It was on his return that he lowered his voice, saying, “This is most interesting, Watson. It appears that this establishment is owned by a Miss Annie Knight, and it has been open barely a matter of weeks.” Holmes raised an eyebrow before continuing, “Hardly time, wouldn’t you say, for a customer, who might only be an occasional visitor from London, to be addressed as ‘Sir Charles’?”
I pondered this for a few moments as I observed that, given the hour, the tea-shop’s customers had now begun to drift away, homeward.
Within a few minutes of our order being taken, the pot of tea arrived, together with two rather impressive slices of plain, dark, rich fruit cake. Holmes examined the cake and then shot me a questioning look.
It was as Miss Knight placed the final item of our order upon the table that Holmes presented her with his card. “My name is Sherlock Holmes and this is my companion Dr. John Watson. I wonder if you might spare us a moment of your time?” The young lady looked about her and, on seeing that no new customers had entered and needed her attention, she pulled out a chair from the table and joined us.
Holmes was immediately direct and began, “My companion and I are investigating the death of Sir Charles Short, a visitor from London who, from what I can gather, died from poisoning. He was, it seems, something of an amateur artist who enjoyed painting the flora and fauna of our waterways. I am trying to determine his movements over the last two days and was wondering if you might have seen anyone along the riverbank with an easel?”
The young lady pressed her lips together and frowned, before replying, “Why no, Mr. Holmes. I have seen no one. But he may, of course, have been further up the river, towards the mill? Many artists, it seems, use the mill as a subject for their paintings.”
Holmes nodded and smiled before he tapped his forefinger against his lips, saying brightly, “Ah, a pity, but nothing is lost, for I have an appointment tomorrow morning with his painting companion, a Mr. De Witt. Apparently, he had been constantly at Sir Charles’ side for the last day or so as they painted together.”
As I watched, all colour seemed to drain from the young lady’s face. To this, Holmes appeared to be oblivious as he continued, “Whilst I was choosing my cake, I asked the waitress about your splendid garden and orchard. She told me you had only recently moved here from London, but you do, indeed, seem to have ‘green fingers’.”
Miss Knight forced a weak smile, saying, “Thank you. It is because, for the several years that my mother was ill, I tended our lawn and flower garden. Upon her death, I left my employment in London and came here to begin a new life.”
Upon hearing this, a subtle change came over Holmes and he appeared to observe Miss Knight most carefully as he asked, “I’m so sorry. Did your father accompany you to Guildford?”
At this, the young lady rose, saying, in a voice that was ice-cold, “No, Mr. Holmes. My father left us some years ago, under particularly harsh circumstances. Now, if you’ll excuse me...” Holmes nodded and we both rose as Annie Knight left us in some haste.
Holmes sat impassive for a minute or so and, although the cake was delicious, Holmes frowned and asked, “A little different in appearance from the description of that offered to Sir Charles, do you not think, Watson?” I looked at my cake and, on seeing nothing amiss, I made no reply and continued to devour it with some gusto.
We finished our tea and cake in silence, for I could see that Holmes was most troubled. On paying the bill, he hurried from the tea-shop, stopping only briefly to send a telegram before we returned to The Bull’s Head.
Chapter 6: Flushing Out the Quarry
Finding once again a quiet corner, Holmes filled his pipe and proceeded to smoke incessantly for perhaps twenty minutes without uttering a single word. At last, he broke his silence by asking, most bluntly, “What might drive a young woman to poison her own father, Watson?”
On hearing this, my pipe almost fell from my mouth as I spluttered, “You believe Annie Knight to be a poisoner and that she disposed of her own father in this way? Are you suggesting that there is a connection between her father and Sir Charles?”
Holmes tilted back his head and slowly breathed out a ribbon of smoke. “I believe that her father and Sir Charles are one and the same. It is her motive that I wish to discover. I am hopeful that my telegram to Mycroft might enlighten me before further damage is done.”
I looked at Holmes in some horror. “Do you mean that she intends to strike again?”
