by Seamas Duffy
‘I have just opened your letter, Inspector Wills, and was recalling to Doctor Watson the incident where we first met at Harrow Weald,’ said my friend.
‘Yes, we got our men in the end and it turned out we didn’t need you after all. Still, it’s always an education to listen to your theories, and that’s why I have come. It really is a most extraordinary occurrence, and I’m still not quite sure if it is a case for a detective, a clergyman, or an occultist,’ the Inspector said anxiously.
‘Excellent,’ said Holmes, rubbing his hands and looking at me with barely-concealed delight, ‘we shall retain the other two professions in reserve until we have exceeded the jurisdiction of the first.’
‘I’m not quite sure where to start, gentlemen,’ he said with the look of a man at his wits’ end, as he dug out his notebook.
‘Try the beginning,’ said Holmes. ‘I am bound to warn you, however, that someone recently tried to convince me that they had discovered a vampire down in rural Lamberley, but upon investigation it turned out to be nothing more sinister than the resentful fury of a spoilt child. At which solution, I had arrived,’ my friend continued, ‘without actually having to leave Baker Street.’
‘Well, I’m not so sure that you will be able to dismiss this case quite so lightly,’ he went on doggedly with an emphatic shake of the head, ‘no, I’ll wager you will not.’
‘Pray continue, then.’
‘I was called out at about eight o’clock this morning to an address in Lower Edmonton, the home of a young spinster, a Miss Ruth Farnham, aged twenty-seven, who works at the library. She had been found dead in her bed by the woman who comes in to do general work for her, a Mrs Kenny, an excitable Irish widow. The sight of Miss Farnham’s corpse struck Mrs Kenny with such a complete hysteria that her frenzied screaming aroused one of the neighbours, a Mr Danvers Crane, a schoolmaster, who made his way immediately to the house. By the time he arrived there, Mrs Kenny had fallen into a faint and was lying in a heap on the floor. It wasn’t simply the fact that Miss Farnham was dead …’ his voice trailed off as he evidently sought to marshal the correct words to describe the scene.
‘Take your time,’ said Holmes soothingly, ‘and tell me everything in order.’
‘After arriving at her normal time and finding her mistress absent from downstairs, Mrs Kenny then ascended to the first-floor bedroom. Miss Farnham was never a late riser, she was a regular churchgoer, you see, one of the type that is forever wrapped up in the work of committees for doing good works. Mrs Kenny at first thought that perhaps the woman had taken ill and had lain in a bit longer. When she opened the bedroom door she received the shock of her life, which set off in her such a sudden panic and terror.’
‘One moment; was the window open or closed?’
‘It was wide open … why do you ask that?’
‘Please continue, I shall return to that point.’
‘Mrs Kenny found Miss Farnham lying on the bed, on top of the counterpane, dressed in a white wedding gown as though arrayed for the bridal. On closer inspection, she turned out to be stiff and cold, with that pallor which comes only with death – Mrs Kenny was formerly a nurse and she recognized the symptoms of rigor mortis right away. The dead woman’s neck was bare, and on the left side of it, her flesh was marked with two small very neat puncture wounds rather less than an eighth-of-an-inch in diameter, separated by a space of about an inch-and-a-half. The wounds are too large to have been made by the fangs of any native species of snake,’ Wills looked across at me strangely and said in a voice that had dropped to a whisper, ‘but the doctor here will know that the distance between the wounds approximates to the space between … a pair of human canine teeth.’
‘Why, I suppose it is,’ I said.
‘The police surgeon, Dr Pardoe, made mention of it, too. Here is his note, it says: “two punctures which penetrated the flesh and resulted in a double perforation of the external jugular vein. Likely cause of death: haemorrhage.”’
‘It must have been a pretty gory scene, then,’ said Holmes.
‘No, that’s just it, Mr Holmes,’ said Wills, with a shake of his head and a tremor in his voice, ‘there wasn’t a speck of blood anywhere in the room.’
There was a silence, as Wills looked at one, then the other of us. He continued, ‘The corpse of the poor woman seemed almost to have been drained of blood!’
