#John Linwood Grant

[witchyfashion]

A celebration of the gothic for during the holiday season, a delightful gift, and a real treat to curl up and read in the long Winter nights. The Christmas Gothic (with thanks to author Marina Favila for the suggestion) is a seasonal celebration of the dark and moody, the ghastly, the ghostly and the magical Christmas short story. New stories from open submissions join the classic tales of Algernon Blackwood, James Joyce, E.F. Benson, Elizabeth Gaskell and more. The new, contemporary and notable writers featured are: Ramsey Campbell, Donna Cuttress, James Dodds, JG Faherty, Marina Favila, Kevin M. Folliard, John Linwood Grant, K.M. Hazel, Larry Hodges, E.E. King, Jonathan Robbins Leon, Clare Marsh, Marshall J. Moore, Templeton Moss, Jane Nightshade, Marie O’Regan, Katherine Quevedo, M.C. St. John, Lamont A. Turner, Suzanne J. Willis, and Cassondra Windwalker. Flame Tree Gothic Fantasy, Classic Stories and Epic Tales collections bring together the entire range of myth, folklore and modern short fiction. Highlighting the roots of suspense, supernatural, science fiction and mystery stories, the books in Flame Tree Collections series are beautifully presented, perfect as a gift and offer a lifetime of reading pleasure.

buy here

[dzgrizzle]

Congratulations to Amanda DeWees and John Linwood Grant for making Ellen Datlow’s Best Horror of the Year 16 Recommendations List for their stories featured in LONELY HOLLOWS, edited by Cliff Biggers and Charles R. Rutledge. I’m very proud to have a story in this anthology.

[kelcipher]

Reading "Where All is Night, and Starless" by John Linwood Grant.

Start reading it for free: https://a.co/5hO29eo

[occultdetective]

Last Writes Link Tree

William Meikle Alethea Kontis Josh Reynolds Greg Mitchell Mary SanGiovanni Michael M. Hughes Kelli Owen Maurice Broaddus Bob Freeman Brian Keene Gamerstable Tim Prasil John Linwood Grant Shanna Germain Cullen Bunn Charles R. Rutledge Tracy DeVore Steven Shrewsbury Jim McLeod Michael West Amanda DeWees Sèphera Girón Julian Vayne Stephen…

[lboogie1906]

The McComas Institute, known as Mountain School was founded September 10, 1867. Located in Joppa, Maryland, the school was one of three Freedmen’s Bureau schools in Harford County.

It was named in honor of local abolitionist, George March McComas, he was an abolitionist, a prominent landowner, and a tobacco merchant who worked out of the port of Baltimore. He appealed to the Freedmen’s Bureau for funds to build a school and a church for African Americans not far from his home in Linwood, Maryland.

It was built on one acre of land purchased for $30. A “colored” couple, George and Mary Ann Johnson, sold one acre of land to Abraham Waters, Charles Waters, Peter Bishop, Joseph Henry, and John H. Butler “for the purposes of erecting or allowing to be erected thereon a schoolhouse for the use, benefit and education of the Colored People of Harford County.”

The Freedmen’s Bureau provided financial assistance for construction and it continued to provide financial support until the Bureau was abolished in 1872. The Harford County Board of School Commissioners assumed operations and partnered with the nearby congregation Mount Zion Methodist Church, which had provided the labor for the construction and held the title to the facility. Church members made up a significant portion of the Institute’s board of directors until the school closed in 1939. Afterwards, the building was used by Mount Zion to hold Sunday school classes and church and community events.

It was home to several pioneering Black educators in the state of Maryland, including Mrs. Alma Mae Dorsey Nelms. She served as the sole teacher at McComas Institute, instructing grades one through seven. Local civil rights activist and Harford County educator, Janice East Morehead Grant, a former student of Mrs. Nelms, noted that her teacher educated “78 students comprising 7 grades [after walking] miles in the cold, making fires in a potbellied stove, and carrying water for us to drink.”

