by David Marcum
“Ah,” mused Holmes. “No, of course. I often chide others for drawing conclusions before all the facts have been presented, so I must be doubly severe with myself. From your shortness of breath and the high colour in you cheeks, I thought you must have been overladen. I perceive now, from the repeated pattern of the fine speckles of muddy water upon your skirt’s hem, that you have instead been running, or at the very least moving at a brisk clip.”
“Perhaps the young lady had simply stepped in a puddle,” I ventured, although the look of surprise on our new acquaintance’s face told me before Holmes could even respond that he had surmised correctly.
“There is repetition in the pattern, my dear Doctor. To step accidentally in one puddle is a misfortune, but to continue to do so with such regularity would require either poor eyesight or poorer luck, and I note our new acquaintance has admirably clear sight.”
The astonished lady’s expression had transformed to one of consternation and, I believe, alarm, as if she had discovered cause to regret finding herself trapped with such peculiar company. All this changed in an instant as, with a wry smile in her direction, I replied, “Of course, Holmes, I now detect the absence of the slight grooves eyeglasses would leave on either side of the nose, and I might have noticed the pattern of splashes were I in the habit of scrutinising the skirt hems of young ladies whom I have only just met and have not even been introduced to.”
Introduction or not, our companion evidently knew of us, for with a short laugh of relief she cried, “Then from what you have said, may I take it that you are the celebrated Mr. Sherlock Holmes? And you, sir, are Dr. Watson? Then this is remarkable, for you are the very men I could wish to meet.”
“You cannot mean,” said I, “that you were travelling to London to call on us?”
“Oh, no,” she admitted, still beaming and looking from one to the other of us.
“Well,” remarked Holmes, “I had momentarily come to fear the type of coincidence my good friend likes to write into his accounts had finally become a reality. Never mind, Watson, you can always contrive to make it so once your pen touches paper.”
I held back from informing him, not for the first time by any means, that the constraints of space in those magazine accounts that had so celebrated his deeds sometimes, though nowhere near as frequently as he claimed, meant that particular events had required summarising rather more succinctly than actuality tended to allow. And as I bit down on my complaint, it was our companion who spoke up, explaining, “No, Mr. Holmes, my business in town today was not scheduled to lead me along Baker Street. I merely meant that, having read your friend’s reminiscences of your astonishing adventures, it strikes me that you are the one man possessed of the skills to help with certain matters that have been...” She looked for a moment to the skies, still lowering with the remainders of the last few days’ storm clouds, and her expression darkened to suit the vista. “Well, I suppose I must admit they have been troubling me greatly of late.”
“Then you must put these matters to me,” insisted Holmes, waving away her protests that she had not intended to trouble us. “Well, why not? I have over an hour before me until we reach our destination, with little to occupy my thoughts besides the passage of an already familiar landscape, or a yet closer examination of the interior of my hat. And I am more than certain my friend, Watson, could be prevailed upon to tear himself away from the unlikely exploits between those mustard-plaster covers to lend an ear.”
“If you are quite sure it would not be an imposition?”
My book put aside, I proffered a smile and a gesture to continue.
“Then perhaps it would do me some good to unburden myself. Well, gentlemen, you have already been most patient with me, but as Dr. Watson has said, we have not been introduced. I shall begin by telling you, then, that my name is Catherine Stokeville. But having so begun, what next to tell you, and where to begin...?”
“Please, Miss Stokeville,” I smiled, “I can only assure you the weight I have seen lift from the shoulders of many bowed down much further by circumstance than you has been extraordinary.”
“Mrs. Stokeville, Watson,” chided Holmes, “as that is surely a wedding ring the lady toys with beneath her glove. You are not travelling for pleasure, Mrs. Stokeville.”
Her laugh was darkly edged. “Mr. Holmes, these days I never travel unless I have to, and it is far from a pleasure.”
“Given the depth of your feeling, may I presume that something occurred, then, while you were travelling? An occurrence that alarmed you, and which you fear may be repeated. This was why you asked our destination, for you were fearful of travelling alone. Was that also why you were running?”
“I do not much relish spending more time than necessary in railway stations, so I am afraid I left it rather to the last minute this morning.”
“But if travel is so distressing,” I urged, “there must be someone you could prevail upon to accompany you? A relative, perhaps, or a friend. Indeed, why not your husband? He surely could not happily allow you to undertake such a troubling experience?”
“Or is it that your husband is the reason for your journey?” prompted my friend, after a moment’s silence from Catherine Stokeville threatened to stretch further yet. Domestic crises and errant spouses invariably fell low upon Holmes’s list of factors of interest in a case, although he managed to keep any tone of impatience from being too conspicuous in his voice.
If she detected this dismay at all, Mrs. Stokeville gave no indication, as she admitted, “My husband knows nothing of this matter, nor shall he, I hope. At least not until I am fully prepared to lay the facts as I understand them before him. But you are as correct in your surmises, as your reputation suggested you would be, Mr. Holmes.”
