Holmes looked at the tall young guardsman with a mixture of bewilderment and wry amusement.
“Well then, Captain Burton-FitzHerbert, my first order to you — so to speak — is to join Dr. Watson and me for tea, for unless I am sorely mistaken, that is Mrs. Hudson’s stately tread that I hear once again upon the stair, and from her having paused on the eighth step, as she usually does, when bearing a heavy burden, I deduce that we are about to be joined by Earl Grey.”
It was the captain’s turn to look bewildered. “Earl Grey? May I ask why his lordship would be... haw! Earl Grey! The blend of tea! Oh, jolly good, sir. Jolly good, indeed!”
Holmes exchanged a secret look of wonder with Watson, and the latter, doing his best to hide his smile, turned to the door to assist Mrs. Hudson with the tray.
Captain Burton-FitzHerbert turned out to be not only an entertaining companion who brought cheer to their rooms on a cold, damp afternoon, but also a fount of knowledge with all sorts of arcane information about the royal family in general and young Prince Albert Victor in particular.
“Collars ‘n’ Cuffs he’s called around Buck House,” confided the captain between sips of tea and generous mouthfuls of Mrs. Hudson’s buttered scones.
“Buck House?”
“Buckingham Palace, don’tcha know.”
“Ah, yes.”
Even though the Queen was rarely in residence at Buckingham Palace — she liked neither it nor London, preferring the quiet bucolic setting of Windsor Castle on the outskirts of the city — the huge, soot-begrimed edifice on the edge of Green Park was now considered the official seat of the monarchy and, as such, its name was used generically when referring to anything having to do with the royal court.83
“Why do they call him Collars ‘n’ Cuffs?” asked Watson.
“It’s because of those ridiculously high collars he wears, and his prominent shirt cuffs,” Burton-FitzHerbert explained. “One or the other of his royal cousins named him that, and it stuck. I’ve even heard Tum-Tum refer to him that way on occasion.”
Watson’s raised his brow. “Tum-Tum?”
“Oh, HRH, the Prince of Wales. I’m afraid that those of us who serve at Buck House have a tendency, sometimes, to be a trifle irreverent.”
Watson looked scandalized; Holmes allowed himself a wry smile.
“All in good fun, of course,” Burton-FitzHerbert was quick to assure them, dabbing his mustache clean of clotted cream. “And, heaven forbid, never within earshot of any of Their Royal Highnesses.”84
“I should think not,” sniffed Watson.
Once the tea things were pushed aside, Holmes lost no time in bringing the discussion around to more important matters concerning the royal family.
“Prince Albert Victor — or Prince Eddy, if you prefer — he’s in York at the present time?”
“I believe so, yes. With his regiment, the Tenth Hussars.”
“But he was in London just a few days ago.”
“Yes. So I understand.”
“Does he spend much time in London?”
Burton-FitzHerbert shrugged. “Certainly he is absent from his regiment more than the average officer. Of course, he is not the average officer, is he? He comes and goes pretty much as he pleases — within reason, I should add. Aside from his obligations to his regiment, he is naturally called upon from time to time to perform certain royal duties as well: Ceremonials and official functions of one sort or another; that sort of thing. Much of it, of course, is here in London. And he has a very busy social schedule, as you can imagine. Naturally, he is not subject to the same exigencies of the service as I, for example, would be, but he doesn’t take advantage of his position either.” He smiled. “Not too much, in any case.”
“He was here in town Saturday night last,” said Holmes, “and was seen in the company of two other gentlemen, one undoubtedly a military man such as yourself — his aide or equerry, I should think — the other a civilian. From what I have been able to gather, the civilian gentleman was a Mr. James K. Stephen.”
At the mention of the name, Burton-FitzHerbert curled his lip slightly and Holmes was quick to spot it. He leaned forward in his chair eagerly.
“I see that name is not unknown to you.”
“Quite so,” responded the other stiffly. He shifted his position and crossed his legs.
Watson cocked his head. “Was he the chap who dropped the cigarette outside the door of that establishment we visited in Chelsea, Holmes?”
