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By Root 595 0

that Edinburgh is an unusually dark and violent city. The Scots themselves are a Celtic race, which means that they are prone to moods that range from maudlin depression to sudden anger. Do not think Scotland will be like Farnham, or London. Although you will not cross water – apart from the River Tyne, of course – and although the people you meet will speak English – of a sort – you should treat Scotland as you would a foreign country.’ He handed across an envelope. ‘I have taken the liberty of making your travel arrangements. Here are your tickets, and the address of a hotel into which you have been booked. Keep me informed as to what you discover. I regret to say that I have no agents of my own in Edinburgh, otherwise I would ask them to be on the lookout for Amyus Crowe and his daughter, and to keep the three of you from harm as well.’

‘Thank you,’ Sherlock said, taking the envelope. ‘Mycroft . . .’

‘Yes, Sherlock.’

He paused before going on. ‘I think you should know that Mrs Eglantine has left the employ of Uncle Sherrinford and Aunt Anna.’

Mycroft stared at Sherlock for a long moment. ‘Has she indeed?’ he murmured eventually. ‘Do I take it that this sudden reversal of fortune for that remarkably unpleasant woman has something to do with you?’

‘It has a lot to do with him,’ Matty said proudly. ‘And me!’

‘You must tell me the story when you get back.’ Mycroft kept staring at Sherlock. There was a strange look in his eyes, as if he was simultaneously seeing someone very familiar and someone who was a complete stranger. ‘You have my gift of being able to see a seed and extrapolate the flower,’ he said eventually, ‘but you also have something I lack – a regard for flowers, and a dislike of weeds. I admire you, Sherlock. I admire you greatly.’

Sherlock looked away, suddenly feeling a lump in his throat. He watched the buildings flow past the windows until he had his feelings under control.

‘I shall write to our mother,’ Mycroft announced suddenly. ‘I shall ask her to invite our aunt and uncle to stay with her for a few days. This family feud has long passed the point where it should have been forgotten. By the time our father returns from India I want it forgotten.’

‘Mother is . . . all right?’ Sherlock asked hesitantly.

Mycroft’s lips tightened almost imperceptibly. ‘She has good days and bad, but I think she is on the mend.’

‘And Emma?’

‘Our sister is . . . well, she is what she is,’ Mycroft said cryptically. ‘Let us leave it there.’

The carriage suddenly swerved sideways, towards the kerb, and stopped. Sherlock heard a scrabbling sound as the driver climbed down from his perch. Moments later the door opened.

‘King’s Cross,’ Mycroft announced. ‘If I remember my Bradshaw’s Railway Time Tables, then I believe you will find a train leaving for Edinburgh within the hour.’

‘Thank you for meeting us,’ Stone said. ‘And for the tickets and the hotel arrangements.’

‘Look after my brother,’ Mycroft replied. He stared at Matty, and raised an eyebrow. ‘If it isn’t too much trouble, look after this one too. I find him curiously entertaining, and my brother obviously likes him.’

‘You’re a funny geezer,’ Matty said chirpily, ‘but thanks for the lift.’

Mycroft switched his glance back to Sherlock and stuck out a hand. ‘Send me a telegram whenever convenient,’ he said. ‘You can reach me care of the Diogenes Club. Let me know how your search is going. And take care. Take great care. I have a bad feeling in my bones, and I do not think it is the gout from which I worry that I am beginning to suffer.’

The three of them – Sherlock, Matty and Rufus Stone – climbed out of the carriage. The driver shut the door and climbed nimbly back to his seat. Sherlock heard the rap of Mycroft’s cane hitting the roof, and his muffled voice calling, ‘Admiralty Arch, my good man!’ And then the carriage was pulling away from the station.

‘We’re on our own,’ Matty said.

CHAPTER EIGHT

King’s Cross Station was just like Waterloo – a large space filled with people waiting on the concourse and pigeons roosting in the cast-iron girders