The Mad Judge (A Sherlock Holmes Uncovered Tale Book 3) Read online

  Robert Evanston paid no attention to Cyril, but seemed genuinely chastened by Jane Woodson. He mumbled what might have been an apology, and took a drink from his glass. A pall had fallen over the table and dinner was finished in a desultory manner. Although I noticed several diners merely picking at their food, Harold Chandler had not allowed the ill feelings to interrupt his meal as he tucked in nicely.

  Judge Upton finally arose from his chair, which signaled the end of the meal, and walked to the opposite end of the table. He very gentlemanly waited upon Honoria Upton. She also rose and they led the procession, arm in arm, back to the great hall. Jane Woodson allowed me to escort her and I noticed Colonel North beat Robert Evanston to Cecilia Upton’s side. With a glowering Evanston bringing up the rear of the group, we all abandoned the dining room for the cheery hearth that awaited us in the hall.

  Meadows and Reeves attended the guests with drinks and the men all began smoking the tobacco of their choice. All of the younger men, including myself, favored cigarettes. Colonel North and Harold Chandler were both pipe men while our host, Judge Upton, was the sole cigar smoker. I noticed Cecilia Upton take a cigarette from the case of Evanston and was rewarded with a withering glance from her stepmother. Cecilia was oblivious to her stepmother’s disapproval and was gaily chattering with her finance and Stanley Woodson. I found myself, again, next to Jane Woodson. She was fanning herself, likely because of the roaring fire, and seemed pensive.

  “Cecilia is very beautiful,” she said. “It is no wonder that the young men flock to her side.”

  At her mention of the young men I saw John Withers join the small group. They were all seemingly, vying for Cecilia’s favor and she reveled in the attention. Returning to Jane, I spoke in comfort to her.

  “I am certain that your husband is only being a polite guest and has no interest in Cecilia,” I said earnestly.

  “Of course not, doctor. Cecilia is a lovely person, but Stanley would never commit himself to a mere girl. No, Stanley is attracted to a mature and strong woman. Mark me on that.”

  Jane Woodson spoke with power and conviction. Again I sensed a certain strength within her. Many men in this world, I was certain, would find this woman attractive beyond surface beauty. I began to feel hot, on account of the fire, and I excused myself and walked over to the massive globe.

  I was looking at the map of the world that was sprawled over the surface of the orb, when I noticed just how small England was in proportion to her empire. The colonies were far flung, and I wondered at the prophecy of Robert Evanston. I supposed it was unlikely that our small nation, however outwardly strong, could control nations and populations many times its size. Control through intimidation, and that was what the army and navy were undoubtedly doing, was not a viable long-term strategy. I wondered about the limits of such control.

  An amiable argument had broken out among the young gentlemen in attendance to Cecilia Upton.

  “Why, Cyril Upton, you know full well that I am the better billiards player,” cried John Withers, with a grin. “Must I prove myself your master in your own home?”

  “Bold words from you, John,” said Upton. “I was regimental champion, as you well know.”

  “Those are the mere shadows of the past, old boy. At university I gave you several severe spankings. Shall we have a go at it? I assume the billiard room is in order.”

  “It is,” said Cyril. “Let us settle this thing. Come lads, you can be seconds in our duel.”

  Woodson and Evanston both laughed and followed the pair of friends out of the hall and down to the billiards room.

  Cyril Upton cried over his shoulder. “Meadows, will you send another round of drinks in presently?”

  Meadows nodded sedately and motioned for Reeves to follow the group. Reeves slouched after them, with no great enthusiasm. Jane Woodson moved over to join Cecilia on the divan, while I wandered over to the hearth where the Colonel and Harold Chandler were discussing a new diamond strike in South Africa. Chandler was most informed on the subject and was holding forth on the great future he foresaw for the country, though the Boers were still an irritant to the crown. As I was unfamiliar with the region, even the Colonel had not traveled there for many years, I listened as the two older men dissected the colonial situation.

