“Good morning,” Cavendish said. “Mr Holmes, I have that codicil for you. I can attest that it is a forgery, should you need anyone to testify in court.”
“I doubt that will be necessary,” Holmes said. He took the paper, and handed it immediately to Lestrade. “The inspector should keep it as evidence, just in case. Mr Cavendish, I trust you have Lord Berkeley’s real will?”
“Of course,” Cavendish said. “There will be a reading next week, after the funeral.”
“And until then, the will’s contents are a closely guarded secret?”
Cavendish reddened a little. “My lips are sealed, naturally.”
“Excellent,” Holmes said. “Shall we breakfast then? And perhaps afterwards you would care to share a carriage when Benson returns? I’m sure you are eager to return to the office, Mr Cavendish, and we should all like to make the 10.30 train.”
It was agreed, and the remainder of our time passed without incident. I, however, excused myself from the breakfast table early, so that I might go in search of Crain to say my goodbyes. I was surprised indeed to find him lucid, sitting at his father’s desk of all places.
“Ho, Watson,” he said. “I know what you’re going to say. I should be resting. But I tell you something, old fellow, I’ve had more than enough rest of late. I feel as if I’ve been sleep-walking the past months; so much so that I have missed out on the love of my family. Father and Esther… all this happened so that I might wake up finally, and take charge of my life. And by God, to honour their memory I shall do exactly that, starting today if I can find the strength.”
“Well this is a turnabout,” I said, “and a welcome one if it sees you in brighter spirits.”
“Don’t talk about spirits!” Crain said, laughing, until it turned into a wheezing cough. He frowned, and I saw that the strain upon him was still a heavy one, for all the brave face he presented.
“I wish I could stay longer, but I must return to my own patients.”
“I am sorry your professional services have been overused this weekend,” Crain said, solemnly. “It wasn’t quite the holiday either of us expected.”
“No, it wasn’t,” I said. There passed an awkward silence. We both had much to think on, though I knew it was worse for Crain. I would be able to return to London, and set aside all thoughts of ghostly visitations and diabolical plots. Crain would have to endure it all, become lord of the manor, and do his duty. “Well,” I said eventually, “I must go. I shall visit again, hopefully to see you better.”
“I should very much like that, Watson,” he said. “You are a true friend.”
I nodded to Crain, and took my leave.
I trod the gloomy corridors for the last time, past the death-room of Theobald Crain, and past my own room, with the stern portraits of generations of Crains looking down at me. Amongst them, I saw for the first time, were the dark eyes of Lady Sybille, in her blood-red dress. It was a small portrait, almost hidden away amongst the many faces, but my eye was drawn to it now. I paused beneath the picture for a moment, and then hurried on my way.
At the landing, I stopped again. A dark cloud had passed over the manor, turning day almost to night. And as I trod the boards at the top of the stairs, a slow, ominous creak came from the north-west corner. The door to the Red Tower groaned slowly open, revealing utter darkness behind.
I tarried no longer. It was all in my mind, I knew it must be, and yet I had no desire to stay longer at Crain Manor. Holmes was bemused when I met him in the hall and fair bundled him out the door. Although I felt foolish then as afterwards, when we eventually got under way in the carriage, I did not so much as glance back at the house. For I had the queerest sensation that the Red Tower would be staring back at me.
* * *
It was on the journey home that I made up my mind to sell my practice to Dr Verner. Indeed, as soon as I returned to work I arranged to meet him, and also began proceedings to sell my house. I had learned several valuable lessons at Crain Manor. First, that life is to be embraced, and lived. Second, that for all his aloofness and cerebral coldness, Sherlock Holmes was ever my friend—his anger when he learned what the spiritualists had done to me would forever warm my heart in dark times. And finally, I had come to realise that the excitement of investigation still thrilled me. Since Holmes’s supposed fall at Reichenbach, I had allowed myself to settle into a comfortable routine; but the mystery of the Red Tower instilled within me a desire to cast off security like a pair of worn-out slippers, and embrace adventure once more.
