Page 35

It was always wonderful watching Havelock solve a case. There usually came a time during the investigation—sometimes early on, but often later—when all of our enquiries and research and deductions came together to give him the complete picture. I had learned to see the way his expression would change—the slight rise of his cheeks; the exhale; the way he would turn to me, every time, with glassy eyes.

“I think I have it,” he said.

“What remains to be done?” I asked.

Havelock went to the edge of the balcony and leaned up against the balustrade. “I am expecting some mail from London tomorrow morning, which should fill in a few details. Otherwise: I think I should like to go for a hike, if you would join me. There’s something I would like to confirm.”

“I would be delighted.”

“It’s remarkable,” said Havelock, shaking his head. “Utterly extraordinary. All of it. The forest, the village, the murder.”

“One of our greatest cases, perhaps?”

“Yes,” said Havelock. “And one that must never be given to The Times.”

I went to him, and touched his shoulder.

“I love you,” I said softly—so that my words would not be caught in a breeze and drift to the streets below. They were only for him.

“I love you too,” he said, just as gently. Then, clearing his throat, he strode away. “Would you join me in my room, Sebastian? I have something to show you.”

I pulled the curtains of his room closed, and when I was done, I saw that he was stood behind me, with purpose in his eyes. Taking me by the hand, Havelock led me to bed.

Havelock sorted through his correspondences from London on the ferry over Windermere Lake. They had arrived with the morning express, and though the wind was up, making the ferry heave to and fro as we crossed, he remained focused. The dispatches bore all manner of official seals—and there was even one from the Crown.

“Anything to report from Her Majesty?”

Havelock didn’t look up. “A few interesting pieces of information.”

“Any word on the knighthood?” It had been rumoured that Havelock was to be knighted for a few years now—it was said that the Queen herself enjoyed reading our adventures. Havelock remained neutral on the issue, but I knew well how much he enjoyed any occasion to dress up. He would wear a knighthood well, I thought.

“Oh, yes. I am to be knighted next Wednesday.”

“Really?”

“Of course not. If it happens, you’ll be the first to know.”

I went up on deck and enjoyed the fresh wind, watching the gulls hover overhead.

On the far shore, we joined a coach heading west, largely occupied by a group of Cambridge students, all sporting the same waxed moustache and sturdy shoes. They were a boisterous lot, and so absorbed in their banter they left myself and Havelock well alone. The coach went as far as a remote boarding-house, and from there we went on unaccompanied—following an apparently ill-used trail through the trees. It was easy to see why it was so neglected—the trail was tough, and meandered through tight valleys that did not command the astonishing views that the area was renowned for.

We paused at a small waterfall, and there dipped our canteens.

Eventually, we began moving northwest, following a stream uphill until at last we emerged onto a broader, rocky slope. Havelock consulted his map. “That,” he said, pointing to a treeline just about visible to the east, “is Farleigh Forest.” Yet, instead of climbing towards it, he began descending into the valley, towards a different forest altogether.

I followed him, though the going was tough; we were officially off-trail, and the slope was composed largely of loose shale, dotted with patches of coarse grass. Here and there we had to slide down, until we eventually came to the valley floor, where there was a stream shallow enough that we could cross it without wetting our shins.

The forest we approached was tall, and looked as if had spilled into the valley through a pass. The nearest trees were young, and their roots were buried deep in the shale; it was clear that there was good earth beneath it. Their canopies were already shedding for autumn, and we crunched across dry leaves and loose rocks to reach them. Havelock stopped at the tree line, and studied them. I joined him.

“Are they all the same species?” I asked.

“Yes. A beech forest, if I’m not mistaken.”

“Beautiful in autumn.”

Havelock smiled at me. “Isn’t it just?”

“Yet they have no words.”