The Secret Documents of Sherlock Holmes

by June Thomson

  It was therefore much to my surprise that, when the cab at last drew to a halt and we alighted, I found myself not at Clapham Junction but on the avenue which runs alongside Clapham Common, one of those large open tracts of grass and trees which have made the southern suburbs of London so popular a place of residence for those who can afford to escape from the close confines of the city centre.

  I was also surprised to see that part of this large area was given over to a fair. Stalls had been set up upon the grass as well as amusements of every kind, including swing boats and a helter-skelter, while, over to the right, a large tent had been erected, gaily decorated with flags and bunting.

  ‘Where exactly are we going, Holmes?’ I asked when he had finished paying off the cabby.

  ‘There!’ he said, flourishing his stick at the tent. ‘To the circus.’

  I must confess I was considerably annoyed by this remark. While it was true I had no seriously ill patients to attend to, I considered it thoughtless of Holmes to have taken me away from my practice for so trivial a reason as a visit to the circus. But I had no opportunity to express my exasperation. Holmes had gone striding ahead and by the time I caught up with him he had already plunged into a narrow passageway left open between a double row of hoopla stalls and coconut shies. The crowds of people and the clamour of the stallholders, urging passers-by to try their luck at rolling a penny or to visit one of several freak shows, exhibiting midgets, fat ladies or human skeletons, made conversation impossible.

  It was only when we reached the booth selling tickets to the circus that I understood his reason for bringing me to so unlikely a destination.

  ‘Do you see now, Watson?’ he asked with a smile, showing me the tickets he had just purchased.

  They were two slips of coarse, bright blue paper, perforated down the centre, each half printed with a large letter C and consecutive numbers, 14 on one and 15 on the other. Each was also marked with a large letter A in the top right-hand corner.

  ‘They are just like those Lady Millicent’s maid found in the pocket of her riding habit!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Exactly, Watson!’

  ‘But what on earth made you realise they were circus tickets?’

  ‘It was a chance remark of Sir Hector’s. If you recall when we met him at Elmsfield Hall, he referred to his tenant as a buffoon. The word set into motion a sequence of other words, from buffoon to clown, and from clown to circus. I am afraid I was teasing you when I spoke about catching a train to our destination. It was that train of thought I had in mind.

  ‘The word “circus” also reminded me of something which I had glimpsed briefly outside Elmsfield station when we took the carriage to Elmsfield Hall. That was why, when we returned to the station, I sent you on ahead. I wanted to look more closely at the billboard on the wall outside to make quite sure I had remembered correctly, as indeed I had. What I had glimpsed so briefly but which had nevertheless lodged in my mind was a large, garishly coloured poster for Molesworth’s Circus which had been visiting Reading during the previous week.

  ‘That fact and the discovery of the tickets in Lady Millicent’s pocket convinced me that she, in company with Weaver, had visited the circus on at least two occasions for its afternoon performances. As the ticket seller has just confirmed, different coloured tickets are issued each day, blue, yellow, pink and so on. They are also marked A or E to indicate whether they are for the afternoon or evening performance. That is to prevent members of the public who have attended one of those performances from using them to re-enter the tent without paying after the interval on another day or indeed to prevent anyone finding a discarded half ticket from doing the same.

  ‘It took me a little time to find out where Molesworth’s Circus was now performing and to make a few preliminary inquiries before calling on you this afternoon.’

  ‘But what possible connection can Lady Millicent have with the circus?’ I asked.

  ‘The performance has already started. Shall we enter and find out?’ Holmes replied, leading the way towards the entrance where a man dressed in a red uniform, lavishly bedecked with gold braid and silver buttons, tore our tickets in half before waving us inside.

  Much of the interior of the large tent was taken up by tiers of wooden benches, arranged in a horseshoe shape round the circus ring which was separated from the audience by a low barrier. On the far side was another opening, hung with heavy red velvet curtains through which the performers entered. Above this entrance, a small group of musicians, consisting of brass and percussion players who were dressed like the ticket collector in red uniforms, was installed on its own velvet-hung balcony.

