ACADEMIA
Mysteries after Midnight, New Chapter 2 Our third meeting was quite a bit more elaborate than our first or second. During the second week of my stay; I had been bringing Holmes his trays for a few days with no apparent success, I was awake in the middle of the night. I sat up, writing a letter to my sister, when there was a rapid succession of knocks at my door. At two in the morning, there was only one possibility of who it could be, but before I could even say 'Come in,' an obviously harried Sherlock Holmes swung open my door. "Miss uh-ah-" and he snapped his fingers, pointing at me. I let him suffer for a moment before I relieved him from his misery. "Keaton." "Yes, Keaton. Bring tea and biscuits for three. I'm expecting guests." I stared in surprise. "I beg your pardon? Why can't you get it?" What was he on about? It was two in the morning. "I thought it was your 'job now' to fetch me things. Make yourself presentable and serve the tea, post haste." "Did you even consider that I might be asleep? What would you have done then?" "I would have woken you up. Now, off with you!" He shut the door and I heard him stomp back to his room. He was serious. I suddenly felt very anxious. I had never 'prepared tea' before on such short notice. How did they even take their tea? I sat for a moment, collecting myself. Do I get dressed? What - ? A knock resounded from the other side of the door to Holmes' room, "Come along woman!" Oh dear. I stood up, wrapped the only shawl I owned around my shoulders, and descended to the kitchen in my robe and slippers. I did the best I could; I put a pot of tea on to boil, placed the cups and saucers, and foraged for a few cookies from the cupboard. While the tea was heating up, the bell that indicated someone was at the door rang. Uh oh, that was fast. I raced up the basement stairs up to the hallway. I could not believe I was about to answer the door to two strange men in my nightclothes. This was ridiculous. "Coming!" I shouted as I approached the door. I swung open the door to see two men, one dressed as a police officer and the other in plainclothes. One was significantly taller than the other was, and they both had facial hair of some sort. They looked at me in slight surprise, not expecting either my appearance or me. "Good evening gentlemen. I believe Mr. Holmes is expecting you. I'm Catherine Keaton, I moved in to Dr. Watson's old residence." I reached my hand forward in genial welcome, despite my frayed nerves. "Lovely to meet you madam. I am Officer Clark, and this is," the taller mustached policeman gestured to the shorter man in a bowler hat. "Inspector Lestrade mam. May we come in?" "Oh yes, of course." I stood aside to allow them entry. They immediately began climbing the stairs to Holmes' room. "Excuse us madam." Officer Clark tipped his hat to me as they ascended. Once the men went upstairs, I returned to the kitchen where the teapot was whistling and about to boil over. I considered taking two trips; I had never been very good at carrying trays of breakable things up staircases. No, that would be ridiculous. I had to do this in one trip. I piled the dishes and tea onto the largest tray I could find, and began the long, slow trek upstairs. About halfway up I realized I had forgotten the spoons and the sugar, and my confidence wavered. Ugh, I was just not cut out for servants work, I got flustered too easily. I surely did not have the dexterity that Mrs. Hudson and Maggie demonstrated with a tray full of china. The tray was so heavy; I knocked with the toe of my slipper at Holmes' door. I heard "It's about time." and maneuvered the tray to open the door with a free hand. Of course he was not about to help me. I stepped in, the china rattling on the tray in my trembling hands. The three men stood in the middle of the room talking. I was suddenly at a loss. Where do I put the tray? Do I serve them? "Um, Mr. Holmes, where would you like - ?" Holmes gestured without looking at me to a tiny table in the middle of the room in front of the fireplace, "Over there." I slowly made my way to the table and had just set the tray down when, "Miss Keaton." "Y-yes?" "Have you ever served tea before?" "No sir." "I thought as much. Where's the sugar?" "In the kitchen." "And how may we use it when it is still in the kitchen?" I grew irritated, why was he being so rude? "Once I go down and get it you may use it just fine." I added, my voice biting with sarcasm, "In the mean time why don't you use your finger to stir it, as you are just so sweet yourself?" This caught the attention of the other two men, and they glanced in my direction. I flushed, and attempted to brush past them and