Sherlock Holmes (43 page)

“But circumstances have
changed?” asked Holmes.

Mrs Hudson nodded. “Yes, sir. I
had occasion to have tea with my niece last Thursday as she had the
afternoon off. She told me that the previous day a lady, Mrs
Mayfield, who had been visiting her employer, had quite suddenly
been taken ill and a doctor had been called. She said that the lady
had been in a terrible state, sir, seeing things and the like.”

Holmes was now sitting back in
his chair with his forefinger to his lips. “Yes, I can see that
that would be worrisome for your niece. Has anything like this
happened before?”

Mrs Hudson now looked concerned.
“Well, that's the worry, Mr Holmes. Only two weeks previous,
another lady caller mentioned that she had felt unwell after her
visit.” Mrs Hudson moved a little further forwards on the settee,
saying, “My niece wasn't eavesdropping, sir, she only heard it in
passing whilst bringing in the tea, you understand. She is a
sensitive child and I am most concerned.”

Holmes nodded. “Yes, yes, quite.
Have you the name and address of your niece's employer?” asked
Holmes.

I knew that Mrs Hudson must have
been truly worried because, as we watched, she withdrew from her
apron pocket a small scrap of paper and handed it to Holmes. “Here
it is, sir. I took the liberty of writing it down, in case you
might….”

Holmes smiled and leant
forwards, taking the paper and patting Mrs Hudson's hand, saying,
“Of course. Leave it with me, Mrs Hudson.”

Mrs Hudson smiled weakly, rose
and, after loading her tray with the remnants of our meal, she
nodded to us both before disappearing downstairs. I must confess
that I was somewhat bemused by what had just occurred. It was
unheard of for Mrs Hudson to involve Holmes in any family or
indeed, any domestic matters. This affair must have been preying
upon her mind a good deal for her to approach Holmes for
assistance.

“What do you make of that,
Holmes?” I queried.

Holmes was still holding the
piece of paper from Mrs Hudson. He did not answer immediately but
seemed to be looking towards some point in the distance whilst, at
the same time, he began to fill his pipe. After lighting it and
taking a couple of good pulls upon it, he turned to me, saying,
“This greatly concerns me, Watson. Whilst it might be a misfortune
for a visiting acquaintance to fall ill after a visit to a person's
home, it would be very troubling if the same thing were to happen
again, with more serious consequences, barely two weeks later."

I thought for a moment before
suggesting, "Food poisoning or... or perhaps even a sudden illness?
There are several plausible explanations for these events,
Holmes."

Holmes rose from his chair and
began to pace. "Yes, but there is also something about the name of
the hostess that gnaws at me so, Watson... Madame Duval.”

I thought for a moment, turning
the name over in my head. “Hmm, the only person I can think of
named Duval is that strange French fellow who is convinced that he
can fly!” I laughed out loud at the very thought of it. However,
hardly had I spoken these words when Holmes leapt from his chair
and began rooting madly in our collection of newspaper
clippings.

I was most perturbed by this and
called out, “Have a care, Holmes! It has taken me a good while to
catalogue those,” but to no avail. Holmes had plunged headlong into
the archive with but a single thought in his head.

With a cry of triumph, Holmes
held aloft a cardboard folder, crying, “Ha! Here we are! 'Claude
Duval the intrepid French aeronaut who resides in London
demonstrates the gliding abilities of his new craft at Bognor
Regis'. There is even a photograph of the fellow standing beside
his machine.”

I walked over to Holmes and,
upon looking over his shoulder, I could see that he was reading
from a somewhat yellowed newspaper cutting. Upon it was the
headline he had read aloud and beneath, a photograph of a smiling,
moustached gentleman in a checked waistcoat and plus fours. Mr
Duval was to be seen leaning against some large contraption that
appeared to be made solely from string, bamboo garden canes and
stretched fabric.

I looked towards Holmes, his
face had once again taken on a thoughtful expression. Replacing the
newspaper cutting in the folder, he returned to his armchair and
took up his pipe. He sat in silence for perhaps only a minute or so
but my impatience was such that I could wait no longer.

“Do you have a notion that the
events in Portman Square are, in some way, linked to the exploits
of Claude Duval?” I asked.

Holmes frowned. “I have, as yet,
no opinion, Watson. However, the information from Mrs Hudson's
niece is worthy of further investigation. I think we must invite
Miss Charlotte for tea on Thursday afternoon.” With that, he rang
the bell for Mrs Hudson and asked her to extend the invitation to
her niece.

