My Dearest Holmes Read online

  I turned to look at her, and managed a rueful smile. 'No need to apologise, Miss D'Arcy,' I said. 'The whole situation is most unsatisfactory and ill-defined, as you have had opportunity to observe. Heaven knows where it will all end.'

  We jolted along in silence for some time. As we crossed the bridge at Westminster, I thought fleetingly and reluctantly of my companion of last night, with whom Miss D'Arcy had observed me. A wave of disgust and despair swept over me, and I stared at the murky waters as we passed over to the Surrey side. It was as though Miss D'Arcy could read my mind, for she leaned towards me and spoke sympathetically.

  'Mr Holmes prefers to remain enigmatic, and therefore in control,' she said. 'That at least is obvious. However, you may rest assured, Dr Watson, that he would be lost without you. Mark my words, he feels more than he shows. Perhaps one day he will feel able to say so.'

  'He has never expressed affection for me,' I said in a low voice. 'Even though he can be playful, almost flirtatious at times. His sudden changes of mood used to fascinate me, at first. I had never met anyone like him. Then gradually I understood that my fascination with him was becoming too strong for comfort.'

  I realised that I was about to unburden myself completely to someone whose acquaintance I had made only a couple of hours previously. I hesitated, but then reflected that she already knew so much; the damage, if damage it were, had been done. It was with a sense of relief that I continued:

  'I am a medical man, as you know. It did not take me long to understand. I was not even particularly surprised; looking back, I realise that I had always known. It was ironic, really. Somehow I had gained the reputation of being quite a ladies' man. Only Holmes did not believe it. I shall never forget the look he gave me, once in the early days of our acquaintance, when I was--well, talking foolishly, exaggerating. It was cool, appraising, as if he could see right through me. I was angry then. He was amused at my anger. He still makes jokes about my prowess with the ladies.

  'It may be true, as you say, that he feels more for me than he shows. But it is against his nature to express his emotions. And any display of emotion or affection towards himself would disgust him. He defends himself against anything of the sort. I do not know why. He finds life difficult, I think. Without his obsession, his cases, he would be lost. But even if he could bring himself to admit the possibility of anything between us, he would never--it would not be possible for him. And there is his reputation, and mine. I place my own at risk, I know, by the company I keep; but I have to find solace somewhere. I am no weaker in that respect than most of my sex, I believe. But I need hardly say that it is not--what I would choose.'

  I lapsed into silence, and turned once more to look out at the street. We were fast approaching Camberwell. Beside me, Miss D'Arcy sighed.

  'I am so sorry, Dr Watson,' she repeated. 'What can I say? I can only advise you that there is a need for discretion. Your reputation is, as you say, of the utmost imnportance, and in today's climate--but in any case' (here she gave a short laugh) 'there are always ways to protect oneself. As you must know, some of the most exalted figures of our society are discreetly known to be discreetly so. And some of my best friends have been respectable married women.'

  'Indeed?' I murmured, naively shocked, though I suppose I should not have been. 'You have been most kind and sympathetic, Miss D' Arcy, and we will soon have wasted the entire journey talking about my affairs, when your own are so pressing. It is unpardonably selfish of me.'

  'Not at all, Dr Watson,' she replied. 'Pray think nothing of it... It has served to divert my mind from my own troubles, and since they are in such a seemingly impenetrable muddle, the diversion has been very welcome.'

  We had just turned off from Camberwell Green, and it was not long before the hansom slowed to a halt outside a large and gracious Georgian residence with a white porch. We alighted and I paid the driver while Miss D'Arcy made her way swiftly up the drive to the front door. Before she reached it, it was flung open by a distraught-looking maid, who rushed out almost into Miss D'Arcy's arms.

  'Oh miss--oh miss!' she sobbed, in great emotion.

  'Why, Hetty,' said my companion, obviously struggling to maintain a calmness of tone, 'what is it? Good or bad, Hetty?'

  'Bad, miss,' gasped the girl; then, seeing her mistress' white face, caught at her arm, adding, 'Oh, but not as bad as that, miss. But there's been a burglary.'

  'A burglary?' cried Miss D'Arcy and I together.

