The Secret Chronicles of Sherlock Holmes

by June Thomson

  ‘I know only what I have deduced from my own observations and a little research I undertook after Miss Russell and her solicitor first requested me to inquire into the case,’ Holmes replied. ‘There is no need for me to repeat her account of what she saw in the grounds of Hartsdene Manor; she has already given it to you herself. However, I should like to explain that her concern arose not out of idle curiosity or from a desire to spread scandal. She was – is – genuinely fond of your nephew and it was for his sake that she consulted me.

  ‘Her statement prompted me to look up in my own records the newspaper reports of your nephew’s apparent death in a boating accident last summer in Scotland. However, as I have already explained to my colleague, Dr Watson, certain features about the tragedy intrigued me. My curiosity was further aroused by Miss Russell’s account of her first meeting with the young Marquis which occurred when he fell and hit his head while climbing over a stile.

  ‘And then there was your family history, Lord Hindsdale, which went part of the way to solving your nephew’s apparent return from the dead. It involved the arrest of one of your ancestors for his part in the Babington Plot in 1586.’

  Turning to me, he added with a smile, ‘I am afraid, Watson, that I caused you some bewilderment by referring to it. The explanation is, however, quite simple. The Babington Plot was a conspiracy to replace the Protestant Elizabeth Tudor by the Catholic Mary Queen of Scots.

  ‘This suggested,’ Holmes continued, resuming his narrative, ‘that at the time the Deerswoods were Catholic sympathisers. Now, it was often the custom for recusant families during the reign of Elizabeth I to have constructed in their houses a secret chamber where the resident priest could be hidden should the house be searched. Although there was no reference in any books that I consulted to such a hiding place in Hartsdene Manor, I nevertheless decided to put my supposition to the test. If there was a secret priest’s room, it would be in the original part of the house.

  ‘Consequently, Dr Watson and I kept watch last night on the Tudor wing where we saw a man, whom I later recognised as Barker, closing the shutters on a pair of lighted windows on the upper floor. However, when I examined Barker’s room this morning, I observed that his bedchamber had only one window.

  ‘Now, as the room next to Barker’s on the right was a windowless linen closet, it could not have been there that the light appeared. It had to be some other chamber, situated between Barker’s bed-chamber and the linen closet, its presence concealed from the casual observer by the irregularity of the passage. I further deduced that its entrance must be through Barker’s room. Your nephew’s dog confirmed its position by going immediately to the large press against the wall when I ordered it to seek out its master.

  ‘I was already curious about Barker’s presence in your household. As Miss Russell did not recognise him when she saw him in the garden, he must have joined since her last visit here in the summer, a supposition you confirmed by stating that he had been recently appointed as your secretary. But I noticed that his fingers were stained with iodoform.* Only a doctor or a nurse would normally handle such a medicament.

  ‘Given all these facts, I came to the conclusion that your nephew was alive but was kept concealed in a secret chamber, attended by a doctor or a male nurse, and was allowed out only at night. Only two explanations presented themselves. The first was some disfiguring illness such as leprosy† which I dis missed as a possibility as your nephew had never, according to Miss Russell, travelled outside this country.

  ‘I was therefore left with my second hypothesis – which has proved only too tragically correct – that he was suffering from some mental aberration which made his appearance in public impossible. The fact that his mother had died in a Swiss clinic, ostensibly of consumption, tended to confirm my supposition.

  ‘I should like to assure you again, Lord Hindsdale, that I expect no explanation from you but, if you should honour Dr Watson and myself with your confidence, no word of what we have heard or seen here today will ever be repeated outside these walls.’

  Lord Hindsdale, who had listened to Holmes’ statement without interruption, his chin sunk on his breast, now raised his head to look across at my companion, his austere face drawn down into deep lines of suffering.

  ‘You are correct in every particular, Mr Holmes,’ he said. ‘For this reason and because I know you and Dr Watson are men of your word, I have no hesitation in confiding in you. Indeed, it is a relief, having borne the truth so long in silence, to speak openly about it for it has weighed very heavily on both my mind and my heart for many years.

