The Adventure Of The Posthumous Apparition by Marion Smith (english books to improve english .txt) 📕

his brother, sending them both toppling over the cliff, to fall a drop of over two hundred foot.
With a cry, Marie buried her face in her hands. Afraid she would collapse, I put my arms around her for support.
“Richard!” she choked out through her tears. “Richard!” She buried her face into my overcoat.
I heard a cry from the edge. Turning, I realized it to be Holmes. I ran towards him, pulling Marie with me.
We reached the edge, and to my amazement, there was Richard, lying, dazed, on a smaller ledge below the cliff edge, next to his brother. He looked up, shocked for a moment, before remembering what had happened. He turned to his brother, and grabbed hold of his collar.
“How could you?!” he cried, slamming his brother’s head against the rock. Christopher moaned.
“Richard, stop!” I called. “He will receive his punishment in due time.”
Amazingly, the grief-stricken man relented. He moved back, wiped his blood stained hands on his trousers, and stood up, gazing down at his brother with a look of revulsion on his face. With an unexpected cry, his brother leapt from the ground, and tightly clasped his hands around Richard’s neck. Richard managed to secure a grip of his brother’s arm, and, with great effort, his face turning violet all the while, bent back his brother’s wrist. Caught by surprise, Christopher relented his grip, and, seizing the moment, Richard pushed him away. Christopher stumbled backwards, losing his balance as he reached the edge. With a cry, he tripped and just managed to secure handhold on the edge of the rock.
“Richard, please! Help me!” he cried, clinging on tightly to the ledge. But he was losing his grip.
Richard moved forward, until he was standing directly above his brother. Then, with an abhorrent look on his face, he answered him,
“Never.”
Slowly, Richard turned his back as Christopher lost his grip, and, with a cry I will never forget, fell to his death below.
Holmes and I leaned forward, and pulled Richard back up to the top of the pavement. Breathing a word of thanks to us, he ran to his wife, and wrapped his arms around her. She sighed with heartfelt relief, and tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Richard,” she breathed, fixing her arms around his neck, “You’re safe.” She touched his cheek affectionately. “They told me you were dead.”
“They told me the same,” he replied, holding her shoulders. “My God Marie, I nearly lost you.” Richard removed his Ulster, and wrapped it around Marie. “You’re freezing.”
She shook her head. “Do not worry about me.”
“But, you are not hurt? And the baby is fine?” Richard pressed, fixing his hands on her bloated stomach.
“I am fine, and so is the child,” she replied. “Richard, you saved me.” Marie turned to me and Holmes.
“Thank you,” she breathed softly. Holmes nodded by way of reply, and I smiled. Not caring who saw, the couple stood, atop Malham Cove, each one just so glad the other was alive. Marie threaded her hands through Richard’s curls, as if to check he really was there. At that moment, the heavens opened, and the rain began to fall.
Although it was cold, I was glad of the wet. After the exhausting couple of days we had been through, it felt so refreshing. Turning to my side, I was surprised to see a look of apparent gladness, or perhaps even longing, on Holmes’ face. He turned to face me, and one thing shocked me more than anything else I had seen in the last few days- Sherlock Holmes was crying. At least, that was how it appeared. In the rain, it was rather difficult to tell.
A sudden gasp from Marie distracted me from my thoughts. Marie brought her hands down from Richard’s hair, and stared with horror at the scarlet staining them. She looked up at Richard, aghast.
“Richard...” she murmured, shocked, finally realizing. He had hit his head falling to the ledge.
Richard clasped her hands together. “I’ve only lost a little blood,” he said, or at least tried to say, because at that moment, he fell into the arms of his wife, succumbing to unconsciousness.


