down and up. I clambered down immediately, finding myself in a pitch black, dank cellar. “Jack, your light if you please?” I whispered.
Blackwood set about squeezing his device (my but he had strong hands…) until a dim light shone forth. The cellar was empty, pools of water collecting on the floor, and a typically musty underground aroma. We followed Jack through several rooms to a passage, at which point Silas called for a halt.
“Look around the puddle,” he pointed with some excitement. “Footsteps. Or possibly…footstep?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean maybe the Baron escaped! Maybe he got down here and hobbled his way through to freedom.”
“That is absurd, Silas,” I protested. “Even if we allow that he was more able than I thought, how on earth could he avoid pursuit, climb down a ladder, hop through pitch blackness and water—”
“As I have already explained, Gideon,” Silas interrupted, “The Baron was very able. One leg is barely an impediment to one such as he, as I am sure Blackwood would attest?”
“It didn’t slow him much in Abyssinia,” Blackwood allowed. “And I’ve seen plenty of worse off soldiers do some amazing things.”
“I’m sorry gentlemen but I find it all rather ridiculous. Lead on, Blackwood.”
We followed a narrow corridor, emerging into a small room where a shelf held garden implements…and a single gumboot.
“Wait!” Silas whispered. “Blackwood shine your light on this boot, please?”
He did. I had a bad feeling about this.
Silas turned to me triumphantly, boot in hand. “Tell me, Gideon, what foot is this boot for?”
“The left?”
“The left! And what leg did the Baron have removed?”
“…the left,” I sighed. Beaten!
“Precisely! The Baron is still alive!”
“You know, Silas, if you are right about this—and I do not admit it just yet—but if you are I will never again question you.”
“Gideon I am a scientist, questions are good!”
“Are miracles? For that is what this is if true.”
“How can you question the Baron’s ability?” Silas scoffed.
“HE HAS ONE LEG!!” I cried and huffed away.
The cellar ended at another set of stairs. We climbed them expecting to emerge into a paddock, surprised instead to find ourselves in the kitchen (by way of another hidden panel through a small pantry).
“I can’t see any traces of a one-legged man having moved through here on grime covered gumboot,” I said archly. “It seems maybe your miraculous Baron ran out of miracles?”
Silas ignored me, looking toward a door that opened to the rear of the house. He used Sanjeev’s keyset to open the door and walked outside, looking (rather fruitlessly I would have expected) for traces of his hop-a-long Baron. And, wouldn’t you know it, he found some!?
(By this stage I was feeling rather the fool, Silas having got the better of me at every turn. Was I losing my touch? I had though my powers of observation second to none, particularly in circumstances such as this, but I was missing everything! I vowed to do better, but alas it was only to get worse.)
Despite the rain and muddy grounds, Silas had managed to espy a series of tracks leading away toward a smallish stone building a few hundred yards hence. “Unbelievable,” I muttered as Silas grinned like a madman and led us forth.
It was a small chapel, well weathered and in disrepair. Horse dung littered the floor and rusted shovels lent against the walls. We were surprised to find the chapel also of the Catholic faith, stations along the walls and an alter. “Is that where they make their sacrifices? The blood and flesh thing?” I mumbled.
“Transubstantiation,”” Silas corrected.
A small flight of stairs led down so I grumpily descended. And immediately stopped. “A crypt! Coffins!” I squealed with trepidation.
Blackwood and Silas pushed past me and started examining the dread containers, Blackwood clutching his hammer (to my relief for once). Most were wood, but there were four heavy stone sarcophagi. “Don’t open them!” I pleased, suddenly terrified. So terrified that I clutched Silas’s arm for support.
“It’s ok, Gideon, there’s nothing to be afraid of.”
“What if the Baron is inside one!?” I ran to the top of the stairs, shaking with dread.
Silas meanwhile was in complete control, calmly prying open a coffin. Inside was an ancient withered body. He opened another to find the same thing. Blackwood tried one of the stone chambers, but it was far too heavy to lift. “Sir Bruce Boltworthy, 1781,” Silas said tracing the faded script. “And here’s another Boltworthy. They must have been the owners of the estate before the Baron,” he guessed.
There seemed nothing more to discover here. Silas ventured outside and—again!!—proved me a fool. “Horse tracks!” he exclaimed, “Leading to Thorntonheath”. He ran back inside and, disgustingly, poked his finger into a nugget of horse dung. “This is fresh, or fresh enough,” he beamed.
“And here’s a horse hitch,” Blackwood pointed (I, as was now expected, had missed it entirely).
“My god. The Baron really did escape!” Silas cried. “He’s alive!”
