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Special Dispensation 5 and 6 (plus 5, Appendix 1)
by Mark Hodder (2006) Page 3 Joanne Harker’s Diary — 26 December 2005 This will be a long entry and I hardly know where to begin. Yesterday and today have been the most amazing days of my life. The Loring case is solved and I have Mr Sexton Blake to thank for it. I need to write this in detail, as it happened. I must remember everything, every word that was said. So let’s start at the beginning: On Christmas Eve, at teatime, Sergeant Withers telephoned (I’ve started calling him ‘JW’ now, like all the other constables). He’s at a loose end this Xmas and knows I’m in the same position and am depressed after Helen’s death — I think he has a brotherly sort of concern for my welfare. It’s nice — I like him, even though he can be an obstinate idiot at times. Anyway, he was going to visit friends on Xmas Day and wondered if I’d like to join him. I said no — but when he mentioned that one of them was a very successful criminologist and private investigator — a bit of a ‘Sherlock Holmes’ in fact — who might be interested in the Loring case, I changed my mind. He picked me up at about half eleven on Xmas morning and we drove to Baker Street. I was a bit confused at first because he took me to an office building — you know, one of those nice old houses that got converted at some point. Very posh-looking but not very domestic! Obviously the business was closed for the season but JW rang the doorbell and, after a short wait, a young man answered (blonde hair, blue eyes, saucy grin, well-built — very handsome!!!). JW introduced him as ‘Tinker’ — about the stupidest name I’ve ever heard — though it turns out that his real name is Edward, which is what I’m going to call him. Anyway, we were shown into the office and for a moment I wondered what on earth we were doing there — but then Edward vanished into a side-door on the left — which I hadn’t noticed — and when we followed we found ourselves in a sort of hidden foyer at the bottom of a staircase. There were pictures on the walls and it all looked rather grand and elegant. At the top of the stairs we turned right into a wide hallway then right again through a door and into a magnificent lounge — very Victorian-looking though without as many ornaments and knick-knacks as they used to have in those days. There were big comfortable leather sofas and armchairs, beautiful antique-looking tables, bookshelves and rugs — all very homely and made magical by a wonderful Xmas tree and old-fashioned decorations. I was so overwhelmed by all this that introductions to the people in the room passed in a bit of a whirl. But they ushered me in and sat me down and in no time at all I had a glass of wine in my hand and was laughing along as they shared stories and jokes together like a big happy family. I felt at home immediately, they were so friendly and attentive. So anyway, as well as Edward, there was a very stately old man named Sir George Coutts who used to be in the Force many years ago — as did his father before him. With Sir George was his son (in his early forties, I’d guess), also named George and also ex-Force. Funny thing is, it’s not just policing that runs in the Coutts family — they’re the spitting image of each other too. And when Sir George showed me a photograph of his old dad, taken in the 1920s — he was identical as well! — the same bristly sticky-out moustache, big burly physique and twinkly eyes (and probably the same short spiky red hair but I couldn’t see as the man in the photo had a bowler hat jammed tightly onto his head). The ‘original Coutts’, as Edward rather strangely referred to him, had been a C.I.D. man. His two descendents were full of tall tales and were constantly poked fun at by Edward, who has a very cheeky sense of humour indeed. But they took it in good grace and got in a few pops back, as well. Also in the room was a massive dog — a bloodhound named Pedro — who, initially, I was terrified of. But he turned out to be the friendliest and most intelligent dog imaginable — very young and full of mischief. I wanted to take him home! Next, I must write of Sexton Blake, the owner of the house and the most charismatic man I’ve ever met. He’s tall, broad and slim with one of those ‘rangy’ sort of physiques, like an athlete — you know, long tough bones and iron-hard muscles. His eyes are grey and incredibly piercing, like he sees what you’re thinking before you’ve even thought it. But, also, they are warm eyes which make you trust him immediately. His cheekbones are quite sharp and pronounced and he has a strong jaw and sort of determined-looking mouth. His hair is very dark brown, nearly black, receding far back over the temples and with flecks of grey around the ears. Blake is a quiet man but very kind and tremendously clever. His humour is dry and his comments never less than fascinating. He seems to know about everything! I must admit to being in absolute awe of him! The final member of the household I didn’t meet until a little later — Mrs Martha Bardell is elderly but as fit as a fiddle — unbelievably energetic in fact — and possibly the best cook and the nicest woman in the whole wide world. She is so much like my own dearly departed grandma that I feel like crying when I think of her — good tears though. Anyway, JW and I settled into the Xmas spirit and without even realising that we hadn’t intended to stay so long, we ended up joining our hosts for Xmas dinner, which seemed to delight Mrs Bardell, who told me that Mr Blake and ‘Master Tinker’ never eat enough (hard to believe considering the way Ed shovelled the food down his gullet). Oh, I should also mention that Mrs Bardell has an extraordinary way of messing up her words. For some weird reason, Blake and Ed refer to their CD player