“Out.”
Ernest leaned back in his chair slightly to allow Mrs. Simpson to place his meal in front of him.
My gaze jumped to his, but he gave a hint of a shake with his head. Whatever had passed between my mother and uncle was not to be shared at the dining table—or not with my father.
“But you went into town,” Mycroft said. “I heard the carriage leave this morning.”
“Yes. I have to prepare for the inquest. We have discovered—”
My father held up his hand. “Please, Ernest, not at the table. As a justice of the peace, I should not be discussing such things outside the court.”
“Of course. Of course,” Ernest said and turned his attention to his plate. A moment later, he asked him, “Do you plan to butcher a pig this week?”
“A pig?” His forehead creased. “I would have to check with the foreman. If you are in need of additional bacon—”
“No. No. It’s not about bacon. I have need of a butchered pig.” He chewed a potato slowly and after swallowing, said, “I guess I will have to discuss it with Mr. Simpson after dinner.”
“Do you need it to test another weapon?” Mycroft asked.
“In a manner of speaking,” Ernest said. “I’m not allowed to discuss the matter here, but it’s of vital importance for the hearing.”
My father scrubbed his mouth with his napkin and threw it on top of his plate. “Fine. I’ll ask Mr. Simpson to ask the tenants who has a pig they are planning to take to market.”
“Thank you.”
Father pushed his chair back from the table with great force and strode into the library.
Once we were alone, Mycroft asked, “Do you have a defense planned?”
“Thanks to Sherlock and Violette, I do,” he said, a smile broadening on his face.
My brother pulled back his chin. “How?”
“You’ll see. You’ll see,” Ernest said with a chuckle.
I stared down at my plate, unable to share in my uncle’s enthusiasm. A sense of dread overwhelmed me. What if I was wrong, and my observation failed to free my mother?
Even if she were freed, until the true killer was identified, the scandal wouldn’t completely die. I knew I couldn’t rest until the Holmes name was fully cleared.
Chapter Four
After dinner, I returned to my room. My gaze immediately went to the case with my old textbooks and, hidden among them, the anatomy book Mycroft had given me earlier. The slow burn I’d experienced at dinner rekindled itself, and I cursed him for his now obvious maneuvering. It was like playing chess with him, only on a more personal scale.
No longer able to even bear knowing the book was in my room, I picked up the volume to return it to the library.
This time, however, the door was closed. I paused before knocking to check for voices. My father and brother’s loud conversation passed through without distortion.
“It’s your duty to the family, son,” Father said, a sharp edge in his tone.
“The world’s changing. You may not be able to see the trends, but I do. Clearly. The village may have been the center of your world, but mine is much grander. I have absolutely no interest in—”
“Interest? Interest? I don’t give a bloody damn about your interests. As the first born—”
“Don’t lay your concept of responsibility on me. I see a much larger one for me. If you can’t accept it, disown me and pass this ‘duty’ on to Sherlock. See if I care.”
“You’d care well enough if I let your grander duty support your lifestyle. All your fancy foods, that group of yours—”
“The Diogenes Society is in its infancy. Once established, it will be self-sustaining.”
“The only sustaining at the moment appears to be on the backs of my tenants.”
One of them approached the library door, and my hand tightened its grip on the book. I took a step backwards, ready to turn and run before I was caught eavesdropping. Just before reaching the door, the steps stopped and retreated. Given the strides’ quickness and light tread, I decided they were those of a young man. Mycroft had to be pacing, but it must have calmed him because when he finally spoke, his voice was low and sedate.
“I need to get back to university. My responsibilities lie there. My studies, the contacts I’ve been making, I’ve even been working on a treatise that will lay out some of my current observations and conclusions regarding the changes I see on the horizon. Take the war that just concluded in America. The resulting defeat of the seceding states will reshape that country.”
“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to make your observations here at Underbyrne in the meantime. As long as this scandal hangs over our family—”
“I need more immediate access to information.” He sighed. “It arrives too late by post. And I need—no I require—intellectual stimulation to form my conclusions. The sedate life of a country squire may be all right for you, but not for me.”
“Why are you putting this on me now?” My father’s voice was worn, troubled. “With your mother in gaol?”
“Because I feel the clock ticking. Every day I’m away from Oxford and my studies delays my whole future and the contributions I can bring.”
“What about your mother? Aren’t you concerned about her at all?”
“Once she’s free, my presence won’t be necessary.”
“What makes you sure she’ll be freed?”
“Because—”
I ruined my chances to hear Mycroft’s analysis with a sneeze. Not a polite exhalation of air through the nose, but an explosive snort worthy of Uncle Ernest. I spun about, prepared to step around a corner to avoid being caught. Before I could take two steps, a hand clamped down on my shoulder and turned me back around.
“How long have you been listening, you little sneak?” Mycroft asked.
“I-I-I just got here,” I said and held up the book. “I was going to return this.”
He snatched it from me. “I’ll take care of it. Go. Find some other door to listen at.”
I glanced behind him toward my father. His mouth was a hard line, but I couldn’t tell if he was angry at me or the conversation he’d been having with Mycroft—or both. In any case, I knew not to argue with either.
With a quick bob of my head, I returned to my room but found I was unable to sit, as thoughts swirled in my brain. That Mycroft had no interest in returning to Underbyrne after his studies made no sense to me. How could one not want to stay here? Of course, Mycroft had always been much more cerebral than I. He was not one for hunting with Father. And what about his remarks about the future and how things were changing? Did he truly believe that Underbyrne would not remain as it was? More existed to the argument between the two than I’d heard, but Mycroft’s predictions were enough to make me pace the floor.
After several circuits between the window and door of my room, I noticed my violin case on the desk. I recalled my promise to my mother and crossed the room to open it. After running my fingers across the instrument’s neck, I fitted it under my chin and tuned it. Tentatively at first, but with growing confidence, I worked on the piece I had practiced with my mother. For some reason, I found myself able to pour my emotions into the music, providing it with a depth I had never experienced before. When I hit a sour note, I didn’t rebuke myself, I simply continued until I finished the entire score.