A Case Most Peculiar Read online

  I could not help but find some humor in the situation when the old man mounted his mechanical contraption and rode off into town. Informed by Mrs. Peterson that there was a market only a few blocks distant I decided upon a nice leisurely stroll to procure a small bottle of scotch with which I could refill my empty flask.

  Upon my return, roughly some thirty minutes later, Mr. Peterson was waiting with news that he had managed to secure another cab. When it arrived we loaded my belongings into it and set off down the bumpy streets. The vehicle was an old growler and what little suspension it had possessed when it was new, ages ago, had long since failed to be effective. I sighed in relief when we left the paved streets of Leeds but my joy was only momentary. The road we soon found ourselves upon, though not built of cobbled stones was every bit as jarring. After what must have been less than a mile I reached into my coat for my flask. Mr. Peterson watched as I did so and upon seeing what I was grasping for he placed his hand on mine as if to stop me.

  “Now Inspector, I understand that all of this may be a bit unsettling to the nerves but best not to visit a client smelling of spirits. Am I right?”

  He was right. Despite my taste for strong drink indulging whilst working was not something that was common practice for me.

  “How about a smoke instead?”

  “I don’t smoke.” that was a lie, I had quite an affinity for smoking, however the tonic I cared to partake in was far more potent at calming the nerves than tobacco.

  “Nonsense.” he spoke loudly over the ruckus of the jostling carriage. “You are guaranteed to enjoy this.” he pulled a lovely, but well-worn pipe from his coat pocket, “Extremely fine Arabian tobacco.”

  Many conversations had I overhead in which smoking was said to have a soothing effect. Deciding not to argue with the man I took the pipe from his right hand and deposited it between my lips. Mr. Peterson reached into a trouser pocket and pulled out a box of matches which, considering the bumpiness of the ride, took him quite some time to open and even longer to successfully light. We did eventually manage it however and as I took a deep draw from the pipe a savory yet spicy aroma danced over my taste buds. It was followed quickly with profuse choking as I was not used to the particular impact of tobacco upon the lungs. The elder gentleman let out with a hearty laugh at my expense but then reassured me that I simply need not inhale so deeply.

  “Puff in with your cheeks my boy. Let it sit upon your tongue for a moment before gently taking it into your lungs. It is a sip, not a gulp.”

  I felt most peculiar, as if I were a boy being lessoned on how to smoke by my father. He was indeed a very patient man and would have made a great father had he been given the chance. I did as he instructed and my second attempt was much more pleasant, in fact I dare say it was from that very moment that I knew I had adopted yet another vice which would follow me throughout my life.

  I certainly felt something, I am not sure if I would describe it as soothing, precisely, but there was a definite change in my disposition. As I finished what tobacco had been packed into the pipe I smiled and reached out to return it to its owner but to my stupefaction the grey old man refused.

  “You keep it.” he said with a grin. “More of that, less of that.” he pointed to my coat, roughly where the pocket that held the flask was located.

  “I can’t accept sir, it appears to have some history with you.”

  “Exactly, the wife bought me a new one at Christmas-time and she’s been quite upset that I have not switched to using it yet. She’ll be delighted to see me using the new one.”

  With such an argument I could not refuse. I placed the pipe into my pocket and as a further gift he handed me a small cloth pouch containing what he had left of the aromatic tobacco. He spent a few more minutes describing to me the different types of pipe tobacco and which ones I should try upon my return to London. I listened attentively for it seemed to give the old man great joy to share with me.

  Were I less proficient at reading people I would have doubted that I had made myself a friend. Were I to find myself in Yorkshire again I would no-doubt call upon him. His company was pleasant and Lord knows I could do with an occasional home-cooked meal.

  Larchwood Manor

  My sentiment of only a couple of days previous, that of wishing to leave the stench of the city for clean living and countryside surroundings, was only reinforced as we drove further from the city and neared our destination. Of the fact that it was indeed winter there lay no doubt, trees along the road were bare of leaves and the day itself heavily overcast. The greyness did little, however, to arrest my enjoyment of the open spaces and sweet smelling air. Come summer I would have to venture away from the city for pleasure, I promised myself that. Then, remembering the reason that I had never done so before was due to a lack of funds owing to my vices, a sour taste entered my mouth.

  I tried to reassure myself that should the job leave me with a surplus of funds I would change my ways but always there was a nagging doubt in the back of my mind, one that expected me to fail to affect a change and to simply return to my foul habits. An outsider may say that I am capable of astute observation of others but that I lack the insight to truly realize what I myself am doing. They would, of course, be terribly wrong. With great frequency it turns inward and I drive myself to madness, obsessing over my failings, a process which brings about a profound melancholy which results only in my attempts to soothe it away with the very things that cause my afflictions in the first place.

  I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply, attempting to let my thoughts go; let myself feel the cold air coming in through the window as it brushed against my skin and through my hair. That seemed to bring me back into the moment well enough.

  “Here we are.” Mr. Peterson declared. “Well, the turn-off anyway. It’s only about one-quarter of a mile down this road that we come onto Dunning property. The main house is some ways past that but not too long now.”

