Sherlock Holmes

by Dick Gillman

  Holmes raised an eyebrow and again lifted a forefinger to his lip. He paused for a few moments before continuing, “During all my time in India, my greatest desire was to return to the Grange. On the long voyage back to England, I had time to reflect on matters and in my cabin I was able paint the Grange from memory. I trust that this painting still hangs in the Great Hall else all is lost. May God forgive me for any wrongs I have committed and I trust that you, my heirs, will ensure that some good comes from this terrible affair."

  Holmes sat back in his chair. His face was grim for he was aware of the Cawnpore massacre and concluded by saying, “The letter is signed William George Burley, 4th Duke of Salcombe."

  Looking towards our visitor, he again looked ashen and stumbled as he said, “I am… I am sorry that I have brought this to you, Mr Holmes… but it is now a matter of honour. If my family is linked to this horror by possession of the Star of Bithur then it must be found. The families of those who perished at the hands of Nana Sahib and his followers must be the ones to benefit from its discovery."

  Holmes nodded, asking, “Tell me, your grace. Is the painting to which the late Duke refers held in a place of safety?”

  The Duke nodded. “Yes, Mr Holmes. After the attempted burglary, the picture was placed in the family strong room to which there are but only two keys. I hold one and Charles Stretton, our family solicitor, holds the other."

  By this time, it was well past noon. Holmes had risen from his chair and was reaching for the Railway Gazetteer. He now seemed to be in somewhat of a hurry to usher the Duke from the room, saying, “Well, your grace, you have certainly given us several things to ponder. If you would be so kind as to return to Salcombe Grange in your uncle’s carriage, we will follow this evening."

  The young Duke rose and seemed a little flustered by the speed of events. “Err… yes, of course. Thank you, Mr Holmes. I bid you good day, gentlemen.” Holmes made a nodding gesture and the Duke, still looking a little bemused, went on his way.

  Holmes consulted the Gazetteer. “Ah! It is as I thought. There is an express this evening at half past six that stops at Salcombe station.” Reaching for his private copy of the War Department list, provided by brother Mycroft, he began to flick through it. Tapping his forefinger on the list, Holmes cried out, “Now we have him! Major Michael Drew, Indian Army, retired. Ha! An address close to King’s Cross Station. Capital!

  Holmes ran to his bedroom, shouting, “Quickly, Watson! We must make haste. Gather some overnight clothes into a Gladstone, there is information we need before our visit to the Grange. There is only one man in all of England who can give it to us and I pray to heaven that he is still alive and at home."

  I quickly did as I was asked. Holmes gathered up his own Gladstone and donning his cape, hat and gloves, he swept out of the door leaving me to hurry along in his wake.

  In the street below he hailed a Hansom and shouted up to the cabbie, “Gray’s Inn Road, close to King’s Cross station, if you please."

  As we travelled in the Hansom, Holmes was deep in thought. Turning to me, he asked, “Well, Watson. What do you make of it?”

  Although I had heard the same story as Holmes, I knew that he had gleaned far more from it than had I. “I fear I am at a loss, Holmes. I know something of the Cawnpore massacre, but as to this prize…” I shook my head, asking, “Do you really think it is the Star of Bithur?”

  Holmes nodded, “I think almost certainly, but first we must learn more of the events at Cawnpore. We are fortunate to know the name of the 4th Duke’s adjutant, Major Michael Drew. If he is still alive, he resides in the Gray’s Inn Road."

  I rubbed my chin, asking, “What about the picture, Holmes? Do you think it to be so valuable that an attempt may be made to steal it again?”

  Holmes smiled grimly. “It is invaluable, Watson! I think it to be the key to this whole affair. In itself, it may merely be a picture of Salcombe Grange by a competent, family artist. It is what intelligence the picture may possibly contain that is important. We must have sight of it before we can conclude further.”

  Chapter 3 - Memories of India, 1857.

  The Hansom pulled to a stop at the junction of Gray’s Inn Road and Kings Cross Station. Holmes tossed the cabbie a florin and strode purposefully off to find the address of Major Drew.

  Gray’s Inn Road was a mixture of the offices of solicitors and accountants but with private residences and small guesthouses scattered amongst them. Holmes had stopped outside a quite grand Georgian house. The house had been turned into two dwellings and the door to the ground floor displayed the number 156A. To one side was a small plaque, engraved, ‘Major M. Drew’ and beneath this was a brass bell push. Holmes removed his gloves and pressed the bell.

  After a few moments, a smartly dressed parlour maid answered the door. “Yes, sir?”

  “Good afternoon. We would like to speak to Major Drew."

  The maid looked over her shoulder briefly and replied, “The Major doesn’t like to be disturbed in the afternoon sir. Perhaps you could call tomorrow?”

  Holmes removed one of his cards from his card wallet and took out a very slim, silver pencil. On the back of the card he wrote three words and handed the card to the maid. “Please be so kind as to give my card to the Major.”

  The maid took the card but looked doubtful, saying, “It’ll do no good sir. He has given strict instructions to the whole household."

  Holmes smiled sweetly and said, “Please."

