The Darlington Substitution (From The Deed Box of John H. Watson MD)

by Ashton, Hugh

“And Lady Hareby?”

  “She felt unwell, and retired to her room.”

  Lord Darlington sighed. “Well, Watson,” he said to me, “it looks as though we will make our breakfast à deux, if that does not displease you too much?”

  I readily agreed, adding, “However, before we eat, I would very much appreciate a chance to shave and so on, if that is possible.”

  “My dear chap!” He was instantly solicitousness itself. “Unpardonable of me. Bouverie, please show Doctor Watson to his room, and ensure that he has everything he needs to be comfortable. How long will you require?” he asked me.

  “No more than twenty minutes, I would guess.”

  “Excellent. I shall see you then,” he answered.

  I was shown to a charming room which apparently formed part of the original fabric of the house. My bed was an antique carved oak four-poster, obviously several hundred years old, and the other furnishings were in keeping.

  “I will bring you your hot water in a few minutes, sir,” the butler informed me.

  When he had brought it, I thanked him, and waited for him to leave me. However, he seemed reluctant to depart, and I asked him if everything was in order.

  “Yes, sir. I have no worries. It is only that I want to let you know, sir...” He hesitated.

  “Well, what is it?”

  “If you are to hear any crying, or weeping, or sounds of that nature coming from down the passageway, sir, please ignore them.” He hesitated again, and I motioned for him to continue. “His young lordship is not well. There are times when the poor young man does not seem able to keep himself from weeping for hours on end. If you’ll pardon the liberty, sir, I would not advise going near him in that state. He has been known to say and do things that are somewhat unsocial in their nature.”

  “For example?” I asked.

  “There was one time, sir, when he became somewhat distraught about a ladder that had been placed against the wall for the purpose of cleaning the windows. Somehow he had failed to notice that he had walked under it, and being subject to these fancies and beliefs, was under the impression that some sort of bad luck would befall him. He began to worry about it and started to weep, and my wife, who is housekeeper here, and has known him since he was a lad, went up to him to try to comfort him. He would have none of it, and thrust her away so roughly that she fell over onto the ground. He took no notice of her, and walked on. It seemed that he had no knowledge of what he had done.”

  Some sort of comment seemed to be called for at this point. “Dear, dear,” I remarked. “And when this fit of depression had passed?”

  “After he’d stopped crying, sir, he was as nice as could be to her. He said he was sorry, and started to cry again. There’s no harm in him, sir, but since that fall he’s been a bit...”

  “I understand,” I replied, not wishing to embarrass him further by forcing him to put a name to the unfortunate man’s condition. “As it happens, I am a doctor of medicine, and I have some experience with patients of this kind.” In actual fact, I had relatively little experience with nervous cases, but I had kept up to date with the available literature, and one of my brother officers in India had suffered from a malady whose symptoms sounded similar to those described by Bouverie.

  “That’s a relief, sir,” replied the butler. “If you can make him better, we’ll all be most grateful to you.” Obviously he was under the impression that my purpose in visiting Hareby was to cure the poor man of his ills.

  “There are limits to what can be achieved,” I replied, as noncommittally as I could manage. “In the meantime, thank you for the information.” He bowed and left me pondering what had just been told to me.

  Breakfast with the Earl was a somewhat gloomy affair. My host seemed somewhat sunk in his own thoughts, and I had little wish to break in on whatever business was occupying his mind. However, as the almost silent meal drew to an end, he turned to me with a friendly smile and asked me if I was interested in taking a shotgun around the estate.

  “I am sorry, but pressure of business prevents my accompanying you,” he apologised to me, but you are welcome to make your own way along the dale.”

  “If I might forego the gun,” I replied, “I would enjoy the walk.”

  So saying, in thirty minutes I was suitably equipped for a day to be spent walking in the countryside, with a packet of sandwiches provided through the graces of Mrs. Bouverie.

