“I knew it would be too much to expect an undisturbed scene, since the crowds have tramped over everything during the search. However, I do want to examine Starvelings, as well as ask questions of Mr. and Mrs. Woods. How soon may we see them?”
“We are organizing the search parties now, Mr. Holmes, and assigning them their areas. “Le Chapelure” serves a good English breakfast. Why don’t you wait for me there?”
Holmes agreed and I was able to get a hurried breakfast after all. As expected, Holmes ordered nothing, although I urged him to drink some coffee. Within an hour of arriving at Smaller Chippings, we were walking down a nearby street of identical cottages. I noticed that behind the window pane of one or two a curtain was drawn aside as if someone was following our progress. George Stone ushered us into the small but tidy home of Mr. and Mrs. Cutter Woods.
Cutter Woods sat silent and glum in the parlor which, from his manner, he was clearly unaccustomed to using. He was a strong, heavily muscled man, as befits a forester who works with axe and knife all day. He looked to be in his middle thirties, with a weather-beaten face under a thatch of brown hair. He sat on the edge of a chair, his work-roughened hands clasping and unclasping in his lap. He was dressed in the sturdy clothing of his employment and his face displayed worry and confusion.
His wife, by contrast, appeared much younger than he, her pink softness only emphasized by the golden glints in her fair hair and the delicate molding of her cheekbones. Large, lustrous brown eyes looked out from under thick lashes. Dainty lips were poised over a rounded little chin. She reclined on the sofa, dressed in a morning gown of something thin, with touches of white at the wrists and throat.
At the first sight of her brave little face and her graceful figure my heart went out to her. What horror she must have felt, to find that her little children had not found their father but were wandering lost in the vast woods, far from their home and those sworn to love and protect them.
Holmes briskly asked her of her actions the day of the disappearance.
“My husband left for work at his usual time. Henry and Gladys don’t awaken until the sun shines in their window, so they seldom see their dad off in the mornings. They played quietly in their room, then after a bit of lunch I sent them off down the path to where their father was working, carrying his sandwiches. That’s the last time I saw them. Oh, they were so happy!” She sobbed softly into a white handkerchief.
Cutter Woods’ story was the same as the one he had given the police. His children had never appeared and when he returned his wife knew nothing of their whereabouts. They had searched around the cottage and then raised the alarm.
Holmes asked to see the children’s room. It was a whitewashed little chamber off the kitchen with two little beds and two little toy chests. Clothes hung on pegs behind a curtain. Braided rugs were spread on the wooden floor and the light came from a large window on the east wall. Holmes examined everything, even taking each pathetic little toy out of the gaily-painted chests and looking at it closely with his magnifying glass. Finally he spent some time going over the window and its fastenings, closing the shutters and shaking the window in its frame.
I watched him closely and I could tell from his demeanor that he was unsatisfied.
He left Inspector Stone and me in the sitting room while he went outside. Through the window the four of us could see him bent over the flower beds and crawling on his hands and knees along the grass verge of the gravel path. Finally he stood up and motioned for us to join him. We made our excuses and met him on the pavement before the little cottage.
“Inspector, may I see maps of this region? I need to get a better idea of the area.”
“Of course, Mr. Holmes, there is a complete set at the police station.”
A constable, followed by several men, ran up to Inspector Stone. In his hand, he held a pruning knife. I saw that the gleam of the blade was dulled in several spots with drops of a dark substance. The policeman held it out to us.
“Inspector, this was just found in a clump of weeds off a path that wanders through Bushy Park.”
Sherlock Holmes lifted the knife from the constable’s hand and examined it with his magnifying glass. I leaned over his shoulder. “That looks like blood!” I exclaimed.
“It is dried blood,” Holmes said. “The initials C.W. are burnt into the handle. Does this belong to Mr. Woods’?”
“I’ll soon find out,” Stone said grimly. He went into the cottage with the knife and emerged moments later with Cutter Woods in tow.
“I admit that knife is mine,” the forester protested, “but I don’t know anything about the blood. It disappeared days ago.”
“I have heard that song before.” Inspector Stone fastened handcuffs to Woods’ wrists. “You are under arrest for the murder of your children.” The small group of men began to murmur. “If you wish to examine those maps, Mr. Holmes, I will meet you at the police station.”
“I will be down in an hour, Inspector,” Holmes said. He looked around at the angry faces of the men around us. “Please do not release Mr. Woods until I have had an opportunity to talk to him.”
“There won’t be any danger of that!” said a voice from the back. I watched as the others nodded and stirred restlessly. A moment later Stone and the constable, with the prisoner between them and followed by the crowd, walked down the pavement in the direction of the High Street.
“What a sad, ugly business, Holmes. I see Inspector Stone didn’t need our help after all,” I remarked.
“On the contrary, he needs all the help we can give him, Watson,” my friend replied. “I only let him arrest Woods because of the current state of mind of the village. Cutter Woods will be much safer in gaol than on the streets after the discovery of that knife.”
“You don’t believe he did it, then.”
