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“Inspector.”
The quiet warning drifted down from the driver’s bench just before the growler lurched to a halt. Bennet hopped down to open the door, grinning at Watson’s quiet ‘thank you.’
“I said Mrs. Devoy had been attacked,” Lestrade recalled on our way to the door. He lowered his voice when footsteps sounded inside to prevent the words from carrying through the wood. “My apologies. I should have said Mrs. Devoy’s daughter. Alma Loughty. Nancy Devoy’s partner travels for months out of every year, but I expect Miss Loughty’s beau, Mr. Axton, will have returned by now. You already know Mr. Wood, of course.”
Holmes nodded an acknowledgement, but locks started clicking before he could form a reply. The door swung open to reveal a young maid.
“Betty,” Lestrade greeted. “Mrs. Devoy should be expecting us.”
“Yes, sir.” She dipped a shallow curtsey and waved us inside. Several locks engaged once more before she hurried toward an informal parlor. “Mrs. Nancy?” A pause in the doorway halted a quiet conversation. “Th’ ‘nspectors are back, ma’am.”
“Show them in, thank you, dear.”
With the room in sight of the entry, Betty merely stepped out of the doorway until we caught up, then another curtsey waved us into the room. She disappeared the next moment.
Lestrade entered first, dipping his hat in general greeting though he glanced at each in turn. “Ma’am. Miss. Sirs. Mr. Holmes and Doctor Watson have graciously agreed to help with this case. I trust you have left the room closed?”
“I have—”
“Mr. Holmes?!” Henry nearly tipped his chair in his haste to stand, “But where’s—”
“Easy,” I interjected even as urgent squeaks came from the carrier I had slung over my shoulder. Another step moved around Lestrade to where Henry could see me—and the bag I carried. “Hello, Henry. Coco has been a joy to have these last few days. I was sorry to learn of the circumstances, however. I do hope it’s not a problem that we have brought her. We could hardly leave her in the cottage alone.”
“Indeed not,” Mrs. Devoy replied, though I did not miss the hesitant look she cast at the carrier. “Just do not let…Coco, you said? Do not let Coco run free, if you will. I well remember the trouble a mongoose can find.”
“We will keep a close eye on her.” Another round of squeaks carried from her bed. “Though I do believe she would like to return to her person. Henry?”
He released a gentle chuckle, eagerly taking Coco’s carrier in his arms. “Hello, my girl,” he murmured. One finger threaded through the bars. “Did you behave this week? I missed you.”
And she had missed him, if the noisy conversation gave any indication. I watched for only a moment, however, before focusing on where Holmes spoke with Mrs. Devoy.
“…simply horrible,” she was saying, her daughter’s hand tightly clasped in her own. “She never saw the man’s face, and he never spoke, so the only clues we have are those in her room and the study on the floor below. We found the lock broken…”
I listened with half an ear, focused more on the general picture rather than the intricate details that Holmes would use. Miss Loughty had been sleeping when someone entered her room. She remembered seeing the moon from her window, which put the time at around two in the morning, but she had been unable to scream before the intruder attacked. The intruder had beaten her, used her, and left her crying on the bed, emptying the contents of her jewelry box on the way out. Her cries had woken both her mother and several of the staff, but by the time anyone reached her room, the blackguard had climbed out the window. The next morning had found several other valuables missing from around the house. Every clue—from the boot prints outside to the tie pin left on the study floor—matched two of the young constables at the local station. Mr. Axton had wanted to challenge both “foul ruffians” immediately, only halting when Miss Loughty had urged him to let justice rule, not revenge.
Part of me wondered at the girl’s stoicism. While pale, she spent the entire retelling silently holding her mother’s hand, as if to offer comfort instead of receive. The pallor, I could understand, given the topic, but most young ladies would react in far more noticeable ways. Especially given what the intruder had done to her. The trauma of such a violation did not always heal with the bruises, of which she still had many even over a week later.
Holmes noticed as well, but he did not comment. Several clarifying questions gathered every bit of information he could from both Mrs. Devoy and Miss Loughty, then he asked to see the site of the incident.
Mrs. Devoy led us to the study first, with the promise that no one had used this side of the manor since the break-in. I quickly noticed the window’s loose lock—such a lock had always been incredibly easy to jimmy—but Holmes checked the floor, the rug near the hearth, and even the dust on the bookshelves. Kneeling beside the desk eyed both the floor and our hosts’ shoes—and sparked a horrible idea in my mind.
One that unfortunately held strong on second glance. Casually leaning against the doorframe prevented both Miss Loughty and Mr. Axton from seeing into the study—for a few moments.
“The bedroom?”
