Sherlock Holmes and The Folk Tale Mysteries

by Gayle Lange Puhl

  We stood about the room, looking at the books and the objects d’art. The butler, who introduced himself as Merroare, directed the footmen as they wheeled in an elaborate tea service, along with trays of plates filled with tiny sandwiches and little cakes. In their wake appeared the Countess of Chillwater on the arm of her brother-in-law.

  In her day she must have been a beauty. She was tall for a woman. The high cheekbones were still there. Under the pink lights her skin retained a translucent glow. Her hair, piled high on her head, appeared as glossy as oiled ebony. Her figure was lush. She wore a flowing burgundy-colored gown which carried no signs of mourning. Rings covered her fingers, silver bracelets set with precious stones hung from her wrists and a matching necklace was clasped around her neck. Earrings dripped from her ears. She was dazzling. Yet I couldn’t help but notice, despite the lighting, that tiny lines surrounded her full lips. Her eyes were marked with faint circles underneath and around her eyes radiated creases that the most skillfully applied make-up could not mask.

  “Dear Blanche,” Lady Chillwater gushed, hurrying up to us. In her arms was a golden bit of fluff that was barely recognizable as a dog. She briefly embraced Lady Blanche, who was obviously taken by surprise, and stood back to take her in. “Now where have you been? You just walked out of the house months ago and disappeared! Chin-Chin missed you so, didn’t you, my dear. We were so worried!”

  Lady Blanche went a little pale, but following instruction she must have gotten from Holmes she said, “Father’s death was such a shock. I have been staying with friends. I thought I sent you word long ago.”

  Lady Chillwater turned her attention to me. Her sharp black eyes swept over my best suit and fixed on my face. “How do you do? You must be my dear Blanche’s fiancé.” She spoke in honeyed tones but I sensed that under this sweet exterior was a woman who seldom heard the word no.

  “Mother, this is Dr. John Murray. He is retired from the British Army and has a practice in Edinburgh. We met in Switzerland last year.”

  “Such a handsome man, dear Blanche! What a distinguished mustache! Dr. Murray? You will allow me to call you John. After all, you shall soon be a member of our family.”

  I smiled and kissed her hand. Sherlock Holmes would not find a flaw in the performance of my role.

  “I insist, Lady Chillwater. I can think of no greater joy.”

  I swear the woman simpered. She introduced Lord Chillwater, who greeted his niece with a hug and then shook my hand as if he had never seen me before.

  The countess drew me aside. Her little dog bared its tiny sharp teeth, its beady little eyes staring at me.

  “When you marry dear Blanche, you shall live in Edinburgh but you must spend time here with us in London. This is all so exciting! It was so negligent of her never to mention you in her letters! But you see she frequently forgets to tell me things. I am ever so vexed with her and so is Chin-Chin. Chin-Chin is quite upset, aren’t you, my darling? But now that we have met, you must join us in a cup of tea. Indeed, everyone must have some refreshments. This meeting is merely to gather information for the other members of the trust, Sir Joshua Noble and Lord St. Mauvaise, to consider later. There is no better way to really learn about people than to break bread with them.”

  I murmured agreement and led Lady Chillwater to the table, where the footmen had spread a white tablecloth and laid out the tea things. Lady Blanche followed with her uncle and performed the introductions. The earl seated her at the countess’s left hand and I was given the chair on the countess’s right. Mr. Liddle sat next to me and the earl sat next to his niece.

  I noticed with dismay that Lady Blanche’s attitude had changed. Now in the presence of the woman who had unpleasantly influenced her childhood and repeatedly attempted her life, she seemed to retreat emotionally to her earlier years. Her eyes followed the countess’s every move as would a doomed mouse watching a cobra.

  Lady Chillwater took command of the table. Chin-Chin sat in the countess’s lap. Merroare and the footmen melted back into the corners, invisible to us but ready to step forward if anyone dropped a serviette or needed a new cup.

  “Shall I be Mother?” Lady Chillwater trilled as she began to pour. For a few minutes the only sounds were the clicking of china and the metallic ring of silver spoons. She gestured toward the plates of sandwiches and cakes on the table. “Everyone, please help yourselves. Dear Blanche, I have a special treat for you.”