  ‘While still in his early twenties, my eldest brother, Gilbert’s father, fell in love with and married a young lady, Blanche Seaford, a dazzling and enchanting creature. Her family was rich but obscure, having farmed in South Africa for several generations, and was therefore unknown in English society. On the death of her husband, Mrs Seaford sold up the family estates and brought Blanche, who was then seventeen, to London in order to complete her education. It was there that my brother James met and fell in love with her, marrying her on her eighteenth birthday. For the first two years, they were blissfully happy but, after the birth of Gilbert, my sister-in-law began to show certain symptoms which, over the next eighteen months, degenerated rapidly into lunacy. Later inquiries showed that it was an inherited madness. A grandfather had committed suicide; an aunt had died in an asylum.

  ‘Although everything was done in an attempt to save her reason, she was beyond medical aid and, when her behaviour grew so violent and unpredictable that it was considered unsafe to keep her under the same roof as the child, my brother, with great reluctance, arranged for her to be admitted to a private clinic for the insane in Switzerland.

  ‘We are an old, proud family, Mr Holmes, but tragically ill-fated. My brother, fearful of the effect it would have on his son if the truth were generally known, had it put out that his wife had died of consumption. In fact, she lingered on for another fifteen years, a helpless lunatic.

  ‘My brother was most anxious about his son, his greatest fear being that Gilbert might have inherited from his mother that tendency towards mental instability. For that reason, he was kept at home where he was tutored privately in the hope that if he followed a quiet regimen with no excitement or emotional strain to tax the brain, he might escape the same fate as his mother.

  ‘You are probably aware of the rest of the story, Mr Holmes. My brother was killed in a hunting accident when Gilbert was fourteen. As his guardian, I came to live here at Hartsdene Manor in order to supervise his education and upbringing. My brother and I had often discussed what should be done if Gilbert became insane. James was only too painfully aware that, should he die, a terrible burden of responsibility would be placed on my shoulders. It was no burden, Mr Holmes. I love my nephew as I would my own son!’

  The stern features were convulsed momentarily with a spasm of emotion and he turned his face away, murmuring, ‘Forgive me, gentlemen, it is a most painful subject.’

  It was several seconds before he had sufficiently recovered his composure to continue his account.

  ‘And then, last spring, Gilbert met Miss Russell and, as his father had done with Blanche Seaford, he fell in love with her at first sight. It was a hopeless situation. Marriage was out of the question as, by that time, he was already showing signs of incipient madness. Indeed, it was during a minor fit that he fell and struck his head whilst out walking and first became acquainted with Miss Russell.

  ‘I was most reluctant to permit the acquaintanceship to continue but Gilbert pleaded so hard to be allowed to see her again that, very much against my better judgement, I finally gave way. It was an unwise decision. Further meetings only deepened Gilbert’s feeling for Miss Russell although I believe the young lady felt no more for him than friendship and a strong pity; at least, I hope that is the case for her sake.

  ‘By last summer, it was quite clear to both Gilbert and myself that his madness was not a passing aberration
. The fits of insanity became more frequent and prolonged. In one of his lucid periods, we discussed his future quite rationally. It was Gilbert himself who suggested that we go to Scotland, where the family owns a castle on the coast, and that there his apparent death should be contrived in a boating accident. It seemed to him the best and cleanest escape from his tragic situation. That way, the truth need never be revealed. I should inherit the title and the estates without any legal complications and Miss Russell would be released from an impossible relationship.

  ‘He further suggested that he be brought back here to be cared for.* He loves this place; it is his childhood home; the servants are all old family retainers and therefore could be trusted. There was, moreover, the Paradol Chamber, the priest’s hiding place, so named after the Italian craftsman, a Signor Paradolini, who devised it, and the existence of which you correctly deduced, Mr Holmes. There he could be kept safe from the eyes of casual visitors or curious neighbours.

  ‘He also insisted I gave him my word that, should his madness grow worse, he would be sent abroad to the same clinic where his mother had been admitted.