Which was all Holmes needed. Mrs. Devoy led us up the stairs and to a room almost centered in the house, where the little key around her neck unlocked the door. Everyone else lingered in the hall as Holmes sidestepped the direct route to stand in the middle of the room. I halted just outside the doorway.
“Watson, what do you see?”
Familiarity. With the room. With the house. The boot print from the study went straight from the door to the bed, without hesitation. The wardrobe door just inside the room stood ajar to explain the small quilt haphazardly balled on one side of the bed. The extra pillow on the floor had undoubtedly smothered Miss Loughty’s cries during the attack—if not nearly smothered the girl herself.
A trail in the air. The lack of air flow had done an excellent job at preventing the faint hints of cologne from dissipating. Holmes undoubtedly recognized the scent, as well.
A plan of action. The room displayed none of the signs of a spur-of-the-moment attack. The intruder had known what they intended to do before they entered, but unless those boys were personal friends of the family and invited to multiple visits, the Yarders had never entered this room. They could not have done this.
Holmes only needed to take the more precise deductions—as opposed to my inductions—and prove it.
“Indeed.” His ability to deduce my thoughts became useful only during cases—no matter what he might claim—in that I did not need to respond for him to see my reply. The corner of his mouth twitched a grin as he searched behind the bed, under the wardrobe, and around the windowsill. Several seconds pretended to study some miniscule piece of lint from the headboard though his true attention lay on the young couple in the hall.
And where Lestrade now stood directly behind them, having caught Holmes’ signal. Tension landed on Mr. Axton’s shoulders when I glanced back.
“Shall we return to the parlor?” Holmes suggested just before his fingers twitched. Distraction.
“You never want to sit during a case,” I said immediately. “You spent too long with your bees again this morning, didn’t you?”
“I am sure I have no idea what you mean.” The barest smirk stole my cane to make me lean on him. “Mr. Wood just happened to mention Mrs. Devoy’s excellent tea, and I am hoping she will offer some while I share my findings.”
Keep the true culprit from fleeing, more like, but I made no effort to hide a scowl. “Except asking is rude, Holmes. You know this.”
“Ah, but I did not ask. You did.” His smirk widened at Miss Loughty’s quiet laugh. Rolling my eyes over my shoulder at Mrs. Devoy caught the worry lines fading—just slightly.
“I can have Betty make some tea,” she promised. “These old hands can’t work the kettle anymore, but I taught her my recipe years ago. Thank you, dear.”
Obviously listening for her name, Betty poked her head around the next doorway, waved at Mrs. Devoy, and disappeared once more. A steaming kettle occupied the low table by the time we reached the parlor, though Holmes paid more attention to seating both of us between our hosts and the hall. Another gesture put Bennet on the other side of Mr. Axton, while Lestrade lingered near the door. Seconds passed as everyone poured their own cups and doctored them as needed.
“Perfectly brewed, just as you said.”
Henry dipped his head at Holmes but never moved from Mrs. Devoy’s side. His own cup had already clinked against the table. “The doctor’s descriptions play your hand, Mr. Holmes. If you would quit your stalling?”
“Oh, very well.” He took another sip but set the cup and saucer well away from the edge of the table. “You saw the boot prints in the study, I am sure? Those alone ruled out a pair of intruders, as only one print covered that floor. The window had been purposely broken so that even when the lock appeared in place, the window still opened, and confident, even steps crossed the floor without hesitation. Our intruder gained entry but did not bother searching the study for valuables—as only someone who had been in the house prior would know to do. He then leaned into three different rooms along his route to pocket pre-placed items on his way to Miss Loughty’s bedroom. Again, he never hesitated in grabbing the blanket from the wardrobe, and I find it particularly telling that no one heard the screams until after the intruder left.”
He paused, both to let his listeners digest the information and to eye Miss Loughty. Tension lined her shoulders even as she leaned against the arm of the sofa—towards her mother.
Or away from her beau.
“The blanket served to pin her down and confine her arms,” Holmes recited clinically, “though she broke free several times to scratch his hands and attempt to pull the mask from his face. I daresay she got one good hit in, judging by the much deeper bruise on her jaw. Am I correct so far, Miss Loughty?”
She nodded. Once.
“Two handfuls from her jewelry box went into his pockets—again without him hesitating or detouring to her jewelry box—though some fell out when he landed below the window. He also completely ignored the far more visible display of excellent fakes that Miss Loughty keeps on and in the wardrobe. Lestrade said that the responding officers tracked the man off the property and to the next street before he lost himself in the pre-dawn crowds?”
