Thirty-Nine Steps from Baker Street

by J. R. Trtek

  “Even though we have local children tending the gardens at times, maybe we should find some Land Girls165 to also help Mr. Jimson and me with the vegetables,” Scaife suggested with a laugh. “I don’t know if they’re sending any of them our way. Oh, and you received a special message yesterday, Colonel.”

  “It was the servant of that Mr. Shaw who delivered this,” Martha informed me once we had entered the house. She held an envelope addressed to me. At Holmes’s silent urging, I opened it and read the message inside.

  “Well,” I said to my friend, “you will be pleased to know that Mr. Shaw is very interested in The Crimson Rat. He asks if I might be available this Wednesday to discuss the work at his home, for he will not be travelling to London that day.”

  “Excellent! Please accept, and ask if—”

  “If my friend Sherlock Holmes, who is the very subject of this specious novel, may be present as well.”

  “No,” said my friend. “You are to make no mention of me whatsoever, old fellow. I was, rather, going to suggest that you propose a specific time for the meeting.”

  “Your word is my command. In the meanwhile, will you attempt further contact with Aronson, Letchford, or Ivery? And what of Launcelot Wake? Shall we determine if he has yet returned to Biggleswick?”

  “Wake will return when he returns,” said Holmes casually. “And as for all the others, let us see what transpires. That newspaper fabrication may be what finally uncovers our man.”

  “Unless, perhaps, it is Shaw,” I added.

  I returned to my duties at Isham the next day, eager to discover if the hospital had experienced any changes in my absence. It took me but a quarter hour to discover that it had.

  “What was I to do?” implored Major Collins as we stood near the back wall of the recreational room watching Vespera Cochrane dance while Nurse Finch waved a pair of Union Jacks and a collection of patients hummed “Land of Hope and Glory” as best they could.

  “Her manner was such that I found it impossible to refuse her,” Collins said. “Captains Hughs and Simmons avoided giving me any advice, and the Sergeant-Major voiced no objection.”

  “Rather uncommon for him.”

  “Quite. In any event, given the absence of any view to the contrary, I thought it best to let her proceed.”

  “Divine,” cooed Lt. Hooper, standing near, as if in a trance.

  “And to be quite honest, sir,” Collins added, “Miss Cochrane’s performances these past days have buoyed the men’s spirits immensely, as is perhaps evident.”

  “I can see that, yes,” I was forced to admit while surveying the small sea of sparkling eyes and waving arms. “Well,” I said, “as long as she doesn’t put on a nurse’s uniform and begin ministering to them, I suppose there’s little harm and much good to be had from these pantomimes of hers.”

  “Well, Colonel, in point of fact…”

  I turned to my subordinate. “Are you telling me that—?”

  “It has all been under the supervision of Miss Lamington,” Collins stammered. “According to her, Miss Cochrane has performed in a nursing capacity almost as capably as she has as a dancer,” he said, turning his head to once more view the woman’s movements.

  I sighed. “And what has Nurse Williams had to say about all this?”

  “Truth to tell, sir, the old girl’s been very quiet about it all.”

  “No doubt she has been saving her vitriol for my return,” I murmured. “Very well. I will consult Miss Lamington and wait in fear upon Nurse Williams,” I added with an acerbic edge. “At least I shan’t have Sergeant-Major Ffolkes on my back about it; that is something to be thankful for, at least. I say, Hooper?” I said sharply to the murmuring lieutenant on my other side.

  “Yes, sir?” replied the young officer in a suddenly high voice.

  I was about to suggest that he get back to his ward duties, but the look in his eye was such that I could not bear to disappoint the fellow.

  “Oh, nothing,” I muttered and turned to leave the room. “And I should wish to observe Miss Cochrane eventually, of course—as nurse rather than as performer,” I barked to Collins while leaving through the open doorway.

  A while later, Mary Lamington was in my office to offer explanation.

