Cthulhu Casebooks--Sherlock Holmes and the Highgate Horrors by James Lovegrove

Author:James Lovegrove
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags:  
Publisher: Titan

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“Shrewsbury pink?” said Barker as our cab clattered through the streets of Peckham at dusk. “That’s a new one on me.”

“It is a form of hunting pink,” said Holmes, “devised almost a century ago by the fifteenth Earl of Shrewsbury. Standard hunting pink is scarlet. Shrewsbury pink is a few shades lighter – close, in fact, to actual pink. The earl was an avid huntsman, and during his lifetime, livery in that colour was worn by all the local hunts around his family seat in Staffordshire. It has since fallen out of favour and been supplanted by the traditional pink.”

My friend was feeding Barker arrant nonsense, and Barker, by the looks of him, was swallowing it whole.

“And how does it relate to these burials mounds we’re heading to at Shooter’s Hill?” Barker said.

“The barrows lie on the estate of Shrewsbury House, another of the family’s properties.”

“But the other colours Amberley has referenced all have connotations that are unpleasant. That was your word for it. Can the same be said for Shrewsbury pink?”

“In so far as hunting with hounds is classified as a blood sport,” said Holmes, “then yes.”

“Oh, he’s a devious so-and-so, is Josiah Amberley,” Barker growled. “Very devious. It’s a good thing that we are more devious still. And,” he added, “that some of us have come ready for trouble.”

From a pocket of his overcoat he produced a revolver.

“An Enfield Mark I,” I said. “Self-extracting, so that when reloading you eject only the spent cartridges and keep the live rounds in the cylinder, all in a single action. Lovely piece of design.”

“You know your guns, Doctor. I’ve read that you favour a Webley Pryse top-break, do you not?”

I produced my own revolver for show. “It hasn’t let me down yet.”

“Neither has this beauty me.” Barker waggled the weapon in the air. “How about you, Holmes? Are you armed too?”

“I tend to leave the gunplay to Watson,” said Holmes.

“I must say, I’m looking forward to a rematch with Amberley,” Barker remarked. “Perhaps, God willing, there’ll be reason to use this on him.” He stroked the Enfield lovingly, then stowed it away.

It was fully dark by the time our cab deposited us at the bottom of Plum Lane, near Shooter’s Hill. By moonlight we ventured up that road towards Shrewsbury House, and presently reached the borders of the property. The estate boundary was demarcated by a low wall which we had no difficulty surmounting. We entered woodland and walked through a carpet of fallen leaves that were damp and mouldy enough not to crackle too loudly underfoot. A barn owl screeched from the treetops, a fox answered with a wail, and I felt a chill which wrapping my ulster more tightly around myself could not dispel. I was undeniably apprehensive about the coming confrontation with Josiah Amberley, and during the afternoon I had tried to dissuade Holmes from seeking it.

“It seems the height of foolhardiness,” I had said to him. “Amberley cannot think that Sherlock Holmes, having rumbled his scheme, will be oblivious to the fact that it is a trap.

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