The Patient's Eyes: The Dark Beginnings of Sherlock Holmes

by Pirie, David

  I do not think either of us felt we needed to say more, and when Agnes Blythe entered she found us chatting merrily again and in my heart I danced with happiness.

  I returned home that evening with a spring in my step and walked up the staircase to Bell’s makeshift quarters. I was in a merry enough mood, and he had asked me to report on my former patient so I entered his room eagerly to tell him of her recovery.

  ‘Doctor,’ I said, ‘it is all good news, she …’

  But I broke off for I was surprised to see how dark it was. Bell was sitting bolt upright at his makeshift desk. ‘What are you doing in the dark?’ I asked. I went straight to the lamp and turned it up, noticing the mass of papers in front of him.

  Now at last he turned from them. ‘Merely preparing to ask you a favour.’

  ‘Of course,’ I said. ‘You wish to stay for another month? I will be delighted even if you scare away all my patients.’

  ‘No, no,’ he replied. ‘I have trespassed on your hospitality long enough. I will be returning to Edinburgh in a few days.’

  ‘Then what do you want?’

  The Doctor turned and leant back listlessly. I had been a little concerned by his manner but now it looked to me as if this was just the normal apathy that I had seen settle on him more than once after a particularly difficult case.

  ‘Oh, I am sorry, Doyle. It is just that sometimes the aftermath of a case bores me, as you know. Now, how did you find her?’

  ‘Her recovery is as good as I could possibly hope.’ I continued with a fuller account and he seemed interested and pleased. ‘But what is the favour?’ I asked when I had finished.

  ‘Not a large one. I merely wish to return with you to the scene of Greenwell’s death before I go …’

  ‘Of course.’ I was perfectly willing to help him and I knew quite well the Doctor was often fastidious about tidying up small outstanding details. ‘But surely we know what happened there.’

  ‘Oh, yes, I am quite satisfied Horler was responsible. Still, there are a few small points to resolve.’

  ‘Very well,’ I said. ‘I have no objection at all, though it is not a place I wish to revisit.’

  I bade him goodnight and turned to leave. As I did so, I noticed what he was studying.

  It was the file on Ian Coatley.

  THE SKULL BENEATH THE SKIN

  I did not much relish my return to Abbey Mill, but it was a small enough price to pay for all the Doctor had done for me. And so it was that late on a dull November afternoon we made our way by cab down the school’s elegant but somehow forbidding drive. As we approached it the sun was setting and I decided to be cheerful and put its horrors out of my mind, for Miss Grace was now restored to full health and making active plans for her departure.

  I had seen very little of Bell in the days since our conversation in his study. He had taken to leaving the house early and coming back very late. Once I did observe him on his way out carrying a great mass of papers and guessed they were the extensive notes he would be providing to the Crown for Horler’s prosecution. Bell always avoided any contact with criminal prosecutors, preparing his evidence in a series of anonymous briefs. This might seem odd, for naturally he hated to see his investigations compromised by sloppy court work, but the practice was second nature to him following the desperate aftermath of the Chantrelle case where he was so badly compromised. Because I knew this, it had come as no surprise to me to see him constantly scurrying around in the aftermath of Horler’s arrest with scribbled notes and forensic reports.

  But now it seemed he had finally finished his work for he carried nothing more than a notebook as the cab let us off a little way up the drive and we walked down to the Mill in the fading light. Why did we walk? I believe the Doctor said he wanted to enjoy the evening air. But in my mind now that walk seems to last for ever as if it were a walk into another kind of world.

  We came to a stop below the window of the room where we had first met Greenwell. And then, to my amazement, the sound of the piano and a voice rang out above us.

  Over yonder’s a park that is newly begun

  And all the bells in paradise I hear them a-ring

  Which is silver on the outside and gold within

  And I love sweet Jesus above all thing

  At first, I did not recognise the singing, but I was still overwhelmed by its beauty and then, of course, I knew.