  “She said she was inspired by your comments at the dinner given by my aunts,” the woman told me. “We have always accepted civilian volunteers on occasion, and Miss Cochrane was, well, very enthusiastic about donating her services to Isham. In just these past few days, sir, she has shown a high degree of competence—both as a source of morale and as nurse.”

  I leaned back in my chair and slowly nodded.

  “Yes, that is what Major Collins indicated. I do not doubt your word, though I wish to see for myself directly. I refer to Miss Cochrane’s abilities as a nurse, having already viewed her dancing.”

  “I quite understand, sir. If you would tell me—”

  A knock came upon the door. It was Vespera Cochrane.

  “Ah, you have returned from Scotland,” she said, after opening the door and stepping into my office before I could respond. “I trust your journey was worthwhile, Colonel?”

  “Yes, it was, Miss Cochrane,” I replied with patience.

  The woman smiled at Miss Lamington. “I have actually come here in search of you, dear,” she said. “I believe I have spotted a dressing on one of the patients that requires changing. It’s Lt. Percival. I don’t consider myself sufficiently practised to perform the action, and according to what Nurse Finch has told me, he’s a very temperamental lad—won’t allow himself to be approached by anyone on the staff he hasn’t gotten to know well already. I understand he takes to you, and I thought that perhaps…?”

  “Of course,” replied Miss Lamington. “I will go to his ward presently.”

  “Thank you.” Miss Cochrane nodded to both of us and then turned to leave.

  “Pardon me,” I said quickly, as the woman put her hand to the doorknob. “Miss Cochrane, I wish…”

  “Yes, Colonel?” she enquired, turning round to face me with an innocent smile. “What do you wish?”

  “I want to watch you in the course of your ministrations,” I stammered. “My understanding is that Major Collins and Nurse Lamington have worked to integrate you into our staff on a voluntary basis, but it is my wish to—”

  “I quite understand, Colonel. Please observe me at any time. Is that all?”

  She paused silently at the open door, awaiting my next words.

  “Miss Cochrane, allow me to also express the gratitude of His Majesty’s Government for your service,” I said, glancing at Miss Lamington. “And excellent service I am sure it is. You may expect me later in the day.”

  “I eagerly await,” Vespera Cochrane said with mock sweetness before closing the door behind her.

  “Well,” I said, after swallowing audibly, “that is a change in the air, is it not?”

  Mary Lamington laughed as she pulled back strands of loose golden hair that had escaped from under her white cap. “A handful for you, sir?” she asked puckishly.

  “For us all,” I replied, sensing my face had become warm. “If you do not mind, shall we quickly turn to any developments with respect to the Black Stone that arose in my absence and that of Sherlock Holmes? Before you leave to attend to that dressing, that is.”

  “I have had no encounters with Mr. Aronson or Mr. Letchford in the past few days,” she told me. “Mr. Shaw continues the daily trips to his London office. My cousin Launcelot wrote me from Skye, informing he will be returning to Biggleswick next week,” she added. “And I was accosted by Mr. Ivery on two occasions while you were away,” she revealed. “Both occurred when I was strolling with acquaintances in the village: one of the Miss Weekes in the first instance, and with Miss Lester in the other.”

  “I see. Did he convey anything that might be of interest?”

  “It depends on what you mean by that,” the young woman said in an odd tone.

  I lo
oked at her enquiringly.

  “You see, in both instances, he paid much more attention to me than either of my companions or his own concerns.”

  “Truly? And so…?”

  “Colonel Watson, I am trying to tell you that I believe Moxon Ivery has more than a passing interest in me.”

  I paused, contemplating the meaning of her statement.

  “You must understand that I have not led him on, nor undertaken to coax such an inclination from him,” she said.

  “I understand, Miss Lamington. I did not intend to suggest that—”

  “He has demonstrated such an interest for some time, actually. You may have noticed how his attentions inflame Launcelot.”

  “In truth, I had not put great store in your cousin’s reaction to him. He is jealous of Ivery’s apparent feelings toward you, you say?”

