Sherlock Holmes Edwardian Parodies and Pastiches II

by Bill Peschel

  “I was on my way home from Greece. I had been working with the American Archaeological Society, and had just helped uncover the old Corinthian wall. We had embarked at Naples on one of the Lloyd steamers, The Normannia. We took on a few passengers at Gibraltar, among whom I had noticed two ladies heavily veiled in black.

  “About eight o’clock that evening I was lounging on the forward deck watching the moonlight and the water, when I heard a sort of feminine rustle, and was startled to hear my name pronounced with that hesitating accent which is a form of question. It was the younger of the two veiled women. I gathered in my pipe, and raised my hat and my eyebrows. ‘Mr. Vanderpool of New York?’ I bowed gravely and remarked quietly, ‘but, if I may be pardoned the colloquialism, you have the advantage of me.’ Ignoring my words, she went on more quickly: ‘Your archeological work is interesting, of course, but after all, Doctor, one regards that kind of thing rather as an avocation than as a permanent profession?’

  “I was now nettled as well as perplexed. ‘Madam,’ I said, coolly, ‘you appear to know enough of my personal affairs to be an acquaintance, but I fail to recognize your voice, and I must ask you to advise me whom I have the honor of addressing.’

  “‘Quite right,’ she murmured, and threw back her heavy veil; then handed me a card on which were delicately written these words: Miss Elsie V. Holmes.

  “Her face, even by moonlight, was not beautiful. Women would say there were beautiful things in it. Her forehead had fine curves amid a wealth of waving hair; her nose was aquiline, and her eyes—well, her eyes made you forget everything else, even the firm mouth and the too-dominant chin. They were dark and very large, but the thing I have never seen in any other human eye was a tiny sparkle of liquid fire in the center of the pupil.

  “This was not often seen, usually she held her eyes half closed and dreamed out under the fringing veil of her long lashes; but when she opened them wide upon you in joy, or indignation, or love, the fire came.

  “Before I recovered my self-possession the veil was again dropped.

  “‘Now, Dr. Vanderpool,’ the words were low, almost pleading, ‘I am going to ask of you a very great favor.’

  “‘First tell me,’ I cried, ‘how in Heaven’s name you know me, and that I am a doctor?’

  “‘Not a physician, certainly,’ she replied, ‘a surgeon. I noticed you at your dinner; and from the way in which you held your knife it was evident that—but, after all, the important thing is that you are a surgeon, and that it is a surgeon I need, and quickly, come!’ I and she moved toward the stairs leading down to the main cabin.

  “I followed without hesitation. She passed swiftly down, and through the long dining-saloon, and entered the corridor into which the staterooms open.

  “At the door of No. 17 she paused, drew a key from her bosom, and waited. ‘Promise,’ she then said in an earnest whisper, ‘that you will guard with professional silence what you are about to see.’ I bowed assent. The key clicked and I entered. I was struck by the size of the room. Instead of the ordinary cabinet, I found myself in an apartment as large as the drawing-room above, and evidently made so by removing partitions and throwing half a dozen staterooms into one.

  “The luxury equalled the size of the room. Easy chairs of rich upholstery, a reading table strewn with books and papers, a curiously constructed wardrobe, a carved writing-desk, and strangest of all, a comfortable bed, set in an alcove at the farther end of the room and partly hidden by heavy curtains. Beyond this, a door slightly ajar gave a glimpse into a second room, smaller, but of extraordinary size and of equal richness of furnishing.

  “Both rooms were brilliant with electric light. On the floor were signs of haste and confusion. A steamer trunk was open, and around it was a bewildering overflow of muslin, silk and lace, together with gleams of silver and cut-glass traveling gear. On a chair near the bed lay a black mourning dress, over which depended a heavy veil of crepe.

  “‘Your mother is ill?’ I asked as I recovered from my first surprise. Miss Holmes darted a keen glance at me, then sweeping by, threw wide the curtains, and answered, ‘It is my father.’”

  “Certainly it was a man who lay there motionless: whether dead or alive I could not tell. My first impulse was to get away from this chamber of mystery and horror, but I was fascinated by the figure to whose side I had been so strangely brought. The hair was long, unkempt, and iron gray; the features strong and well cut; the hands—evidently the hands of a gentleman—lay idly by the side, the shapely fingers relaxed in the repose of—what? This question touched the nerve of my professional instinct. To find out what this stupor was, and if possible to relieve it, was my errand.

