by A S Croyle
We hurried there; in fact, Sherlock’s long stride was so quick that Wiggins and I could barely keep up. When we found the windowless cellar house, we knocked on the door and the woman who answered looked gaunt and sickly. We asked for Kate and received a half-hearted response and a wave toward the stove. It was not like some lodgings I’d heard about. No rats swarmed the floor, no meagre rations of water were passed around. There was a stove for heat and cooking, the floor was covered with a colorful rug, the dinner table had a cloth and cutlery and, for the most part, the family seemed full-faced and jovial.
I called to Kate and she turned abruptly. Her face flushed and she dropped the wooden spoon she had been using to stir a pot. She wiped her hands off on her apron and rushed toward us. She motioned us to go outside.
“What are you doing here? How did you find me?” she demanded.
Rarely one for small talk, Sherlock said curtly, “You are Kate Dew, daughter of the former Deputy Swan Keeper who died a few years ago.”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what you are talking about. Who are you?”
“I am Sherlock Holmes and I am here to find the truth.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” she repeated. “Please leave.”
I took Kate’s hands in mine. “Kate, tell us the truth. Were you the daughter of the Queen’s assistant swan keeper? Was Cecil Gray your daughter’s father? Is that why you were forced to leave Her Majesty’s service?”
“You need to leave me alone,” she whispered but tears were starting to drip from those haunted blue eyes.
“Have you been killing Her Majesty’s swans to get even?” Sherlock pressed.
“Stop it, Sherlock,” I warned. I turned again to Kate. “Please, Kate. There is more to this than swans, isn’t there? You do know that Cecil Gray is dead. That someone killed him. You told me that you were assaulted because you saw something you shouldn’t. What did you see, Kate? Did you witness his demise?”
Sherlock piped up again. “You are in very serious trouble, Miss Dew, if you have slaughtered Her Majesty’s swans.”
“Sherlock!” I protested.
“But,” he added quickly, “We can protect you from that. You must tell us what you saw.”
She paced back and forth, wringing her hands and crying.
“The authorities will take away your daughter, Miss Dew,” Sherlock said.
“The authorities! My daughter will be killed if I say anything to anyone!”
I put my hand on her shoulders. “Kate, please. It’s time to tell the truth.”
Kate bid her friends good night and walked with us toward her lodgings but said not another word. Finally, just before we got to where she lived, she said, “All right. But you must promise me this. My daughter Mary will be taken care of, no matter what happens. Will you swear this to me? Dr. Stamford, if you swear, I shall believe you.”
Before I could respond, Sherlock intervened. “I promise you that nothing will happen to you or your daughter.”
She leaned against the brick wall next to the door and slid down until she collapsed on the pavement. I bent over. “Kate, please.”
Between sobs, she choked out the entire story.
Chapter 21
“What I told you about my father - that was all true. He was a Deputy Keeper of the Swans. Then he became ill. His heart, it was. And he injured his leg as well. Mum died when I was little and he was always worried about me. About what would become of me if something happened to him. That’s why he brought me to work with him, trained me to take his place. But it had to appear to everyone that I was a male. Ironic, isn’t it? Her Majesty, the most important person in the country, is a woman and yet a lowly swan keeper cannot be a woman.”
Sherlock said, “But the Queen is only in her position because there was no male heir. She is the daughter of Prince Edward, Duke of Kent, the fourth son of King George III and both the Duke and the King died. When her father’s three brothers also died, leaving no surviving legitimate children, she was the only one left. So it-”
“Sherlock!” I shouted. “Stop it.”
He could be so confounding and in many ways, misogynistic. And usually at the least appropriate times. It was always exasperating.
“Go on, Kate,” I urged.
Kate tilted her head and, with the cuff of her blouse, wiped away tears that streamed down her cheek. “I continued on after Papa stopped tending to the swans,” she said. “I’d learned so much from him. I knew everything about the swans. And the head keeper is something of a dolt. Most of them are, in fact. Abnett, now he’s a good lad, but too young to supervise.”
“The name is familiar to me.”
“It is?”
“I spoke with him. He knew of no one who wished to harm Her Majesty’s swans. Except you, of course.”
“Oh,” she sighed and looked away. “Often Cecil - Sir Gray would come to visit the swans in the pond and just walk,” she went on. “He always looked forlorn. Sad. We would talk sometimes and somehow... I don’t know how it happened really... we became... close. We used to go to The Charring Cross or sometimes the Craven Family Hotel, down on Craven Street. He knew the proprietor. He would talk to me for hours. Sometime he would take me to Simpson’s for a meal.
“He had a daughter, a little girl about eight years old,” she whispered. “Her name was Alexandrina, named for the queen... for her real name, I mean. But she was, he said, a very strange child. She had fits and would fly into a rage and couldn’t seem to learn to speak or write. They tried to teach her at home but nothing would work. She would slam cupboards and pound her head against things. She had become quite violent, often beating her mother and attacking her father or anyone who came calling. Cecil - Sir Gray - was beside himself. He contacted an acquaintance. A professor at Oxford.”
“Danford Hopgood?” Sherlock asked.
