[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
Long-lived and late to breed, I noted. Fairly typical for aristocrats.
But to go back to the fourth Duke s generation. Lionel s brother Charles
died without issue. The third brother, Gervase, had two sons, William, born
1842, and Louis, in 1847. William is the father of Alistair, his sister Rose,
and his brother Ralph; Louis had one son, Ivo Michael your shooting companion
of yesterday.
All right, I said. I scribbled and crossed out names, finally arranging the
relevant generations (that is, minus most of the women) into a family tree.
That gave me the following:
After Marsh, the seventh Duke, the future line of succession would be:
Lionel s son Thomas; Alistair; Ralph; and Ivo. If Philip Peter had sons
somewhere in South Africa, they would come after young Thomas and before
Alistair; if Ralph had sons, they would come before Ivo. That no sons for
Ralph were noted in the Bible meant little, since the latest date I could see
recorded the death of a distant relative in 1910. Thomas s birth in 1914 was
missing, as well as those of Lenore and Walter Darling.
We can do nothing about the boy Thomas until Wednesday, Holmes noted. I
should like to have seen Gabriel Hughenfort s last effects, had you not
dragged me away with such haste. We must also enquire about the fifth Duke s
brother, Philip Peter, as well as Alistair s brother Ralph.
Are you going under the hypothesis that yesterday s shooting was an attempt
to clear the succession?
The possibility cannot be ignored. See here: In January 1914, the sixth
Duke Henry was alive and well, and could have made up the better part of a
cricket team out of his heirs, with his brother Lionel s wife expecting a
child in the spring-time. By the end of 1918, heirs were getting a bit thin on
the ground. The seventh Duke s heir is this boy Thomas, who has some doubts
attached to him. At the beginning of the War Alistair, to take one possible
candidate, was seventh from the strawberry leaves; yesterday there appears to
have been only that one doubtful boy between Alistair and Marsh s title. When
the seventh Duke and his immediate heir presented themselves in the close
vicinity of a barrage of shotguns, well, temptation may have reared.
How ironic, I mused, that after all the hazards those two have weathered
over the years, they would very nearly die on their own doorstep in peaceable
England.
Tell me your impressions of Sidney Darling, Holmes said, not interested in
irony at the moment.
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ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Languid gentleman on the surface, modern-day robber baron underneath.
Even twenty years ago he d have had to conceal the latter, if he wanted to
move in the levels of society his wife s name would open to him. Now, a little
greed is looked upon as an amusing foible. O, saint-seducing gold! he
growled. That for which all virtue is sold, and almost every vice.
War seldom enters but where wealth allures, I retorted, figuring that
Dryden was at least as apposite a misquotation as Shakespeare or Jonson. And
I don t know that you could in the least call Darling a saint. His greed lies
deep, and I think he s sunk a fair bit of his own money into the stud, for one
thing, and is worried about being suddenly left without a home.
Who came up with this boy, Thomas? Holmes asked abruptly.
According to what I ve picked up, the mother herself wrote. She d somehow
heard of Henry s death in the summer and sent her condolences and, rather
pointedly, those of the new duke s nephew, Thomas. I don t know if it was
Marsh s idea to bring them to London for inspection, or Lady Phillida s. In
either case, both are going to Town in order to meet the boy. Or, they were
both going to London. I don t know if Marsh will be fit enough.
I should think that man would have one boot firmly planted in the grave and
still do what he deemed necessary.
I don t know, Holmes. If Alistair and Iris unite to keep him here, I d not
care to wager on the winning side.
He smiled to himself. It is a rather interesting variation on a marriage, is
it not?
Do you mean Marsh and Iris, or all three of them?
But his smile only deepened.
Iris reappeared shortly thereafter, the odour of sanctity strong about her,
but wearing an expression of worry.
The doctor s seen Marsh, she told us. Some of the wounds are festering,
and he s running a fever. I think perhaps we should delay our meeting.
But of course, Holmes said, hiding his irritation nobly. He scowled after
her departing form, and turned to me. Let us use this opportunity to examine
the ground where Marsh was shot. There may be some tiny piece of evidence not
yet trampled or washed away.
A change of clothing, a pair of walking-sticks, and we were away.
Yesterday s mist had cleared, leaving the air frosty and dry. Setting a pace
brisk enough to warm us, I led Holmes on a reenactment of the shoot, from the
first stand at the upper lawns to the lakeside where I had stoned a duck in
full flight. There were men at the earlier sites, quartering the ground for
unclaimed birds, as well as stray discarded cartridges, which not only looked
untidy but did the stomachs of grazing animals no good.
