03x03 - The Musgrave Ritual

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Splendid air.

Rough sh**ting. Oh.

Perhaps a little fishing.

And the best cook in the County of Sussex, didn't you say?

Holmes.

And Reginald Musgrave.

Well, he's a scion of one of the oldest families in England.

He was in the same college as myself.

He was not generally popular among the undergraduates, but it always seemed to me that what was set down as pride was really a cover for extreme natural diffidence.

Indeed, I never think of his pale, lean face, and the poise of his head without associating him with gray archways, mullioned windows, and all the venerable wreckage of a feudal keep.

If you feel so uncharitable, why did you accept his invitation?

To escape my lethargy and your constant bullying to tidy our room in Baker Street.

Ha! Hardly constant.

So I have decided to devote my weekend to the collating of some of my early work.

Your early work?

Yes, before my biographer came to glorify me.

Do you mean you have records of your early work?

Mm.

Not all successes but some petty little problems.

A record of the Tarleton murders; the case of Vamberry, the wine merchants; the adventure of the old Russian woman, a full account of Ricoletti of a club foot and his abominable wife, and the singular affair of the Aluminium crutch.

Aluminium crutch?

Now, that was something a little recherché.

I wish I had notes of these cases.

Hmph. Yes, my boy.

Well, it may hold my interest for the few hours while you potter with our host through the antiquities of a bygone age.

Surely, the house interests you.

The house is freezing, Watson!

It's history with people in it.

On your previous visit, I remember you telling me that you enjoyed some lively conversations with the butler.

What's his name, Brunston?

Oh Brunton.

A young schoolteacher out of place.

Did he not, um, did he not speak several languages?

And he played nearly every musical instrument.

A man of considerably more intellectual ability than his master.

Watson, we must behave ourselves.

Ah..

Brunton.

Mr. Holmes, a pleasure to see you again, sir.

My friend and colleague, Dr. Watson.

Welcome to Hurlstone, sir.

Musgrave.

My friend and colleague, Dr. Watson.

So glad.

It's a long time.

Yes, and how has all gone with you?

Busy, busy.

My father d*ed.

I've had the estates to manage.

And, as I'm now a member of parliament, the district as well.

But you-you I have noted are still turning to practical ends those powers with which you used to amaze us at college.

Yes, I'm still living by my wits.

And how is the dear wife?

I'm not married, Holmes.

How wise.

And the windows date from 1596.

The manor is thought to be the oldest inhabited building in the country.

I once knew some northern Musgrave's.

They did come from the north originally.

A cadet branch of the family broke away from the northern Musgrave's and came to West Sussex in the early 17th century.

Ah.

Holmes.

Holmes.

More brandy, sir? No, Brunton.

Well, that's how the story goes.

I'm not going to vouch for it, of course, but the commission is over here, signed by Prince Rupert.

It's for my ancestor Ralph Musgrave.

Yes, to join his cavalry troop at Edge Hill.

Ah, Rupert's seal and commission, Holmes.

Astonishing.

It's one of the boots worn that day.

Oh.

If I may be so bold, sir, Hmm?

The boot was worn by his brother, Sir Roland Musgrave, at Naseby.

Ah, was it indeed?

Yes, my butler was once a schoolmaster.

I must bow to his scholarship over mine in matters of my own family's history.

No, no, never mind.

You may leave us now.

Brunton...

Where is Rachel tonight?

She has a slight distemper, sir.

I told her to go to her room.

Good night, gentlemen.

Holmes...

Holmes has told me of Brunton's extraordinary gift.

I remember, on my last visit, he spent several hours explaining to me in French.

The origins of a piccolo.

It is wonderful that he should be satisfied for so long with such a position.

But I suppose... l suppose he's been, um, comfortable and lacked the energy to make a change.

Oh, yes, indeed.

The butler of Hurlstone.

It's always a thing that is remembered by all who visit us.

Oh, dear Musgrave.

However, this paragon does have one fault.

