CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

A MEETING OF THE LEAGUE

I remember little about the journey back to the manor. I sat sandwiched between the two men, fading in and out of consciousness. I caught snippets of their conversation, but was unable to put much of it into context. There was something about an admiral and an anonymous tip-off about a break-in that had sent Sutcliffe running for the Lodge. It was also clear that if Sutcliffe had his way, Clifford would face expulsion from the League for his actions.

By the time we reached Ridgeside, I had regained enough of my senses to be led rather than carried to the Tombo Room. I was deposited on the bed and Lord Redshaw sat with me himself until the family doctor arrived. Dr Melosan was a fussy man who had been fetched from the Royal Infirmary in town. However, by the time he had shone lights into my eyes and prodded the painful lump on my head I was sensible enough to have performed my own diagnosis.

I could not be completely sure that my skull was not fractured but both Melosan and I doubted that permanent damage had been done. The swelling was already going down, and I was responding well, despite collapsing earlier. That was put down to pain, and I was offered an opiate, but refused. I wanted to remain as alert as possible for the arrival of Mycroft Holmes, whenever that might be.

Dr Melosan bid me good day and I was left alone to sink into a deep sleep. By the time I opened my eyes again, the sun had vanished behind the gorge.

Ignoring the pounding in my head, I sat on the edge of the bed, working up the courage to stand. Holding tight onto one of the dragonfly-topped bed-knobs I rose unsteadily. An onrush of dizziness almost had me falling back onto the mattress, but I leaned against the wall and the world steadied itself again. My mouth was dry, but a jug of water had been set by the bed. I poured myself a glass with a shaking hand, and sipped gratefully.

My thirst quenched, I looked down and realised I was still in the clothes I had worn earlier that day. I changed, taking longer than usual, but managed both my buttons and necktie on the first attempt, which I took as a small victory. The walk to the stairs was slightly more fraught, but I was able to reach the ground floor without tumbling head over heels, and paused in the hall to catch my breath.

I heard the sound of raised voices nearby, and realised they were coming from the direction of Lord Redshaw’s study. Feeling bolder than I had any right to, I edged towards the door and placed my ear to the wood. While the voices were muffled, I could make out the tones of Redshaw himself, poor stuttering Clifford, the loathsome Sutcliffe and another gentleman possessing a thin, reedy voice that I recognised from our brief encounter in Mrs Mercer’s office. It could only be the Grand Master himself, Sir George Tavener.

“Well, it has to be found…” That was Sutcliffe.

“Obviously,” said Sir George. “In the meantime, we will replace the wig with one from my private collection.”

“You mean there’s another?” Sutcliffe asked, sounding shocked. “I thought ours was unique.”

“You think Warwick had only one wig? His sister gave one to my grandfather as a memento. I shall happily donate it to the League in our hour of need.”

Sutcliffe seemed in no hurry to let the matter go. “This changes everything—”

“I don’t see why,” Sir George snapped. “And you are distracting us from the main issue – why Clifford was at the Lodge in the first place.”

“And g-good th-thing I w-was,” Clifford replied, the man’s stutter more distinct than ever. “Otherwise w-we’d never even have kn-known it was g-gone.”

“What of this Watson fellow?” asked Sir George. “Could he have taken it?”

“And then knocked himself out?” Redshaw said, echoing my own thoughts. “Besides, he wasn’t even in Bristol when the ring went missing.”

“Or so we are led to believe,” Sir George suggested. “From what the Mercer woman has told us, Holmes delights in deviousness. Look at how he and Watson disguised themselves to visit Warwick’s memorial. How do we know they weren’t sticking their noses into our affairs before they announced their presence?”

“You are seeing conspiracies where there are none, Grand Master,” Lord Redshaw said, jumping to our defence once more. A good job too, as I had been about to burst in and tell the assembly exactly what I thought of their scurrilous accusations, no matter what words were inscribed above Redshaw’s study door.

“You should never have taken him in, High Warden,” Sir George told my host. “It’s too much of a risk.”

“I did what I thought right.”

“As d-did I,” stammered Clifford.

“You have only made matters worse,” Sutcliffe insisted, but the rest of the conversation was lost to me as I heard someone approach. I stepped quickly away from the door, and continued on my way just as Brewer appeared around the corner.

“Dr Watson?” he said. “We did not expect to see you out of bed.”

“I needed a change of scenery,” I replied. “Thought I might sit in the drawing room for a while, catch up on the newspaper perhaps.”

“Can I get you anything, sir?”

“No thank you, Brewer. I’m sure you have duties to perform.”

“Very good, sir,” he said, bowing just enough to be respectful. I waited for him to continue on his way, but he stayed rooted to the spot. The man was obviously waiting for me to stop lurking around his master’s study.

“Yes, well… the drawing room,” I said, smiling weakly and turning to leave. Brewer watched me go for a moment, before carrying on about his business.

I had half a mind to sneak back to the study door when I heard something nearby, the same sound that had so intrigued me in the thick of the night. Someone was crying nearby.