It was listed on the National Register of Historic Places. Building restoration projects began in 1983 and 1995, the building was finally restored. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[yogajude108]

AD JUJU & J BONE PRESENTS... writers: Jiba Molei Anderson creator of "The Horsemen" graphic novels, John Linwood Grant the bloke from abroad who writes tales of murder, mystery, and mayhem, and Tom J Frye the writer of weird, true stories. Ep10 brings you a new short from Well Strung Films where you'll see Nosferatu like never before, a story read to you by Bad JuJu by Tom Frye, a new music video by Bridgette Brenmark the macabre composer herself, and much, much morgue!

Tune in for more stories by Jiba, Tom, & John in the next few weeks on Fridays upon the 13th minute of the 13th hour. (1:13 PM PST)

[raiyine]

SHORT STORY: A Different Kind of Soldier by John Linwood Grant

SHORT STORY: A Different Kind of Soldier by John Linwood Grant

I learned of the amazing John Linwood Grant when I read the book A Study in Grey. I instantly fell in love with Major Redvers Blake and have been wishing and hoping I could read more about him. Well, Virginia, dreams really do come true… A Different Kind of Soldier Autumn bleeds in tawny shades, a suspicion of winter hiding under sodden foliage. And if I have an ‘autumnal’ character in my…

[thebibliothecar]

Strange Perfumes of a Polar Sun, by John Linwood Grant

Strange Perfumes of a Polar Sun, by John Linwood Grant

“As I grew older, they brought me night-fevers of vast, deserted plateaus and winds which scoured flesh from bone; visions of drowned cities and forbidden peaks. They gave me hints that they themselves were real, material, and they fed me concepts of stone, in all its conceivable forms, starting my first poor attempts with chisel and file. They fed my isolation from other humans, strengthened it,…

[karavansara]

Sherlock Holmes, Thomas Carnacki and friends

Sherlock Holmes, Thomas Carnacki and friends

Just a quick post to share the news that two stories of mine are out in two volumes edited by John Linwood Grant for Belanger Books. The haunting of Fox Lanes is one of the 18 stories in The Book of Carnacki the Ghost Finder, a collection of Carnacki apocrypha. And in the third volume of the (at the moment) four-volume series Sherlock Holmes & the Occult Detectives, I bring back occult…

[weirdletter]

A Winter’s Tale: Horror Stories for the Yuletide, edited by Cliff Biggers, Charles R. Rutledge and James R. Tuck, Pavane Press, 2020. Cover art by Lynne Hansen, info: Amazon.

The Yuletide. The time of the longest, darkest evenings of the year, and once, a time for stories of ghosts, demons, and other night creatures, by authors like M.R. James, E.F. Benson, Jane Gaskell, and Amelia B. Edwards. A Winter’s Tale seeks to revive those days with all new stories by some of the best horror writers of today. These stories run the gamut in setting and time, from traditional Victorian ghost stories to all too contemporary tales of terror. This is an anthology to be read by the fireside on cold nights with the wind howling at the windows. Or just in your favorite spot.

Contents: Introduction Snowfall – James A. Moore Harbor – Amanda DeWees-Haunted The Headless Horror – Charles R. Rutledge Not More Lovely than Full of Glee – Leanna Renee Hieber Who Wouldn’t Go? – Cliff Biggers The Fortingall Yew – William Meikle Hold Your Breath – Jeff Strand The Campo – Joshua M. Reynolds I Used to Live Here – Kealan Patrick Burke By Chance or Providence – James R. Tuck The Heron in Winter – John Linwood Grant The Wreck of the Charlie Sol – Jim Beard The Dollmaker – James A. Moore and Charles R. Rutledge Contributors

[malsrp]

HUGE book clear out - over 150 books. Most names/authors below! They're in various conditions - some are pristine, others are a bit worn, but I will provide you with pictures of any specific book you want so that you can decide. Prices vary - I’ll tell you if you message/reply (in your currency) Some books are ex-library stock bought at sales, so they contain stamps and such.

Postage costs will be calculated for it to be sent via mail, this will be included in total cost.

PLEASE NOTE, IN UK PRICES, THESE BOOKS AVERAGE 50P FOR PAPERBACK, £1 FOR HARDBACK. WE ARE SELLING REALLY CHEAP TO RAISE FUNDS TO REPAIR OUR COOKER, AND UPDATE OTHER FURNITURE PIECES BEFORE WE MOVE. Some books will be priced separately.