Bit of a Don Juan.

Well, it's not a difficult part to play in a quiet country district.

When he was married, he was all right.

But since he's become a widower, we've had no end of trouble with him.

A few months ago, we were in hopes he was about to settle down again.

He became engaged to Rachel Howells, my second housemaid.

But he's thrown her over, taken up with Janet Tregallis, my gamekeeper's daughter.

Rachel's a very good girl, but she is of an excitable Welsh temperament.

Now, she wanders around like a black-eyed shadow, thoroughly unsettling the household.

Rachel?

Good morning, Holmes, Sir Reginald.

Shh.

Thank you.

Where's Brunton this morning?

It's all right.

It's all right. I'm sorry!

Nothing. It's all right.

The girl is fainting, Watson.

My dear, young woman.

You should not be at work. You should be in bed.

You may leave your duties, Rachel.

Come back when you're feeling stronger.

I am strong enough, sir.

I'll be the judge of that.

You must go to your room and lie down.

And on your way, tell Brunton that I wish to see him.

The butler's gone.

Gone?

Gone where?

He's gone.

He's not in his room. No--no--no one's seen him.

I mean, he was here.

He's gone. He's gone.

It's all right. It's all right.

It's all right. Gently, gently.

Straight to her room.

Gently, gently!

Gently.

Gently, Rachel.

All right.

Gently, Rachel, gently.

Gently.

Well, the bed's not been slept in.

Have you searched the house?

From cellar to garret.

The girl is right; there's no trace of him.

He's gone.

Difficult to see how a man could have left.

I mean, the windows and doors are all fastened.

And what man goes away in the middle of the night and leaves all his possessions behind?

Money, watch.

I've given the girl something to calm her down, and I've taken the liberty of sending for a local nurse.

She's in...

She's in a most unusual nervous state and should on no account be left alone for a while.

This is the girl who was engaged to Brunton?

Rachel Howells, yes, yes.

A girl with a fiery Welsh temper.

Oh, Watson.

Gentlemen, look, I have no intention that this small domestic incident should ruin your weekend.

I propose we continue our plans for a sh**t.

And we'll return, hopefully, to some simple explanation.

Come on, come on.

Holmes!

Well done, Watson.

Holmes.

Holmes, I was... l was telling Watson, something happened last night which may throw some light on this matter.

This is very embarrassing, but I...I find I need your advice.

I couldn't sleep after foolishly taking that cup of cafe noir after dinner.

At about 2 o'clock, I gave up the struggle.

I came downstairs to fetch a novel I'm reading which I'd left in the library.

Well, you can imagine my surprise when I saw a glimmer of light coming from the open door.

I remembered I'd extinguished the lamp and closed the door when we retired.

Naturally, my first thought was of burglars.

So this is how you repay my trust, prying into my family documents?

You will leave my service tomorrow.

Mr. Musgrave, sir, I can't bear disgrace.

I've always been proud about my station in life, and disgrace will k*ll me.

My blood will be on your head, sir.

It will, indeed, if you drive me to despair.

What?

If you cannot keep me after this, then for God's sake, let me give you notice and leave in a month, as of my own free will.

A month...a month is too long.

I could stand that, Mr. Musgrave, but not to be cast out before all the folk 1 know so well.

You don't deserve consideration, Brunton.

Your conduct has been infamous.

However, I have no wish to bring public disgrace upon you.

You take yourself away in a week, and you give whatever reason you like.

A week, sir?

Only a week?

A fortnight.

Say at least a fortnight.

No, a week.

And you may consider yourself to have been very leniently dealt with.

But what is strange is that he seemed most anxious to stay.

Well, it's quite plain to me what happened.

He went back to his room, thought it over, decided to stage his disappearance, there and then, cleverly, possibly with the help of his new woman friend.

Janet?

Oh, no, no, she lives with her father on the other side of the lake.

And besides, I doubt if she would have the wit to help him.