Holmes shot me a glance and, in an angry tone, rebuked me, saying. “She is not some common poisoner, Watson! I believe her to be a woman who has been severely wronged and, whether for revenge or in self-defence, has acted against a single individual.”
I sat back, feeling somewhat scolded, but I was eager to hear Holmes’s reasoning. Seeing my disquiet, he drew steadily upon his pipe before proceeding thus. “I was unsettled by this case from the outset, Watson. Mycroft’s letter, you will recall, bore a double seal, which was, indeed, unusual. I believe that it was a measure of both his own discontent and the need for complete discretion in this matter.”
Nodding, I urged him to continue. Steepling his fingers against his lips, Holmes frowned, saying, “Let us consider what we know of the case. Sir Charles was seen as an invaluable asset to the government and, upon his death, it was feared that he may have been assassinated by the Boers. In light of which, a secretive post mortem was carried out to discover if that had been the case. Mycroft requested that we confirm the findings and also to ascertain any part played in Sir Charles’ death by the Dutchman, De Witt.”
I nodded in agreement, but it was the actions of Annie Knight and her relationship to Sir Charles Short that I found perplexing. “What, then, have you discovered that might link Annie Knight to his death?” I asked.
Holmes was quiet for a moment before answering, “If you recall our examination of Sir Charles’ effects at the chapel, Watson, the cartouche on his watch bore his initials... but also the initials, MK. Those, I suspect, relate to the maiden name of his wife.” Thinking aloud, he added, “Yes... perhaps the watch was an engagement present?”
I pursed my lips and frowned, before saying, “But the photograph within showed Sir Charles and, presumably, his wife and their child!”
Holmes wagged his pipe stem in my direction, saying, “Quite so, but the Leopard hallmark and date letter ‘n’ revealed that the watch was assayed in London in 1868. The family photograph is, I believe, a later addition.”
With something of a twinkle in his eye, Holmes now asked, “Did you observe anything in common between the figures in the photograph and Annie Knight?” On saying this, he smiled, whilst seeming to be adjusting his necktie, an action which I considered to be unnecessary.
For a moment, I wondered if I had failed to observe a family resemblance within the photograph when, suddenly, Holmes’s actions triggered a memory. “The... the necklace! Annie Knight was wearing a necklace identical to the one in the watch worn by...” My voice trailed away, as the full import of what I was saying became crystal clear.
Holmes was nodding slowly. “Yes, no doubt a family piece. However, Watson, I made a serious error in my subsequent deduction regarding Sir Charles’ curious habit.”
I frowned, asking “How so?”
Holmes face was blank as he recalled, “After we had talked to De Witt, I presumed, wrongly, that whoever had administered the cyanide must have seen Sir Charles refining his brush tip whilst he was painting by the towpath. That was incorrect. Fortunately, for us, circumstances led us to his daughter, Annie Knight, who, undoubtedly, would already be aware of her father’s habit.”
On hearing this, I thought back to the toxicology report and I was disquieted by it. “Tell me, Holmes. How would Annie Knight have the knowledge to administer the precise dose of poison for it to be effective, and yet not to be detected at a post mortem? From where did sh
e obtain it and... and how was it administered?”
Holmes tapped his forefinger against his lip and looked thoughtful. “It is something, in part, that I hope that Mycroft may well be able to confirm, in response to my telegram.”
Almost on cue, a uniformed telegram boy opened the door to the Saloon bar, calling out, “Telegram for Mr. Holmes?” Holmes leapt from his chair and then, after pressing a sixpence into the lad’s hand, took the telegram from him.
Upon reading its contents, Holmes was silent for perhaps a minute, standing quite immobile. Consulting his watch, he then suddenly lunged for his hat, coat, and cane, and ran full tilt from the bar. For a moment, I was stunned by his actions, but followed him as quickly as I could.
By the time I reached the High Street, Holmes had already obtained a cab and was waving frantically to hurry my approach. Breathless, I clambered aboard, hearing Holmes call out, “Guildford Station, as quickly as you can, cabbie!”