as a ‘gramophone’ (actually, they both use quite old-fashioned words and phrases a lot)… Mrs Bardell, though, calls it a ‘graphalone’ — I had no idea what she meant when she suggested we all listen to some ‘carousels on the graphalone’. It all became clear when we ended up singing along to ‘God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen’ — something I’d have found excruciatingly twee at any other time but which seemed strangely appropriate — and fun — on this very Dickensian occasion. (Come to think of it, wasn’t there a character named Martha Bardell in a Dickens book? I seem to remember it from school — must check up on that). The Christmas feast (and what a feast!) took place in the dining room, which opens onto the lounge via tall folding doors (both rooms are big but when they are opened up like this the space is enormous). I’ll try to describe the house — Mr. Blake showed me and JW around it a little after we’d eaten. The first floor is made up of the lounge and dining room, which both face the front of the house looking out over Baker Street. Opposite, on the other side of the hall, there’s what Mr Blake called ‘Mrs Bardell’s domain’ — a cosy little sitting room, bedroom and bathroom. These latter rooms are very Victorian indeed, cluttered with ornaments and keepsakes, pictures and vases, knick-knacks and whatnots. There’s also a very big and well-fitted kitchen (a door opens from it onto outside steps which go down to a back yard). Finally, there’s a laundry room and, under the staircase, a storeroom. Up the stairs to the second floor, which is still being decorated, and the first door on the left leads to Ed’s 'sitting-room' and, beyond that, his bedroom and en suite bathroom (all at the front of the house, as the stairs between the floors are at either end of the hall, if you see what I mean). Opposite, there’s what was referred to as ‘the waiting room’. Next along, on the left, is a very large chamber which Mr Blake called the Consulting Room (he said it was an advantage having it on the second floor as only very serious clients would be determined enough to climb all the stairs!). Hard to tell what this will look like as nothing was unpacked. The boxes appeared to be filled with antique weapons, African shields, and various artefacts from all over the world, most of which seemed very old. I saw a framed black and white photograph of a huge African warrior — a Zulu, I think. It had written on it ‘Lord Averstock, Sixth Baron of Averstock and Marne’, which I remember distinctly because it seemed so strange. There’s a door from the Consulting Room to Edward’s bedroom, and another, in the opposite wall, which leads into Mr Blake’s bedroom, which also opens onto the hall further along. Apart from a bed (single!), it was empty. An en suite bathroom and a walk-in wardrobe (a little room in its own right) opened onto the bedroom. Across the hall from the Consulting Room is a largish room which I was told would become a ‘laboratory’. Finally, next to that, there’s ‘the file room’. As far as I could see this is going to consist of a huge desk, walls lined with shelves, lots of filing cabinets and some sort of mega-computer set-up like they have in scientific research institutes. God knows how big their electricity bills will be! If all this sounds huge and luxurious — it is. But there’s more: at the end of the hall a little staircase climbs up to a fourth floor which, though smaller than those below, is still pretty spacious. Apparently this’ll be used for storage until it’s needed for something else. Amazing! Anyway, after we’d eaten a stupendously huge and utterly fantastic meal (I’ll have to diet for months) and had our wander around the house, we settled in the lounge with drinks and chocolates. Mr Blake astonished me by smoking a pipe, which seemed a very quaint thing to do. The Couttses smoked cigars. The conversation was merry, we played a lot of silly traditional games, Ed and Mrs Bardell had me in constant fits of giggles, and I forgot my troubles and had the best Xmas of my entire life. Then, by about 7pm, when it was all quietening down rather, and Mrs Bardell disappeared to prepare ‘high tea’ (my God! More food!), Mr Blake turned to me and said in a quiet voice, “Miss Harker, your great-grandfather was a fine man… and a very good Detective-Inspector indeed.” “Hear! Hear!” agreed the elder Coutts, “My father spoke very highly of him.’” And even though I knew Mr Blake must be talking about what he’d learned from Scotland Yard’s records, it honestly felt as if he were referring to an old and trusted friend. “Thank you,” I said. “My father and mother died in an accident when I was very young and I was brought up by my grandmother — D.I. Harker’s daughter. She always used to talk about him. I think that’s what inspired me to join the Force.” “And are you a good police constable?” “I try to be, Mr Blake… but…” He said nothing; just looked at me in a certain way, and all of a sudden I found myself blurting it out: “Oh dammit! I’m junior — only been in uniform for eleven months — but sometimes it feels like everything is too regulated! If evidence points a certain way, that’s it — even if instinct screams that it’s just not right!” Mr Blake gave a peculiar little smile and said, “You’re referring to a specific circumstance? Jim mentioned something about a puzzle.” I looked at Sergeant Withers and around at my new friends. Sir George was gazing at me with a lovely sparkle in his blue eyes. ‘Coutts Minor’ (as Ed calls him) was leaning forward with interest, his eyes just like his dad’s through the smoke from his cigar. Edward was looking serious and encouraging, one hand hanging down and fondling Pedro’s ears. “It’s my friend Helen,” I said, in a none-too-strong voice, “She’s been murdered and I was there when it happened.” |