Books below:

Alex Connor - Memory of Bones Alice Sebold - Lucky Anchee Min - Empress Orchid (Empress Orchid #1) Andy Lane - Fire Storm (Young Sherlock Holmes #4) Angie Sage - MAGYK (Septimus Heap) Anthony Ryan - Blood Song (Raven's Shadow #1) Ann Cleeves - Hidden Depths Anne Pellowski - Winding Valley Farm Arthur Golden - Memoirs of a Geisha Beverly Barton - The Murder Game (Griffin Powell #8) Bob Servant - Delete This At Your Peril: The Bob Servant Emails Brandon Sanderson - The Alloy of Law (Mistborn #4) Brian Freeman - Immoral Carol Smith - Without Warning Chris Carter - The Crucifix Killer (Robert Hunter #1) Elizabeth Chadwick - Shadows and Strongholds Eoin Colfer - The Supernaturalist G.M. Berrow - Twilight Sparkle & the Crystal Heart Spell George R.R. Martin. - A Dance with Dragons: After the Feast (A Song of Ice & Fire #5.2) Jack London - The Call of the Wild & White Fang J.K. Rowling - The Casual Vacancy James Joyce - Dubliners Juliet Marillier - Daughter of the Forest (Sevenwaters #1) Jo Nesbø - The Devil's Star (Harrry Hole #5) Jodi Picoult - My Sister's Keeper John Lutz - Serial Jonas Jonasson - The Hundred-Year-Old Man Who Climbed Out of the Window and Disappeared (The Hundred-Year-Old Man #1) Jordan Belfort - The Wolf of Wall Street Jonathon Nasaw - The Girls He Adored Julia Golding - The Gorgon's Gaze Kathryn Stockett - The Help Kazuo Ishiguro - Never Let Me Go Kenneth Oppel - Dusk Keri Arthur - Tempting Evil Khaled Hosseini - The Kite Runner L.J, Smith - The Forbidden Game (The Forbidden Game 1-3) - £2 Laurell K. Hamilton - Mistral's Kiss (Meredith Gentry #5) Lindsey Davis - The Ides of April (Flavia Albia Mystery #1) Linwood Barclay - Too Close to Home Lisa Gardner - Say Goodbye Louise Welsh - A Lovely Way To Burn Lynda La Plante - Cold Shoulder Mark Billingham - Scaredy Cat (Tom Thorne #2) Mercedes Lackey - The Wizard of Karres Michael Cordy - The Colour of Death Nick Stone - King of Swords Peter David - Fantastic Four Philip K. Dick - Paycheck Philip Pullman - The Tiger in the Well (Sally Lockhart #3) R.J. Palacio - Wonder Rebecca Chance - Killer Queens Richard Yates - Revolutionary Road Robert Louis Stevenson - The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll & Mr Hyde & Other Stories. Robyn Young - Brethren (Brethren Trilogy #1) Rudyard Kipling - Just So Stories (Wordsworth Collection) Scott Frost - Never Fear (Alex Delilo #2) Simon Kernick - Relentless (Tina Boyd #2) Steve Voake - The Dreamwalker's Child Susan Abulhawa - Mornings in Jenin Ted Eliott; Terry Rossio - Pirates of the Carribean - The Adventure So Far Tony DiTerlizzi - The Field Guide (The Spiderwick Chronicles #1) Tracy Chevalier - The Last Runaway Vittoria Bowles - Get Started In Italian William Jefferies - Bloody River Blues (John Bellam #2)

ALISON WEIR Innocent Traitor The Captive Queen The Lady Elizabeth

ANTHONY HOROWITZ - Nightrise (The Power of Five #3) Point Blanc (Alex Rider #2)

CECILIA AHERN If You Could See Me Now P.S, I Love You The Time of My Life

CARLOS RUIZ ZAFON The Shadow of the Wind (The Cemetery of Forgotten Books #1) The Angel's Game (The Cemetery of Forgotten Books #2)

DAN BROWN Angels and Demons (Robert Langdon #1) The Da Vinci Code (Robert Langdon #2) The Lost Symbol (Robert Langdon #3) Inferno (Robert Langdon #4) Deception Point Digital Fortress

CHRISTOPHER PAOLINI Eragon (Inheritance #1) Eldest (Inheritance #2) Brisingr (Inheritance #3)

