What Child is This? by Bonnie MacBird

Author:Bonnie MacBird [MacBird, Bonnie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2022-06-22T12:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Heffie’s Second Report

We returned to 221B to find Heffie sprawled on the settee, reading, her boots off and resting by the fire to dry. She had certainly made herself at home. To my surprise, she was engrossed in Pliny while eating a banana from the basket.

She looked up with a grin as we entered.

‘Do make yourself at home,’ said I.

‘Yes, do. Both of you,’ said Holmes with a smile.

Of course, I, too, was but a visitor. It was easy for me to feel at home at the address where I’d lived for so long.

‘Sorry,’ said Heffie, reaching down to put on her boots.

‘How are you finding Pliny?’ asked Holmes, picking up the book from where she had set it down on the table. ‘I see you’ve progressed further than Watson.’

‘It says ’ere he had a “romantic death”. What in ’eaven’s name is that?’

‘He died by inhaling a cloud of debris and poisonous gas from the eruption of Mount Vesuvius,’ I said, knowing at least that of Pliny.

‘Yes, but what’s romantic about that? You could die of the stink in ’ere and it would hardly be romantic.’

The vestiges of Holmes’s chemistry experiments still lingered.

‘The story of Pompeii is a great tragedy,’ explained Holmes. ‘Pliny went there to study the event and increase scientific knowledge.’

‘No. I still say he went on a rescue mission,’ I said.

‘Oh, you two. You each think this Pliny bloke was like you,’ said Heffie.

I laughed at her unexpected bulls-eye.

‘Tell me what you have found, Heffie. I presume you somehow spoke to the woman staying at Reginald Weathering’s flat?’ said Holmes.

Heffie’s face fell. ‘No, and there’s been a development. This George Perkins feller, ’e’s an odd one. Been busy, like buying up all o’London. Fortnum and Mason, loads of victuals, then dresses. And jewellery. The man’s rich, I tell you. I thought you said ’e were a valet?’

Holmes picked up his pipe and lit it. ‘That is correct, Heffie.’

‘Well, I don’t know any servant with that kind of money,’ said she. ‘Or maybe I’m in the wrong business meself.’

‘All of these luxury purchases—did he buy anything for himself?’ asked Holmes.

‘Oh yes, indeed he did. Savile Row, no less! I’m not on ’im every minute, of course, but there must be more, because now when ’e’s about town, ’e’s much, much better dressed.’ She shook her head. ‘And I s’pose ’e’s gettin’ much better service in the shops. I followed ’im into one on Jermyn Street, and they were all over ’im like butter on toast.’

‘Still no sign of Reginald?’

‘No one’s come in or out of their flat,’ said she.

‘And the lady has never emerged?’

‘Not on my watch,’ said Heffie. ‘Seen ’er in the window, though.’

‘It is peculiar,’ I said. ‘His wealthy employer vanishes. A sudden fortune.’

‘But what is this development, Heffie?’ asked Holmes.

Just then Mrs Hudson entered with a tray and three steaming mugs of hot mulled wine. Heffie and I took ours with delight, but Holmes waved her away. ‘Not now, Mrs Hudson, we are working!’

‘It is the Christmas season, Mr Holmes, and time for you to take a pause,’ said Mrs Hudson.

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