  What happened next is best told in the words of the report I wrote and transmitted to Sherlock Holmes later that day, the latter part of which I quote here.

  -oOo-

  Chapter 3: From the first report of John H. Watson to Sherlock Holmes

  [I omit the first part of my report to Holmes, which described the journey to Hareby as I have described it earlier] “...I set off from the Hall, having obtained an Ordnance Survey map of the surroundings from Bouverie, the butler. I had covered, according to the map, a distance of just over one mile, when I heard a low keening sound, somewhat unearthly in nature, emanating from a small copse about twenty yards from my current position.

  “Though I had no idea what the noise might be, and I was, naturally, unarmed other than for a stout walking stick, for I had left my revolver in the Hall, I decided to investigate, and struck out for the copse.

  “Much to my surprise, I discovered a well-dressed man, whom I took to be Lord Hareby, kneeling on the ground, staring intently at some object in front of him, and making the hideous groans that had originally attracted my attention. Mindful of the warning regarding violence that had been imparted to me earlier by Bouverie, I moved to a position where I was clearly visible to him, should he care to lift his gaze, judging that he, like certain wild animals, might be ready to strike at those who surprised him, and might, if aware of an intruder, tolerate its presence.

  “When I had reached the spot in question, I coughed gently in an attempt to attract his attention. There was no effect, so I spoke in as gentle a voice as I could manage. ‘Can I help you?’ I asked him. I noted the object of his gaze – a dead sparrow.

  “He did not answer with words, but acknowledged my presence by ceasing his moaning, and lifting his head to stare at me. The eyes were vacant of expression – nay, even of intelligence. When we look into a dog’s eyes we see intelligence and character, but this was something entirely different – there was no sign of humanity in that gaze. My blood was chilled, but I stood quiet and still, waiting for some response. At length he spoke slowly in a voice that was devoid of all expression.

  “ ‘Thank you, but I require nothing,’ were his words, spoken in a voice that spoke of education and breeding while at the same time being, as I said, expressionless. The effect was peculiarly horrible, and reminded me of nothing so much as the voices of unfortunate madmen that I had once heard as a medical student on a visit to the lunatic asylum.

  “ ‘You must be cold,’ I said to him. ‘Let me lend you my coat.’ Though it was not in actual fact cold, my thought was that the sensation of human touch would increase his awareness of me as another human being, and make him more amenable to reason.

  “ ‘You are most kind,’ he replied in that same cultured dead voice. ‘Thank you.’ I hastened to drape the coat around his shoulders, and at my first touch, a miraculous transformation occurred. Life and intelligence returned to his countenance, and he stood and turned to face me.

  “ ‘It has happened again,’ he said to me, in a perfectly normal voice. ‘I apologise for any trouble I have caused you. Ah!’ He caught sight of the dead sparrow, and shuddered. ‘This is what set me off. Anything like this can do it. Death or violence, or even some trivial incident that appears unconnected with such matters can make me weep without cause and become dead to the world.’ He broke off and studied my face. ‘Who are you and what are you doing here?’

  “I introduced myself as a London friend of his father’s who was staying at the Hall, omitting any mention of you (I assume that I acted correctly in this?) and adding the inf
ormation that I was a doctor of medicine.

  “ ‘You were brought here to attempt to cure me of... of this?’ he asked.

  “I answered, quite truthfully, that that was not the case, but that I was ready to lend whatever assistance I could if it were required, and he seemed to accept my explanation. As we talked, it came on to rain, falling lightly at first, but the downpour soon became quite heavy.

  “ ‘I have your coat,’ he said to me. ‘Please allow me to return it to you.’

  “I protested that I was wearing thick tweeds, which would absorb the water, and that his suit was made of lighter material which was less suitable for the weather, and accordingly we started back to the Hall, where we were met by the Earl, who expressed his gratitude to me for bringing back his son.

