The Three Locks by Bonnie MacBird (learn to read books txt) 📕

knowledge, Holmes had little use for poetry. The young woman smiled warmly at Holmes. ‘Do you like poetry, Mr Holmes?’

He said nothing but smiled.

‘When did you have occasion to read my work?’

‘I will be honest with you, Miss Wyndham. Just now,’ said Holmes pleasantly, nodding to her sister’s bookcase. He removed the book from his pocket, waved it at her and replaced it. The man could charm when he wanted to.

Atalanta Wyndham was clearly entranced, as would be any author whose work garners appreciation, even if just in the moment. She laughed. ‘You thought to fool me!’

‘You are too intelligent for that. Though I am new to your work, it is quite lovely, Miss Wyndham. I intend to read more. Given the observant eye of the poet, perhaps you might be able to help us, I think?’

Her eyes glanced about the room, and a shadow crossed her face. It was obvious even to me that the sisters were not friends. ‘Well, I will certainly try, although I doubt it.’

‘I understand your sister goes missing on a regular basis?’ said Holmes.

The young woman coughed. The wheeze was familiar. ‘Would you like to sit down, Miss?’ I asked, noting also a drop of perspiration on her forehead. It could indicate the early stage of consumption.

She waved a dismissive hand at me and remained in the doorway, stifling a second cough. ‘She does. Quite often.’

‘For how long?’

The girl shrugged. ‘One or two days, usually. Some of the time our parents don’t even notice. I write at night, mainly. They don’t notice that, either.’

‘Do they care that your sister runs away?’ asked Holmes.

‘Our mother might. But she is too busy attending to her own needs,’ said Miss Wyndham. ‘A lady of constant small woes.’ Her smile softened her dismissive comment.

‘Ah, understood,’ I said.

‘And the servants?’ asked Holmes.

She rolled her eyes.

‘With two invalids in the house, the servants are quite occupied, I would imagine,’ I said.

She flashed a look of anger, then willed it away. ‘My mother is not an invalid. She is just a rather weak person, given to strong emotions.’

‘And you, Miss Wyndham,’ I said. ‘That cough—’

‘You overstep, Doctor,’ she responded sharply. ‘I am both mobile and self-sufficient. As you can easily see.’

Holmes looked at her steadily for a long moment. ‘Miss Wyndham, do you have any information about your sister that might help us to find her?’ he asked. ‘Might there be a young gentleman she is seeing?’

‘Only this. Dillie has another place she goes to. It happens often enough. She is, well, she will do as she pleases. Always.’

‘This other place – do you know where it is?’ asked Holmes.

‘It is somewhere in town, close by. I know this because she once left, forgot something, came back, and left again. All within an hour. Find it, and you will find her.’

Holmes nodded at me. That fitted with the maid’s timeline last night as well. ‘Have you anything more for us?’ he asked her.

Atalanta Wyndham shrugged.

‘You don’t seem worried. Do you think that there is a threat to your sister? Her doll was found partially dismembered. Somewhat suggestive, don’t you think?’ said Holmes.

‘How terribly dramatic! Well, let’s see, who would dislike my sister? I would wager there is a list.’ She laughed at this.

‘Do give us your thoughts, Miss Wyndham.’

‘You asked about a young man? There are many. She is rather carefree in bestowing her affections, with little thought to their effect.’

‘We know, of course, of Mr Frederick Eden-Summers,’ said Holmes.

At the mention of this name, a shadow passed across the features of this ethereal young woman. It was gone so quickly that I doubted my perception, but the quality of Atalanta Wyndham’s voice changed. It became stronger, more strident. ‘A sterling young man. Award-winning sportsman. And of the finest family. Dillie could not do better.’

‘A match, then?’ prompted Holmes.

‘Hardly! My sister does not value his qualities. She treats him abominably.’

Holmes said nothing.

The girl cleared her throat and reverted to her softer voice. ‘By her own admission,’ she added.

‘Ah, a shame. A sportsman, you say. What is his sport?’

‘He is an archer. A Woodman of Arden!’ she added proudly.

‘Impressive! And at quite a young age!’ said Holmes. I presumed this was some honorary society of archers.

‘His father was a member as well.’

‘I see. Does your sister partake in the sport?’

‘Dillie? Ha! No. She does play at tennis a bit.’ She said this with a hint of disdain. ‘I don’t know what Freddie sees in her!’

‘Freddie?’ asked Holmes.

‘Mr Eden-Summers and I were childhood friends.’

‘I note you are an archer yourself,’ said Holmes.

Atalanta Wyndham stepped back in surprise, crossing her arms. ‘My parents told you this?’

‘No. I merely observe.’

‘I still do not see,’ she said.

I was glad that for once someone other than me ‘saw but did not observe’, as Holmes so frequently chided.

‘Really quite simple, Miss Wyndham,’ said Holmes. ‘Before we entered here, I made an inspection of the yard surrounding the house. I noticed that there are several large burlap sacks at the foot of some trees, stuffed with hay. Archery targets, from the holes, and one arrow left embedded. Facing these, I now learn, is your bedroom.’

Atalanta shifted uneasily.

‘The angle of that arrow indicated it was shot from above. Unless someone was aiming from the large plane tree that abuts your – and your sister’s – bedroom windows, it was shot from one of these windows. That and the evidence on your person, Miss Wyndham, are strongly suggestive.’

‘Evidence on my person?’

‘You do not use an arm guard – but you really should – and have the bowman’s scars on your left arm. And the calluses on the fingers of your right drawing hand. Do you only do this in secret then? Shooting from your window, perhaps?’

Knowing Holmes’s abilities as I did, nevertheless this train of inferences was impressive. And the notion of this young woman practising archery from her window … what a very odd family, I thought.

‘I presume you do this at night, as I cannot imagine your parents condoning