I suddenly became aware of being watched. I turned back to the house to see the white face of Atalanta Wyndham staring down at us from the third floor. Polly followed my gaze, and her own face paled. Without a word, she ran back into the house. Atalanta Wyndham’s fierce expression was pinned on us. She vanished from the window and pulled the curtains shut.

That maid would face some trouble, I thought. And so, to my surprise, would we.

CHAPTER 15

Bloom Where You Are Planted

When no carriage appeared, we then started out walking towards the address provided by Polly. It was only ten in the morning but already the sun beat down upon us mercilessly. Despite our linen suits and straw hats, I found myself sweating uncomfortably. Holmes seemed oblivious, fired up as he was by the intrigue of the Wyndham family.

‘Breakfast, Holmes?’ I enquired.

‘A poet, Watson. A poet who is jealous of her sister,’ he said. ‘And yet …’

‘Atalanta!’ I cried. Of course! Whatever had been written on the doll was a poem, as he had noted. ‘Could she be the culprit behind the dismembered doll?’

‘My thought when I found her book of poems. But ultimately … I lean away from this theory.’

‘Why?’

‘The ink stains on Atalanta’s hand were slight. She is fastidious. But they were of a distinct aqua blue. Not the colour of the note.’

‘Perhaps she has more than one colour ink.’

‘I saw only one bottle on her sitting-room desk when I glanced inside. No, Watson, I think not.’ He was silent for a moment as we trudged through the sunbaked streets.

‘Those footprints!’ he exclaimed. ‘What a tremendous amount of clambering up trees has been done in the name of love. And then the secret archer. Ha! What a family! Have you ever climbed a tree to reach a young lady, Watson?’

I had to think a moment. ‘No. But I once tried to wade across a river. Ended up a mile downstream. Have you done anything so rash?’

‘For a girl? No,’ said Holmes. ‘But neither have I practised archery from my window.’

We looked at each other and laughed.

‘You shoot, then?’ I asked.

‘Not for some time. Wait, I think we turn left here.’ We did so.

‘Were you any good?’

Holmes glanced at me with a smile. ‘I was invited into the Woodmen of Arden myself. I declined.’

‘Who are the Woodmen of Arden?’

‘An honorary society of men who practise archery with the longbow. Invitation only. One must be an accomplished archer and also have friends who are Woodmen. Something of a closed society. They do have tournaments and prizes, however.’

‘Robin Hoods, then?’

‘Ah, Watson, always the romantic,’ said Holmes. ‘Sportsmen, to be sure.’

‘I think we turn right, here. Let me see the map. But you turned them down?’

Holmes smiled. ‘I am no club man, Watson, you know that.’