The Sherlock Holmes Megapack: 25 Modern Tales by Masters. Michael Kurland

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СКАЧАТЬ now the Dowager Duchess, at the Smythe-Parkinsons’ a number of years ago. Fascinating woman.”

      I smiled, recalling that carefree time. Although the Smythe-Parkinsons were remote relatives, they had welcomed my visit.

      A knock interrupted my reminiscences. At Holmes’s nod, I hurried across the room and opened the door. Mrs Hudson entered, followed by a middle-aged man with fair hair and a colourless complexion.

      “Lord Maurice Denbeigh,” she said.

      “Thank you, Mrs Hudson.” I held the door for her as she left.

      “How do you do,” said Holmes. “I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my associate, Doctor John Watson.”

      I bowed.

      “Mr Holmes,” Denbeigh burst out. “You must help me!”

      Holmes gestured him to a chair. “I shall do my best. How can I assist you?”

      He collapsed onto the chair like a man at the end of his strength. Holmes and I resumed our seats. Denbeigh buried his face in his hands for a moment, then raised his head and inhaled loudly.

      “This is very difficult for me to speak of, gentlemen. It has to do with my mother, the Dowager Duchess of Penfield.”

      “I see.” With a glance at me, Holmes crossed his legs and leaned back in his chair. “Pray continue.”

      “To put the problem in a nutshell, my brother, the present duke, is with his regiment in India. During his absence, all the responsibilities of the family have fallen upon my unhappy shoulders. For a year now, I’ve been driven nearly insane by my nephew, Hilary, Viscount Sheppington. The boy is eighteen, and his escapades have caused me many a sleepless night. But now comes the crowning blow: My mother, my own mother, has turned thief.”

      “Her Grace a thief?” I could not conceal my outrage. “Oh come, sir, you must be mistaken!”

      He stiffened. “Would I make such a shocking statement, Doctor, unless I was certain? I repeat, she is a thief, and a disgrace to our family.”

      Holmes raised an eyebrow. “I take it that monetary considerations are not involved?”

      With a hollow laugh, Denbeigh sprang from his chair and paced the room.

      “My mother has no concerns in that area, gentlemen.” He paused before the fire, his head bowed. “Unlike others of us,” he murmured.

      “Then I can only assume that Her Grace is the victim of that unfortunate affliction known as kleptomania.”

      “Kleptomania?” I darted a glance at Holmes. “But the description of that illness has only recently been published. I take it you have been reading my French medical journals.”

      Holmes nodded once, his attention still upon Denbeigh.

      “She is a kleptomaniac, Mr Holmes.” He sighed, and despite his coat’s fine tailoring, his shoulders bowed. “I spoke with several eminent nerve specialists, and they confirmed the shocking diagnosis. Not only are there the difficulties with shopkeepers to contend with; how can I explain to friends of the family when Mother decides to pocket some valuable memento whilst paying calls?”

      “A vexing problem, indeed,” replied Holmes.

      “And though it is petty thefts today, how can I be certain she won’t lapse into more serious criminality? Mr Holmes, you must help me find some way out of this intolerable situation. For the family’s sake, I am willing to pay—”

      A loud series of knocks came from the front of the house. Denbeigh started nervously and glanced about.

      The rich, husky voice of a woman rose above Mrs Hudson’s gentle murmurs.

      “Mother!” cried Denbeigh.

      At the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps, we rose and faced the door.

      After a single knock, it opened, revealing Mrs Hudson again. She only had time to say, “Her Grace, the Dowager Duchess of Penfield,” before the lady swept past her into our chambers.

      Beneath an elegant feathered hat, her chestnut hair was now streaked with silver, yet she looked every inch the magnificent woman I remembered. She dismissed Mrs Hudson, then glanced from me to Holmes.

      “Which of you gentlemen is Mr Sherlock Holmes?”

      Holmes stepped forward. “I am.”

      She held out her hand, and he took it, bowing low.

      Straightening, Holmes released her hand. “And this is my friend and colleague, Doctor John Watson. I believe you have met before.”

      “Oh?” She fixed me with sparkling, dark eyes. “Where was that, Doctor?”

      “Several years ago, at the Smythe-Parkinsons’.”

      “Charming people,” she said with a small smile and a gracious nod. “They always host the most amusing parties.”

      “Yes, indeed, Your Grace.” I was a trifle disappointed that she did not appear to remember me, but why should a duchess remember a simple military doctor?

      “Maurice,” she said, transferring her gaze to her son. He flinched, and she let out a little sigh. “I thought I had made my wishes clear.”

      His waxen cheeks took on a rosy tinge, and he shifted in place as if he were a schoolboy.

      “You had, Mother. However, I thought—”

      “I’m certain you did.” She walked to the door and opened it. “We shall discuss this further in private, Maurice. You may kiss me before you go.”

      She tilted her head, presenting her cheek. Denbeigh glanced at Holmes, who bowed.

      “Your Lordship.”

      “Goodbye, Mr Holmes. Doctor.”

      Denbeigh crossed to the duchess, obediently kissed her cheek, and left. I closed the door behind him and turned, my attention captured by Her Grace’s elegant form.

      “Gentlemen, I fear my son has placed me in an invidious position.” She crossed to the fireplace and examined the assortment of items displayed on the mantelpiece. When her gaze lit upon the tobacco-filled slipper, she smiled.

      “How so?” Holmes enquired, standing beside the settee.

      “He has been spreading dreadful rumours about me.” She moved around the room, casting a cool glance over the well-worn furnishings. At least Mrs Hudson had tidied yesterday, although Her Grace didn’t appear distressed by our usual clutter. I was grateful that Holmes had not conducted any chemical experiments recently, for they often filled the room with smoke and an appalling stench: an altogether unsuitable atmosphere in which to receive a dowager duchess.

      Holmes’s intelligent gaze followed her perambulations.

      “What sort of rumours?” he asked.

      Her СКАЧАТЬ