Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [31]
Unsure how to respond, Sherlock just nodded as if he understood exactly what his uncle was going on about.
‘You have experienced a sheltered life with my brother and his wife,’ Sherrinford said. ‘The facts of death may have passed you by, but it is a natural part of God’s plan. Do not let it worry you. If you need to talk, then my study door is always open.’
Sherlock was touched that Uncle Sherrinford was, in his own way, trying to help. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Did the man we found work here, on the estate?’
‘I believe he was a gardener,’ Sherrinford said. ‘I cannot say that I knew him, but he and his family will be in our prayers. His dependants will be supported.’
‘He was new,’ Aunt Anna said. ‘He had only just joined us, I believe. Previously he worked making clothing in Farnham for a company owned by an Earl or a Viscount, or someone from the aristocracy. His references were excellent . . .’
‘How did he die?’ Sherlock asked, but his aunt kept talking quietly to herself.
‘This is not,’ Mrs Eglantine said from where she stood over by the table of food, ‘a fit subject for discussion over breakfast.’ Sherlock glanced at her, surprised both at the boldness of her words and at the fact that his uncle and aunt didn’t admonish her. For a servant, she was very forward. He found himself remembering Mycroft’s warning – she is no friend to the Holmes family – and he wondered if there was more to Mrs Eglantine, and her presence in the house, than he had believed.
‘The boy is curious,’ Sherrinford said, fixing Sherlock with a glance from beneath his bushy eyebrows. ‘I encourage curiosity. It, and our immortal souls, is what distinguishes us from the animals.’ Turning back to Sherlock, he continued: ‘The body has been released to the local doctor, and he has sent a telegram to the North Hampshire Coroner. It is up to them to pronounce on the cause of death, but I understand that the man’s face and hands showed the raised blisters characteristic of smallpox or bubonic plague.’ He shook his head, frowning. ‘The last thing we need around here is an outbreak of some fever. The doctor will be hard pressed to cope if anybody else becomes sick. I understand that some of the market traders are already packing up their stalls and moving elsewhere. Panic can spread faster than disease. Farnham exists because of trade – sheep, grain, wool, and so on. If that trade moves to another town then Farn-ham’s prosperity will just wither and die.’
Sherlock glanced down at his plate. He had eaten enough kedgeree to keep him going for a while, and he wanted to go back to Farnham and see whether Matty was around. ‘May I be excused, sir?’ he asked. His uncle nodded, saying, ‘Amyus Crowe asked me to tell you that he will be back at lunchtime to continue your studies. Make sure you are here.’ His aunt might have worked an answer into her continuing monologue – it was difficult to tell. Sherlock stood and headed for the door, but a sudden thought held him back.
‘Aunt Anna?’ he said. His aunt looked up. ‘Did you say that the man who died had previously worked for an Earl or a Viscount?’
‘That’s right, dear,’ she said. ‘In fact, I recall that—’
‘Could it have been a Baron?’
She paused for a moment, thinking. ‘I believe you are right,’ she said. ‘It was a Baron. I have the letter somewhere. It was only—’
‘Do you remember his name?’
‘Maupertuis,’ said Aunt Anna. ‘His name was Baron Maupertuis. Such a funny name, I thought. French, obviously. Or possibly Belgian. He didn’t write the references himself, of course; they were written by—’
‘Thank you,’ Sherlock said, and left while she was still talking.
He shivered as he walked into the hall. Surely this couldn’t be a coincidence? Two men dead, both apparently killed in the same way, one of them associated with a gang of thugs working in a warehouse in Farnham which was