  The judge and his wife were standing off to one side of the hall and were engaged in a quiet conversation. They were animated in their hand gestures and I rather fancied they were at odds. However, they concluded their talk without rancor and approached the fire.

  “I do not wish to abdicate my role as your host,” the Judge intoned. “But I fear I must attend to some small business matters in my study. I do not leave you altogether adrift, as my place will be taken by my charming wife and equally charming daughter. I will rejoin you all anon.”

  The judge kissed his wife on the forehead and left towards the end of the hall to his study and disappeared therein.

  “Well you all heard the decision from the bench,” said Cecilia. “We have been sentenced to enjoy ourselves and I for one intend to do just that. Meadows if you please.”

  The stately butler was quickly at hand to refresh Cecilia’s drink and I again saw a flutter of disapproval in Honoria Upton’s eyes. Jane Woodson declined another drink, as did the Colonel and myself, but Harold Chandler eagerly accepted another whiskey and soda. I thought to myself that the Squire was missing an evening much to his liking when I felt Honoria Upton’s hand upon my arm.

  “Doctor, as a stranger to the hall you simply must allow me to show you our library. Simon is an avid collector, and it is a treat that simply should not be missed.”

  I excused myself and the lady and I strolled from the hall and entered the enormous library. As she quietly shut the door I could hear cheers coming from the billiards room.

  “Doctor, we simply must talk,” she said, and I saw great agitation, perhaps mingled with fear, in her eyes.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “Of course, dear lady,” said I, as we both sat on a sofa. “Has something happened that has caused you distress?”

  “It is Simon,” she began. “I think he knows that I visited you and Mr. Holmes at the Withers estate yesterday.”

  “Has he said something that would indicate he knows?”

  “Not exactly,” she said slowly. “He just acts as if he is too satisfied with himself. I don’t quite know how to put it.”

  She plainly had more to say so I waited for her to continue.

  “Oh, Dr. Watson, I know you will think me a daft woman who is imagining things, but what frightens me is that Simon is so accommodating this evening. It is not his way. He is normally gruff at least, and these days sometimes hostile. Yet when I told him I had sent an invitation to the Withers household and invited you and Mr. Holmes, as Mr. Holmes instructed, he took it with good nature and said he was looking forward to meeting you both.”

  “And that was odd for him?” I queried.

  “Very much so,” the lady said quickly. “Now it is expected, of course, in the country to extend such an invitation, but normally my husband would have been most recalcitrant. Today he was not like that at all. Oh my, I know it sounds like a jumble when I say it, but his amiability frightens me more than his paranoid rages.”

  At this statement she sprang up and walked to a bookshelf and leaned against it, weeping in despair. I immediately joined her and placed a comforting hand upon her shoulder. Her body was wracked with silent sobs and she turned and threw herself into my arms. I awkwardly expressed my sympathy towards her.

  “Mrs. Upton, please, do not worry,” I said. “Remember Holmes himself sent me. You can rely upon me, and Holmes, to carry you through any turmoil.”

  At the mention of Sherlock Holmes the lady brightened visibly. I had noticed before the effect the great man had on those in need.

  “You’re right, of course, doctor,” she said. “I am being a child. I have placed this in the hands of you and your friend and I have full confidence in bot
h of you.”

  She was fully composed, still standing next to me, when the door opened. I turned and saw Judge Upton walk into the room. He started a bit when he saw us.

  “My pardon,” he said graciously. “I had no idea anyone was in here.”

  “I was showing our guest the famous Upton library, my dear,” said his wife, a bit too quickly. “Our London guests are used to the finest and I wanted to show the doctor that we have all the amenities in the country.”

  “That is true,” said the Judge, as he gazed at the volumes that adorned the shelves of the library. “This is a collection that I am most proud of, doctor. Many of these books were in my first wife’s family for generations.”

  “Oh was she of the gentry, Judge?” I asked.