  She picked up a plate set among the others and extended it to Lady Blanche. “See, here is the applesauce cake I used to make when you were young. I hope I haven’t forgotten the recipe. I haven’t made it in years.”

  My “fiancée” glanced at me and then peered at the confections. “I used to love your applesauce cake, Mother. But you must have a slice too, after all your hard work.”

  Her stepmother smiled. “Of course, my dear. I will serve.” The rings on her fingers sparkled as she reached for a stack of small plates. She put a slice of applesauce cake on the first plate and put it before me. The second slice went to Lady Blanche. Mr. Liddle and the earl got the next two and Lady Chillwater gave herself the last piece. “Mr. Liddle, I hope you enjoy my treat. I baked this cake with my own hands.”

  Mr. Liddle said something suitably gallant and looked at Lord Chillwater. Neither man moved. The Countess picked up a morsel of the confection with a fork and smiled brightly at us all.

  “Dear Blanche and dear John, you have no idea how happy it makes me to have you both here enjoying my hospitality. I hope that this is but the first of many meals you enjoy at my table. Blanche, you haven’t tasted your cake.”

  Lady Blanche looked at me. She was clearly frightened. We both suspected that there had just been some clever bit of sleight of hand with the cake, but I couldn’t see how the slice before Lady Blanche could be considered more dangerous than any of the others. I looked at the other men. No one wanted any of that cake. Mr. Liddle poked at his serving with his fork and shrugged. He knew something was wrong but couldn’t figure out quite what. I decided to act, just in case.

  “My dear, I am very hungry and you have a larger piece. May I trade with you?” I smoothly switched her plate of applesauce cake for mine.

  Lady Chillwater popped the morsel into her mouth. Her smile grew broader. “I love to see a man with a healthy appetite. Do tell me if you like it, dear John. Blanche, have I remembered the recipe correctly? I am anxious to know if it tastes the same as when you were a child.”

  “Mother, I…”

  “Everyone is watching you, Blanche. Don’t cause a scene. Eat your treat.” There was an undercurrent of steel in her voice.

  Lady Blanche picked up her fork. I realized that something had to be wrong with that cake. I looked from Lady Blanche to the countess. She was watching her stepdaughter with an indulgent smile. I tried to think of a way to stop what seemed to be so dangerous and so inevitable. I looked around for Holmes. Neither footman resembled him in the least. The girl put her fork into the cake. Just as she lifted the bite to her lips a well-remembered voice rang out. “Stop, Lady Blanche! Don’t move!”

  The man I thought was Lord Chillwater grabbed her wrist and she dropped the fork. He snatched up her plate holding the applesauce cake. Lady Chillwater made a move to stand up. I heard, “Watch out, Watson!” as her hand swept toward me.

  Before she could smash my plate on the floor, I grabbed her arms, pushing her away from the table. She turned a shocked face to me as Holmes retrieved my plate and stood up, holding them both. “Dr. Murray! Take your hands off me!” she cried. She turned from me to my friend and snapped, “Michael! What are you doing?”

  Merroare started to say something, but the supposed Lord Chillwater ignored him as he carefully placed the plates on a high step of the library ladder. When the butler balled his fists and took a step forward, Mr. Liddle threw his tea cup at the man’s head.


  One of the footmen yelled, “Now, Nigel!” The two footmen grabbed Merroare. After the butler had been forced into a chair, one man secured him with a serviette and guarded him as the other left the room.

  The Countess screamed and knelt down. Chin-Chin, thrown from her lap in the confusion, was eating the piece of cake that had fallen from Lady Blanche’s fork to the floor.

  “No! No! Spit it out! Spit it out!”

  A moment later Lady Chillwater stood up, a limp body in her arms. I checked the dog’s breathing and heartbeat. It was dead.

