Holmes and Anne

by lausten

Holmes and Watson were young men and beginning their partnership when they were confronted with a mystery that would have a profound effect on the great detective's future. Holmes had forbidden Watson to ever write of Anne but forty years after the events chronicled in this story he finally agreed. 'Holmes and Anne' was the last Sherlock Holmes story that Watson would ever write.

CHAPTER 1

Sherlock Holmes and I were sitting on the terrace of his cottage on the Sussex Downs overlooking the sea, drinking tea and reminiscing, as old men so often do, on the many adventures that we had shared through the more than forty years that we had been acquainted. Many of these adventures I had chronicled in stories that were published in The Strand magazine and now that he was retired from detective work and spending his days tending his beehives Holmes had been rereading some of the tales that I had written. When they first appeared he had taken me to task for romanticizing what he felt should be portrayed as pure science and he did not hesitate to do so again. And then there was silence; we were both painfully aware that there was one story, a story he had forbidden me to ever write, that would have made the alleged romanticism of my other stories pale by comparison. I hesitantly asked him then if I could finally write of what had happened so long ago - to finally write of her - and received the reply that I hadn't even dared to hope for.

"Write of it if you must, Watson. There's no one to be hurt by it now."

On that fateful evening more then forty years ago the dim gaslight from outside the window of our Baker Street lodgings cast a spectral glow on the youthful countenance of my friend Sherlock Holmes as he paced our sitting room. By this time I was too familiar with his habits to have much doubt as to the cause of his restlessness. Although it was only midafternoon the unceasing April rains of the previous three days necessitated both the early use of gaslight and our joint forced confinement. He was bored and his fertile mind sought desperately for something to engage his concentration. I knew him too well to doubt that the soothing temptation of cocaine was not far away if an engrossing case did not claim his attention soon.

"Holmes, I feel the need for a distraction. Although this gloomy day does not hold much to tempt us, perhaps a walk in the mist will stimulate us enough to do justice to Mrs. Hudson's afternoon tea."

A grunt and a preoccupied scowl was my only reply. Undaunted, I decided to try again.

"The Turkish baths are bound to be relatively empty on such a dreary day. The waters would help my shoulder wound immensely. What say you?"

"Watson, spare me. If I needed a nursemaid I would hire one."

Drat the man, how like Holmes to address my intentions and ignore my words. I retreated in offended silence as he continued his restless pacing. Our private musings, however, were soon cut short by the insistent pounding of the front door knocker and thus began a case that was to be unique in the history of our relationship. I have often wondered what would have happened had I succeeded in luring Holmes out into the fog of London that day and thus we would have missed our momentous visitors.

But I digress. Mrs. Hudson ushered into our sitting room two officers of the Regional London Police Force, one of them clasping the arm of a bedraggled and angry young woman. He introduced himself as Constable Donovan, his companion as Constable Knighton, and the young woman as "a charlatan who felt she could outfox and outwit Her Majesty's Official Forces."

Holmes quickly assessed the situation and saw what I, with all my medical training, had missed. He brushed past the officers, firmly led the woman to a seat by the fire, and pouring a glass of brandy, held it to her trembling lips that were an alarming shade of white. She drained the glass and slowly revived as colour flooded her pale cheeks. Holmes observed her carefully, and apparently satisfied with what he saw, turned his attention to the two officers.

"Please, have a seat. This is Dr. Watson, my friend and associate, who will prepare each of you a glass of brandy. I am at your service."

Constable Donovan seated himself comfortably by the coal fire, took a long sip of brandy, and began his narrative.

"Constable Knighton and I are on the evening shift at the 12th District of Cheapside, which as you may know comprises the outskirts of London on the northernmost boundary. Last night was a quiet one beyond the occasional tavern brawl spilling out into the surrounding streets, but nothing of substance. Then around half past four in the morning we were confronted by," here he made a great show of efficiency by consulting a small notepad he had withdrawn from an inner pocket, "Barney Jackson, a farmer from the outlying town of Dunsby, who was transporting a load of cabbage in his dray to Eastern Market for the morning sales. He was almost unintelligible with fright but we finally were able to draw from him the fact that he had heard a rustling noise in the back of his cart as he entered the precinct of London, and upon inspection found the young woman here present with a large bloodstained knife protruding from the inner recesses of her cape. We hastened from the building and found it was as he said. There were bloodstains on the front of her gown, cape and hands as well. At first Mr. Jackson was at a complete loss to explain her presence in his cart, insisting that he had loaded it himself at his farm in Dunsby, ten miles north of Cheapside. Upon further prodding, however, he admitted that he had stopped in the wee hours at a public house three miles north of London 'for a little something to quench his thirst.' Undoubtedly that is where this young woman secreted herself among his produce in the hopes of entering London unseen, losing herself among its throngs, and thus eluding capture for her crime."

"Pray, enlighten me, Constable Donovan. What crime?" was Holmes'only response.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, that's the heart of the matter, now isn't it? We can assume since this woman climbed aboard Mr. Jackson's cart just north of the city that there would be some report of criminal activity in that quarter by this time. We are on the telegraph line to outlying provinces and have alerted them to keep us abreast of any untoward activity. But there has been nothing – no reports, no crimes, no one missing or unaccounted for, absolutely nothing. But you cannot tell me Mr. Holmes, that a weapon of this type did not do considerable damage and leave considerable blood at the scene."

With this he unwrapped a heavy waterproof he had been carrying inside his jacket and placed on the table fronting Holmes a foot long knife with a heavily engraved wrought steel handle. The blade itself was almost nine inches long and blood was obvious on it to the very hilt. Constable Donovan was undoubtedly correct; no victim would walk away from an attack by this formidable weapon. Holmes gently lifted the blade to expose the underside which was also covered with blood. His face was solemn as he turned to the Constable. "And me? What am I to do? Scour a ten mile wide radius of countryside for a body?"

His sarcasm was not lost on Constable Donovan. He coughed discreetly in his hand, fortified himself with more brandy, and continued.

"Well now, Mr. Holmes, you must know you are somewhat of a legend to us in the forces. Able to crack the hardest nut of a case as it were. Your ordinary crime Her Majesty's Forces are more than capable of solving. But there are factors here beyond our ken, so to speak."

Here he paused to fix an angry glare at the woman, who I was amazed to see lifted her chin and glared right back at him. It would have been humorous were the circumstances not so grim. I noticed Holmes also saw the exchange and a brief flicker of amusement crossed his solemn face. She said nothing, however, and continued throughout his long and rambling recitation to regard him as one who was beneath her contempt. There was a quiet dignity to her which should have been undermined by the mud, blood and straw liberally scattered on her face and clothing, but was not. Her serenity incensed Constable Donovan beyond anything her taunts could have achieved and he pointed to her in anger.

"This woman refuses in any way to cooperate with us! Refuses to give her name, home, occupation, anything! Denies any knowledge of the crime, not surprising in itself perhaps, but her defense goes beyond the pale and is the real reason we are here."

Here he paused to acknowledge me for the first time.

"Dr. Watson may be of service also. In fact his medical knowledge may be crucial to finally forcing this woman to admit that her charade is untenable and to confess to the truth. She claims to be a victim of amnesia to all that transpired last night. She claims to have no memory of secreting herself in Mr. Jackson's dray, no memory of the crime preceding it, no memory of a plan to lose herself in London, in short, no memory whatever before she was taken into custody last evening. And that, Mr. Holmes, is why we require your services and those of Dr. Watson. We understand you have a way of seeing through the superficial and prying confessions from the most reluctant of suspects. We want to know who she is and where she comes from. Once we are possessed of that information the body, or bodies, will be easy to discover."