The jolt from the cab as it sped away flung me backwards against the seat. Exhausted as I was after my enforced exercise, I barely managed to gasp, “What is afoot, Holmes?”
Holmes’s eyes burned. “We must stop Annie Knight from leaving Guildford. It is I who have caused this! I have flushed her out, and must now make amends!”
I thought this statement to be most curious, but had no time to ask Holmes to explain himself before Guildford Station came into view. Leaping from the cab, Holmes raced up the station approach, heading directly towards the platform that served the trains travelling towards London.
Looking around him wildly, Holmes started to pace, scouring the platform until he suddenly froze and then walked calmly towards a tall, slender figure in the shadows.
Touching his hat, Holmes spoke in a gentle but firm voice. “You must not leave Guildford, Miss Knight. I know what you have done and the terrible reason why. I give you my solemn word that I will not reveal this to the authorities... unless you force my hand by leaving.”
Annie Knight’s frightened face, part covered by a veiled hat, peered back at Holmes. “You... you know...? And the reason?” Holmes nodded slowly and then offered her his arm. With a questioning look, she hesitantly took it.
In the forecourt of the station, Holmes spotted a four-wheeler that had just brought a party to the station. With a wave of his cane and a loud cry of “Hold!” he was able to secure it for our return to The Bull’s Head.
Chapter 7: Kew and Greengages
Seeking out a secluded area in the corner of the bar, Holmes ordered tea. Nothing was said until we were all served, and I was gratified to observe that Annie Knight looked a little more at ease in our company. However, it was evident that there was still tension present in her body. Her hands shook as she cradled her tea cup.
Holmes now leant forwards slightly, asking, “When did you first recognise your father, Miss Knight?”
Annie Knight took a sip before replying, “I recognised him as soon as he walked into my tea-shop. He was alone and, on seeing him, I instantly chose not to serve him. However, as he sat at one of the tables, he called me over to him. He must have recognised me also as he greeted me by name.”
She paused. Her voice faltered slightly as she then said, “Mr. Holmes, I... I despised this man and had wished never to set eyes upon him again. He all but killed my mother with his bare hands.” Her voice trembled as she continued. “Apart from the grievous harm from the beatings, her mental health suffered. She was never the same again, Mr. Holmes. I was overjoyed when he finally left us, some eight years ago.”
Tears now flowed down her cheeks in rivulets. Holmes’s face was set like stone as he nodded, grimly, saying, “So I understand.”
With a sob, her voice was now little more than a whisper. “He told me that as my mother was dead and my duties of nursing and caring for her were at an end, he expected me to return to London to live with him. I... I told him that I could not, Mr. Holmes, for I knew that it would be the same for me. I did not want to be dominated, beaten, and, perhaps, pushed headlong down the stairs, as she had been. He... he had said, in the past, that it was his right and, indeed, his duty, to instill absolute obedience.”
As I watched, Holmes’s hands became as white as marble from his ever tightening grip upon the arms of his chair. I sat aghast at hearing this tale of brutality and was barely able to ask, “When your mother was assaulted, did not the authorities hold your father to account? Surely, since... since 1891, it has been the law that husbands do not have the right to beat their wives?”
Before Miss Knight could reply, Holmes’s steel-like voice answered, “You forget, Watson, that whilst that is the law, violence in the home towards women and children is quite often overlooked. Indeed, it is deemed not even to occur amongst the upper classes. An immensely powerful man, such as Sir Charles, a most valuable asset to the Crown, would most likely be immune from any such charges.”
Holmes paused, seemingly reluctant to ask, “Can you recall what happened on the following day, when your father returned to your tea-shop with his painting companion?”
Annie Knight nodded. “Yes, Mr. Holmes. I had observed them sitting together, with their easels, a little earlier. My father appeared quite jolly, no doubt confident that I would finally bend to his will.”
