Best and Wisest Man

by Hamish Crawford

  Turning the subject back to Conan Doyle, I explained, “Well, he’s a very charming gentleman, but all that name-dropping and going on about historical fiction. I’m just worried he is depriving you of what you deserve.”

  “Believe you me, Mary, anonymity is a very favourable situation. I would not care to be like … well, like Oscar Wilde, for instance, constantly pointed at and gossiped about in every corner. Nor would I wish that upon you. There’s also the matter of respectability for a man in the medical profession stooping to write sensational literature, and the danger that might come my way if members of the criminal classes knew of me.”

  “But won’t they know about you when this story is published all across England and America?”

  “Honestly, I don’t imagine many people will read it. A Study in Scarlet didn’t get particularly wide exposure, and Arthur doesn’t have high hopes - he feels sure historical fiction of the Sir Walter Scott school will be his great literary mark.”

  “What about what Oscar Wilde said?”

  “According to Arthur, Oscar Wilde says that sort of thing to everybody.”

  29 September -My evening out with James and Arthur will definitely be my last for some time. Of late my energy has dissipated, and the cause is clear. My baby is quite clearly on its way.

  Accordingly James has lessened his professional obligations. This was primarily in the interests of assisting Holmes - but benefits me in an ancillary way, as it means he is most often by my side. He has been incredibly solicitous this past little while, and I believe he shall be a very good father.

  That is not to say he has been entirely absorbed with my medical requirements. I have totted up the totals, and by my calculation Holmes has been consulted on a good twenty cases this year alone.

  On a related subject, James has finally indulged my curiosity and, when he has had a moment and could stay by my bedside, he has read to me some of his accounts. This has provided me with a great deal of stimulation in my growing infirmity.

  Even then, though, there are still a few cases that he has forbidden me to look at. Seeing the title ‘The Giant Rat of Sumatra’ inevitably had me intrigued, but James would not be persuaded about it. “It is a story for which the world is not yet prepared.”

  “Well, what about ‘The Second Stain’? You said I couldn’t read that either.”

  “That one is for political reasons, but the Giant Rat … well, it carries some profound implications that are rather hard to live with.”

  “You can be so portentous when talking about these things. And yet the title The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes gives them an air of excitement. Perhaps after The Sign of Four is published, they will want a sequel?”

  “It all depends on Arthur, really. You’ve only to talk to the man to realize that historical fiction will always be his true passion. This is merely something he has a talent for.”

  “And an obliging friend.”

  “Some might say that. But perhaps understandably, he thinks he can make more of a name for himself with that than with detective writing. It’s much less respected. Aside from Poe and Bret Harte, it tends towards the penny-dreadful end of the literary spectrum.”

  “Don’t be so self-deprecating, my dear. You are a far better writer than any penny-dreadful hack. I’d say you were better even than Poe. And as for Bret Harte - well, I confess I do not know who he is, which makes me even more certain that you are his better.”

  “Though I do value your opinion, you need only look at those yellow-backed novels and magazines to see the low prestige of the genre. The word ‘mystery’ is synonymous with cheap hack-work for a sensation-hungry, undiscriminating public.”

  “But they are not merely mystery stories. ‘A Case of Identity’, for instance, is a very tragic and romantic story, all about broken hearts and lost love. Whereas ‘The Naval Treaty’ has the milieu of espionage in it.”

  “When you are extolling their virtues, I feel like Dickens himself,” James said with a blush. “But I doubt they will ever be such a craze.”

  8 October - At the moment my approaching commitment has made my emotions run higher even than in early January. And while I initially welcomed his presence, I now must have James occupied in some way. The poor man had taken to lingering behind me at all times during the day, which I found rather noisome. Having given him assurance that I will send word as soon as the critical moment arrives, I have instructed him to stay at his club or call on Holmes, until my ill humour passes. It may seem odd to have sent him away when the critical moment draws nearer, but in his present state he is rather like an over-excited horse, quite literally chomping at the bit for his child to arrive.

