The Redacted Sherlock Holmes, Volume 2

by Orlando Pearson

  Gregson saw no point in detaining Mrs Carsten any longer after this revelation and an officer took her home with the instruction to watch over her and her granddaughter.

  “Although we have established why Mrs Carsten attacked Mr Westhouse’s corpse, it brings us no closer to solving why the Windibanks took their own lives,” said Gregson.

  “My dear Gregson, on the contrary!” replied Holmes. “It tells us everything! It explains the deaths of the Windibanks, the flour sack, the reference to ‘thieves’ and the knitting needles.”

  We stared at Holmes in amazement and he continued. “Westhouse knew that Windibank - an amalgam of Westhouse’s name and that of his business partner, Marbank - was his son. We may also wonder about the parentage of Mr Marwood whom we met at W&M, whose name has, on the face of it, a similar provenance, suggesting that Messrs Westhouse and Marbank may have fathered a number of children around Camberwell. Whether Westhouse really came down here yesterday evening to fire him, I am not sure, as many things to do with the proprietors and employees of W&M are not to be trusted. Either way, when Westhouse forced access to the house, he found himself faced not only by his own son but also by the mother of his son, who was married to his son.”

  Our jaws dropped at this grotesque revelation, but Holmes went on. “Hence the furious confrontation as all three realised what had happened. The shouting was not about ‘thieves’ at all but about Oedipus of Thebes who murdered his father and married his mother. When this was revealed to Oedipus, he blinded himself with pins from his wife’s dress. His wife - who was also his mother - hanged herself. I said I did not know where this investigation might lead us, but I note that I said Windibank would end on a gallows, which he did. Before he did so, he tore the knitting needles from the knitting with the intention of blinding himself but could not bring himself to do so. The flour sack over his head was the closest he could come to that hideous act.”

  There was silence as Gregson and I digested these extraordinary revelations. Eventually Gregson said “What shall we do next?”

  Holmes said “You, Gregson, will have to explain these matters to your superiors, but I see no reason why the details should then receive wider publicity. Mrs Carsten does not know that Windibank was Westhouse’s child and that her daughter married her own son. Nor is this something that Miss Sutherland, who is a wholly innocent party in this matter, needs to know. They and the public need only know that Windibank killed Westhouse in a fight which started because the latter tried to fire him from his job. He and Mrs Windibank then took their own lives after the killing. That explains all the facts and is, I believe, quite sufficient for public consumption, even if it is not the complete story. I see no reason for disclosing any further information.”

  Gregson nodded his assent to Holmes’s suggestion.

  On the journey back to north-west London, I could see that Holmes remained uncomfortable. I asked him for the cause.

  “My prediction that Windibank would end on a gallows has been precisely fulfilled,” he said soberly. “And I forecast the final outcome of this investigation would lead in a direction which we had no way of seeing.”

  This was all he would give for an answer, but I could see that his apparent ability to predict the future was troubling him.

  As it turned out, however, his prediction about Miss Mary Sutherland’s future went unfulfilled. Little more than two years after the drama related above, she became betrothed to Inspector Gregson and they were able to marry, free of the inter-generational strife that had afflicted the two generations before her.

  The Prince and the Munshi

  “Somebody must be taking a wholly disproportionate interest in us,” murmured Holmes in his blandest tone one morning, “as they are making a highly professional job of abducting us.” We had taken a walk before breakfast to buy cigarettes and newspapers. At the junction of Baker Street and the Marylebone Road we found ourselves boxed in by three carriages with covered windows. Seized by twelve masked men in dark, forbidding clothing, we were forced inside. Against such odds and particularly once pistols were pressed to our temples, any effort at resistance would have been pointless. And so it was that we found ourselves rattling through London’s streets with our hands and feet fettered.

  My friend had an extraordinary knowledge of London streets and he whispered to me where we were going: “Baker Street ... left into the Marylebone Road ... on into the Euston Road ... south down Gower Street ... Bloomsbury Street ... into St Martin’s Lane ... left into William IV Street, Agar Street, into Chandos Place and - inevitably - into Maiden Lane. Well, they didn’t make that very difficult.”

  Dark shrouds were put over our heads and pistols pressed anew to our temples as we were dragged out of the carriage, across a pavement, into a building, up a flight of stairs and bundled into what appeared to be a small larder as there was a strong smell of food. We heard the twist of a key in the lock. In spite of the cuffs that bound my hands and legs, I was able to remove the shroud from my head and tried to make some sense of where I was in the darkness.

  “We are in Rules, Watson,” said Holmes casually. “This is the oldest restaurant in London. It was established by Thomas Rule in 1798 and has remained a favourite locale for the most prominent members of society ever since.”

  At that moment the door was unlocked and a masked face looked in.

  “Perhaps we might have some breakfast?” Holmes asked the mask benignly.

  There was a guffaw and we heard the masked face call “They want us to bring them breakfast!” to another of our guardians, who also burst out laughing.