  “She certainly was. From a fine family indeed. I was fortunate that fate smiled upon a simple barrister when she gave me her hand.” He stopped and seemed to have fallen into thoughtful contemplation. I could see in his mind we were no longer in the room. He shook himself out of his reverie and addressed us again. “Of course, I was doubly blessed again when I met Honoria.”

  “How very kind, Simon,” the lady said blushing. “You can be quite the charmer when you apply yourself.”

  The old boy chuckled and seemed lost in thought again. “At any rate,” he said. “Do not allow me to interrupt your tour. I simply came in for a book. All the talk of Shakespeare got me in mind of a quote from Othello that Woodson and I were discussing the other day.”

  He searched the shelves and presently came to the tome for which he was searching. “Here is the very book I wanted,” he said.

  He pulled an enormous book off of the shelf and began to flip through the pages. I saw that it was a leather bound, collected works of the bard. He snapped the volume shut after a few moments and turned to us again.

  “If you will excuse me I still have a few things to attend to in my study, but I wish to talk with you later, doctor.”

  “I am your servant, sir,” said I.

  Just at that moment the door opened again and I saw the swarthy face of Reeves.

  “Is there anything you require?” he asked of the Judge, in a less truculent manner than when he had spoken to Withers and myself. Before anyone could reply the figure of Meadows appeared behind him.

  “That will do, Reeves,” he said in a formal tone. “Please attend in the hall and I will see to the master’s needs.”

  Reeves slouched out and disappeared from view.

  “May I bring in drinks, sir?” he asked.

  “Bring a whiskey and soda to my study, Meadows. I will be there shortly,” said the Judge. Meadows withdrew and the Judge grew thoughtful again. “I must get back to my work. I thought that when I retired as a magistrate that my days of labour were over, but alas, I have been sadly disabused of that notion.”

  “Thankfully you have a vigorous young man to carry some of the load,” I said.

  “What’s that, doctor? Oh, Woodson? Yes, yes, quite. Good fellow that. Well, if you will excuse me.”

  The judge kissed his wife on the forehead and started to leave.

  “We will accompany you, dear,” said Honoria Upton. “I fear I have ignored our other guests.”

  The three of us left the library together. The younger men were still playing at billiards, as their boisterous voices could attest, and the rest of the group had settled into quiet conversation. The judge passed through the hall and the lady and I joined the rest.

  The Colonel and Harold Chandler were now holding forth on India, The ladies were respectfully listening, as this time it was the Colonel who was taking the lead. As I had never been to the country, I listened avidly as he waxed nostalgic about the sub continent.

  “You make it sound all so exotic, Colonel,” cooed Jane Woodson. “Is India really filled with fakirs and snake charmers?”

  “It is indeed a part of India, my dear,” said the Colonel. “However much of that is for tourists and the like.”

  “Are the squares filled with these voodoo men?” asked Cecilia.

  “There is no voodoo in India, Cecilia,” the Colonel corrected. “In India they are Hindu ascetics that perform magic feats.”

  “Tricks, you mean,” I said. “Surely, you do not believe in the Hindu mysticism.”

  In answer the Colonel pulled a short length of string from his pocket. Not a word was said from any of those watching as he turned his palm up and placed the length of string in it. He was puffing furiously on his pipe and his head was bathed in a halo of smoke. I watched with fascination as he waved his free hand above the string. My heart fairly jumped a beat as the string began to move upwards. The Colonel’s free hand rose above the string, as if inviting it to rise to meet it. When the string had risen a full foot it collapsed to his palm again and the Colonel placed the string back in his pocket. We all broke into applause, as the Colonel tapped his now empty pipe on the mantle.

  “Just a small demonstration I picked up, doctor,” said he. “As you can see, even though I am only an Englishman, some of the native tricks, as you call them, are quite real.”

  I admit I was stunned by the performance. It was an illusion, I was certain, but it was impressive nonetheless. The ladies pummeled the Colonel with questions as to how he had accomplished his feat, but he demurred answering on the grounds that he had taken an oath. Although it was said in jest, it was apparent that the Colonel was a man who believed that an oath taken should be observed. We passed on to other topics.

