"She was experiencing a few last-minute doubts about her fiancé," Holmes answered glibly. Not a total untruth. "That is why I am here, Mr. Fulham. You are, of course, acquainted with Mr. Thomas Wickham."

  "I am." Was there a note of disapproval in his voice?

  We were seated in an attractive drawing room, drinking the best glass of sherry I had tasted in many a month. Mr. Fulham wore his success easily, a man used to living well.

  Holmes said, "Mr. Wickham claims that Mr. Stoddard took him under his wing when the former joined the Merchants Association. Is that true?"

  "Yes, he and Curtis both became his mentors." Fulham suddenly frowned. "That is a terrible business about poor Curtis. The Times claims the police are baffled as to who could have killed him and why."

  "For the moment," Holmes said. "That will soon change, I warrant. But you say both Stoddard and Curtis did help young Wickham to establish himself in business."

  "That they did." Our host sighed deeply. "I'll confess, Mr. Holmes that they saw something in Wickham that I could never see. Do you know where he maintains his offices? In a neighbourhood I would not venture into even in broad daylight!"

  I coughed.

  "A young merchant just starting out cannot be expected to maintain fully appointed offices, surely," Holmes said mildly.

  "No, of course not. But there are certain standards to be maintained, standards that are endorsed by the Merchants Association, I might add. But Wickham struck me as merely a well-mannered opportunist willing to take advantage of two soft-hearted men in a position to be of assistance to him." He shook his head. "I don't know, Mr. Holmes. Perhaps I do the young man an injustice. I have nothing to go on except my own instincts."

  "And your instincts tell you...?"

  "That young Wickham is not to be trusted. As you may imagine, I was not overjoyed when Stoddard informed me that Amy and Wickham were to be wed."

  "Did you attempt to dissuade him from permitting the union?"

  "Only once. Stoddard made it quite clear that such argument was unwelcome, and I never repeated the attempt."

  There was something I had to ask. "Do you know, Mr. Fulham, if Wickham's partner was equally interested in marrying Miss Stoddard?"

  "Piaget?" Fulham smiled. "That's not very likely, Dr. Watson, not with a wife waiting for him in Bordeaux. Why do you ask?"

  I felt my face redden. "I didn't know Piaget was married."

  "For some years. It's my impression that he and Amy barely know each other."

  Holmes asked if Fulham had anything to do with the administering of the Christmas Charities Fund; Fulham said no. "One final question, Mr. Fulham, if you don't mind, and then we'll leave you in peace. If Amy Stoddard were your daughter, would you forbid her to marry Thomas Wickham?"

  "Forbid?" He thought about it. "No, she is of age. But what I would do is find a way to persuade her to postpone the wedding until I had consulted you, Mr. Holmes—to discover everything about the young man that you possibly could."

  Holmes nodded in acknowledgment. True to his word, he asked no more questions. We bade Fulham good night and took our leave.

  Back in our hired brougham, I said, "That was a curious interview. Fulham both cast doubts upon Wickham's character and verified his claim that Stoddard and Curtis had acted as his mentors."

  "I am interested only in Fulham's facts," Holmes replied, "and they say that Wickham told the truth about Stoddard and Curtis. Mr. Fulham's opinions, on the other hand, we need not treat as of equal import. Now we shall pay a brief visit to Miss Stoddard, to inform her of what we have learned. And then our day's work will be done."

  But when we reached the Stoddard house in Bayswater Road, we found something of a ruckus at the door. Thomas Wickham was pounding at the door, red-faced, agitated, the very picture of the frustrated lover. "Why will you not let me in, Amy?" he cried.

  "She will not let you in, Mr. Wickham," Holmes said, stepping out of the brougham, "because I instructed her not to."

  Wickham whirled around. "Mr. Holmes! Why are you here?"

  "All in good time." He stepped up to the door. "Miss Stoddard! Are you there?"

  "Mr. Holmes?" came her voice through the door. "Is that you?"

  "It is I, and Dr. Watson is with me. You may open the door now."

  We heard the sound of a bolt being drawn, and the door opened slightly and Amy Stoddard's worried young face peered out at us. "Is Thomas still there?"

  "Amy!" he cried, and tried to push his way in.