  The maid closed the door and could be seen through the frosted glass disappearing into the house. Barely twenty seconds later the door was flung open and before us stood a florid man with iron grey hair and mutton chop whiskers.

  “What the devil do you mean by this, sir?” he roared.

  Holmes very calmly said, “Major Drew, I come on behalf of the Duke of Salcombe."

  “The Duke I knew is dead” and he started to turn and close the door.

  “No, Major. This is George Burley, his grandson, the 6th Duke. He is grievously in need of your assistance."

  Major Drew stopped and looked towards Holmes. He turned over Holmes’ card. I could see that on the reverse of the card Holmes had written, ‘Star of Bithur’. “I know of you Holmes. Is the young Duke an honourable man?”

  Holmes’ face was emotionless. He looked the Major straight in the eye and said, “He is… and he wants to make amends. You are the only person who can help him."

  The Major held Holmes’ gaze for several seconds before replying, “Very well. Come inside.”

  We were led into a small drawing room which was full of mementos of the Major’s service in India. The floor was covered by a handmade rug and, from one of the walls, a tiger’s head, its mouth wide open, glared down at us. Holmes introduced me and we sat together on a comfortable, but worn, settee. The Major sat opposite us in a high backed armchair.

  His mood had softened as he said, “I liked the old Duke well enough when I served under him. He was fair with the men but that business after Cawnpore was the finish of him. I have never seen a man change so much in the months after we had re-taken the place.”

  Holmes sat forward on the settee. “It is of this that we need to talk to you, Major, particularly the events surrounding the uprising."

  The Major looked very serious. “I can only tell you what I know of the siege from the story told to me my one of the four survivors of the massacre. That and from the accounts of Sepoy prisoners." Holmes nodded.

  The Major rubbed his chin and continued, “I was adjutant to the Duke when we were stationed at Allahabad, on the Ganges, downstream from Cawnpore. In June 1857, the garrison at Cawnpore was commanded by General Sir Hugh Wheeler and consisted of four regiments of native infantry and a European battery of artillery. Sir Hugh was a seasoned soldier and had served in India most of his life. He had the upmost confidence in the Sepoys under his command.”

  “Wasn’t he alarmed by the rumours of unrest amongst the Sepoys?” I asked.

  T
he Major smiled. “The General was no fool. After news of the uprising at Meerut had reached him, he took steps to fortify a position around two barrack blocks to act as a fall-back, a redoubt. He didn’t think it would be needed so little provisions were laid aside. The fortifications were, perhaps, not as robust as they could have been.”

  The Major paused and I could see beads of sweat upon his brow. “With the uprising imminent, Nana Sahib came to the General and offered him his assistance. Wheeler was a proud man and he declined. In early June, the uprising began. As a precaution, the British troops and their families retreated to their fortification. However, the plan was flawed. The only available water for the redoubt was from a well that was exposed to murderous musket fire. Many brave men died trying to fetch water for the 1000 British troops and their families, some 300 women and children.”

  The Major again paused, he looked grey. I was greatly concerned and asked if he was well enough to continue.

  He nodded, saying, “Yes, thank you Doctor. I was weakened by Enteric fever during my service and I still suffer from its effects to this day. The number of dead and injured grew daily and when General Wheeler’s own son was killed, he seemed to give up all hope. After three weeks of the siege, Nana Sahib sent a message to the General offering all those in the barracks safe conduct and the use of boats to take them down the Ganges to our garrison in Allahabad. After two days of talks, Wheeler finally, but reluctantly, agreed. I fear the fate of the women and children must have weighed heavily upon his mind. What happened next I gleaned from one of only four survivors to the massacre."

  The Major looked considerably worse but held up his hand to me as I began to rise from the settee. “Nana Sahib sent elephants to transport the women, children and the injured to the waiting boats. Hardly had the boats been loaded when the Indian crews jumped overboard. Immediately, the boats were raked with grapeshot and musket fire from prepared positions on the banks. My God what carnage there was! After the barrage, Indian cavalry rode into the river, slashing the wounded with their sabres. The river turned blood red and the corpses floated off downstream. Only one boat managed to break free and it drifted to an outpost above Allahabad. This boat carried the only four men to survive the massacre."

  Recounting this was clearly having a grave effect on the old soldier. I again made to rise but once again the Major waved me to be seated. “I must tell all” he panted. “I was told by Sepoy prisoners that the surviving men at Cawnpore were immediately put to the sword. The women and children were lead away to a house of women, a ‘Bibi-Ghar.’ The horror that followed is difficult for anyone to imagine. On July the 15th, a group of men were gathered together, including the town’s butchers. They entered the house where the women and children were being held captive and, armed with knives and hatchets, they hacked them all to pieces. As far as I am aware, not a single soul survived. When they had done, they threw the bodies down a well."

  The Major was now gravely ill. I rose from the settee and knelt before him. “Ring the bell for the maid, Holmes."

  Holmes found the bell rope and rang furiously.

  The Major was panting heavily and sweat was pouring down his face. “Please, Doctor. I must finish. You must know everything."

  As the maid appeared, I shouted, “Bring me some brandy, girl, and make some tea."