By this point in his recital his confidence in his abilities was at variance with my own, and his good opinion of himself did not appear justified by anything I could observe. That he consulted Holmes under advisement from his superiors and was reluctant to do so was equally obvious. When he had completed his evening shift and relegated his female suspect to the confines of the women's section of the adjacent prison he was confident the problem would be resolved when next he took his watch. That it was not – and that he was forced to confront her two successive evenings and with no resolution in sight – he took as an affront to Her Majesty's Forces in general, and to himself in particular. Consulting Holmes, a civilian with no official ties to the Police Force, was the final indignity. Having completed his narrative, he waited expectantly for Holmes to somehow, someway, extricate him from an unsavory situation.

Holmes, however, was lost in thought, his eyes focused on the tips of his steepled fingers and his mind from all appearances miles away. Constable Donovan at least had the insight to remain silent and contented himself with several deep and impatient sighs until Holmes emerged from his reverie. He stood abruptly, wrapped the knife securely once again in its protective oilcloth, handed it to the startled officers, and opened our sitting room door.

"Thank you, gentlemen, for a most interesting conundrum. We shall see what can be done. Kindly call back at nine this evening and perhaps we shall have some answers for you."

Before the officers could utter anything beyond hasty farewells and thanks the door was closed with a resounding thud upon their retreating figures. Holmes took a seat across the fireplace from our silent guest and continued the perusal he had begun during Constable Donovan's narrative. I attempted to imitate him and was somewhat proud of the conclusions I reached. The woman was obviously of the working class, which I could easily surmise from the simplicity of her clothing. She wore no jewelry at all – no necklace, watch or rings, further evidence of her lack of prosperity. Her dark blue dress and cape were of the plainest style and of serviceable fabric – linen perhaps – and saved from utter starkness by a simple pattern of flowers embroidered on the neckline of each. Her hands – which Holmes had impressed upon me many times were the open books of reading one's occupation – were small and thin, had no calluses or chapping, and had short blunt nails. Her hair, which she had unsuccessfully attempted to restrain in the neckline of her cape, was wavy and a pale gold colour although unkempt and wild at the moment with a mixture of straw and mud tangling its long strands. Her plain face was oval and very pale, whether by nature or the strain of her present circumstances I didn't know. I was smugly conjuring up the image of a lady's maid or perhaps governess when Holmes' voice broke the silence of the room in a suprisingly gentle tone.

"I should imagine your earlier faintness is because you have had nothing to eat since yesterday. Would you like Mrs. Hudson, our landlady, to assist you in tidying up before you join Dr. Watson and me for tea?"

She raised her eyes to his with a long and assessing gaze and as her features were fully revealed for the first time I quickly amended my earlier conclusion regarding her plainness. Despite the fatigue and mud she had a haunting face with luminous eyes of a pale blue shade. She studied Holmes every bit as carefully as he had studied her, her expression wary at first and then accepting. Whatever she saw in his countenance apparently reassured her.

"Yes" she replied quietly "Yes, I would."

We escorted our visitor down two flights of stairs to the lower level which comprised Mrs. Hudson's personal domain – her kitchen, scullery, sitting room, bedroom, and private bath complete with an enormous porcelain bathtub held off the floor with four large carved lion's paws. She answered our knock immediately and although her long association with Holmes had rendered her somewhat immune to shock it was clear that the sight of a bedraggled young woman liberally splattered with blood and mud nonplussed even her serene spirits. Through many years of faithful service as our landlady there were two qualities which stood her in good stead in this instance – her unquestioning loyalty to Holmes, and her unflappable demeanor even when facing the most outrageous circumstances.

Holmes apparently decided the direct approach was called for in this instance.

"Mrs. Hudson, I would introduce you to this young lady but I am unaware of her name, as is she. She is a victim of amnesia who has been charged with murder. Your womanly assistance is required to make her appearance more presentable, and your culinary skills to stir up one of your renowned high teas for the three of us."

Mrs. Hudson's face, never overly expressive at the best of times, scarcely registered her surprise beyond a slight widening of her eyes at the mention of murder. She opened the door wide, clasped our guest firmly by the hand, and proceeded to shove both Holmes and me back in the direction from whence we had come.

"Right then, Mr. Holmes, I'll see to it. You and Dr. Watson may call back in an hour."

Holmes and I wandered back up to our rooms and seated ourselves in the two high back chairs opposite the fire. He was obviously preparing himself for a long contemplation of all that we had seen and heard in the preceding hour, but I had other plans. I felt too smug for silence and was anxious to acquaint him with the insights I had gained based on the tools he had given me through the years of our association. I was pondering how best to interrupt him and begin a recitation of my conclusions when his sardonic voice broke the silence.

"Well, Watson, I can see you are impatient to share your newly developed talents with me. What do you make of the situation?" It was less than encouraging, but more than sufficient.

"Holmes, there is no doubt in my mind that this woman is either a lady's maid or a governess. Her clothing is plain and hardly fashionable. Even you, with your indifference to dress, must have noted the lack of lace, bustle, train, puffed sleeves et cetera that are all the rage among the ladies now. And her hands, as you have taught me Holmes I studied her hands most particularly. Long, rounded nails are all the fashion now among young ladies. Granted her hands show no evidence of hard labour – hence I dismissed as unlikely her being a chambermaid or scullery maid. She wears no wedding band – thus she is unmarried – in fact she wears no jewelry at all – another indication of her lack of social standing. Her age I find it difficult to ascertain because her face shows the strain of the previous twenty four hours but I should imagine her to be in her mid-twenties."

Here I paused, waiting breathlessly for the accolades I was confident would follow my insightful deductions. Holmes merely snorted.

"As usual, Watson, you have missed entirely the single most important factor, the single clue upon which the entire mystery hangs. I expected better of you."

This had my hackles up, as you may imagine, the snort as well as the sarcastic comment. I waited, knowing it would not be long before he would enlighten me.

"Is she lying, Watson? That is what we must ascertain before any of the rest is of moment. What does it matter whether a scullery maid or a princess of royal blood has committed this heinous crime? Someone is dead, regardless. We need to break down her defenses and get to the truth of this amnesia question. Only then will our path be clear to find the victim, or, God help us, victims."

As usual in my dealings with Holmes, the truth of his assertions quickly dispelled my resentment at his manner. I rose from my chair and retrieved from the bookshelves where I stored my medical texts a large tome by Dr. Richard Cook, a veteran like myself of the Afghanistan Campaign. Retiring to the continent after the war, he spent his remaining years compiling an impressive work on ailments of the mind as well as of the body. I recalled hearing once that he had made quite an impressive study of 'Shell Shock Amnesia' as a result of his cases during the war. I was delighted to see that he had followed his usual inclination and supplemented his own findings with those of other medical practitioners. I read quickly and was soon able to share the gist of his conclusions with Holmes. Dr. Cook found that there are three primary causes of amnesia: a growth in the cranial cavity that effectively cuts off memory nerves in the brain, a blunt instrument trauma to the head that causes temporary memory loss, and a shock to the consciousness of such magnitude that the victim regresses to forgetfulness to escape its memory. I immediately felt, as did Holmes, that this last area was the one which pertained to our mysterious visitor. The course of action Dr. Cook recommended for full recovery of the victim's faculties seemed foolhardy, cruel even, but the one which he felt was most effective and which had proved more successful than any other avenue to promote full memory recovery. The victim was to be transported to the exact site of the tragedy and was to hear a recitation in minute detail of everything that had transpired to cause the shock, regardless of the brutality of the facts or the horror and denial of the victim. To be effective, there was to be no softening of events, no downplaying of the action even if the victim played a significant part in the events that were to have such a devastating effect on his consciousness. Only with stark confrontation was there any chance of complete and permanent freedom from the hold amnesia had on its victim.

Holmes was silent as I completed my reading and was soon lost in thought. Finally he rose from his chair, knocked the ashes from the meerschaum piped he had been smoking into the fireplace, and once again we traversed the narrow passageways to Mrs. Hudson's apartments in the basement. She answered our knock immediately.