  Later -I am considerably more at ease from a few hours alone. I received this telegram shortly before retiring for the night.

  Telegram from Dr. John Watson to Mrs. Mary Watson

  STAYING WITH HOLMES. SMALL MATTER INVOLVING DARTMOOR SUPERSTITION, BASKERVILLES. NO DOUBT TRIVIAL.

  10 October - I now feel quite guilty over my respite. James has returned quite gripped with concern over this Baskerville superstition hinted at in his telegram.

  “The bald facts of the case are this: Sir Charles Baskerville recently died of a heart attack. There was evidence he was running, and footprints were spied near the body - as he said, ‘The footprints of a gigantic hound!’”

  “I would agree with your initial impression. An elderly baronet attacked by a wild animal is certainly tragic, but not a mystery of Holmes’s calibre.”

  “Ah, but the hound holds a grim significance for these people. Mortimer told us of the history of the area. The Baskervilles are a very old and dishonourable family. Their manor stands in a benighted part of Dartmoor, near the prison of Princetown. The family’s reputation for cruelty extends back to a legend from 1742 - when a hound from Hell itself was said to swallow up the profane Sir Hugo Baskerville in the pursuit of an unfortunate neighbour’s daughter. Under the circumstances of Sir Charles’s death, Mortimer had thought-”

  “Had thought that this hell-hound had claimed Sir Charles?”

  “Well, Mortimer did not know what to think. I confess that the legend’s details are so ghastly, and Mortimer told it with such conviction that I half-believed him last night. In the cold light of day, I remember Holmes’s rational outlook and feel rather foolish I paid heed to such arrant mummery.

  “This morning, we were visited by Sir Henry. As a Canadian, he sensibly holds little truck with the primitive beliefs stoked in rural England’s neglected corners. He received a strange letter, though, telling him to stay away from the moor. Then when we called at the Northumberland Hotel, his boot was stolen.”

  “So what is your next move? Has Sir Henry heeded the anonymous warning? I take it that no one suspects it could have been written by the dog?”

  “He has indeed ignored the warning and is bound for Baskerville Hall.”

  “And you and Holmes shall go along with him, no doubt?”

  “There is a strange matter.” James sat and emitted a long and sustained whistle, a tic I knew signalled some long-bottled frustration. “Amid all the oddness of these two days, it is a petty grievance, but there it is. Holmes claims he is too occupied with his cases to travel to Dartmoor at the moment.”

  “I did not know he was currently occupied?”

  “It is the first I have heard of it!”

  “So he will leave Sir Henry to fend for himself in his family home? The murderer may well be someone close to him, someone who stands to gain from his death. Such a person could easily have murdered Sir Charles to achieve his aims.”

  “Ah, but no such person exists. Sir Henry is the sole heir of the Baskerville estate. It is as though that centuries-old curse is succeeding in wiping their ill-starred name from history.”

  “So, you think Sir Henry is heading to face some spectre?”

  “It sounds ridiculous, this hell-hound business, but Mary … I tell you, what is afoot here is evil, evil in a way that I have
seen only once before.” He looked away from me. “That is why … I must accompany Sir Henry to Dartmoor. You would be quite right to hold this against me Mary. I said I would go out of shock more than anything else.”

  “It sounds as if Holmes will need all the help you can offer him. I do not see a problem with you leaving.” The briefest flicker of my sense of adventure from the ‘Sign of Four’ days resurfaced, and I added, “Of course, I could also accompany you…”

  Now it was James’s turn to be indignant. “In your present condition? And with this supernatural grisliness all around? No, the farther away you are from any reaches of this business, the better. For your sake, and for mine, it would be better if you stayed here. I have made arrangements with Mrs. Forrester to call on you, and the servants have instructions to cable me if anything happens. I promise you that I shall return to London the second I receive such a message.”

