‘Now, Scraggs,’ Mrs Hudson warned him with a growl, ‘we’ll have none of your cheek about that. It was not a pleasant incident.’
‘Course it wasn’t.’ He stepped into the warmth of the kitchen with a winning smile on his face. ‘That’s why I brought you these, Flot. Thought you might need cheering up.’ And he produced from behind his back a small bunch of bluebells. ‘First of the season,’ he added with some pride. ‘Up from Cornwall, grown under glass. Mr Finchley let me take ’em in return for all that soap I managed to sell in Drury Lane.’
‘Very well, Scraggs,’ Mrs Hudson conceded. ‘You may come in. And I daresay you’ll find a biscuit in the tin on the dresser. Meanwhile, those flowers will need some water. Go on, Flotsam, jump to it!’
While Scraggs settled down at the kitchen table, I hid my blushes at his gift by busying myself with the little stems, arranging them prettily in a suitable glass.
‘So, Scraggs,’ Mrs Hudson continued, ‘what’s new?’
‘Well, Mrs H, I spent over an hour down at Brown’s Hotel talking to all the cabbies round there, but I couldn’t find one who remembered taking your bloke to King’s Cross. They’d heard about the chap getting knocked down, and if it was someone who’d been in a cab that day, that sort of thing usually gets around.’
This lack of news didn’t seem to disappoint Mrs Hudson at all, for her face was untroubled as she wiped away the crumbs from beneath Scraggs’s chin.
‘Thank you. That’s very interesting indeed,’ she told him. ‘And if you want another biscuit, young man, you can eat the next one off a plate.’
‘Sorry, Mrs H, no time. Got to be in Billingsgate sharpish,’ he told her, jumping to his feet and flashing me a smile. ‘Take care, Flot,’ he said, ‘and try to keep the old ogre out of trouble.’ And before either of us could respond to this impertinence, he’d darted through the door and up the area steps.
*
On opening the door to our illustrious guest that evening, I found Sir Percival accompanied by a meek-looking man of vaguely clerical aspect, a man who did not actually wear a clergyman’s collar but who had the look of one whose neck would fit such a collar very well. This gentleman was introduced as Mr Fallowell, and the way he twisted his hands in front of his chest suggested that the prospect of an audience with Mr Sherlock Holmes was one he found rather daunting.
His companion, meanwhile, greeted me with a courteous nod and, while I helped him from his coat, expressed a hope that I was a little recovered from the events I had witnessed a few days before. But for all Sir Percival’s politeness, there was something in his grim air of purpose as I announced him that suggested weighty matters upon his shoulders. The last thing I saw before withdrawing was his hand being shaken vigorously by Dr Watson while the nervous Mr Fallowell cast a wistful look behind him, as if wishing he could, like me, slip quietly from the room.
I confess I had already determined that my evening should be spent in bringing every remaining item of silver to the most perfect shine. And from where I stood to do this, I could glimpse Sir Percival, his white mane illuminated by the firelight, in the process of introducing his companion, who appeared to be gulping rather a lot and making nervous, butterfly shapes with his hands.
‘…Mr Fallowell’s subsequent study of Aramaic parchments was brought to the notice of the Archbishop, Mr Holmes, and it is that same expertise which, indirectly, brings him here tonight.’
Mr Fallowell seemed to gulp again at that. He had a rather round face, and when Mr Holmes’s sharp features were trained upon him he quivered slightly, like a dormouse in the presence of a hawk.
‘I am sure Mr Fallowell’s academic qualifications are remarkable, sir,’ Mr Holmes replied dryly, ‘but until you explain to us the nature of your visit, I fear neither Dr Watson nor I will be able to form any opinion as to their relevance.’
‘Of course, Mr Holmes,’ Sir Percival nodded. ‘I am only too aware that I failed to keep my appointment with you two nights ago. I fear that my private secretary, Mr de Lacey, who attended in my place, may not have broached the subject as tactfully as I might have wished. But to be fair, he did not then have authority to divulge anything but the bare facts of Viscount Wrexham’s disappearance. It was hoped that you would act for us within the boundaries of public knowledge. But of course I see now that it would be insulting to expect a man such as yourself to act without being entirely in his client’s confidence.’
