Sherlock Holmes (45 page)

Duval shouted out, “Tomorrow!
You must come to my house tomorrow and... and bring the good
doctor!”

Holmes looked doubtful but,
seeming to see the pleading look on Duval's face, he agreed and
Duval was overjoyed. Taking out his silver pencil, Holmes opened
his sketchbook and wrote down Duval's address in Portman Square and
made a note of the invitation to tea at half past ten.

With something of a jolt and a
cry of pain from Duval, the train stopped at Charing Cross Station.
Holmes and I saw Duval safely into a cab and bade him goodbye
before hailing our own Hansom to take us back to Baker Street.

Safely back in our rooms we sat
and enjoyed a pipe of tobacco. I turned over in my mind the events
of the morning and the more I did so, the more I thought that
Claude Duval was guileless. From what I had observed, I truly
believed that his sole interest was to further science, even at the
risk of putting his own life in peril. Satisfied with my own
assessment of the man, I decided to seek out Holmes’ opinion of
Duval.

“Well Holmes, this morning I
witnessed a masterly grand deception… but it truth, it does not now
sit well with me. Claude Duval appears to be an honourable, though
single minded, man.”

Holmes was sitting in his
leather armchair with his knees drawn up tight against his chest
and was drawing slowly on his pipe. After a few moments, he blew
out a thin stream of blue tobacco smoke and nodded slowly. “Yes, I
agree. What I have done troubles me greatly for I believe I have
deceived an honest man and even more, to my shame, I have given him
false hope. I am almost certain that the events at Portman Square
are not in any way linked to this man, although he may,
inadvertently, be the catalyst for them.”

Holmes was again silent before
turning to me and asking, “Have you reflected on our meeting with
Charlotte Chalmers?”

I thought for a moment before
replying, “Well, she seems a pleasant enough girl.”

Holmes roared with laughter and
at once I felt like a fool. “No, no, dear Watson. I did not mean
her character, I meant had you analysed what she said and drawn any
conclusions?”

I stumbled a little, saying,
“Why... err... no. Have you?”

Holmes was still amused as he
began to recount his own thoughts on the meeting. "Let us firstly
consider the Duval household, Watson. Claude Duval and his wife are
French and reside in a fashionable district of London. He is
something of, let us say, a pioneer in the new field of aviation.
At present, I cannot see how he may be linked to the unfortunate
happenings at Portman Square. Madame Duval is a socialite and
enjoys the company of the wives of men of importance in one field
or another. Her social activities include regularly inviting these
ladies to tea at her home.

I nodded in agreement and waited
whilst Holmes took another draw upon his pipe. As I watched, I saw
his expression change.

Taking his pipe from his mouth,
he now wagged the stem of it in my direction, saying, "It is this
aspect of her social life that intrigues me… but I also find it the
most worrisome. I have done some little research and each of the
ladies present, when Mrs Mayfield fell ill, has a husband who is an
important figure in his own field.”

Holmes began to count them off,
touching each of his fingers with his pipe stem as he did so.
“Firstly, there is Johannes Van Burren. He is the chairman of the
Dutch East India Company. Secondly, Clive Holcroft. He is the First
Secretary to His Majesty's Treasury. Thirdly, we have Lord Stevens,
an important underwriter at Lloyds of London and finally, Thomas
Mayfield, a director of The South Western Railway and a man tipped
to become Lord Mayor of London."

I considered what Holmes had
said and searched for some common thread but could find none. "Is
there anything other than their friendship with Madame Duval that
links these women?” I asked.

Holmes shook his head. "None
that I can determine... the only link being that they are part of a
select circle of women who gather socially in threes or fours for
tea at Madame Duval's."

Still curious, I continued with
my questioning. "Do you see some opportunity for criminality here,
Holmes?"

Again Holmes paused and took a
moment before replying. "Blackmail is the obvious choice, Watson.
All these women have powerful husbands who have information which
is of value, both commercially... and internationally. But if this
is so, how is this woman able to gain some hold over them whilst in
each other’s company? Let us consider for a moment Mrs Mayfield and
her illness at the Duval's."