  ‘Yes, I contacted the owner,’ Bell told me. ‘The new owner, that is!’

  My heart leapt. ‘Why did you not say?’

  As we walked on, listening to that song, tears came into my eyes and Bell himself was moved. I have never described the Doctor as an unemotional man. He could be logical at times and at others severe, but his feelings ran deep enough: there was a look in his eyes as we listened I had rarely seen before.

  Now I know, as I did not then, that the beauty and power of that singing reminded him of his wife Edith and of those awful hours he fought to save her from peritonitis, almost exactly four years before we met. Once, in Edinburgh, during my own sadness, he showed me his diaries of the night he lost his wife. I expected to see a long and painful account of what I knew had been a titanic struggle. But there were only seven words written with a terrifying plainness on a grey white page. ‘On 9 November at 8.05 p.m. Edith died.’

  And in that park there stands a hall

  Which is covered all over with purple and pall

  And in that hall there stands a bed

  Which is hung all round with silk curtains so red

  And in that bed there lies a knight,

  Whose wounds they do bleed by day and by night

  Little wonder, then, that he was moved by that singing now. We entered the house and stood in the hall as that magical music continued from above.

  At that bedside there lies a stone

  Which our blest Virgin Mary knelt upon

  ‘Now, are you glad you came?’ the Doctor asked as we walked upstairs and into the corridor.

  ‘Even so, you should not have asked her. She comes back rarely enough and think of the memories it has.’

  At that bed’s foot there lies a hound

  Which is licking the blood as it daily runs down

  At that bed’s head there grows a thorn

  Which was never so blossomed since Christ was born

  Probably it was the corridor itself that made me suddenly feel a flicker of apprehension. The site of my patient’s recurring dream, the place where she was always trying to escape was not somewhere I walked easily. But there was something else, too. For lurking in my mind was the glaring and obvious truth: that Bell never arranged anything like this without a very serious reason.

  ‘Bell, you do not think she is still at risk? Is that why you bring her?’

  He turned to me and I could see at once that his reply would provide no reassurance. ‘I cannot be sure,’ he said.

  And in that moment I saw all the foolishness of my false confidence. My mind went racing back to Blythe and Cullingworth, and even Agnes Blythe. Was there collusion after all? I remembered Greenwell’s supernatural fears of a visitation. For the first time, I found myself wondering if it was possible that Ian Coatley still lived, that another man had hanged. None of this speculation was at all pleasant and a part of me cursed the Doctor for bringing me to it in this place.

  It was dark now and, as we entered, I saw she had lit the candles in that beautiful room with its large windows and window seats. Heather broke off from her playing at once and came to be by our side.

  She was flushed and animated, and I wanted for her sake to try to put all my fears aside. I only hoped Bell would have the tact either not to talk of the case at all before she left us or treat it lightly. She shook my hand with a smile of happiness and I noticed with pleasure she had found her locket for it was in its usual place. Then she turned to my companion. ‘Dr Bell,’ she said, ‘I was glad to come and see you for I have had no occasion to thank you personally for all you did.’
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  ‘Thank you. I did my best.’ He went to the window seat. She smiled at me and was about to make some remark. ‘But a part of me feels I have failed,’ the Doctor continued.

  She turned back to him. ‘I do not see how you could have done more. But I suppose the mark of success is someone who accepts his failures.’

  ‘Of course. Like your wonderful song,’ said Bell. ‘It is very sad. The knight who bleeds. He bleeds for others. I feel that the song means something. Here in this room, even this spot. Did you sing it here?’ He laid his hand on the window seat.

  She jumped a little. ‘Yes, of course I associate it with this room.’

  This was hardly surprising. ‘Doctor,’ I protested, ‘I wanted to help you but why drag Miss Grace back to this house? There is no need and I would like to see her home before we continue …’

  Miss Grace interrupted. ‘No,’ she said bravely. ‘I am happy to stay. I want to hear whatever the Doctor says. I owe him that.’