For a man of Sir Percival’s stature to speak in such a conciliatory way struck me as highly unusual, and Mr Holmes acknowledged as much with a short but silent bow of his head.
‘In my defence,’ our visitor went on, ‘I must plead the rare delicacy of the matter, and the many powerful elements with an interest in it. Not until today have they agreed to give me a free hand to act as I choose. And in stressing the importance of the case, I can honestly say it is one that threatens something fundamental to the fabric of our society, perhaps to the whole edifice of Western civilisation. Oh, I can see that you think I exaggerate, Mr Holmes. Perhaps this will alter your opinion.’
The old gentleman produced a document from his inner pocket and handed it to the great detective. I could see at once it had the desired effect upon him for as he read his eyes narrowed and his face grew suddenly more alert.
‘The Archbishop of Canterbury, the Papal Nuncio, the Patriarch of the Orthodox Church…’ He looked up, his eyes meeting Sir Percival’s. ‘An astonishing document, sir. You see, Watson,’ he went on, handing the paper to his friend, ‘a letter signed by the representatives of every significant element of the Christian faith, all stating that Sir Percival acts as their joint agent in this matter.’
Dr Watson peered at the pages thrust under his nose and pursed his lips in surprise.
‘I say, this is quite something. For all those fellows to agree on anything at all is a miracle in itself, eh?’
Sir Percival eyed him a little coldly. ‘I believe, sir, that once you have heard what I have to say, you will realise there is little room for levity in this affair.’ Then, turning back to Mr Holmes, he went on. ‘You are already aware of the details of Viscount Wrexham’s disappearance. But my tale begins a long time before that, with his father, Lord Beaumaris. It is his lordship who is the key to all this. How much do you know of the man?’
Mr Holmes contemplated his pipe. ‘Very little, I fear. His lordship’s interests were not my own. He was devoted to biblical archaeology, was he not?’
Sir Percival nodded. ‘That’s right, Mr Holmes. He spent the last thirty years of his life in the Orient, in Jerusalem, Cairo, Damascus and other such places. To be honest, we know very little about what he was up to out there. All we know is that he poured nearly all his fortune into various archaeological ventures. For staff, he surrounded himself with a rag-tag collection of locals. Over the years he collected people from all over the Levant. And I’m afraid they have proved unable or unwilling to add very much to our store of knowledge.
‘But one thing we do know, Mr Holmes, is that Lord Beaumaris wasn’t interested in archaeology as a discipline in itself. As a subject of study it meant nothing to him. In all his projects he had one particular object in mind, something which came to dominate his life – a monomania, we might call it. An object in the pursuit of which he was prepared to squander his health and his fortune. Something for which he was prepared to tolerate a lifetime of ridicule.’
Sir Percival paused again, and this time he looked over at Mr Fallowell. During that moment of silence I could sense the atmosphere in the room changing. Behind the shutters a rising wind was buffeting the windows, but the speaker showed no sign of hearing it. There was something in his manner that had captured the attention of his audience and when he spoke again his voice sounded dry and strained.
‘Well, none of us are laughing at him now,’ he went on. ‘You see, gentlemen, Lord Beaumaris’s life was spent seeking an object so mysterious, so precious, so highly prized, that perhaps only the Holy Grail itsel
f surpasses it as an object of wonder. And my problem, Mr Holmes, is that it seems Lord Beaumaris actually found it. Yes, Mr Holmes, on the eve of his death, Lord Beaumaris announced his search was complete. He had found the Lazarus Testament.’
That night proved a stormy one. The clear blue calm of the day had been utterly vanquished, and the angry gale which followed drove the rubbish in the streets this way and that, throwing it high into the air with bursts of sudden fury. But indoors, where the fire still crackled and the lamps burned as brightly as before, the room had fallen still. Sir Percival’s last words meant nothing to me, but they were spoken with such gravity, such profound earnestness, that I felt a shiver run through my body. I found myself poised, motionless, with the big candelabra still in my hands, waiting for someone to break the silence.
To my surprise, it was Mr Fallowell who was the first to speak, prefacing his words with a nervous and apologetic cough.