  After that he returned to silence. That was one of the things I liked about the man. He seemed to read in my disposition that I did not desire conversation, that I wanted only to enjoy the passing countryside. Shortly down the narrow road there were a couple of farm houses off in the distance. They were small and built in a traditional style, looking as if they belonged to the 17th century or so. Smoke billowed from their stone chimneys and they had quite charming facades.

  Eventually fields gave way to a dense patch of trees as we neared the master’s home. Were he any other wealthy land-owner I would say that Mr. Dunning had left some forest intact on his land for the purpose of fox hunting but from what I had heard of the man he did not seem the type to participate in such a social activity. Perhaps for his eldest son then, who peculiarly still lived in his parents’ home and was yet to be married despite being nearly thirty-five years old.

  The main house came into view, set in a large open pasture and surrounded by several buildings which looked to be for housing livestock and perhaps farm equipment. As our carriage turned into the drive I saw off in the distance a small dark figure, the servant boy Kwame I presumed, running from what appeared to be the stables toward the house. My assumption was that he intended to inform the family and other servants that visitors approached. As we drew nearer to the house the front door opened and a man and two women stepped out into the cold. The man had red hair and was near my age, that would be Adrian. One of the women was dark in skin tone, the nanny Tripti. Last out of the door was a young lady with gorgeous flowing blonde hair and pale skin. She wore a fine black dress, that would be the mourning young Miss Elizabeth.

  As the old wagon came to a halt our driver, a poorly-dressed Welshman who seemed to speak very little English, hopped down to open the door.

  “Who do you bring calling?” Adrian stepped forward and demanded. The question was not asked indignantly but instead with what I perceived as an inflated sense of authority. Perhaps the answer to why the young man still lived at home, unmarried. With his father unreliable and hi
s mother impaired it was a possibility, though not a certainty, that he felt as though it was his responsibility to look after his family and the affairs of the estate. Still, his disposition did come off as almost childish.

  “Adrian!” Mr. Peterson leaned over me and called from the window. “It’s good to see you my boy, and you as well Miss Elizabeth.”

  “Uncle!” she said with delight and even Adrian smiled at the sight of the man.

  The driver opened our door and Samuel stepped out first. So busy were they greeting Mr. Peterson that none of them noticed as I exited the cab. Elizabeth was the first to glance toward where I was standing. She had, of course, expected that when her uncle arrived there would be an Inspector at his side.

  “Hello sir.” she said in a polite tone. There was restraint in her voice. She wished to be more excited about my arrival but dared not reveal her elation in front of the others. I cared not for the posturing the upper class deemed necessary amongst themselves, even between family members, and it reminded me that I did not envy them as so many others did.

  “Who may I ask are you sir?” Adrian queried, this time with slightly more respect than the last time he had opened his mouth.

  Elizabeth approached and spoke, “Mr. Parney?”

  “Carson. I’m afraid Mr. Parney has been deceased for some years.”

  “Oh I’m terribly sorry to hear that.”

  “Never mind it my dear lady.”

  “Elizabeth who is this?” Adrian demanded.

  “I am Inspector Robert Carson, of London.” I reached out to shake his hand and gave my best attempt at a smile.

  He eyed his sister questioningly before accepting my hand and shaking it firmly. Quite firm in fact, as if to insinuate his masculine bravado. His hands were as soft as velvet and clammy to the touch, however, so his pretense was for naught.

  “Adrian Dunning. Might I ask why it is that you are here Inspector?”

  “Of course. Your sister Miss Elizabeth has written me about a disturbing happening here at Larchwood and has thusly requested my presence post-haste. So here I am.”

  “I can think of nothing that would deserve the attention of an inspector. To what is she referring?”

  “Why to the untimely death of your stable boy of course. Surely that warrants some investigation.”

  Adrian Dunning scoffed, “An accident Mr. Carson. He stumbled in the dark and fell upon a pitchfork. If that is what my sister has summoned you all of the way from London for then I’m afraid she has set you upon a wild goose chase. Let me compensate you for your wasted time and let you be on your way.” he reached into his pants pocket and produced a sizable fold of money.

  “Adrian I have requested him and it is I who will decide when his job is complete.”

  The young man began to protest but I interrupted him, “As the young lady says, I have been retained by her and it is by her alone that I shall be dismissed. Now please sir have one of your servants attend to my baggage.” paying Adrian no further attention I turned to Miss Dunning, “Miss I believe that we have business to discuss.”

  With a friendly hand-shake I took my leave of Mr. Peterson and promised that I should one day stop in to pay him a visit and repay him for he and his wife’s hospitality. As I turned and walked toward the house with the young miss I considered looking back to see the expression on Adrian Dunning’s face but it was not necessary, I knew exactly what it was, disbelief. You see, the wealthy and privileged are not used to being spoken to so matter-of-factly. I have long taken pleasure in breaking them of that expectation.