  'Yes, miss; someone got into the upstairs rooms, this morning, while I was downstairs polishing the back parlour. I heard someone walking about overhead, in Miss Maria's room. I thought it was her come back, and I flew up the stairs two at a time, and there was this gentleman standing there behind her writing desk!'

  'Good heavens,' murmured Miss D'Arcy as we followed the excited girl into the hall. She motioned us both into a room on the right. 'Let us sit down in here, Hetty, and get your breath before you continue. Dr Watson, do take a seat.'

  She motioned me to a comfortable armchair and I seated myself, noting with approval the tasteful furnishing and uncluttered appearance of the room.

  'Now, Hetty,' said Miss D'Arcy, 'sit here on the sofa and tell us what happened next.'

  'Well, miss,' said Hetty, perching herself uncomfortably on the very edge of the sofa. 'He heard me coming, of course, and as I reached the door he turned round. When I saw his face--oh, it was such a shock, miss!'

  She opened her small pale eyes to their roundest, and placed her hand upon her heart, as though reliving the moment.

  'Why, Hetty, what was so shocking about him?' asked Miss D'Arcy patiently.

  'Well, he was the very image of Miss Maria! Except for his hair, miss, and his clothes, of course. I was struck dumb at the sight of him, I couldn't think what to say. But he said, "Ah, you must be Hetty." Now how could he have known my name, miss? I've never set eyes on him in my life before, I swear it.'

  The girl looked from her mistress to me with such a bewildered earnestness that her eyes seemed about to pop out of her head. Miss D'Arcy looked at me in equal amazement.

  'Was he a young, or an older man?' she asked.

  'Young, miss. I called for John as loudly as I could,' continued the girl, 'and the gentleman began to move backwards towards the window, saying, "Now, Hetty, don't. There's no need to be afraid." But when he heard John come running up the stairs, he was off out the window as quick as anything. John and I both looked out after him and saw him running across the garden and over the hedge. John ran down to catch him, but he had got clean away by then.'

  Miss D'Arcy stood up and half turned to the window, as though to catch a glimpse of the fleeing burglar.

  'Did he take anything from the desk?' she asked.

  'Don't think so, unless he'd already put it in his pocket. I don't know that he even got to open it, miss. Do you think we should call the police?'

  Miss D'Arcy looked questioningly at me.

  I think we should have a look for ourselves first,' I said, 'and then contact Sherlock Holmes. He will know the best stage at which to involve the police.'

  And so we made our way upstairs, stopping only to question John, the footman, a neat and dapper man, who confirmed the truth of Hetty's account.

  Miss Kirkpatrick's room was light and spacious, overlooking a well-kept garden at the back of the house. The large sash windows gave a view of the garden, with a side passage leading out at the right, shielded by a hedge.

  'Is this where the man got away?' I enquired of John, who had followed us into the room at our request.

  'Yes, sir. Jumped over the hedge and off down the passage. I rushed downstairs to the front door, but he was off up the road, with a good start on me.'

  I turned to Hetty, who stood small and apprehensive in the doorway. 'And the window was open, was it Hetty, when you came into the room and found the man?'

  'Yes, sir. I don't know how he would have got in through anywhere else, sir.'

  'Thank you, Hetty.
'

  I must admit that I always enjoyed the chance to do a little questioning and deducing for myself. It gave me a sense of importance, which was always denied me when Holmes took the centre stage. I decided to make the most of it, and debated in my mind whether he would have turned his attention first to the desk, or to the window sill. I decided upon the former; having dismissed the servants, Miss D'Arcy was already standing at the open desk, sorting rapidly through its contents.

  'Is anything missing?' I enquired as I joined her.

  'No; at least, I think not. Here are my letters, you see, tied together, undisturbed'--she swiftly put aside a small bundle tied with pink ribbon--'And here are several bills, all paid; some dressmaker's receipts; Maria's appointment book--I have already looked through it, Dr Watson, it is not in the nature of a journal, and it contains no reference to any appointments or events which were unknown to me. This is her stationery; pens and blotting paper; some stamps--ah, and the photographs in which Mr Holmes showed so much interest. I think they are all here...yes. Five of them. Three of her brother as a young man, two of him as a child.'