Abandoning my eavesdropping, I followed the noise to find Lady Marie sobbing piteously in front of the dining-room fireplace.

I hesitated at the door, caught between an urge to offer assistance and a reluctance to intrude upon a lady’s grief. Either way, I was caught out. Lady Anna appeared behind me, making me jump as she addressed me by name.

“Dr Watson, are you well enough to be out of bed?”

Flustered, I looked at Marie, who met my gaze with red-rimmed eyes.

“I am fine,” I stammered as Lady Marie rose swiftly from her seat and exited through a door beside the chimneypiece. I guessed it must have led to Lord Redshaw’s much-prized billiard room. Somehow I doubted she was rushing to set up a game.

I called after her, but she did not stop.

“Leave her,” Anna said, her tone sharp.

“But she is upset.”

“My sister is always upset. It is her preferred condition, especially when others are happy.”

It seemed to me that no one in this house was particularly happy, myself included.

“Anna?” said Clifford behind her, appearing at the door. The meeting in the study had clearly come to an end. “Is s-something wrong?”

“Oh, not a bit of it. Just Marie throwing one of her tantrums.”

It had hardly seemed a tantrum to me, more like a heart breaking.

Now Sutcliffe was in the drawing room too, asking after his fiancée.

“She went through there,” I told him, and he set off to find her, almost shoving me out of the way in his haste.

“No, please,” I declared with more sarcasm than I intended, “excuse me!”

“Watson?” Lord Redshaw exclaimed as he too entered. “What are you doing up?”

“I asked the very same thing, Father,” Lady Anna told him. I raised a palm to ward off the concern.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “Really I am, save for a slight headache.”

“You were lucky you weren’t killed. On behalf of the Worshipful League of Merchants, I offer you a heartfelt apology.”

“No, Lord Redshaw, it is I who must apologise. I betrayed your trust. I should not have gone to the Lodge.”

“You only went because you were invited,” Redshaw stated, shooting a look at his son-in-law, “by someone who should know better.”

Clifford looked suitably contrite. “I am s-sorry to have d-dragged you into this, D-Doctor.”

“Please. I became involved as soon as Ermacora set course for Baker Street. What of the periwig?”

“The Grand Master is to launch an internal investigation,” Redshaw said. “Oh, and he sends his apologies for not greeting you in person. He wanted to return to the Lodge as soon as possible.”

For this I was grateful. I had little wish to renew our acquaintance. “What have the police said?”

“They will not be involved.”

“Really? But if the periwig has been stolen—”

“This is an internal affair—”

“In which I was assaulted!”

“In which you were trespassing!”

Redshaw’s indignation took me by surprise. He regained his composure immediately.

“I’m sorry. This is a stressful situation, and personally embarrassing seeing as Harold was involved.”

“You can’t blame him?” exclaimed Anna.

“Blame him? I staked my entire reputation on him! The Grand Master was all for expelling your husband for his actions.”

“He did nothing wrong.”

“I b-broke the r-rules,” Clifford admitted. “Your f-father stood up for me. I am in his d-debt… once more.”

Redshaw sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what this city is coming to. It’s becoming harder and harder to make an honest living. Strikes. Workers’ rights. Just today I had a meeting with the damned unions, wanting more money for the men. How are we supposed to keep afloat with all these demands left, right and centre? Wasn’t like it in Warwick’s day. Back then they let you get on with things. Business was allowed to be business, none of this namby-pamby welfare rubbish. Harold knows it as well as I. Profits are going down, industry is moving elsewhere and no one will raise a finger to help. And then, after all that, I come home to this. Thieves in the Lodge. Watson nearly killed. The world’s going to the dogs.”

My head was throbbing uncontrollably now. All I wanted to do was escape from this house with its secrets and quarrels. If not for Holmes, I would have set off back to London there and then.

I must have swayed on my feet, because Lady Anna was at my side in a heartbeat, guiding me towards a chair.

“I am quite well, I promise you,” I maintained, although I felt nothing of the sort.

“Nonsense,” said Lord Redshaw. “Harold, get the man a brandy. Watson, sit down for God’s sake.”

I did as I was told and gratefully accepted the drink a moment later.

“I’m sorry to hear about your friend being beaten in custody,” Redshaw said as I sipped the oaky liquid. “Harold told me about Holmes. It’s a terrible business, all of it. I doubt you will ever want to see Bristol again.”

The thought had occurred to me.

“I have had a word with Dr Melosan,” Redshaw continued. “He is going to see what he can do about securing Holmes’s release into the Royal Infirmary.”

His words felt like a sudden ray of light on a cloudy day. “Thank you.”

“It is the least we can do, after everything you’ve been through. Do you want another?”

I looked down at my glass, realising that I had drunk the lot.

“No, thank you. One is enough.”

“Well, I know I need one,” said my host, crossing to the drinks cabinet. “What a day it has been, eh?”

As Lord Redshaw poured himself a glass, he had no way of knowing that the day would very nearly be his last.