Then to the final stand.
I walked the line of guns, pointing out roughly where each shooter had stood
waiting. Holmes burrowed into the thick shrubs from which the bird, and
Page 117
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
possibly the murderous shot, had come, but it appeared that others had been in
there since the shooting as well. He emerged, his clothing somewhat the worse
for wear, after ten minutes of grubbing about.
I m very sorry, Holmes, I should have kept everyone out, but there was just
too great a press. Bloom must have had fifty or sixty beaters, and they were
all over.
I doubt there d have been much evidence to begin with. The fallen leaves are
too thick to show footprints, there is nothing that would take a fingerprint,
and the only threads I could see are rough white cotton. I take it the beaters
wore some kind of smock? he asked, holding up the thread in question.
Most of them.
Very well. You say the boy Peter and his father were here?
So the boy said. The other twin, Roger, was a little closer to me.
Holmes squatted to examine the ground, tracing boot-marks with his long
gloved fingers. He shifted, lowered his head to gain a more extreme angle, and
then stood up.
And Marsh if you would take up his position, Russell?
I went to the holly clump where the two cousins had fallen, and faced Holmes.
He settled his walking-stick into his shoulder and sighted down it to the
first stand of mixed evergreen shrubs.
The bird breaks, he said. One. Two. Bang.
As my rough sketch the night before had suggested, he was now facing a point
about halfway between the two evergreens. He repeated his motion, only this
time faster, continuing until he was aiming at me.
One-two-three-four-five-bang, he got out, and nearly fell over as his feet
corkscrewed around themselves.
Unfortunately, Holmes, the bird was over there. In fact, I said in
surprise, the bird is still over there.
We converged on the spot and looked at the twice-shot fowl.
Why do you suppose they left this here? I wondered.
Overlooked in the dusk, or perhaps squeamishness. The bird was nearly the
death of their duke, after all. However, I think it worth performing a cursory
necropsy on the creature. Just to confirm a theory. How are you at plucking
birds? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
zanotowane.pl doc.pisz.pl pdf.pisz.pl aikidobyd.xlx.pl
Long-lived and late to breed, I noted. Fairly typical for aristocrats.
But to go back to the fourth Duke s generation. Lionel s brother Charles
died without issue. The third brother, Gervase, had two sons, William, born
1842, and Louis, in 1847. William is the father of Alistair, his sister Rose,
and his brother Ralph; Louis had one son, Ivo Michael your shooting companion
of yesterday.
All right, I said. I scribbled and crossed out names, finally arranging the
relevant generations (that is, minus most of the women) into a family tree.
That gave me the following:
After Marsh, the seventh Duke, the future line of succession would be:
Lionel s son Thomas; Alistair; Ralph; and Ivo. If Philip Peter had sons
somewhere in South Africa, they would come after young Thomas and before
Alistair; if Ralph had sons, they would come before Ivo. That no sons for
Ralph were noted in the Bible meant little, since the latest date I could see
recorded the death of a distant relative in 1910. Thomas s birth in 1914 was
missing, as well as those of Lenore and Walter Darling.
We can do nothing about the boy Thomas until Wednesday, Holmes noted. I
should like to have seen Gabriel Hughenfort s last effects, had you not
dragged me away with such haste. We must also enquire about the fifth Duke s
brother, Philip Peter, as well as Alistair s brother Ralph.
Are you going under the hypothesis that yesterday s shooting was an attempt
to clear the succession?
The possibility cannot be ignored. See here: In January 1914, the sixth
Duke Henry was alive and well, and could have made up the better part of a
cricket team out of his heirs, with his brother Lionel s wife expecting a
child in the spring-time. By the end of 1918, heirs were getting a bit thin on
the ground. The seventh Duke s heir is this boy Thomas, who has some doubts
attached to him. At the beginning of the War Alistair, to take one possible
candidate, was seventh from the strawberry leaves; yesterday there appears to
have been only that one doubtful boy between Alistair and Marsh s title. When
the seventh Duke and his immediate heir presented themselves in the close
vicinity of a barrage of shotguns, well, temptation may have reared.
How ironic, I mused, that after all the hazards those two have weathered
over the years, they would very nearly die on their own doorstep in peaceable
England.