HARLAN COBEN Tell No One (Standalone) / Back Spin (Myron Bolitar #4) (2-in-1) One False Move (Myron Bolitar #5) The Final Detail (Myron Bolitar #6) Gone For Good

JOE ABERCROMBIE The First Law Trilogy Box Set (Current eBay price £14, selling for £10)

JEFFERY DEAVER Shallow Graves (A Location Scout Series) The Bone Collector (Lincoln Rhyme #1) The Coffin Dancer (Lincoln Rhyme #2) The Cold Moon (Lincoln Rhyme #7) Twisted (The Collective Stories of Jefferey Deaver)

KARIN SLAUGHTER A Faint Cold Fear Fallen (Will Trent #5) Indelible (Grant County #4) Skin Privilege (Grant County #6)

KATE MOSSE Labyrinth (Languedoc Trilogy #1) Sepulchre (Languedoc Trilogy #2)

LAUREN KATE Torment (Fallen #2) Passion (Fallen #3)

MICHAEL WHITE Michael White Michael White

NANCY HADDOCK La Vida Vampire (Oldest City Vampire #1) Last Vampire Standing (Oldest City Vampire #2)

P.J. TRACY Play to Kill (Twin Cities #5) Want To Play? (Monkeewrench #1)

ROBERT MUCHAMORE Black Friday (Cherub 2, #3) Man vs. Beast (Cherub #6) The Sleepwalker (Cherub #9)

SHERRILYN KENYON Kiss of the Night (Dark-Hunter #5) Devil May Cry (Dark-Hunter #11)

SIMON BECKETT Written in Bone (David Hunter #2) Whispers of the Dead (David Hunter #3)

STIEG LARSSON The Girl Who Played With Fire (Millennium Trilogy #2) - £1 The Girl Who Kicked The Hornet's Nest (Millennium Trilogy #3) - £1

SUSANNA GREGORY A Plague on Both Your Houses (Matthew Bartholomew #1) Murder on High Holborn (Thomas Chaloner #9)

VICTORIA HOLT The King of the Castle The Secret Woman

[kelcipher]

Currently reading – "Lonely Hollows: 15 Tales of Folk Horror" by Cliff Biggers, Charles R. Rutledge, James A. Moore, Amanda DeWees, James R. Tuck, Darrell Z. Grizzle, John Linwood Grant, Raven Hart, Jeff Strand, Leanna Renee Hieber.

Start reading it for free: https://a.co/fuvungl

[musiccosmosru]

https://ift.tt/eA8V8J

[holmesoverture]

The Christmas Party - Chapter 4

lol see this is why I never post fic, because I’m lousy at updating

First chapter be here Previous chapter be here More info on my fics in general

Warnings: Holmes is kinda stupid in this chapter and I’m too lazy to go back and fix it

Time for exposition woooo

*

“Eight months ago, I was hired to locate some Egyptian artifacts that had gone missing from the home of Sir Gideon Hibbert.  I am sure you all are familiar with the details, so I won’t waste your time by reciting them now.  So far as the Yard was concerned, the case concluded with Sir Gideon declining to bring any charge against young Harvey, but I was greatly dissatisfied with the product of my labour.  I knew that Harvey must have had an accomplice, as he was thoroughly ignorant of archaeology and yet he had managed to steal only the most valuable items in his father’s collection.  Due to the nature of Sir Gideon’s work, Harvey knew a great many people who possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of the subject, but none of them had particularly compelling motives beyond a potential desire for wealth, a desire so generic as to be useless to an investigator.  And so, in the absence of other clues, I had little choice but to put the case aside until such time as a fresh lead presented itself.

“That lead arrived to me this afternoon in the form of a letter from Lilly Archer, a parlour-maid in the employ of the Hibbert family.  In her epistle she expressed concern for her mistress’s plans for the Christmas party. But here, it will be much simpler for you to hear it in her own words.  Dr Watson will be delighted to read them out loud to you.”

He abstracted an envelope from his sleeve and pressed it to my chest with rather more force than I thought necessary.  I nevertheless accepted the missive, which ran as follows.

To Mr Sherlock Holmes,

I hope this letter reaches you in time to be of some service.  I should have sent it sooner but I allowed fear to stay my hand.  Now, at last, a sense of integrity has overcome my qualms about telling you the cause of my uneasiness.