  “In an instant my ear was pressed close over the heart. I heard no sound. ‘Try this!’ Something was pushed into my hand. It had an ear piece, like a telephone. It was, in fact a stethoscope; one of those tragic instruments which have whispered the story of life or death to many an anxious ear.

  “I did not then stop to wonder how this young woman happened to have so curious an instrument at hand; but swiftly adjusting the larger opening over my patient’s heart, I applied the other end to my ear, and listened while I held my breath.

  “During that fateful moment, I felt that the eyes of my fair companion were searching my face with an intensity of gaze like that with which a prisoner scans the faces of the jury when they return to give their verdict.

  “Silence! Then a faint, almost imperceptible sound, as if a kitten were purring at a telephone a hundred miles away. It was enough. ‘He lives!’ I said, rather to myself than to the woman at my side. ‘Thank Heaven!’ she answered solemnly, and then I saw for the first time in her eyes that wonderful flash of fire. Then before I could move, or utter a word, Miss Holmes had emptied a vial of some dark green liquid down the throat of my insensible patient; and with the dexterity of a trained surgeon she thrust a glittering blade into his mouth.

  “There was a red spurt of blood, followed by a sudden convulsion of the powerful frame; the eyes opened with a bewildered stare, a flush spread over the pallid features, and a deep drawn breath sounded in the stillness like a muffled groan.

  “Miss Holmes seized my hand in her gratitude, and said, ‘I thank you Dr. Vanderpool, that is all,—for the present.’

  “I would have remained to await her father’s more complete restoration, and to minister to the over-strained nerves of the daughter, but her decision was final.

  “‘Shall I not look in again during the evening?’

  “‘It will not be necessary, Doctor. This is by no means the first attack, though it has proved the severest. I know what to do, as you have seen, but this time I dared not take the responsibility alone.’

  “She busied herself at the bedside, and reluctantly I left her. I had the rest of the night in which to think it all over.

  “This young woman had come aboard our ship accompanied only by a feeble old lady attired in mourning. I had never seen either of them before, yet the girl had sought me out. She had called me by my name, she knew my profession and something of my recent history. Though a stranger, and with absolutely no claim upon me, she had prevailed upon me to undertake in her behalf an unknown service. She had exacted a promise of secrecy before I knew what the secret was to be, and in place of the invalid mother whom I expected to attend, she had shown me a dying man whom she called her father.

  “She had been afraid of nothing except that he might be dead. She had not dared to put the question to the stethoscope; but as soon as I had received from its lips the message of life, she had fearlessly administered one of the most powerful drugs known to the medical profession, and with her own hands performed a delicate and disagreeable operation in surgery; and this with as much composure as if she had been cutting a slice of bread.

  “Withal she had shown wonderful womanly tenderness, and was even now performing the arduous duties of nurse; while to me she had shown a heart responsive to the slightest kindness, yet schooled to the mos
t perfect self-possession.

  “That flush of joy in her eyes! What had I to do with that? But the momentary pressure of her hand and the tone in which she had said, ‘I thank you,’ surely there was something on which my memory had a right to linger. At all events my thoughts were busy with her all that night.

  “The next day was rough. The wind blew violently and scattered a blinding salt spray athwart the decks. By dinner time the steamer rolled so heavily that few passengers appeared. Miss Holmes, nevertheless, took her seat quietly at a distant table, and proceeded to satisfy a normal appetite without so much as a glance of recognition.

  “With the dessert, however, an envelope, dainty, square, and plain, was brought with my coffee. It was addressed,

  “‘Thomas Vanderpool, M.D.’

  ‘Steamer Normannia’’

  “My first name too! I broke the seal. My eye caught the peculiar wrinkle and color of a Bank of England note. Money is a foe to sentiment. I quarreled with my fee. I felt the blood rise to my cheek, and put the envelope in my pocket unopened. After dinner, striding the tumbling deck, though nearly blinded by the rain, I read these words:

  “Dear Dr. Vanderpool:—

  “Kindly call again at No. 17 at eight o’clock this evening.