Epilogue

I opened the hall door, and moved into the living room, seating myself opposite Holmes. He sat slumped in his armchair, a rectangular piece of card in his hands. He did not acknowledge my presence.
I sighed, and picked up the paper off the coffee table, flicking through the pages of headlines. I saw an advert in one corner, and I smiled.
“Look here, Holmes,” said I, breaking the silence, “it is yet another advert for the Helmsleys. They really are going up in the world.”
After the birth of their daughter Meriel, Marie and Richard Helmsley had inherited enough money from Marie’s fortune to not only care for their child, but to tour as musicians. Their bohemian careers really had spiralled so high that they were now playing at the Royal Albert Hall. I really did admire their courage.
From Holmes, however, I had received no such reply. He still sat, silent, fingering the paper between his hands.
“I never fully understood Richard’s case,” I continued. “You haven’t spoken of it for months, Holmes.”
Holmes sat up in his chair, and clasped his hands together. “I thought it was rather elementary,” he replied, a touch of arrogance in is voice.
“Well, not all of us think in the same terms as you,” I replied bitterly.
Holmes at up, and looked me in the eye. “Richard’s brother didn’t want Marie’s money. After all, he was high up in favour with the duke he was working for, as we heard from Mrs Sorsby. I believe he even had his own land on their estate. Therefore, we can only assume that he was in love with her. Christopher wished to take Marie abroad, and marry her in secret there. Of course, Marie had no say in the matter. He planned to hold Marie in the Dales until he could secure a safe passage away from England. Christopher was right in thinking that no one would come to Malham in such terrible February weather. Unfortunately, it’s harder than he imagined smuggling a beautiful young woman into the Dales. People were bound to notice.”
“But what of the body in the mortuary? What that just sheer coincidence?” I pressed.
“Of course not. Christopher Helmsley, much as I hate to admit it, was a genius. He timed it all perfectly. Kidnapped a second girl who looked similar, assisted by his henchmen, the same ones we conquered at Malham, he made her cross the road at that certain time, before he ran her over in his carriage.
“His carriage? What do you mean? He worked for a Duke-” I began.
“Yes, as a coachman,” Holmes replied, irritated. “It would be easy for him to arrange.” He flipped the paper between his hands.
“What is that paper for?” I asked. “Let me see.”
Before he could stop me, I snatched the paper of him. Holmes glared at me, but I ignored him. Turning the paper over, I gasped. It was a cheque for one thousand pounds.
“Good God Holmes, who is this from?” I asked, astounded. Holmes sighed.
“The Duke and Duchess of Norfolk,” he replied.
“But whatever for?!” I exclaimed.
“I found their missing daughter,” Holmes answered slowly. “Unfortunately, she was no longer alive.”
Finally, I understood. “Holmes,” I gasped, “You don’t mean...”
“Yes. The body in the mortuary was the missing Duke’s daughter in the paper five months ago, the day Richard visited us. And you thought I was paying no attention!”
Suddenly, another thought came to me. “Holmes,” said I, “The Duke that Christopher worked for...”
“...Was the Father of the missing girl,” Holmes finished. “Yes. Christopher Helmsley took the daughter of his employer, and ran her over in her own carriage. That really is depravity.” He stared into the fire, the flames reflecting back into his eyes.
“And so they repaid you handsomely,” I concluded, “For finding the body of their daughter.”
“And for finding her murderer,” Holmes added. “It was lucky for Helmsley that he was already dead, or else he would undoubtedly hang.” His voice was touched with malice as he spoke.
“Holmes, what is wrong with you at the moment?” I pleaded, wishing he would say. “You haven’t been yourself for what seems like months.” I knew he would be drinking again, if I had not hidden the alcohol as well as his hypodermic syringe. Being a Doctor, I knew what those dangerous vices could do to a man. “Please, say.”
Without a word, Holmes turned towards his desk. Looking across, I noticed the picture of Irene Adler, sitting pride of place on the table. I wondered if I now understood.
“So Holmes,” said I, changing the subject, “What will you spend your money on?”
Holmes stood from his chair, taking his coat from the rail. I only just caught the answer before he closed the door behind him:
“More whisky.”

The End

Imprint

Text: Marion Smith
Publication Date: 04-21-2012

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Dedication:
To My Inspiring Mother. I'm done with the laptop now.