  “He informed me that similar events had transpired in the past, and that it had proved extremely difficult, if not completely impossible, to persuade Hareby to return to the Hall on these occasions. He praised my efforts in no uncertain terms, and remarking the state of my saturated garments, ordered a hot bath to be prepared for me, and for Bouverie to take my wet clothes and restore them to a wearable state. I thanked him for his consideration, and went upstairs to my room.

  “While I was making my way to my room, I encountered Lady Hareby, who seems bowed down with worry, the causes of which I need hardly spell out to you. In the course of our conversation, however, she made one or two observations to me which gave me distinct cause for concern regarding the future safety of her unfortunate husband. The implications that I inferred from our conversation seem to be that, imprimis, she wishes to be free of her marriage to him, and secundus, she would appear to be actively contemplating his death. Though I have no proof of this, she has given me ample cause for concern. She is also aware, though I have not informed her of the fact, that you and I are friends. I strongly suggest that you come up here as soon as convenient in order to avert the possible future tragedy that I sense is in the making.“

  -oOo-

  Chapter 4:

  Lady Hareby

  MY account above as presented to Sherlock Holmes, while accurate in most respects, nonetheless omits several important points, which I will now set down. In all honesty, I cannot omit them, though I am in no way proud of what occurred, or of my actions and feelings here, and subsequently throughout this case. However, if this account ever finds its way into the public gaze, I will most certainly ensure that none of what I am about to relate here makes its way into print.

  After accepting Lord Darlington’s offer of a bath and the care of my clothes, I retired to my room, and had stripped off most of my sodden garments, retaining only my undergarments, preparatory to donning my dressing-gown and taking my bath, which Bouverie had informed me was being prepared for me at the other end of the passage.

  A knock came at the door, and I gave the command to enter. My back was turned, and I did not bother to face my visitor, supposing it to be Bouverie.

  “You will find my clothes on the chair beside the bed,” I remarked, still without turning.

  “So I observe,” came a female voice from behind me.

  As one might imagine, I was considerably surprised, not to say shocked, by this. It is, after all, not the habit of the best houses to allow female servants to wait on male members of the family or guests, and I was astonished that Bouverie, who had so far impressed me with his bearing and competence, should allow such a state of affairs to prevail. I turned to face the speaker, and was astonished to see, not the servant that I had expected, but a young lady, in the full flush of her beauty, dressed in a green silk creation that appeared to my masculine eyes to be in the height of fashion. Tearing my gaze away from her oval face, framed in a mass of lustrous curled blond hair, I noticed that her condition was far advanced, in my professional opinion, at about the eighth month, I did not need to be my friend Sherlock Holmes to deduce that this was Lady Hareby, the wife of the poor unfortunate I had encountered earlier.

  “Your Ladyship...” I stammered, all too conscious of my dishabille.

  “You would make me happier if you called me by my name, Elizabeth,” she replied with a smile that had an almost physical effect on me. “I enquired of Bouverie who you might be, and discovered your name, so I am sure you will have no objection if I call you John?”

  “Not at all,” I replied, more than a little flustered by the circumstances under which I now found myself. “And what may I do for you... Elizabeth?” I asked.

  “I need to talk with you,” she replied.

  “Certainly. Please allow me to make myself more presentable, and I will be with you shortly.”

  “There is no need for that,” she answered me, stepping inside the room and shutting the door behind her. She turned the key in the lock, removed it, and slipped it inside the bosom of her dress. Needless to say, I was more than a little taken aback by her boldness.

  “Lady Hareby—” I began.

  “Elizabeth,” she corrected me.

  “Elizabeth, then. This is hardly decent or proper. I insist that you leave my room at once and allow me to regain my decency.”

  “You insist?” She laughed. “A big brave soldier like you insisting on something from a weak helpless woman like me? And in my condition? Shame on you, you big bully.” She advanced toward me, and tapped me playfully on the wrist.

  To say that I was confused and embarrassed would be a severe understatement. “What if we are discovered together like this?”

  “I assure you, John, that I will do nothing to give us away. We only run the risk of discovery should you choose to inform the world, and I hardly think you will do that.”