“I don’t believe I have all the facts yet, Watson, and I cannot make bricks without clay. Here is what I want you to do. Mrs. Woods must be upset. I want you to offer her your services as a physician. Stay with her until I return.”
“Of course I will, Holmes. What will you do?”
Sherlock Holmes cast a speculative eye over the houses around us. “I need to dig out some clay,” he answered.
A few minutes later I stood in the parlor of Cutter Woods’ home, taking the pulse of his wife. After admitting me she had returned to the sofa and collapsed in a half-fainting condition. Her pulse was fast and I fetched a little brandy for her. Her clear brown eyes gazed gratefully at me over the rim of the glass. I settled her more comfortably on the cushions and patted her little hand.
“Now there, you must rest, Mrs. Woods,” I said. “You have had a terrible time.”
“Doctor, please call me Clarisse,” she said softly. “Oh, to think that Cutter has done such a horrid thing and to his own children, too! I would never have believed it possible when we married just a year ago.”
I was surprised. “Then the children were not your own?”
“I loved them as my own, of course, but they were the children of Cutter’s first marriage. His wife died two years ago. We were two lonely people and it just seemed right when he asked me to marry him. Now it is all destroyed!” She lifted the little handkerchief to her eyes again.
My heart ached for this brave, helpless little woman and I sought to comfort her. “You must not let this blight the rest of your life, Clarisse,” I said as I patted her hand again. “You are a very attractive woman. I’m sure your future is much brighter than it seems right now.”
“Do you think so, Doctor? Do you truly think so?” Her sensitive, trusting face looked up at mine with hopeful eyes. I gazed into their depths and spoke from my heart.
“Yes, I truly do. Now you must rest. Look here, I will sit quietly in this armchair and you will try to take a little nap. I will let nothing disturb you.”
“You are very kind. Thank you.” She snuggled down under the light afghan throw I drew over her and I took my seat near her feet. The room grew silent as I waited, watching her breathe as I relaxed in my chair.
My energies expended in the days before, coupled with the lost hours of sleep before our arrival in Smaller Chippings, must have made me drowsy. I suddenly awoke. I could tell time had passed for the angle of light in the room had changed. I stared around before I realized where I was. I looked to the sofa. Clarisse Woods was lying under the afghan, her eyes closed and her breast rising and falling in a regular pattern. She was asleep. After a minute or two I rose from my chair and silently stepped out the cottage door.
The sun felt warm on my face. I sat down on the step and lit a cigarette. I was sitting there only a few minutes when I saw Sherlock Holmes and Inspector Stone walking up from the High Street. Holmes stopped before the Woods’ cottage and spoke to me sharply.
“Why are you out here, Watson?”
I felt nettled by his rudeness. “I’m only having a smoke,” I retorted. “Clarisse… Mrs. Woods is taking a nap in the parlor.”
“She has been with you this entire time?”
“Yes.”
He came closer and looked into my eyes in a curious fashion. “You have been awake all this time?”
“How long has it been?” I asked defensively.
“It has been over two hours since we parted. You fell asleep, didn’t you, Watson?”
I looked away from his gaze. “I may have dozed a little.”
“Watson!” He suddenly relaxed and smiled, shaking his head. “Now that I am here I have one more task. I must examine the children’s room again.”
I followed the two men into the cottage again, feeling confused. Why would Holmes need to look over that bedroom again? What could the sight of little coats and dresses tell him now that he had not learned the first time? I stepped into the parlor and gently woke Clarisse Woods.
She made a pretty sight as she blinked up at me and smiled. She put her soft hand in mine as she sat up among the cushions to greet my friend and the Inspector. Holmes’ request to look over the little bedroom again obviously bewildered her, but she readily gave her consent. We waited together on the sofa as he and Stone rummaged about in the back. I noticed that her slender fingers pulled a small white handkerchief about. She kept glancing down the hallway. When she saw that I noticed that she smiled at me.
Our silence was broken by Sherlock Holmes. He strode into the parlor with a dark bundle and sat down across from Clarisse Woods. His sharp eyes flashed and his body was alive with the energy only mental stimulation could bring him. I recognized the signs. He was near the end of the case! Only a few more questions and Cutter Woods would be guaranteed to swing for his crimes and the bodies of the poor victims could be recovered and given decent burial. Mrs. Woods must unknowingly hold some small bit of information that would insure justice. Protectively I inched closer to her, waiting for Holmes’ first words.
The detective proceeded to undo the bundle in his hands and disclosed a long black cape. “Mrs. Woods, does this belong to you? I found it hidden under the mattress of your son’s bed.”
She looked at it, her face awash in confusion. “I never saw it before in my life. Henry must have found it and hidden it there.”
Holmes smiled thinly. “I think not. It wasn’t there when I examined the room earlier today.”
“You are mistaken, sir.” Her eyes flew to mine in distress.
“These bits of grass on the hem of the cape match that blade adhering to the edge of your left shoe, Mrs. Woods,” said Sherlock Holmes.
“Holmes, what does this mean?” I asked.
“Watson, I am afraid that you have been taken in by a pretty face. Mrs. Woods has set up a nasty little plan to rid herself of both her husband and her stepchildren. I regret to add that we nearly helped her to succeed.”