I am a parlour-maid in the service of the Hibbert family of Belgravia.  You made the acquaintance of my employers during one of your previous cases, so I’ll not bore you with lengthy accounts of their characters and habits.  In the three years I have been in this position, I have been satisfied and content in every respect, excepting of course for the incident to which I previously alluded. The entire household was dismayed by Harvey Hibbert’s betrayal of his father’s love and trust, but we have learned to find a new, happy equilibrium following this loss.  Life seemed quite normal again until this past Saturday when Philomena Hibbert told me of her plans for her Christmas party, the same affair to which your friend Dr John Watson has been invited.  It all seemed perfectly routine until she said my services would not be required the night of the party, as she intended to hire outside help especially for the occasion.  I cannot tell you how disconcerted I was by this statement. During my time with the Hibberts I have served at many a party, even at very large ones, so despite Miss Hibbert’s assurances that her decision was in no way a reflection upon my capabilities, I could not but take the news personally.

This alone would not have been enough to arouse in me more than hurt feelings, but on the next night, I bore witness to Miss Hibbert engaging in a most curious ritual. It was very late, and I had bid Sir Gideon a good-night.  As I walked the hall toward the stair, the door to Sir Gideon’s study suddenly opened and Miss Hibbert stepped out.

“Oh good evening,” she greeted me very calmly, though I thought I noticed her jump when first she saw me.  “Going up to bed, I assume?”

“That’s right.  Do you need anything before I retire?”

“Not a thing.  I was just finishing some letters before the party tomorrow.  Sleep well, Lilly.”

“You as well, Miss Hibbert.”

Her presence in her father’s study was not itself suspicious, as she frequently makes use of it when Sir Gideon is not there.  Yet I could not forget her insistence upon hiring new maids for the Christmas party, nor her surprise upon seeing me in the hall.  Her excuse about why she had been in Sir Gideon’s study also lacked the ring of truth.  I had never known her to write letters so late in the day, and even if she had altered her routine, she could not have altered her skill with a pen.  Upon writing a letter, she always emerged with fresh ink stains upon her hands or her cuffs, but when I saw her last night skin and cloth alike were perfectly spotless.

When I reached my room I spent a great deal of time considering these very trivial matters and decided that they were, perhaps, not so trivial after all.  I began to suspect Miss Hibbert did not want new parlour-maids for the sake of the party as she claimed, but rather because she feared I might see something untoward if I were present.  I cannot begin to guess at what that something could be, and so I place the matter in your hands with the sincere hope that the only response I receive will be a firm chastisement for libelling such kind employers with my overzealous imaginings.

Very truly yours,

Lilly Archer

“A very observant girl, your Miss Lilly Archer,” Holmes said as he took back the letter.  “By the time I received her letter I had mere hours to prepare myself for the party, so I dressed in the only raiment which I knew was guaranteed to grant me access to the Hibberts’ home and left my rooms at once.”

I had closely watched Holmes’ door before I departed and seen nothing.  I could only conclude that he had left by his bedroom window, gown and all.

“It is very brave of you, exposing your source’s name,” said Professor Angues.

“Surely you are not implying that she is in any danger from you or Miss Hibbert, you who were too indolent to do anything more than nudge her brother in the direction of your dirty work?  I think Miss Archer is quite safe from you, though given Sir Gideon’s propensity for laying the blame for his misfortunes at the feet of the innocent, she may find herself at the employment agency come morning. Given the events of the past year that may be a relief to her.”

Sir Gideon said nothing, but I was heartened by Miss Linwood’s look of resolute concern.  I could only hope she would intervene on behalf of the upright Miss Lilly Archer, should such action become necessary.  In the days that followed Holmes and I had several long discussions on the importance of protecting the anonymity of his clients regardless of how little harm he believed such an action would cause, or how much better his explanations would be received with the inclusion of such information.  I cannot speak to whether or not he truly understood my arguments, but at the very least he has not revealed another client in such a fashion since that day.

“Miss Hibbert, you’ve been very quiet,” said Holmes. “Perhaps you would care to share with us the history of your association with the distinguished Professor Angues, and he can check you if he remembers differently.”

