Young Sherlock Holmes_ Death Cloud - Andrew Lane [51]
‘I will, sir,’ Sherlock said, having to force the words out. The tension in his shoulders eased somewhat. ‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Now go, and do not return until dinner.’
Sherlock turned and left the study. He desperately wanted to argue, to point out that what he had done had been right, but he knew enough about the way the adult world worked to realize that arguing would just make things worse. Right didn’t matter. Obeying the rules did.
He headed up the wide, carpeted stairs to the first floor, then the narrower wooden ones to the eaves, where his room was located. He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, letting his thoughts churn and roil inside his head.
The rest of that day and the whole of the next passed in a blur. Sherlock’s body, tired and battered by his adventures, took the opportunity to repair itself through as much sleep as it could get, but when he was awake he found his thoughts fluttering aimlessly, like moths around a candle flame. What was going on? What exactly was Baron Maupertuis planning, and who was going to stop it?
He spent some time trying to compose a letter in his head to his brother, not because he expected Mycroft to do anything but because he wanted to tell someone he trusted what had been happening. Eventually, when he had got the wording the way he wanted it, he set it down on paper.
Dear Mycroft,
I wish I could tell you that i have been following your advice, and throwing myself into a mixture of studies in Uncle Sherrinford’s library and ramblings around the local countryside, but I seem to have got myself into trouble and I do not know what to do next. The good news – if there is any – is that I have made two friends. One of them is called Matthew Arnatt, and he lives on a narrowboat on the canal. I think you might like him. The other is Virginia Crowe. She is the daughter of Amyus Crowe, who says he is teaching me about nature and about observing the world around me, but I think he is actually teaching me how to think. I wish you had not thought it necessary to find a tutor for me during the holidays, but of all the tutors you might have found I think Mr Crowe is the best
Strange things have been happening here in Farnham, and I wish I could talk to you about them. A man’s body was discovered in town, covered in swellings, and another here in the grounds of Holmes Manor. The Townspeople thought it might be the plague, but a man named Professor Winchcombe proved that they were killed by hundreds of bee stings. I think the bees are somehow connected to a man named Baron Maupertuis, who owns a warehouse in Farnham, but I do not know how.
The warehouse burned down, destroying any evidence. I will tell you how that happened when I see you.
In short, life here is more interesting than I expected – when I can get out of the house. I am presently confined to my room for having gone to Guildford to see Professor Winchecombe, but that is another story that I will you when I see you.
Is there any news of Father? Is he still on his way to India, and do you have any more information on when the problems there might be over?
Give my love to Mother and our sister. Please visit soon.
Your brother,
Sherlock
After finishing and blotting the letter, he left it on the table in the hall at lunchtime, to be collected by a maid and delivered to the post office in Farnham. When he came down again for dinner the letter was gone. Mrs Eglantine was passing through the hall, her face appearing to float in the shadows, and she smiled mirthlessly at him. Had she seen the letter? Had she read it? Had it even made it as far as the post office, or had she destroyed it? Sherlock told himself that he was being foolish – what reasons did she have for doing that? – but Mycroft’s warning echoed in his head. She is no friend of the Holmes family.
Lying in his room, these thoughts kept running through his mind. The distant gong for dinner broke him out of a half-doze, and he headed down to the ground