This piece of paper which Brunton thought worth his while to consult, even at the risk of losing his job?

Well, it's nothing.

It's nothing of any importance at all.

Nevertheless.

It's simply a copy of the singular old observance called the Musgrave ritual, a ceremony peculiar to our family which each Musgrave has to go through on his coming of age.

It's a strange catechism, undated but written in the style of the middle of the 17th century.

Would you and Watson be good enough to read it out to me?

Well, doctor, I know it by heart.

"Whose was it?"

His who is gone.

"Who shall have it?"

He who will come.

"Where was the sun?"

Over the oak.

"Where was the shadow?"

Under the elm.

"How was it stepped?"

West eight by eight, south seven by seven, west six by six, south five by five.

And two by two, and so, under.

"What shall we give for it?"

All that is ours.

"Why should we give it?"

For the sake of the trust.

It's a treasure hunt.

Oh no, no.

I remember, as children, we often tried to solve it, but it leads nowhere.

Could Brunton have seen this before last night?

It's possible.

We took no pains to hide it.

But what could he want with it?

Obviously, he was refreshing his memory.

You say that he had some map or chart which he thrust back into his pocket the moment you appeared?

That's what it looked like.

Yes.

We must reexamine this ritual.

The measurements obviously refer to some exact spot to which the rest of the document alludes.

We are given two guides.

Yes, an elm and an oak.

And, gentlemen, there is a patriarch among oaks.

Certainly, the oldest oak on the estate.

This tree must have been here at the time of the Norman conquests.

In all probability, but I tell you, it can't be the oak referred to, Holmes.

Generations of Musgrave's have attempted to solve it.

They've dug up half this field.

You are right, Musgrave.

This is not the oak referred to in the ritual.

Are there any other large oaks in the immediate vicinity?

Not within a mile of the house.

Where was the sun?

Over the oak.

We can make nothing of it today, old man.

The weather's turned.

No! No! No!

Please!

No!

No!

It's eight foot deep here.

Poor demented girl.

Oh, we must live in hope, old man.

There's been no body found yet.

Nothing so far, sir.

We just about covered all of it.

I found something!

What does it contain?

Nothing of value.

Could have been thrown in by anyone at any time.

No, recently, or the water would have rotted the bag.

The maid, last night?

That would explain her journey to the mere, but then where did she go?

There's nothing here, Holmes.

It's just a mass of rusted and discolored metal and some pebbles.

And where is Brunton?

Or Rachel?

And why should anybody bother to throw this into the lake?

I am convinced that there are not three mysteries here but only one.

And the solution of one may prove the solutions of the others.

Apparently, Brunton saw something in this which escaped your forbearers, Musgrave, from which he expected some personal advantage.

If I can read it right, I hold in my hand the clue to the truth concerning both the butler Brunton and the maid Howells.

"Where was the sun? Over the oak.

Where was the shadow?

Under the elm."

So this is where it grew?

Yes.

I suppose it's impossible to tell me how high it was.

Oh, I can give you that at once.

It was 64 feet.

It was my old tutor.

Used to give me lessons in trigonometry.

When I was a lad, I used to know the height of every tree and building on this estate.

I am grateful to your tutor.

Tell me, did Brunton ever ask you such a question here, on this lawn?

Now that you call it to my mind...

Brunton?

What are you doing here?

Enjoying the evening, sir.

This is my private lawn.

You'll pardon me for asking, sir.

The elm that once stood here that was struck by lightning, you wouldn't remember the height of it, would you, sir?

Well, why should you want to know that?

Well, I'm arguing with Mr. Tregallis about it.

I say it was 50 feet. He puts it higher.

We have a small wager on it.

Oh, well, you've lost your wager, Brunton.

It was 64 feet.

Ah, was it?

I shall just have to be a good sport and pay up, then.

Thank you, sir.

Holmes.

Excellent, Watson.

Oh, good Lord.

Now, we must find where the shadow of the elm would have fallen when the sun is just clear of that oak.

