Chapter Four

Jane stretched and put her hand under her seat to grasp her carpetbag.

Not there.

She felt to the left and right in case it had shifted during the voyage, then got up to look. She dragged her boot from one end of the bench to the other, but felt nothing there. Throwing decorum to the wind, she crouched to look.

It was gone. Along with the emerald hairpin money, and the letter of recommendation from the hospital she could never replace.

The Ladies’ Carriage had made her feel safe, but she’d been a fool to let down her guard. If women could be doctors, they could be criminals as well.

“Have we arrived so soon?” The pile of shawls and the woolen coat that Jane had mistaken for a woman rose and dusted himself down.

“Mr. Holmes, you have no right to follow me!”

“What’s the trouble, Nurse Watson? Have you not dedicated yourself to saving people’s lives? It wouldn’t do to let a homicidal character like myself go wandering through the countryside unsupervised.”

His laconic tone wasn’t half as infuriating as the way he dangled her carpetbag from lazy fingers. Jane tried to take it back, but he held it out of her reach, laughing.

“Keep it then.” Jane stalked off the train only to discover that they were not alone. Aunt Ruby had sent her husband to meet her. Jane walked quickly, but Holmes kept pace behind her, ostentatiously swinging her bag.

Uncle Derwin wore a crumpled straw hat and shabby farming clothes the likes of which Jane had never seen on him.

How like Uncle Derwin to snub her without a word.

“Who is your friend?” Derwin extended a dirty finger.

“To whom do you refer?” Perhaps she could pretend Holmes was a stranger, simply helping a lady with her luggage.

“The gent,” Uncle Derwin enunciated, which made his Northern accent stronger, “lugging your bag.”

“Oh, him.” She needed a suitable excuse for traveling with a man, but it was hard to think clearly while her uncle looked her up and down so thoroughly. Evidently searching for signs of ruination, his eyes lingered on her middle. If she had gained weight, he would be the first to whisper that her trip home was due to a feminine sort of trouble.

Why her mother’s sister had married such an oaf, Jane would never understand. He lacked all charm and consideration.

And still he stared, when he could see how uncomfortable she was!

“Jane, who is he?”

In a panic she blurted, “Uncle Derwin, allow me to introduce Mr. Holmes, a private detective from London whom I have hired to prove Father’s innocence.”

“Is that so? Well, we’d best be going. I must see to the cider making, but Ruby asked me to find you first. Said you sent a telegram.”

“This is very kind of you, but I could have hired a coach.”

“It’s no trouble,” he muttered, indicating by his tone that it was a great imposition.

Holmes strode ahead of Jane as they rounded the building and walked to her uncle’s cart, which was pulled by a pair of ancient nags.

Perhaps he’d borrowed them to make his point.

A proud man, Uncle Derwin habitually played the gentleman farmer. It was a status that his marriage to her Aunt Ruby had allowed him after spending his youth working the fields alongside his family. After the wedding, he had discouraged the Watts from socializing with his parents and siblings. They had become nodding acquaintances at church but little more.

Most days, Uncle Derwin drove a fine trap, and his clothes were as stylish as Ruby’s.

But for this trip, he was offering Jane a ride in a cart filled with potatoes and bags of turnips.

“There isn’t room for three on the box.” Derwin indicated the bench where he sat to drive the horses. “Your detective friend will have to ride in the back.”

“Most excellent!” Holmes leaped over the side of the cart and lay down among the produce, covering his face with a turnip sack. “Wake me when we arrive.”

The wretched horses pulled so slowly that at times Jane felt like the entire journey must be uphill. They passed long plumes of smoke coming from pottery factory after pottery factory. A shift must have ended, because miners with coal-soiled faces trudged beside them, traveling almost as quickly as their beleaguered horses.

It wasn’t until they turned off the road, and she saw the twin lions guarding the stone gate of Sondor Hall that her irritation melted away. She was almost home.

“How is poor mother?”

Her uncle kept his eyes on the track ahead. “I’m a working man, with no time to gossip about my betters.” He spat over the side of the cart, leaving Jane no doubt as to his opinion of his wife’s family.

“But surely Mr. Overton might have died by accident. Father would never hurt anyone.”

“Tell that to the orphans and widows.”

He was referring to a coal gas explosion that happened the previous year, and Jane did not appreciate his tone. “Do you want your brother-in-law to hang?”

“Gee up! Get on!” Uncle Derwin lashed his tired horses, picking up speed as they drove up the lane.

Sondor Hall sat on top of a hill, towering over the surrounding fields, houses, and factories. The relative height grew even greater, because in places, the row houses of workers built near the mines were subsiding into the earth.

The walls were made of colored bands of red, blue, and tan brick, topped with pointed roofs and dormers in Gothic style. Her father had decided that a clock tower, with an observation area that allowed him to watch over his mine from a distance, was not enough.

When Jane left, construction was underway for a turret at the other end of the building, and there it was, built of the same colored bricks as the rest of the house, but crenelated at the top like a castle wall.

As they neared the stables, father’s hounds ran to meet them, barking like mad as if to ward off an intruder.

“Whisht now. Calm thee, lads.” Derwin leaned down to pet one, but drew his hand back swiftly when it tried to bite him.

Papa’s dogs were upset without him.

The creatures barked with a violence Jane had never seen, showing their teeth and foaming at the mouth, circling the vegetable cart and standing on their hind legs, paws against the sides. Smaller dogs ran and jumped to catch a glimpse of the tatties and turnips.

Throwing off the empty sack, Holmes sat rigidly upright in one smooth motion. Without a word, he stared down the excited hounds until they quieted, and the smallest began to whimper.

“Begone!” With a flip of the wrist, he sent them running, tails tucked between their legs.

For Jane’s ears, Derwin muttered. “Has this boggard of a man witched thee?”

It was the last thing he said until they stopped beside the entrance.

“Down you get. I’ve no time for thanks.”

The moment Jane’s boots hit the ground, her uncle whipped his horses, rushing the poor nags away. She watched him go, traveling at three times the speed of their trip from the station.

“Give me that.” She took back her carpetbag from Mr. Holmes.

His smirk made her victory feel hollow.

Jane didn’t reach for the door right away. It was better to steel herself and steady her emotions. Mama would be angry at Jane for breaking her engagement. Her sisters would expect Jane to be the calm responsible one…

It would be a madhouse inside.

“Miss Watson, don’t make me wait in the scorching sun.” Holmes linked his arm through hers. “Introduce me to your family.”