  The billiards party soon broke up and that contingent of the party rejoined those of us back in the hall.

  “So who has emerged victorious?” I asked. “Is it the house of Withers, or the house of Upton?”

  Both Cyril and John looked quite crestfallen at my inquiry. I was about to repeat the question when Stanley Woodson answered for the group.

  “I am afraid neither party emerged with the cup, doctor,” he said merrily. “It was decided that we would play a round robin tournament amongst all four of us and our American friend has proven himself the champion.”

  Robert Evanston smiled at Woodson’s report and sat next to Cecilia.

  “Why, Robert, I had no idea that you played at the tables,” she said.

  “This was actually my first time at billiards,” said Evanston. “In America we play a game that is a much different type of pool, but the angles are the same and it does call for a steady hand and cool nerves.”

  “You have that, old boy,” said Cyril. “However did you become so marvelous with the cue?”

  “Oh, well simply call it a misspent youth, Cyril,” he said with a smile. “My father never approved I can assure you.”

  “I haven’t heard you speak much of your family, Evanston,” declared Harold Chandler. “What does your father do?”

  “My father doesn’t work and never has,” said the shaggy haired man after a pause. “He and I have never really seen eye to eye.”

  There was an awkward pause at this statement that was broken when Cyril Upton suggested another round of drinks. I demurred, but most of the company decided to indulge at least one more time.

  Meadows and Reeves served the libations and conversation again turned to the round of billiards. Robert Evanston was taking a bit of ribbing at being a sharpie from the others, when I saw Cyril Upton check his pocket watch.

  “I simply must talk to father before he retires,” he murmured, and excused himself. I followed him with my eyes as he approached the study door, knocked, and was admitted.

  Harold Chandler turned to the subject of India again. “So, Colonel, tell what you think of the present situation. Are the majority of the Indian people behind us?”

  “It is difficult to say. Of course we have the power, so much of the forces agitating for independence are underground.”

  “Is that perhaps because the British army has been brutish in their behavior towards the native peoples?” asked Robert Evanston, with a sneer.

  I had expected the Colonel to reac
t with venom, but was surprised at his calm answer. “You might be right in some cases. There are captains that drive over hard. In spite of what you might think, Evanston, I admire the Indian people. The Indian soldiers that served under my command were some of the bravest men I have ever met, despite the British policies they disagreed with.”

  “Gunga Din and all that eh, Colonel?” said Evanston.

  “So you’ve read Kipling, have you, my boy?” said Colonel North, with a smile.

  As Evanston was about to reply the sounds of raised voices came from the Judge’s study. I distinctly heard a voice say, “Money, money, I’m sick of the talk of it.” I could not tell who’s voice it was, but I rather fancied it was Cyril Upton. To cover the embarrassment at overhearing a family dispute several people began to speak at once. In a few moments the door to the study opened and Cyril Upton came out. His face was cloudy with agitation.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Cyril mumbled a few words as he passed and ascended the steps. I heard a door slam a minute or so after he left. There was a feeling of general discomfiture that was saved by Colonel North.

  “What say, Chandler, you show me that book on the Spice Wars that you saw in the library?”

  “Oh, yes,” said Chandler. “A ripping good tale and I think it has implications for the crown today. We mustn’t show weakness you know.”

  The two men were deep in conversation as they retired to the library.

  “What a sweet old gentlemen is the Colonel,” said Jane Woodson.

  “Bit of a mountebank, if you ask me,” said Evanston. “The old boy probably spent most of his time in India sitting under a fan imagining himself a king.”

  “I would not say that,” essayed John Withers. “The Colonel was involved in the Mutiny of ’57. From what I understand he was in the thick of things. They say he has a cool head during a crisis.”

  Robert Evanston seemed inclined to still scoff, but John continued. “It is true,” he said. “When I was with my regiment I casually mentioned that I had met the Colonel in my youth and I was told tales of him facing down a blood thirsty horde with nothing but a swagger stick.”