Kate nodded. “Cecil told me that Hopgood studies the brain. Heads. How people’s faces are shaped and the like.”
“What else did he tell you? Sir Gray... did he hope to gain some understanding of his daughter’s malady then?” Sherlock asked. “And please be precise in the details, Miss Dew.”
“I shall make myself plain. He told me that he was financing this professor’s research. He’d been for years.”
“Wait,” Sherlock said. “He confided all of this to you? But why would he tell you all-”
Dear heavens, Sherlock could be daft! Obviously, Cecil felt he could tell Kate things that he could not share with his wife or anyone else. “Sherlock,” I cried. “Stop interrupting the poor girl.”
He looked perplexed but said, “Yes, of course. I am all attention. Pray, go on with your narrative.”
Kate turned to me then. “When he found out I was with child, he sent me away. As I told you, he couldn’t chance a scandal. He assured me that he was sending me to a safe place. He sent me to a woman in Knightsbridge who ran several brothels. She treated me well at first, but when the baby was born, she tossed us both out, so I found work on the streets. I had to support myself and I had to take care of Mary.”
“How does this research work, Kate?” Sherlock asked. “Where does Hopgood get his specimens?”
“The poor. The cast out. Corpses that were sent to Oxford on the dead trains. He’d take the heads and-” Her voice trailed off. “But Cecil also financed him further.
“Then, not long ago, just a few weeks ago, Cecil sent word to me. He asked me to meet him. I don’t know why I did,” she admitted.
But I knew. When you loved someone completely, you could find yourself acting in total discord to the very essence of your soul.
“I met him once at the ladies’ entrance to the Turkish Bath... at Neville’s. We met again at the Doulton Pottery factory at Lambeth High. Do you know of it?”
“Yes,
I know of it,” Sherlock said. “They used to make drainpipes and such but now they make stoneware there.”
I nodded. My Aunt Susan had many pieces of Doultonware and the privy on the first floor of Uncle’s home was decorated with Lambeth Faience from the factory. “It’s near the Thames,” I said.
She said, “Yes. He bought me a pretty cup and saucer and then we walked along the Thames that evening. He told me that Hopgood’s research had done nothing. He was no closer to knowing how to improve his daughter’s lot than he’d been before and he intended to stop funding the research. And he also told me that his daughter was very ill. He wanted to know if he could take my Mary. Raise her as his own daughter. Which she is, of course. I would have none of it. If I have to lay on my back until I take my dying breath to keep my girl and feed her, then I’ll do it,” she added defiantly.
“A few nights ago, he sent word to me to meet him at St. Marylebone Cemetery. And that’s when I found out his little girl had died. Died from the relentless fog. And he begged me again to let him raise Mary. He promised me I’d be taken care of as well. We were arguing when a man came upon us. He started yelling at Cecil.”
“He had followed you?”
“Cecil. He’d followed Cecil. Apparently he had told the professor that he was done with him. There’d be no more money. His child was dead and he was done with all of it. He was about to go to the police about Hopgood’s illegal grave robbing activities, even if it cost him his position. He didn’t care anymore.
“The man at the grave became enraged. He grabbed a shovel from nearby. There have been many new graves dug there recently. He hit Cecil across his back and then the back of his head.
“I started to run. I ran as fast as I could. But he hit me, too. Many times. He was going to kill me I think, but we heard voices and I scrambled to my feet and ran until I couldn’t run anymore.”
I drew in a breath. “So, Sherlock. What do you think?”
He propped his hands beneath his chin as if in prayer. “I believe he killed Sir Gray. And when it was safe, he drew instruments he’d carried with him and dismembered him and tossed him into the child’s grave.”
I felt as though I were going to vomit.
“Kate, you were injured again - after that first time I saw you. There was a large welt on your cheek and a cut above your left eye. Did Hopgood do that?”
“Yes. He found me. I don’t know how, but I’ve thought about that. I had a late... appointment...” She almost choked on the word. “An appointment and I was still wearing my costume beneath my coat. I tripped over my coat as I ran. So when I stopped to catch my breath beneath a street lamp, I cast off my coat and then I started to run again. He-”
“He could have seen your sleeves. They look like wings,” I interrupted. “And if he knew Cecil had a mistress - a woman who... who does what you do... he could have found your description in the Bachelor’s Pocket Book.”
“The what?” Sherlock asked.
“Never mind. Go on, Kate,” I urged.
“All I know is he found me and when he did, he made it clear that he’d kill my girl if I told anyone anything. And he will.”
She started to cry again.
“I was so frightened,” she continued. “I was afraid to go to the authorities. But... but...”
“Yes, yes, go on,” Sherlock urged.
“I went to where Cecil told me he would take money to arrange the grave robbing for Hopgood. I knew the pub owner. We all know one another round here.”
“And?” Sherlock queried, leaning forward.
“And I paid to have Cecil’s daughter’s grave unearthed. You see, that night I met Cecil there, when the man - Hopgood - attacked us... I just knew he’d killed Cecil. I went back just before dawn. The flowers Cecil had brought were tossed aside, strewn about. And the dirt had been overturned. So I wanted to make sure that someone discovered Cecil... Cecil’s body. That’s why my note said to await further instructions at the gravesite. That way Cecil wouldn’t be put on a dead train and-”
“And you gave no thought to what might happen to young Wiggins!” Sherlock shouted angrily.