out the door to fetch the remaining utensils when Holmes asked, "What do you know of Rodney Ashcroft?" This question caught me off guard. I turned around to be sure he was addressing me. "You're asking me?" "I should say so, I'm looking at you aren't I?" "How would you think I know anything about Rodney Ashcroft?" He sighed in irritation, "Do you know of him or don't you?" I paused, trying to collect my senses. "I know of 'a' Rodney Ashcroft. He's a cattle baron down in Texas. He's one of the wealthiest men in the state. The father of a friend of mine does business with him." "And the name of this friend and their father?" "William Gutierrez, his father is Ignacio Gutierrez." Inspector Lestrade spoke up, "That Gutierrez fellow sounds familiar. Doesn't he do business in Mexico?" "Yes, he owns silver mines in Mexico and ranches all over Texas." The three men looked at each other, and then back at me. Holmes said, "Tell us everything you know about Rodney Ashcroft and his relationship with Ignacio Gutierrez." I stared in surprise, why would they be interested in what I knew? "Does this have something to do with an investigation?" "It might, now if you would just tell us what you know, that would be of the utmost help." Holmes blinked at me with impatience. "Well, my father actually owns a ranch in South Texas, that's how I first heard of Rodney Ashcroft. He tried everything he could to buy my father's land from him, so he would have a clear path to drive cattle down to Mexico. My father refused to do business with him, but when William came to us on behalf of Ignacio, asking us to do business with them instead of Ashcroft, my father relented. William arranged for his father to rent land from my father to drive the cattle across our land, instead of trying to purchase it directly as Ashcroft had. We found out later that Ignacio Gutierrez and Ashcroft were working together, but in reality, it was the best arrangement for us. My family was afraid of what might happen if we angered Rodney Ashcroft. He's been known to harass those smaller ranchers and farmers who have ever stood in his way." Holmes's gaze was far away, "Excellent. What else?" "Well, I only know as much else as anyone in Texas knows. He's always in the papers, news about his recent purchases, maybe gossip about his wife or son. I know he left his wife for his mistress about a year ago. That's about it." "What was the name of his former mistress?" "Louisa, Louisa…Alvarez I think. She was married to a businessman by the name of Emilio Alvarez before he died." Who would have thought that knowing a little about Texas gossip would pay off in London, England? The three men seemed to be hanging on my every word. "What's going on? Why do you want to know about Rodney Ashcroft?" "I'm afraid, madam that - " began Inspector Lestrade, but before he could dismiss me Holmes interjected, "Because Rodney Ashcroft was found murdered in his hotel room here in London two hours ago." I gasped, and stepped backward. "Rodney Ashcroft has been murdered?" Officer Clark stepped in, "Please madam, keep this to yourself. It will reach the papers by tomorrow but we are trying to keep the details away from the press." "Of, of course. Is there…is there anything else I can do to help?" "Not at the moment, I believe we have enough to run with at present, right Lestrade?" Holmes turned to a slightly perturbed looking Inspector. "Certainly. Thank you madam, you've been most helpful." The Inspector and Officer Clark rose to leave, nodding and saying parting words to Holmes. I stood back as the two men left the room, my mind whirling. Rodney Ashcroft was dead. How did Holmes know that I would know who he was or that I had information that would help them? I must write to William about this. Once Holmes closed the door behind the two visitors, he turned to me. "Well, you are off the hook about the sugar this time." I ignored him. "How did you know I would know anything about Rodney Ashcroft? How could you know that? We've hardly even spoken." "Call it a hunch." I went on; I knew more about him than he thought. "You don't make hunches. You're a detective; you must have evidence to make deductions, so you found something that told you I would know who Rodney Ashcroft was." He looked at me blankly, striding over to the table with his hands behind his back. I gasped as the realization hit me, "Good lord, you've been reading my mail, haven't you?" "I might've glanced at it on occasion." "Why you…you squirrelly little man! How dare you read my mail? That is an invasion of my privacy, and might I add, most likely illegal." "It's not, not yet." He sat down to tea, drinking it black. I was fuming. But, how