“They belong to Lady Blanche. With the money she has been earning, she has been buying needed items for her wardrobe. Shoes, a few dresses and the accessories a woman likes.”
“Did she go shopping this morning?”
“Yes. Mrs. Boddle went with her.”
“Call up Mrs. Boddle.”
The landlady appeared at the door. “Mrs. Boddle, tell me everything that happened while Lady Blanche and you were shopping today.”
Her honest Scottish face looked anxiously toward the bed. “We always go t’ Homestead’s, sir. It’s not what she’s used t’, but its good quality an’ no one knows her as Lady Blanche there. She was lookin’ for some laces for her stays, sir. We found some an’ came out t’ the carriage. Nothin’ happened.”
Holmes was relentless. “Something must have happened. Think.”
“Well, there was that old peddler.”
“Tell me.”
“He was standin’ outside the store entrance, carryin’ a tray of rings an’ combs. She was attracted to his goods an’ looked the things over. I had gotten int’ the carriage an’ couldn’t hear what was said, but she came back with two little packages.”
Holmes poked around in the trunk. He found a tiny crystal casket, the kind that would hold a ring. It was empty. “The little fool!” He groaned. “Watson, check her fingers!”
I drew her arm out from under the sheet. On one finger was a gold ring with a large green stone. “Holmes, see here!”
He sprang to her bedside and gently pulled at the ornament. I saw a single drop of blood below her knuckle as it came off. Holmes fumbled with the gem for a moment. There was a faint click and he held forth his palm, the ring in the center showing a hinged jewel. Clear liquid dripped over his fingers, spilled from the cavity within the stone.
“A Borgia ring! See the sharp hollow needle that delivered the drug, activated when it was pulled tight to the finger joint. Watson, she has been poisoned!”
“Dr. Bavard, please assist me.” Together the other physician and I worked over the unfortunate girl. Mr. Liddle and Holmes stood back. Our restoratives were not pleasant but they did prove effective. After fifteen minutes her vital signs improved and in half an hour I wearily stepped back and began gathering up my medicines and instruments.
“She will recover,” I said. “She is still affected, but it’s a normal sleep now. If the drugging had continued, she would have gradually sunk deeper and deeper until death was inevitable. I’ll stay here tonight to monitor her condition.”
Sherlock Holmes clapped his hand on my shoulder. “Good man,” he muttered. “I think we can surmise where that ring came from.”
He turned to the other two men and raised his voice. “Could Lady Chillwater know where to find Lady Blanche?”
Dr. Bavard spoke up. “I recognized Lady Blanche from a newspaper account of her father’s funeral after I returned home from seeing her that morning. I notified Lady Chillwater as to the location of her daughter.”
“I think we have no more need for your services, Dr. Bavard,” said Mr. Liddle stiffly. “I imagine that we can expect no more communications between you and the Countess of Chillwater. I am sure you would not want to be known as a physician who babbles to outsiders of his clients’ affairs and breaks confidentiality between himself and his patient.” He pulled a few gold coins out of his pocket and led the physician to the door. “Our carriage will convey you back to your surgery.”
Holmes followed the two men out. I summoned Mrs. Boddle to help me clean up the sickroom. After she carried away the dirty pans and towels he returned and began to examine the contents of the trunk.
Almost at once he gave a cry of triumph and held up a package wrapped in plain paper. He unfolded it to display a pair of silver combs. They were simple but elegant, bearing a graceful chased design. As he held them out to me, I could see that the tines were marked with faint grey stains.
“Don’t touch them, Watson!” Holmes warned. “The tips have been sharpened to a razor’s edge. An analysis of these stains will bring up unpleasant results, I wager. I have no doubt that if Lady Blanche had tried wearing these combs she would have been risking her life just as surely as she did with the Borgia ring. Lady Chillwater leaves little to chance.” He wrapped the combs in a thick cloth and carefully put them aside. The rest of his search yielded nothing of interest.
Holmes took the ring in its crystal casket and the silver combs back to Baker Street for analysis. I remained with my patient.