  As we entered, these musicians were accompanying the antics of a troupe of clowns with a cacophony of braying trumpets, banging drums and clashing cymbals which, mingled with the shouts of the clowns themselves and the delighted shrieks of laughter from the audience, was quite deafening.

  We found our seats and settled down to watch the rest of the afternoon performance which, I must confess, in my impatience to discover what part Lady Millicent could possibly play in this unlikely setting, I found only mildly enjoyable although Holmes seemed hugely entertained by all the acts, even the dancing dogs and the lady fire-eater.

  It was the fifth act on the bill which was evidently the one we had come to see for, as the ringmaster announced it, I felt Holmes stiffen beside me in anticipation.

  ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen and all you dear, delightful children,’ the man was declaring, ‘it gives me great pleasure to introduce to you an entirely new act, never before seen in this country – the beautiful, the bewitching, the breathtaking Vittoria, the circus belle, and her magnificent mount, Jemima!’

  With that announcement and to a roll of the drums and a fanfare from the trumpets, the curtains at the back of the ring parted and in trotted a chestnut horse, its head adorned with pink and white plumes and its harness jingling with tiny silver bells. On its back, which was covered by a magnificent crimson and silver saddle cloth, was standing the slight figure of a young woman, dressed in pink-sequined tulle, her long golden hair adorned with plumes matching those of the horse.

  Horse and rider were accompanied by their own ringmaster, a tall, well-built man, wearing a large black moustache, curled up at the ends, a blue satin coat, white breeches, leather boots and a gold top hat. He was brandishing a long whip which he proceeded to crack. At these signals, the young woman leapt on and off the horse as it cantered round the ring, or turned somersaults on its bare back to loud applause.

  For several moments, I was too bewildered to grasp the significance of what I was seeing. Surely Lady Millicent, whose own father had described her as no beauty, could not possibly be this dainty, graceful figure, as pretty and as fragile-seeming as a Christmas tree fairy, which glittered pink and silver under the gas flares?

  It was the sound of Holmes’ delighted shout of laughter which brought me to an understanding of the situation and I immediately joined in his merriment.

  When he had recovered sufficiently to speak, he murmured in my ear, ‘Come, Watson. We have seen enough. Let us meet Vittoria the circus belle and her assistant as they leave the ring.’

  Having emerged from the circus arena, we made our way past the guy ropes to the far side of the tent where the artistes’ exit was positioned under a canvas awning close to a row of caravans in which I assumed the various performers were housed.

  Our arrival was well timed; hardly had we reached this exit than we heard the sound of muffled applause and a final flourish of drums and trumpets which suddenly became louder as the velvet curtains were drawn back to allow Vittoria, the horse and the attendant ringmaster to leave the ring.

  They emerged at a walking pace, Vittoria dismounting and leading the horse forward by the bridle. Both looked hot and tired, especially Vittoria. Seen at close quarters and in the cruel light of day, she no longer presented the delicate, ethereal figure which had pirouetted so gracefully under the lights. The pink a
nd white porcelain complexion could now be seen as nothing more than a thick layer of grease-paint, rouge and powder while the eyes and mouth were also artificially enhanced. In short, she looked less like a Christmas fairy and more like one of the clowns. Even the sparkling dress had been reduced to a crumpled mass of cheap net covered with garish spangles.

  ‘Lady Millicent Ainsworth?’ Holmes inquired politely, stepping forward and raising his hat.

  I should, of course, have been prepared. Even so, it still came as something of a shock when, instead of the circus belle responding to Holmes’ inquiry it was the moustached and booted attendant who spoke up.

  ‘Who the devil are you, sir?’ he, or rather she, demanded, frowning heavily and tapping the handle of the whip against the side of her leg in an ominous manner.

  ‘I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my colleague, Dr Watson,’ Holmes explained. ‘Your father asked me to inquire into your disappearance.’

  ‘Holmes, the private detective?’ Lady Millicent countered, looking him up and down with considerable disfavour. ‘I have heard of you, sir. You make your living by thrusting your nose into other people’s business, do you not? Well, since you are here, I suppose I had better speak to you although I warn you now that I have no intention of returning to my father’s house and, as I am of age, there is nothing either you or the law can do to make me.’