  ‘I agreed to his terms; there was no alternative. Consequently the boating accident was arranged in which Gilbert apparently died, his body being swept out to sea. A few days later, I brought him back here, disguised as a servant. Barker was appointed as his nurse and the Paradol Chamber was prepared for him. He occupies it for most of the time, kept docile by drugs and sleeping draughts during his most violent attacks, although there are intervals, usually at night, when his insanity is less pronounced and he is taken downstairs to walk about the gardens.

  ‘It was on one of these occasions that Miss Russell caught sight of him. He had been walking with Barker in the grounds to the rear of the house, out of sight of the road, when a sudden fit overcame him and, breaking free, he ran towards the gates. Barker shouted for Macey to assist him and it was while the two men were attempting to restrain Gilbert and conduct him back inside the house that Miss Russell’s carriage drove past.

  ‘That is the full and tragic story, Mr Holmes. I know I can rely on you, and on your colleague, Dr Watson, never to repeat it.’

  ‘You have our word,’ Holmes assured him. ‘However, may I be allowed to give you some advice, Lord Hindsdale?’

  ‘What is that?’

  ‘That you take Miss Russell into your confidence. She is a young lady of great good sense and strength of character. I am certain she would never betray your trust. But it would be cruel indeed, knowing the affection she has for your nephew, if you leave her in ignorance of the truth. Her solicitor, Frederick Lawson, may also be trusted.’

  ‘Yes; you are right,’ Lord Hindsdale conceded after a long moment’s consideration. ‘In fact, I shall ask Miss Russell for an interview in the presence of her solicitor this very afternoon.’

  I do not know what was said between them but I assume Lord Hindsdale repeated in their hearing the account which he had already given to Holmes and myself, for during the course of the following months we received two communications from Miss Russell, one tragic in which she informed us that ‘a mutual friend’ had been forced to retire to a Swiss clinic through failing health.

  The second, which arrived several weeks after the first, contained happier news. In it, Miss Russell announced her forthcoming marriage to Frederick Lawson, inviting Holmes and myself to the ceremony which, unfortunately, we were unable to attend, Holmes being fully occupied by the Tillington scandal, for which he required my services.

  As for the case of the Paradol Chamber, I have given my word that the facts will never be made public and therefore I have had to content myself with making only a passing reference to it within the published records* and with writing this secret account which will be deposited with other confidential material in my dispatch box at my bank, Cox and Co. of Charing Cross, knowing that no one except Holmes and myself will ever set eyes upon it.

  * Mr Sherlock Holmes visited Dr John H. Watson at his consulting rooms at the beginning of the adventures concerning the Stockbroker’s Clerk and the Crooked Man, in the latter case staying the night. He also called on the evening of 24th April 1891 before he and Dr Watson departed for Switzerland where Mr Sherlock Holmes apparently met his death at the hands of his arch-enemy, Professor Moriarty. (Dr John F. Watson)

  † I refer readers to the Appendix where they will find, printed in full, the monograph of my late uncle, Dr John F. Watson, concerning the dating of certain events within the published canon, with particular reference to the precise year of Dr John H. Watson’s marriage. (Aubrey B. Watson)

  * It would appear that Dr John H. Watson had at least two medical acquaintances who were willing to take over his practice in his absence. In ‘The Adventure of the Crooked Man’, one is referred to as Jackson, while in ‘The Boscombe Valley Mystery’, Mrs Watson suggests that Anstruther might oblige. (Dr John F. Watson)

  * Fortunae Progenies may be literally translated as ‘The Lineage of Fortune’ or, more loosely, as ‘Of Fortunate Descent’. (Dr John F. Watson)

  * Dr John H. Watson is no doubt referring to Irene Adler who, in Mr Sherlock Holmes’ estimation, was always ‘the woman’. Vide ‘A Scandal in Bohemia’. (Dr John F. Watson)

  * There are several references to dogs within the published canon and two instances when Mr Sherlock Holmes made use of such an animal to assist him in his investigations. Vide ‘The Sign of Four’ and ‘The Adventure of the Missing Three-Quarter’. In ‘The Adventure of the Creeping Man’, Mr Sherlock Holmes speaks of writing a monograph on the use of dogs in detective work in relation to the manner in which they reflect the characters and moods of their owners. (Dr John F. Watson)

  * Iodoform is a compound of iodine, used as an antiseptic.