Drawing a small locket from a slender chain at her throat, she presented us with a portrait of a dark-haired young man with a keen gaze and a firm jaw. “Tobias, that is to say my husband, is indeed the cause of this and several recent journeys, including the initial excursion borne out of my feelings of unease that propelled me into a realm of sheer terror.”
Sherlock Holmes leaned swiftly forward in his seat, all possible disappointment flown. “Then it is with this original journey that we must concern ourselves, no matter how painful the details may be. If it helps you to steel your resolve, you may first tell us of your marriage, your husband, and what it is that he has done to cause this unease you mention.”
Now entirely composed, her colouring returned to normal, Catherine Stokeville was the epitome of poise as she began her tale. Yet though it promised terror and unease, its beginning was conventional enough. “Tobias and I have been married for a little over two years, although we have known each other rather longer. I believe we were both drawn to one another as we each of us had no-one else in the world, having both lost our families while in our youth; myself while still but a tiny child. Although I have long thought that a curious expression; to say we lost them makes it sound mere childish carelessness on our parts. As if I could have prevented the coach accident that deprived me my parents, or he the house fire that robbed him of his own family. But as each of us grew up, what kindness we could not draw from family we had learned to seek and to prize where we could find it. Although it may seem like pride to tell of it, when we first became engaged to marry, Tobias declared that in me he saw more kindness and love than he could ever have once hoped to enjoy, even in a life long-lived, and I vowed there and then that if there were even a grain of truth in those flattering words, then it was my intention to ensure that whatever good he saw in me was his to share until death.
“We married and settled in our home in Dalsthorpe. It is neither a vast nor imposing home, but Dalsthorpe is not a vast or imposing town, as you must have observed by the swiftness with which this train passes through it and leaves it behind like only the most fleeting notion of a town. But while Tobias’s begin
nings may not have been the happiest, he has worked to raise himself as his own man, and the house is large enough and pretty enough, and it suited us - no, it suits us very well. And far as it is from the grime and scramble of London, the railway gives such easy access for the rare occasions Tobias is required by work to travel. Rather those were rare occasions, for over these last weeks their frequency has increased drastically, and for reasons that the more I attempt to fathom them, the less comprehensible they appear to be.”
“You say he travels as suits his work,” said I. “What does your husband do for a living?”
“He is in business, as an advisor in a financial capacity. When Tobias was left alone in this world, there was a small inheritance which came with him from India. He was brought back to England, of course, to be closer to his few remaining relatives after the tragedy had left him orphaned. And while Mr. Joshua Henstridge, the distant cousin who took charge of his affairs until he reached his majority, did not have a wealth of familial love to spare, he was a shrewd investor, placing that inheritance into shares and bonds that provided a healthy return. Tobias not only benefitted from these funds, for he could afford to be his own master if he so chose, he learned to recognise a sound investment and to avoid a poor one, and has offered these skills to a small group of associates and businessmen who have been referred to him. It is from his commission in these matters that he makes a modest living to supplement his savings.
“Our needs are few, you see, and we are not extravagant people. I would hate for you to think the love of money and the accruing of it was his motivation. Many of his investments have been for charitable bodies.”
“Tobias Stokeville,” I mused. “I thought the name had a familiar ring to it. I have seen it more than once in the notices of The Lancet and other medical journals. He has been instrumental these past few years in raising the finances for at least two new wings in London’s hospitals, to equip a clinic and establish another in some of the more deprived areas, and has established several shelters for those not as fortunate in their stations.”
“All very laudable. Yet this paragon of kindness and charity to whom Mrs. Stokeville has so far shown herself devoted has recently tarnished his shine in her eyes.”
“There is no need to be so blunt, Holmes,” I exclaimed, sharply.
“No, I fear it is the truth,” sighed our companion. “And Mr. Holmes’s words merely urge me toward the point. But I should explain that I first met Tobias in the capacity of an employee. Without my parents, and with a very strict aunt with decidedly old-fashioned views acting as guardian, I found very few paths laid in front of me in life. I could not picture myself as a nanny. Having lost my own parents so young, I had no wish to be the barrier between any child and their parent. Nor was teaching a career brimming with promise.”
“Thus you trained in the secretarial skills.”
I sought to glean the signs which had led Holmes to this surmise, but the most obvious source of information, those being the hands, were still encased in gloves, so I could perceive no indentation of a pencil against the index and middle fingers, nor flattening of the fingertips from the repeated striking of a typewriter’s keys. My friend had obviously followed the direction of my glance, as he said, “A housekeeper would seem unlikely a position for one so young, if not entirely unnecessary a role in so compact a household, and Mrs. Stokeville’s manner and bearing are all wrong for a maid of work, and what other need might a young man of business have than for a secretary?”