  I held him back. "All in good time," I admonished.

  "You have nothing to fear, Miss Stoddard," Holmes reassured her. "I have one question to ask Mr. Wickham—to which I think I know the answer—and much should be made clear. May we come in?"

  She stepped back from the doorway and permitted us to enter. Wickham was the very picture of misery; when he tried to approach his fiancée, she stepped back from him, uncertain how to react. She led us into a drawing room even more elegant than the one in Grosvenor Square that we had just left.

  When the young people and I were seated, Holmes stood in front of Wickham. "Now, sir. Recently you gave Miss Stoddard a brief passage to copy in her father's handwriting."

  "Yes." He glanced fondly at the young woman. "And she did so perfectly."

  "Why did you give her that particular passage?"

  With an effort, Wickham tore his gaze from Miss Stoddard to look at Holmes. "Why, what was it? It was just something Piaget handed me. I didn't even read it."

  "Aha! As I thought. And whose idea was it to discover whether Miss Stoddard could imitate her father's handwriting?"

  Wickham frowned. "I believe Piaget first suggested it... but I thought it a splendid game. I had abandoned any hope of deciphering the draft of a letter Mr. Stoddard had left among his papers and announced my intention of asking Amy to read it for me. Piaget wondered if she could reproduce Mr. Stoddard's penmanship. He handed me a piece of paper and said to see if she could copy that. I slipped the paper into a pocket without looking at it."

  "And that completes the picture!" Holmes said with a touch of smugness. "Now I pray you both listen very carefully. I have a great deal to tell you." He began with Curtis's murder and proceeded step by step through what we had learned that day. When it became clear that Wickham was the victim of a plot to discredit him in her eyes, Miss Stoddard gave a little cry and rushed to the side of her fiancé "So I am happy to say," Holmes concluded, "that your father's judgment of Mr. Wickham was entirely correct."

  I am not certain the two young people even heard him, so deeply were they involved in their reconciliation. Holmes gestured to me, and we left the house quietly.

  I could not resist. "Are you quite certain that it is safe to leave her alone with him?"

  "Oh, no doubt of it, Watson! Mr. Wickham is an admirable young man, and I have every confidence their union will be a long and happy one." He pretended not to see me smiling at him.

  We had one more call to make that night. We informed Inspector Lestrade that a Frenchman named Etienne Piaget had shot and killed Mr. Curtis with a pistol taken from the business premises of Wickham & Piaget, wine merchants, and that he could most likely be apprehended aboard the Mary Small before it sailed the next day.

  We were sitting down to our midday meal on the day of the twenty-third when an enormous clamour erupted outside our door; we could hear a frenzied voice calling out Holmes's name. Holmes opened the door to a wild-eyed Wickham and an upset Mrs. Hudson pleading with him to desist. Holmes reassured the housekeeper and drew the young man inside.

  "She is gone, Mr. Holmes! Taken from her room during the night! Amy has been abducted!"

  "Calm yourself, Wickham. Did the servants summon the police?"

  His eyes darted back and forth between us. "They did not even know she was missing until I arrived—they assumed she was still sleeping since she had not left her room! Mr. Holmes, what are we to do?"

  Holmes slumped down disconsolately on a chair. "And I was arrogant enough to think this affair was concluded! How did her abductors get into the house?"

  "I don't know!"

  "Think back. In what condition was her room?"

  "In disarray. A chair was overturned, a vase was broken—Amy fought them." He choked back a sob. "Glass! There was window glass on the floor!"

  "So they knew which room was hers. At least one of the blackguards was familiar with the house." He rose and began to pace. "I blame myself. I should never have left her there as long as Piaget is at large. But this latest escapade is senseless! What could he hope to gain? A forced marriage is out of the question, since he already has a—" Suddenly he broke off and stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide and his mouth open.

  "Holmes?" I said.

  "I am a fool!" he shouted. He struck his forehead with the palm of his hand. "An utter fool!" He whirled toward Wickham. "Go immediately to the police and ask for Inspector Lestrade. Tell him Amy Stoddard is being held prisoner in the house of John Fulham in Grosvenor Square."

  "Fulham!"

  "Go now! Not a moment is to be wasted!"