I must confess that I felt a creeping sensation at the man’s words, and even Holmes’s usual imperturbability was dispelled.
‘You are certain of this?’ he asked, fixing the Inspector with his gaze as he leant forward. I could see by his expression that he was deeply intrigued.
‘Absolutely. The corpse lay there as white as a sheet, with those two faint pinpricks of red on her neck. I have seen plenty of murders, but her expression bore no sign of the fear or horror which you would expect to see given the fate that had overtaken her. It was as if she had submitted to her death willingly.’
‘Dear me,’ said Holmes shaking his head, ‘this grows more mysterious.’
‘There is more to tell,’ Wills went on. ‘Mrs Kenny noticed that a crucifix which normally hung on the wall above the woman’s bed was missing.’
‘Most singular.’
‘The bedroom opens on to the adjacent churchyard; and the window, as I told you, was wide open in spite of the chill. There were marks on the sill which seemed to suggest that someone or something had effected an entrance by that means,’ he paused to consult his notebook.
‘What was the time of death?’ asked Holmes.
‘It has been impossible to tell, but Dr Pardoe confirmed that the rigor mortis which had set in, had not begun to dissipate.’
‘That would put the time at roughly between about four to twelve hours beforehand,’ I said.
‘Yes, he had said he believed it was some time during the night, probably after midnight.’
‘But that is purely conjecture at this stage,’ interjected Holmes, ‘until the official post-mortem results are to hand.’
‘No, I don’t believe so; you see, there is something else. This morning it had been brought to the attention of the beat constable, Jennings, who was just finishing on night duty, that one of the crypts in the graveyard seemed to have been opened during the night. On searching the area, he found the crypt door lying open and signs that it had, indeed, been disturbed. On entering the crypt, he discovered one of the old coffins with its lid removed. Jennings had passed through the churchyard before midnight the previous evening – it is his custom to make sure there are no drunks or vagrants skulking around there after the public houses have closed – he saw nothing unusual, and would certainly have noticed if the door of the crypt had been open. Do you know what was in the coffin?’
Holmes shook his head.
‘Nothing, Mr Holmes; it was completely empty. Whoever, or whatever, was in it had vanished.’
‘You examined it yourself after the discovery of the murder?’
‘Yes.’
‘How old was the coffin?’
‘It was a very old one.’
‘Then I suppose we can rule out the depredations of resurrectionists,’ said Holmes with some asperity.
‘I ought to mention the dead woman’s diary,’ Wills continued. ‘Given the strange circumstances, it occurred to Sergeant Channon that Miss Farnham may have kept a diary and that there might be some clue in it. It was found in a drawer in her bedroom.’
‘Excellent!’ said Holmes. ‘The sergeant is to be congratulated on his presence of mind; he will go far in the service.’
‘He is the youngest sergeant in the Middlesex force,’ said Wills, with the genuine admiration of a teacher for his brightest pupil. ‘I have the diary here – I read through it on the journey down in the cab. Some of the entries gave me a chill of horror.’
‘Go on.’
‘The entry for August thirteenth reads: “We met again. A mysterious change of mood came over me, which dissipated once we parted. An hou
r after midnight, still I can find no rest.” Then there is September tenth: “I felt once more that strange unearthly attraction and an excitement that quickened my pulse, though I could not say whether with fear or with longing. Another sleepless night.” Then finally, on October eighth: “a burning sensation of welling desire mingled at the same time with the deepest revulsion.” Miss Farnham does not give a name or even the initials of the man she met on these occasions.’
‘I see you have made the assumption, then, that her companion on these occasions was male,’ said Holmes with a smile.
‘My dear Holmes!’ I ejaculated.
‘I do not know what to make of it,’ Wills shrugged wearily. Then he continued, ‘Do you notice a correspondence between these dates?’
‘Yes, they are all Fridays,’ replied Holmes.
‘More to the point, Mr Holmes, each date is either on or near to the day of the full moon!’
