The Forest of Dean
We had just begun to settle back into breakfast and our discussion of the narrative, when there was another knock at the door. Again, it was Mrs. Hudson.
“Mr. Holmes, sir there is a gentleman here to see you sir.”
On Mrs. Hudson’s heels was a young looking man. He was maybe in his late 30’s. Smartly dressed and walking with a slight limp. As he brushed past Mrs. Hudson she scolded him.
“I have disrupted your meal. Forgive me. But Mr. Holmes it is an honor and a pleasure to meet you.” He extended his hand in greeting.
Holmes did not accept it. Instead, pointed to the chair opposite me at the table. “My friend and colleague Dr. Watson.”
“Indeed a pleasure.” He shook my hand, and then apologized to Mrs. Hudson.
He handed Holmes an envelope. “This sir is for you.” Holmes had a look of confusion on his face. Our guest took off his hat laying it on the sideboard before joining us at the breakfast table. “It is a most amazing story.” I could not say why Holmes did allow our intruder to stay. He had a jolly good nature about him. Though I knew my friend was tired and not feeling well. Perhaps it was the draw of hearing his tale.
“Pray talk,” Holmes said as he closed his eyes.
“My father owned a large track of land in The Forest of Dean and as such started a mining operation. He was always considered fair and honest by all who knew him. One cold April morning, father and I had gone to the hunt. It was our custom on Saturday; ever since I was but a lad and the rifle bigger than my person. This particular morning was unnaturally cold. As we passed through the woods, that I was all too familiar with, I tripped over what appeared to be a pile of leaves. Almost broke my neck. Examination of the obstruction produced a person. Tattered clothing, blood and scratches covered the skin. It was hard to tell if the creature was dead or alive. Father decided it would be best to take it back to the house. Mother started to clean it off and to our horror she discovered the creature was indeed a woman.”
“Really?” I interjected.
“Yes, you can imagine our horror and surprise. Mother sat, nursed her for a month before she was able to get up or even move about the house. She turned out to be one of the most amazing people I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. She was with our household for three years. Gentlemen I promise you, we never heard her utter a sound. She could read and write. Not one word did she speak. Holmes half opened his eyes. “We learned, quite by accident that she could cook.” Our story teller continued.
“What a wonderful quality.” I admitted.
“There are no words to describe the meals that she placed on the table. The Queen herself could not have consumed better food. One day we received word that there were three strange men in the local village. When she heard this, she begged father to put her in the mine. Of course, he was opposed to putting a woman in such a dangerous position. I will never know what moved him to do so but he agreed. She stayed hid out for three months. The men in the mine held her in great respect. She worked harder than most of us.”
“Us?” Holmes asked.
“Oh yes sir, by the time I was one and eight, I knew everything that could be known about the business end of running fathers mine. So I set out to learn about mining itself. The strangers in the village came up to the mine, one older gentleman and two other men. Pinkerton’s they called themselves.”
Sherlock Holmes set up in full attention.
“They interviewed everyone on the property. They were searching for a lady that in a lot of respects fit our ladies description. As it turned out, the older man claimed to be the missing girl’s father. Though I never understood why if you were only concerned about the welfare of your child that you would feel the need to have two detectives around? After a full month, they left. Not long after this account, there was an accident in the mine. No one was severely hurt save me. Gentlemen, she saved my life. Now, it occurs to me why no one spoke up. Had she not been there, I would have surely died. That is why I walk with a limp.” He smiled. “Father wanted to do something special for her. After all, she saved his son’s life. She would hear not of it. For after all, we had, she wrote, saved her life. Finally father suggested leaving her something in his will. To this she agreed and named you Mr. Sherlock Holmes as her benefactor. My father died short of two months back. It has taken me this long to collect my wits about me.”
This was truly an amazing story. I glanced over at Holmes who seemed to be staring at his untouched breakfast. “Sir,” I asked, “what was your father’s name?”
“Oh how forgetful of me.” Our young guest seemed to get embarrassed. “Morse Pennington. I, James M. Pennington am the only child.”
Holmes finally spoke. His voice was almost a whisper, “tell us what you remember most about this woman?”
“Well as I stated earlier sirs, she worked just as hard if not harder than the men; which won her great respect. She never spoke a word. She was a most attractive person after all the bruises and scrapes healed. I may have forgotten to note, mother cut her hair when she was first discovered. Clean,” Mr. Pennington made the motion as one having their head shaved with his index finger over his head. “When it grew back, it was the grandest shade of red I ever saw. No colour as yet have I witnessed to describe it. She never let it grow past her shoulders once it started growing again.”
Holmes groaned, “Did she possess any jewelry, eye glasses, anything?”
“A necklace sir but I never saw any of it save the chain. I know nothing of jewelry therefore I know not how to describe such.”
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