“This is intolerable! Explain yourself!”
“Calm down, Watson, and listen. I fear that you have allowed your emotions to overcome your reserves of good sense. Do you remember that once I told you that to learn everything about a village you should frequent the local public house?”
“Yes, but…”
He held up a hand and my voice died away. “That applies best to the male inhabitants of a community. To learn about the females the best way is to engage that font of information, the local gossip. Every neighborhood has at least one. This street has two. Lonely women, they sit by their windows, keeping a sharp eye on the comings and goings of their neighbors. It takes but a kind word and a willingness to listen to tap into years of fact and speculation. Eliminate the speculation and you are left with the facts.”
“You would listen to gossips?” Mrs. Woods’ voice was low and bitter. I looked at her in surprise. I had not heard such a tone from her before.
“Each bit of gossip hides within itself a kernel of truth. The trick is to find that tiny kernel and discard the rest. After I sent Dr. Watson in here, I had a pleasant chat with the women whose interest in our movements had drawn my attention earlier. From the first I gleaned the story of Cutter Woods’ first marriage, his wife’s death and his remarriage to you. Did you realize, madam, that your treatment of those two children when their father was at work is well known in this neighborhood?”
“Bah! They are bitter old shrews with nothing to do all day but spy!”
“The law calls them witnesses. The second lady, whose window overlooks your back garden, had a more recent story to tell. I heard of a hooded and caped figure that moved back and forth from your door to Bushy Park repeatedly in the past few days. If this were a fairy tale the figure might be described as a witch.”
“It is a fairy tale, Mr. Holmes.”
“No.” He picked up the cape and turned back the attached hood. “This proves the story’s reality. You hid this in the children’s room because you thought that once searched the room would not be searched again.
“Unsatisfied with your marriage to a poor man with two children, you plotted their downfall. The children were to disappear and the dark deed to be ascribed to their father. Once he had been put into the clutches of the law, you thought the children could be shipped off or sold. Bands of gypsies still roam Bushy Park and you have heard those old wives’ tales all your life. Free, and with the little savings your honest husband has saved, you could use your natural advantages to contract a more salubrious marriage that would remove you from Smaller Chippings to a larger arena. Was a trusting and susceptible London doctor to be your first step, or had you other plans already in place?”
I looked at Clarisse Woods and shock flooded my body. It was all there. Everything Holmes had said was true. It showed in every line of her beautiful face, in every movement of her graceful body. A physical revulsion caused me to rise and move away from her. I got up and stood by the door that led outside. Dimly behind me I could hear Holmes continue to explain his findings.
He told Inspector Stone of the elderly woman who had seen repeated trips of a hooded figure into Bushy Park from Starvelings’ back door. He related how in the garden the night before Clarisse Woods was seen, cutting up a bit of butcher’s meat in order to drip drops of blood on a pruning knife. Later the mysterious figure carried the knife away down the path. Finally he related how he had watched from the old woman’s window that very morning as a person wearing that cape and hood left the cottage through the back garden as I slept. He attempted to follow, but he lacked knowledge of the terrain and lost his quarry in the undergrowth of Bushy Park. When Holmes examined the maps provided at the police station after he returned, he pin-pointed the area he deduced the children were being kept. He handed a sheet of paper to Inspector Stone.
Stone brushed past me to summon constables from the street. He left the men to convey Mrs. Woods to the station while he led the re
scue party. I stepped back as she was taken out. I dared not to look at her.
Sherlock Holmes stood awkwardly beside me on the pavement before Starvelings. “Watson…”
I stopped him. “Don’t say it, Holmes.”
“I wasn’t going to, I just…”
“I’m a fool, Holmes, and I don’t deserve a friend like you. I feel embarrassment more than anything else. To think that I could be taken in so easily and so quickly! I was convinced that hers was a pure and noble soul.”
“Were you attracted only by the soul, Watson?”
“Holmes! I… I…”
“Do not blame yourself too harshly, Doctor. I have never met a woman so skilled in the wiles of her sex as Mrs. Clarissa Woods. Had she only gone on the stage, we might be singing her praises to everyone we meet. She surely was made for wider worlds than that one in which she found herself. Instead we assist the authorities as they punish her ambition instead of rewarding it.”
By the time we boarded the next train back to London the news of the safe return of the children had swept through the village. Cutter Woods was released from custody in time to greet his returning son and daughter. Exhausted by the ordeal the three retreated from the general thanksgiving back to their cottage.
In a similar fashion I retreated to Baker Street. The familiar sight of Mrs. Hudson greeting us at the door, the furniture and books awaiting us in our sitting room, even the odor of Holmes’ favorite pipe served to sooth my nerves. Yet I felt a nagging sense of having lost something I valued.
It was telling of my friendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes that a few days later he objected to my intention to write of the case. “It will serve no purpose, Watson, and shows you in an unfortunate light.”
“On the contrary, I think it was one of your finest efforts and deserves to be memorialized.”
Sherlock Holmes and The Folk Tale Mysteries Page 5