  I guided the stricken woman to an armchair. She sat with the poor mite in her lap, stroking it and sobbing. The door opened and the real Earl of Chillwater walked in. He went straight to Lady Blanche and enfolded her in his arms. He glared at Lady Chillwater and thundered, “I want an explanation, Angelique! Why have you been persecuting this girl?”

  Lady Chillwater stopped mourning over her pet and glared at us all. Her voice was icy and controlled. “Michael, I want you to call the police and have these men arrested. They entered this house under false pretenses and disrupted a private party. That man assaulted me… this is intolerable! And you sir, who are you?”

  Holmes stripped off the last of his false beard and mustache and rubbed a handkerchief over his face to remove the ruddy make-up that had deceived me.

  “My name is Sherlock Holmes. Your two footmen are colleagues of my brother, placed in your employ weeks ago as a precaution. I have been investigating the assaults against Lady Blanche since you pushed her in front of that wagon on Oxford Street. The evidence is now in the hands of Lord Chillwater.”

  The Earl of Chillwater pulled out a sheaf of papers from inside his coat. “These are the results of analysis of the ring and the combs your agent gave to Lady Blanche. Either of them would have killed her.”

  The countess sneered. “You can’t prove any connection between me and some peddler.”

  “No one said anything about a peddler,” said Holmes quietly. Lady Chillwater gasped.

  “The applesauce cake,” cried Lady Blanche, trembling in her uncle’s arms, “the applesauce cake was poisoned! She made it with her own hands!”

  “Nonsense, the girl has gone mad,” said the countess. “Cook made that cake. I never went near the kitchen. I just told you that story to amuse you.”

  “Lady Chillwater is telling the truth,” said Holmes. “She didn’t make the cake. Every slice was perfectly safe to eat… except for the two that were placed on the plates on the top of the stack she had previously coated with an absorbent toxin in the butler’s pantry. I retrieved the brush she threw away after she finished. Those two slices of cake soaked up the poison and became deadly. They were the ones served to Lady Blanche and Dr. Watson.”

  “Why try to kill the doctor?” asked Lord Chillwater.

  “I think that became part of her plan as soon as she heard of the engagement. If Lady Blanche escaped her trap, her fiancé might not. His death was sure to plunge Lady Blanche into an emotional nightmare. Her life would be ruined. If she could not kill Lady Blanche, by the death of Dr. Murray Lady Chillwater planned to cripple her happiness forever, thereby making her as miserable as possible.”

  The earl handed the papers to Mr. Liddle. He turned to Sherlock Holmes. “Could she have done all this alone, without help?”

  “She had help. The butler, Merroare, is a failed chemist. He knows his way around a laboratory.”

  The sullen butler spoke up. “There you are wrong, Mr. Busy-body Holmes! I never did a thing. The lady used to assist her husband with his researches. I never helped in any of this!”

  Lord Chillwater stared at his sister-in-law. “Why, Angelique? I always knew you weren’t fond of Blanche, but I never understood why.”

  Lady Chillwater burst into tears, all defenses breached. “You don’t understand! No man can understand! My husband and that man,” she gestured to Mr. Liddle, “are fine examples. Men can become more handsome as they age. Their attractiveness only increases. But women, as they grow older, become victims of time. I was beautiful! Everyone told me so! I could see it myself. But my father kept me at home, a nurse to him, never seeing people, never going to parties, never having beaus. I was thirty when he died. As soon as I could I went out into the world, met people, and had fun! Those two years touring the spas were the best ones of my life. After I married Alexander, there were parties, travel, and admiration from many famous and important men. I had tea with the Queen. I dined with three Prime Ministers!

  “I could tell as soon as I met her that Blanche would grow up to be a beauty. But as she grew and blossomed, my charms began to fade. I tried every cream, every potion, and every treatment I could find. Age is a relentless predator. Every day she bloomed, I found another line on my face. That was why I convinced her father to send her away. I couldn’t bear to look at her.

  “After her father died, and before you say anything, Michael, his was a natural death, she came home. She was more lovely and graceful than ever. Her presence became unbearable. Every mirror in this house became an abomination to me. Your brother brought back things from his travels, roots and tinctures. I am the daughter of a doctor. I won’t apologize, Michael. She has been a millstone around my neck for years. I hate the sight of her. I want never to see her again!”

