“And did it?” queried my wife in a kindly voice as Miss Borrow paused.

“Not very much, to be truthful,” the girl responded with a shake of the head, “but it has taught him true patience, at least: to endure, without anger or sorrow, what must be. For some of the games – The Lion and the Unicorn, especially – are very difficult of solution. So far I have taught him twenty-three different types, from Apples and Pears to The Scorpion, and there is not one that does not have its own particular moral lesson, if you look hard enough for it.” She blushed. “At least I think so,” she added in an uncertain tone.

“You are a very resourceful and imaginative young lady,” Holmes interrupted with a smile. “You have discovered that, as Shakespeare says, the uses of adversity may yet be sweet. But come, you have had a miserable time lately, for which you have our sympathy, but what is it that has brought you to the point of seeking our advice? If we are to help you in some way, we must know the most recent developments. Has there been any further communication with your aunt?”

“Six weeks after she left, a letter arrived for Mr Hartley Lessingham, bearing the postmark of Lewes in Sussex. The handwriting on the envelope was not that of my aunt, but I hoped that it might contain some news of her, and I asked my uncle if that were so. At first he would not speak of it and appeared very angry, for his face was white, but later he informed me that it was from Mr Edgar Shepherd, the old friend of my mother and father, and of my aunt, too, informing my guardian that Aunt Margaret was now residing in a cottage on the Shepherd family estate at Tattingham, in Sussex. My uncle told me that he had flung the letter into the fire.

“‘So now you know,’ said he in a bitter tone: ‘your aunt has brought shame upon us by deserting us, and now she has shamed us yet further, by taking up abode on the property of another man.’

“Miss Rogerson had happened to come into the room as we were speaking, and had overheard the tail end of the conversation. Now she spoke.

“‘Yes, Harriet,’ said she, nodding her head in agreement with my uncle’s words, ‘you must pray that you never bring shame upon your family, as your aunt has brought shame upon hers. Woe betide you if the blood in your veins is the shameful blood of your aunt! Now run along to the schoolroom. Edwin wishes to ask you about Queen Elizabeth.’

“‘Yes, ma’am,’ said I politely, but as the library door closed behind me, I confess that I could not stop myself sobbing. I was greatly upset by my aunt’s decision to make her home elsewhere. But she had always been very kind to me, and I knew she was not a bad woman. For my uncle to speak of her in that way was so unjust. Had it not been for his behaviour, she would never have left us. As for that odious woman, Susan Rogerson, with her painted face, vulgar jewellery and her mean and selfish nature, for her to speak of my aunt at all in her own house was the very grossest impertinence; for her to declare that my aunt was the one who had brought shame upon us was an affront to all honesty and decency.

“I had not gone ten steps from the library door when I heard the two of them laughing. At whom or what they were laughing, I knew not, but in my miserable state, their callous, unfeeling laughter struck like thorns in my heart.

“Several weeks passed. One morning I gathered my courage together and asked my guardian if I might write a letter to my aunt. At first he was very angry with me and refused to even speak of the possibility; but I asked him again a few days later, and again a few days after that, and eventually he said that I might, but that he would read the letter before it was posted, to see that I did not say anything foolish in it. I had no objection to this, as I simply wished to convey a little news to Aunt Margaret, in the hope that she would write back to us. This I did, and gave the letter to Mr Hartley Lessingham, who read it without finding anything in it to which he could object, addressed it for me and posted it himself. He would not tell me the address at which my aunt was staying. I think he feared that if I knew it, I would write a more candid letter to her behind his back.

“A week passed, and then my guardian informed me one morning that I had received a reply. He handed me the single sheet of paper at the breakfast table, explaining that he had opened the letter himself, although it had been addressed to me, because he wished to be sure that it did not contain anything unpleasant, which might upset me. He had also torn off the top of the sheet, where my aunt had written her address. He certainly did not wish me to be able to write to her in private, without his seeing exactly what I had written.”

“What did the letter say?” enquired Holmes.

“Little enough,” Miss Borrow replied. “To speak candidly, I was a little disappointed at its brevity. However, to have any communication at all from my aunt was like treasure to me in my lonely existence, and I read and reread the letter many times. I explained the lightness and inconsequentiality of it to myself by supposing that she suspected her husband would read it, and had therefore felt unable to reveal very much of her true feelings in it. She thanked me for the letter I had sent, and the news I had conveyed to her, and also for the picture of a cat that Edwin had drawn for her, which I had enclosed.

“She said she was living quietly, in seclusion, and was trying to make the best of her unhappy situation. She said that she sometimes now regretted her hasty decision to leave East Harrington, and wished she could alter what had happened, but could not. She enjoined me to try to be good, and always to do what was right, and to respect Mr Hartley Lessingham and always do as he bade me. She said she would write again when she had any more news, but in the meantime I should not write again – except if I had some matter of particular urgency to relate – for she did not think it quite right to do so, and it might annoy my guardian.

“Since then, I have often wished to write to Aunt Margaret again, but Mr Hartley Lessingham is implacably opposed to the suggestion. There are things I have wished so much to tell her. If she only knew all that has taken place at East Harrington since her departure, I am sure she would swallow her pride and return, even if it were only to pay us a visit.”

“Well, as you cannot tell your aunt,” said Holmes in an encouraging voice, “perhaps you could tell us. What has been happening at East Harrington?”

“I mentioned to you Mr Theakston’s abrupt departure, which was such a loss to us. Another unwelcome development is that Captain Legbourne Legge has spent much more time at East Harrington since my aunt left. He and Mr Hartley Lessingham sometimes ride out late in the evening and do not return until after midnight.”

“Do you know where it is they go?”

Miss Borrow shook her head. “Other things happen at night, too,” she continued. “Edwin has been very frightened by noises he has heard in the night, and by things he has seen.”

“What sort of things?”

“At the rear of East Harrington Hall is a flagged terrace,” Miss Borrow replied after a moment, “at the other side of which is an old-fashioned formal garden. In the very centre of the garden stands an old sundial. My bedroom overlooks this garden, as does Edwin’s. One night, very late, when I had been asleep for some time, Edwin came to my room, trembling with fear. He was in such a state that he could scarcely speak, but gradually, as I calmed him, he managed to tell me what it was that had frightened him so. He told me that he had heard noises outside, and when he had looked out he had seen a witch in the garden, doing something to the sundial. I looked from my window, but it was a very dark night and I could see no sign of anyone there. I told Edwin that he must have imagined it, that he had perhaps had a bad dream, and eventually, a little comforted and calmed, he returned to his own room.