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  A FAREWELL TO BAKER STREET

  A Collection of Previously Unknown Cases from the Extraordinary Career of Mr Sherlock Holmes

  Mark Mower

  Publisher Information

  Published in the UK by MX Publishing

  335 Princess Park Manor, Royal Drive,

  London, N11 3GX

  www.mxpublishing.co.uk

  Digital edition converted and distributed in 2015 by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  © Copyright 2015 Mark Mower

  The right of Mark Mower to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

  All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.

  All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  The opinions expressed herein are those of the authors and not of MX Publishing.

  Cover design by www.staunch.com

  Preface

  It is with a very sad heart, yet enormous pride, that I pen these few words in introducing this collection of previously unknown cases from the extraordinary career of Mr Sherlock Holmes. In reality, it would be more appropriate to refer to the ‘...extraordinary careers of Mr Sherlock Holmes and his ever-loyal partner, John H Watson, MD.’ as I am firmly of the view that had it not been for the lasting friendship and assiduous note taking, file keeping and penmanship of my late uncle, the consulting detective’s fame would have been considerably diminished with the passing of years.

  That is not to say that I have anything other than the greatest admiration and respect for Sherlock Holmes. Had it not been for his intervention, the course of my life would have been very different and considerably poorer to be sure. I will say no more of the matter at this stage, for the full details of the case are set out in the narrative which Dr Watson has entitled An Affair of the Heart and which forms the first of the tales in this new volume.

  My real point is that Watson’s role, in many of the conundrums and investigations we have come to know and relish as the enduring performance of a genius, is all too easily overlooked or played down with Holmes taking centre stage. And yet, the good doctor was no mere support act or bit-part player. He was the light to Holmes’ darkness and the candle to his flame. The great detective did indeed shine, but it was Watson that provided much of the illumination and kept him firmly in the spotlight.

  John Hamish Watson passed away in the early hours of Monday, 6th February 1939, at the age of eighty-six. He is sadly missed by us all. His health had declined rapidly in the two weeks prior to his death, so much so, that when he sent word to me that the bowel cancer he had been diagnosed with some months before had finally placed a firm and irremediable grip on his frail body, I knew that the end was near and raced to be at his bedside. Not once did he complain and not once did he question why it should be at that moment that his own extraordinary life should come to such an end.

  My uncle had let it be known a decade earlier that on his death he wished me to be the executor of his will and guardian of all of his personal and pecuniary affairs. One of the tasks he had sanctioned very deliberately was that I should use my discretion in selecting for publication some of the three dozen or so cases where he had assisted Holmes, which had not already seen the light of day for one reason or another. One of these was The Trimingham Escapade, which was the last case the pair enjoyed together and one which only reached a point of some conclusion last year. I am delighted to present it in this collection.

  The other tales I have chosen for this volume demonstrate more of the critical interplay between the two men which made their partnership so memorable and endearing. The Curious Matter of the Missing Pearmain is a murder story to rank alongside the best of the tales being produced by our current crop of ‘Golden Age’ crime writers, what some authors of American detective fiction might term a locked-room mystery. The Case of the Cuneiform Suicide Note is a tale in which Dr Watson uses his expert knowledge to help solve a mystery, while A Study in Verse has the pair assisting the Birmingham City Police in a complicated case of robbery which leads them towards a new and dangerous adversary. All are very fine tales.

  I am not sure whether the release of any more of these previously unknown cases would be in the public interest. I will determine that in due course, having considered the critical response to this first volume. Either way, I hope I have contributed in some small part to the lasting memory of two extraordinary men.

  Christopher Henry Watson, MD

  Bexley Heath, Kent - 15th February 1939

  1. An Affair of the Heart

  In my long association with Sherlock Holmes, I only ever knew him to be an honourable and loyal friend, who could be relied upon to act with the utmost tact and discretion on any matters of a personal nature. So it was that when I found myself embroiled in a distinctly delicate family matter in the autumn of 1886, it was to Holmes that I naturally deferred.

  We were sitting in the congenial surroundings of Brown’s Hotel in Albemarle Street having just met with the establishment’s proprietor in his newly refurbished lounge bar. Holmes had been engaged to tackle a potentially damaging case of jewellery theft from one of the more expensive suites in the hotel, occupied at that time by a crown prince from Eastern Europe. I had high hopes that this would turn out to be a colourful and absorbing episode, which might showcase my friend’s remarkable talents. In reality, what I had envisaged somewhat prematurely as The Curious Case of the Ukrainian Emerald was solved by Holmes in less than half an hour, leading to the very public arrest by Scotland Yard of both the crown prince and his criminally-complicit manservant. It was clearly not the outcome that the hotel owner had anticipated and, having paid Holmes very discreetly for his services, the red-faced manager left us to finish what remained of our strong Turkish coffee and Panamanian cigars.