Lady Blanche gradually improved through the night. When she awoke in the morning I explained what had happened and prescribed a day of rest. Sherlock Holmes returned and gently questioned her to confirm Mrs. Boddle’s story about the peddler. We reported her condition and the results of Holmes’ researches to the concerned solicitors downstairs.
“The ring contained a highly concentrated solution of a sedative based on an Amazonian plant which had been delivered to the Royal Geographic Society several years ago. I woke up their director, Sir Jasper Oldfellow, who told me it had been discovered by Lord Chillwater. He had brought back samples from a previous expedition.
“The stains on the comb were distilled from the venom of a rare lizard found on the same trip. Introduced into the bloodstream through bites or scratches, its results were invariably fatal.”
Holmes enjoined the solicitors to heighten the guard on their charge. We returned to Baker Street after stopping at a telegraph office on the way. Holmes jumped out and dashed inside, reappearing a few minutes later. “Events progress, Watson,” was all he would tell me.
“I think we can rule out any remaining thoughts of delusion, Watson,” my friend said back in our sitting room. “The threat has proven to be quite real. But Lady Chillwater has tipped her hand by sending that peddler with those deadly accessories. I must consider our next move.” He reached for his pipe. I went upstairs.
Feeling the effects of my disturbed night I fell asleep. I slept restlessly, and at one point dreamed that a visitor had walked up the stairs and entered the sitting room to confer with Sherlock Holmes. I fancied he had a booming voice and when I awoke it took a moment to convince myself it was a dream. It was noon. I found Holmes by the fire alone.
“Watson, come in. Mrs. Hudson is bringing up an early lunch. I am going out later and may not return for some time. It is best to start such a venture fortified.”
I wanted to ask what venture he was referring to, but as he turned to poke up the fire the look on his face forestalled any questions.
Sherlock Holmes did not return by the time I retired to bed that night. In the morning I waited in vain for some word. Another storm built up, not a snowstorm this time but rather a freezing squall that went on and on. The steady drizzle of the sleet that coated and dripped down the window panes mirrored my mood. I stayed by the fire all day, save for one brief trip to Forestland Square through the icy streets to check on Lady Blanche. I heard nothing from my friend and again that evening I mounted the stairs to my room none the wiser of whatever plan Sherlock Holmes had devised. .
Three days passed in this aimless fashion.
It was still overcast at breakfast on the fourth day and frankly I had little appetite. I thought about Holmes’ actions. I knew that he had at least five small refuges scattered around London. Each was stocked with various materials and clothing he used for disguises he needed in his work. Using those places, Holmes could sustain different identities for weeks at a time. I had no fear that he was stranded somewhere, cold and hungry and wet, unless he thought it necessary to the job. Yet I worried.
The day passed slowly. I perused the morning and afternoon papers, searching for news. I resisted going to Scotland Yard with a missing person report. Holmes had made it clear to me when we first met that that was truly the action of last resort. But I could scan the papers, looking for accounts of unidentified bod
ies dragged from the Thames or found dead in back alleys. Thankfully, no descriptions matched that of Holmes.
Then the bell rang. In a moment I heard strangely familiar footsteps on the stairs. The door opened to reveal a tall, lean man dressed in a Savile Row suit. His dapper attire did not match his salt and pepper mop of hair or his nose and cheeks, ruddy and weatherworn, burnt by tropical suns and coarsened by high altitude winds. His strong chin was covered with a full, unruly grizzled beard and bushy mustaches.
He fixed a pair of green eyes on me and held out a rough, red hand. In a voice geared to call across deep valleys, he said, “Good afternoon. You must be Dr. Watson.”
I accepted his greeting, bemused. I had a good eye for faces and I was sure that I had never met this man before. Yet he clearly knew my name. He saw my confusion and let out a booming laugh.
“Let me introduce myself. I am Michael Snodonia, or rather Lord Chillwater. I’m still not use to my new title. Mr. Holmes sent me a message to meet him here.”
My heart leapt. I offered him a chair and a drink, both which he accepted. While we waited for Holmes to appear, we traded impressions of India and Afghanistan.