I thought again about how we had
considered possible causes, saying, "From what Charlotte said, the
only food that was consumed whilst taking tea was some home-made
biscuits... and we cannot even be sure that Mrs Mayfield consumed
one. Charlotte told us that they were freshly baked and both she
and the cook consumed one and suffered no ill effects. Also, the
other guests were unaffected."

Holmes sat back in thought
before replying, "Yes… but we cannot rule out the possibility that
Mrs Mayfield had consumed something toxic at her own home before
visiting the Duval's. What of the possibility of a seasonal
infection being passed between the members of the group at their
meetings?"

I smiled, for this was something
that I had considered and, from my experience as a doctor,
discounted. "I think not, Holmes. I have seen no such infection
within my own practice and, apart from the odd running nose; the
populace seems extremely healthy, given the time of year. In any
case, such an infection would not strike down a person in such a
way nor in such short a time as that taken up by a tea party."

Holmes steepled his fingers and
looked quizzical. "It is indeed most interesting, Watson, that you
have touched upon the action of this illness for I find it
fascinating. Does it not strike you as strange that Mrs Mayfield is
suddenly afflicted by terrifying hallucinations whilst those around
her are not? Is it even more unbelievable that the other ladies
present seem quite oblivious and unmoved by her physical distress?
Indeed, Mrs Mayfield is so distressed that she has to be taken from
the room.”

Holmes paused for several
moments before continuing, “This is a most puzzling paradox,
Watson. We are reliably told of four ladies, sitting together in
the same room, three of whom are calm and serene, quite oblivious
to their friend becoming highly emotional and fearing for her life!
I think I may have to call upon one of the three and enquire
further."

With that, Holmes took out his
notebook and scribbled madly before ringing for Mrs Hudson.

Sitting down to breakfast the
following morning I found myself eating alone. A place had been set
for Holmes but the only evidence that he had taken breakfast was an
empty tea cup and a side plate with a small amount of butter still
adhering to it, together with a few crumbs of toast.

It was a little after half past
nine when Holmes appeared, swathed in hat and muffler although
neither could hide the jovial expression upon his face.

"Where have you been Holmes?" I
chided. "I was concerned that you would be late for our outing to
Portman Square!"

Holmes was eager for me to put
on my own coat and muffler, saying, "Make haste, Watson, for the
case becomes ever more curious!" With that, he scooped up his
sketchbook and stood waiting expectantly.

Doing as he requested, we were
soon in Baker Street and hailing a cab. Once in the cab and on our
way, my curiosity overtook me. I needed to know more but, before I
could ask, Holmes was in need of my counsel.

Turning towards me, he asked,
"Tell me, Watson. What do you know of memory and, more
specifically, its temporary loss?"

I was, for a moment, at a loss
myself and I needed a moment to think. "Well, it is not really my
province, Holmes, but a loss of memory can be caused by several
factors. It may be due to the ageing process or from a physical
trauma to the brain, causing amnesia. It may also be caused by some
traumatic psychological event or even induced by drugs."

I looked towards Holmes and saw
him slowly nodding. "Yes, it is as I thought. This morning I
visited Lady Stevens as I am known to her husband. I had taken the
liberty of sending her a telegram yesterday afternoon, asking her
if I might call." Holmes now had a curious smile upon his face
whilst saying, "I wanted to enquire, particularly, as to the health
of Mrs Mayfield after her sudden illness. You will be surprised to
hear, Watson, that her Ladyship had no knowledge of Mrs Mayfield's
illness and was indeed concerned to hear of it!"

My mouth fell open on hearing
this. "But...but she was there...unless… unless Charlotte was
mistaken or Lady Stevens doesn't want to admit being there."

Holmes wagged his finger at me,
saying, "Neither of those things is true, Watson. Lady Stevens
confirms that she was there but is adamant that nothing untoward
happened to Mrs Mayfield. She insists that all four ladies enjoyed
a very pleasant time at the Duval's." Holmes now paused, holding
his forefinger up to his lips before continuing, "I think, perhaps,
that after our visit to Portman Square, it may be beneficial to pay
a call on Mrs Mayfield herself."