Of course, when I later learned that Dr Verner was a distant relative of Holmes’s, and that my friend had engineered the generous offer that had procured my practice, my faith in Holmes’s magnanimity was a trifle dented. Despite that, I have rarely had cause to regret the decision, so perhaps Holmes does have some knowledge of matters of the heart after all.
That would be the end of the tale, but for a few loose ends that were tied up in our absence.
After an investigation by Scotland Yard, Madame Farr was proven to be Mrs Gertrude Mellinchip, just as Holmes had deduced. She was sent back to Newcastle for trial, accused of embezzling almost a hundred pounds from grieving customers. However, doubtless aided by the criminal fraternity with whom she was well acquainted, Mrs Mellinchip managed to abscond before her case was heard, saving me a trip to the north to give evidence. She remains at large, and Holmes regularly scans newspapers the length and breadth of Great Britain for any rumour of her malign enterprise starting afresh. We always wondered, however, whether she had found some other means to secure her passage to America.
The other Cole twin, whom we learned was indeed Arthur, was picked up by chance some weeks later, almost passed over as a vagrant, trudging the road to Newbury. He revealed that he had returned to Crain Manor after stowing the evidence of the spiritualists’ crimes at Madame Farr’s house, presuming it to be safe for the time being. At the manor, he had learned that his brother, Simon, was locked up under the supervision of Constable Aitkens, and as he plotted to liberate Simon, he was spotted by the footmen, who chased him off. He returned first to the house, where he found the bag of incriminating evidence gone, and signs of a fierce struggle. He did not know what to make of it, but knew his game was up, and so he grabbed what few things he dared and headed out of the village with little more than the clothes on his back. In court, neither twin would give up the other for the crime of benzene poisoning, and even Judith’s testimony could not identify a clear culprit between them; so he and his brother were sentenced to two years apiece at Her Majesty’s pleasure.
Of Judith, there was at least some good to come from it all. Her love for Crain would go unrequited, for although he forgave her part in Madame Farr’s schemes, I could barely imagine the painful memories she must have stirred in him whenever they saw each other. However, Crain helped reunite her with her estranged father, restoring and reopening the old mill so that her family—whose name we finally learned was Sugden—could secure a decent living for themselves.
It was some months before Crain was fully fit, his own doctor tactfully recording an official diagnosis of brain fever. Lestrade informed us that Crain had written to him, expressing a desire that no action should be taken against Melville, and vouching for the character of Sally Griggs, who had gone on to find a good position in a household in Windsor.
It was the following spring when I received a letter from Crain announcing his impending marriage to a fine lady from an old Cambridgeshire family. I was happily surprised that the Reverend Parkin was to officiate at the wedding. Apparently Theobald Crain’s provision for the church was sufficient to begin restoration of St Mary’s, and after near a year, Parkin and Crain had agreed to settle their differences amicably. Both Holmes and I were invited to the wedding.
Sherlock Holmes, naturally, declined.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A novel of detection, especially one with such intricate medical and ghostly aspects as this, would hardly ring true witho
ut (far too) many hours of research, much of which never even makes it to print. In this case, however, special thanks must go to my crack science advisor, haematology specialist Dr Carolyn Voisey, for her insights into historical leukaemia treatments and symptoms, and the effects of various toxins on sufferers, as well as advice on the best ways to drug poor Watson. She has made Watson’s life all the more difficult, but his victory all the sweeter.