"She's still in the bath, Mr. Holmes, but will be out directly. I had a time of it washing her hair to remove all the mud and straw and it took me longer than I had thought. Her clothes are soaking in the wash basin and won't be fit to be worn til tomorrow. Luckily my niece Lucy, who as you know comes each Monday to help me with the great wash, leaves a change of clothing here which will do nicely for the lady. Nothing fancy, mind you, but with a few nips and tucks of my needle will have to do til her own clothing is dry."

Here she waited expectantly and Holmes, I was surprised to see, flushed a deep red. His finger tapped nervously on the middle button of his vest coat as he prepared to speak. I looked at him in amazement, as did Mrs. Hudson, while his discomfiture became more and more obvious.

"Er, Mrs. Hudson, there are certain areas where the discerning eyes of a woman are necessary even to one in my profession. I'm somewhat at a loss how to begin, but, perhaps you may have noticed certain things when you helped our guest disrobe and bathe."

Mrs. Hudson and I both looked at him in astonishment. I had no doubt that wherever this inquiry was leading was crucial or he would not put himself through the painful embarrassment he was so obviously suffering.

"What I mean is, I know you yourself have never had children, but I wonder if perhaps you saw anything that indicated our guest had given birth at some time, particularly in the recent past. There are signs, I'm sure, that a discerning woman couldn't miss." Whatever embarrassment Mrs. Hudson may initially have felt concerning this subject was

quickly dispelled as his full meaning hit her. Her face darkened into a threatening frown as she glowered at him and replied in an offended tone.

"Ah, Mr. Holmes, you're thinking that she may have murdered her own wee babe now are you? For shame on you for even entertaining such a notion! I may not be a clever detective like you but I do know a mite about people and this woman is as gentle as ever one to be found. Your profession has soured you, Mr. Holmes, that it has, and you should be heartily ashamed of yourself!"

Holmes did indeed look ashamed and shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Mrs. Hudson was not finished with him, however, and had only paused to draw breath before she began again.

"Furthermore, Mr. Holmes, your 'guest' as you call her is a lady born and bred and that gown soaking in my wash basin is worth more than I make in a month here as housekeeper. Ah, I see I've surprised you. You were put off by the simple fabric were you? Well both the gown and cape are lined with silk – and such silk as I've never seen in my lifetime and neither have you I'll warrant. They are hand sewn – do you have any idea what a hand sewn gown is worth these days? Her stockings are pure silk also and her shoes the finest leather. And her, well, her other garments, I'm sure you know what I mean, are all silk and Belgian lace as any princess in the land would be proud to wear. And her initials too – done so dainty and lovely on each piece of clothing by the same hand that embroidered the edelweiss on the necklines. 'AW' on each piece and in as fine a hand as I've ever beheld."

She paused for a moment and then returned to the attack concerning the original subject of his inquiry.

"And no, Mr. Holmes, I may not have had children of my own, more's the pity, but I do know the signs when another woman has. She has never had a babe, neither recently, nor in the past. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll see what I can do to help this lady complete her toilette."

Here she shut the door in our faces, with more force than necessary I thought, and I had the enjoyable prospect of watching my partner attempt to recover from as stern a dressing down as he had ever received. It was not every day I could see Holmes nonplussed, and the rarity of the event no doubt added to my pleasure in beholding it. He raised an eyebrow in my direction, shrugged, and began pacing the hallway in the familiar pattern of one who was deep in thought. I, too, had some mental images to rearrange. No lady's maid or governess wore a hand sewn gown of silk and Belgian lace. The advent of Singer's foot operated sewing machine several years earlier had taken Britain by storm and even I knew most clothing was no longer hand sewn. Mrs. Hudson was not Holmes but any means but there was a worldliness born of experience in her words that rang true. If Mrs. Hudson felt our guest was a lady and incapable of crime then so be it until Holmes or circumstances proved otherwise.

CHAPTER 2

It was not many minutes before Mrs. Hudson's sitting room door opened and we beheld our guest once again. Though she had appeared a bedraggled young woman before Mrs. Hudson's kindly attentions it would be difficult to say there was much improvement in her appearance now. I had never met our landlady's niece Lucy but it was obvious that her figure tended more toward the stocky and solid frame of her aunt than the tall and thin frame of our guest. I'm sure Mrs. Hudson, with the 'nips and tucks' of her needle, had done her best, but the result was not very prepossessing. The plain white shirt she wore hung off her thin shoulders in a ludicrous fashion, and her black skirt had numerous bulges at the waist where an attempt had been made to fit it to her trim figure. The skirt ended halfway up her calves and on her feet were a pair of over-large and worn carpet slippers that probably belonged to our landlady. When I completed my inspection I was surprised to see a small smile and bemused expression on the face of our mysterious visitor. She quite plainly was very much aware of the picture she presented and was amused by it rather than dismayed. Holmes and I thanked Mrs. Hudson for her attentions and escorted our guest back up to our rooms accompanied by a rhythmic "flop, flop, flop" as the bottoms of the slippers sounded on the stairs.

I had rather thought that our guest would begin speaking at once about the circumstances that resulted in her incarceration, perhaps beginning with her disdain for Constable Donovan that had been so obvious on her features during his recitation, but she did not. After Holmes had seated her by the fire she sat quietly and regarded him with the patient expression of one who was prepared to accept whatever fate would next dole out to her. Her silence was more disconcerting than any words could possibly have been. Holmes, for once at a loss, was clearly gathering his thoughts. He walked over to a window, and gazing out, said so quietly I could scarcely hear him.

"Alice?"

There was no response.

"Augusta?"

Again, nothing.

"Anne?"

Although 'Anne' was spoken as softly as the other two names it drew an immediate response. She lifted her head, turned toward him, and asked "Yes, Mr. Holmes?"

Suddenly the import of what had happened hit her and her eyes widened in surprise. "Yes, Mr. Holmes, you are correct. I feel quite certain of it. My name is indeed Anne."

"Well, now at last we have a starting point. Mrs. Hudson informed me that your clothing bore the embroidered initials 'AW' and I was confident it was just a matter of time before I stumbled upon the correct name. I find it quite difficult to converse with someone who has the advantage of knowing my name while I am ignorant of hers. Do you mind if henceforth Dr. Watson and I refer to you simply as 'Anne' or do you prefer 'Miss Anne'?"

She acknowledged that Anne was sufficient and at this point we were interrupted by Mrs. Hudson bearing a laden tea tray. As we gathered ourselves around the round walnut table for our repast I noticed that Anne stood next to her chair until Holmes, recollecting himself, pulled it out for her and she was seated. She did it unconsciously, but I recalled Mrs. Hudson's words that she was 'a lady born and bred.' That she was not in the habit of seating herself at table without the offices of a servant or a gentleman present was obvious to me. I watched her carefully during our meal and observed further evidence of interest. She was obviously quite hungry but ate in a slow and proper manner, her rigid back never touching the back of her chair. Once again I found myself busily cataloguing information and only regretted that I could not immediately share my insights with Holmes. I felt that I was becoming more than competent as a detective and was thoroughly enjoying myself. I was able to give my imaginings free rein, as both my companions were lost in thought and spoke not a word throughout the entire meal.

When Mrs. Hudson had cleared the tea things we again seated ourselves by the fire, Holmes across from Anne, and me on the settee facing them both. I was curious to see how Holmes would begin and was not prepared for the harshness of his first words.

"I'm sure you will agree with me, Anne, that a convenient, albeit ingenious, attempt to elude retribution for a crime would be the defense of amnesia, particularly when one has successfully hidden the victims of one's perfidy. We have heard Constable Donovan's version of the previous evening; he obviously does not believe you, and I am forced to admit that not many would. Can you give Dr. Watson and me any reason to draw a different conclusion than the one Constable Donovan has already arrived at concerning your defense?"