  ‘Thank you,’ replied Bell graciously. ‘I was heartened to see how well you have recovered.’

  After that we went on to pleasantries. She offered us some refreshments, talked of her music, of the evening air, of anything except what had brought us here.

  But Bell came back to it soon enough.

  ‘I must ask you, Miss Grace,’ he said at last. He had moved away from us and gone to the window. ‘I have spent some time thinking about Captain Horler and why he came back. You were engaged to him, were you not? And he broke off the engagement?’

  ‘I was a fool.’ For a moment she turned away, then came over to him from where we had been standing by the piano as I followed.

  ‘Because’, said the Doctor, ‘I saw some letters on a tree. They had nothing to do with the case. But they made me understand an important part of it. Which is this: everything would make far more sense if out of some ancient loyalty you had broken off the engagement with Horler.’

  She frowned. ‘What?’

  ‘ … And broken his heart,’ continued Bell. ‘Just as the Boers later broke his mind and body. If he had spurned you, why would he be here? It was only when I realised you had spurned him that I knew he could well be our cyclist.’

  Miss Grace did not seem as offended by this intrusion as I was. ‘What are you saying?’ I could see the effort it was for her to go back to it. ‘That I could have stopped him pursuing me?’

  ‘No.’ The Doctor’s tone was deadly serious. ‘At first you were very frightened. You genuinely did not know who the figure was and feared it was only in your mind. But once you realised it was Horler you sensed he could be used.’

  ‘How can you mean “used”? She looked sad and incredulous. ‘You think that I wanted him to imprison me?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said the Doctor. ‘You were held against your will but that was the limit of it. You knew he would not harm you.’

  She seemed puzzled and anxious. But I could not contain myself. For by now I knew the Doctor’s game and I had rarely felt such fierce anger. Here was one of his famous mental contortions. First to have troubled me with fears on her behalf, and now to be torturing both of us with this kind of senseless and twisted logic. I had seen him wrong before and I knew quite well he was wrong now.

  ‘You are mad.’ I strode towards him. ‘I truly believe you have taken your method too literally and spun yourself into the stupidest of corners. But I know where you are leading and I want you to give it up. How could she have had anything to do with Baynes’s death? Or Greenwell’s? For the first she was in bed having a nightmare! During the second she and her aunt were with one of Warner’s men!’

  He was quiet for a moment. But he was merely measuring his way. ‘I agree,’ he said softly. ‘All of that is true. She was not at the scene of the crimes. But she was still involved.’

  ‘No!’ I repeated, concentrating on his face by the window, not wanting to look at her for I knew the Doctor’s ways but she did not and I could not bear to think of how it would affect her.

  ‘Yes!’ he came back quicker, his eyes fixed on me. ‘Baynes died because he had seen her and Horler together. She regretted that, but still she did nothing because in her heart she knew she had found a way to escape Greenwell who was blackmailing her into marriage. And in the end I very much fear she played on the jealousy of her mad suitor, Captain Horler, as skilfully as she plays that piano!’

  I turned now, for I had to. The pain in her face at this was hard to bear. ‘That is unfair,’ she protested. ‘It is cruel.’

  ‘She is right.’ I faced Bell. ‘And what possible motive could she have? There is none.’

  ‘Ah, the motive,’ said Bell. ‘Yes, we come to that.’ He moved towards the door as I followed. ‘And with some regret I will show you it.’

  And he flung the door open on that terrible corridor.

  I almost expected to see Coatley standing there. Of course, it was empty, but as its wood gleamed in the candlelight it had never before looked so horrible or so menacing. ‘What happened there in that corridor, that is your motive.’

  ‘Bell!’ I wanted only to stop him. I heard her steps behind me. She came beside me.

  ‘It was not Coatley,’ he said to her. ‘You broke your father’s skull and stabbed your mother.’

  Heather Grace recoiled from his words. I was so horrified by them that I almost wished to strike him.

  ‘How can you say that?’ There were tears in her eyes.