There was no disputing it now. “Silas I must apologise to you,” I said meekly. “You were quite right. The Baron has surprised me greatly and I find I must reassess my opinion of both him and you.”
“There is no need to apologise,” Silas said kindly.
“Oh but I do,” I groaned. “I will never doubt you again!” I looked around at the (now obvious) hoof prints and cocked my head. “The only thing I can add is that the Baron must have had a specially trained horse. Most every horse is mounted from the left, but that is obviously not possible for the Baron.”
“How about that,” Silas said absently, clearly not in the least bit interested.
Oh woe is me.
“We should get back to the house before Williamson arrives,” Silas said wiping his hands clean, then strutted back toward the house.
Oh dear. I apologise in advance to anyone reading the following recollection. I embarrassed both myself and my companions, losing my head—and my heart—repeatedly in the heated presence of…DCI Clement. DCI Edmund Clement.
Edmund.
Oh my. What am I become?
We agreed to keep our discovery from the shortly to arrive Constabulary: the Baron had said ‘trust no-one’ and so we would not. Not even Clement, I reminded myself.
After a quick discussion we agreed to remove the remnant silk sleeve from severed hand, grisly work carried out by Dr Hawthorne. It would delay the official investigation, but was the best clue we had to finding Sanjeev’s killer and we trusted our investigative skills more than we trusted Williamson and Co. Time would tell if that trust was warranted.
I collapsed into a chair in the hall, and Silas on the stairway above the body. Blackwood paced, and before long there came a pounding at the main doors. “Open up! Open up I say!”
That voice! I nearly fainted. It was he! I rapidly pinned my hair and smoothed my dress, pinching my cheeks for colour.
“Come around back,” Blackwood called, “We have no key and the door is locked.”
After some grumbling the new arrivals did so, entering through the conservatory as we had. First to enter was Superintendent Williamson, frowning and serious, trailed by two bobbies.
And there he was. Clement in all his glory! Oh how I had missed that ruddy face, that mousey hair, that trim moustache. I shivered pleasurably and locked my eyes on him and did not waver for the duration.
“What the blazes is going on here,” Williamson said gruffly upon seeing the body.
Silas stood and set about explaining what had happened. My eyes never left Clement, but his, on the other hand, did little more than pass his rapidly between the three of us as the scene unfolded. Even when I lifted my arm to fix my hair and display my bare forearm, I detected not the slightest sideways glance or lingering of gaze. If anything he seemed less interested than ever…and rather displeased. In fact I would go as far as to say he was deeply unhappy with what he saw.
Williamson meanwhile was officious and clearly showing off in front of his men. “And you are acquainted with the deceased?” he said pointedly.
Silas looked momentarily befuddled, knowing that Williamson knew exactly who Sanjeev was. “Well, yes…he was the Baron’s manservant.”
“Of course he was,” Williamson said correctly course quickly.
“And you will find the severed hand underneath his corpse,” Silas repeated.
“Sergeant Strange, if you will,” Williamson nodded.
The sergeant confirmed the finding with a short nod and Silas continued his story. “Have you examined the body, Dr?”
“Not yet. I wanted to wait for your official presence before touching anything,” Silas explained.
“Very good. Well, go to it, sir!”
I turned my face away, and was surprised to find Clement by my side.
“We have heard from Dr Hawthorne. Was anything else amiss, Ms Harrow?”
I looked up into his dark, intense eyes. “Those are you first words to me, sir?” I said softly.
“Please, Ms Harrow.”
“I missed you, you know.”
Clement flushed, looking quickly around. “Now is not the time,” he said gruffly.
“Of course. Well in that case, no, nothing is amiss. Silas has described the situation most effectively.”
Upset, I stood and walked slowly into the study. He hated me.
Oh the fools love makes of us…
Some moments later Clement followed me inside. I heard the door close softly and my heart leapt.
He did care!
I spun, pulse pounding, head spinning, and ran to him. “OH Edmund!” I cried as I flung my arms around his sturdy shoulders.
“Madam, please!” he rebuffed quickly, holding me away.
“But Edmund—”
“No, Ms Harrow! This is a crime scene and I am here to do my job.”
“Your job can wait a moment, surely? Am I nothing to you?”
“This is my career,” Clement said sternly, looking around the overturned room. “Now what have you been doing these past two hours?”
“Nothing! We have been doing nothing!” I cried. “What do you think of me that you would ask that?”
“Ms Harrow I ask you only to tell me the truth.”
“Why would I do otherwise, Clement?!”
“Come now, you cannot expect me to believe that this is yet another coincidence. First the Abernathy affair, then the mirrors, the Tower of London and a plot upon Her Majesty, and you and your companions involved every step of the way. And now this!”
