‘Perhaps nothing. How do you propose to help the young lady?’

‘Spiritual counselling, of course.’

‘Of course. What says her family about this brief disappearance?’

‘Strangely, nothing. Polly, her maid, says they are not concerned.’

‘You are on intimate terms with her maid?’

‘Mr Holmes, sir! Polly attends our church!’

‘Why, then, Deacon Buttons, if the family is unconcerned, are you worried?’

The young man looked down at his hat.

‘Be forthcoming, Mr Buttons, or I shall send you home on the next train.’ Holmes leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. His foot tapped in the air, giving away his impatience. He caught my frown and stopped the foot.

Mrs Hudson arrived with a glass of water. She set it down next to Buttons, kicked a small stack of refuse out of her way, glanced at me, and departed.

The deacon turned his hat in his hands, acutely uncomfortable. After a moment, Holmes broke the silence.

‘Is Miss Wyndham aware of your affections?’

The young man looked up, startled. I had seen such a reaction so many times.

‘Come now, it is patently obvious,’ said Holmes.

‘I … I have said nothing. Perhaps she has intuited. But in my position, I am unable … I cannot offer her, and she deserves …’

Holmes got up and moved to the fireplace. He rummaged among several pipes in his rack and selected one. This kind of sentiment made him uncomfortable. He turned and leaned against the mantel, lighting his pipe with a match, then tossed it into the fire, which had sunk to embers, I was relieved to note.

‘I believe you mean well, Mr Buttons, but you have wasted your time. The family’s response is telling. It is most likely the young lady is away shopping or visiting relatives. Or perhaps she needs time alone to think. Please return to Cambridge. But do cable me if Miss Wyndham does not return in two days, or if her family also become worried. Then, and only then, will I consider this a case of a missing person. I wish you well with Miss Wyndham. Dr Watson will see you out.’

I accompanied the young deacon to the door where I gently reiterated Holmes’s offer. He nodded tearfully and departed. I returned to find my friend frowning as he shuffled papers on the table.

‘Why do people bother me with these trifles? The girl is obviously fleeing his unwanted attentions. Any fool can see that.’

‘I don’t know, Holmes. He is a terribly good-looking young man. He seems sincere.’

‘With few prospects, as he pointed out.’

‘Not every young girl is so concerned about that.’

‘But priests are meant to be celibate,’ he said. ‘Unless I have missed something. Where are those notes?’

‘Catholic clergy may marry, if they do so before ordination,’ I offered.