Well, that'll be difficult, Holmes, since the elm is no longer there.

Oh, now, come, Watson.

If Brunton can do it then so can we.

The answer lies in trigonometry.

Musgrave!

I need all the fishing rods that you have in the hall.

Holmes.

Yes? I don't quite follow this.

Ah, splendid.

Musgrave.

Every rod in the house.

Thank you.

Measuring stick, please, Watson.

Would you hold that for me, Musgrave, please?

And that.

Now, will you take the last yard of the string and tie it to the base of the fishing rod, Watson?

Yes, and when you've done that, would you bring the ritual and join me on the lawn?

Would you measure that shadow, please, Watson?

Nine feet.

So, the calculation is now a simple one.

If a fishing rod of six feet throws a shadow of nine feet, then a tree of 64 feet will throw one of--?

98.

96.

Yes, of course.

And the line of one, of course, will be the line of the other.

Watson, look.

Two inches from mine.

The mark made by Brunton.

Now read out the steps.

West eight by eight.

64. And?

Um, south! South.

Seven by seven.

49.

West. Six by six.

36. And?

South. Five by five.

And?

Two by two.

One, two, three, four.

I don't believe it.

Some mistake in your calculation?

That's impossible.

Brunton hasn't been here.

Two by two and so under.

These stones haven't been moved in many a long year.

And under.

Holmes.

You've forgotten the "And under."

Is there a cellar under here?

As old as the house.

There used to be wood all over the floor down...

That's Brunton's muffler, I'd swear to it.

Watson.

Inspector.

This is a friend of mine, Dr. Watson.

Inspector, I have some experience in forensic pathology.

The man has been dead for two days.

Cause of death, suffocation.

No wound or bruise on this person, sir?

None.

Accident, eh?

Oh, there's no doubt about it.

He must have been down there alone, and the flagstone just fell shut on him, poor fellow.

Sir Reginald, I am told that your butler was down in the cellar in an unused part of the house.

What was his business there, sir?

A butler's duties are many and varied, Inspector.

I can't possibly answer that question.

Well, no one would have heard his cries for help in that part of the house.

That is the point, surely, Inspector.

Tregallis.

Rachel!

She had done it!

She k*lled him!

That's why she ran away!

Tregallis.

Rachel?

It's nothing.

The servants are naturally upset.

Well, who is this Rachel?

One of my housemaids.

She was engaged to Brunton.

Do please cover him up.

When he disappeared, she became ill and left.

Well, I shall want to see her.

I shall want to see that young woman also.

Sergeant.

All right, take this away.

Doctor, please.

The local inspector, Holmes would like...

If you could find a plausible explanation for him, to avoid publicity in this wretched...

I must confess that, so far, I am disappointed in my investigation.

I had reckoned upon solving the matter when once I had found the place referred to in the ritual.

But now that I'm here, I am as far as ever from knowing what it was your family concealed with such elaborate precautions.

But you've solved my mystery of Brunton.

But how?

How?

Did his fate come upon him?

And what part has been played by the woman who's disappeared?

I, um, I should explain Holmes' methods in such cases.

He...He puts himself in the man's place, having first gauged his intelligence.

And then he...he tries to imagine how he himself would have proceeded in similar circumstances.

In this case, Brunton's intelligence is first rate.

So, you see, it is unnecessary to make allowance for the personal equation.

As the astronomers have dubbed it.

He knows something is concealed.

He spotted the place.

But he's found the stone is too heavy for a man to move unaided.

So...what does he do?

Help from outside.

No one to trust.

Help from inside.

But who?

Rachel.

She still loves him.

He sees it in her eyes, for all her show of hate.

Shh...

I'm here to say I'm sorry, my love.

I'm a foolish man. I don't deserve you.

You don't.

Forgive me, Rachel.

Why?

There's no one else for me, nor never has been.

You know that.

It's this house. It eats into your soul.