“That is correct. I was able to establish his identity without too much difficulty. It seems he is often seen in the company of the young prince.”
Burton-FitzHerbert looked from one to the other of them with a quizzical expression.
“We had the briefest of encounters with Mr. Stephen the other night,” explained Holmes to the army officer. “He’s a particular friend of Prince Albert Victor’s, I understand.”
“Yes,” replied Burton-FitzHerbert with a frown. “A particular friend indeed. He was the prince’s tutor at one time, actually, though he is not all that much older. He is supposed to be quite a brilliant fellow, I am told — Cambridge and all of that. One of those classical scholar chaps, his head filled to the brim with Latin and Greek and such. A published poet, too, though not a terribly successful one, from what I’ve heard.”
“I can understand why,” responded Holmes dryly. “I had the dubious pleasure of skimming through some of his efforts at the library this afternoon. Dreary stuff indeed. He was the prince’s tutor, you say?”
“At one time, yes. More of a companion and general dogsbody, actually. Especially chosen for the job after an exhaustive search, as one might imagine. I mean, you just don’t put a future king-emperor into the hands of anyone, do you? As things turned out, he and young Eddy became close chums straight away. Terribly close, if you know what I mean. He’s had quite an influence on him, not always for the best, if the truth be known.” Burton-FitzHerbert tapped the side of his nose meaningfully with a well-manicured forefinger.
Holmes looked at him sharply, his gray eyes keen with interest. “In what way?”
Burton-FitzHerbert seemed reluctant to reply.
Holmes had to prod him gently. “I ask not out of idle curiosity, you understand, Captain, nor out of interest in mindless court gossip.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. Well, he has the reputation of being, er — one of those, you know.”
“Ah, yes, I see.”
Burton-FitzHerbert sniffed. “Quite. And he makes no secret about it, you know. Quite shocking, really. His sort would never be tolerated in the Guards, I can tell you. He’d be drummed right out of the service, or sent to Coventry, which almost amounts to the same thing. Heard of a chap serving in the — well, not in my regiment, in any case — who chose to become intimately acquainted with the muzzle of his service revolver rather than face the disgrace of public disclosure. Had no other choice, of course; it was the only decent thing to do. Would have brought disgrace on his regiment otherwise. It was hushed up, of course — for his family’s sake as well as the regiment’s.”
Holmes impatiently drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “What else can you tell me about this fellow Stephen? My researches, by necessity, have been somewhat hurried and therefore scanty.”
Burton-FitzHerbert thought for a moment. “Well, he’s from a good family, of course, the son of Sir James Fitzjames Stephen, you know.”
“Ah,” said Holmes, “that Stephen. A most distinguished name.”
The young officer nodded. “But they’re a queer lot from what I’ve heard. It’s been whispered that insanity runs in the family — more than whispered, actually. The old man is quite dotty, I understand.”85
Holmes raised an eyebrow. “That being the case, young Mr. Stephen was a strange choice as a tutor to royalty, I should think — especially if his deviant behavior was as blatant as you suggest.”
“Yes, well, one must presume that all of that wasn’t known when he was selected,
mustn’t one? He was recommended to Their Royal Highnesses by the Reverend Dalton, who had been tutor and governor to both Prince Eddy and Prince George when they were together in HMS Bacchante.86 The Princess of Wales was very keen on Mr. Dalton, so she was quick to take his advice, too quick, if you ask me. Someone should have taken a closer look at the chap. Not the best influence on a young, impressionable fellow, particularly one such as Prince Eddy, who does like his pleasures and is not, I’m afraid, all that fussy how he comes by them. He’s not too swift up here, you know.” He tapped his forehead. “Oh, he is charming enough in his way, but — do promise not to breathe this to a soul, not that it’s any state secret — but he’s really somewhat, er... somewhat...”
“Retarded?”
Burton-FitzHerbert blanched. “Ahhem. Your choice of words, not mine. I should have chosen another.”
Watson entered the conversation. “Why bother with a tutor at all, then? I mean, if his mental abilities are that limited, I should think it would be a waste of time.”