Thursday morning arrived and,
until then, little had been said regarding our rendezvous with Miss
Charlotte. Holmes was seated in his armchair and I could not help
but notice that he had been spending some considerable time reading
the society pages of several newspapers.

I must confess that I was
somewhat intrigued by this occurrence as the society pages were
something I knew Holmes disliked with a vengeance. Indeed, he had
been known to rip these pages from his newspaper and hurl them
across our sitting room in disgust. However, I suspected that his
sudden interest had been to seek some intelligence as to Madame
Duval’s activities and I was curious to know what he had
determined.

Holmes was already enjoying his
second pipe of the day and I thought it an opportune moment to
satisfy my curiosity. "Holmes, old fellow, are you any the wiser
regarding Madame Duval?" I asked, in all innocence.

Holmes looked towards me and I
am sure that he could see the mischief in my face. "Yes, she
appears to be a particularly gregarious lady and seems to have a
very wide circle of acquaintances. Her tea parties are often
detailed in the so called 'society pages'. Despite the liberal
sprinkling of poseurs, there are mentions of the wives of some
particularly interesting gentlemen. These, I note, include
ambassadors, statesmen, leaders of industry and even some minor
royals from the Continent."

I nodded, seeing now the value
of the time spent on this apparently abhorrent task.

It was a little after 3 p.m.
when there was a gentle knock at our sitting room door and Mrs
Hudson appeared with a young lady at her side. Upon looking at our
visitor, I noted that she appeared to be aged around 18 years and
was dressed smartly, but plainly, in the clothes of a domestic
servant. Holmes rose and shook the young lady’s hand, as did I, as
we were both introduced to Miss Charlotte May Chalmers. Our guest
sat and it was clear that she was a little nervous in our company
but, after a little small talk and the arrival of the tea tray
brought by her aunt, she visibly relaxed.

Holmes sat back and sipped his
tea, asking, "Tell me Charlotte, what happened last week when Mrs
Duval's guest was taken ill?"

Charlotte put down her teacup
and began to recount the events. "Well sir, there were three other
ladies who had been invited for tea. They were all seated in the
salon and I had brought up the tea tray as Madame had rung for
it."

Holmes nodded. "Was there
anything different about the room or the guests that you
noticed?"

Charlotte thought for a moment
before replying, "No, sir. I saw nothing amiss, it was as always. I
placed the tea tray on the sideboard next to Madame's diary and
returned to the kitchen."

I noticed that Holmes had now
moved slightly forward in his chair and had his forefinger slightly
raised. "You did not serve the tea?"

Charlotte shook her head. "No
sir, it was as usual. I brings up the tea and Madame's pot of
coffee and she pours the tea for her guests."

Holmes again nodded, asking,
"Was any food served?"

Charlotte smiled, saying, "Just
a few biscuits, sir. Cook had made them specially that morning. She
made a couple extra and she and I had one with our tea. Oatmeal,
they was."

"Tell me, Charlotte. Does Madame
always drink coffee? Does she not like tea?" asked Holmes, with a
glint in his eye.

Shaking her head, Charlotte
replied, "Oh, no sir, she drinks tea but, when she has guests of an
afternoon, she always drinks coffee... I think it's because she is
a foreign lady."

Holmes sat back and seemed to
consider this before asking, "Who was present when the lady was
taken ill?"

Charlotte frowned as she thought
back to the day in question and began counting off the guests with
her fingers. "Well sir, there was Mrs Van Burren, she's a Dutch
lady, Mrs Holcroft from Greenwich, Lady Stevens... and, of course,
the one that was taken poorly, Mrs Mayfield, she's from Harrow. I
know where they live sir because I have, on occasion, had to hail a
cab for them."

I had already taken out my small
notebook from my waistcoat pocket and quickly noted down the names.
Whilst Holmes’ memory was excellent, mine, I fear, was not.

Holmes edged forward slightly,
asking, "And what happened when Mrs Mayfield was taken ill?"

Charlotte looked quite excited
as she began her tale. "Well sir, the bell in the kitchen was
ringing like it was going to fall off the wall! I rushed upstairs
and found Madame trying to comfort Mrs Mayfield who was greatly
distressed. Mrs Mayfield was trying to climb on a chair. She said
that she could see tigers roaming around in the room. She was off
her head, sir!"

