‘You asked about a young man? There are many. She is rather carefree in bestowing her affections, with little thought to their effect.’

‘We know, of course, of Mr Frederick Eden-Summers,’ said Holmes.

At the mention of this name, a shadow passed across the features of this ethereal young woman. It was gone so quickly that I doubted my perception, but the quality of Atalanta Wyndham’s voice changed. It became stronger, more strident. ‘A sterling young man. Award-winning sportsman. And of the finest family. Dillie could not do better.’

‘A match, then?’ prompted Holmes.

‘Hardly! My sister does not value his qualities. She treats him abominably.’

Holmes said nothing.

The girl cleared her throat and reverted to her softer voice. ‘By her own admission,’ she added.

‘Ah, a shame. A sportsman, you say. What is his sport?’

‘He is an archer. A Woodman of Arden!’ she added proudly.

‘Impressive! And at quite a young age!’ said Holmes. I presumed this was some honorary society of archers.

‘His father was a member as well.’

‘I see. Does your sister partake in the sport?’

‘Dillie? Ha! No. She does play at tennis a bit.’ She said this with a hint of disdain. ‘I don’t know what Freddie sees in her!’

‘Freddie?’ asked Holmes.

‘Mr Eden-Summers and I were childhood friends.’

‘I note you are an archer yourself,’ said Holmes.

Atalanta Wyndham stepped back in surprise, crossing her arms. ‘My parents told you this?’

‘No. I merely observe.’

‘I still do not see,’ she said.

I was glad that for once someone other than me ‘saw but did not observe’, as Holmes so frequently chided.

‘Really quite simple, Miss Wyndham,’ said Holmes. ‘Before we entered here, I made an inspection of the yard surrounding the house. I noticed that there are several large burlap sacks at the foot of some trees, stuffed with hay. Archery targets, from the holes, and one arrow left embedded. Facing these, I now learn, is your bedroom.’

Atalanta shifted uneasily.

‘The angle of that arrow indicated it was shot from above. Unless someone was aiming from the large plane tree that abuts your – and your sister’s – bedroom windows, it was shot from one of these windows. That and the evidence on your person, Miss Wyndham, are strongly suggestive.’

‘Evidence on my person?’

‘You do not use an arm guard – but you really should – and have the bowman’s scars on your left arm. And the calluses on the fingers of your right drawing hand. Do you only do this in secret then? Shooting from your window, perhaps?’

Knowing Holmes’s abilities as I did, nevertheless this train of inferences was impressive. And the notion of this young woman practising archery from her window … what a very odd family, I thought.

‘I presume you do this at night, as I cannot imagine your parents condoning this activity,’ said Holmes. ‘Accidents will happen.’