On the spiritualist front, I was well served by a lifetime of compulsively collecting books from and about the nineteenth century, including a fair number of titles dealing with matters of the occult, and Victorian psychical phenomena. Some apology should probably be made to those advocates of the broader field of modern Spiritualism, as for the purposes of this novel I have delved only into the chequered history of proven fraud. For a glimpse at the other side of this particular coin, readers are humbly invited to peruse my other series for Titan Books, the Apollonian Casefiles. For readers wishing to look into the fascinating topic of Victorian spiritualism for themselves, I include a very short bibliography here of the material I found most useful, comprehensive and illuminating:
Doyle, Arthur Conan, On the Unexplained, Hesperus Press 2013
Lunt, Edward D, Mysteries of the Séance: And Tricks and Traps of Bogus Mediums, 1903; Kessinger Publishing 2010
Pearsall, Ronald, The Table-Rappers: the Victorians and the Occult, Sutton Publishing 2004
Price, Harry, Revelations of a Spirit Medium, Forgotten Books 2017
Souter, Dr Keith, Medical Meddlers, Mediums and Magicians: The Victorian Age of Credulity, The History Press 2012
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Mark A. Latham is a writer, editor, history nerd, frustrated grunge singer and amateur baker from Staffordshire, UK. A recent immigrant to rural Nottinghamshire, he lives in a very old house (sadly not haunted), and is still regarded in the village as a foreigner.
Formerly the editor of Games Workshop’s White Dwarf magazine, Mark dabbled in tabletop games design before becoming a full-time author of strange, fantastical and macabre tales, mostly set in the nineteenth century, a period for which his obsession knows no bounds. He is the author of the Apollonian Casefiles series, published by Titan Books.
Follow Mark on Twitter:
@aLostVictorian
SHERLOCK HOLMES
CRY OF THE INNOCENTS
Cavan Scott
It is 1891, and a Catholic priest arrives at 221B Baker Street, only to utter the words “il corpe” before suddenly dropping dead.
Though the man’s death is attributed to cholera, when news of another dead priest reaches Holmes, he becomes convinced that the men have been poisoned. He and Watson learn that the victims were on a mission from the Vatican to investigate a miracle; it is said that the body of eighteenth-century philanthropist and slave trader Edwyn Warwick has not decomposed. But should the Pope canonise a man who made his fortune through slavery? And when Warwick’s body is stolen, it becomes clear that the priests’ mission has attracted the attention of a deadly conspiracy…
PRAISE FOR CAVAN SCOTT
“Many memorable moments… excellent.”
Starburst
“Utterly charming, comprehensively Sherlockian, and possessed of a wry narrator.”
Criminal Element
“Memorable and enjoyable… One of the best stories I’ve ever read.”
Wondrous Reads
TITANBOOKS.COM
SHERLOCK HOLMES
THE PATCHWORK DEVIL
Cavan Scott
It is 1919, and while the world celebrates the signing of the Treaty of Versailles, Holmes and Watson are called to a grisly discovery.
A severed hand has been found on the bank of the Thames, a hand belonging to a soldier who supposedly died in the trenches two years ago. But the hand is fresh, and shows signs that it was recently amputated. So how has it ended up back in London two years after its owner was killed in France? Warned by Sherlock’s brother Mycroft to cease their investigation, and only barely surviving an attack by a superhuman creature, Holmes and Watson begin to suspect a conspiracy at the very heart of the British government…
“Scott poses an intriguing puzzle for an older Holmes and Watson to tackle.”
Publishers Weekly
“Interesting and exciting in ways that few Holmes stories are these days.”
San Francisco Book Review
“A thrilling tale for Scott’s debut in the Sherlock Holmes world.”
Sci-Fi Bulletin
TITANBOOKS.COM
SHERLOCK HOLMES
LABYRINTH OF DEATH
James Lovegrove
It is 1895, and Sherlock Holmes’s new client is a high court judge, whose free-spirited daughter has disappeared without a trace.
Holmes and Watson discover that the missing woman—Hannah Woolfson—was herself on the trail of a missing person, her close friend Sophia. Sophia was recruited to a group known as the Elysians, a quasi-religious sect obsessed with Ancient Greek myths and rituals, run by the charismatic Sir Philip Buchanan. Hannah has joined the Elysians under an assumed name, convinced that her friend has been murdered. Holmes agrees that she should continue as his agent within the secretive yet seemingly harmless cult, yet Watson is convinced Hannah is in terrible danger. For Sir Philip has dreams of improving humanity through classical ideals, and at any cost…
“A writer of real authority and one worthy of taking the reader back to the dangerous streets of Victorian London in the company of the Great Detective.”