There was a pause as she absorbed this blunt attack and then she met his eyes with an unflinching gaze as she softly replied.

"Because it is true."

It would take a more hardened man than I to doubt the honesty in her countenance and I was pleased that Holmes seemed convinced also. He nodded several times and in a softened tone continued, "Well then, that is settled and Dr. Watson and I are prepared to believe you. Now we must determine as much as we can regarding your origins so we can clear up this misunderstanding and placate the formidable Constable Donovan. What, if anything, can you add to his account of the events of last evening?"

"One thing, Mr. Holmes, I might add that has me puzzled but, unlikely as it seems, it is indeed the case. When I awoke last evening in Mr. Wilson's dray and found myself surrounded by police officers my initial reaction was one of relief. Although I have no memory of the cause of an underlying feeling of terror before my discovery, I was pleased to be amongst them and felt at last safe. It was only later, when confronted by their unfounded suspicions, that I realized safety is perhaps a relative term."

"This terror – do you feel it is a result of events you witnessed or do you fear for your own personal safety?"

"A combination, I believe, although the latter appears more likely when I recall a dream I had in the early hours of this morning. I had been questioned by the police for several hours, and, obviously wishing to converse together privately before continuing further, they left me alone in a small interrogation room. I must have dozed off for several minutes but awoke trembling and in a cold sweat as a result of a horrifying dream. I was running in the darkness, clutching my gown and falling frequently as it became entangled in brambles and tree roots, while being pursued by a man calling out to me in great anger. It was terrifying, Mr. Holmes, and so vivid that I feel it was a result of memory rather than imaginings. Sigmund Freud, as I'm sure you are aware, gives great weight to the unconscious that so frequently manifests itself in dreams. I am convinced that this dream was an attempt by my unconscious to come to terms with my memory."

There was a long pause while Holmes regarded her warily. When he spoke at last his tone was condescending.

"And how do you know of Sigmund Freud? His writings are readily available to the medical community but scarcely on the recommended reading list for a young English woman."

Anne smiled pensively and gathered her thoughts before replying.

"I believe I know quite a bit about him. I'm sorry to shock your sensibilities Mr. Holmes, but I seem to be familiar with the infamous Id and the Ego, perhaps not the most original of concepts in and of themselves, but certainly given credence for the first time by one of Dr. Freud's international repute. I have a passing acquaintance also with the Oedipal and Electra complexes, shocking indeed but certainly well documented by the learned Doctor in his studies of disturbed patients. But he says it more eloquently than I could ever attempt to" here she paused and recited in fluent German "'The eyes are the mirror of the soul, the soul is the mirror of experience.' How superficially simple but what a wealth of knowledge behind those words! I have often felt the good doctor borrowed the sentiment from Goethe" and here she reverted again to German. "'The history of science is science itself; the history of the individual, the individual.'"

Here at last was a valuable clue to Anne's identity and I looked eagerly to Holmes for a sign that he had drawn a similar conclusion. She must be a German, I reasoned; all the circumstances pointed to it. It explained her fluency in the language, although I must confess I had difficulty explaining away her equally impeccable English. Her foreign status would also explain why no one was searching for her. She had no roots in England and therefore was not missed. I observed that Holmes had a carefully arranged neutral expression on his face, but I knew him too well to be fooled. He was clearly amazed, and, tentatively at first, began a discussion with her in German. She replied immediately, and although my knowledge of German is limited, I could easily perceive that her command of that language and its attendant accent was superior even to that of Holmes. He spoke haltingly as he searched for the correct words but her replies were fluent and unhesitant. They spoke of Freud, Goethe and Heine at length and she frequently cited quotes from each. She recited Heine's haunting Loreley poem, 'Ich weiss nicht was soll es bedeuten' in its entirety and gave a moving recitation of the final stanza of Goethe's famous 'The Sorrows of Werther.'"

When she has completed the last haunting words she looked at us both and her face broke into a mischievous smile as she asked,

"Gentlemen, I have surprised you both, have I not? I can see it in the expressions that you are both so resolutely attempting to keep unreadable. Well, I must confess I have surprised myself as well! I seem to have more than a passing acquaintance with German, in fact, in recalling these quotes I found myself thinking in German. Now, what does that portend, my dear sirs? Perhaps I am one of Kaiser Wilhelm's notorious mistresses and, failing a murderous attempt on his life, was forced to content myself with impaling one of his Weimaraner watchdogs. Then I fled the country with a bloodstained knife protruding from the pocket of my cape and by an odd quirk of fate found myself in the clutches of the clever Constable Donovan. Does this seem a likely scenario to you, Mr. Holmes?"

It was difficult to be affronted by her playful humour and Holmes was clearly not equal to the task. He returned her smile with one of his own as she continued in the same teasing tone.

"I find I must confound your investigative abilities even more when I confess that my previous quote from Goethe reminds me of a similar one from Dante. Are your sensibilities sufficiently strong to hear a quote in Italian from the 'Inferno'?"

And with this she began a recitation in Italian as fluently and naturally as if she had spoken it all of her life. She then switched to French, a language Holmes was at least conversant in, and they began a long discussion of writers and politicians, poets and artists. Holmes then retrieved from his bookshelves a copy of the writings of Plato and Aristotle in the original Greek that he had picked up during his travels. He opened the pages at random and she was able to not only read them fluently and translate them into English, but to explain at length the similarities and differences in the philosophies of each. When she began to explain how similar their viewpoints were to those of the great Russian writers Tolstoy and Dostoevsky and quoted each of them in Russian, I relegated my German noblewoman theory to the same dustbin that held my governess theory. How had an English woman of her young age attained such knowledge? Holmes was a veritable treasure trove of information regarding civilizations both ancient and contemporary but she easily matched him point by point, in fact in certain areas her knowledge far outstripped his own. They left me far behind as they conversed in one language, then another, beginning with books they had read and eventually comparing locations they had visited. She was familiar with all his favourite haunts in Milan and Paris, Graz and Amsterdam. The minutia of details she provided gave ample evidence that these were not merely places she had read about, but that she had actually lived in them, at least for a short time.

In the past I had often felt humbled by Holmes' great wealth of knowledge; confronted by Anne's singular abilities I felt awed indeed. That he was utterly fascinated by her there could be no doubt and as they continued their animated discussion I found myself wondering what possible bearing any of this could have on the initial reason for her interrogation. Had he completely lost sight of the bloody knife and what its presence in her cape seemed to indicate? Apparently so, and in the hours to follow I was as one invisible as Holmes discarded his role as interrogator and they conversed not as inquisitor to accused, nor even as man to woman, but as mind to mind.

CHAPTER 3

The companionable air of bonhomie that pervaded our sitting room was abruptly shattered at nine o'clock that evening when Constable Donovan again made his appearance. His humour had obviously not improved in the hours he had spent apart from our guest and he regarded her altered appearance with a mixture of incredulity and disdain.

"Where is your clothing, Madam?" he queried, "I certainly hope Mr. Holmes has not been so foolish as to abet you by destroying the evidence in its bloodstains which we will need some day in a court of law."

"I must confess, Constable Donovan, that I'm surprised at your lack of familiarity concerning Mr. Holmes' interrogatory procedure with female suspects," she replied evenly, "It was my understanding he makes it a policy to immediately remove their clothing and refuses to return them until a full confession is obtained."

Constable Donovan's steely eyes became even steelier at this reply and Holmes erupted in a fit of coughing to conceal his laughter. The Constable was not a man to be trifled with, however. He seized Anne's arm roughly and led her to the door.

"We'll see how well your humour sustains you during a night of lock-up in the prison. Since it's obvious the great Sherlock Holmes has neither curtailed your smugness nor obtained your confession, perhaps a few days spent with equally depraved prisoners might do wonders for improving your memory and dampening your spirits."

Here Holmes intervened.