Miss Hibbert raised an eyebrow and I thought for a moment that she would refuse to speak.  She must have realised, however, the futility of her situation and that nothing she said could make it any worse for her.

“I have known Rodrick since I was a small child. He and my father often spent their days working away in Dad’s study, and Rodrick spent more dinners here than anywhere else.  For years he seemed to me a jovial man, forever sending my siblings and myself on small errands and paying us in sweets.  But as the years passed, maturity opened my eyes and I saw that his good humour concealed a most resentful soul, jealous of the heights to which my father’s career had risen over his own.”

“You do me an injustice,” Professor Angues interjected. “I was not always the bitter creature you describe.  When I thought of Sir Gideon and myself as equals I was both content in my work and proud to be his associate.  But after he accepted his knighthood I reflected upon my own professional achievements and accolades and found them miserably deficient when compared with those of my colleague.  For forty years I devoted myself to my career, foregoing the comforts of marriage and family in order to better serve my chosen field, and to what end?  To see my accomplishments overshadowed by a man who had not sacrificed so much as a quarter of what I had?  It was too much, too much for me.”

“It would be most uncharitable of me to begrudge him such sentiments,” said Miss Hibbert.  “Dad encouraged my interest in Egyptology and sent me to the finest women’s colleges, for all the good it’s done me.  The only expeditions I went on were those in which my father invited me to participate and I derived no pleasure from them, harassed and belittled as I was by the very men whom I had hoped would welcome me as their peer.  I should have been very happy indeed to be an equal to them, but their mockery ignited within me the desire to prove myself their better.”

She paused for a sip of wine.  I thought, with no small regret, how tragic it was that so many brilliant sparks should be snuffed out by the world’s unfair and uneducated expectations.

“Without ever giving voice to our grievances we bonded over them.  With every tribute that came Dad’s way, our admiration for him and our acrimony towards everyone else grew in tandem.  Finally, one clear April night, we aired our mutual complaints to each other and made a fateful decision: if our knowledge and our experience could not earn us true greatness, we would settle for notoriety.  My brother Harvey was always something of a misfit, flitting from occupation to occupation with an incurable restlessness.  He was unemployed at the time and we thought he might be receptive to the idea of any method by which he might gain wealth and excitement.  Upon securing his cooperation, we agreed to move forward with our plans.

“The night before we acted, I was seized by piercing doubt.  After all, every reputable Egypt enthusiast had snubbed me, so why would the disreputable ones behave differently?  I said as much to Harvey, who quickly put me to rights.

“‘I very much doubt anyone willing to illegally buy Egyptian artifacts is going to quibble over the sex or the rank of his suppliers, so long as the merchandise is of a good quality,’ said he.  I took his words to heart and have never doubted myself since.”

“How lovely it must be to have such a supportive brother,” said I, and Miss Hibbert ignored me.

“Our first attempt was unsuccessful, as you well know. Poor Harvey bore the brunt of our failure but loyalty sealed his lips and shielded us from your efforts to identify us.  Rodrick escaped to the States without the treasures he had hoped to sell there, Harvey was evicted, and I was left alone to brood for six long, lonely, infuriating months.  Even if I had conceived of a new plan during this period I would not have had the courage to implement it so soon after such a devastating blow.  Was this my destiny, to never accomplish a thing no matter how diligently I devoted myself?

“On the day Rodrick Angues returned from his lecture tour, I paid him a visit at his home in Surrey and found him in a joyous mood.

“‘I have always believed that even the gravest misfortunes serve a higher purpose,’ he said. ‘But it is only now that I realise what the reason for our failure was.  During my time in America, I was approached by many a gentleman who expressed the heartiest enthusiasm at the idea of owning a piece of Egyptian history. They were so enthusiastic, in fact, that most dropped subtle hints to indicate the method by which certain objects were obtained for them was of no consequence.  I have here a list of the items they specified.’  He handed me a slip of paper containing a lengthy list of artifacts.  ‘Now that we know precisely which artifacts are in demand and how much my contacts are willing to pay to obtain them, we can take from your father those for which we can guarantee a buyer rather than assuming that the most valuable are the most desired.’