Footfalls were heard on the stairs and Sherlock Holmes appeared, an evening paper folded under his arm. He greeted Lord Chillwater with a hearty handshake. Soon he was standing before the fire, packing tobacco from the Persian slipper into his favorite pipe. He had an air of satisfaction he could not conceal.
“Alright, Holmes,” I said. “What’s going on?”
“It was to Mycroft at the Diogenes Club that I sent that note when we returned from first meeting Lady Blanche, Watson. I alerted my brother to the case and its dangerous possibilities. The personalities involved are placed high in circles close to the Throne. We met a few days later. I asked that he intercept the new earl upon his arrival in France and to keep that news out of the papers and away from the countess. Lord Chillwater was notified in the wilds of the Himalayas and it took weeks for him to return. He arrived several days ago. Brother Mycroft’s men met him at the dock at Marseilles, per my request, and spirited him to England and into hiding. Lord Chillwater had previously done a little work for the Foreign Office…”
“Nothing more need be said, Mr. Holmes,” said our visitor, raising a hand.
“Exactly so. The next day was the day of the poisoning of Lady Blanche. I notified Mycroft by telegram. Lord Chillwater was escorted here. I explained the situation to him. I showed him my proofs and he agreed to the plan Mycroft and I had devised.
“After the meeting that afternoon I left in order to apply for a place as footman in the house of the Countess of Chillwater. I knew there were positions open. Lady Blanche had said that the household was disrupted by the death of her father. The countess was hard to please and many servants loyal to the old Earl had left her. I was hired to begin at once.”
“Why become a footman?” I asked.
“I needed a front-of-the-house position. I could do little good stuck in the kitchen or the stables. I need to be near Lady Chillwater in order to protect Lady Blanche.”
“You would have little chance at disguise, Holmes. You are tall enough and have a decent appearance but footmen are not allowed to have facial hair. All you would really have is the Chillwater livery.”
“That would be enough to render me invisible. I would be able to watch Lady Chillwater’s every action and keep tabs on all visitors with impunity.”
“How so?”
“No one notices the servants, Watson. They hold their master’s secrets, yet he knows nothing of theirs. If you seek anonymity, become a servant in a great house.”
Holmes unfolded the edition of the newspaper he carried. “This is today’s early edition of the Evening Standard. I think you may be interested in the Society column, Watson.”
I read, “An engagement has been announced between Lady Blanche Snodonia, only daughter of the late Earl of Chillwater, and John Murray, M.D., of Edinburgh.”
I looked at Holmes. “Who is John Murray?”
“You are, my friend. That is, you are if you agree to act in this ruse. In order to bring this matter to a head, we need to bring Lady Blanche and Lady Chillwater together in the same room. We can’t allow a chance meeting. It would be too dangerous for Lady Blanche. This faux engagement is the perfect cover. Lord Chillwater will return home to the townhouse in Castle Square tonight. He will arrange for the countess to invite Lady Blanche and her fiancé there in order to arrange for the increase of the interest payment from Lady Blanche’s inheritance on the occasion of her marriage. Remember, Lady Chillwater is on the board of trustees.
“Lady Blanche will accept the invitation only if she can be represented by counsel. She has retained the firm of Liddle, Klein, Lowe, Winzig and Short to represent her. Mr. Liddle will be present. The countess doesn’t know that she is suspected in the attacks on her stepdaughter. She will believe herself to be the spider, waiting for the fly.”
Lord Chillwater said earnestly, “I hope you will help us, Dr. Watson. Mr. Holmes suggested your name. He told me there was not a more trustworthy and stauncher defender of womanhood to be found in the British Empire than John H. Watson, M. D.”
His words struck me dumb. I could say nothing after such an accolade, but I managed to nod and smile. I vowed to myself to play my part as well as Holmes had ever played any of his during his career.
Holmes continued. “I hope my choice of alias is satisfactory, Watson. Due to your published reports of some of my cases, I think that it would be better that the name of Dr. Watson, the friend and biographer of Sherlock Holmes, not appear in this case.”