Holmes had been making some brief notes as the Inspector talked, and now he looked across at me. ‘It is certainly a most intriguing problem. Wouldn’t you say so, Watson?’ he asked.
‘Intriguing? Good lord, I have heard nothing quite like it!’ I replied, still dazed at the Inspector’s account. ‘I can recall cases from the past which may have at first appeared strange or grotesque, but I cannot think of one which I could truthfully describe as macabre.’
‘I have never come across anything like it in all my years in the force,’ added Wills. ‘I am at a loss to know what to do next.’
‘Let us recapitulate, then. Your theory, Inspector, is that Ruth Farnham had first been visited by this person on the dates you mention, as some sort of precursor to the events which followed?’
The Inspector nodded vaguely.
‘And that she was subsequently murdered by this same person, or creature, which drank her blood and which had heretofore been residing in a coffin in the adjacent graveyard, but for some reason has not returned to its lair?’
‘I hesitate to put it with such certainty, but … the evidence, Mr Holmes.’
‘I find the evidence anything but conclusive. So far, the doctor and I have restricted the foci of our inquiries to the living and the dead; we have, as yet, failed to discover any intermediate state.’
‘With respect, Mr Holmes, you would perhaps not talk so lightly of the matter if you had seen what I had. Consider the facts, Sir: the nature of the woman’s injuries; the absence of any bloodstains; the open window; the disappearance of the crucifix; the empty coffin; the strange talk of the attraction and repulsion of this mysterious midnight visitor who appears at the same point in the lunar cycle!’
‘I’m not sure exactly what it is you want me to do. If you believe that this is beyond the bounds of nature, then it is certainly beyond Sherlock Holmes. Perhaps it is a clergyman that you ought to consult after all.’
‘If you would only come out to Lower Edmonton and take a look—’
‘Why not call in Scotland Yard?’
The man hesitated, ‘Well… .’
‘You do not wish to seem credulous?’
‘I would wish to be more certain that I had ruled out any logical explanation, and if I call in the Scotland Yarders, I should be robbed of any credit, though there is likely to be precious little of that.’
‘Well, Watson, as we seem to have nothing else to do, what do you say to a vampire hunt through the suburbs?’
‘Things have been rather too quiet for some time now,’ I replied, eager to be gone, for the Inspector’s story had kindled in me the most intense curiosity.
‘Perhaps, in view of the singular features of the case,’ said Holmes mordantly, as he rose to collect his coat and hat, ‘we should prevail upon Mrs Hudson for a few cloves of garlic.’
Soon we were clattering up through the dreary brick-and-mortar wasteland of Holloway, with its grim castellated citadel of correction, and along the gloomy Seven Sisters Road. The journey entailed an almost constant climb, and to make matters worse, we were slowed to a crawl for the greater part of it until we reached Tottenham Green, beyond which our driver left behind the traffic-choked main road and took to the quieter byways. There was some further hold-up outside the Great Eastern Railway Company’s goods depot where a cart had broken down, then the streets gradually widened and we began to make better progress. The Inspector fizzed with impatience at each fresh delay.
‘Now then,’ Holmes began judiciously as we sat in the four-wheeler, ‘until we have completely exhausted all rational explanations, let us put aside for one moment any speculation based upon supernatural phenomena; let us forget about undead spirits rising from the grave, and confine ourselves to the plain facts. You implied that there was no sign of a struggle, Inspector Wills?’
‘Absolutely none.’
‘No trace of any poison?’
‘There was nothing obvious, but the post-mortem will confirm that, as likely as not.’
‘No smell of chloroform?’
‘No, but then the window was wide open, as I told you before. What is the significance of this fact?’
‘I am trying to understand how the victim was subdued sufficiently to allow these injuries to be caused. Then there was the reaction of Mrs Kenny. Both effects may have been explained by the presence some chemically poisonous atmosphere in the room. I have seen it done before. Then there is the absence of blood, which is also puzzling. You say that the corpse was drained of blood.’
‘So it seemed to me,’ said the Inspector, ‘such a ghostly pallor as I have never seen.’