Holmes was keenly alert, his
eyes bright as he asked, "What of the other ladies?"

I looked to Charlotte. She now
had a puzzled expression upon her face. "Now that's the funny
thing, sir. They all looked quite calm, serene, you might say. They
never turned a hair, even when Mrs Mayfield was in such a state
that she had to be taken to another room to wait for the
doctor."

Holmes nodded and drained his
tea, saying, "Well, thank you, Charlotte. It was a great pleasure
to meet you."

Charlotte stood and asked,
"Would you like me to take the tea tray back downstairs to my aunt,
sir? I know the way."

Holmes nodded and smiled,
saying, "That would be most kind. Dr Watson and I have some matters
to discuss."

Charlotte bobbed in a little
curtsy and gathered the cups before disappearing with the tea
tray.

Holmes appeared troubled and had
begun to pace, a clear sign of his concern. "What is it, Holmes? Do
you suspect foul play?" I asked.

He did not answer at first, his
thin face showing furrowed brows. "It is a combination of factors
that is leading me to believe so. I need some little time to
consider all that we have heard this morning."

With that, Holmes returned to
his armchair, drew up his knees and entered that contemplative
state where his only companions were to be his tobacco and briar
pipe. I had some business at my practice so I left Holmes to his
thoughts.

Upon my return for dinner, I
found Holmes draped in his old dressing gown in our sitting room
engrossed in a book which, on further inspection, I found to be
entitled “The Principles of Flight”. The book cover showed an
illustration of Icarus soaring heavenward on his feathered wings
towards an unforgiving Sun. I felt the need for a little gentle leg
pulling so I remarked, “Ha, so the fantasy of a man flying has
overtaken you too then, Holmes!”

Holmes slowly lowered the book,
saying in a chiding voice, “It is not fantasy, Watson. The science
relating to heavier than air flight is clearly there. We are simply
constrained by the materials to hand and the limits of our
currently imperfect knowledge of the physics of flight. Powered,
manned flight will come...and soon.”

Holmes once more raised the
book, the plume of blue smoke emanating from behind its cover
showing evidence of Holmes’ continued concentration. In truth, I
felt a little slighted. My intention had been to tease but I had
ended up a little bruised and battered from my endeavours.

I sat and sought some solace
from reading the morning's edition of 'The Times'. I flicked idly
through the dense print when suddenly a headline leapt out at me.
“Good Lord, Holmes! Listen to this… 'French daredevil to take to
the skies'. On Saturday, this week, at 11a.m., weather permitting,
Mr Claude Duval of Portman Square is to attempt to fly his glider,
'The Damselfly', from Betsom's Hill Fort in Bromley. His previous
attempt in August saw him glide for over eighty feet. The public is
invited to attend, with admission for adults at sixpence, children
under 12 years, twopence.”

Holmes’ book slammed shut and I
jumped at the sudden sound. Looking up, I saw Holmes’ beaming face.
“Then we must not disappoint Mr Duval, Watson. We must have our
shilling at the ready!” Taking out his notebook, I saw him dash off
a telegram before ringing the bell vigorously for Mrs Hudson.

Throughout Friday, Holmes was to
be seen dipping into various books in our small library at Baker
Street. I presumed that he was readying himself for the meeting
with Mr Duval so I stayed well clear. During the mid-afternoon,
there was a ring at our doorbell, followed a few moments later by
Mrs Hudson entering our rooms with a large envelope addressed to
Holmes. Upon opening it, Holmes was clearly delighted with the
contents and immediately disappeared into his room. He was not to
be seen during that evening, not even for dinner, and appeared only
briefly at supper time before retiring once more to his room. This
behaviour I thought quite strange.

The following morning, Holmes
and I readied ourselves for our trip to Bromley and the hill fort.
The weather was indeed fine for late October. A watery sun and a
gentle breeze met us as we hailed a Hansom in Baker Street. Bromley
was some distance away and required either a long carriage ride of
almost two hours or a much quicker journey by train. Holmes had
already ascertained that the 9:30 a.m. train from Charing Cross to
Bromley would give us sufficient time to hire a cab to Betsom's
Hill Fort. Arriving at Charing Cross Station, we found our way to
the waiting South Eastern Railway train and climbed aboard. I
noticed that Holmes was carrying a small sketchbook and guessed
that this might be something that he had prepared in order that he
might gain an introduction to Duval.