  Wickham left at a run. "Fulham abducted her?" I said incredulously.

  "Or had her abducted. Watson, bring your pistol. We must make all haste."

  Snow had begun to fall. Unfortunately, we had discharged our hired brougham the night before and thus wasted precious minutes finding a hansom cab. Holmes urged the driver to utmost speed.

  "But why Fulham?" I asked as the horse did its best through the snowy streets. "Why do you conclude he is Miss Stoddard's abductor?"

  "Watson, do you remember the young lady's words in her narration of the chance encounter with Piaget at the Lyceum Theatre? She said: 'I introduced him to Mr. Fulham.' If the two men were meeting for the first time... then how did Fulham know Piaget has a wife in Bordeaux?"

  "Good God!" I exclaimed. "You are right!"

  "That was no chance meeting," Holmes continued. "It was arranged by the two men, so Piaget could make his gaffe about the steamship ticket. Don't you see, Watson? It's not Piaget who wanted to marry our young heiress—it was Fulham! Piaget is merely his henchman." Holmes's mouth was bitter. "Her father's 'friend.' "

  "But Piaget did kill Curtis?"

  "Oh, yes. Piaget is a scurrilous fellow who can pass up no opportunity to line his pockets, and Curtis was getting too close to the truth. Fulham must have been furious with his accomplice. To risk the larger reward to gain a lesser? Inexcusable. But Fulham evidently concluded that his plan to separate the two young lovers had less chance of success than he'd anticipated, so he abandoned it in favour of another plan. Compel Amy Stoddard to forge a new will in her father's handwriting, naming Fulham administrator of Stoddard's estate. It would be a license to steal."

  We were both silent a moment, thinking our separate thoughts. I said, "After Amy Stoddard does what Fulham wants, what happens to her then?"

  Holmes's face was grim. "Yes, what happens to her then? Fulham can hardly leave her alive to bear witness against him. I only hope we are not too late."

  At last we reached Grosvenor Square. We dismissed the hansom cab and approached Fulham's house cautiously. "A ladder was needed to reach Miss Stoddard's room," Holmes said. "Let us see if we can find it." We made our way to the rear, looking through the half-open drapes into the ground floor of the building; no one was in sight.

  The ladder was there. Fulham's house had an attic, but the ladder reached only to the first story. Holmes chose a window at random and we put the ladder in place. It was unnerving, climbing that slippery ladder with the wind and the snow blowing in our faces, but we reached the top without mishap. Holmes turned his face away and used his elbow to break the glass.

  Inside, we found ourselves in what appeared to be a guest bedchamber. We paused a moment, long enough to ascertain that the sound of breaking glass had not been heard elsewhere in the house. Then we began a systematic search of the rooms on that floor. Once a servant appeared carrying bed linens, but we stepped quickly into one of the rooms and avoided detection.

  Holmes silently pointed upward. We located the backstairs leading to the attic. We tested each step before putting our weight on it. At the top was a door that Holmes opened cautiously; it led to an attic room like any other attic room, full of trunks and boxes and semi-discarded items. At the far end was another door. I drew my pistol.

  Just as we reached the second door, we heard a scream. "Never!" cried Amy Stoddard's muffled voice from the other side of the door. "I'll never do it!"

  Holmes threw open the door. "Unhand her, you blackguards!" he cried.

  Amy Stoddard lay huddled on the floor, with John Fulham and a black-haired man with a full mustache bending over her. Upon our entry, the latter immediately pulled a pistol from his pocket— but with a bound; Holmes was upon him before he could fire.

  I pointed my own pistol at John Fulham. "If you value your life, Fulham," I said, "you will not move." He stood motionless, shock and disbelief written on his handsome face.

  I risked a glance toward the two struggling men. At last Holmes succeeded in disarming his opponent.

  "Chien d'un chien!" his adversary spat.

  "And to you as well, Monsieur Piaget," Holmes replied, panting slightly from his exertions. Pointing Piaget's own pistol at him, Holmes knelt by the recumbent girl. "Miss Stoddard! Are you able to stand?"

  "Oh, Mr. Holmes!" she cried. "Never have I been so happy to see someone!" With Holmes's assistance, she struggled to her feet. "He" she declared, pointing an accusing finger at John Fulham, "was trying to force me to write a new will in my father's hand!"