‘In point of fact,’ I put in helpfully, ‘one would only have to lose about a third to a half of one’s blood supply, depending upon circumstances, for death to occur; a surprisingly small degree of exsanguination would suffice.’
‘Nevertheless,’ said Holmes, shaking his head, ‘if the loss of blood was sufficient to cause death, one would have thought there would be some blood-staining in the vicinity and on the victim’s clothes. No doubt you have made a search of the premises?’
‘I left Sergeant Channon in charge of the house. He will rake the premises from coal-hole to garret and search the garden; if there is anything else to find, he will find it.’
‘I suppose nothing has been stolen?’ asked Holmes.
Wills looked astounded, ‘It would be a rather elaborate blind for a robbery, would it not, Mr Holmes?’
‘I could tell you of stranger ones. Then there is this preposterous rigmarole of the corpse being dressed up in a bridal gown – presumably the one she was intending to be married in?’
‘Yes. Both Ruth Farnham’s parents were deceased. Her late father had been a clergyman and she had at one time been a member of his congregation, but she recently left that church to join another. A quite extraordinary one: it is one of these strange cults, officially known as the Divine Order of the Purple Rose, and its leader is a rather odd character. You may have heard of him; he is the Reverend Henry Staunton.’
‘No, I have not.’
‘He is well known locally as an eccentric. He is sixty-two years of age, but still a live wire. He apparently intended to take Miss Farnham as his next bride in a fortnight’s time.’
‘He was widowed then?’ I asked.
‘No, gentlemen, he already has a wife: several in fact.’
‘Several?’ I repeated in astonishment.
Holmes smiled. ‘As Doctor Watson would tell you, Inspector, the idea of taking one wife seems to me preposterous enough, but to take two or more … well, you have presumably arrested him on a charge of bigamy under the Offences Against the Persons Act?’
The Inspector shook his head ruefully, ‘Not exactly. You see, he is not legally married to any of them – spiritual brides they are called in the Divine Order of the Purple Rose. They have a bit of hocus-pocus which they call a marriage ceremony, but it has no legal standing.’
‘Hieros gamos,’ said Holmes, ‘Greek: ritual marriage.’
‘I am sure you are right,’ said Wills dubiously. ‘
The Order has its premises in the old Church of All Souls, which became vacant when the parishes of Upper and Lower Edmonton were merged some time ago. The Reverend Staunton bought it – or rather it was bought with one of his former wives’ money – and they all live in what was once the old vicarage: the ‘Aion Erospiti’ as they call it.’
‘Aion Erospiti?’ my friend repeated, ‘the abode of—’
‘Heavenly bliss and eternal love, according to Staunton – harem I would call it. As it happens, some of his younger spiritual brides seem to have brought forth a perplexing number of progeny; however, there is nothing illegal in that. They are an isolated little group, quite self-sufficient. They grow most of their own food in the vicarage garden, keep a few chickens, and have little to do with the outside world except for their evangelizing. Miss Farnham lived close to the church, but it was planned that after the wedding she would go and live at the … at the old vicarage, with the others. I have their names here: Anne Evans, forty-eight years of age; Rebecca Crouch, thirty-three years of age – she is the sister of one of his pastors; and Drusilla Jane Ellis, twenty-two.’
‘I suppose you do not know what will happen to the dead woman’s estate?’
‘It was a simple matter to contact the woman’s solicitor at Waltham Cross, and we should have the answer to that by the time we arrive at the house. We already had some background information on the Reverend Staunton. Prior to his ordination, as you might call it, he managed a string of unsuccessful enterprises: a scriptural bookshop and then a provincial theatre catering for biblical productions, which burnt down about two years ago. In this latter, he was suspected of insurance fraud, but nothing was ever proven. Then there was the spiritual centre, as it was called, which was at the heart of a financial scandal before it was closed down about a year or so ago. Of his present wives, the youngest one is of considerable means and, although she seems to have put those means at the disposal of the Order, none of the women have legally transferred any of their property or money into his name.’