do you react when a complete stranger who also happens to live next door tells you they've read your mail? I wanted to thrash him, but knew that would only either amuse him or get me in trouble. All he had to do was look at the addresses on the letters I posted. I had written to my Uncle, my sister, my mother, and my friend William. William's name might have caught his attention. He would've known my family owned a ranch by reading the letters to my mother and sister. He knew I was from Texas. "I cannot believe this. You've been reading my mail. What else have you done? Looked through my clothes? Rummaged through my personal belongings?" I crossed my arms in front of me. The absolute gall of this man. "No, I haven't." The 'not yet' hung in the air, unsaid. "Who do you think you are?" "It was simply part of investigative mission. Do contain yourself madam." "No it wasn't! The man was just killed tonight; you've been reading my mail for the past week, before the murder." "It was a mere coincidence, a coincidence that worked in my favor. You should be grateful; you might've been able to break a very difficult case." "Swear to me you will no longer read my mail." I pointed at him, my voice growing sharp. "It's rude to point." He looked at me with wide, seemingly innocent eyes. "And it's not to read another person's private correspondence?" "I never said it wasn't" "Stop avoiding the topic. Promise me you will respect my privacy and no longer read my mail." I raised my voice. I never thought I would need to yell at a man who was practically a stranger for reading my mail. "Fine, I promise," "Good" I was satisfied, and released the breath I had not realized I was holding. "-until the occasion calls for it." He continued sipping his tea. I'm sure my eyes nearly bugged out of my head. "What?! Why would the occasion ever call for it?" My voice reached the high pitch reserved for total and complete disbelief. "Madam, you are asking me to predict the future. You are being entirely unreasonable." He rose to stride about the room. I sputtered, "You, you-" He just looked at me, picking up his violin and plucking it with his fingers. I was at a loss. "Forget it," I was exasperated, "I'm trying to reason with a madman, I can easily see that. Fine, go ahead with your rude, invasive, bull-headed behavior, but remember this," I stepped forward, using my finger to exact my point once more. I used the tone of voice that was known among my friends and family as reserved only for small children, rambunctious animals; and now Sherlock Holmes. "Remember that this invasion of privacy works both ways," he raised an eyebrow at me. "Oh yes, it's a two-way street mister. If nothing of mine is sacred, nothing of yours is either. Consider yourself warned." I saw something flash behind his eyes, was it amusement? Intrigue? I had challenged him, and I had the feeling very few people ever did that. A sense of foreboding settled in my stomach. It was too late now, the line was drawn. "I'm done for the night. Clean the dishes up yourself." I turned around to leave, stalking towards the door. I had just exited when he added, "Do remember the sugar next time Miss Keaton." In my infinite wisdom I muttered, "You remember the sugar." under my breath, slamming the door behind me. I shuddered at the sudden noise, and decided if either Mrs. Hudson or Maggie asked about the ruckus tomorrow I would simply blame it on Holmes. It was his fault anyway. I did not get to sleep until sunrise. Maggie had to come and wake me. "It's time to get up Miss Catherine. 'ave you gotten much sleep? You look exhausted." "It was Holmes. He kept me up all night." "Aw, I'm sorry Miss. 'e'll do that. It's that bloomin violin it is. If it 'elps, you do get used to it after a while." "Thank you Maggie, is it time to serve breakfast?" "Afraid so Miss." "Very well, back to work." I sighed. I rose, dressed, and exited my room to go downstairs. On the way down, I glanced at Holmes' door, and noticed the tea tray outside. I huffed, and went back up to retrieve it. Once I got up close enough, I noticed a note on top of the teapot. I opened it with trepidation. "I'm looking forward to learning what your mother thinks about your sister's new beau. I agree with your grandmother, goats' milk is infinitely better for the skin than cow's milk. Tell her to start making her soaps from that. She'll make a pretty penny. P.S. - Don't forget the sugar. -H" I forced the smile that had formed from my face. My emotional state ran the gamut from indignation, to embarrassment, anger, amusement, and finally, resignation. So be it. The game was on.
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