Holmes became more serious, asking, “Was it then that you determined to... to accelerate his demise?”
Annie Knight looked directly at Holmes and, with a strengthening voice, replied, “You choose your words with considerable skill, Mr. Holmes. I had decided, the previous evening, that I could never return to the brutality of his household.” She paused and took a further sip of tea. “The day before I had baked a dark, rich fruit cake, and I had also gathered some greengages from the orchard to make fruit tarts. It was an easy enough task to take the stone from inside the fruit and then crack it with a rolling pin. This revealed a very almond-like seed and, taking five, I put them safely to one side.”
Holmes nodded. “Your time in the classification department and specimen rooms of Kew Gardens would, no doubt, have given you an insight into the toxicity of a variety of seeds.”
I do not know who was more shocked by Holmes’s revelation. I looked, wide eyed, towards Miss Knight, who now sat open-mouthed, barely managing to stammer, “You... you could not know...”
Holmes looked grim as he held up his hand, wagging his forefinger, whilst saying, “There is very little that the state does not know about those in its highest echelon... their activities... their weaknesses, misdemeanours, and also information relating to their family members. A simple telegram to my brother in Whitehall produced all the information I required.”
Annie Knight gave a thoughtful nod. “Then, perhaps, you will know of the hospital admissions of my mother for both her injuries and mental health. It will be of no surprise to you, Mr. Holmes, that I felt no guilt as I arranged the five greengage seeds on the top of a piece of fruit cake and then served it to my father.”
Holmes face was impassive as he sat forward slightly. “Then your motive was revenge?”
Miss Knight looked directly into Holmes’s eyes and shook her head. “No, Mr. Holmes. It was self-preservation. Self-defence, if you will.”
Holmes sat back and was silent for almost a minute before he announced, in a very business-like tone, “Dr. Watson and I will return to London on tomorrow morning’s express. It is my intention to leave unchallenged the results of the post mortem, which indicate the probable cause of death as being the ingestion of poisonous substances from the victim’s own paints. This will, no doubt, lead to a coroner’s verdict of ‘death by misadventure’.”
With that, Holmes rose, and on saying, “Good evening,” to Miss Knight, he gathered his coat, hat, and cane, and disappeared towards our rooms. Feeling a degree of responsibility for Miss Knight’s safety, I made ready to accompany her back to her lodgings. However, she dec
lined and would only accept my offer of summoning a cab.
At breakfast the following morning, nothing was said of the case. Indeed, hardly a word was spoken between Guildford and Baker Street. It was only when we were at our ease in our rooms that I ventured to raise the question of the actions of Miss Knight.
Holmes was drawing steadily upon one of his favourite briars when I asked, “What do you intend to say to Mycroft, Holmes?”
He remained silent for a minute before replying. “I shall send him a note to inform him that De Witt is no more a Boer than you or I, and that his passport and freedom of movement should be restored forthwith. Mycroft, no doubt, will have the post mortem and toxicology reports, and I will suggest that he should take note of the findings, bearing in mind Sir Charles’ curious brush habit.”
Holmes was, of course, being deliberately obtuse and, therefore, I determined to take a more direct approach. “And of Miss Knight?”
Holmes added to the layer of blue smoke that hung around us like some pungent scarf before answering, sharply. “If you are nurturing some notion of injustice, Watson, then, perhaps, Sir Charles Short should have been placed out of harm’s way in Pentonville.”
Holmes now paused and then pointed the stem of his pipe directly towards me, saying, “It was certain what fate would have befallen Annie Knight had she returned to her father’s brutal regime. No, Watson! I will not denounce her, for there is scant evidence save that of inference and supposition.”
I was about to say more when he resumed, in a most strident tone, “Her ‘confession’ was made to you and me... in private. I feel no dishonour in remaining silent and neither, I hope, do you!”
Following this outburst, nothing more was said about the case. However, I did detect an underlying disquiet and tension in Baker Street that continued for some days afterwards.
The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories - Part X Page 24