The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories Part IV

by David Marcum

  There are very few men, or women, who can stand unflinchingly in front of Sherlock Holmes when the steel is in his voice. This hard woman might instill fear in her helpless wards, but she was no match for him. She tried to maintain her composure as she rose. “I have important things to do, and I can’t be wastin’ time listenin’ to you yammer on with this attempted murderer!” I saw a flicker of a smile on the guard’s face as he turned and followed her through the doorway. I imagined he had received a few tongue-lashings from her and was amused to see her cowed.

  Once I heard the bolt lock home, I turned to look at Lisa Fanning. She was a pretty young woman, though her ordeal was clearly wearing on her. Her hair, which was likely lustrous when cared for, lay dull and lifeless on her head. I did note that her eyes were not completely listless. This was a good sign that she had not given in to despair over her situation, which could lead to melancholia. She was looking uncertainly at Holmes and myself, wondering why we were there.

  I have commented in the past that Holmes had an amazing facility for putting distraught women at ease, and he employed his skills in this area yet again. “Miss Fanning, I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is my friend and trusted associate, Doctor Watson. We have been employed by your parents to prove your innocence. Please put your mind to rest and help us gather some facts about your case. I assure you we are most qualified to help you.”

  This brought a smile to her face. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Holmes, and you also, Doctor Watson. My parents have hired a lawyer, but I have only seen him once, and he doesn’t seem, well, that is to say, I don’t think this case is very important to him.”

  “Yes. Well. Now, I must have a truthful answer from you. All hinges on this: Did you attempt to poison the Shaws?”

  A look of anguish came across her face. “No, I swear it! Why would I do such a thing? Mister Shaw treated me well, and I enjoyed the work. I did nothing wrong!”

  Holmes had been staring directly at her face as she made this impassioned denial. I have learned much of his feelings from his eyes, and I watched him as he asked the question. He seemed satisfied that the girl was telling the truth. He gave her a small smile and sat back, crossing his legs and giving the impression that he was considering his next question.

  I looked more closely at Miss Fanning during this small break. Her cheeks were wan, likely due to the minimal amount of sunlight that the inmates were exposed to. She also looked a bit lean. The food in Clerkenwell was certainly drab fare and much less nourishing than what she was accustomed to making for herself in the Shaw house. Her life had suddenly been torn apart, and now she found her hopes lying in the hands of two strangers. I’m sure it was an unpleasant thought to her.

  Holmes was ready to resume his questioning. “Miss Fanning, how did you get on with the other staff in the household?” She looked surprised at this question, perhaps thinking that Holmes would start by asking her what had happened the night of the dinner.

  I will give her credit, as she quickly composed herself and thought about the answer. “Well, there are two apprentices who live at the house. They are learning to clerk for Mr. Shaw. They are both a year or two younger than me.”

  Holmes interjected: “Ah, yes, Harkins and Edwards. Tell me what you know of Harkins.”

  “Well, there’s nothing out of the ordinary about him, really. His parents live somewhere in London. He mostly keeps to himself, and what socializing he does within the house is usually with the other clerk.”

  “That would be Thomas Edwards?” Holmes asked.

  I noticed a brief flush on her neck at the mention of the name. I was certain Holmes did not miss it.

  “Yes, Thomas works there as well. I know him better than Jonathon. He is friendlier, and talks with Theresa and me quite often. Not that either of them have very much free time. Mr. Shaw keeps them both quite busy.”

  She stopped speaking and adjusted her sleeve. Holmes immediately followed up. “And what of Theresa Steele?”

  Her face darkened. “I do not trust that girl, Mister Holmes.” This was said in a very even voice. “She has airs of rising above her current position. I imagine she is quite happy right now, doing the cooking while I rot away here in this cell.” Her voice now came close to breaking as she said the last, and I knew that the emotions were rising to the surface. Holmes recognized this as well.

  “Now, now, Miss Fanning, you must keep hope. Were you in the kitchen the entirety of the time that the food was being prepared?”

  She thought over his question. “Almost. There was a delivery and I went down to the coal cellar to make sure it was correct.”

  Holmes’s eyes lit up. “And anyone could have gone into the kitchen, unseen, while you were gone?”

  “Yes, sir. I was out for perhaps ten minutes, as there was some minor dispute about the bill, but it was a small thing.” Her voice trailed off, and it was clear that our clients’ daughter was simply worn out from her ordeal and accommodations.

  “I do not want to tax you any further today. I can assure you that all is not lost, and I hope to improve your situation very soon.

  She looked up at him, largely in control again. “I beg you to find out who poisoned that dinner, Mister Holmes. I did not do it! And I know this is so hard on my parents.”

  With that, we rose to leave. Holmes again assured her that things were not as dark as they appeared, and I added my supportive comments as well. We did not see the matron as we departed. Holmes turned to me once we were in a cab and headed back to Baker Street.

  “Watson, that was most instructive. What do you think we learned today?”

  I was silent for a few minutes, reconstructing our visit in my mind. “Well, Holmes, she seems confident of her innocence, and she is holding up fairly well during her incarceration.”

  He nodded his head impatiently. “Yes, that is good to know, but not very helpful in solving the crime. What else?”