  ‘He confessed, Bell!’ I shouted.

  ‘Yes, but the man knew he would hang anyway,’ the Doctor replied. ‘They had him for his earlier murders. He hanged for her.’

  ‘This is blind assumption and lies,’ she said fiercely.

  ‘Very well,’ said Bell. ‘Will you do something for me, Miss Grace? Will you open your locket?’

  The effect was dramatic. All the colour drained from her face. Her hand went to the locket. ‘It is personal.’

  ‘I know,’ he agreed. ‘For I have seen what is in it. It lay beside you in the cellar of that house.’

  She bowed her head and opened it.

  Staring out at us was not, as I had always believed, a picture of her lost parents, but the same handsome boyish features I had seen in the photo Bell showed me at Abbey Mill. It was the face of Ian Coatley. Nor was that all. Scribbled below it was the strange symbol from Greenwell’s notebook. A very odd letter that looked like a heraldic H. And two words, which filled me with apprehension, for I had heard them before: ‘One Love.’

  I did not look at her face as she closed it and turned away behind me but I felt her eyes on the Doctor, as mine were. ‘The symbol is a lover’s pledge,’ said Bell, speaking now in the soft tone he reserved for his most intensely worked revelations like my father’s watch. ‘I and H – Ian, Heather — intertwined. One love. Those letters on the tree jogged my mind and at last I saw their significance. He cared for her deeply, as so many others have done. And when I realised that I gradually unearthed all the discrepancies of the trial. Every account mentions her barefoot, bleeding. Again and again, I asked myself, why? And where were her shoes? The grounds were searched for days, no shoes were ever found. They had been buried or destroyed. And Coatley’s shoes were free of blood.’

  As I watched and listened to this, I was very conscious of her behind me for I heard a rustle of her dress but I felt I would be lost if I looked round. ‘Even his letters from prison did not gloat,’ the Doctor continued and my mind flashed back to that awful letter: I am glad of what happened, I rejoice in what I did … ‘No, they are veiled love letters, though one was mistranscribed. He did not say “to you all”, it was “for you”. They refer only to his pride in the sacrifice he was making for her.’

  ‘But even if this were true,’ I said for, though I could not bear to look at her, I would not grant him an inch, ‘the case is closed, why would it matter now?’

  ‘Because her uncle had his suspicions, as did Greenwell. Neither of them wished to reopen the case and besides, there was
no evidence. But the question of her inheritance was quite another matter. Greenwell snatched the locket and wanted us to see it the night he invited us to the Mill. To him it proved she was possessed, and he thought it gave him a hold over her and her money. They had put her in an asylum before and, if she did not marry him, they would have done so again. She had struggled with this, even to the point of sending that anonymous letter to herself and trying to blame it on Greenwell. But the cyclist, when she found out who it was, came as a godsend. He was a way out, a possible path to freedom. As you were, Doyle, as you were.’

  Now for the first time I saw the full sense of what he was saying and felt a sudden awful pang of doubt at my core. I made myself turn round to Heather Grace.

  And all my worst fears were realised. For her eyes were filled not with outrage, but sadness and anger. ‘You are too late.’ She spoke very quietly.

  Bell had his eyes fixed on her and now I realised why he had been so affected by her singing. I could see how much this must have cost him. The worst event of his life was the death of his beloved wife. Afterwards, he had worked very hard to moderate his children’s suffering. The idea of a child murdering her mother and father – in effect, ending a family – was desperately hard for him and you could see it in the eyes. ‘I know that,’ he replied, obviously controlling his anger with difficulty. ‘No court would follow me. Even Warner would have none of it. Without evidence, I can do nothing to see you receive justice. But I tell you, if you do not plead with the jury for clemency for Horler, then I will risk my own career in an attempt to expose you.’

  She spoke almost in a whisper. ‘I have no wish to hurt him. I never did. I was horrified by what he had endured in Africa.’

  ‘But …’ The Doctor waited. I had turned away, listening, but no longer looking at either of them.