‘Of course, gentlemen, the phrase ‘Lazarus Testament’ probably means nothing to you. Outside certain ecclesiastical and archaeological circles it is not often spoken of. Indeed, it might be argued that it has been in the interests of the Church down the centuries to make sure it is a phrase that remains unspoken. Perhaps if I were to tell you a little about it…’
‘That would be very helpful, Mr Fallowell,’ Mr Holmes nodded impatiently. ‘I think you can safely assume that neither Dr Watson nor I are close followers of the latest theological controversies.’
‘Oh, no, Mr Holmes,’ Mr Fallowell replied quickly. ‘This is not a recent controversy. It is a very ancient one. The issues raised by the existence of the Lazarus Testament have been debated within the Church from its earliest years.’
‘An ancient religious debate, eh?’ Dr Watson cast a wistful glance towards the drinks tray. ‘Not really our usual sort of thing, is it, Holmes? And forgive me if I’m being a bit slow, but what exactly is the Lazarus Testament?’
‘The Lazarus Testament, Dr Watson, is an ancient Aramaic parchment said to contain the personal testimony of the man Lazarus who was raised from the dead by our Lord’s touch. Of all the miracles, the raising of Lazarus is perhaps the one that resonates most loudly down the ages, representing as it does Christ’s triumph over death itself.’
‘Good heavens, Mr Fallowell!’ Dr Watson stirred uneasily in his chair. ‘You surely can’t be telling us that Lazarus is supposed to have written his own account of the affair? Of what it’s like to be dead? I’ve certainly never heard of any such thing!’
‘And yet, Doctor, the first mention of just such a document can be traced back to within a very few years of Christ’s life. St Opinus’s eighth century commentary on Mark’s gospel refers to it as if its existence is undisputed. And so does the Life of St Vespasian, written five centuries earlier. Unfortunately the Vespasian document is only known to us from a later Arabic synopsis. But from that we learn that Vespasian travelled to Jerusalem from Antioch and was shown the original manuscript of the Lazarus Testament. Vespasian was much moved at the thought of handling a document touched by Lazarus himself, someone who had felt the touch of Christ upon him.’
Mr Fallowell paused and gulped. ‘But that was before the contents of the documents were known to him. We are told that reading them provoked a strange reaction in Vespasian. He gave orders that the document was to be returned to its earthenware jar and sealed inside it, and that no one should look upon it again until Doomsday.’
At this point Mr Holmes felt it necessary to knock the tobacco from his pipe. ‘An intriguing tale, sir, but surely little more than that? In these more rational times, such matters should not detain us for very long, sir. Even if we were to concede that this story of Vespasian could be trusted, there would still be no proof that the document he saw was genuine.’
‘No, sir.’ Mr Fallowell swallowed noisily. ‘But the belief that Lazarus wrote down his story is surprisingly persistent.’
‘Who’d have thought it, eh?’ Dr Watson had quietly recharged his glass while Mr Fallowell was talking and was looking a little happier. ‘Gospels, testaments… I must say, it’s all a trifle confusing.’
‘And then, sir,’ Mr Fallowell went on brightly, ‘there are all the other rumours attached to the parchment. One story has it that anyone who holds the parchment is touched by the miraculous power that once raised Lazarus himself.’
‘Great Scott! You don’t mean…?’
‘Yes, Doctor.’ Mr Fallowell nodded meaningfully. ‘We are talking about the power to return from the dead.’
‘Oh, come, sir!’ Sherlock Holmes’s cool tones were something of a relief in that warm, breathless room. ‘You cannot expect us to believe such superstitious absurdities. I don’t say that the ancient accounts were not written in good faith, but their authors had none of the benefits of modern learning. They were a good deal more credulous than we are today.’ He looked across at his other guest. ‘Sir Percival, I am surprised that you, of all men, should concern yourself with this sort of nonsense.’
In response, Sir Percival rose to his feet and began to pace to and fro in front of the shuttered window.