  “At any rate, please return the key of the room to me,” I insisted, more than a little discomfited by her use of my Christian name.

  “When I am ready,” was her answer, as she delicately patted the area of her anatomy where the key presumably currently reposed. My notice was naturally drawn to that part of her figure, which was truly of most pleasing proportions, and I found it hard to concentrate my attentions on the subject at hand.

  “Very well, then. If you wish to talk now, please sit down.” I busied myself clearing my clothes off the chair on which they were currently lying.

  “I will sit on the bed,” she answered, suiting the action to the words. “And you will sit beside me.”

  My confusion and embarrassment were now nearly at a peak. “I will sit where I please,” I retorted.

  “I think you will find it most pleasing to sit beside me,” was her answer.

  I said nothing, but remained standing.

  “I see you are determined to please yourself,” she mocked me, “rather than doing your duty as a host.”

  “My dear Eliz— Lady Hareby,” I replied in as firm a tone as I was able to achieve under the circumstances. “With all due respect and deference, I am in a somewhat ambiguous position as a host. My guest is uninvited, and she has removed any possibility of her leaving without her consent to do so.” I moved once more to the chair, and despite the fact that my garments were still wet, started to replace my clothing and cover myself decently. Before I could make much progress in this matter, I was interrupted by a sob from my visitor.

  “So I am not welcome?” she replied. “You, too, spurn me?” Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at me with an expression of sadness on her face. Like any true man, I am powerless to resist a weeping woman, and I moved to sit by her side, temporarily heedless of my state of undress.

  “Thank you,” she said to me, withdrawing a lace handkerchief and dabbing it to her eyes. “I knew you would understand. Now, John,” she continued, turning to face me, “I believe from what Bouverie told me that you have met my husband in one of his fits. What is your professional opinion?”

  “I am a general doctor, rather than a specialist in such matters. Such diagnosis as I might provide is likely to differ from that of such a consultant. However, I have experienced such a case before in India, when one of my brother off
icers was struck on the head by a native whom he was attempting to restrain. The case was remarkably similar.”

  “And the result?” She leaned towards me and looked into my eyes. The scent of her perfume hung heavy in the air, providing me with yet another distraction.

  “I... I seem to remember that there was no cure.”

  As she opened her mouth to answer, there was a knock on the door, and Bouverie’s voice could be heard.

  “Excuse me, sir, but your bath is ready. I will take your clothes for cleaning and pressing while you are in the bathroom, if that is what you require.”

  I replied after a moment’s thought. “Thank you, Bouverie. I am not quite ready. I fear I may have dozed off and have only just awakened. Another five or ten minutes should see me in the bath.”

  “Very good, sir.” We could hear the sound of retreating footsteps.

  “Very good, John,” my visitor breathed. Her lips were close to my ear, and I could feel her warm breath. I stood up, but she clutched at my hand as I rose, and drew it to her breast.

  “Do not go,” she implored me. “Have you no pity?” I looked at her, questioningly. “Pity for a woman whose husband is a pitiful wreck of a man,” she explained. “There is no hope for me as long as he lives, and there is no escape. Were he certified as insane, I could be free of him, but it does not seem that this well ever be the case. You have seen him for yourself, and you know that he can appear like any other man at times.”

  “So can many lunatics,” I reasoned to her. “The fact that he may pass as healthy is no guarantee to a medical man that the balance of his mind may, indeed, be disturbed.”

  She clutched my hand tighter to her bosom, and I was now extremely uncomfortable at the close proximity to her in which I now found myself.

  “So were he seemingly to die by his own hand, there would be no doubt at the inquest that he had indeed died as a result of killing himself?” she pressed me.

  “Lady Hareby!” I snatched my hand away, one of the rings she was wearing scratching me slightly. “I cannot believe my ears! Have you the faintest notion of what you are saying? I warn you that were a coroner’s jury to hear me repeat your words to them, things might go very hard with you.”