  “E.V.H.”

  “The door of No. 17 opened before I could touch knuckle to it, and Miss Holmes welcomed me. An easy chair had been wheeled in front of a brisk open fire, guarded by a close and almost invisible network of brass. I afterwards learned that this open fire effect was produced by an arrangement of electric lights behind revolving spirals of flame-colored glass.

  “A lurch of the ship seated me in the chair with little ceremony, and Miss Holmes, with a smile, seated herself not far away. I should not have known the room. It was reduced to half its length by the closing of previously unnoticed folding doors. The bed was no longer visible, disorder had been banished, and the open fire, a miracle on shipboard, threw a glamour into every corner.

  “I spoke of this. ‘Yes,’ said Miss Holmes, ‘an open fire is one of my father’s hobbies, he always contrives to carry one with him.’

  “‘I trust your father is better.’

  “‘He is quite himself again, except that he is much exhausted.’

  “‘Shall I go to him?’

  “‘No, he needs nothing now so much as rest.’

  “‘But you summoned me.’

  “‘Not for my father,’ Miss Holmes interrupted. ‘This time I have called you on my own account. No, I am not at all ill,’ she continued, in response to my glance of inquiry, ‘but’—She hesitated, stopped, gave a little incoherent laugh, and burst into tears.

  “It was as I had feared, a strong, nervous reaction after a day and night of deep anxiety. I could not restrain a glance of professional interest.

  “‘It is nothing,’ she said, getting control of herself with an effort.

  “‘You need rest, Miss Holmes,’ I said firmly, and I rose to my feet.

  “‘Yes,’ she murmured wearily, ‘Yes, I need rest, and Dr. Vanderpool, that is why I have sent for you.’ All her austerity of manner was gone. She was trembling. She looked up to me appealingly.

  “‘But I am not a physician,’ I replied.

  “‘I know’ she began, ‘It isn’t that. It is—Dr. Vanderpool, won’t you stay with me a little while?’ The last words came involuntarily, as if forced from her in spite of her will.

  “‘If you will try a little bromo-caffeine,’ I suggested. ‘I will see whether I can get some from the—’

  “‘No, no,’ she answered impatiently, ‘I don’t need any drugs. I need a friend. Yes, I will speak out! I am surrounded by anxiety and peril, and I want you to save me!’

  “‘Me?’

  “‘Yes, Dr. Vanderpool,—you, for there is no one else.’

  “I must have looked my astonishment, for she immediately replied to my unspoken thought. ‘No, my brain is all right. I need your help. You won’t refuse me, will you?’

  “‘I shall be only too glad to do anything in my power to bring you relief,’ I protested; ‘Will you tell me how?’

  “‘I will,’ she replied slowly, and with a steady look into my eyes; ‘You can take me away from my father.’ With these words she threw a nervous glance in the direction of the folding doors.

  “My fears were confirmed. This charming woman under the stress of anxiety and fatigue, was on the very edge of nervous prostration, possibly her brain was already affected by delusion. If so, I knew that the chances of recovery were few.

  “I felt strangely drawn to the girl. A wave of compassion swept over my heart. I determined to do all in my power to save her. But from what? From anything and everything which might in any way harm or trouble her; from madness, if madness threatened her, from her father, if she rightly feared him; from herself, if—But, no, that thought was unworthy and absurd, and I banished it at once.

  “Then, while I hesitated, turning these thoughts in my mind, Miss Holmes arose and came nearer to me. The electric lamps had been subdued on her father’s account, and, in the fire-light, she was beautiful. Her weariness gave her an added grace. She swayed with the rolling of the ship and would have fallen, but I instinctively supported her with my arm. For an instant she clung to me, then quickly disengaging herself with a smile, conquered her faintness, and said quietly:—

  “‘Dr. Vanderpool, you are mistaken. I am not mad. Let me prove this to you first of all: What is the first conclusive symptom of insanity? It is morbid self-interest, an entire absorption in one’s own feelings, thoughts, and troubles:—Am I right?’ I nodded gravely. ‘Very well—then let me remind you that I can think of others. Of my father’s welfare I have not been careless.’

  “‘On the contrary—’ I began.