  The woman smiled. “Well, I don’t believe it is romantic jealousy, if that’s what you mean. Launcelot is very protective of me, but he doesn’t fancy me as a wife, certainly. I believe he simply loathes Ivery.”

  “But Ivery does wish to become your lover, you think?”166

  “That is my opinion. And though I’ve not tried to cultivate his attraction to me, I’ve not discouraged it, either.” The young woman blushed slightly. “It has seemed to me that having such leverage over him might be useful to Mr. Holmes.”

  “A cunning strategy,” I said with a gentle smile. “I compliment you.”

  “It is a cold and heartless strategy,” she replied. “I know that, and I hope you do not think less of me for having implemented it.”

  “I have just praised you, Miss Lamington. We all know it is in the cause of duty.”

  She nodded. “Yes, it is,” the woman agreed, her mood suddenly changed. “Colonel, before I go, I should also mention the arrival of a few new patients.”

  “Of course,” I replied, pulling to me a small pile of dossiers that lay upon the desk. “You have examined these files already?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do any represent novel cases?”

  “Well, each case is always its own, I think, but no,” she said. “There is nothing in any of them that we have not seen already. They are all from the Arras fighting,” the young woman explained.167 “Each is, in its way, a classic shell-shock case, though one—an officer named Blaikie—is undoubtedly the worst.”

  “Thank you for noting that. I will study his file most carefully,” I said.

  “Very well, sir.”

  “I will attend to it after I read this,” I said, holding up a battered envelope that had arrived in the post only that morning. “It is from a dear friend,” I added. “A flyer currently in France.”

  “I hope all is well with him,” Miss Lamington said.

  “We will see. Please tell Nurse Williams I will visit her this afternoon to discuss these dossiers.”

  “Of course, Colonel,” the woman said.

  “Oh, and Miss Lamington?”

  “Yes?”

  “In that connection,” I said haltingly, “has Nurse Williams made any comment regarding me in my absence, or concerning Miss Cochrane’s appearance here? Were any such comments inclined to be critical in tone?”

  The young woman stood for a moment, thinking. “No,” she said after a moment. “I cannot remember her expressing any opinion recently concerning either of you.”

  “Good,” I said with relief. “You may go, then, and attend to Lt. Percival’s dressing. I apologise for keeping you.”

  Brushing a few golden strands of hair from her forehead, she turned and left as I slit open the envelope that had arrived from Cecil Harper.

  I had been most relieved at seeing the letter upon my desk, for the recent visits with Charlie Taylor and Ewan Clark had put me in a somewhat disconsolate state. My thoughts kept slipping back to the days spent in Scotland in search of Richard Hannay—a time that, though fraught with tension and danger, I viewed now with a spirit of romance. I especially recalled with pleasure the moments before my departure from Dumfries by aeroplane, with Clark, Taylor, and Sir Harry Christie frolicking while Captain Harper and I had looked on in amusement.

  I also could not refrain from dwelling, in contrast, upon how we had all changed in the meanwhile: one had turned his back upon the spirit of benevolence and brotherhood that had once defined his character, another had been shorn of his legs, and the third had misplaced a good portion of his soul. Eagerly seeking some good news, I unfolded the sheets of paper within the envelope and read the message.

  The letter had taken its time in reaching me, for it was dated seven weeks previous, well before the start of the Battle of Arras, which was still raging and would continue on for another month. Cecil Harper had miraculously survived over two years of aerial combat while most of his compatriots had fallen; indeed, he was now the most senior flyer of his squadron.

  His message provided some small insight into his life in France. As with many flyers, he enjoyed the luxury of sharing a wooden hut with his fellows rather than calling a muddy trench home, and, reading between the lines, I gathered that on those occasions when he was granted leave, Captain Harper made use of his opportunities—principally in Paris—with enthusiasm. To my mind, such pleasures of the demimonde were but slight compensation for the dangerous life he led in support of king and country.

  I put down the letter, silently wishing my young friend the best of good fortune in the days ahead. Removing my spectacles to wipe them, I found that my eyes required the same treatment.