  Slightly annoyed at his interruption, I continued. “I believe there is something to her relationship with Thomas Edwards, and she clearly does not like Theresa Steele.”

  “Yes, I think those are both important considerations. She did not seem to register much thought towards Harkins, but I assume you saw her color at the mention of Edwards’ name?” I nodded. “Yes, we will need to learn more about that. As for her attitude to Miss Steele,” he paused. “The politics and little wars between servants at genteel country houses would put to shame that engaged in on the floor by our members of Parliament. But it is not uncommon in a small household for the lesser servant to have designs on a better position. I have no doubt that matters will show there is rancor between these two young women. But was it enough to cause someone to poison the Shaws? That remains to be seen.”

  Part III - The Turnovers

  “Watson...” Holmes’s voice trailed off and I looked at him. “I have an experiment to conduct today, and it might be better for both of us if you lunched at your club. It will ensure that I can complete it before we visit Mr. Shaw this afternoon, which is most vital.” We had gone back to Baker Street after leaving Clerkenwell, and Holmes had arranged for us to visit Robert Shaw and his father that very evening.

  Having suffered through more than one foul smelling experiment in our rooms, I told him that I understood completely and immediately prepared to depart. He thanked me, and I gazed at the table where he kept his chemical apparatus, wondering what was to be done.

  I had a pleasant lunch, whiled away a few hours at the club, and was back in Baker Street well before our departure time, ready to assist as needed. I was surprised to encounter Holmes coming out of the pantry as I ascended the stairs. “Ah, Watson: punctual as always.” I noticed that he was carrying a covered tray, and he indicated that I should continue on to our rooms.

  Upstairs, I shouldered off my coat and turned to Holmes, looking inquiringly at the covered tray. “Oh
yes, my experiment. I will admit that I sent you out today not so much because I feared either of us would be inconvenienced, but I rather think my reputation in your eyes might have been diminished had you been here.” I was puzzled by the remark and asked what he meant.

  “I did not do my experimenting at the chemical table. I persuaded Mrs. Hudson that she should do some shopping, leaving me alone here. Upon her departure, I took over her kitchen.” At this point he actually seemed embarrassed, something I could not recall ever seeing before. “Watson, I baked today.”

  At this pronouncement, I laughed out loud; partly due to the image of Holmes in an apron, working away on some delicacy, but also partly because of the chagrin it was obviously causing. “But why, Holmes?”

  Having made his admission, he seemed less discomfited, as if a secret were finally revealed and was no longer of concern. “As you know, the press has reported that yeast dumplings laced with arsenic will not rise properly, which is the alleged reason the dumplings served to the family were flat and oily. Though I rarely feel that cooking is a valuable use of my time, I am somewhat adept in these matters.”

  He was now walking back in forth in front of the desk. “So this morning, I decided to test the theory. I prepared a batch of dough, mixed in arsenic and then made two dumplings. Wanting to be certain, I made another batch, this one without arsenic. This time, I sprinkled three-fourths of a grain of arsenic onto the dumplings. I then cooked them.”

  He walked over to the metal tray that he had brought up from the kitchen. I knew what I would find underneath when he lifted the lid. “The dumpling on the left was made with the arsenic dough. The one on the right, with a sugar powder to distinguish it, had the arsenic sprinkled onto the dumpling itself. As you can see, both are fully risen; airy and attractive. Were they not poisonous, I would pronounce them excellent and fit for royalty. You know what this means?” he asked as he sat.

  I looked at the dumplings and pondered his question. “If dumplings rise properly, regardless of whether they are cooked containing arsenic or not, then...” I confess I was stumped. I was certain that Holmes’s discovery was of import, but I was not certain of why.

  He arose and prepared to make our trip to the Shaw’s. “The press, and likely the Yard, have concluded that the arsenic was in the dumpling batter; presumably because the dumplings did not rise properly. Which certainly points to the cook. But I have shown that is a faulty assumption. Could not the arsenic have come from another source? Does it not create doubt? And does not any doubt help diminish the bias against our client?”

  Not waiting for a reply, he moved to the door. “Come now, we must not keep the Shaws waiting. If you would be so kind?” He gestured for me to take the now covered dumplings. I bundled up for the cold weather and picked up the metal tray.

  “Watson” he said, quietly. “I think it would be best if you not mention any of this to Mrs. Hudson. I have scoured every implement, pot and pan that had even a possibility of coming into contact with the arsenic. I will, of course scrub the covered tray you hold in your hands. I do not believe she would approve of my experiments, were she to learn of them.” He said the last with a pained smile.

  I wholeheartedly agreed. Mrs. Hudson was a proper matron of conservative values. I cannot imagine her response to being informed foods containing arsenic had been made in her very kitchen. Upon reflection, I could imagine. She would be appalled, and would likely insist that everything used in preparing the food must be disposed of and replaced. She would also bar Holmes from ever again entering her kitchen: assuming she did not evict us first! She had suffered many indignities during our time in her abode, but this might be too much for even her.

  “Holmes, if this case proves worthy of writing up, I might even omit that you conducted the experiments in our kitchen. I fear that her discovery of such, even years after the fact, might be ill-received.”

