Young Sherlock Holmes_ Red Leech - Andrew Lane [5]
‘There’s something odd about that woman,’ Crowe murmured. ‘She don’t act like a servant. She acts like she’s a member of the family sometimes. Like she’s in charge.’
‘I don’t know why my aunt and uncle let her get away with it,’ Sherlock said. ‘I wouldn’t.’
He walked across to the saloon and glanced inside. Maids were bustling around the sideboards at one end of the room, preparing plates of cold meat, fish, cheese, rice, pickled vegetables and breads that the family could come in and graze on, as was the normal way of taking lunch at Holmes Manor, but there was no sign of his aunt or uncle. Heading back into the hall, he paused for a moment before approaching the door to the library and knocking.
‘Yes?’ said a voice from inside; a voice that was used to practising the sermons and speeches that its owner spent most of his life writing: Sherlock’s uncle, Sherrinford Holmes. ‘Come in!’
Sherlock opened the door. ‘Mr Crowe is here,’ he said as the door swung open to reveal his uncle sitting at a desk. He was wearing a black suit of old-fashioned cut, and his impressively biblical beard covered his chest and pooled on the blotter in front of him. ‘I was wondering if it would be possible for him to stay for lunch.’
‘I would welcome the opportunity to talk to Mr Crowe,’ Sherrinford Holmes said, but Sherlock’s attention was distracted by the man standing over by the open French windows, his long frock coat and high collar silhouetted by the light.
‘Mycroft!’
Sherlock’s brother nodded gravely at the boy, but there was a twinkle in his eye that his sober manner could not conceal. ‘Sherlock,’ he said. ‘You’re looking well. The countryside obviously suits you.’
‘When did you arrive?’
‘An hour ago. I came down from Waterloo and took a carriage from the station.’
‘How long are you staying?’
He shrugged; a slight movement of his massive frame. ‘I will not be staying the night, but I wanted to check on your progress. And I was hoping to see Mr Crowe as well. I’m glad he’s here.’
‘Your brother and I will conclude our business,’ Sherrinford said, ‘and we will see you in the dining room.’
It was a clear dismissal, and Sherlock pulled the door closed. He could feel a smile stretching across his face. Mycroft was here! The day was suddenly even sunnier than it had been a few moments before.
‘Did I hear your brother’s voice?’ Amyus Crowe rumbled from the other side of the hall.
‘That’s his carriage outside. He said he wanted to talk to you.’
Crowe nodded soberly. ‘I wonder why,’ he said quietly.
‘Uncle Sherrinford said you can stay for lunch. He said they’d meet us in the dining room.’
‘That sounds like a plan to me,’ Crowe said in a louder voice, but there was a frown on his face that belied the lightness of his words.
Sherlock led the way into the dining room. Mrs Eglantine was already there, standing by the wall in the shadow between two large windows. Sherlock hadn’t seen her pass him in the hall. For a moment he wondered if she might be a ghost, able to pass through walls, but he quickly decided that was a stupid idea. Ghosts didn’t exist.
Ignoring Mrs Eglantine, he headed for the sideboard, grabbed a plate and began to load it up with slices of meat and chunks of salmon. Crowe followed, and began at the other end of the sideboard.
Sherlock’s head was still spinning after the sudden reappearance of his elder brother. Mycroft lived and worked in London, capital city of the Empire. He was a civil servant, working for the Government, and although he often made light of his position, saying that he was just a humble file clerk, Sherlock had believed for a while that Mycroft was a lot more important than he made out. When Sherlock had been at home – with his mother and father, that was, before being sent away to live with his aunt and uncle – Mycroft had sometimes come down from London to stay for a few days, and Sherlock had noticed that every day a man would turn up in a carriage with a red box. He would only