  I took and examined them. The childhood pictures were on top, and showed a somewhat excessively pretty little boy, with blond curls and a sulky expression.

  'These are surprisingly good quality photographs,' I remarked, 'to have been taken--what?--forty-odd years ago? Why, the science of photography was still in its infancy!'

  Miss D'Arcy took first one and then the other. 'That is true,' she said. 'I must confess I did not examine them closely before. They are all very well preserved...Why, Dr Watson, whatever is the matter?'

  She had heard me give a gasp. I was looking at the later photographs, which showed a young man who still retained his childhood beauty, though the petulant air was replaced by a somewhat dandified and dissolute one. The thick wavy hair, the small mouth, the cool light eyes with their long lashes, were quite familiar to me.

  'But...I know this man,' I faltered.

  Miss D'Arcy looked at me sharply. 'You? But how could you know Maria's brother? Besides, he is much older now than when those pictures were taken. You must be mistaken.'

  'No,' I insisted, turning to her slowly, 'I am sure I am not. These pictures, in my opinion, were taken quite recently. They cannot be of Miss Kirkpatrick's brother, though they may be of some younger relation, for he certainly shares her name. This is undoubtedly my friend, Maurice Kirkpatrick. I would not mistake him anywhere. I have often laid a bet on the horses with him, frequently to my cost. Really, it is he, I do assure you, Miss D'Arcy.'

  Miss D'Arcy raised her eyes from the photograph and looked long and hard at me. I returned her stare. Then, at almost the same moment, we darted to the door and shouted at the tops of our voices for the housemaid. Our united cry brought poor Hetty scampering to the top of the stairs.

  'Yes, miss?' she gasped.

  'Hetty,' said Miss D' Arcy, taking the girl by the arm and drawing her to examine the photograph she had taken from me, 'Hetty, was this the gentleman you saw at Maria's desk?'

  Hetty's eyes widened as she looked at the picture. 'Yes, miss, that's him,' she said at once. 'Why, I told you he looked like Miss Maria, didn't I? Who is he, then?'

  'I'm afraid I don't know, Hetty,' said Miss D'Arcy, gently releasing her. 'But I intend to find out.'

  She walked slowly back into the room, leaving the astonished girl on the landing. Quietly I dismissed her, and followed Miss D'Arcy.

  'I think,' I said, as I watched her mechanically removing the remaining contents from the desk, 'in fact, I know that I have Kirkpatrick's address somewhere. He wrote it down for me, having lost his card. I knew I recognised that handwriting from somewhere.'

  'What handwriting, Dr Watson?' she asked absently.

  'Why, the handwriting on the envel--' I stopped in mid-word, and she stopped in mid-action. Once again, we stared at one other.

  'Those letters,' I said at last, stating the obvious, 'they are from him.'

  Miss D'Arcy deposited the last of the desk's contents upon the chair. 'But who..?' she ventured softly. 'Who is he? A cousin? A nephew? But she said that her sister was unmarried, and her brother childless...'

  She was prevaricating and we both knew it.

  'Holmes was suspicious of these photographs even from your description of them,' I said gently. 'He was ahead of us in this. He said to me that the clue was in the telegram.'

  'The telegram,' repeated Miss D'Arcy reluctantly.

  'COME AT ONCE NEED HELP MOTHER.'

  There was no need for either of us to quote it.

  I crossed over to the desk. 'I think,'I said calmly, 'that at last I know what we are looking for.'

  She rallied herself. 'And so do I. But where? The desk is empty. You have seen all the papers.'

  'A secret compartment, then. There must be one, as Holmes said.'

  I stood back to let Miss D'Arcy's nimble fingers search the interior of the desk. It was small enough, and simply made, but her fingers paused as she tapped at the back panel.

  'It is here,' she said, 'I am sure of it. It has a hollow sound. Listen.'

  I listened, and then, motioning her aside, inspected the back panel myself for a spring or a catch. There was none. Meanwhile Miss D'Arcy, who had moved round to the back of the desk, was searching from the other side. At once, she gave a cry of satisfaction.

  'Here! Look, Dr Watson. There is a spring at the side, at the corner. This must be it. Now we have only to find out how to--'

  Even as she spoke, the back panel shot out at her touch upon the spring, so that it protruded sideways from the desk. With a startled exclamation, Miss D'Arcy fumbled behind it and withdrew a small piece of paper, neatly folded. She opened it with trembling fingers, looked at it for a moment, then handed it to me.