“When I met him, he was still under the employ of his cousin,” continued Catherine Stokeville. “And when he and Mr. Henstridge parted on good if coolly civil terms, Tobias to pursue his own fortune, he requested that I might wish to continue under his auspices. It was a risk, as Henstridge’s was an established firm with a guarantee of regular, if dull, work, but I had no great need to weigh up my options. And even after we became man and wife, I have rebuffed Tobias’s suggestions that he hire a full time assistant so I may enjoy my leisure time as the wife of the chairman and founder of this firm of one. ‘It is a firm of two,’ I remind him, ‘and with as loyal a staff as can be imagined.’ Again, like our quiet house in our quiet town, it suits me to be busy. The work is far from taxing, but I enjoy feeling useful in all aspects of his life.”
That troubled look returned to shadow her eyes, but she drew herself up in her seat and pressed on without prompting. “It was while tending to these light duties that the first note of alarm chimed with me, although I would later have cause to recall other incidents that, while minor in themselves, seemed to stack into a very worrying whole.
“Tobias had been to London the day before to discuss a promising deal with some valued clients and, as with so many of his recent trips, he had returned tired and had slept long into the morning. I had breakfasted alone, and was in the study tending to the morning’s mail when Tobias, freshly risen and not yet shaved or fully attired for the day’s duties, came in yawning and enquiring if he had heard the postman. To this I could only indicate the small pile of envelopes before me, and the letter opener poised halfway through unsealing the first of the bundle.
“‘I shall need some strong coffee before attending to dull circulars and bills,’ he had declared, apologising for his late rising and his absence of the previous day. I insisted on brewing a fresh pot and he followed me, announcing that we were to have at least a few minutes to enjoy one another’s company. Those words were dearer to me than you may imagine. And those few minutes became an hour or more of chatter and laughter, although as I rose to kiss him he ran a hand across his darkly stubbled cheek and declared himself a disgrace, before returning upstairs to make his toilet. In turn, I returned to my duties, and opened and sorted the remainder of the letters - circulars and bills - just as Tobias had predicted, and read over some of the letters he wished me to send.
“It was not until after another hour or more that it occurred to me that I the letter I had partially opened before the morning’s impromptu coffee break had not been with the others. I could vividly recall picking up the paper knife upon my return and inserting it under the fold of a fresh envelope. The unopened letter was not with the others, nor anywhere within sight. The window was closed so no draught could have dislodged it, yet I still checked the floor beneath and around my desk.
“‘Could my husband not have taken it?’ is the unspoken question hovering in the air. Well, I asked him, of course, but he dismissed it as trifling, with seemingly not the first idea of what I was speaking. Yet, after checking all through the study, and even testing the locks on the windows to assure myself no-one might have crept in unseen from the garden while we laughed and drank coffee in the next room, I pressed him on it. ‘No, I haven’t seen any blasted letter,’ he retorted. ‘Why should I steal my own post, after all?’ I reassured him I was in no way accusing him of stealing it, naturally, but he was already apologising for his raised voice, and laughingly suggesting that bills which vanish of their own accord are an invention he would whole-heartedly invest in.”
“Do you have any indication of what this missing letter may have contained?”
“Only that it was from his bank in the city, Mr. Holmes. I’m familiar enough with their stationery and crest. As to what it was concerned with, I had no record or notice of any large transfer or withdrawal of funds, which is their usual reason for writing between the due dates of regular statements.”
“Is your husband prone to lapses in temper over matters he regards as trifling?”
“Far from it. He is the most even tempered, forbearing, and patient man I believe I have ever met.”
Holmes shot me an amused glance over the bowl of the pipe he was in the midst of lighting. “Careful, old fellow, your title may be at risk.”
“Even my much-vaunted patience is finite,” I warned, only half in jest, before noting a widening of our new friend’s eyes. “Mrs. Stokeville? Som
ething else has occurred to you?”
“Why, yes. This was the second time he’d become uncommonly angry with no explanation lately, and again it was over a letter. Although his anger was not directed at me on this occasion, I am relieved to say, for I have never seen such fury in his eyes as when he read whatever it contained. No, I have no idea of either sender or contents, for Tobias had taken it directly from the hand of the postman that morning, with a smile and a cheery greeting. But his spirits upon opening this particular marked and creased bundle of pages soured instantly, and he stalked past me with no appearance of having noticed that I was present. And even with the study door slammed so violently at his back that the windows rattled throughout the house, I heard his snarls and groans as he stormed around that room. I have never once been afraid of the gentle, loving man I married, but for that morning it appeared that he had taken his leave and left a dangerous stranger in his place. Yet when he emerged from the study after an hour he was calm and light again. I was so relieved to have my Tobias back that I chose to let the matter rest, decreeing that if he had anything to confide in me, he would do so as he always had done, and what he chose not to confide could therefore be of no concern.”
“And was this before or after his travels to London had increased their frequency?” Holmes murmured.
“This was mere weeks ago, but it is only as you mention it that I see his first trip to the city came not so many days after his receipt of that letter. I had wondered if it was some grave problem with an investment or client that had led to such a swiftly arranged trip. After all, he was not all-knowing or blessed with foresight. There had been failed ventures on rare occasions in the past, yet none that had ever produced such an outburst of foul humour. Given the change in him afterwards, I began to harbour the uneasy notion that whatever had sent him rushing away with such haste was no affair of business.”