  § § §

  Arriving at Isham the next morning, I saw that my few but sincere words of encouragement to Vespera Cochrane had taken hold with far greater force than I could have anticipated. The main hall was adorned with a greater proportion of flowers than had been our previous custom, and a handful of intricate paper cut-out figures were now scattered across the corridor walls. Nurses and VADs seemed to have a tad more buoyancy in their step, and their demeanour, though already cheery and helpful, now seemed positively overflowing in those qualities.

  “Good morning, Colonel,” called Nurse Williams as she entered the dispensary, a greeting I was not unaccustomed to receive from her, but never before in such a good-natured tone. Though we had always held one other in cautious regard, our relationship had been one rooted in hospital business and never inclined toward the warmly personal. Indeed, since my intervention in the argument between her and Sergeant-Major Ffolkes on my very first day at Isham, I had all too often sensed her to be hostile toward both me personally and my approach to administering Isham.

  I had, accordingly, tried to steer clear of Nurse Williams as much as possible. In this instance, however, my curiosity got the better of me, and I approached her at the dispensary door to enquire about her opinion regarding Miss Cochrane.

  “Yes,” said Nurse Williams. “She has changed some things a bit, hasn’t she, Colonel? Have you objection to them, sir?”

  “Why no,” I replied, somewhat taken aback by the question. “Not at all. Indeed, I was fearful that you might be opposed to them.”

  “Not at all, sir,” said the senior nurse. “Perhaps at one time, I might have taken a jaundiced view of Miss Cochrane and her approaches. However, I confess that I find myself quite supportive of them.”

  “I was rather surprised that she might be the, uh…”

  “That Miss Cochrane could be the source of such betterment?” Nurse Williams said. She nodded. “I suppose that makes two of us, Colonel Watson. But I must admit, sir, that she may be the second best thing to happen to this hospital.”

  I apologised for troubling her, and then, as I left for my office, asked, “And what is the other?”

  “Why you, sir,” she replied, and entered the dispensary.

  Later that day, I made one of several visits to the new patients who had arrived during my trip to Scotland with Holmes, including Blaikie, the officer mentioned by Mary Lamington. He was a Rhodesian who had found himself in a Fusilier battalion at the Battle of
Arras. Buried in a huge crump168 during that action, he was subsequently dug out without a scratch on his person but emerged with his mind quite shattered, in much the same manner as Ewan Clark.

  I found him on the edge of his bed in a ward shared with other officers, most of whom were out walking with nurses, though one fellow besides Blaikie remained in the room, asleep in his bed, while another three sat at a table playing cribbage.

  “Halloa,” I said to the Rhodesian, pulling up a chair. Its legs scraped against the floor, making a short high-pitched squeal, alarming Blaikie and causing him to bolt to his feet. Silently cursing my carelessness, I reached out and put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

  The man winced and then looked at me cautiously.

  “I apologise sincerely for that, Lieutenant Blaikie,” I said.

  When he did not speak, I continued. “I am Colonel Watson, the head of this hospital. Other than my most discourteous behaviour just now, have you been treated well since your arrival here?”

  He stared at me for a moment and then weakly nodded.

  I patted him lightly on the shoulder. “That is good. We want you to be as comfortable as—”

  There was suddenly a crashing of metal pans in the hall beyond.

  Blaikie jumped at the noise and dove into my arms, while the other officer, who had been sleeping, awoke with a scream. The three convalescents playing cards acted as if nothing had happened; indeed, as if the rest of us did not exist.

  “It is all right,” I said to Blaikie and the man who had awoke. “We are safe, the lot of us,” I assured them.

  Blaikie huddled against my chest as my arms folded about him, and the officer in the bed started to weep.

  “Come, Lieutenant,” I said softly. “Let us get you comfortable again.”

  Two VADs came rushing in and immediately gave comfort to the other man while I settled Blaikie onto the edge of his own bed once more. Nurse Finch, who was one of the pair who had entered, stepped over to my side.