still shocked. ‘I was only talking to her this morning,’ she said. ‘How can the Lord just . . . take people away like that? Do you understand it?’
‘What I don’t understand,’ Sherlock said thoughtfully, ‘is why she was outside in bare feet. She was wearing shoes this morning. Wheredid they go?’
Silman suddenly made a wordless exclamation, and slapped her hands to her cheeks. ‘Forgive me, young master,’ she said, ‘but the shock of seeing poor Máire here made me
almost forget that I was already in the process of looking for you when the mistress ran in to find me.’
‘What did you want me for?’
‘It’s your brother, sir.’
Sherlock felt his heart shift suddenly.He felt sick. ‘What’s happened to Mycroft?’ he asked, stepping forward.
Silman hesitated, apparently trying to frame her next sentence properly. ‘He’s been injured. It’s his head . . .’
CHAPTER SIX
Ignoring Silman and Niamh, Sherlock raced back towards the castle. The idea that his brother had been injured filled him with horror. He had only just got back to the British
Isles, only just met up with his brother again. For anything to happen to Mycroft now would be unimaginable. He had always been a fixed, solid presence in Sherlock’s life. He had to stay that
way!
He raced across the moat and through the high arch into the open central area of the castle, heart pounding and breath rasping in his throat. The entrance to the keep was off to his left, and he
pelted towards it and up the ramp without slowing.
In the hall, servants were gathered around the entrance to a room that Sherlock hadn’t been in before. Guessing that was where Mycroft was, hepushed past them.
The room was a reception room, with comfortable chairs,
chaises longues
and sofas scattered around. Mycroft was sitting in one of the chairs, his large frame spilling over the arms of
the chair and threatening to snap the thin legs. He was as white as the ectoplasm that Ambrose Albano had manifested the night before. It looked for a moment as though he had an enormous woundon
his forehead, until Sherlock realized that the blood was a stain that had soaked through a bandage wrapped around Mycroft’s head. His skin was so white that the bandage was almost
invisible.
Sir Shadrach was beside Mycroft, still in his bath chair. In Silman’s absence, one of the foot-servants was stationed behind the chair, ready to push it if needed. Count Shuvalov was
standingin a similar manner behind Mycroft’s chair with his hand on Mycroft’s shoulder.
Mycroft himself had his eyes closed and a hand raised to his forehead. Sensing Sherlock’s approach, he opened his eyes and waved his sausage-like fingers. ‘Ah, Sherlock,’ he
said, voice weak. ‘I apologize for disturbing your pre-prandial constitutional.’
‘What happened?’ Sherlock asked urgently.
‘I wasalone in the library. Sir Shadrach had very kindly given me his permission to conduct some research – I gather that you had the same idea earlier, and I am sorry that I missed
you. As it turned out, someone did not miss me. I was struck down from behind. I am informed that the object in question was a candelabra, although I confess that I did not notice at the time.
Fortunately, one of the servantsentered to see whether I required a cup of tea, and found me on the floor.’
‘Did you shut the door when you went into the library?’ Sherlock asked.
‘I did, yes.’
‘And when the servant entered the library, was the door also shut?’
Sir Shadrach glanced away from Mycroft and towards one of the female servants. She curtsied briefly and said, ‘Yes, sir, it was.’
‘The library doorleads directly out into the hall,’ Sherlock pointed out. ‘Anyone going in or coming out would be liable to be seen by someone – unless there’s
another way in or out.’ He was thinking, as he had earlier, about secret passages.
‘I am not aware,’ Quintillan said stiffly, ‘of any other ways
‘What I don’t understand,’ Sherlock said thoughtfully, ‘is why she was outside in bare feet. She was wearing shoes this morning. Wheredid they go?’
Silman suddenly made a wordless exclamation, and slapped her hands to her cheeks. ‘Forgive me, young master,’ she said, ‘but the shock of seeing poor Máire here made me
almost forget that I was already in the process of looking for you when the mistress ran in to find me.’
‘What did you want me for?’
‘It’s your brother, sir.’
Sherlock felt his heart shift suddenly.He felt sick. ‘What’s happened to Mycroft?’ he asked, stepping forward.
Silman hesitated, apparently trying to frame her next sentence properly. ‘He’s been injured. It’s his head . . .’
CHAPTER SIX
Ignoring Silman and Niamh, Sherlock raced back towards the castle. The idea that his brother had been injured filled him with horror. He had only just got back to the British
Isles, only just met up with his brother again. For anything to happen to Mycroft now would be unimaginable. He had always been a fixed, solid presence in Sherlock’s life. He had to stay that
way!
He raced across the moat and through the high arch into the open central area of the castle, heart pounding and breath rasping in his throat. The entrance to the keep was off to his left, and he
pelted towards it and up the ramp without slowing.
In the hall, servants were gathered around the entrance to a room that Sherlock hadn’t been in before. Guessing that was where Mycroft was, hepushed past them.
The room was a reception room, with comfortable chairs,
chaises longues
and sofas scattered around. Mycroft was sitting in one of the chairs, his large frame spilling over the arms of
the chair and threatening to snap the thin legs. He was as white as the ectoplasm that Ambrose Albano had manifested the night before. It looked for a moment as though he had an enormous woundon
his forehead, until Sherlock realized that the blood was a stain that had soaked through a bandage wrapped around Mycroft’s head. His skin was so white that the bandage was almost
invisible.
Sir Shadrach was beside Mycroft, still in his bath chair. In Silman’s absence, one of the foot-servants was stationed behind the chair, ready to push it if needed. Count Shuvalov was
standingin a similar manner behind Mycroft’s chair with his hand on Mycroft’s shoulder.
Mycroft himself had his eyes closed and a hand raised to his forehead. Sensing Sherlock’s approach, he opened his eyes and waved his sausage-like fingers. ‘Ah, Sherlock,’ he
said, voice weak. ‘I apologize for disturbing your pre-prandial constitutional.’
‘What happened?’ Sherlock asked urgently.
‘I wasalone in the library. Sir Shadrach had very kindly given me his permission to conduct some research – I gather that you had the same idea earlier, and I am sorry that I missed
you. As it turned out, someone did not miss me. I was struck down from behind. I am informed that the object in question was a candelabra, although I confess that I did not notice at the time.
Fortunately, one of the servantsentered to see whether I required a cup of tea, and found me on the floor.’
‘Did you shut the door when you went into the library?’ Sherlock asked.
‘I did, yes.’
‘And when the servant entered the library, was the door also shut?’
Sir Shadrach glanced away from Mycroft and towards one of the female servants. She curtsied briefly and said, ‘Yes, sir, it was.’
‘The library doorleads directly out into the hall,’ Sherlock pointed out. ‘Anyone going in or coming out would be liable to be seen by someone – unless there’s
another way in or out.’ He was thinking, as he had earlier, about secret passages.
‘I am not aware,’ Quintillan said stiffly, ‘of any other ways
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