Sherlock Holmes--The Legacy of Deeds by Nick Kyme

Author:Nick Kyme
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781785652073
Publisher: Titan

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

THE CONFESSION OF MR DERRICK

The groundskeeper’s cottage was homely, and Mr Derrick had made it his own. The wooden furniture was well used and rounded with age, but stout and unyielding in spite of the years. A small stove sat in one corner, and Derrick quickly set about putting to use boiling water for tea, after he had shed his coat and hat at the door. The cottage was warm and comfortable, a low fire flickering in the hearth. A light spread of cold meats and bread had been left on the table, the meal mentioned by Miss Blanchard, I assumed.

Holmes and I accepted the tea when it was offered, though I suspect my companion did so out of courtesy more than any desire to drink it, before Mr Derrick then joined us at the table. I ate heartily, though Holmes didn’t touch a morsel, whilst our host only picked at a little bread. He then took a deep draught of the tea before resuming his story.

“I had been out most of the morning cutting the grass, when I returned to find the girl on my doorstep. She was in a frightful state and babbling. I have no idea what she was saying. I tried to ask her what was wrong, but she kept muttering.”

I gave Holmes a furtive look. He was staring intently at Mr Derrick and betrayed nothing of his thoughts.

“How did she appear?” he asked. “Leave out no detail, however small, Mr Derrick.”

Derrick rubbed at the stubble on his chin. “She had been crying. There were tear marks down her face, and her hands were red raw. She held them together, between the folds in her skirt,” he mimicked this gesture with his own hands, clasping them together, “and when she let them go that’s when I saw the blood.”

Holmes raised an eyebrow.

“It was hers, sir. There were several long straight cuts down both of her palms, and she winced at the pain of them. I was about to ask what had happened, when I saw she had a sharp stone in one hand. At first I thought she might have cut herself with it, but the wounds on her palms looked too long and not jagged enough for that. It was a cane, I felt sure, what had done it, but it must’ve been a fearsome beating to make her bleed like that.” Derrick took a sip of his tea, and I suspect he wished that it were something stronger.

“And the stone? A keepsake, perhaps an improvised weapon?” asked Holmes.

“She scratched something on my doorstep with it. By the looks of the mess she had made, she’d been doing it for a while and only stopped when she saw me coming back.”

“A word, some message or symbol?” I asked.

Derrick shook his head again. “I can’t rightly say. Just looked like scratches to me, and I didn’t ask what it meant. She was angry, though, that much I could tell. I didn’t know what to do. No pupil had ever come to my cottage before.

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