Sherlock Holmes

by David Marcum

  “The school had received a letter from a Mr. Kenneth Buttenshaw, a Northern industrialist who has established a successful cloth making business in Darlington. The factory owner had desires for his only son, Simon Buttenshaw, to receive a gentleman’s education, so was keen to pay for him to attend Harrow before taking on a substantive role within the family business. In support of his son’s admission, Buttenshaw indicated that he was not only willing to pay the regular termly fees required for a pupil from outside the Harrow area, but would also be prepared to grant the school a bursary of some two-thousand pounds a year for the time the boy remained in education.

  “I should make it clear, Mr. Holmes, that the Reverend Butler is a reforming headmaster, who has been open with the school governing board in indicating that greater efforts should be made to attract more fee-paying pupils. He liked the tone of Buttenshaw’s letter, felt that the opportunity should not be overlooked, and instructed me to travel up to County Durham to meet the family and discuss the arrangements for admitting the new pupil after the Easter term. In short, I made the journey to the Buttenshaw’s substantial home on the outskirts of Darlington in the early part of April last year and dealt with all of the paperwork necessary to receive the boy. Simon was enrolled within the school some weeks later and has, since that time, proved to be an exemplary pupil. He is thirteen years of age and has a keen grasp of science, a flair for mathematics, and a clear passion for classical literature.”

  Holmes interjected. “And yet, I fear that your concern or conundrum has little to do with the boy or his admission to the school?”

  “No, indeed – that much has been straightforward. But perhaps I should say more about my experience in meeting the Buttenshaw family. The father is a short greying man of some girth, with a direct and witty line of banter. I would say that he is around sixty-five years of age and is a widower – his much younger wife having died some years ago from English cholera. He appears to have no pretensions, is open and honest in admitting that he has come from humble stock, but is equally forthright in wanting to ensure that his two children benefit from all of the wealth and opportunities his business has created. Alongside Simon, he has a daughter, Sophia, who is now twenty-two. She dotes on her father and brother and, as well as appearing to run their house, takes a very active role in the administration of the business.”

  Holmes cut in again, “The young lady that you have become so attached to, I take it?”

  I felt my face redden. “There is no denying it. I am completely smitten with Miss Buttenshaw. From the moment I met her that day, I have entertained only one notion, that we might at some point announce our engagement and marry. That hope may now have been extinguished.”

  The detective glanced at me quizzically. “Mr. Hughes, I have no wish to be dismissive, but as yet, have heard nothing to suggest that there is any mystery or intrigue within this affair. However, I would be grateful if you could outline the sequence of events that have led to Miss Buttenshaw announcing recently that she no longer wishes you to court her.”

  I was a little perturbed at his brusque manner, but realised that I had, to that point, made my narration sound like a traditional and gushing tale of unrequited love. “I apologise, Mr. Holmes. You can be forgiven for believing that ours was a short-lived romance which Sophia has now brought to a point of some conclusion. But the matter is not as simple as that, and I believe strongly that there are other forces at work here, the nature of which I have not yet determined. I am not prepared to give up on Sophia, and would willingly pay you a king’s ransom to know why she has recently broken off all communications with me.”

  “If I am to be of any assistance in this matter, I must have further details,” exclaimed Holmes, the veins on the side of his head seeming suddenly very pronounced. “Perhaps you could tell me more about that first encounter and the way that the courtship developed?”

  “I am not sure what to tell you and what to leave out,” I replied, eager to assist. “When I arrived at the house, I was shown into the drawing room by one of the household staff and introduced to young Simon. He is a likeable lad, quiet and well-mannered, who told me that he relished the prospect of attending Harrow, but admitted that he would miss his family. As a former boarder myself, I told him that was to be expected, but should not put him off in any way.

  “Kenneth Buttenshaw then joined us and took me off to his spacious study overlooking the expansive grounds of the property, beyond which I could see the roofline and chimneys of his factory. For some time he talked about the nature of his business. He had started his small weaving enterprise twenty years earlier, but had really seen it flourish as a result of his expansion into the production of Coburg Cloth, which he explained was piece-dyed twill dress fabric. The key to his success appears to have been the employment of a young chemist, by the name of Callum Ford, who has pioneered a new process for dyeing the factory’s cloth since joining the business some five years ago. They are now selling their cloth in all parts of the Empire.

  “I said to Mr. Buttenshaw that the school was very happy to accept the admission of Simon into Harrow, but would need him to sign the various papers I had brought with me. Buttenshaw said he did not have his glasses to hand and indicated that he would be unable sign any papers without them. However, with a tug on a bell cord near the desk of the study, he suggested that could be easily remedied. Moments later a slim, fresh-faced young woman with tied-back blond hair entered the study and gave me a most radiant smile. Buttenshaw introduced me to his daughter, saying that she organised all of his secretarial and administrative affairs. Sophia took charge, reading carefully through each document and then signing all of the relevant sections.

