Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [49]
The two boys talked as the boat slowly moved downstream. Sherlock told Matty about Professor Winch-combe and his explanation concerning the bees and the stings. Matty was dubious at first, but Sherlock eventually persuaded him that no supernatural explanation was required for the cloud of death. Matty seemed to be caught between relief that the plague hadn’t come to Farnham and irritation that the explanation was so prosaic. Sherlock didn’t say anything, but as they travelled he became more and more certain that they had just removed one mystery to reveal another. Why had the bees stung those two men in different locations but nobody else? Why were African bees in England in the first place? And what did any of this have to do with the warehouse, the boxes that had been loaded on to the cart by the ruffians and the mysterious Baron?
After a while, Sherlock became aware that another horse had joined theirs on the riverbank. It was a glossy black stallion with a brown patch on its neck, and Virginia Crowe was riding it. She was still wearing riding breeches and a blouse, with a jacket over the top.
‘Hello!’ Sherlock called. She waved back.
‘Matty, this is Virginia Crowe,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Virginia, this is Matthew Arnatt. Matty.’
Matty nodded at Virginia, and she nodded at him, but neither said anything.
Sherlock stood, balanced precariously on the bows of the boat for a moment, feeling it rock beneath him, and jumped to the bank. He took Matty’s horse’s rope collar and guided him forward, walking alongside Virginia and her horse.
‘This is Albert,’ he said eventually.
‘This is Sandia,’ Virginia replied. ‘You really should learn to ride, you know.’
Sherlock shook his head. ‘Never had the chance.’
‘It’s simple, but you guys always make a fuss over how difficult it is. Guide with your knees, not the reins. Use the reins for slowing the horse down.’
Sherlock couldn’t think of a suitable response to that. They kept walking in awkward silence for a while.
‘Where have you been,’ Virginia asked eventually.
‘Guildford. There was someone I wanted to see.’ Remembering, he delved into his jacket and took out the letter that Professor Winchcombe had written. ‘I need to get this to your father. Do you know where he is?’
‘Still looking for you. You were supposed to have a lesson.’
Sherlock glanced at her to see whether she was serious, but there was a slight smile on her lips. She looked down at him, and he turned his face away.
‘Give me the letter,’ she said. ‘I’ll see he gets it.’
He held the letter out to her, then pulled it back. ‘It’s important,’ he said hesitantly. ‘It’s about the two men who died.’
‘Then I’ll see he gets it straight away.’ She took the letter from his outstretched hand. Her fingers didn’t touch his, but he could almost imagine that he felt their heat as they passed close. ‘Those men died of the plague, didn’t they? That’s what people are saying.’
‘It’s not the plague. It was bees. That’s why I had to go into Guildford – I needed to talk to an expert in diseases.’ He realized he was talking faster, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself. ‘I found a yellow powder near both bodies. I wanted someone to tell me what it was, so I took some of it into Guildford. It turns out it was pollen. That’s why we decided that bees were responsible.’
‘But you didn’t know that when you found the powder,’ Virginia pointed out.
‘No.’
‘Or when you collected the powder and carried it all the way to Guildford.’
‘No.’
‘For all you knew, it might have been something that caused the plague. Something contagious.’
Sherlock felt he was being backed into a corner. ‘Yes,’ he said, drawing the word out to something that sounded more like ‘Ye-e-e-s’.
‘So you risked your life based on the fact that you thought everyone else was wrong and you could prove them wrong.’
‘I suppose so.’ He felt obscurely embarrassed. She was right – getting to the bottom of the mystery had been more important to him than his own safety. He might have been wrong – he didn