  The Stable Boy

  The Petersons had been correct in stating that the Dunning family possessed the largest private library in the county, for certainly no one else could own so many books let alone such a marvelous chamber within which to contain them. The floor was of marble and the ceiling no less than fifteen feet in height. Large windows which ran nearly as tall on one side of the room provided a view into what in summertime was no-doubt a luxurious garden. Being roughly forty feet in length and at least half that in width the room had books stacked from ceiling to floor on large oak shelves that ran the length of the two elongated walls. Opposite the windows was a small sitting area with two lovely leather chairs, a chess set, and a fireplace with an ornate mantle.

  Elizabeth Dunning and I sat in those chairs staring at one another. Were I to say that I did not find the young lady quite attractive I would be telling an untruth. I did have a predilection for blondes, that much was true. I also, however, have a distaste for ladies of high society. Not that I do not find them fetching, mind you, but simply that I prefer women of sterner constitutions who can work as hard as any man and who can put me in my place should I need amelioration.

  “Can I offer you anything Inspector?” Elizabeth asked before she dismissed Tripti.

  “No thank you Miss Dunning.”

  She turned to the nanny and nodded for her to leave.

  “Do you mind if I smoke?” I asked, somewhat tickled by my new-found avocation.

  She shook her head, “Not at all. Please make yourself comfortable.”

  I pulled a match from my pocket, having always carried them in case of a lamp or opium pipe needing lighting, and used it to ignite the tobacco I had somehow managed to pack while riding in the bumpy coach. “Now, Miss Dunning I understand the...sensitive nature of the events for which you have summoned me to investigate, a task I take on with the utmost seriousness. It must start, however, with a task for you.”

  She looked at me queerly, “Please explain sir.”

  “You see, what I do as an investigator is to examine evidence and evidence comes in many forms. There are things that I see, things that I hear, smell, taste, feel...and often most importantly what is told to me by those who have direct knowledge of the events. My task for you, my dear, is to relate to me your first-hand experience of what has transpired. Leave out no detail, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem, or no matter how embarrassing or damning the words may feel coming out of your mouth. If that is something that you can do then I will have the strongest foundation upon which I may begin my investigation and a far better chance at putting this mystery to rest than if I simply start poking around in the dark. Can you do that?”

  The young lady dipped her head and entered into an uncomfortably long silence. Then, when I thought that her reticence would never find its end she spoke. “Colin came on last spring.” I could not deduce whether the shaking of her voice was due to her sorrow over the young man’s death or as a result of her own timidity and unfamiliarity with speaking of such personal subjects.

  She hesitated again and after a few moments I foolishly, now looking back upon events, blurted out, “Young lady, Mrs. Peterson has already informed me of your previous...predicament. Surely nothing you are holding on your tongue can be more embarrassing than that subject so knowing that I am already so intimate with details of your personal life you should now have no problems relating to me what happened, yes?”

  Elizabeth Dunning looked up at me in horror. Immediately she stood and walked a few steps away so that her back was facing me. I cannot, to this very day, explain my inexplicable and rather sudden lack of tact. Perhaps it was the particularly jarring ride to the estate, the unfamiliar surroundings or even the influence of a substance until then unknown to my anatomy, nicotine. Regardless, as with most of my failings I make no excuses, only point to possible catalysts. To tell the truth I felt like an immense jack-arse.

  “Miss Dunning I am terribly sorry, I do not know what has come over me. Please forgive me for blurting forth something so offensive and uncalled for.”

  She turned to face me and spoke, her eyes showing the first signs of approaching tears. “Inspector I do not fault you for making inquiry regarding my character. Were I to share your vocation I believe that it would only be diligent for me to do the same...I just...I am surprised that my Aunt Margaret would reveal such information to you.”

  I motioned for he
r to sit, “Please, forgive my rudeness and sit with me.” she complied, “The information did not come easily. I pleaded with Mrs. Peterson, explaining of how much import it was for me to have all of the information that I could before beginning my investigation. As to your secret...upon its revelation it was apparent to me that not a word had ever passed her lips regarding the matter prior, not even to her husband.”

  At that she smiled briefly and I leaned forward to better engage with her, “Were we to meet in a social setting I would expect...no I would demand actually, to be treated by you regardless of your social standing as an equal. In this instance, however, I am indeed in your employ and will perform my duties to the best that my abilities will allow. As I said before Miss, my profession often calls upon me to be intimately acquainted with details of clients’ personal lives. Simply keep in mind that I am but a tool to complete your task.”

  My statement was something of a falsehood. My ego prevents me from thinking myself akin to anything as lowly as a mere instrument of detection; however as a result of my overly brazen tongue I felt as though I needed to reassure the young lady.

  “I like you Mr. Carson.” she blurted out. “You are terribly direct, not like the posh swells and mashers that my father brings about to vie for my hand.” she paused for a moment and I could see the embarrassment in her face. “Not that I am insinuating that you are here to vie for my affections!”

  I put my hand out to silence her, “Of course my dear. No need to be troubled, I understand and accept your compliment for what it is. To be quite honest my forthrightness is typically appreciated but on occasion has cost me a job.”

  “It shall not cost you one here...though it may unsettle my father and my brothers.” she smiled wryly, “Which should be perfectly acceptable to me. Were your direct nature to upset them I will consider it to simply be a perk.”