"You are incorrect, Sir, in assuming that we have not made considerable progress in this inquiry. We have. You are also misled in believing that I am unfamiliar with the dictates of English Law concerning obtaining a confession. I assure you, I am not. This woman is not to be intimidated in any way by you or any of your minions at the 12th District or I will see to it that you will personally answer for it. Do we understand each other?"

Constable Donovan gave a reluctant nod.

"Furthermore, Dr. Watson and I will call at the women's prison tomorrow morning at ten and you will once again release her into our protection. There are some points of interest in our interrogation that we will need to clarify before a full report can be made to the Police Force. We have made considerable progress and I am confident this matter will soon be resolved to the satisfaction of all parties."

Constable Donovan nodded his grudging acceptance and he and Constable Knighton departed with Anne. I turned to Holmes expectantly, eager to hear the details of the 'significant progress' he had indicated. I was totally at a loss myself and was anxious to hear what his more discerning abilities had concluded. He was in no mood for talk, however, and stood at the window in silence watching the three of them as they progressed down Baker Street. The night was unusually silent and for a long time we could hear the 'flop, flop, flop' of Mrs. Hudson's carpet slippers as they resounded on the cobblestones.

"Not now, Watson, not now" Holmes muttered and I knew by his tone it was pointless to question him. He sank into his chair by the fire, lit his pipe, and gave himself up to thought. Two hours later he was still in the same position, moving only to knock the ashes from his pipe into the fireplace and fill and relight it once again.

When I awoke the next morning I beheld Holmes seated exactly as he had been eight hours previously and surrounded by a blue cloud of noxious smoke. I could immediately see by the taciturn expression on his face that my inquiries would meet the same fate they had the previous evening and so maintained a determined silence. At half past nine we departed for the women's prison and what greeted us there was upsetting indeed. Anne was being detained in a 40 x 40 square room with two barred windows giving feeble light to its depressing dimensions. The floor was strewn with filthy straw interspersed with pallets of dirty woolen blankets serving as makeshift beds. There were at least thirty occupants in the room and I was shocked to see that over half of them were children. All were as dirty and unkempt at the mothers whose skirts they clung to and emanating from the room was the low and mournful sound of weeping. All were subdued; all bore the defeated looks of those who had lost faith. Anne stood against the far wall and I sensed she had stood in the exactly the same position all night. Her gaze met Holmes' as he stood in the doorway and although I saw no reproach in her features, he obviously did.

"By God, Watson, she'll not spend another night in this hellhole; Constable Donovan and his bloody knife be damned."

When we had secured her release and exited the prison Holmes stepped into the street to hail a hansom cab but Anne held him back.

"Please, Mr. Holmes, I need to walk. I need the air to free my clothing from the stench of that place. Please, may we walk?"

And so we did, Anne between the two of us with her hands lightly holding the arms of Holmes and myself. She said not a word but by the time we reached Baker Street there was colour in her pale cheeks and her eyes had brightened. Holmes immediately rang for tea and breakfast for her and by the time she had concluded I could see that she had improved considerably.

"You will not be returning to that prison, Anne, of that I can promise you. I have some little influence with Scotland Yard as well as the Official Forces and if Constable Donovan remains obdurate on your continued incarceration other arrangements will be made. But you will not be returning there."

She smiled at him in acknowledgement and waited patiently for the questions she knew would follow. He seated her comfortable by the fire and began.

"I was struck, Anne, by your recall of places you had visited and the details you were able to provide. It occurred to me that your education most certainly has not been limited to the paltry offerings of the English public school system and it would seem there are only two schools in all of Britain that could account for your knowledge – Oxford and Cambridge. Although accepting women students is the exception rather than the norm at these institutions I feel perhaps you may have been one of the exceptions. I myself have attended both Universities and have catalogues of each which include illustrations of their significant features."

Here he removed from his bookshelves two large books but was disappointed to find that none of the illustrations seemed familiar to her. The catalogue from Oxford, however, contained information concerning an exchange program with the Sorbonne and when she saw the illustration accompanying the article her response was immediate.

"I know the Sorbonne, Mr. Holmes; I am convinced that I know it intimately. This particular building has a large entrance hall lined in aged walnut and a circular staircase that curves around the interior for three stories."

She then procured from a nearby table a pencil and paper and drew a comprehensive map of the entire University. Speaking rapidly in French, she expanded her map to include Notre Dame, the Louvre, her favorite Bistro and the Café where 'the best pastries in Paris' were served. Here at last was a valuable clue to determining Anne's identity! Holmes attempted to remain nonchalant but I was not surprised when he abruptly announced that he had an errand to do which would necessitate his absence for a short time. I was certain his errand involved sending an urgent telegram to the registrar at the Sorbonne and indeed that was exactly the case.

I could see that by this time the toll of a sleepless night was being felt by Anne. I settled her comfortably by the fire, procured an ottoman and afghan, and dimmed our sitting room lights so that she could rest. She nodded off in sleep immediately and was unaware when Holmes returned some twenty minutes later. For once he seemed communicative as we spoke quietly together by the window enclosure so as not to disturb Anne.

"Well, Watson, I am confident my inquiries to the Sorbonne will meet with a positive response in the near future. Directly I am informed of Anne's surname and hometown I shall do a bit of exploring and see what I can discover. The last thing I require, however, is the assistance of the bumbling Constable Donovan and if he calls in my absence fabricate something to keep him off the correct scent. I am determined Anne will be protected from his insensitivity regardless of where the trail of the bloody knife leads us."

Suddenly, the air was rent by a gasp and cry from Anne who was sitting bolt upright in her chair. Holmes reached her first and when her eyes met his face she cried out "William, my God, William! You have killed them both!" Holmes quickly sat on the ottoman, grasp her shoulders and shook her in an attempt to waken her. She blinked several times, and bursting into tears, wrapped her arms around his neck and began sobbing in his arms. Holmes' back visibly stiffened but he held her awkwardly until her sobs quieted and she again fell asleep. He gently settled her against the back of her chair and then joined me once again by the window.

"I had feared this Watson, greatly feared this. Murder was indeed committed and Anne was a witness to it, if not an accomplice."

This I would not, could not allow, and began to remonstrate with him when he cut me off rudely.

"Your chivalry towards the fairer sex renders you unable to believe they are capable of such violence but you can trust my greater experience in this area. The facts, Watson, look at the facts! Are you forgetting the blood that covered the entire front of her gown? Are you forgetting the stained knife, which was not in the possession of the mysterious William, but in hers? Did Anne strike him down once the horror of his murderous actions became clear to her? Is the blood on the knife his alone or mingled with that of his victims? And what of her earlier dream at the Police Station of an angry man pursuing her? Was this William, or the imaginings of a guilty conscience ascribing life to the victim she had struck down? I must confess it is a long time, if ever, since I have been confronted by such contradictory evidence. And Anne herself, well Watson, even if we had met her under less auspicious circumstances you must admit there is a mystery to her very personality that defies understanding. She is unique in every way and not a woman one soon forgets, at least I know that I shall not."

For a long time his last words hung in the air like a mist and I found myself unable to offer him comfort or assurance. That Anne was involved in a tragedy of epic proportions there could be no doubt and I very much feared that not all his influence with Scotland Yard would be sufficient to protect her. Our grim musings were cut short by the arrival of the telegram Holmes was expecting from Paris and after perusing it quickly he handed it to me in disgust. 'Information insufficient. Require more data to complete inquiry.'

Holmes began pacing the sitting room in angry frustration.

"And what now? Do we board the daily packet to Paris and parade her through the halls of the Sorbonne in the hopes that someone will recognize her? Or do we wait patiently here 'til some unlucky shepherd discovers two, or perhaps three, bodies in the hedgerow of his meadows? By God, Watson, I can't recall every being so stymied by a case!"