  “Having completed the formalities, I was then invited to join the family for a light luncheon, although Buttenshaw gave his apologies about half-an-hour later, explaining that he had to go down to the factory, as there had been an unexpected problem with one of the steam-driven looms used in the production process. Simon then excused himself, saying that he had planned to do a spot of fishing in the trout steam bordering their land. That left me in the company of Sophia for the better part of three hours, chatting comfortably about our respective pasts and interests, our hopes and aspirations. It was clear that we both felt the attraction and when it came for me to leave she shook my hand tenderly and held my gaze, asking me first to take good care of her brother at Harrow, and then specifically asking for me to write to her on a regular basis and to visit again soon to keep her informed of his progress. We both knew that it was a signal of affection.

  “I have since then continued to write to Sophia and have made the journey to Darlington five times. The lady herself has also visited the school twice, checking on her brother, but equally spending time with me. Three weeks ago, she attended a business meeting with a law firm in town, took a room at the Clarendon in Bond Street, and accepted my invitation to dine at Bertolini’s in the West End and to take in a show. That evening we talked about a possible engagement. This would have been no great surprise to Simon, who had mentioned more than once his sister’s growing attachment to me, but I was not so sure how her father might react. As a result, I took the decision to write to Kenneth Buttenshaw, declaring my intentions and asking for his blessing on the betrothal. Two days later, I received a decidedly lukewarm response from the man which stated that Sophia was far too young to marry and would, in all likelihood, prefer to wed someone with greater prospects than my own. As if that were not damning enough, the following day I received a letter from Sophia herself. She declared that she was deeply upset that I should have taken matters into my own hands and written to her father in such a way, and asked that I desist from entering into any further communications with her. And that is how the matter now stands.”

  Holmes raised an eyebrow and smiled gently. “How has Simon Buttenshaw reacted to this news?”

  I could only be honest with him. “Not well, I’m afraid. He has been tearful at the revelations and says
that he has no idea why his sister and father have reacted so unfavourably towards me. His own letters to Sophia have brought no change of heart, and he is too terrified to speak to his father of the matter for fear of upsetting the man. The last thing he wants is to be removed from Harrow, where he feels he is making such good progress.”

  “I see. And do you by any chance have the two letters on you, Mr. Hughes?”

  Cedric shuffled uncomfortably beside me. He knew that I had carried the letters around with me since first receiving them. I had continually re-read them and talked to him about their contents, desperate to know if anything could be done to rectify the situation. As a loyal friend, he had advised me to let the matter rest and to get on with my life. His insistence that I join our friends for a day at the races was the first step in that direction. I withdrew the letters from an inside pocket of my jacket and passed them to Holmes. The look on his face suggested that he already knew I would have them with me.

  He spent some time examining the two envelopes, using a magnifying glass which he retrieved from a pocket of his waistcoat, and he made a point of smelling the paper. He then unfurled the contents of both letters and examined each in a meticulous fashion. It was a good five minutes before he ventured any comment.

  “Fascinating, Mr. Hughes – and most revealing. The second letter is clearly from Sophia Buttenshaw. There is no mistaking the feminine flourish of the hand, and you may have observed that the paper carries with it more than a hint of Creed scent, a choice perfume which is also favoured by our dear Queen.”

  “That is certainly the scent Sophia uses, Mr. Holmes. But why is that significant?” I enquired.

  “Well, it seems odd that a young woman writing to you in such definitive terms about the ending of a relationship should still think to add a touch of scent to the note. I would suggest that it betrays her mixed emotions,” he replied.

  “Then there is still a chance for me,” I spluttered, eagerly clinging on to any hope of reconciliation.

  “That remains to be seen,” was all that Holmes had to offer. “As for the first letter, I have serious doubts about its penmanship. Kenneth Buttenshaw has not written this. The key question is whether he dictated it or had any knowledge of its contents.”

  Cedric was every bit as stunned as I was. “You think the letter is a forgery, then?”

  Holmes scanned the document once more before replying. “There is certainly deception at work here, gentlemen. The strong hand and clipped phraseology suggests a writer some years younger than Buttenshaw. It seems clear from your earlier account, Mr. Hughes, that the factory owner cannot in fact read or write. That is why he pulled the ruse of suggesting that he could not sign his son’s school admission papers without his glasses and called for Sophia’s assistance. And yet, he did not ask for his glasses, but allowed her to both read all of the papers and then sign them. That she did not ask for his consent or disclose the nature of what she had just signed demonstrated that this was a familiar practice.”

  I was mystified. “So, are you suggesting that Sophia also wrote the first letter?”

  Holmes was adamant. “No. The two notes are in completely different hands. This letter was written by a man. He is left-handed, of slender build, and an American by birth. More significantly, he is an accomplished scientist.”

  I could not help but laugh out loud at the apparent absurdity of what he had just revealed. “Mr. Holmes, I have no wish to be ungrateful or discourteous to you, but are you really asking us to believe that you can discern all of that from a cursory glance at a handwritten letter?”

  I feared that I had insulted the fellow, but Holmes responded with admirable composure, “My methods are unusual, but the results speak for themselves. It is really a process of research, observation, and evaluation, linking all of the available facts. The wording of the letter is short, direct, and offhand. There is no hint of sentiment or feeling, strongly suggesting a male hand. The almost imperceptible thumbprint on the front of the document and the two finger impressions to the rear, demonstrate that the hands of the author are long and slender. I would expect his general frame to be similar. That he is left-handed is evident from the way that the ink has been smudged in parts as his writing hand moves across the page. And the deposit along the bottom edge of the document suggests that he had recent close contact with coal tar, a chemical used in the process of dyeing cloth.”