  It was, as we had expected, the certificate of Maurice Kirkpa-trick's birth. His mother was named--the surname her maiden name, Kirkpatrick, the Christian names Maria Constance Louise. The space for entry of the father's name and occupation had been left blank.

  I am afraid that my first reaction was one of embarrassment for my friend. I was ashamed of having inadvertently discovered his origins in this manner, and a guilty blush stole to my face. When I looked across at Miss D'Arcy, however, I quickly recovered myself. She had sunk into the chair, white to the lips.

  'My dear Miss D'Arcy,' I cried, rushing to her. Tray do not take it so hard. Sit back now, there. Let me get you some brandy.'

  I ran to the door and shouted for some brandy, which the footman brought. In answer to his anxious enquiry, I dismissed him hurriedly with orders to get a cab as quickly as possible.

  I held the glass to Miss D'Arcy's lips, and it seemed to revive her a little. I took her hand, which was cold as ice, and tried to chafe some warmth back into it.

  'Please, my dear Miss D'Arcy,'I said, 'please, I beg of you, take a hold of yourself. All will be explained, I promise you. It cannot be quite as bad as you think. I am sure she did not mean deliberately to deceive you, but only to spare you pain. You must believe it.

  'There,' I continued as I saw the colour begin to steal back into her cheeks, 'take another sip. That is better. Now, listen. I have ordered a cab. We must return to Baker Street at once. If anyone can sort out this tangle with the greatest discretion in the shortest time, it is Sherlock Holmes.'

  Our journey back to Baker Street was certainly in contrast to our drive to Camberwell Grove, for we sat in absolute silence, each occupied with our own musings. Two thoughts occurred to me in quick succession; the first irrelevant at this stage, the other ignoble under the circumstances:

  I had forgotten to make an examination of the window sill, to ascertain how Kirkpatrick had reached the first floor room; and I was going to have to expose my acquaintance with that gentleman to the searching questions of Sherlock Holmes.

  --IV--

  WE FOUND Mr Sherlock Holmes busily engaged in cross-indexing his reference book, a pile of newspapers on the floor beside him. H
e looked up when we entered, a smile of satisfaction playing across his ascetic features.

  'Ah,' he said as Miss D'Arcy handed him the certificate. 'So it did not take you long to find it. It is just as I expected. I have taken the precaution of ascertaining the young gentleman's address--I have not been idle in your absence, you see; Kensington is not overpopulated with young Mr Kirkpatricks--so we can move on quickly to the next stage of our investigation.'

  'The gentleman in question nearly beat us to the goal,' I said. 'He apparently tried to burgle Miss D' Arcy's house this morning, and I presume it was this certificate that he was after.'

  It always gave me the greatest pleasure to be able to surprise Holmes. For a moment he regarded me with a look of pure astonishment. Then he chuckled, and rubbed his hands together.

  'Dear me,' he said, 'this case gets more and more intriguing! Pray take a seat, Miss D'Arcy--I do beg your pardon. Now, suppose you let me have the story of this interesting burglary.'

  He listened in silence as Miss D'Arcy told him of the morning's discovery. He had completely recovered his composure, and his heavily-lidded countenance betrayed nothing of the excitement of which I knew this expression to be a sign. The smoke curled quickly from his pipe and hung in the air between us and him. Not even at the mention of my acquaintance with Miss Kirkpatrick's son did he display the least sign of outward interest.

  'Well, well,' he murmured when Miss D'Arcy had finished. 'This really is a very interesting development. I must admit, I had not anticipated this. This certificate, the existence of a son, yes--but that he should take the risk of breaking into his mother's house in broad daylight, not knowing, Miss D'Arcy, that you were not at home...He was looking presumably for this certificate, as you say--I think, by the way, that it would be safest if I kept hold of it for the moment. Presumably also, he undertook this search with his mother's consent. He was standing behind the desk, you say; it sounds as though he knew exactly where to look. If he had not been disturbed at that precise moment, he would have taken what he came for and been off out of the window with no one any the wiser.