Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [30]
All that effort, all that danger, and what exactly had he learned? That if the death of the man at the house in Farnham was an accident then it was an accident caused by some kind of criminal activity. The dead man had been stealing something from his confederates, and that something had got him killed. The criminals had packed the rest of that something into boxes and had taken them away by cart to some unspecified location, and then set fire to the barn to cover their activity. And this was all done to the instructions of a mysterious ‘Baron’.
And then Sherlock remembered the first time he had stood outside the gates leading into that yard, when he and Matty had almost been run down by a carriage. The man in the carriage – the man with white skin and pink eyes – was he the Baron? And if so, what exactly was he up to?
Sherlock suddenly registered how dark it was getting. The sun had almost set, and he had not only to get back to Holmes Manor but also somehow to clean himself up and change clothes – all before Mrs Eglantine spotted that something had happened. He’d thought for a moment that his troubles were over for the day, but he realized with a sinking heart that they were only halfway through.
CHAPTER SIX
Sherlock nearly missed breakfast next morning. The adventures of the previous day had left him tired and achy, and his head pounded in time with his heartbeat. He could feel a tightness in his chest and a scratchiness in his throat that was probably due to the smoke he had breathed in. He had missed dinner, but his aunt had made sure that a tray of cold meats and cheese had been left out for him. It had to have been his aunt – Mrs Eglantine certainly wouldn’t have bothered. He had spent the night restlessly balanced between sleep and wakefulness, slipping between dreams and memories until he could no longer tell which was which. He only slid into a deep, dreamless sleep as the sun was coming up, and as a result the gong that was struck by one of the maids to signal breakfast jerked him awake and gave him barely ten minutes to get ready for the day.
Fortunately, another of the maids had left a bowl of water in his room without disturbing him. He splashed his face, brushed his teeth with a chalky powder flavoured with cinnamon that he sprinkled on his bone-handled hog’s bristle toothbrush and quickly dressed. He’d have to make sure that someone washed his clothes soon – he was beginning to run out of clean things to wear.
He checked the time on the grandfather clock in the hall as he rushed down the stairs. Seven o’clock.
He rushed into the dining room, ignoring the dark stare from Mrs Eglantine, and helped himself to kedgeree from the long table of plates and dishes that took up one side of the room. It was a tasty mixture of rice, egg and smoked haddock that he’d never come across before arriving at Holmes Manor, but he was developing quite a liking for it. He did his best to avoid eye contact with anyone, shovelling the food in his mouth so fast that he could barely taste it. He was ravenous: the events of the day before had taken a lot of his energy, and he had to replace it. Uncle Sherrinford was reading a religious tract while eating and Aunt Anna was talking to herself, as she always did. As far as Sherlock could tell, every thought that passed through her mind was immediately articulated, whether it was of relevance or not.
‘Sherlock,’ his uncle said, looking up from the pamphlet he was reading, ‘I understand that you were involved in an unfortunate incident yesterday.’ There were traces of porridge on his long beard.
For a moment Sherlock was petrified, wondering how his uncle knew about the warehouse and the fire, but then he realized that Sherrinford was talking about the body of the man that he and Amyus Crowe had found in the woods. ‘Yes, Uncle,’ he said.
‘Man, that is born of a woman, hath but a short time to live,’ Sherrinford intoned, ‘and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it