“Well, as I understand it, they had no choice, did they? I mean, the boy is heir to the throne and all of that, even if he is a hopeless case, so to speak. It’s not as if he were of a lesser station and could be shunted off to the country to hunt and party, or a younger son who could be married off to some foreign princess and sent out of the country altogether to be left to his in-laws to deal with. Besides, his father wasn’t ready to give up on him. He can’t stand the sight of him, of course, but he wasn’t about to admit that the fruit of his loins, as they say, was a ninny or a cretin. So he agreed to send him up to Cambridge for a term or two in the hope that he’d benefit from a whiff of some of that rarefied atmosphere. And, on the surface at least, Jimmy Stephen seemed to be the ideal choice to look after the lad. You know — show him about and teach him the drill, so to speak, keep him out of trouble and such. Well, it was like putting the fox in charge of the chickens. Eddy was up there for the better part of two years, I believe, and from what I gather, for all the good it did him, they just might as well have enrolled him in a brothel for the period, or sent him off to study the mating habits of ancient Sodom. Stephen was the worst possible influence on him. Never had any use for university chaps, myself. Give me a Sandhurst man anytime.”
He started, realizing he had committed a gaffe, and looked a little sheepish. “Present company excepted, of course.”
Watson sniffed.
Holmes smiled and reached into his pocket for his cigarette case and offered it around. “It was after Cambridge that the young prince went into the army, I understand?”
“Yes, that’s right. In June of ‘eighty-five. They sent him to Aldershot for some initial training, then found him a commission in the Tenth Hussars up in York. Wanted to get him away from Stephen and from that whole crowd of simpering illuminati in Cambridge — and out of London and away from its temptations as well. That’s why one of the Guards regiments wasn’t chosen, I suppose — because they’re all stationed in or around London. And the Tenth Hussars is the Prince of Wales’s old regiment, after all — he serves as Colonel-in-Chief — and it has a long and distinguished history behind it, so it is quite socially acceptable, of course: Nothing at all to be ashamed of. But... well, it is not the Guards, is it?”87
“So Prince Albert Victor has spent most of his time with his regiment since then? In York, you say?”
“Well, in York or Scotland or Aldershot, depending — the regiment has moved around a bit. But most of his time? I couldn’t say that, necessarily. A good part of it, anyway. But he’s also spent a good deal of it here in town or at Sandringham, or at Windsor, or at Osborne. It all depends on the time of the year and where the Queen is in residence, and where the Prince and Princess of Wales are staying. Of course, during the Season, he would spend more time in London, as a rule. How much time, I couldn’t say, really.”
“Is it possible to find out, though? To determine precisely when he’s been in town over the past few months or so — since August, say?”
“Yes, I suppose so. The court keeps detailed records of that sort of thing on all the Royals, going back into history, I should think.”
Holmes put up a hand. “I don’t mean that you should simply refer to the Court Circular, Captain. I don’t need you for that. I could as easily refer to back issues of The Times. No, what I am asking is whether it is possible to delve deeper than that. The Court Circular wouldn’t necessarily list the prince’s private activities, would it?”
“No, not as a rule. Generally, only the official activities of the royal family are covered. It might list the occasional weekend house party, but engagements of a truly private nature would not be circulated — for reasons that must be abundantly obvious.” He winked broadly. “All those royal mistresses would be put out of work, what?” He turned serious again right away.
“Yes, it will take a little doing, but I think I might be able to come up with something.”
“And would it also be possible to learn exactly when the prince has been in the company of Mr. Stephen?”
Burton-FitzHerbert mulled that question over for a moment. “That will be a trifle more difficult, I should imagine.”
“Someone must know. An equerry such as yourself, a gentleman-in-waiting, a secretary? Surely, someone of that stripe must keep a journal or a personal diary.”
Burton-FitzHerbert gave him a look. “If anyone does, they’d be well advised to keep it damn well hidden, I can tell you — if they value their hides, that is.” He snorted. “It will require considerable sniffing about, Mr. Holmes, and I am loath to do anything that would call attention to myself. I was under the impression that this was all to be kept entre nous, so to speak.”