  It may have been my imagination, but every harsh admission from Lady Chillwater’s mouth seemed to coarsen her appearance. Her hair dulled, her skin became splotchy, her body twisted and her face became a mask of hatred.

  “Then you shall have your wish, Angelique,” said Lord Chillwater. “You will agree to the plan I have drawn up. You will give up your life interest in the Dower House. You will resign from the board of trustees overseeing Blanche’s inheritance. Your allowance will be paid to a bank in Paris. Travel the world, spend the rest of your life going to spas and resorts but never return to these shores or come within a hundred miles of any of my properties abroad. If you breach this agreement, these papers remain available at my bank, to serve as evidence at any time. If they will not get you convicted in a court of law, they will certainly kill you in Society.”

  Lady Chillwater stared at her brother-in-law in horror, astonished into silence. Then, with a toss of her head, she swept from the room. Merroare was released and silently followed her, carrying the body of Chin-Chin.

  I turned to Lady Blanche. “I suppose this means our engagement is ended. As your former fiancé, I entrust you to the care of your uncle. As your doctor I recommend carriage rides, fresh air, parties and pleasant company that will have you back to yourself shortly.”

  “I will follow your prescription, John. Thank you very much. Thank you, Mr. Holmes. Thank you, Mr. Liddle. Oh, I feel so free!” Lady Blanche hugged each of us in turn, even Holmes, and kissed her grinning uncle.

  “What a remarkable woman,” I said later. We had returned to Baker Street and were standing in the hallway at the bottom of the stairs that led to my room. Sherlock Holmes leaned against the door to his bedroom. I could sense the lassitude that frequently crept over him at the conclusion of a case.

  “The wife or the daughter?” drawled Holmes.

  “You cannot admire the countess!” I said, amazed. “I admit there was no proof she was involved in her husband’s death, but you must admit her actions toward her stepdaughter were reprehensible.”

  “Lady Chillwater had her faults, vanity being not the least of them,” said Holmes. “You know my opinions about women, Watson. They have not changed. But I will say that she did understand the realities of her world. Men hold the power and women must do what they can to survive. It is regrettable that it is so but thus civilization has evolved. Some day that may change but not yet.

  “Lady Chillwater’s greatest failing was that her emotions became stronger than her natural weapons. Youth and beauty failed her and she didn’t have enough fa
ith in herself to rely on her real strength, her intelligence, to sustain her in a man’s world. Otherwise it might well have been said of her that ‘though she had the body but of a weak and feeble woman, she did have the heart and stomach of a king.’”

  Holmes yawned and bid me good-night, turned away and closed the bedroom door behind him.

  The Case of the Starving Swine

  I came down one pleasant July morning to find my friend, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, sitting over the remains of his breakfast and going through the post. I sat down to a plate of Mrs. Hudson’s eggs and ham and poured myself a cup of coffee. Holmes opened another envelope and silently read the note inside. As I ate I looked at the pile of letters by his plate and remarked, “Surely there must be something of interest in your correspondence. You haven’t had a case in over a week.”

  “I haven’t had a case in over a week because there is no imagination within the criminal element of London anymore. Bleat, Watson, nothing but bleat! A man named John Hamilton Potter, visiting Lady Wickham at her country house, underwent great trials at the hands of a man named Clifford Gandle. He wants to prosecute, but refuses to appear in the same courtroom as Gandle. He thinks I can do something. Under those circumstances, what could I do? People are unreasonable.”

  Suddenly there was a battery of knocks at our door. I got up and opened it. To my astonishment I found four telegram couriers of various ages jockeying for position on our threshold.

  “Telegram for Mr. Sherlock Holmes!” they chorused.

  Holmes accepted the little yellow envelopes and, after suitably rewarding each outstretched palm, returned to his chair and laid down the stack.

  He tore open the first telegram and read the contents. He reached for another and repeated his actions, then another and then stacked the three yellow sheets together. The final telegram in the pile made him whistle and he gathered up the four missives and handed them to me.