  Holmes turned towards me with a telling grin. “Not one for your journal then, Watson? I fear that a simple case of insurance fraud is unlikely to excite the interests of your expectant readers. Still, while we have a quiet moment, it might be a good time for you to share with me the concerns you have about your nephew Christopher’s impending marriage to Mrs Virginia Aston-Cowper.”

  His offhand comment caught me completely by surprise. “Holmes, I had no idea that you had spoken recently to young Christopher. I do indeed have some reservations about the match, but cannot see how my nephew knows of these - it is a good six months since we last had any sort of conversation. In any case, it was only four days ago that I received the wedding invitation, which, I have to say, came very much out of the blue.”

  “My dear friend, I have had no such conversation with Christopher. In fact, if you remember, I have only met him but the once, on the infamous occasion that he called upon us at Baker Street, claiming to have lost his wallet and being without the train fare to enable him to get back to his student digs in Oxford.”

  “Yes, of course,” I replied, remembering how embarrassing the incident had been. “Not the first time his excessive gambling has got him into trouble. But how, then, do you know about his recent news and my thoughts on the matter? Please tell me this isn’t some elaborate parlour trick on your part.”

  Holmes laughed heartily. “From a lesser man, I might have taken that as an insult, Watson. There is no trickery I can assure you. As you said, the wedding invitation arrived four days ago. It was the only letter addressed to you from the pile that Mrs Hudson brought up to me that day. I cast a glance at the envelope and then placed it in your post rack.”

  “I trust you didn’t return to the letter and open it without my knowledge?”

  “Of course not - the envelope told me all that I needed to know. The letter was postmarked ‘Oxford’ and the address was written in that small, spidery hand which I have come to recognise as that of your nephew. While you may not see or speak to him often, I have observed that Christopher’s letters have been arriving more frequently of late, no doubt linked to his gambling debts, but expressed to you in his polite requests for small amounts of money to support his continuing medical studies at the university. That this particular letter was not one of those regular communiqués was apparent from the oddly-sized envelope, which enclosed a card of some sort. Coupled with the clearly displayed ‘RSVP’ on the back, it was not hard to discern that this was a wedding invitation. And on reading through the announcements in The Times that same day, I couldn’t fail to see the notice regarding the forthcoming marriage of ‘Mr Christopher Henry Watson of Trinity College, Oxford, to Mrs Virginia Belvedere Aston-Cowper of Bexley Heath, Kent’.”

  “Very neat, Holmes, but how did you know that I had failed to greet the news with any great relish? It is true, that I have tried to support my nephew through all of the troubles he has encountered since the death of my alcoholic brother. I have a great affection for the boy, especially since he has chosen to dev
ote himself to a course of study which mirrors my own. But this latest caper is indeed troubling. And yet, I cannot recollect saying anything to you about the matter.”

  “Precisely so, and the very fact which prompted me to take note. It is not every day that one receives an invitation to a family wedding and yet you chose not to mention it. Of late, you have been less garrulous than normal and given to periods of intense introspection. The invitation also required a prompt response - something you would attend to ordinarily by return of post. Thus far, you have seen fit to leave the invitation inside the envelope, which this morning still sat within the letter rack. Lethargy is not a characteristic you are prone to, Watson, so I can only conclude that you have chosen to delay your response, being troubled once again by the imprudence of your nephew.”

  His pinpoint accuracy in targeting such a raw nerve left me deflated. “I was unaware that my innermost thoughts were so easily exposed,” said I. “What do you make of the situation?”

  He lent across to the low coffee table in front of us and stubbed out what remained of his cigar. “As you know, I am not given to any moral panics or ethical dilemmas when it comes to affairs of the heart. I do not profess to know what drives a man to declare his undying love for another and be content to live out his existence in the shadow of a better half. In this case, I take it that your main concern is the fact that Mrs Aston-Cowper is both a widow and a woman some years older than Christopher?”

  “Eighteen years older, to be precise!” My anger had surfaced finally and I could no longer hide my frustrations of late: “Christopher is a rash, happy-go-lucky, sort of fellow. But his heart has always been in the right place. A more devoted, loving individual it would be hard to find - exactly as my brother had been, before he descended into poverty and took to the bottle. What I fear, is that his mounting debts and overriding material desires are clouding his judgement. Mrs Aston-Cowper is a wealthy woman, who is no doubt flattered by the attentions of a younger man. As such, they both have something to gain from the union. And yet, I fear it will be a marriage of simple convenience that one or both parties will live to regret.”

  “Watson, you have the upper hand on me. I feel disinclined to venture any opinion on Christopher’s romantic inclinations and cannot claim to know his wider motivations. But what of the lady herself - what more do you know of her?”

  “Alas, very little. I made some discreet enquiries at one of my dining clubs. A steward there knows of her, and furnished me with a few particulars. She is the widow of Sir Ashley Aston-Cowper, the eminent anatomist, famed for carrying out some pioneering arterial surgery on one of the Queen’s continental cousins. When he passed away in February of last year, he left his wife a fashionable and expensive home in Bexley and a tidy annual income to match. Inexplicably, she has, since that time, ceased to use the honorific title of ‘Lady Aston-Cowper’.”