  Cedric and I were both astounded, but a nagging doubt still remained in my mind. “I can see the logic of all that you have revealed so far, but what about his place of birth?”

  “A strong suggestion from the word ‘gotten’, which you will note in the second paragraph. However, to understand fully why I believe he is not a native of this country, we must turn to the nature of Miss Buttenshaw’s business meeting in London a few weeks back.”

  “Really?” I retorted, staggered that the matter should have any particular relevance to the letter.

  “Yes,” said Holmes. “Do you remember the date that the meeting took place and which particular legal firm Sophia visited?”

  I thought hard for a few seconds before responding. “Monday, 17th May – I remember, because it was the day after my mother’s birthday. As for the law firm, I believe their name was Dennington and Fanshawe.”

  There was no disguising his delight. “Excellent! Then my working hypothesis seems to be solid enough. I should explain, gentlemen, that a major component of my investigative approach is the study of chemistry. I use the science to uncover some of the unseen human traces and concealed clues that others may miss. As such, I pay particular attention to any developments within the scientific field. Dennington and Fanshawe are a very prominent firm of patent lawyers. About a month ago, there was a small piece in the legal section of The Times announcing that the firm is acting for a chemist who has taken out a patent on a new process for dyeing cloth, which uses a compound of coal tar and other chemical elements.”

  Cedric could immediately see the likely relevance. “And you believe that this has some connection to the Buttenshaw factory?”

  Holmes nodded and brought his hands together. “Without doubt, you see the chemist who secured the patent was a twenty-seven year old Texan . . . by the name of Callum Ford.”

  My surprise at the disclosure was palpable, although I could not immediately see what relevance it had to the letter. Holmes then continued, “Buttenshaw told you that he employed the man some five years ago. The young chemist must have come with some considerable reputation or expertise to convince the industrialist to engage his services. But the faith or trust of the older man clearly paid off. With the new dyeing process, the business has gone from strength to strength. So, how did Ford view this rapid expansion? Perhaps he felt that he should benefit from a greater share of the wealth being created.”

  I ventured a quick comment. “Mr. Holmes, I did not meet the chemist on any of my visits to Darlington, but both Kenneth and Sophia had mentioned that he had been placed in a position of some responsibility and left to run much of the manufactory single-handedly. From their comments, I had always taken it that they believed him to be more than adequately remunerated for his role. I suspect there may also have been some friction between Ford and Sophia, however, as she admitted to me once that she disliked him coming up to the house and lingering in her father’s study, which he was inclined to do whenever Kenneth was away on business.”

  Holmes listened assiduously before commenting. “That is a very significant piece of information. It suggests that the household staff would be used to seeing Mr. Ford at the house and, in his position, the American clearly felt that he was at liberty to deputise for his employer. Let us suppose, then, that he was in Kenneth Buttenshaw’s study when your letter arrived. It is not so far-fetched to imagine him opening the correspondence, as I am sure that he also knew of Buttenshaw’s inability to read and write. And having read the correspondence, he then writes back to you purporting to be his employer. So, do we think he did thi
s with Buttenshaw’s blessing?”

  Cedric and I answered in unison, “No!” Feeling some relief at the suggestion that the letter had not come directly from Buttenshaw, I then added, “Kenneth may have been concerned about Sophia marrying, but I know the man well enough to believe that he would have told me face to face if he had any particular reservations about me personally. He cannot have failed to observe how close the two of us have become in recent months.”

  Holmes continued, “If we take that as an accurate assessment, what possible motive would Ford have had for falsifying the letter?”

  Cedric offered a suggestion. “Perhaps he believed that if Sophia married and was taken away from Darlington, the business might suffer, with Kenneth Buttenshaw unable to deal with all of the administrative affairs of the factory.”

  “I think that unlikely, Mr. Stone. In fact, if Callum Ford had desires to take a more controlling role within the business, such a development would have played right into his hands. With Sophia out of the way, Buttenshaw would have little choice but to relinquish even more power to the chemist.”

  “Then you do believe that Ford’s ultimate plan was to wrest ownership of the business away from Buttenshaw?” I then asked.

  “Yes.” Holmes paused briefly, removing a small briar pipe from a pocket, which he proceeded to fill from a leather pouch. “Applying for and securing an industrial patent can take some time. I have little doubt that Ford registered the patent application as soon as he realised the new dyeing process worked effectively. And now that he has successfully obtained the patent, he could hold the factory to ransom. Without the dyeing process, Buttenshaw will be unable to continue to manufacture his lucrative Coburg Cloth.”

  A brass band struck up somewhere in the distance. In the late afternoon there was still a lot of activity across the fair, although I barely registered any of it, so intent was I on listening to what Holmes had to say. He continued to expound on his thoughts. “Kenneth Buttenshaw must now know of Ford’s successful patent application, but he may not have realised the full ramifications of it.”