I saw the wisdom of his words. All our efforts would come to naught if Lady Chillwater, after her attempts on Lady Blanche’s life, thought she was being ensnared in a trap. Yet the name needed to be familiar enough that I would remember it. The faithful orderly Murray had saved my life at the fatal battle of Maiwand. That was one name I could never forget.
Lord Chillwater got ready to leave. “That paper will be out on the streets by now. I think it is time for the prodigal brother-in-law to return home. Coming, Escott?”
Holmes laughed. “I fear my alias is an old one, but one that has served me well in the past. Mr. Liddle will be in touch with you in a few days, Watson. He will have all the arrangements completed by then. Hold yourself in readiness.”
I was left with my thoughts. We were up against a cruel and cunning antagonist. One slip in the roles of either of us could cost the Lady Blanche Snodonia her life. Even Holmes, living in the servants’ quarters of the Castle Square townhouse, was in danger if he was discovered by the countess. It was obvious that Holmes and Lord Chillwater hoped to trick Lady Chillwater into some action that would expose her plot against Lady Blanche. Would she feel secure enough in her own house to do something in front of witnesses like myself, Mr. Liddle and even her brother-in-law?
In a few days the arrangements were made. At the appointed time the Earl of Chillwater sent his equipage to collect Mr. Liddle, Lady Blanche and myself. Lady Blanche looked lovely in the restored dark blue dress she had originally worn when she last left Castle Square. Over it she wore a velvet cloak. Her shiny blonde braid was coiled around her head and on it perched a tiny hat of feathers and flowers.
“I am grateful for all the attentions you gentlemen have given me,” she said simply. “I never knew one could have such kind friends. Dr. Watson, you have been especially thoughtful. I thank you not only for your efforts in saving my life, for which I shall be forever grateful, but for your acceptance of your present role. Mr. Liddle, you and your partners have shown me nothing but kindness. Mrs. Boddle has become my true friend. I want to say this now, before I see my stepmother again, in case something goes wrong.”
Both of us hurried to assuage her fears, but it was obvious that the closer we came to her old home, the more
nervous she became. I tried to divert her attention by declaring that now our engagement was published in the public press, she had to call me John and I would exercise the right to call her Blanche.
That made her smile and she agreed. She and I spent several minutes repeating each others’ names in different ways. By the time we reached our destination, she appeared more relaxed and ready for her ordeal.
Castle Square was situated in a fashionable part of Mayfair. Our carriages stopped before the four-story marble façade of a Palladium townhouse. An elaborate stone porch topped with a carved helmet and shield that bore the Chillwater coat of arms faced the street. Mindful of possible suspicious eyes peering at our arrival from the floors above, I carefully handed Lady Blanche out of the carriage. The light from the streetlamp lit our way across the pavement. I tucked her arm into mine to walk up the steps to the carved front doors. They stood at least twelve feet high. Mr. Liddle’s finger at the electric bell brought a portly butler in somber black, who directed two tall footmen wearing Chillwater livery to take our hats and coats as we entered.
I looked at them both but neither was Holmes. Had something gone wrong? Had his impersonation been discovered and were we stepping into the countess’ trap? I gently removed Lady Blanche’s cloak and handed it off to one of the footmen. As I tucked her arm into mine again, she looked up at me and smiled. Never had I been more conscious of the importance of our mission.
In a few minutes we were ushered into what appeared to be the library. It was a large room lined with bookshelves to the height of the coffered ceiling, at least ten feet above our heads. A library ladder hung on rails on one side. Old volumes bound in soft calf and red morocco stood grouped between Inca bowls and bits of ancient Italian statuary. A long mahogany table with matching chairs took up space on our right, while green leather armchairs and small marble-topped tables were placed on the left near tall windows overlooking the street. The floor was covered with Persian rugs. On the black marble mantelpiece opposite the windows was a gold Italian clock of Baroque design that showed exactly five o’clock. Soft pink electric lights gleamed from the overhead chandelier and threw a glow on the shiny surface of the polished table.
Sherlock Holmes and The Folk Tale Mysteries Page 17