Let me take you away from here.

We'll start afresh.

Your promises.

Oh Richard, you make them so freely.

You've never loved me.

Oh, you're wrong.

I love you for your beauty and your spirit.

We are a perfect match.

With my brains and your heart, what do we want with service to others when the world is out there calling us, my love?

And how do we get out there with no money?

We'll have all the money we need.

I found something in this house all them country squires have missed.

Now I've found it, and I'm ready to go.

But not without you.

I couldn't live without you.

I'm to be your husband, Rachel.

What money?

What have you found?

Come with me.

Put on your gown. I'll show you.

Softly, now.

There it is, under that stone.

All we have to do is lift it.

Now, pick up that wood.

When I lift this, you wedge it.

Come on, woman, do as I tell you.

Ready?

And another one.

And that one over there.

There is a slight indentation on this log.

And on this.

Caused by the weight of the stone.

Heavy work for a woman.

And this I think...has been used, finally, as a support.

There's our treasure.

That box was laying there for two centuries or more.

We're going to steal it?

How can you steal what nobody knows exists?

Well, how did you know, then?

Brains, my girl, history and mathematics.

Here, hold the light for me.

Bring the light closer.

Make our fortune!

Oh, yes, that's a fine promise!

Quiet.

There must be some value in it.

How clever are you.

A pride more like.

You're better than your masters!

Quiet, woman!

I know your cleverness, husband!

You just needed me to help you.

If it had been treasure, you'd have been off and away without me!

You would have gone with her!

You're a fool if you believe that.

Here, take this.

Now help me out of here.

Rachel.

Rachel!

My love.

Get help!

I can't breathe!

Get Mr. Holmes.

Quickly.

Please, my love.

Rachel!

Oh, god.

Help me!

Rachel!

Rachel!

Help!

Rachel, I can't breathe!

Rachel!

Rachel, help me!

That would explain her blanched face and her fevered brain at breakfast the next morning.

Nothing but fungi.

What was in the box, Holmes?

It's Charles the First.

We may find something else of Charles the First.

The bag that was fished from the mere.

Gentlemen.

Look.

It's a jewel.

A family heirloom?

It's possible.

Your ancestor, Sir Ralph Musgrave, was he a prominent cavalier?

Oh, yes, indeed.

Yes, he...He was close to Charles the Second in his wanderings during the commonwealth.

Then I think that should give us the last link that we wanted.

Gentlemen, you must bear in mind, when the royal party were driven into exile, they probably left many of their most precious possessions buried behind them, with the intention of returning for them in a more peaceful time.

Gold, Musgrave.

Watson, I believe you have in your hand a relic which is not only of great intrinsic value but also of great importance as a historical curiosity.

But what is it?

Nothing less than a fragment of the ancient crown of the kings of England.

The crown?

Oh, no, no, Holmes, it's too fanciful.

Now, consider the ritual.

How does it run?

Whose was it?

His who is gone.

That was the execution of Charles.

And then, who shall have it?

He who will come.

That was Charles the Second.

Whose advent was already foreseen.

There can, I think, be no doubt, gentlemen, that this battered and shapeless diadem once encircled the brows of the royal stewards.

But how came it to my family?

When Charles the First was ex*cuted, the crown was seized, broken into pieces, and sold for a thousand guineas.

Since then, there has been no trace of it.

Until now.

But why would Charles not get it back on his return?

That is a question which may never be answered.

When your ancestor d*ed, by some oversight, he left this guide to his descendant without ever explaining the meaning of it.

Father to son.

Until at last it came within reach of a man who tore its secret out of it

and lost his life in the venture.

Rachel.

Rachel!

Was it chance the wood slipped?

Was she only guilty of silence?

She had a passionate Celtic soul.

A man had wronged her.

She had him in her power.

Might it not have been vengeance that sent the stone crashing?

Her hand that dashed it away.

And what has become of her?

Very probably she's far away from Hurlstone now and carries her secret with her.