"My goodness, Mr. Holmes, I had thought trying to sleep standing upright in an overcrowded prison room the ultimate of impossibilities but I find attempting to sleep with your angry tones reverberating in my ears even more difficult. Please have a little consideration for those of us who need to nap in the middle of the day."

Anne's wide smile belied her words and I was pleased to see she looked quite refreshed. If she had any recollection of the nightmare that had startled her from sleep it was not obvious on her countenance. She rose from her chair and approached the window where at last the sun had broken free from the clouds.

"I really feel I must take a walk, gentlemen, and enjoy this welcome sunshine while it lasts. You needn't accompany me, however. I'm sure I can find my way back to Baker Street with very little effort."

This Holmes would not permit, however, and the three of us spent several companionable hours traversing the streets of London. We eventually found ourselves at Queens Park and were greeted by the lovely aroma of early blooming tulips and crocuses as we made our slow progress along its winding paths. Amnesia and murder were left far behind in those pleasant hours as we conversed like old and familiar acquaintances. She questioned me about my wife and I told her in detail about our long and frustrating battle against the consumption that plagued her. I found myself confessing for the first time to the anger I felt as a physician at being unable to help her, and to the pain I felt in our forced separation as she escaped the fetid fumes of London to abide once again with her parents in the country. She listened attentively and frequently pressed my arm in understanding. She discussed with Holmes his status as 'consulting detective' to Scotland Yard and was able to draw from him several humourous instances where his detective powers were insufficient for solving his cases. Holmes caught her light tone and it wasn't long before the three of us were laughing gaily at the details of his early failures.

It was a magic day, a day of shared confidences and deepening friendship. And pervading it all was the gentle 'flop, flop, flop' of Mrs. Hudson's slippers. Sometimes late at night even now when an infrequent horse cart plods its slow way over the cobblestones of London, I still seem to hear the haunting echo of the sound that Anne's footsteps made on that fateful day.

The early spring dusk was descending when we finally turned our steps once more toward Baker Street. As we neared within two blocks of our lodgings I noticed that several times Anne gazed over her shoulder. Holmes became aware of it also and questioned her. "Someone is following us, Mr. Holmes. I feel eyes boring into my back and have a foreboding feeling of being watched."

Holmes assured her that her suspicions were unfounded but I noticed that he became more vigilant himself. As we approached an apothecary shop a block from our lodgings Holmes instructed me to walk ahead with Anne and disappeared into the shop. We continued on our way but all our previous gaiety was dispelled. I could feel Anne's small hand trembling on my arm and hastened to reassure her.

"You mustn't be concerned, Anne, there is no reason for you to be alarmed. Even in the unlikely event that we are being followed there is no possibility that whoever is doing so will escape Holmes' detection. You need have no fear as long as he is by."

Those words were to haunt me later but at the time I felt their full conviction and at last we reached Baker Street unmolested. Mrs. Hudson greeted us at the door with the welcome news that Anne's clothing was dry and pressed and the two women descended to her chambers. I awaited Holmes in our sitting room and was not surprised to hear that Anne's fears were unfounded. Holmes had waited several minutes in the apothecary shop before following us and was convinced that Anne's apprehension was merely the result of an increase in foot traffic at the conclusion of the workday. Who could wonder that Anne's imagination was over-active after the harrowing events of the last several days? That was Holmes' theory, and it became mine also. I wanted to believe him, and convinced myself to do so.

When Anne entered our sitting room some minutes later I thought back in amazement to the time I had thought her plain. Mrs. Hudson had tamed her wavy curls in a knit snood at the base of her slender neck and the gown I had once thought so simple suited her regal bearing perfectly. Her cheeks were flushed and a smile graced her lips as she explained the reason for her contentment.

"I imagine you both are wondering what causes me to be so jubilant. I will confess to you that one thing has been troubling me but I did not see any solution in applying to either of you for help. I may have forgotten many things but I do know better than to ask a gentleman about my appearance. Until Mrs. Hudson handed me a mirror to see the results of her efforts to subdue my hair I had not the foggiest notion of what I look like. And as I'm sure you know there is not a woman alive with so little vanity that her face is not of import to her. So I have at last beheld my features and I must say I am quite satisfied. Not so homely that dogs will bray in my presence but not so lovely as to cause problems of another nature. Everything accounted for; everything in its proper place. I am very well pleased with myself."

Holmes and I laughed at her disingenuous attempt to downplay her curiosity regarding her looks and as I gazed at her smiling face I recalled a quote I had heard years earlier. 'Your face before you turn twenty is the face your parents bestow on you; your face after twenty is the face you bestow upon yourself.' Anne's face even in repose reflected a quiet dignity and pride so at variance with the circumstances that had beset her the last several days. I had unlimited faith in Holmes but even I could not envision a means by which he could extricate her unscathed from the tragedy that awaited her. Her calm demeanor and light humour convinced me more than her words ever could have that she was indeed a victim of complete amnesia regarding the events of two nights previous. No one of her obvious sensitivity could harbour conscious memories of such violent crime and remain untouched by it. I felt very protective of her, as did Holmes, and his resolution to be the one to solve the mystery surrounding her was matched by my resolution to provide medical attendance when the grip of amnesia finally loosened its hold on her memory. If Holmes were correct in his assessment of the horrors that awaited her, she would need every bit of help that we could render her.

CHAPTER 4

As a result of our long walk the three of us were able to do ample justice to the delicious tea Mrs. Hudson served us. Afterwards Holmes and I reposed in our chairs with our pipes while Anne wandered about the room curiously studying the contents of our bookshelves. Our room was in its typically cluttered state and when she moved several large books on Holmes'desk his violin case was revealed. She removed the instrument and bow and after pausing a moment in thought lifted the violin to her chin and began to play. Both Holmes and I stared at her in amazement as our sitting room reverberated with a compelling medley of Mozart and Liszt, Beethoven and Brahms. I am not a connoisseur of music, that was Holmes' forte, but one would have to be ignorant indeed to not know that the sweet sounds that filled our sitting room were masterfully played. Holmes was a competent violinist himself, and I had often accompanied him to violin recitals in London, but the music filling our room went far beyond anything either of us had ever heard, even from the most celebrated musicians of the times. I turned to Holmes to ascertain his reaction and for once his face was easily readable. He was as astonished as I had even seen him. Anne walked slowly about the rooming playing, smiling at us and clearly enjoying the amazement so plainly written on our faces, and as she approached the window she made a mock bow and asked,

"Any requests, Gentlemen?"

I shall always remember that moment which now seems frozen in time, Anne turning to smile at both of us while the gaslight from outside our window lit the curls that had escaped her snood and bathed her in light. Then the peace was shattered by the explosion of window glass followed by the sound of splintering wood as Anne was spun around by a bullet's impact and fell on Holmes' violin. There was a gasp of horror, whether from Holmes or me I do not know, before we both sprang from our chairs to assist her. The quickly spreading stain of blood upon the carpet gave testimony to the fact that she was mortally wounded. She was losing blood at an alarming rate and all my medical training at the front in Afghanistan stood me in good stead. I staunched the wounds with table linen from our just complete tea, instructed Holmes to send Mrs. Hudson with towels and hot water, and carried her inert body into my bedroom. With Mrs. Hudson's assistance I was able to loosen her gown and assess what damage the bullet had done. It had entered her back just below the left shoulder blade and exited just above her heart in the front, leaving a much larger and more worrisome wound. Anne owed her life to her playful question to Holmes and me; if she hadn't turned at precisely that moment the bullet would undoubtedly have punctured her heart. I listened anxiously to her breathing with my stethoscope to ascertain if her lung was punctured and was relieved to find that it was not. As I prepared to begin suturing Anne's wounds Mrs. Hudson's assistance was invaluable. I knew that I needed to immediately stem the steady flow of blood by raising her wounds above her heart and Mrs. Hudson positioned herself against the headboard of the bed with Anne propped upright against her ample bosom. For over two hours she