Crime Time
“Lovegrove does a convincing job of capturing Watson’s voice.”
Publishers Weekly
TITANBOOKS.COM
SHERLOCK HOLMES
THE THINKING ENGINE
James Lovegrove
It is 1895, and Sherlock Holmes is settling back into life as a consulting detective at 221B Baker Street, when he and Watson learn of strange goings-on amidst the dreaming spires of Oxford.
A Professor Quantock has built a wondrous computational device, which he claims is capable of analytical thought to rival the cleverest men alive. Naturally Sherlock Holmes cannot ignore this challenge. He and Watson travel to Oxford, where a battle of wits ensues between the great detective and his mechanical counterpart as they compete to see which of them can be first to solve a series of crimes, from a bloody murder to a missing athlete. But as man and machine vie for supremacy, it becomes clear that the Thinking Engine has its own agenda…
“The plot, like the device, is ingenious, with a chilling twist…”
The Sherlock Holmes Journal
“Lovegrove knows his Holmes trivia and delivers a great mystery that fans will enjoy, with plenty of winks and nods to the canon.”
Geek Dad
“James Lovegrove has become to the 21st century what JG Ballard was to the 20th...”
The Bookseller
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SHERLOCK HOLMES
GODS OF WAR
James Lovegrove
It is 1913, and Dr Watson is visiting Sherlock Holmes at his retirement cottage near Eastbourne when tragedy strikes: the body of a young man, Patrick Mallinson, is found under the cliffs of Beachy Head.
The dead man’s father, a wealthy businessman, engages Holmes to prove that his son committed suicide, the result of a failed love affair with an older woman. Yet the woman in question insists that there is more to Patrick’s death. She has seen mysterious symbols drawn on his body, and fears that he was under the influence of a malevolent cult. When an attempt is made on Watson’s life, it seems that she may be proved right. The threat of war hangs over England, and there is no telling what sinister forces are at work…
“Lovegrove has once again packed his novel with incident and suspense.”
Fantasy Book Review
“An atmospheric mystery which shows just why Lovegrove has become a force to be reckoned with in genre fiction. More, please.”
Starburst
“A
very entertaining read with a fast-moving, intriguing plot.”
The Consulting Detective
TITANBOOKS.COM
SHERLOCK HOLMES
THE STUFF OF NIGHTMARES
James Lovegrove
A spate of bombings has hit London, causing untold damage and loss of life. Meanwhile a strangely garbed figure has been spied haunting the rooftops and grimy back alleys of the capital.
Sherlock Holmes believes this strange masked man may hold the key to the attacks. He moves with the extraordinary agility of a latter-day Spring-Heeled Jack. He possesses weaponry and armour of unprecedented sophistication. He is known only by the name Baron Cauchemar, and he appears to be a scourge of crime and villainy. But is he all that he seems? Holmes and his faithful companion Dr Watson are about to embark on one of their strangest and most exhilarating adventures yet.
“[A] tremendously accomplished thriller which leaves the reader in no doubt that they are in the hands of a confident and skilful craftsman.”
Starburst
“Dramatic, gripping, exciting and respectful to its source material, I thoroughly enjoyed every surprise and twist as the story unfolded.”
Fantasy Book Review
“This is delicious stuff, marrying the standard notions of Holmesiana with the kind of imagination we expect from Lovegrove.”
Crimetime
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SHERLOCK HOLMES
THE SPIRIT BOX
George Mann
German zeppelins rain down death and destruction on London, and Dr Watson is grieving for his nephew, killed on the fields of France.
Sherlock Holmes--The Red Tower Page 26