  The maid rushed from the room to re-appear a few moments later clutching a large, cut-glass decanter and a brandy glass. I poured out a good measure of the spirit and put it to the Majors lips. He took a sip and sank back into the chair. After a few minutes, his colour had returned a little. The maid brought in the tea and I prevailed upon the Major to drink a little of it.

  Once calmed, the Major insisted on finishing. “When our troops from Allahabad were finally able to push up the valleys of the Ganges and on to Cawnpore, terrible, terrible retribution was metered out to Sepoy prisoners. On one of the night forays towards Bithur, the homeland of Nana Sahib, a patrol came upon a camel train returning from the border. The natives were challenged and a shot rang out from the camel train. The troops returned fire and the natives were all killed save a young boy who had hidden behind the carcass of a dead camel. The wares of the natives were collected and the patrol returned with the boy to our regiment in Allahabad. When questioned, the young boy told how someone of great importance had bought a passage to the border. The man had been addressed as 'Sahib'."

  The Major now looked in a state of collapse but insisted on finishing the tale. “The boy recounted how the camel train had left Cawnpore in great secrecy and in the dead of night. The camel drivers were nervous on the return from the border to Cawnpore. They panicked when they were challenged by the British patrol and it was the leader of the train that had fired the shot. The camel train was searched for weapons and documents. The young subaltern in command of the patrol found a great prize amongst the belongings of the leader. This he handed over to the Duke, as commanding officer of the regiment. It was only seen by the subaltern and the Duke.”

  I reached forward and, taking out my handkerchief, I gently mopped the Major's brow. He smiled weakly and then continued. “Some of the men had got wind of valuables being found and the rest of the belongings were torn apart and divided. I was given a sealed casket by the Duke which I locked away in the regimental safe. When the regiment was recalled, the casket was conveyed back to England in the Duke’s personal effects. Only later did I realize the terrible importance of what the casket might contain and the shame that its discovery might bring to his family. I had hoped that any shame had died with the old Duke.”

  The Major looked ashen, his breathing was now extremely shallow. I took the teacup from his limp hand and felt for a pulse, it was feeble. I gave a worried look to Holmes, saying, “This cannot continue, Holmes!”

  Holmes leapt up and again rang furiously for the maid before asking, “Who is the family doctor, girl?”

  The maid looked at the Major and back to Holmes, she was clearly terrified. “It's… Doctor Meadows, sir. He lives but five doors away."

  Holmes ushered the maid from the room, crying, “Run quickly and fetch him! Tell him it is a matter of great urgency!”

  The maid fled from the house and barely two minutes later a tall, middle-aged man dressed in a frock coat and carrying a large black bag hurried into the room.

  Whilst he ministered to the Major, we introduced ourselves and offered what help we could. Dr Meadows was grateful but said he needed none.

  After a few minutes, the Major had stirred a little and, with a rasping voice, whispered, “Do what you can for the young Duke, Holmes."

  Holmes reached for the Majors hand and promised he would. Satisfied that we could be of no further service, we bade the Doctor a good afternoon and hurried off to Kings Cross Station to catch the half past six express to Salcombe.

  Chapter 4 - Salcombe Grange.

  At King’s Cross, Holmes dashed into the telegraph office, talked briefly to the clerk and then scribbled off two telegrams. Racing across the platform, we had barely enough time to settle into our seats before the train pulled out of the station.

  We were fortunate to have a compartment to ourselves and Holmes stretched out his legs, resting them carefully on the seat opposite before closing his eyes. “To whom did you send the telegrams?” I enquired.

  Still with his eyes closed, Holmes replied, “One was to the landlord of ‘The Grapes’, a hostelry in Salcombe which was recommended by the clerk in the telegraph office. The other was to brother Mycroft. He has contacts both within the military and also in the Inns of Court."

  I did not press him further on his telegram to Mycroft Holmes as it was clear he was turning things over in his mind. I settled back for the journey. At Salcombe station we ventured outside to hire a pony and trap to convey us to the Grange.

  The Grange itself was some 3 miles from the station. As we drew near, I could see it was a good-sized building which had been constructed with a neo-classical façade with a large, ornate g
ilt clock inset in the Grecian-styled peak. The grounds comprised several dozen acres of parkland, a lake and also extensive formal gardens. Pulling to a stop on the gravelled drive, Holmes paid the driver and we walked up the wide steps to the imposing front entrance. Upon ringing the bell, a footman in full livery opened the door.

  “Good evening, sir. You will be Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson." We nodded. "Please, follow me. His grace is waiting for you in his study.”

  The footman led us through a grand, marble floored vestibule and down a corridor to where the Duke was waiting.

  Although it was April and it had been a fine, warm, spring day, a fire blazed in the grate of rather grand, Italian marble fireplace. My previous experiences of stately homes had taught me that they seemed to be cold regardless of the month of the year or the weather. The study was modestly, but expensively, furnished. His grace was sitting in a large leather chair close to the fire. He had obviously had dinner served to him here, the air was still heavy with the smell of roast beef. The plates had been cleared and he had been sitting back enjoying a glass of brandy and was lighting a cigar as we entered.