Sherlock Holmes by Barbara Hambly Page B

to come to himself with a start,
glanced at Holmes, then at me, and went on in a more constrained
voice, “It was at Depewatch Priory that I first met Mr. Delapore's
niece, Judith. She is eighteen, the daughter of Mr. Delapore's
brother Fynch, a spirit of light and innocence in that … in that
dreary old pile. She had just returned from finishing-school in
Switzerland, though plans for her come-out into London society had
run aground on the family's poverty. Any other girl I know would
have been pouting and in tears at being robbed of her season on the
town. Not she! She bore it bravely and sweetly, though it was clear
that she faced a lifetime of stagnation in a tiny mountain town,
looking after a decrepit house and a … a difficult old man.”
    From his jacket pocket Colby withdrew an
embossed cardboard photograph-case, opening it to show the image of
a most beautiful young lady. Thin and rather fragile-looking, she
wore her soft curls in a chignon. Her eyes seemed light, blue or
hazel so far as I could tell from the photograph, her hair a medium
shade – perhaps red, but more likely light brown – and her
complexion pale to ghostliness. Her expression was one of grave
innocence, trusting and unself-conscious.
    “Old Viscount Delapore is a grim old autocrat
who rules his son, his niece, and every soul in the village of
Watchgate as if it were 1394 instead of 1894. He owns all of the
land thereabouts – the family has, I gather, from time immemorial –
and so violent is his temper that the villagers dare not cross him.
From the first moment Judith declared her love for me, I offered to
take her away from the place – to take her clean out of the
country, if need be, though I hardly think he would come after her,
as she seems to fear.”
    “Does she fear her grandfather?” Holmes
turned the photograph thoughtfully over in his hands, examining the
back as well as the front most minutely.
    Colby nodded, his face clouding with anger.
“She claims she's free to come and go, that there's no influence
being brought to bear upon her. But there is, Mr. Holmes, there is!
When she speaks of Viscount Gaius she glances over her shoulder, as
if she imagines he could hear her wherever she is. And the look in
her lovely eyes …! She fears him, Mr. Holmes. He has some evil and
unwholesome hold upon the girl. He's not her legal guardian –
that's Mr. Carstairs Delapore. But the old man's influence extends
to his son as well. When I received this –” He drew from the same
pocket as the photograph a single sheet of folded paper, which he
passed across to Holmes, “I begged him to countermand his father's
order, to at least let me present my case. But this card …” He
handed a large, stiff note to Holmes, “was all I got back.”
    The letter was dated August 16, four days
ago.
     
    “ My best beloved,
    “ My heart is torn from my breast by this
most terrible news. My grandfather has forbidden me to see you
again, forbidden even that your name be mentioned in this house. He
will give no reason for this beyond that it is his will that I
remain here with him, as his servant – I fear, as his slave! I have
written to my father but fear he will do nothing. I am in despair!
Do nothing, but wait and be ready.
    “ Thine only,
    Judith.”
     
    The delicate pink paper, scented with
patchouli and with the faint smoke of the oil-lamp by which it must
have been written, was blotted with tears.
    Her father's card said merely:
    “Remove her from your thoughts. There is
nothing which can be done.”
    Burnwell Colby smote the palm of one hand
with the fist of the other, and his strong jaw jutted forward. “My
grandfather didn't let the mandarins of Hong Kong chase him away,
and my father refused to be stopped by Sioux Indians or winter
snows in the Rockies,” he declared. “Nor shall this stop me. Will
you find out for me, Mr. Holmes, what vile hold Lord Gaius has upon
his granddaughter and his son, that I may free the gentlest