  “Yes, indeed. But there is something more. I cannot recollect all of the details, but seem to remember that she was embroiled in some sort of scandal involving the younger son of the Duke of Buckland.”

  “Well, that is news to me!” I spluttered. “And what was the nature of this impropriety?”

  “Given the delicacy of the situation, Watson, I am loath to tell you anything that is not completely accurate. I suggest we retrace our steps back to Baker Street, where I can consult my files and tell you all of the pertinent facts surrounding the Cheddington Park Scandal.

  ***

  The two-mile walk back to Baker Street lifted my mood considerably and I felt reassured that I had, at last, confided in Holmes. But at the back of my mind, I was now anxious that the matters he had referred to might exacerbate my woes about the marriage.

  On entering 221B, we were greeted immediately by an agitated Mrs Hudson. “I’m so sorry, Mr Holmes, but the lady insisted on waiting for your return. I have just taken her a cup of tea, but she seems very emotional and has already sat upstairs for the best part of an hour.”

  “Understood, Mrs Hudson, then we will delay her no longer,” Holmes replied, removing his overcoat and hat and nodding for me to do the same. “But do please tell us - who is our resolute, yet excitable guest?”

  Mrs Hudson’s reply came as a surprise to us both. “Her calling card says ‘Aston-Cowper’...‘Mrs Virginia Belvedere Aston-Cowper’.”

  We climbed the seventeen steps to the upstairs room and entered the study. Mrs Aston-Cowper stood promptly to greet us, dropping her small handbag on to the chair she had been sitting in. It was clear that she had been crying and she still held within her delicate, gloved left hand a small handkerchief which I gathered she had been using to dry her tears.

  The lady appeared to be considerably younger than I had expected. While I knew her to be just over forty years of age, I could not in all honesty say that she looked a day over thirty. She was slender in build and around five feet, ten inches tall. Beneath her heavy black shawl, she wore a long, exquisitely tailored dress of green silk, which accentuated her slim figure. Her bright, delicate face was framed with a mass of dark curls, on which sat a velvet bonnet festooned with a colourful assembly of flowers. As I approached her, I was transfixed by her intense blue eyes.

  Holmes greeted her warmly. “Mrs Aston-Cowper! I am so sorry to have kept you waiting.” She raised her right hand towards him and he shook it gently. “I am Sherlock Holmes, as you may have guessed, and this is my colleague, Dr John Watson, the man you have really come to see. Please, be seated.”

  Her face took on a look of gentle surprise and she smiled pleasantly as I too shook the hand that was extended towards me. She then sat back down and proceeded to remove her shawl, black gloves and the green velvet bonnet, revealing the full extent of her brunette locks. “I suppose I should have guessed that a celebrated consulting detective would have little trouble in discerning the primary reason for my visit,” she said, in a confident tone.

  We both took seats facing her and I could not resist the opportunity to make an immediate observation: “Mrs Aston-Cowper, no doubt you wish to talk to me about your forthcoming marriage to my nephew Christopher? I imagine that he asked you to come here, knowing that if he had come himself, I would have expressed my displeasure at his hasty matrimonial plans. You may view me as overly-protective and unreasonably paternalistic towards him, but I think I should point out that Christopher is, in many respects, the closest thing I have to a son of my own. I have no reason to question your affections for him, but fear that he may be marrying you for his own selfish reasons.”

  Her response was both earnest and considered. “Dr Watson, I thank you for your honesty and directness, as I much prefer a man who says what is on his mind. Christopher knows nothing of my visit today. He holds you in high regard and has told me much about your loyalty and steadfast support for him and his studies. I have taken on the task of arranging all of the preparations for the wedding in order that Christopher may concentrate on the final batch of his university examinations. Of all the invitations I had sent out, yours was the only one which had not prompted any sort of reply. I am told that you are a proactive man, with a military disposition to get things done, so could envisage only two reasons for this. Either, you had not received the letter, or, having taken delivery of it, you had decided that you did not wish to attend the ceremony. My visit today was designed, in part, to clarify if the latter was the case and I recognise now that it was. I know how hurt Christopher will be if you are absent on the day, so I implore you to reconsider, for both our sakes.”

  I could not fail to be moved by her appeal and apologised for having not replied to the invitation. At that same time, I resisted the temptation to glance at Holmes, and wondered what he must be making of all this. I then found myself agreeing to attend the wedding, which elicited a most radiant smile from our guest.

  “I am so happy to hear you say that, sir! And please, rest assured, I have the measure of Christopher and his wayward habits. Since we first met two months ago at a charitable event in Oxford, we have been the closest of kindred spirits and have both determined that there should be no secrets between us. I have been candid in telling him about my first marriage to Sir Ashley Aston-Cowper and some of the incidents in my life of which I am less than proud. He, likewise, has been open in sharing with me his addiction to gambling and his dishonesty in approaching many of his family and friends for funds to support his compulsion...”