never faltered although her position must have been quite uncomfortable, and she even managed to hand me antiseptic and dressings as the need arose. I knew that she had developed a deep fondness for Anne, but was still surprised to see tears upon her face as I occasionally glanced up. She said nothing, however, but watched in silence as I continued my task of drawing together the shattered pieces of flesh with my needle. We were fortunate that Anne never gained consciousness but lay in Mrs. Hudson's arms like one asleep. I attempted to focus my concentration exclusively on the task at hand by reminding myself that I had done this before, more times than I liked to remember, but I occasionally became aware of sounds emanating from our sitting room. The door opened and closed several times, I heard the muted sounds of men's voices, and then Holmes' voice raised in angry remonstrance. I couldn't make out his words but he berated whomever it was he was speaking to in scathing tones for quite some time before I again heard the sitting room door close and the sound of retreating footsteps on the stairs. It was so unlike Holmes to lose his composure in such a way that I wondered if the marksman had been apprehended. I felt his presence shortly thereafter at the bedroom door but my need of absolute concentrations was such that I didn't pause to speak to him. He was silent also and stood there like a vigilant sentinel watching the slow and painstaking progress of my needle and sutures. It took over two hours to close and bind the wounds and Mrs. Hudson and I then positioned Anne carefully in the centre of the bed on a large mound of pillows. She was deathly pale – her face the colour of the white pillows surrounding her. Mrs. Hudson resolutely seated herself in a chair by the bedside and advised Holmes and me to have "a stiff drink" while she watched over Anne. We followed her advice and as I sipped my brandy Holmes brought me up to date on events that had transpired outside the sickroom.

"I have retrieved the bullet from the wall and from all appearances it was fired from the room with the 'To Let' sign opposite our chambers. It was empty of course by the time I gained access to it but the evidence points to a wait of several hours before our assailant had Anne in his sights. Constables Donovan and Knighton called here to return Anne to the prison and upon hearing what had transpired reluctantly admitted that a young man had stopped by the 12th District Station in the early afternoon inquiring whether there had been any reports of a tall blond woman who may have been wounded. The constable on duty informed him that a woman fitting that description was an amnesia victim being interrogated by Sherlock Holmes at his lodgings and had the stupidity to simply allow him to walk away. It was undoubtedly this man searching out my abode on Baker Street who chanced upon us returning from our walk and followed us here. Anne owes her injuries to the fatal errors of two gentlemen who of all others should have been relied upon to protect her – the Constable who allowed her pursuer to walk away unmolested from the 12th District Station, and me, who was convinced her qualms about being followed were a fabrication. I will never forgive myself for this, Watson, never! Earlier I was of a mind to fetch an imminent Harley Street physician of my acquaintance to tend to her but when I saw you working so diligently I knew with certainty one of us had not failed her. You at least have that comfort; I have none."

I had never seen him so despondent and hastened to reassure him that although she had lost an alarming amount of blood the chances for a recovery were quite good. My major concern at that point was infection but I had packed the wounds thoroughly with antiseptic and was reasonably confident of a favourable outcome. He was not to be comforted, however, and paced the room in gloomy silence until we were alerted by Mrs. Hudson that Anne was stirring. We hastened to the room and although her face was drawn in pain she managed a weak smile and held out her hands to each of us. I explained what had happened, administered laudanum to dull her pain, and assured her I was confident that all would be well. She listened to me, but looked at Holmes. She drew him down to sit beside her on the bed and her gaze never left his face as she said "Mr. Holmes, I can see on your face what you are feeling. This is not your fault! Please do not add to my pain by seeing it reflected on your face. You have been all that is kind and protective of me. This is not your fault."

How clearly Anne had read his emotions! He could not give her the assurance she needed, however, and sat there mutely gazing at the small hand enfolded in his own. Mrs. Hudson touched me lightly on the shoulder and we left the two of them alone. We spent the next hour attempting to put the sitting room to rights again, sweeping the shattered glass from the floor, patching the broken window pane with brown paper, and sadly placing the splintered pieces of Holmes' cherished violin on his desk. It was well after midnight by this time and I insisted to Mrs. Hudson that she get some rest while Holmes and I kept watch over Anne during the night. The kindly woman was reluctant to do so until I assured her that Holmes and I would undoubtedly require her services on the morrow. She finally was persuaded and after she left I returned to the bedroom to find Anne deep in sleep and Holmes sitting in the chair adjacent to her bed.

"There is no possibility I could sleep, Watson. Use my room and get some rest yourself if you can. I will see you in the morning."

I instructed him on the proper dosage of the laudanum should Anne awaken during the night and turned in exhaustion to Holmes' room directly opposite. I had thought sleep would be impossible after the events of the evening but soon fell into a heavy and dreamless slumber. I awoke at first light of dawn but felt I had not closed my eyes at all. I hastened to my patient's side and was not surprised to see Holmes in exactly the same position I had left him in the previous evening. We could hear Mrs. Hudson in our sitting room and gratefully accepted her offer of tea. Whether she had slept or not I do not know but her kindly face was full of concern as she regarded the two of us.

"You two gentlemen look all done in if I do say so myself. Make yourselves comfortable here at the table while I bide with Anne for a spell. No, Mr. Holmes, I'll take no denials. You'll be no help to the lady in the state you're in and that's a fact. I've made up a batch of your favourite muffins and I'll not permit you to enter Anne's room again til I see that the tray if empty."

We were confronting Mrs. Hudson's 'schoolmistress stance,' as Holmes had jokingly referred to it in the past, and knew that resistance would be futile. So, like two recalcitrant schoolboys, Holmes and I obediently seated ourselves at the table and began to break our fast. His first words convinced me that he had spent the previous evening deep in thought.

"Well, Watson, if nothing else the events of last evening have certainly simplified things in terms of solving this puzzling case. I should be very much surprised if my inquiries to the Music Department of the Sorbonne do not receive an immediate response concerning Anne's identity. There cannot be two British women of her obvious talent affiliated with that department. The second part of this mystery is a thornier one but at least now we have a name on which to focus our attentions. I have no doubt that the mysterious William of Anne's nightmare was the gentleman who called at the 12th District Station and was subsequently responsible for her injuries. We are dealing with a desperate man, a man who will stop at nothing to silence Anne. No one, absolutely no one, is to be admitted to our chambers until I can follow the trail of Anne's origins to a man named William and I have him securely in my clutches. I failed her completely yesterday, Watson, and by God I'll not do it again."

We heard Anne stirring from sleep in the next room and hastened to her side. She was not fully conscious but was in considerable pain and I again administered laudanum. With Mrs. Hudson's assistance I changed the dressings on her wounds and was pleased to see there was no redness or swelling indicating infection. The wounds remained closed and dry, held together by my minute sutures. My relief was evident and communicated itself to Holmes who felt confident enough to leave Anne to the care of Mrs. Hudson and myself while he sent his telegram to Paris. He again instructed us to admit no one to our chambers, "not the Queen of England, not the Commissioner of Scotland Yard, and in particular none of those ineffectual fools from the 12th District." We locked the sitting room door securely after him and Mrs. Hudson and I sat in companionable silences as we watched by Anne's bedside. I was deep in thought when her voice broke the stillness of the room.

"Well now Dr. Watson, I'm so relieved that the lady will recover and it's mostly thanks to your medical skills I'm sure. I don't know the particulars of this case but it's a blind man who couldn't see where it will lead as far as Anne and Mr. Holmes are concerned. I'll miss him, that I will, and you too Dr. Watson, but these rooms are not fitting for a married couple, more's the pity."

Here she paused and saw the astonishment on my face.

"Now don't tell me you haven't seen what's been right under your very nose since the lady came here. One would have to be naught but nine pence to the shilling to have missed it. He loves her, Dr. Watson, and although I have my suspicions that Mr.