She shook her head. “I didn’t think of anything except poor Cecil.”
Realizing the predicament that Kate had put him in, Wiggins lunged for her, but Sherlock tripped him and he went sprawling on the cobblestone. He sprang back up quickly but Sherlock pushed him against the wall. Forefinger to Wiggins’ nose, he said, “No. Not now.”
Wiggins shrugged him away and crossed his arms.
“I’m sorry,” Kate said. “I just wanted Cecil to be found. That’s all. And I hoped the police would be able to sort things out without me telling anyone anything.”
“Alright,” Sherlock sighed. “I see.” He paused but a fraction of a second and asked, “Now about the swans, Kate,” Sherlock said. “Is it you? Have you been killing the swans?”
“Sherlock,” I said, “as much as I love the swans, does that really matter right now?”
He shrugged. “Only for closure of the case, Poppy. Only to be certain I am correct.”
“No!” Kate yelled. “I was angry and hurt and did not know any other life. I hated what had been done to my father. To me. But I would never hurt the swans. I loved them. I used to lie in the grass sometimes and watch them fly. Mute Swans... their wingbeats make a beautiful throbbing sound when they fly.” Her face softened as she said this, almost as if she could hear them and this imaginary sound calmed her. “And they loved me,” she added. “I could feed them right out of my hand.”
Incredulous, Sherlock looked at me and then back at Kate. Her face flushed deep red. “I was so angry. I was forced into this. Forced into this life even though I was the best assistant swan keeper Her Majesty could have wanted. I was forced to leave before it became apparent that I was with child... and why? Why does it have to be that way?”
I had asked myself that many times. I had fought hard to become a physician, yet I was not fully accepted as such. I could never be a surgeon at St. Bart’s. I could never be a member of the College of Royal Surgeons who don’t admit women. No matter how bright or educated, there would always be doors which were closed to me.
I touched Kate’s shoulder. “You’re telling us the truth? You did not hurt the swans?”
She shook her head.”One of the males used to knock his head against my knee with his beak to get fed. I could hand feed most of them. I can’t tell you the joy those swans brought me, watching them. Oh, and the babies. And then my hands were empty and I just wanted to cry all the time. I would never hurt them. I swear this to you.”
“Then who?” Sherlock asked. “Who is doing this?”
“I tell you I don’t know.”
“We must get to the bottom of this, Poppy. But as to the murder of Cecil Gray matter... Miss Dew, you have no idea where Hopgood is, do you?”
She shook her head. “But I did hear Cecil say once that out of concern for being discovered, he often did his... his work at the home of his sister. She lives in Chippy.”
Puzzled I looked at Sherlock. “Chipping Norton. It’s a busy market town.” He turned to Wiggins, handed him several coins, and said, “Take Miss Dew and her child to Montague Street. Do not let them out of your sight and do not touch a hair on her head. You understand? You do not leave her side.”
Wiggins grimaced but nodded.
Sherlock gently touched Kate’s shoulder. “We’ll soon have matters right. I swear it.”
Chapter 22
Although I urged Sherlock to contact the authorities and let Mycroft in on what we knew, he insisted that we find Hopgood and ‘solve this case ourselves.’ He said, “When I go into a case, I do not present to the authorities half-proven theories or bits and pieces of evidence. I work out my own theories and play out the game until I know that I am correct. And it shal
l be so this time.
“But first a visit to Thomas Abnett is in order.”
“Abnett, the young swan keeper?”
“The same.”
“I have clearly come to a grievously erroneous conclusion as to the swan matter.”
“We both were on the entirely wrong scent, Sherlock. I also thought it was Kate.”
“It is most dangerous to reason with insufficient data. There must be someone who can get close enough to the swans to do them harm yet not be suspected. Someone who has a grievous need for revenge against the queen or the swans or both. I shall devote the same care to the Gray case as I have all cases but we must resolve this matter before we leave London.”
“Leave London?”
He did not answer. He simply prodded me along until before long, we were knocking at the door to the cottage where Abnett, the young assistant swankeeper, lived. Sherlock woke him with his pounding and he opened the door bleary-eyed. Sherlock barged in.
“Abnett, you remember me?”
“’Course I do. You’re Sherlock Holmes.”
“This is my friend and associate, Dr. Stamford. We are here to inquire again about the swans who have been mutilated.”
“Again?”
“Yes, again,” Sherlock huffed. “Now, is there anyone here who has been employed but a short time? Two years or so?”
“Well, when Deputy Dew died and then after the Dew boy left, we needed another hand. So we did hire someone. His name is Matthew Bass.”
“And what do you know of him?”
The boy shrugged. “Not much, Sir. Just that he came highly recommended. He used to tend to the swans at Bishops Palace at Wells Cathedral in Wells.”
“There are swans there?”
“Absolutely. In fact, Mr. Bass said they ring the bells.”
“What?” I gasped. “The church bells?”