  He chuckled at that. “Doctor, that may be the most accurate deduction you have made in our experiences together.” Both of us laughing, we left our rooms and headed to the Shaw residence.

  Part IV - The Scene of the Crime

  At the appointed time, we took a cab to the Shaw residence and quickly found ourselves in the study, a tastefully furnished room with a quality settee and comfortable chairs. The hearth was lit and the room was comfortably warm as Robert Shaw introduced us to his father, Orlibar.

  Both were approximately five-foot eight in height, with thinning brown hair. Whereas Robert had maintained his slimness, his father had filled out more as he aged. Nonetheless, the elder Shaw appeared stout, rather than overweight. He had bushy whiskers, while Robert maintained a well-trimmed beard, flecked with a bit of gray. Orlibar was well dressed in the type of suit common to retired men. It was still presentable, but a few years out of fashion. Robert was dressed in a manner suitable to barristers. He was polite as he said, “Mister Holmes, I have the remainder of the afternoon available for you, but I have business engagements for which I must prepare.”

  Holmes inclined his head. “You are very kind to spare us this time, and I assure you that we will not impose upon you for very long.” With that, we were all seated, Shaw behind his desk. He summoned a young woman who was immediately sent back out to bring tea.

  I glanced at the books on the shelves around the room. Most were related to the legal profession, which was to be expected. I also saw that old standby, Gray’s Anatomy. There was also a shelf with a small collection of popular literature. I saw such titles as Madame Bovary, Kaloolah, and Silas Marner, and I noticed a few books each by Dickens, Fenimore Cooper, and Hawthorne. Of note to me were detective novels by Poe and Gaboriau. Some magazines were on a small table in the corner, and partially covering an issue of Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper was a journal with one of my own stories in it. Robert Shaw noticed the direction of my glance and smiled.

  “Yes, Dr. Watson, I am interested in the ‘mystery’ field of stories. I have read several of your accounts of Mister Holmes’s exploits. It is one reason I agreed to this meeting.” Upon uttering this, he immediately became more sober. “Of course, I would have said yes no matter what. I want every fact of this unfortunate affair brought to light, though I will myself admit that I believe Lisa Fanning guilty.”

  Brightening a little, he asked if I would affix my signature to the cover of the magazine. “I would be most indebted, as would my wife. She, too, enjoys them.” Flushed with praise, I did as he asked. While I was doing so, the young woman returned with the tea and departed. Shaw himself poured for myself, while his father and Holmes declined.

  Finally, Holmes turned to the matter at hand. “That was Theresa Steele, I assume?”

  “Yes, sir. Poor Theresa has been a bit overworked as of late. With the arrest of Lisa she has had more duties added to her tasks. She has long wanted to assist with the cooking, so she has taken on that duty two days a week. My wife and mother in-law take care of it the other days. She has done well so far, considering her lack of experience.”

  I saw that Holmes raised an eyebrow slightly. I knew what he was thinking. Here we had a servant who wanted to improve her standing within the house, which could well occur if Miss Fanning was removed from the scene. I had learned from Holmes, when investigating a crime, to look to those who would gain the most.

  “I should tell you I am employed in this affair by Miss Fanning’s parents. They are convinced that their daughter could not have done such a deed. Now, let us for the moment ignore the poisoned dinner, difficult as that may be. Go back in time to the day before she made the dumplings for the servants, which seems to be the start of this matter. What were your impressions of Miss Fanning from when she entered your service until that time?”

  “Do you mind? No?” Shaw had taken out a cigar case, and when Holmes indicated he had no objections, he offered one to each of us. We declined, but his father chose to partake. I watched his ac
tions very closely. Holmes has said that few things are as instructive as watching a man’s hands when he speaks. It is much simpler to detect concern, fear, and nervousness by seeing what he does when talking. Likewise, a man whose actions are rock steady while he speaks is often easy at heart. It takes great practice to become a master dissembler. As the younger Shaw lit his cigar and took a few deep puffs, I was convinced he was comfortable with Holmes’s inquiry. I believed he used the cigar to focus his thoughts and concentration.

  He now answered the question. “She has been in service with us for slightly over a year.” Another puff, then he removed the cigar and looked at it contemplatively. “I have fewer dealings with her than my wife, her work being women’s stuff. However, in such a small household, we still have more than the normal amount of interaction.” He paused as if that were not quite how he wished to express it. “Rather, that applies to myself and all the staff.”

  “I have found no fault with her. Her primary task was the cooking, and she helped my wife and Theresa with other duties as needed. My wife was not as approving of her. I can think of no specific episodes that would cause my wife to be extremely displeased with her, save one. Still, Theresa felt that Lisa never gave her the proper amount of respect. I cannot say why. My wife was definitely fonder of Theresa than Lisa.”

  He paused, waiting on a response from Holmes. “Pray, describe that one incident that seemed to upset your wife so.”

  He proceeded to do so. Apparently, a month or so ago, his wife had caught Fanning coming out of Thomas Edwards’ room after midnight, in a gown but sans other covering. Jonathon Harkins, who shared the room, was visiting his mother.