  † In ‘The Adventure of the Blanched Soldier’, Godfrey Emsworth was kept segregated in an outhouse by his father who feared that his son was suffering from leprosy. However, Mr Sherlock Holmes called in the eminent dermatologist, Sir James Saunders, who diagnosed pseudo-leprosy or ichthyosis, a non-infectious disease. (Dr John F. Watson)

  * As Mr Sherlock Holmes points out in ‘The Adventure of the Blanched Soldier’, it was not illegal to keep a lunatic on private premises, provided a qualified person was in attendance and the authorities had been notified. However, as this latter obligation had clearly not been fulfilled, Lord Hindsdale was breaking the law. (Dr John F. Watson)

  * In ‘The Five Orange Pips’, Dr John H. Watson refers briefly to the adventure of the Paradol Chamber among a list of other cases which occurred in 1887 and of which he has retained the records. (Dr John F. Watson)

  THE CASE OF THE HAMMERSMITH WONDER

  ‘What an exceedingly depressing day!’ Holmes complained. He was standing at the window of our* sitting-room in Baker Street, drumming his fingers on the pane down which the rain was pouring like a cataract. ‘No investigation to stimulate the mind! No book worth reading! Nothing to look at except wet umbrellas and steaming cab-horses! We really must do something, Watson. I cannot tolerate another hour spent shut up between these four walls. I shall suffocate with boredom!’

  He had been in a restless state of mind all afternoon, alternately pacing about the room or flinging himself down on the sofa to stare moodily at the ceiling.

  ‘What do you suggest, Holmes?’ I inquired.

  I was seated by the fire, reading the evening newspaper, with no real desire to venture out in such wild, wet weather.

  ‘Let us see what the Star has to offer,’ said he, striding across the room. Taking the paper from me, he rustled through the pages until he came to the section advertising the various places of entertainment.

  ‘Which would you prefer? A concert at St James’s Hall? A theatre? Or a return visit to Goldini’s?’*

  ‘Quite frankly, I should prefer none of them. It is a beastly night, Holmes.’

  ‘What a dull fellow you are! A little wetting hurt no one. Aha! I see something here which will tempt you away from the fire. T
he French Nightingale is top of the bill at the Cambridge.† I thought that would rouse you!’ said Holmes, quite recovering his good spirits at the alacrity with which I sat upright in my chair. ‘She is a particular favourite of yours, is she not?’

  ‘She has a very fine voice,’ I replied, a little stiffly.

  ‘And a quite superb ankle. Well, what do you say, my dear fellow? Shall we brave the rain and go to see her?’

  ‘If you wish. It is entirely your decision.’

  Holmes was still chuckling with amusement when, a little later and well muffled up against the weather, we hailed a cab in Baker Street and set off for the Cambridge, supping first at Marcini’s‡ on the way.

  Because of the rain, we had no difficulty in obtaining seats in the third row of the stalls, from which vantage point we had an excellent view of the stage and the chairman who introduced the acts.

  I cannot say that the earlier part of the programme particularly engaged my interest. There was an indifferent low comedian, a group of slightly above-average high-wire performers, a contortionist in a leopard-skin leotard who contrived to twist his limbs into quite extraordinary positions, and a pair of performing seals which Holmes, for reasons best known to himself, applauded enthusiastically.

  For my part, I reserved my admiration for Marguerite Rossignol who appeared at the end of the first half of the bill.

  Those who have never seen the French Nightingale perform have missed one of the greatest artistes ever to grace a music-hall stage.

  She possessed not only a beautiful soprano voice, angelic in its effortless ability to reach a pure, high C, but also a full and yet graceful figure.

  That night, as I recall, she was wearing a gown of lavender-coloured silk, a shade which showed off to the best advantage her abundant corn-coloured hair, elegantly adorned with a single aigrette plume, and a pair of shoulders which appeared to have been carved from white alabaster.