Tell me your impressions of Sidney Darling, Holmes said, not interested in
irony at the moment.
Page 116
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
Languid gentleman on the surface, modern-day robber baron underneath.
Even twenty years ago he d have had to conceal the latter, if he wanted to
move in the levels of society his wife s name would open to him. Now, a little
greed is looked upon as an amusing foible. O, saint-seducing gold! he
growled. That for which all virtue is sold, and almost every vice.
War seldom enters but where wealth allures, I retorted, figuring that
Dryden was at least as apposite a misquotation as Shakespeare or Jonson. And
I don t know that you could in the least call Darling a saint. His greed lies
deep, and I think he s sunk a fair bit of his own money into the stud, for one
thing, and is worried about being suddenly left without a home.
Who came up with this boy, Thomas? Holmes asked abruptly.
According to what I ve picked up, the mother herself wrote. She d somehow
heard of Henry s death in the summer and sent her condolences and, rather
pointedly, those of the new duke s nephew, Thomas. I don t know if it was
Marsh s idea to bring them to London for inspection, or Lady Phillida s. In
either case, both are going to Town in order to meet the boy. Or, they were
both going to London. I don t know if Marsh will be fit enough.
I should think that man would have one boot firmly planted in the grave and
still do what he deemed necessary.
I don t know, Holmes. If Alistair and Iris unite to keep him here, I d not
care to wager on the winning side.
He smiled to himself. It is a rather interesting variation on a marriage, is
it not?
Do you mean Marsh and Iris, or all three of them?
But his smile only deepened.
Iris reappeared shortly thereafter, the odour of sanctity strong about her,
but wearing an expression of worry.
The doctor s seen Marsh, she told us. Some of the wounds are festering,
and he s running a fever. I think perhaps we should delay our meeting.
But of course, Holmes said, hiding his irritation nobly. He scowled after
her departing form, and turned to me. Let us use this opportunity to examine
the ground where Marsh was shot. There may be some tiny piece of evidence not
yet trampled or washed away.
A change of clothing, a pair of walking-sticks, and we were away.
Yesterday s mist had cleared, leaving the air frosty and dry. Setting a pace
brisk enough to warm us, I led Holmes on a reenactment of the shoot, from the
first stand at the upper lawns to the lakeside where I had stoned a duck in
full flight. There were men at the earlier sites, quartering the ground for
unclaimed birds, as well as stray discarded cartridges, which not only looked
untidy but did the stomachs of grazing animals no good.
Then to the final stand.
I walked the line of guns, pointing out roughly where each shooter had stood
waiting. Holmes burrowed into the thick shrubs from which the bird, and
Page 117
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
possibly the murderous shot, had come, but it appeared that others had been in
there since the shooting as well. He emerged, his clothing somewhat the worse
for wear, after ten minutes of grubbing about.
I m very sorry, Holmes, I should have kept everyone out, but there was just
too great a press. Bloom must have had fifty or sixty beaters, and they were
all over.
I doubt there d have been much evidence to begin with. The fallen leaves are
too thick to show footprints, there is nothing that would take a fingerprint,
and the only threads I could see are rough white cotton. I take it the beaters
wore some kind of smock? he asked, holding up the thread in question.
Most of them.
Very well. You say the boy Peter and his father were here?
So the boy said. The other twin, Roger, was a little closer to me.
Holmes squatted to examine the ground, tracing boot-marks with his long
gloved fingers. He shifted, lowered his head to gain a more extreme angle, and
then stood up.
And Marsh if you would take up his position, Russell?
I went to the holly clump where the two cousins had fallen, and faced Holmes.
He settled his walking-stick into his shoulder and sighted down it to the
first stand of mixed evergreen shrubs.
The bird breaks, he said. One. Two. Bang.
As my rough sketch the night before had suggested, he was now facing a point
about halfway between the two evergreens. He repeated his motion, only this
time faster, continuing until he was aiming at me.
One-two-three-four-five-bang, he got out, and nearly fell over as his feet
corkscrewed around themselves.
Unfortunately, Holmes, the bird was over there. In fact, I said in
surprise, the bird is still over there.
We converged on the spot and looked at the twice-shot fowl.
Why do you suppose they left this here? I wondered.
Overlooked in the dusk, or perhaps squeamishness. The bird was nearly the
death of their duke, after all. However, I think it worth performing a cursory
necropsy on the creature. Just to confirm a theory. How are you at plucking
birds? [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]