  ‘I was not intending to do anything of the sort,’ Holmes said pleasantly, a smile on his lips although I suspected that his amusement arose as much from the similarity between Lady Millicent and her formidable father as from a mere desire to placate her.

  ‘Then you had better come with me,’ the lady retorted, striding ahead of us to one of the nearby caravans. We followed obediently, first Holmes, then myself. Vittoria, alias Albert Weaver, in his bedraggled finery brought up the rear, having handed over the horse, Jemima, to one of the circus assistants.

  The interior of the caravan was surprisingly comfortable. At Lady Millicent’s invitation, Holmes and I sat down on a long cushioned bench, which no doubt served double duty as a bed, and watched while Lady Millicent and her erstwhile groom divested themselves of their circus identities.

  In Lady Millicent’s case it was simply a matter of discarding her gold silk hat and stripping off the large, curly moustache, after which she emerged more or less as what I imagined was her usual self, a heavily built, strong-featured young woman whose self-confidence and imperious manner suggested an upbringing in which she was more used to giving orders than obeying them.

  The transformation of Weaver from circus belle to male companion was more dramatic. Off came the blonde wig, revealing short-cropped, sandy hair. Off, too, came the pink and white complexion with the aid of a damp towel while a masculine looking, dark blue dressing-gown, flung over the tinselled skirt and bodice, completed the metamorphosis – apart, that is, from his lower limbs which were still encased in pink silk tights and matching satin slippers.

  ‘Whisky!’ Lady Millicent was exclaiming, pouring generous measures into four glasses which she handed round before sinking down on to another padded bench facing ours and drinking deeply from her own glass with evident pleasure.

  ‘Well,’ she said, setting down the tumbler and fixing Holmes with a piercing glare, ‘what have you to say for yourself, Mr Holmes? Do you propose informing my father where I and my fiancé are to be found?’

  ‘Fiancé?’ Holmes repeated. ‘So you intend to marry?’

  ‘As soon as we can get a special licence.’

  It was Albert Weaver who spoke, casting a fond glance in Lady Millicent’s direction and enfolding one of her large hands in both of his. Although they made an unlikely couple sitting there hand in hand, it was quite evident from their exchange of smiles and air of affectionate intimacy that they were indeed very much in love.

  ‘Then I must congratulate you and also beg your pardon,’ said Holmes. ‘I was told by your father, Lady Millicent, that you had been abducted.’

  The remark was greeted by peals of merriment from the happy pair.

  ‘I am afraid,’ said Lady Millicent at last, having regained her composure, ‘that my father is apt to exaggerate, Mr Holmes. With him everything is either black or white, good or bad, especially when it most closely touches him or his concerns which are money and his family pride. No doubt he described himself as a poor man? Ah, I thought so! Poverty is one of his particular bugbears. Although he is now wealthy, he was not always so fortunate. Before he married my mother, he had, as the saying goes, hardly two brass farthings to rub together. On my marriage, I will inherit a small amount of capital from my late mother’s estate, not a large sum but enough to provide me with an annuity of £200 a year which at present my father has control of. I am convinced that the loss of this income and the prospect of my marrying Albert, who, in my father’s eyes and those of his aristocratic acquaintances, is hardly the ideal husband for a baronet’s daughter, persuaded him to believe I could not possibly have left of my own free will but must have been abducted, even though I left a letter on his desk explaining my intentions.’

  ‘Your father mentioned no letter,’ Holmes replied.

  ‘That does not surprise me. No doubt he saw it and, suspecting what it contained, chose not to open it but put it away somewhere unread. He is like an ostrich which hides its head in the sand rather than face an unwelcome truth. But I am surprised he persuaded you I had been abducted. Look at me, Mr Holmes! I am hardly a helpless maiden who was carried off by force over Albert’s shoulder! If anyone had done the carrying, it would have been me, not him.’