  “‘No,’ she interrupted, ‘I have not overtaxed my strength. I have done my duty. But I have also found opportunity, Doctor, to have some regard for you. Having no claim upon you, I would not allow you to lose your rest last night. You have had troubles of your own;—perhaps perils.’

  “I started. ‘What do you know of me?’ I demanded. She darted a keen glance at me, and asked demurely, ‘Were you ever in Spain?’

  “‘It was at Gibraltar that I had the pleasure of seeing you first,’ I replied.

  “‘Of course,’ she laughed, ‘how stupid I was.—And yet you are an American surgeon, traveling as a Grecian archaeologist! No matter; now I will tell you who I am, into what strange circumstances I am fallen, and how I am in possession of facts which it surprises you that I know. I am my father’s only daughter. My home is in London. My father’s marriage was, and has always remained, secret. Even his most intimate friend has never learned that my father has a daughter.’ She stopped abruptly, and swiftly withdrew to a distance, adding in a louder, and more conventional tone;—‘feeling really very much better and possibly may be able to see you.’

  “Her quick ear had detected a sound which had quite escaped me; for as I looked up in astonishment, I saw standing at the opening fold of the door my patient of the evening before.

  “Without the least embarrassment, Miss Holmes exclaimed, ‘Speak of angels! I was just saying to Dr. Vanderpool that I hoped you might be able to meet him. Dr. Vanderpool, let me present you to my father.’

  “He stood there tall and erect, his iron gray hair tossed back, a brier-wood pipe in his hand, regarding me through half-closed eyes and a halo of fragrant smoke.

  “‘I am glad of this opportunity of adding my thanks to these of my daughter,’ he said, courteously extending his hand.

  “Never had I felt such sense of power as the impress of his hand left upon me. As his slender fingers closed upon mine, and began slowly to contract, it seemed as if bone and cartilage must give way. Yet they instantly relaxed without giving the slightest pain. It was a hint of a fearful possibility. ‘If that is his grip when he is sick, I don’t care to try it when he is well,’ I thought.

  “In the presence of the father
a sudden reserve came over the daughter. She seated herself at a distance and bent her head over some sort of needle work.

  “‘My daughter informs me,’ continued Mr. Holmes, ‘that she appealed to you yesterday in an impulsive manner, and she fears that you may have thought her rude. I see that she has summoned you again. For myself, this is quite unnecessary, and yet I am glad that you have come, for I am afraid that Elsie is over-doing on my account. Possibly she will take advice from a doctor and get some rest. We have both been under a severe strain, both mental and physical, for some days before we came on board. But I perceive,’ he added, raising his hand to his head, ‘that I am still in need of rest. If you can persuade Elsie to follow my example, we shall not need to detain you longer.’ With these words, he bowed and disappeared behind the closing door.

  “After a moment of silence, Elsie drew a long breath and exclaimed in a low voice: ‘That was a narrow escape for us!’

  “‘What do you mean?’

  “‘Suppose he had heard what I was saying to you,’ she answered, coming close to me again, and looking wistfully into my eyes.

  “‘What then?’

  “‘Your life would not have been worth that,’ and she snapped her fingers. ‘Excuse me a moment,’ she added, and opening a small case, took from it a shining something, and followed her father.

  “While, she was absent, I paced the room absorbed by the most perplexing thoughts. What business had I there? What right to receive the strange confidence of this strange girl? Who was I, to come between father and daughter? Then came back my first conviction. She was over-wrought, and, for the time, at least, irresponsible. At one moment I determined to go at once and forever away from this room, and to leave this mysterious couple to work out their own destiny. What affair was it of mine? But surely, to desert two invalids in need of care would be worse than unprofessional, it would be almost a crime. Did I persuade myself the more readily from a recollection of the appeal in Elsie’s eyes? Did the remembrance of the pressure of her hand stiffen my professional conscience? At all events, I lingered; and as I lingered I felt a new sensation in her absence, a sensation of loneliness. While in this curious mood I found myself absently fingering the wooden case which she had left open upon the table. I put it down with a sudden sense of shame and horror. Shame at my own curiosity and meddling, and horror at the discovery that the case was one belonging to apparatus for the subcutaneous injection of morphine.