‘Mr Holmes,’ he began, ‘let me ask you to look at this in a slightly different way. Mr Fallowell and his fellow scholars are able to show beyond any reasonable doubt that at one point in the early history of the Church there existed a document purporting to be a personal account of Lazarus’s death and resurrection. Let us not concern ourselves for the moment with its provenance, with whether or not this document was genuine, nor with any of the superstition attached to it. The fact is that such a document, whether genuine or not, did exist.’
He paused in his pacing and drew himself up to his full height.
‘Now, Mr Holmes, can you imagine what would happen if that document were to reappear tomorrow? Can you imagine the sensation it would cause? And then imagine that its contents were in some way controversial. For instance, imagine that it contained an account of Lazarus’s experience after death that was not a comfortable or comforting one. Imagine if its message was lurid or shocking, and did not sit easily with the current teaching of the Church. Think of the consternation, Mr Holmes! Think of the implications! Millions of honest souls plunged into fear and confusion. The Church’s teaching in ruins. A thousand renegade sects springing up to feed on people’s fears. It would be no good then for the scholars to declare that the document was an ancient fabrication. The damage would be done and their voices would barely be heard above the cries of an anguished multitude. Why, the thing could prompt a crisis of faith on a scale unprecedented in Christian history. And this, Mr Holmes, is what we are seeking to avert.’
Mr Holmes simply gazed at his guest in surprise. ‘Why, Sir Percival, I see it now! No one pretends to know what the document contains. All this anxiety is simply fear of what revelations it might contain. Am I right?’
Once again Sir Percival and Mr Fallowell exchanged glances and Sir Percival began to nod.
‘Alas, Mr Holmes, that is correct. You begin to understand our predicament. It is crucial that such a document should be properly examined by responsible authorities before it is made public. Its publication would need to be carefully managed. Were it to be blundered into the public arena by a well-meaning amateur such as Lord Beaumaris – or worse, were it to fall into the hands of unscrupulous parties intent on stirring up trouble – the results for the stability of the nation could be disastrous.’
‘In other words, if you can get to it first, you have the option to suppress it,’ Mr Holmes retorted impatiently.
‘I give you my word, sir, that it is not the government’s intention to allow the document to be suppressed or destroyed. We simply wish to manage its publication in an orderly way, and after proper academic scrutiny.’
‘And there is nothing new in that, sir,’ Mr Fallowell added hastily. ‘It was realised as early as the Fifth Century that the document needed to be handled with extreme caution. It was kept firmly under lock and key in the library at Alexandria, ap
parently sealed in an earthenware jar ever since the days of Vespasian. But if we were to find it and put it in the hands of proper, responsible scholars, why the greatest mystery of all would be revealed to us! We would glimpse for the first time what it is like to pass over the Great Divide!’
Sherlock Holmes paused for a moment. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I accept the document, whatever its provenance, still has some social and political significance. Now tell me, at what point in history did it go missing?’
‘That was in the Seventh Century.’ When speaking of his own subject Mr Fallowell seemed a lot more forceful. ‘When Alexandria fell to the Arabs, the fate of the document was unclear, but rumours have persisted down the centuries. In the Fifteenth Century, the Arab scholar Ibn-Kibrun reported that in Baghdad there was “a casket precious to the Christians”. He said it contained the holy writing of one who had been blessed by the prophet Jesus. There are rumours of it after that in Damascus, in Jericho, in Jerusalem. It was said that wherever the parchment went, it was followed by a mysterious guardian, a dark-skinned stranger wrapped in a cloak – an angel, some said, or even Lazarus himself, doomed to live forever to watch over his work…’
‘Only a story, of course,’ Sir Percival added quickly, with a worried glance at Mr Holmes. ‘And as you can imagine, none of this was of any interest to Her Majesty’s government. Even when the Archbishop of Canterbury approached us last year, we were not inclined to take the matter seriously.’
‘A-ha!’ Mr Holmes’s interest seemed to revive as the narrative returned to modern times. ‘Now we come to the nub of it. Enter Lord Beaumaris, I take it.’
‘That’s correct, Mr Holmes. His lordship wrote to the archbishop saying that he had discovered the precise whereabouts of the ancient scroll and that he was returning to England to secure it. It seems that, against all probability, his search had somehow brought him to this country and that the document was to be found under our noses.’
Mrs Hudson and the Lazarus Testament Page 6