  The door was closed and then almost immediately re-opened as we were dragged into a large dining room.

  It is my custom in my narratives to protect the identity of the many illustrious personalities whom I have, in my own small way, been able to serve as part of my work with Holmes. In many cases I have also modified some of the events I saw. In this instance, however, my story would be without meaning if I did not disclose the true identities of all the personalities involved, or forbore to give an accurate description of the events that ensued, even though this will make publication of this story impossible for many years to come.

  Sitting before us in the dining room was the Prince of Wales, Albert Edward, and placed before him were plate after plate of food of all varieties: sweet, savoury, some hot, some cold, some chilled. The Prince’s rotundity was almost as imposing as the array of platters placed spread across the table and he paid no attention to our arrival as he leaned forwards to transfix a piece of beef from a pie, then a segment of grapefruit and finally a profiterole with a long skewer. His girth and greed were of such a magnitude that, when he leant over to pierce an item of food from a distant plate, his white waistcoat dipped into the sauce on another plate. The resulting orange stain appeared not to discommode him in the slightest, however, as he dedicated his attention to what he had pierced on his skewer. The chocolate from the profiterole started to melt into the other two items almost immediately but this did not deter the Prince, who raised it to his mouth and swallowed the whole dripping melange in one gulp. He continued in this activity, mixing one skewer full of incongruous foods after another and taking it to his lips. A manservant periodically brought in more food-laden plates.

  Eventually the Prince gave a long scowl and turned his attention to us.

  “Mr Holmes and Dr Watson,” he said at length. “I trust my manservant’s somewhat irregular method of arranging a consultation with you, has not discommoded you too much. Quaife is always full of the most arresting ideas. You say, Mr Holmes, you are the world’s only consulting detective, so I wanted to make sure I had your undivided attention and that of your chronicler. I will come straight to the point. My mother, as you are aware, has largely withdrawn from public life ever since the death of my father, Prince Albert, in 1861. Since that time she has abjured wearing any colour ot
her than black and has barely been in London in the last thirty or so years. While she continues to perform her official duties diligently - reviewing and signing public documents, remaining abreast of events both here and abroad, conducting meetings with politicians and advisors - her behaviour in private has become increasingly irregular.”

  The Prince broke off to create a brochette of foie gras and gherkin topped by a livid pink mousse. He devoured it in one mouthful before continuing.

  “Within a short time of my father’s death, my mother had formed a wholly inappropriate relationship with a Scottish manservant called John Brown. She showered him with gifts, insisted that they sleep in adjoining rooms at Balmoral Castle, and stayed with him at a remote lodge on the estate called Glassalt Shiel.”

  My jaw dropped at these revelations and I was completely unable to say anything. Holmes looked straight ahead while the Prince broke off again to call for more plates of food to be brought in before he continued.

  “John Brown died six years ago. My mother has stipulated that, when it comes to her interment, she is to be buried with a lock of Brown’s hair, his photograph, a ring given to her by Brown and several of his letters. You may be pleased to know there will also be some mementos of my father in the coffin.”

  The Prince paused again to continue his repast and it was some time before he went on.

  “In recent years, my mother has acquired an increasing interest in another servant, an Indian called Abdul Karim to whom she has given the affectionate name ‘The Munshi’, which means ‘teacher’ in Urdu. He came to Britain two years ago in 1887 when the Queen expressed the desire to have servants from India in her household as a way of better understanding that part of her empire. She has bestowed on him the title of her Indian Secretary at court even though this role had not previously existed and Karim has had no education which would qualify him to be the Queen’s Indian Secretary were the creation of such a post required. Although this relationship to date has not obtained wide currency, these breeches of protocol cannot be allowed to stand. Accordingly, I want you to find clear evidence of impropriety between my mother and this man so that I can have my mother declared insane. I will then be able to persuade the Prime Minister and Lord Chancellor to make me Regent, and the duties of the monarch can then be performed in a manner suited to the greatest kingdom and the greatest empire that the world has seen.”

  Holmes finally spoke.

  “And, Your Highness, if I choose to decline this request which you have framed in such a persuasive and attractive manner?”

  “My dear Mr Holmes,” said the Prince and broke off to devour an oyster that he had dipped into custard. “If you decline, you may then find that the British press is a little more inquisitive into the full range of your activities and into the methods which your friend here alludes to in his works. Some of your Baker Street Irregulars may be persuaded to talk of some irregular treatment at your hands which might in turn make the Police interested in you as a criminal rather than as a consulting detective. Some questions may also be asked about consulting services supplied to bookmakers in the Wessex Cup when, by your friend’s account, the favourite had been abducted, but you alone knew it was going to run. The odds against Silver Blaze shortened dramatically just before the horse appeared in a heavy disguise. You ventured at the time that ‘Someone knows something!’, but I would venture to suggest that you knew everything. Your living arrangements may also give rise to some disagreeable though, I am sure, wholly unwarranted questions.”