I was stunned and near hysterical. Had he come here only to accuse me, to accuse us?
“And you have been with us every step of the way!” I bellowed. “Every step, DCI Clement! You know very well we are innocent and saved the crown jewels, and hope now to save the Baron from kidnapping and torture!!”
“I ask again,” Clement said, cool as a cucumber, “What were you doing for these last hours.”
I fear at this point that I screamed in frustration. I ran to the study door to escape outside, only to find it locked. I grabbed it and shook it for all my life, before collapsing into the chair at the Baron’s desk. I thudded my head into my hands and sobbed uncontrollably.
At the far end of the room there was silence. Then the door opened and Clement walked away.
He left me.
I cried and cried…and then the door opened and closed. I lifted my head.
Edmund!
“Is it really so difficult?” I whispered.
“Madam you have no idea,” he said quietly.
I leapt to my feet and ran to him. “Kiss me Edmund, oh kiss me kiss me!”
I could feel the heat of his body, the desire overwhelming me, the desperate need.
He held me for a moment, then turned away.
“No, Gideon,” he said, using my name for the first time.
“Do you feel nothing?” I cried.
“If there is anything there must first be trust.”
“Trust? Do you not trust me?”
“Where have you been, Ms Harrow?”
“What?”
“Dr Hawthorne says the body is two days old. And we know you have not been in London for three. Where have you been?” he said accusingly.
It was over. What had I done. Who was I? How was I to recover from this? Would I ever?
I slumped onto the couch and held my head in my hands. “Nowhere,” I whispered. “Nowhere. Nowhere!!”
“That is not good enough.”
“We went away…the three of us…away for the weekend,” I croaked, wiping tears away.
“Where?”
In my confusion I barely realised a trap was being set. And I was utterly unprepared, despite our carefully planned alibis. “We went together…to…”
It finally dawned on me. But it was too late. “To the Lakes District,” I said rapidly, the first thing that popped into my mind.
“Where did you stay?”
Oh god. “I do not recall,” I said weakly. “An inn? The Shamrock and Thistle, perhaps? Or something similar?” I cursed myself—‘Shamrock and Thistle’??—I might as well have admitted to everything, so close was it to ‘Nettle & Thorn’!
“Very well, Ms Harrow. I shall confirm this with Mr Blackwood immediately.”
Oh god. I jumped to my feet and followed Clement out of the room as he approached Blackwood. “Mr Blackwood, a few questions if I may.”
“Certainly,” Blackwood said with his gormless charm.
“Very good. Now, can you tell me where you have been these last few days?”
“IwasjusttellingClementofourtriptotheLAKESDISTRICT,” I stammered.
“Ms Harrow if you please!” Clement cried.
“Of course, sir,” Blackwood said, and I prayed he took my meaning. He reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a great sheaf of paper which he started to unfold, speaking all the while. “We took a lovely trip to the country and discovered some marvellous things, and some terrifying ones too,” he said cheerfully. “Did you know there are leopards to be seen out there?”
Clement looked confused. “Leopards?”
“Yes! And I have been consulting with zooologists and specialist of the like,” Blackwood enthused, revealing the paper to be covered in complex engineering drawings and plans. “We need to trap an anaconda and these plans describe how.”
“I see, Mr Blackwood, but can I interrupt and ask again: where did you travel and where did you stay?” Clement said with a glare toward me.
“Birmingham,” Blackwood confirmed, and I paled.
“Birmingham?” Clement said, turning to stare at me.
“Birmingham?” I said weakly. “Wasn’t it the Lakes? There was a lot of water?”
Just as it appeared all was lost, Silas came to the rescue. “We went to visit an old school friend of mine—Dr Joseph Chamberlain—who lives on the outskirts of Birmingham. I can provide details if you require them. I have known him for many years and we paid him a visit for three days.”
Thank goodness for that man. He corrected the course where I could not, and his no-nonsense medical delivery left little room for doubt.
Clement none-the-less was opening his mouth, no doubt to further access me, when Williamson silenced him with a quick look. “I see no relevance to present events, thank you Doctor. It is quite obvious to me that the Baron has been abducted. His manservant is dead, and there is no body to be found.”
Clement scowled at me, and I in my shame and despair, stormed off and locked myself away in the front lounge, lying on the couch with eyes closed.
Some minutes later the door to the room opened. “Ms Harrow—”
“Leave me be, Mr Clement,” I hissed. “You have made it quite clear what you think of me and I have no interest in furthering your enquiries.”
“I—”
“GET OUT!” I yelled.
“…Very good, Madam.”
The door closed softly behind him.
We returned to London.
I did not say a word.
I am lost.