  I was gripped with concern and pity for my husband. A passing frustration from the previous night has dragged him into all this! Worse, I pushed him away and now Holmes appears to have done the same.

  But to think pragmatically, there was no question of me accompanying him. Though Sir Henry would not doubt be a most hospitable host, I was unable to move very far by this point, and long travel would have been far too draining. In addition, James still spoke of the place with a chill in his voice. As keen as he was to write off primitive superstitions, he seemed to be emphatically repeating them like a mantra, as though to stave off his doubts.

  As I stood at our front door and wished James success, I saw his current vulnerability laid bare. I held him in my arms for some time. I flatter myself that my intimate farewell had bolstered his spirit somewhat. As James left, he bore his assignment, as he bears all work Holmes heaps upon him, with his usual stoic professionalism.

  15 October - How truly bleak! I feel bleak, and the world around me feels bleaker. I have had no word whatsoever from James, and caprice has struck me heavily by causing me to turn for the worse. Physically I can muster no energy, and the London weather has conspired against me by alternating inhospitable levels of rain with lowering skies, so as to prevent even a modest walk down the street.

  I at least have taken comfort in the arrangements James made, should my baby make an early appearance. James arranged for Dr. Anstruther to call upon me regularly, and upon his visit the good doctor has assured me that the second any developments occur with the baby, he can be by my side at a moment’s notice.

  My present condition, however, is not related to the pregnancy. It is a general torpor that visited upon me the morning after James left, and his continued absence has let fester. Were I to know better, I would say this curse was touching myself - why else had I driven James away into its spectral claws? And why else have my spirits so descended?

  18 October -So racked with worry am I, both for James and if the baby were to come prematurely, that I have taken to reading James’s notes. For the sake of that mystery from January 7, I was disappointed to find the case corresponding to that date - entitled The Valley of Fear, with subheadings The Tragedy of Birlstone and The Scowrers -are empty. Why would James have relocated those notes?

  There was also a reference for a book in the collection of the British Museum Reading Room. Its title was The Dynamics of an Asteroid, but all the notes written about it suggest it is some highly academic title. James has made a note next to it: “Academic evaluation is that ‘No man in the scientific press is capable of criticizing it’”. It is probable that it is merely some book that James had marked for leisure reading or as part of Holmes’s other researches (since pure mathematics are somewhat outside of James’s sphere of interest). I find it hard to believe that there can be anything more than the most abstract connection between this work and a murder in Birlstone.

  In the meantime, I concentrated on the case notes that were available. I suppose there is that old wives’ tale that reading sensational literature while pregnant is something of a risk. Mrs. Forrester would have me believe that a sudden shock might send the baby out early, and so heaven knows what could have happened from me reading ‘The Speckled Band’? I dared not put it down though, as James’s narrative skill was so very compelling.

  I hope Lippincott’s publication is a success - these future Sherlock Holmes stories could become a regular feature. There is certainly no shortage of material.

  3 November - James returned from Dartmoor late this evening. He was gripped with the frenetic mood that is so typical of him after one of Holmes’s mysteries was solved.

  “I do think it shall rank among Holmes’s most acclaimed cases. Perhaps one day, should The Sign of Four succeed, Arthur might let me turn my hand to it?”

  “Yes indeed. Tell me every detail about it, James!”

  “No,” he insisted. “Your term shall end soon, and I shall not risk my own baby by causing a shock to its mother!”

  7 November -Once again, Providence struck with its strange precision. In the small hours four nights ago, with James’s worry about shocking me still in my mind, I awoke suddenly. I had very suddenly gone into labour, and within minutes James rushed me to St. Bartholomew’s Hospital. He had always been adamant that the doctors there - many of whom were known to him - would be the best equipped to guide me through the birth.

  I am sure any woman will say that her own labours must have been the worst ever experienced. Hours without number seemed to pass before finally, this perfect creature emerged. And I am sure any woman will also agree that looking upon the face of one’s child made all the agony seem worthwhile.