  The Prince gestured to his servant, who now stood next to him. Quaife was thin as a lath, with a head topped by close-cropped nut-brown hair receding at the front, and a face of surpassing malevolence.

  “And I am sure,” continued the Prince with a sweep of the arm, “that my manservant here could propose other fertile fields for enquiry.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Tonight I am invited to Balmoral where the Queen is taking her summer holiday. I propose to take you two gentlemen with me posing as my servants. I want you to watch, note, obtain evidence and produce a report of her behaviour so that I can make a case to the Prime Minister that the Queen be relieved of her duties.” The Prince glanced towards a servant standing at the door. “Quaife here will make sure you are fitted with the uniforms of my court and then you will be taken back to the quarters that you share. Please report for duty at King’s Cross station for the night train to Scotland. It leaves at nine sharp. Arrive at half past eight and ask the station commissionaire for Quaife, who will show you your places on the train.”

  Once our fitting was complete, we were bundled back into a carriage and eventually deposited near the Zoo. We watched the carriage rattle off into the distance and made our way back to Baker Street. It was not until we were sitting over a very late breakfast that Holmes spoke.

  “All the Queen’s horses and all the Queen’s men will not avail us against the massed forces of the Prince,” he said. “I fear that I can see no way of avoiding this uncongenial commission.” He took a pistol out of a drawer and proceeded to fire it at the wall until he had traced out the letters VR. Holmes is a crack shot and the reproduction of the letters was excellent, but I remain of the view that shooting practice should be a distinctly outdoor activity. We were only able to continue our meal once I had opened the window and the swirls of pungent smoke from his pistol had cleared.

  Holmes said nothing for the rest of the day and spent the remaining time before our departure blowing smoke rings at the ceiling. I was unaware of what duties I would have to perform at Balmoral and so dedicated my time to observing the maid and the boy in buttons to see how they comported themselves in front of me. At half past seven I gathered the impedimenta requisite for the journey before I headed to King’s Cross Station with Holmes. The commissionaire was expecting us and took us to Quaife, who directed us to our compartment on the train. Holmes looked entirely at ease whereas I felt that I was likely to be challenged at any moment. We took our place with the other servants with whom Holmes was soon engaged in animated and well-informed conversation while I avoided talking if I could.

  When we arrived at Balmoral at mid-morning on the following day, Quaife briefed us more fully. “My master frequently refers to me for matters which require resolution. I advise him that it is better for a Prince to be feared than to be loved and provide him with the ideas he needs to generate the effect he seeks. When I task others, I tell them that it is in their interest to complete their duties and not to question them. This modus operandi is particularly appropriate to the matters before us and I would advise you to follow it. I therefore instruct you to be present during the day when the Prince is in the company of his mother and to observe her night-time activities as far as you are able without your presence being noticed. The Prince is at tea with his mother at four o’clock this afternoon in the Danzig room and you will be responsible for serving him under my guidance. The Queen will of course be served by her own entourage of servants. I suggest you spend the rest of your time in the servants’ quarters. The other servants will not notice you as they are working full day shifts.

  Promptly at four o’clock, Holmes and I arrived at the Danzig Room, where Quaife was waiting for us. The Queen and the Prince entered, the former accompanied by her servants. A number of the servants were Indians dressed in brightly coloured outfits with turbans, which contrasted sharply with the muted uniforms that Quaife, Holmes and I were wearing.

  Both sets of servants started serving their respective master and mistress. I noticed that one of the Indian servants kissed the Queen’s feet before serving her tea. Holmes served tea to the Prince as though it was something he had done all his life.

  As someone who was orphaned when young and who grew up largely at boarding school, the way families bicker about the same subjects for year after year was something of which I was unaware at the time these events took place. Ev
en after the many years of family life I have enjoyed since the time I observed the events I narrate below, I nevertheless remain struck by the extreme dislike the Queen and Prince Albert Edward displayed towards each other.

  “So, mother, you have now spent thirty or so years in widow’s weeds. How many more years do you think you need before your mourning is complete? Another five perhaps, or maybe you need another ten?” asked Albert Edward brusquely.

  “You always were a thoughtless and heartless boy, Bertie. You know full well that my dear husband would not have died had you not taken up with that Scottish actress.”

  “She was an Irish actress, mother.”

  One of the Queen’s Indian servants stooped to kiss her feet again before pouring her a cup of tea.

  “Dear Albert had to go to you in Cambridge when he was already unwell and went out with you for a walk in the rain to talk about how to disentangle you from a disaster of your own making. After he came back to Windsor, he barely lifted his head again.”

  “Mother, I was already twenty and in the army. I was more than capable then and am more than capable now of making my own decisions. I did not require my father’s guidance. My relationship with Nellie Clifden would have run its course, and then I would have taken up with someone else until someone suitable could be found for me to marry. There was no conceivable need for my father to come to Cambridge. Surely you don’t expect me to be the first Prince of Wales not to have a mistress?”