  There was another burst of laughter in which all of us joined. When it had died away, Holmes remarked, a little defensively, I thought, ‘It was only the fact you left your clothes behind which puzzled me and persuaded me to take up the case. I see now the reason for it. In your new life, you hardly needed skirts and gowns. Your riding habit and your circus costume provided all your necessary garb, at least for the time being.’

  ‘That was partly the reason. I also left them because I wished to take with me as few reminders as I could of my old life and because I did not want to be accused of owing my father anything. For that same reason, I have waived all rights to my income for the next two years which will more than pay for the gig and horse we took with us, as I have also explained in my letter. Albert and I want to be beholden to no one except ourselves.’

  ‘May I ask you something personal, Lady Millicent?’ Holmes inquired.

  ‘Ask away, Mr Holmes, although I do not promise to answer your question,’ said she with unaffected frankness.

  ‘What made you decide to join the circus?’

  ‘You had better answer that, Albert. It was your decision,’ Lady Millicent replied, giving her fiancé’s hand an affectionate pat at which he smiled at her fondly before taking up the account.

  ‘When I was a young lad, Mr Holmes, I worked for a circus, looking after the animals,’ Weaver began. ‘That’s when I first learned to love horses. There was a couple of artistes, a husband and wife team. Ted and Rosie Hubbard, known in the business as the Marvellos, and their horse Wonder, who performed in the ring. The first time I saw them, my sole ambition was to have my own equestrian act like theirs one day. They were a kind couple and sometimes let me use their horse so I could practise some of the tricks, like leaping on and off when the horse was cantering, or turning somersaults on its bare back. But in order to buy my own horse, which I’d need before I could set myself up as a circus entertainer, I had to have money and the pay was not nearly enough. So, when I saw a post advertised at Newmarket for a stable boy to train as a jockey, I took it. I was there for eight years and was able, once I was properly trained, to earn a fair amount, especially when I rode a winner, and to put a little aside.

  ‘But I missed the circus life. It’s like the sea, sir. Once you’ve got it in your blood, you’re never happy on dry land. Anyway, the stable went bankrupt and I found myself out of a job. There were no vacancies at
the time at any of the other stables and, as I still hadn’t saved enough to buy my own horse, I applied for the post I saw advertised for an assistant groom at Elmsfield Hall, intending to keep it only long enough for me to save up a little more money.

  ‘The rest I think you may guess, Mr Holmes. I met Lady Millicent, and,’ he added, casting a shy, sideways glance at his fiancée who beamed broadly back at him, ‘we fell in love. I confided in her my ambition to join the circus as an equestrian performer which she heartily agreed with. It was then we decided to set up as a pair, like the Marvellos, me doing the riding and her acting as my ringmaster. By great good fortune, her horse, Jemima, was just the mount I’d been looking for, gentle, obedient and handsome to look at. We started training her every day in the paddock and then, when Molesworth’s Circus came to Reading, we introduced ourselves to the owner, showed him our act and he offered us a place amongst his artistes.

  ‘My only regret, Mr Holmes, is having to sneak away in the night but there seemed no other way out. Sir Hector would never have given us his blessing.’

  ‘I take your point,’ Holmes agreed drily. ‘And so you intend to marry and remain in the circus?’

  ‘For the time being, Mr Holmes. Eventually we will have to retire but by then I hope we will have saved enough to open our own riding school somewhere in the country. When we do, we may be considered respectable enough even by Sir Hector’s standards for us to write to him and let him know where we are. Until then, sir, we would be grateful if you said nothing to him.’

  ‘Your secret is safe with us,’ Holmes assured him, getting to his feet and holding out his hand in turn to the two of them, Lady Millicent wringing his with so much vigour that I saw Holmes wince inadvertently.

  Outside, he clapped me on the shoulder.

  ‘Well, Watson,’ said he with a chuckle, ‘you have the happy ending which, as a sentimentalist, you always look for. Wedding bells will chime and the bride and groom will live happily ever after; at least, one sincerely hopes so. You and I, however, are not so fortunate and must bear our loss with as much stoicism as we can muster.’