  (Note: There is a large portion missing from the diary here. As Holmes and Watson were not known to be at work on any particularly sensitive cases during these months, it seems likely that it was no more than the vagaries of time. An unfortunate side effect of this, though, is that it leaves blank many details surrounding Mary Watson. It has been difficult to trace any documentation relating to Mary’s birth. However, it is reasonable to estimate that she was christened around now, and we are aware that her full Christian name was Mary Victoria Watson. There is the more sinister prospect that some documents were suppressed by Dr. Watson, in view of events to come. )

  6 Published as ‘A Scandal in Bohemia’ in the Strand Magazine, July 1891.

  7 This was published under the title ‘The Boscombe Valley Mystery’ in the Strand Magazine, October 1891.

  8 This case was published under the title ‘The Man With the Twisted Lip’, in the Strand Magazine, December 1891.

  1890

  It may be remembered that after my marriage, and my subsequent start in private practice, the very intimate relations which had existed between Holmes and myself became to some extent modified. He still came to me from time to time when he desired a companion in his investigations, but these occasions grew more and more seldom, until I find that in the year 1890 there were only three cases of which I retain any record.

  -‘The Final Problem’ (1894)

  14 January -With Christmas over and young Mary developing very nicely into her second month of life, last week that peculiar mystery again loomed of the events that occurred the day after Holmes’s birthday in 1888. Now, though, James was slightly more forthcoming about it.

  “It may seem trivial, my dear,” James asked me this morning, “but do you recall at our wedding seeing a man you did not recognize?”

  “Aside from the groom, you mean?”

  “Very amusing, dear. But possibly a thin, academic-looking fellow with a large forehead.”

  “Now I think you are talking about Holmes …” At this moment I trailed off, remembering the man who had sent Holmes a card that caused him to depart hurriedly. “Yes, there was such a man. I never got a chance to speak with him. Is it important, James?”

  “It seemed so at the time, but perhaps not anymore. Now that two years have passed, I can enlighten you. Holmes encountered a very evil man, nestled in the heart of respectable society. A scholar, admired by many. And yet
beneath his achievements and his quiet, unassuming manner, this man ran a web of crime, vice, and misery that aimed to bring Holmes to his knees, and lay waste to every principle he stood for.”

  “Is this the subject of that case, The Valley of Fear?” I asked.

  “Yes. It seemed so trivial, a murder in Birlstone that seemed to be impossible. This criminal managed, though, to orchestrate the entire scheme without even being present. This led to Holmes’s desperate pursuit of this arch-enemy, but he seemed to have run aground. I never met him in person, but it gives me quite a chill to think he came so close to my dear wife. Every year when the seventh day of January passes, I think back to those seemingly inconsequential events in Birlstone, and have a shudder at a culprit of such crimes evading Holmes’s reach. For if Holmes was not able to catch up with him, mark my words that no human shall.”

  Unfortunately, as he does in his writings, James left off in mid-stream, as he was called away for a patient. I did not even get the name of this vile master-criminal!

  12 February - While real-life assignments to occupy Holmes seem rare at the moment, they have truly exploded as fictional protagonists. For at last, The Sign of Four has begun its serialization in Lippincott’s Magazine. It is strange indeed that this is the first I have read of this crucial tale. In some ways I read it at some remove from reality, as it is filtered through not one but two authorial voices. These many hands explain the occasional errors that mar an otherwise faultlessly written narrative: one particular howler is that the month is described as September at one point, but my character shortly after describes getting the mysterious letter on July 7 th! Perhaps it was some attempt to conceal the true nature of the events that happened.

  I can only imagine that it was Conan Doyle who added the unflattering description of me and attributed it to Dr. Watson. My dress was described as having “a plainness and simplicity … which bore with it a suggestion of limited means”. Then a few lines down, he mentioned James’s “experience of women which extends over many nations and three separate continents”.