“Mr. Holmes—”
“Mrs. Devoy,” I started at the same time, nodding when she waved me to continue. She had been about to snipe at Holmes for reciting what they already knew. “Please describe the visitors in the next few days. When and why did you wire Mr. Wood? When did Mr. Axton arrive? Did anyone else offer support?”
“I wired Henry that day,” she admitted, her face twisting in grief. “Alma’s father, Jasper, will not return for another two months or more, and Silas should focus on her, not me. Silas received her letter the next day and arrived on the third day. He has doted on her this last week. Made her feel safe in a way I cannot. I would have been no match for whatever scoundrel broke into my home and hurt my girl.”
The last words thickened, then large tears spilled down her wrinkled cheeks. Holmes, being closest, quickly offered her a handkerchief.
“Thank you.” She sniffed and wiped her face. “I remember what Henry said about how you handled James’ death. You’re leading up to something, aren’t you?”
Holmes’ ears colored, and I could not stifle a laugh. Henry smirked, looked between us, and immediately sobered.
“I—oh, no.”
‘Oh, no,’ indeed. Holmes repositioned his feet to stand quickly but focused on Mr. Axton.
“You hoped to support Miss Loughty through the trauma and win her hand faster.”
“No!”
I could not tell who spoke, but Holmes ignored them as Bennet gripped Mr. Axton’s shoulder. Miss Loughty’s pallor became a sickly green as Holmes continued, “You are wearing the same boots today as you did that night, and I would expect the Yard will find that mask hidden somewhere in your room. Probably in or under your mattress. You slowly moved small valuables close to the hallway, then broke the window lock when you found yourself alone. As soon as you had everything lined up, you entered via the window and took advantage of Miss Loughty’s isolated bedroom. You do not live far enough away to need an entire day to arrive when the post would have delivered her missive that night, which means you wanted the scratches and most of the bruising to heal before you showed your hands to your victim—”
The sound of flesh hitting flesh cut off Holmes’ piercing accusation as Miss Loughty grew more animated than I had seen since arriving over an hour ago.
“You—you—how dare you?!” Another solid punch blackened his eye as she borrowed some of Henry’s more crass insults. Mrs. Devoy colored but said nothing, and I do not think I imagined Bennet’s slight hesitation before he stopped her.
“You spoke once,” she sneered, undoubtedly leaving both a stark handprint and a colorful bruise on Mr. Axton’s face. “I just could not believe what I had heard. I thought I imagined it as you could not possibly have screamed another girl’s name while violating me! You—”
More colorful names mixed into the stream of insults and profanity as she vented every drop of this last week’s pain and fear on its cause. One more hit made him double against Bennet’s hold, but even my reflexive flinch could find no sympathy. He still groaned as Lestrade and Bennet dragged him away.
And into the only cab available. I exchanged a glance with Holmes, looked at where Mrs. Devoy now comforted and swore vengeance with her daughter, and edged around the room to where Henry now sat with Coco.
“Can we join you?”
He gave a crooked grin, though most of his attention remained on the happy mongoose. “Certainly. Thank you for watching my girl this week. I wanted to help Nancy instead of worrying about what trouble Coco had found.”
“Not a problem at all. We can occupy her now,” I offered, “if you want to go over there. I’m afraid Lestrade left with our ride despite making us promise to have supper with him and Liz tonight. Holmes will probably give him about an hour before we find our own way.”
“Or less,” Henry chuckled. “And no, I’ll leave them to it for a while. Did I tell you about the day Coco decided she liked the ocean?”
He had not, and that story bled into another as the time slipped past. Mrs. Devoy remembered us soon enough, but Holmes did not have to put up with her overflowing thanks for long before Lestrade returned. Shortened pleasantries saw us out the door.
And to Lestrade’s for supper. Liz welcomed us, as always, and thoroughly enjoyed both the short case and my stories of Coco. We spent more than an hour after supper just catching up, but eventually the clock chimed the hour, and Holmes noted the final train’s looming departure. Lestrade pocketed a quick write-up of Holmes’ findings just before we left for the station, and I finally voiced the thought that had been nagging me for nearly a week.
“We should get a mongoose.”
“We should not!”
Lestrade closed the door laughing, but Holmes scowled at me. While I mostly argued to rile him up, I could not deny my amusement when he could find no true reason not to get a mongoose. His refusals revolved around their care, getting up early, and the distraction of a pet—all things that had not bothered him at all this last week.
Not that he would admit as much. The more holes I poked in his arguments, the more stubborn he became.
“Coco hasn’t destroyed anything in days, and I know you enjoyed watching her play. A mongoose would make a wonderful addition to the cottage.”
Holmes’ very vocal disagreement lasted us all the way back to Sussex.