Dot's done her lines for being a bad girl and leaving her room at night. Hard work, but it was still worth it – because now she has something really important to tell Mr Sherlock Holmes, about what happened on the attic floor above her room the night before...
“Well done, Dorothea! That's excellent deduction!” said Mr Holmes.
Dot went pink. It was nice to be praised – especially by such a great detective. But she had to ask...
“What is “deduction”, Mr Holmes?” she said.
“It's finding out what you don't know from what you do” said Mr Holmes. “So you have deduced that it most probably was Laetitia that you met on the attic floor – because only she knew you were out of your bedroom last night. But now we have to prove it – and if we can do that, I believe we shall be very close to solving the mystery of Dendringham Hall, once and for all!”
Mr Holmes looked down at Dot and gave her a big smile. Just like with Miss Walsingham, it completely changed the way he looked – you could see the kindness in him, not just the keen mind of the top detective, England's greatest crimefighter.
It was evening – and just before supper time (and just after a HUGE maths lesson, aarrghh!)
They were walking together in the ha-ha, the rough field on the other side of the huge, smooth lawn that lay in front of Dendringham Hall. That already looked much better – Mr Cottingham the head gardener and his team had done a really good job – Dot found herself wondering if she could ask him how they did it: her Dad just COULDN'T get a couple of brown patches out of their lawn, where a fox had had a wee!
But no, she realized with a jump, that would mean showing who she was and where she was from – over a hundred years later in time!
Mr Holmes flicked at a patch of rough grass with his stick, so that it flew up in the air. One of the cows grazing nearby let out a big “Moooo!” and moved away from them.
“Did you notice anything else about the mystery person you met when you were in the attic?” asked Mr Holmes.
“Yes...” said Dot, screwing up her eyes to help her memory. “I've been thinking about it...the hand that touched my cheek... it was soft... it didn't feel like a man's hand. And I could smell something... something nice.”
“Perfume?” asked Mr Holmes sharply.
“Yes!” said Dot. “Yes, it was like perfume!”
“I think we may safely deduce, then” said the detective, turning to smile at her again “that your strange midnight wanderer in the attic floor was indeed none other than Miss Laetitia Langton!”
They walked on for a bit, Mr Holmes deep in thought, his teeth firmly clamped around the strange curved pipe that he smoked. It wasn't lit though – Dot wondered if he was trying to give it up.
“I wonder, however...” he said, half to himself. “I still wonder if the key to what's been happening here isn't at Fernbank Cottage. Do you remember Giles and Laetitia arguing at teatime? When they suddenly started talking to each other rather quietly? You and I were rather busy with those delicious scones at the time – and trying to keep Angharad from stealing from our plates!”
“Yes...” said Dot, trying hard to remember. “Something about... something about not talking about it again... and... losing their little hidey-hole. But why would they lose the cottage?”
“Well – all the land here belongs to Sir Charles, and that includes Fernbank Cottage” said Mr Holmes. “He could turn Giles Langton out whenever he wanted.”
“But... but that's not fair!” said Dot. “That's his home! He made all those amazing things in it!”
“It's the law of the land, my dear” said the detective. “But I was thinking – why would Sir Charles have given the cottage to Giles in the first place? He doesn't seem to me to be the sort of man who gives much away without having to!”
They had reached the far side of the ha-ha, and turned right to walk along the edge of the Dendringham Woods. In the distance, a blackbird sang his song, warning of their approach.
“Perhaps... if he felt he owed Giles something” said Dot, noticing for the first time how wet the hem of her long, heavy dress was getting as it swished through the long grass of the ha-ha, which was already wet with evening dew. More trouble for Miss Walsingham! And from her too! Foodles!
“Or if he had done him some wrong, and wanted to put it right” said Mr Holmes quietly. He looked up. “But here is Sir Charles himself now! I think I know a way we can put it to the test – this very moment!”
