CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

A VISITATION AT MIDNIGHT

Thankfully, the evening at Ridgeside with its strange concoction of accusation and revelation soon drew to an end. Sutcliffe made his excuses and called for his carriage, while Lady Anna retired to bed.

It appeared for a moment that Clifford was aiming to persuade Redshaw to join him in a celebratory drink, but his father-in-law soon dismissed any thought of late-night revels.

“Tomorrow is fast approaching, and with it a good many meetings in my calendar; I must be off to bed myself. Besides, I shall need to conserve my strength if another generation of Redshaws is to charge through this house.”

The disappointment in Clifford’s face was painful to see, especially when he piteously commented, “The child w-will be a C-Clifford.”

I took the opportunity to return to the Tombo Room, clutching Warwick’s biography beneath my arm. Within half an hour I was in my nightgown, attempting to lose myself in the book. I had never been one for biography at the best of times, and this precise time was anything but. I couldn’t help but imagine Holmes, lying on a cot in a dirty cell. He would have despised the evening’s events, of course, but would at least have been free. Having read enough to make polite conversation the following day, I shut the book and went to bed. My host had meetings in the morning, as did I. I would visit Holmes, both to check on his welfare and to see if he had made any progress on the case. I knew that incarceration would prove no fetter for that magnificent mind of his. Indeed, the isolation and solitude would only focus his deductive powers. The thought of seeing him again raised my spirits as I closed my eyes.

Exhausted by the events of the day, I slipped easily into sleep, only to be awakened seemingly seconds later by a sharp rap at my door. I looked to the clock on the mantel. It was twelve minutes past midnight. Who would be calling on me at this hour?

Pulling on my dressing gown, I crossed to the door and opened it to reveal Clifford standing in the hallway outside, a flickering candle in hand.

“My apologies, D-Doctor,” he said, his feeble moustache looking all the more unconvincing in the candlelight. “Did I w-wake you?”

“Is it your wife?” I asked. “Is she unwell?”

He waved away my concern. “N-no, it is n-nothing like that. I m-merely wished to extend an invitation t-to you.”

I frowned. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand.”

“You seemed interested when we spoke of the L-League’s collection of artefacts. Of the r-ring and periwig.”

“How could I be otherwise? They cause quite a stir.”

“Victor is a f-fool, and Benjamin… well, let us just say that, for all that nonsense with d-dinner, my f-father-in-law is a t-traditionalist. Yes, the League operates largely b-behind closed doors, but I think that’s wr-wrong, and so do others. The disappearance of the r-ring, and now Warwick’s b-body, have caused great c-consternation. The two events h-have to be linked. There is no other e-explanation.”

“It would seem a remarkable coincidence if they were not,” I agreed.

“Will you c-come with me then?”

“Where?”

“To the L-Lodge.”

“Is that allowed?”

“You would be my g-guest. Ideally I would ask Mr H-Holmes to accompany us.”

“Ideally he would accept.”

“But you know his m-methods. You may see something that Hawthorne has m-missed.”

“Inspector Hawthorne is investigating the theft of the ring?”

“If that is what you can c-call it. From what I understand he’s barely set f-foot inside the p-place. Will you do it, Dr Watson, will you come with me?”

“It would be my pleasure. But I plan to visit Holmes first thing, so it will have to be later in the day.”

“What say I m-meet you on Corn Street at noon?”

I agreed, adding a little mischievously, “And perhaps you could tell me more about Mr Sutcliffe.”

“I would t-tell the world if I thought it would r-rid us of V-Victor. So, tomorrow then. M-midday.”

“On Corn Street,” I said, before bidding him goodnight. Clifford did not wait for me to shut the door before stealing away. As I watched my curious new ally depart, I became aware of a noise drifting through the corridors of the house. I stood there, listening intently. There was no mistaking the sound. Somewhere nearby, a woman was weeping in the dark.