Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [13]
Matty nodded. ‘Back here, at about ten o’clock?’
It took Sherlock almost forty-five minutes to walk back to Holmes Manor, and he arrived just as the gong was being sounded for lunch. He brushed the worst of the dust from his clothes and entered the dining room. Unusually, Sherrinford Holmes was seated at the head of the table, reading a pamphlet. His wife, Anna, was bustling around, checking the cutlery and talking to herself. Mrs Eglantine stood behind Uncle Sherrinford. She didn’t react as Sherlock entered, but the way she pointedly avoided looking at him told him that she had noticed his arrival.
‘Good afternoon Uncle Sherrinford, Aunt Anna,’ Sherlock said politely as he sat down.
Sherrinford nodded towards Sherlock without raising his eyes from the pamphlet. Anna managed to incorporate what sounded like a greeting into her continuous monologue.
A maid entered with a tureen of soup and proceeded to spoon it out into bowls, under the supervision of Mrs Eglantine. Sherlock watched without much interest until Sherrinford put down his pamphlet, leaned forward and said: ‘Young man, I have a visitor coming after lunch, and I would be obliged if you could be present. Your brother has exhorted me to ensure that your education is kept up whilst you are away from school, and has also indicated that he wishes you to be kept away from trouble. To that end I have retained the services of a tutor. He will take you on for three hours a day, every day of the week apart from Sunday, when I will expect you to attend church with the rest of the family. His name is Amyus Crowe.’ He sniffed. ‘Mr Crowe is a visitor to this country from the Colonies, I believe, but none the less has demonstrated himself to be a man of learning and discrimination. His Latin and Greek are excellent. I expect you to abide by his instructions.’
Sherlock felt his face burn with sudden anger. When he’d first arrived at Holmes Manor he’d seen the days stretching out before him, empty and barren, and wondered what he was going to do with his time, but meeting Matty Arnatt had opened up a whole set of possibilities. Now it looked as if they were all going to be closed off again.
‘Thank you, Uncle Sherrinford,’ he murmured. He tried to look pleased, but his face wouldn’t follow his instructions. Mrs Eglantine smiled slightly, without meeting Sherlock’s eyes.
A meat pie with thick pastry and gravy followed the soup, and a summer pudding followed the pie. Sherlock ate, but he hardly tasted the food. His thoughts kept revolving around the fact that his holidays were turning into a personal hell, and he couldn’t wait to get back to the stability and predictability of school.
After lunch, Sherlock asked to be excused.
‘Don’t go far,’ Sherrinford admonished. ‘Remember my visitor.’
Sherlock hung around in the hall while the family went their separate ways – Sherrinford to the library and Aunt Anna to the conservatory. He spent his time looking at the paintings and trying to decide which one was executed in the most amateurish manner. After a while, a maid came up to him. She held a silver tray in her hand, and on the tray was an envelope.
‘Master Holmes,’ she said quietly, ‘this letter came for you this morning.’
Sherlock snatched it from the tray. ‘For me? Thank you!’
She smiled, and moved away. Sherlock looked around, half expecting Mrs Eglantine to materialize and snatch the envelope from his hand, but he was alone in the hall. The envelope was indeed addressed to ‘Master Sherlock Holmes, Holmes Manor, Farnham’. It was postmarked Whitehall. Mycroft! It was from Mycroft! Eagerly he ran his fingernail beneath the wax seal and pulled the flap open.
There was a single sheet of paper inside. The address of Mycroft’s rooms in London was printed at the top, and underneath, in Mycroft’s peculiarly neat script, it read:
My Dear Sherlock,
I trust that this letter finds