“It is indeed, but I should think you would be able to make some discreet inquiries among your colleagues at, er, Buck House, and perhaps among a chosen servant or two — carefully chosen, you understand. Naturally, we don’t want to excite anyone’s curiosity. And we certainly don’t want any of this to get back to the young prince, of course.”
“Of course,” agreed Burton-FitzHerbert, “I quite understand. Well, I shall see what I can do, but it isn’t as easy as one might think. There is gossip among the royal staff, of course, that’s only to be expected, but rarely anything serious. The staff are chosen as much for their discretion and their ability to emulate brass monkeys as they are for their skills at whatever. Besides, a bit of prattle into the wrong ear could be ruinous for them, and they know it. But I shall do what I can, depend on it. Prince Eddy’s equerry-in-waiting, Alwyne Greville, is a good chap and a friend of mine. If anybody can tell me, he’s the one.
Burton-FitzHerbert departed soon after — bowler placed squarely on head, umbrella wielded adroitly — promising to report back to Holmes within a day or two, leaving Watson with the distinct impression that he was highly taken with the idea of playing the role of detective. It would, after all, be a break in the daily routine for him. High honor though it might be to receive a posting to “Buck House,” when all was said and done, royal service got to be pretty dull after a while.
Holmes was in a reflective mood for some little time after the visitor had departed, but he broke his silence by and by and shared his thoughts with Watson. “This fellow Stephen intrigues me,” he said from behind a thick haze of pipe smoke.
“So I gather.” Watson peered at him over the top of his newspaper. “A strange companion for a royal prince, I should think.”
“Rather.”
“He sounds thoroughly disagreeable.”
“Thoroughly.”
Watson studied him for a moment. “Yet, it seems you still have some questions in your mind about him.”
Holmes nodded. “A few.”
“Do you think Captain Burton-FitzHerbert was exaggerating in his assessment?”
“No, not at all. To the contrary. I’ve made some inquiries about him on my own — that’s what I have been doing the better part of the day, in point of fact — and, I must say,
that if Mr. James Kenneth Stephen has any likable traits, he has managed to keep them well hidden from the rest of humanity. Among other things, he has the reputation of being a virulent woman-hater. He doesn’t merely dislike them, you understand: He positively hates them, and makes no efforts to hide it. His poetry — what little I have been able to find of it in the book stalls and library — reflects this most graphically. It also reflects something else, if I am any judge: He would appear to be a thoroughly degenerate individual whose attitudes and perceptions are of such a disagreeable nature that it would come as no surprise at all to learn that murder and mutilation were numbered among them. Indeed, from what I can gather — and it is an opinion shared by more than a few of the people I have interviewed who know him intimately — from what I gather, he may be quite mad.”
Holmes put his pipe down and stretched his long legs out in front of him. “Moreover, he is known to be a frequent visitor to some of the more odious homosexual fleshpots of the city, one or two of them located in Whitechapel, so he is no stranger to the district and no doubt is quite familiar with its geography. He would appear to be a very prominent suspect, indeed.”
Watson put his newspaper down. “You don’t seem to take much satisfaction in that knowledge, Holmes. Nor do I see you racing for your hat and coat to do something about it.”
Holmes did not reply right away, but gazed down at his feet, lost in thought. “What? I’m sorry, old chap. Did you say something?”
“Only that you don’t seem to be very much in a hurry to have him taken into custody.”
“Who?”
Watson became exasperated. “The Ripper, Holmes — this fellow Stephen!”
“Stephen? Oh, he is not the Ripper. Whatever in the world made you think that he was?”
Twenty-Two
WEDNESDAY, NOVEMBER 7, 1888
“We must begin from a different angle. I rather fancy that Shinwell Johnson might be a help.”
— The Illustrious Client
If there were any merit, any scientific basis in fact to the theory that the use of tobacco somehow stimulated the brain and thus increased man’s capacity to solve difficult problems, Holmes during those few days should have been able to unravel the mysteries of the universe. He spent the greater part of his time enveloped in dense, odoriferous clouds of smoke, seldom moving from his chair and seldom removing the pipe from his mouth. It was to little avail.
The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: The Whitechapel Horrors Page 31