“As I perused Rodrick’s list, I became more and more certain that his plan was a solid one and that he and Harvey and I should have little trouble in making a success of it.  Although my father wanted no association with my prodigal brother, I have remained as close to him as before, and Dad never begrudged a sister’s love for her brother.  I was certain that Harvey, cut off as he was, would be keener than ever to lay his hand upon our father’s treasures.  When I later consulted with him I would be proven correct, but in that moment, I felt compelled to warn Rodrick of a probable obstacle to our success.

“‘This thing won’t be as simple as it was last time,’ said I.  ‘Dad has grown paranoid since the incident with Harvey and locked his Egyptian valuables away where no-one can see or get at them.  The only time he displays them anymore is when he is expecting company.’

“‘Has he not told you where they are and how to access them?’

“‘Of course, but that is a problem.  It is only me he has told.  If anything of his were to suddenly go missing, he would know I have betrayed him.’

“‘Then we must plan accordingly,’ said Rodrick. ‘If he only exhibits his collection at social gatherings, then we will raid it during a social gathering.’

“I reminded him of the Christmas party Dad liked to have every year, and thus the date of our undertaking was decided.

“I had intended to hire an additional parlour-maid for the night of the dinner-party to help Lilly in her duties.  Now, however, I made up my mind to give Lilly the night off, and to tell Dad that I would hire two parlour-maids who had special experience in serving at such events to see if it was worth the extra cost or if our regular parlour-maid was good enough.  He agreed at once, never suspecting that one of the supposed servants was his own son, and the other an associate of his whose true identity I would not divulge even if I had such information.”

“I won’t say anything either!” cried Harvey Hibbert, in what turned out to be his first and last contribution to our conversation.

“But Mr Holmes was the other maid,” said Miss Linwood.

“I could hardly be expected to know that,” Miss Hibbert replied, lips thinning with irritation.  “I had never met the woman Harvey employed to help him in this endeavour, so I had no reason to suspect that ‘Chastity Page’ was anyone other than who she said she was.  Harvey did appear to me somewhat anxious when he arrived but I blamed this on simple nerves, and as we never had a moment alone together, there was no opportunity for him to warn me of the unlucky turn of events.”

“I believe I might shed some light upon this matter,” said Holmes, cheerfully.  “It was mid-afternoon when I arrived at Lowndes Square, and I waited at the corner until I saw two women approach this house.  I intercepted the pair and begged them to allow me to replace one of them at the party.  They were at first resistant, so I told a most extravagant lie about my violent drunkard husband and starving babe.  Oh, it was an exquisite performance!  I wish you all could have seen it.  I carried on until one of the women acquiesced and hurried away without so much as a ‘good-day.’  It would seem that even thieves are not without some heart.  The woman who remained, whom we now know to be Harvey Hibbert, seemed very uneasy about the whole business but said nothing as we ascended the stair together.

“Harvey, who had identified himself as Miss Mildred Myers, and I spent most of the afternoon preparing for the party, and I am sure you will agree that we executed our duties most efficaciously, with two notable exceptions.  The first, as you saw, was when I fainted in the middle of the second course.  I was a bit overzealous with the corset, I suppose. The second was instigated by Harvey himself.  As soon as we served dessert he excused himself from the kitchen, giving a pretext that I could not quite hear.  By this time I had already deduced that Miss Myers was not who she appeared to be, so I followed him through the conservatory and into the parlour.  There I found him checking the bottom of each artifact and, if they met some standard that was quite unknown to me, he loaded them into a satchel he had procured from somewhere.  I confronted him and we came to blows.  But I’m afraid I am monopolising the conversation.  Do continue, Miss Hibbert.”

“There is not much to tell that has not already been told.  The reason for Harvey’s disguise was simple.  Everyone knows he is no longer welcome in this house, so were any witnesses to see him coming or going, suspicion would be cast in his direction. But if the parlour-maids perpetrated the crime, then not only would the police have no reason to suspect Harvey, they would spend all their energies trying to locate the sticky-fingered women while Harvey rested easily and Rodrick arranged for the shipment of the stolen goods to America.  We all would be completely safe and free of suspicion.

“As for the supposed letters I was writing last night, Lilly was quite right to distrust my excuse.  I was using pen and ink to place a small mark upon the underside of each artifact Harvey was to remove from our father’s possession. Harvey had complained of having to memorise which items to take and which to leave during our first attempt, so I thought this would make his task all the simpler.  I could not but feel tense and anxious as I hurried to finish my assignment before Dad caught me, hence my surprise upon seeing Lilly just outside the door to the study.”

