"You did not tell me this…" began the lawyer in a vexed tone.
"My dear, it was a humiliating experience. I was actually ejected by the butler. Charles and Sabina reacted with quite uncharacteristic hostility. Perhaps because I had seen evidence of their neglect of their mother."
"Indeed, and what was that?" Holmes glanced at her keenly.
"It was Lady Abernetty's custom to have a roll with parsley butter for her breakfast every morning. The cook had obviously
prepared the tray, but there was the butter still standing on the table at noon with the parsley quite sunk into the butter. Alice always demanded a well-run, fastidious kitchen…"
"And when did this visit take place?" interrupted Holmes. "On the first day of August."
"And you have not seen Lady Abernetty since." He returned his attention to Aston Plush. "Did you receive any response to your correspondence?"
"Two letters, one from each of the children and each couched in similar terms, reiterating that their mother wished no further communication with Mrs Bertram. There was no cause for alarm concerning Lady Abernetty's health. Would Mrs Bertram please leave the matter as it stands?"
My friend returned his gaze to Mabel Bertram's face. "But you feel you cannot do so…"
The lady leaned forward. "I see I must confide in you my darkest fears. You may think me a fanciful, even hysterical woman, but I fear my stepmother has met with foul play. Only tell me this isn't so, Mr Holmes, and I will never intrude upon them again."
"Of course there is also the matter of the Power of Attorney," interjected Plush.
"Which has been given to the son?"
"Presumably."
My friend was silent for several minutes, his eyes closed, while the lady continued to gaze at him beseechingly. Behind Mrs Bertram's chair, Mr Aston Plush stirred uneasily.
When Sherlock Holmes reached a decision about taking a case he often moved quite abruptly. He did so now, springing briskly from his chair. "I will look into the matter for you."
"Oh, Mr Holmes, you will find me so grateful."
"And generous." Mr Plush had come forward to assist his client from her chair.
She flashed him a glance before she lowered her veil.
"Hopefully you will hear from me within the week. Watson, the door."
"How will you…?" she enquired timidly.
"My methods are my own. Good-day to you," he returned, brusquely.
I ushered out the pair and returned to find Holmes filling his pipe from a tobacco pouch he kept in an old Turkish slipper on the mantelpiece.
"Well, what did you make of that,Watson?" he asked, smiling.
"It seemed to me a tawdry affair. But, of course, the lady's anxiety was genuine."
My friend laughed softly. "One of your most endearing qualities, Watson, is your naivete about the good in people."
I must confess to feeling slightly nettled by my friend's cynicism. "How did she strike you?"
"Here we have a rather theatrical, still-handsome woman who knows how to deploy her charms. Did you notice which chair she took? With her back to the window, away from the daylight and where the firelight would soften and enhance her looks."
"She may not have wished to sully her dress with the rather obvious pipe-ash scattered on your chair," I retorted.
"Well done!" approved my friend. "And what did you make of the silent partner?"
"Mr Ashton Plush? I was surprised a lawyer should take such an interest in a domestic squabble."
"Indeed. I feel he has what is generally termed a vested interest. Did you mark where he stood,Watson?"
"Behind her chair, in a most protective manner."
"No, where his own face was in shadow and he could observe me observing her. He wanted to gauge my reaction to her story. There's more to this than meets the eye, Watson. A lady dressed in the height of fashion in the company of a man some ten years younger than herself. She evinces little sympathy for the plight of her siblings, yet a great deal of concern for her stepmother. What is her real concern? We might look into the father's background." He took down a red-covered reference book from the mantelpiece. "Ah, yes, Abernetty, Sir William, knighted for services to the crown. A son of impoverished country gentry. Made a fortune in the East by mysterious and possibly devious means. Returned to England in 1830 whereupon he married Clarissa, daughter of Sir Arthur Humphrey, and entered politics. Money opens many doors Watson, even one on Grosvenor Square. Wife died in 1848, one daughter Mabel. Married Miss Alice Fernberton 1850, died 1852. Aha, Watson! Made some bad investments in the East Indies, died with his fortune considerably reduced."
"What does that tell us, Holmes?"
"I'm not sure, but it should tell us something. What did you think of the story of the parsley sunk into the butter?"
"Almost ludicrous."
Holmes looked at me musingly. "Did you indeed? I hope to teach you the importance of trivialities. Do you have the time to join me on this adventure, Watson, if it is indeed to be an adventure? I doubt if I can promise you a baboon or a cheetah on this occasion."
"My dear Holmes, if you think I could possibly be of use." I still felt a thrill of pride at having my assistance requested as I had not yet shared as many exploits with my friend as I have to this date and it was all quite new and uncharted to my prosaic way of life.
Holmes smiled in one of his rare flashes of warmth. "Thank you. I shall as always value your company. And your medical expertise may be of value should we chance to meet the invalid. But at the moment I would greatly appreciate your going to your club. You may even choose to spend the night there to avoid the evening fog. I have to give this matter a great deal of thought and I can't predict how many pipes will bring me to a solution."
Being aware of his practice of using tobacco for a stimulus to his thought processes until the room was filled with an acrid pall of smoke, I was happy to oblige.
When I returned next day at noon I was met by an astonishing sight. My friend stood in our little sitting-room transformed into a Bohemian with flowing locks, a flourishing moustache, a hat with a curled brim, a dashing cape and yellow spotted silk bandana knotted at his throat.
"Come, Watson, we can't have you looking so dull. Break out your fancy duds." His eyes were dancing merrily in his long lean face.
Accustomed as I was becoming to my friend's disguises, I perceived some plan was afoot.
"I have nothing half so showy and shall be obliged to go as I am. Where are we going by the way?"
"I've work for you, Watson, if you're willing to undertake it." "You know I'm always happy to oblige."
"Thank you. I want you to call upon your colleague, Dr Royce Miles. I understand he has rooms in Knightsbridge. I want you to enquire in your professional capacity about the health of Lady Abernetty. Say you have had an enquiry about her and seek a word of discreet advice. Take careful note of the interview, how the good doctor looks, what he has to say, any minor detail, you know my methods."
"And you, Holmes?"
"I'm off to join the Footlights Amateur Dramatic Society with the expectation of making the acquaintance of Charles Abernetty. You see before you Sebastian Food, aspiring actor. These ladies and gentlemen of leisure and thesbian pursuits are meeting for rehearsal of their forthcoming production. We'll meet back here for supper and compare our findings."
I had removed my damp outer wear and was sitting before the fire in my dressing-gown reading The Times when Sherlock Holmes returned from his expedition. One glance at his face showed even under the disguise that he was in a brooding, taciturn mood.
"Not now," he said, in answer to my unspoken question. "I need to rid myself of these trappings and get a hot meal inside me before I can discuss the day's events. Will you ring for Mrs Hudson and advise her of our readiness for supper?"
After Mrs Hudson's excellent roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, he poured us both a whisky and soda and lit a cigar. For half an hour perhaps he sat in the darkened room, gazing meditatively into the fire. I knew him too well to break into his reverie.