  "But you resisted," Holmes said, "giving us the time to learn of your abduction and to take action. You have much courage, Miss Stoddard. You, Piaget! Go stand by your... master."

  The Frenchman muttered under his breath but took his place at Fulham's side.

  "And you, John Fulham, what do you have to say for yourself?"

  Fulham had had time to think of a defense. "It was what Stoddard wanted," he said with a tremor in his voice. "He told me so. But he died before he could write the new will."

  "Oh, that's to be your excuse, is it?" Holmes said with a sneer. He stepped up close to the other man. "Fulham, you are a truly despicable example of humanity. To betray a friendship of nearly thirty years' standing because your greed knows no bounds? Unthinkable! And to do so in such a loathsome way, by persecuting the innocent! It is our duty to protect our young, not exploit them. John Fulham, you are little more than a brute. I cannot begin to express my contempt for you!"

  Personally, I thought he'd done quite well at expressing his contempt; but before I could say anything, an uproar broke out below-stairs. Leaving me to guard the two villains, Holmes went to the top of the stairs and shouted down to come to the attic.

  In a trice Lestrade and Wickham were crowding into the attic room where Amy Stoddard had been held against her will; Lestrade had brought a number of peelers with him, who wasted no time in hauling Fulham and Piaget away. Wickham had an arm wrapped about Miss Stoddard, furious at what had been done to her but simultaneously relieved that she was unharmed.

  Lestrade asked, "Did they torture you, miss?"

  "I was struck two or three times," she said, "but not tortured. They told me I would receive no food or drink until I complied with John Fulham's wishes."

  The inspector shook his head. "You're fortunate Mr. Holmes was able to deduce where you'd been taken."

  She looked at Holmes. "I owe him a debt I will never be able to repay." Her face clouded. "My father trusted John Fulham. He considered him an honorable man."

  "Well, miss," Lestrade said. "Men of goodwill can be deceived by those who aren't."

  "Why, Lestrade," Holmes said with a laugh, "you're a philosopher now?"

  "No, Mr. Holmes, I'm just a policeman trying to do his job. Mr. Wickham here told me something of what's been happening, but details are missing. I take it you would not be averse to accompanying me and relating the whole story?"

  "The pleasure," Holmes said expansively, "is truly all mine."

  Many young ladies would take to their beds following so harrowing an experience; but Miss Amy Stoddard was planning a Christmas Eve dinner, and a Christmas Eve dinner she would have. She invited—nay, urged—Holmes and me to attend; we were happy to accept.

  Ours was not a large party, only ten of us. The company was congenial, the food was good, and the wines were excellent— Wickham had seen to that. After we'd dined, we gathered in the vicinity of the open front door to listen to the carolers in the street.

  Amy Stoddard placed a hand on Holmes's arm. "You made all this possible, Mr. Holmes. You gave me my life as a Christmas present."

  Holmes tut-tutted. "You look happy, Miss Stoddard."

  She laughed softly. "How could I not be happy? I'm with the man I am to marry, surrounded by old friends and new friends as well. Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson—you are always welcome in this house. I will be grateful to both of you until my dying day." With a smile she glided away to join Wickham.

  A servant moved among us with a tray filled with glasses of port.

  "Well, Watson," Holmes said, taking a glass, "this is one of the most satisfying conclusions to our adventures within recent memory, would you not agree?"

  "Most assuredly. You realize, do you not, that you yourself have acted in loco parentis for Miss Stoddard?"

  "I? How so?"

  "You gave her the protection her father was unable to provide."

  Holmes smiled and lifted his glass. "Happy Christmas, my friend."

  Introduction to The Slow and Gentle Progress of Trainee Bell-Ringers:

  This is the only time-travel story in Cassandra Rising, and it presents a fresh slant on that traditional science fiction theme.

  Barbara Paul, who describes herself as “the movie critic for Pittsburgher Magazine [who also] moonlight [s] forty hours a week as a technical writer for Fisher Scientific Company,” is, as the title of this story suggests, a fan of English puzzles. Speaking of the title, I wish there were a Nebula category for best title!

 

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