“But why did you do it, Philomena?” cried Sir Gideon.  “Have I been such a horrible father that I deserve such mistreatment from not one but two of my children?  And you, Rodrick!  How many hours did we spend studying together at university?  How many adventures have we had?  We have known each other these thirty-seven years!  Did all of that time and work and amity mean nothing to you? To either of you?”

“Not everything is about you,” Miss Hibbert crisply replied.  For the world I could not remember what about her had so captured my fancy mere hours before.  “Our feelings towards you are unchanged.  It is only that our feelings towards personal glory have grown enough to overtake all other sentiments.  Now that those feelings are laid bare and our plans brought to ruin a second time, I will pack my belongings and leave this house to seek my fortunes elsewhere.”

Sir Gideon made no move to stop Miss Hibbert as she swept from the dining-room, straight-backed and stone-faced.  She was followed moments later by Rodrick Angues and Harvey Hibbert, who withdrew with neither a look nor a word to the man whose heart they had so casually shattered, and that was the last Holmes and I ever saw of Sir Gideon’s cold-blooded friend and his even more cold-blooded children.

The party could not survive such a loss, and Sir Gideon bid us an awkward, tremulous good-night shortly thereafter.  The other guests, including myself, did not loiter, dispersing into the raw frigid night in a decidedly less than merry humour.  Holmes and I hailed a cab that offered only nominal shelter from winter’s biting chill.

“I fear that whatever gratitude I earned from saving the life of Sir Gideon’s son has been outbalanced,” said I, “and that his disinclination towards you has redoubled.”

Holmes lit a cigarette and made no reply.  I really had hoped the challenge and the exhilaration of the case would have superseded that afternoon’s dispute in his mind. Perhaps such had been true during the investigation, but now that it was all ended, enough space in his brain-attic was freed for him to remember that he was justly angry with me.  I took a breath and allowed myself one minute, no more, of private hysteria over the impending conversation.

“I believe I owe you an apology,” I said.

“Then we are in agreement.”

“I was wrong to dismiss you as I did.  Although we were introduced only months ago I like to think that we have come to know and to trust one another, and you had every right to expect better of me.  You are as always correct: one’s appetites are no reflection of intelligence, as my own actions this morning ably demonstrate.  I pray you will afford me the opportunity to mend whatever damage my thoughtlessness has inflicted upon our friendship.”

His face was turned toward the window and away from me, making it impossible for me to gauge his reaction.  The molokheyyah threatened to make an unpleasant and unwelcome reappearance, but then Holmes looked at me.  The shadows from the cab and the light from the streetlamps combined in his thin face to great and enigmatic effect, but the smile, though small, was unambiguous.  I smiled as well, and without a word all the tension that filled the cab dissolved.

“Where did you learn to be a parlour-maid?” I asked after a brief but comfortable silence.

“How does one learn to be or to do anything?  I practised,” Holmes replied.  It was unsatisfactory, so far as answers go, but I thought it best to not press the issue.  “Now it is my turn to pose a question.  It is one to which I have not been able to deduce a definitive answer, and I thought perhaps you would be willing to provide some insight into the matter?”

“I should be glad to assist you in any way I can, though I don’t see how I could solve any aspect of this case that has puzzled you.”

“Oh, it’s nothing to do with the case.  I have already put the matter from my mind.  This difficulty relates to the quarrel which we have since happily resolved.  Why did it affect you so?”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Your reaction to the knowledge that I hold that sort of intimacy in such low regard and am unlikely to ever change my opinion seemed rather more intense than the occasion warranted.  I simply wish to know why.”

For the second time that day he had rendered me speechless.  Everything seemed so clear that afternoon, but now it was as though a thick London fog had obscured my innermost thoughts.

“I cannot say,” I confessed at last.  “I suppose it was the novelty of the idea.  I have never before met a man who was so vehemently opposed to such activities, at least not one who felt comfortable enough to share his inclinations with me.”

Holmes regarded me with keen, steady eyes.

“I suppose I must believe you for now,” he said as he flicked his cigarette out of the window.