I sat back in the cab, totally
mystified by this turn of events. However, I had little time to
consider the matter further as the cab had now drawn up to the kerb
in Portman Square. The cab had stopped outside a row of very
impressive, four storey, stone buildings with fine arched
porticoes. Each storey had boldly arched windows and was, indeed,
quite elegant. Holmes climbed the worn Portland stone steps to the
front door and pulled upon the polished, brass knob that protruded
from a circular plate inset in the stonework. After a few moments
the door opened and we were face to face with Charlotte Chalmers.
Immediately, her hand went to her mouth in shock and horror on
seeing Holmes and me at her employer’s residence.

Holmes greeted Charlotte, saying
quietly, “Good morning, Charlotte. Have no fear, we have been
invited here by Mr Duval… but it might be better if you were to
treat us formally as guests to your master's house and not allude
to our previous meeting.”

Charlotte still looked somewhat
concerned and barely managed to bob a curtsy and say, “Yes, sir”,
before bringing us into the grand atrium within. On either side of
this impressive entrance hall, grand, Italian marble staircases,
with matching balustrades, swept upwards to the next floor. From a
frescoed archway between the staircases, we saw Claude Duval
approaching, his injured arm now supported by a sling of fine,
black silk.

Duval hailed us. “Mr Holmes!
Doctor Watson! I am so pleased you could come. This way,
gentlemen.” Turning on his heel, he led us further into the house
and onwards towards the rear. Opening a door, we entered a room
filled with light from a spectacular, glazed orangerie. Although it
was October, the room felt warm from the sun's rays and was filled
with the pungent scent of flowering plants.

“This is wonderful… and in
October!” I cried and was instantly drawn towards the mass of
flowers, climbing plants and foliage that erupted from jardinières
placed at intervals on the marble floor of the orangerie. I moved
from one plant to another, like some eager butterfly in search of
nectar. After two or three minutes had passed I suddenly remembered
my manners and returned to our host, rather shamefaced. “I'm sorry,
Mr Duval. I was so attracted by your display of plants. I see that
there are some that I have seldom seen growing outside of
Asia.”

Duval smiled and held up his
good hand, saying, “I cannot take the credit for this, Doctor
Watson. It is the pastime of my wife. She is from Mulhouse, in
eastern France, and many of these specimens she brought with her to
London. Please, gentlemen, be seated and I shall ring for tea. My
wife will join us presently.”

Whilst Mr Duval pulled upon the
ornate bell cord, I looked around at the splendidly decorated room.
The walls were covered with elegant wallpaper, together with a
number of large oil paintings of classical subjects, mounted in
gilded, swept frames. The sideboards, tables and chairs were finely
carved and also gilded, very much in keeping with Duval's French
heritage. We sat and exchanged pleasantries and after only a few
minutes, Charlotte appeared with the tea tray. She did not serve
the tea, placing it on one of the sideboards before returning below
stairs.

Duval must have seen us looking
cautiously at Charlotte which caused him to say, “Our maid is quite
capable but it is a foible of my wife's. She prefers to serve the
tea herself rather than having the maid pour it out.” At this,
Holmes sprang to his feet, saying, “It may not, perhaps, be
etiquette for a guest to serve the tea but, as you are temporarily
indisposed and your wife is not present, I shall be more than glad
to take her place. In the meantime, I have brought my sketchbook
for you refer to.”

I could see that Duval was
greatly torn between wanting to be a good host and having an
opportunity to peruse Holmes’ sketchbook once again. With a smile,
Duval said, “Alas, Mr Holmes, I am unable to serve the tea so I
have a good excuse to consult your notes.”

With that, Duval almost pounced
on the sketchbook and became instantly engrossed in it, having it
balanced on his knee whilst turning the pages with his single good
hand. Holmes gave a thin smile and raised an eyebrow in my
direction. It was a clear sign that he was engaged in some form of
subterfuge. Holmes had his back to both Duval and me whilst he was
standing at the sideboard, pouring the tea. Whilst he was engaged
in this, I somehow sensed, rather than saw, that someone had
entered the room. Turning to my right, I observed a slender, female
figure approaching Holmes. It seemed that only I had noticed her
arrival, Duval being totally engrossed in the sketchbook.