stood. With a final smile from Sherlock’s aunt, and an absent wave of the hand from his uncle, they left the room.
‘Nice people,’ Matty observed.
‘Nice doesn’t anywhere near cover it,’ Sherlock replied.
‘So, what do you want to do now?’
Sherlock thought for a moment. ‘I was thinking of going over to Amyus Crowe’s cottage. I think he ought to hear what’s happened. We should also probably let him know about those American men who were looking for him in the market earlier. They did mention his name.’
Matty shrugged. ‘He might have some advice on what to do if Josh Harkness decides to hang around and take his lost money out of your hide,’ he said. ‘And I suppose it would be nice to see Virginia again.’
Sherlock stared at him, but Matty just gazed back innocently.
‘You don’t have to come,’ Sherlock said evenly. ‘I thought maybe Albert might need feeding.’
‘He’s a horse,’ Matty said, shrugging. ‘Where I left him, he’s surrounded by food. It’s like leaving me in a pie shop. He’ll eat grass until he’s full, and then he’ll sleep.’
‘Do you think horses get bored?’ Sherlock asked him. ‘I mean, just standing around in fields all the time.’
Matty raised an eyebrow. ‘Never really thought about it. I don’t suppose they mind. P’raps they spend their time thinking deep thoughts about the world and the things in it, or p’raps they can’t think much beyond what’s at the end of their nose.’ He frowned at Sherlock. ‘You think too much. Anybody ever told you that?’
They headed out into the late-afternoon sunshine. Sherlock managed to borrow another horse from the stables, and together they rode across the fields towards where Amyus Crowe and his daughter lived.
As they rode, Sherlock found his thoughts flipping between two extremes – a nervousness at the thought of seeing Virginia again and a confusion over what he felt about his father: a man who had always previously seemed like a force of nature to Sherlock, with his loud laugh and his love of the outdoors, but who he saw now as someone much more complicated.
He couldn’t help but wonder if the folie à double forme that his father suffered from was hereditary, like a birthmark, or just a disease that could be caught, like influenza.
As they rode up to the small cottage, Sherlock noticed that Virginia’s horse wasn’t in its field. ‘Sandia’s missing,’ he pointed out. ‘Virginia’s not here.’
‘You want to go looking for her?’ Matty called.
Sherlock glared at him. ‘Let’s go inside,’ he said darkly. ‘It’s been half an hour since you ate – you’re probably hungry again by now.’
‘I probably am,’ Matty agreed.
They dismounted and tied their horses to the fence outside the cottage. Something was bothering Sherlock as they approached, and it took him a moment to work out what it was. The usual clutter of objects outside the cottage – axes, muddy boots and so on – was gone.
The door, unusually, was closed. Sherlock knocked, feeling an unaccustomed premonition that something was badly wrong. His mind returned to the conversation he’d overheard in the market. He’d assumed the two Americans had wanted Mr Crowe’s help. Had he been wrong?
There was no answer from inside.
He knocked again. Still no answer.
He looked at Matty, who was standing beside him. Matty stared back, a frown on his face.
Sherlock pushed the door open.
The room inside was empty of any personal possessions. Not only were Amyus and Virginia Crowe not there, but there was no sign that they ever had been.
CHAPTER SIX
Shocked, Sherlock pushed the door fully open and entered the room. The size, the layout, the furniture – everything was familiar to him, but at the same time everything was different. The absence of the usual clutter made the room look much larger than he remembered.
The amount of bare wall disturbed him – he was used to seeing it covered with sketches and maps.
‘Nice people,’ Matty observed.
‘Nice doesn’t anywhere near cover it,’ Sherlock replied.
‘So, what do you want to do now?’
Sherlock thought for a moment. ‘I was thinking of going over to Amyus Crowe’s cottage. I think he ought to hear what’s happened. We should also probably let him know about those American men who were looking for him in the market earlier. They did mention his name.’
Matty shrugged. ‘He might have some advice on what to do if Josh Harkness decides to hang around and take his lost money out of your hide,’ he said. ‘And I suppose it would be nice to see Virginia again.’
Sherlock stared at him, but Matty just gazed back innocently.
‘You don’t have to come,’ Sherlock said evenly. ‘I thought maybe Albert might need feeding.’
‘He’s a horse,’ Matty said, shrugging. ‘Where I left him, he’s surrounded by food. It’s like leaving me in a pie shop. He’ll eat grass until he’s full, and then he’ll sleep.’
‘Do you think horses get bored?’ Sherlock asked him. ‘I mean, just standing around in fields all the time.’
Matty raised an eyebrow. ‘Never really thought about it. I don’t suppose they mind. P’raps they spend their time thinking deep thoughts about the world and the things in it, or p’raps they can’t think much beyond what’s at the end of their nose.’ He frowned at Sherlock. ‘You think too much. Anybody ever told you that?’
They headed out into the late-afternoon sunshine. Sherlock managed to borrow another horse from the stables, and together they rode across the fields towards where Amyus Crowe and his daughter lived.
As they rode, Sherlock found his thoughts flipping between two extremes – a nervousness at the thought of seeing Virginia again and a confusion over what he felt about his father: a man who had always previously seemed like a force of nature to Sherlock, with his loud laugh and his love of the outdoors, but who he saw now as someone much more complicated.
He couldn’t help but wonder if the folie à double forme that his father suffered from was hereditary, like a birthmark, or just a disease that could be caught, like influenza.
As they rode up to the small cottage, Sherlock noticed that Virginia’s horse wasn’t in its field. ‘Sandia’s missing,’ he pointed out. ‘Virginia’s not here.’
‘You want to go looking for her?’ Matty called.
Sherlock glared at him. ‘Let’s go inside,’ he said darkly. ‘It’s been half an hour since you ate – you’re probably hungry again by now.’
‘I probably am,’ Matty agreed.
They dismounted and tied their horses to the fence outside the cottage. Something was bothering Sherlock as they approached, and it took him a moment to work out what it was. The usual clutter of objects outside the cottage – axes, muddy boots and so on – was gone.
The door, unusually, was closed. Sherlock knocked, feeling an unaccustomed premonition that something was badly wrong. His mind returned to the conversation he’d overheard in the market. He’d assumed the two Americans had wanted Mr Crowe’s help. Had he been wrong?
There was no answer from inside.
He knocked again. Still no answer.
He looked at Matty, who was standing beside him. Matty stared back, a frown on his face.
Sherlock pushed the door open.
The room inside was empty of any personal possessions. Not only were Amyus and Virginia Crowe not there, but there was no sign that they ever had been.
CHAPTER SIX
Shocked, Sherlock pushed the door fully open and entered the room. The size, the layout, the furniture – everything was familiar to him, but at the same time everything was different. The absence of the usual clutter made the room look much larger than he remembered.
The amount of bare wall disturbed him – he was used to seeing it covered with sketches and maps.
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