Holmes is not a gentleman particularly familiar with that sentiment even he will realize it soon enough. You mark my words; it's just a matter of time."

I would have thought that after the events of the previous three days I would be somewhat impervious to shock but this revelation I felt to the very core of my being. Holmes in love? How could such a momentous thing have occurred and I was oblivious to it? I carefully thought back to his actions and expressions with Anne and was forced to admit there was credence to Mrs. Hudson's theory. I had often remonstrated with Holmes for his misogynist tendencies and the contempt with which he regarded the fairer sex. I recalled quite clearly his arguments and none of them applied to Anne. He bemoaned their inferior education and their dedicated pursuits of trivial matters – netting a purse, painting a screen, learning to dance, tending to plants. He mocked their tendency toward domesticity and berated their lack of knowledge of the arts. Contrasted to all of this was Anne – beautiful, intelligent, and a violinist of incomparable artistry. How could Holmes not fall in love with such a woman, and how could I have been so blind as to not see his partiality from the very first? I smiled ruefully at myself as I recalled Mrs. Hudson's comment of 'naught but nine pence to the shilling' and patiently awaited the return of Holmes from his errand.

CHAPTER 5

When Holmes entered the sickroom a short time later carrying a bouquet of early blooming roses bearing the wrapping of a local flower shop he could not have astonished Mrs. Hudson and me more than if he had just appeared carrying a lit stick of dynamite. He was obviously quite abashed at his uncharacteristic chivalry and muttered something about brightening my cluttered room but neither Mrs. Hudson nor I was fooled. If she had winked at me and poked me in the ribs with glee it could not have made the direction her thoughts were taking any more obvious. I carefully avoided looking at either of them but my studied nonchalance seemed to disconcert him even more. It crossed my mind that this was probably the first time that he had ever purchased flowers for a lady. Poor Holmes – the intended recipient of his thoughtfulness was sound asleep and he was confronted instead by two dumbfounded and amused witnesses. He finally thrust the flowers at Mrs. Hudson and stomped back to our sitting room. Mrs. Hudson departed to find a suitable vase for the flowers and I joined Holmes soon afterward.

I found him at his desk unsuccessfully attempting to piece together the shattered pieces of his beloved violin. We could both perceive that it was beyond repair and I felt his loss keenly. Holmes was not a man who set a great store by physical possessions and viewed with indifference the objects and money that he reaped as a result of his profession. His violin, however, was a different matter entirely and I had often remarked to him that if our Baker Street lodgings ever caught fire during the night I was confident he would ensure its safety even before rousing me from sleep. It was a beautifully crafted work of art but its value lay chiefly in the fact that it was a means by which he could vent his feelings. Holmes was not a man of many words but when he played his violin it spoke eloquently for him. I could always tell the progress, or lack of progress, of any case he was involved in simply by listening to the outpouring of music filling our sitting room after he was possessed of all the facts and struggling toward a solution. Loud gypsy tunes bode well – events were progressing apace and resolution was in sight. Heavy classical music, particularly Beethoven, meant that he was melancholy and having a difficult time finding his way. Watching his gloomy face as he constructed a pile of splintered wood there was no doubt in my mind the type of music I would have heard had his violin been available to him.

Our private musings were cut short by the arrival of the telegram Holmes had been expecting from the Sorbonne. 'Anne Waterbury, spinster, sole child of Edmund Waterbury, former ambassador to Austria, and Elizabeth Waterbury nee Wharton, daughter of Earl of Wharton. Home, Chawton Wold, Chawton. Post-graduate student, violin, Music Department, Sorbonne.'

Holmes withdrew a map from his desk drawer and we were able to ascertain that Chawton was a small village several miles north of London that was serviced by the railroad line. He made preparations to depart immediately and I was heartened to see the

old familiar Holmes re-emerge. He was like a hound following a familiar scent and gone was the depression and self-doubt that had plagued him since Anne's injuries. I wordlessly retrieved my service revolver from my bureau for him but was surprised when he refused it.

"No, Watson, I very much fear that you will require it here more than I will. Never forget that there is a desperate man out there who cannot afford to have Anne recover her memories of him. There are not many men I would trust her protection to, but you have never failed me yet. You must maintain your vigilance, Watson, and let no one near her. I am confident I shall return before early evening."

His confidence was sadly misplaced, however, and Anne and I spent a long and trying day. When she awoke at noon she was well enough to partake of a light luncheon with me and questioned me regarding Holmes' whereabouts. I have never been very good at evasions and could tell she was not placated by my explanation that he was 'simply following a few leads.' By teatime she knew that something was definitely afoot and was not to be put off by my half-truths. I finally confessed to her that a telegram containing her name and hometown had arrived and that Holmes was at that location seeking more information. My own nerves were stretched taut by this time and although I attempted to remain calm for her sake my anxiety no doubt communicated itself to her. I knew she was in pain but she refused laudanum so that she would be awake and alert when Holmes returned. What could possibly be taking so long? Perhaps the answers we were searching for did not lie in Chawton after all but rather in Paris. But if that were the case how had Anne ended up in a farmer's dray three miles north of London? The more I attempted to make sense of it the more it eluded me. If only Holmes would return… but then perhaps he was wounded. Any man foolhardy enough to shoot through a window on a busy London street was desperate enough for anything. I paced our sitting room as these thoughts assailed me and worked myself into a fevered pitch of anxiety. Finally, at just before midnight, a telegram arrived from Holmes. 'Have found what we are seeking. Protect Anne; will return in the morning. Do not allow newspapers in sickroom. Holmes.'

I could not, of course, share this telegram with Anne but did tell her that Holmes had found some answers and would not return until morning. Only then would she accept laudanum for her pain and was soon in a deep sleep. I then requested Mrs. Hudson to sit with her for a short time, carefully locked both the sitting room and house door, and set off in search of a late edition of The London Times. Holmes never minced words, particularly in a telegram, and I was quite certain what I would find. Nevertheless, when I returned, Mrs. Hudson and I read the front-page article with deepening horror.

DOUBLE MURDER IN CHAWTON

SUSPECT STILL AT LARGE

Early this afternoon Inspector Lestrade of Scotland

Yard was called to the scene of the double murder of Mr.

and Mrs. Waterbury of Chawton Wold, Chawton.

Both had been stabbed repeatedly and were secreted

behind bales of hay in an outbuilding where livestock

fodder was stored. Scotland Yard has uncovered no

motive at this time and the suspect is still at large.

Authorities have been unable to locate the Waterbury's

only child who is studying abroad.

There was no mention of Holmes, but then there never was. He preferred to work behind the scenes and allow Scotland Yard whatever credit was due as the result of his own labours. What a horrible day he must have spent, for there was little doubt in my mind that it was Holmes who had discovered the bodies and summoned Inspector Lestrade. And Anne, regardless of the depths of his feelings for her, he now knew for a certainty the sorrows that awaited her.

I was startled from my reverie of these gloomy thoughts by the insistent hammering of the Baker Street knocker. I slipped my service revolver into my pocket and descended the stairs with visions of the murderous William filling my head. Perhaps William would have been easier for me to deal with, however, as I soon found myself confronted by a very determined Constable Donovan and an entourage of his fellow officers. He stated that in light of recent developments Anne must be returned to prison immediately. This I could not allow and not all of Constable Donovan's bullying authority impressed me nearly as much as the certainty of what I would face from Holmes were he to return and find Anne gone. I drew myself up to my full height and maintained that as her physician I could not allow such a move, which would certainly endanger her life after her recent injuries. He was completely unmoved by my arguments and was at the point of forcing his way past me when inspiration struck.

"I assume you are acting under direct orders from Scotland Yard, and I certainly hope for your sake the individual who issued the orders is a superior to Inspector Lestrade. I am following his direct orders that Anne is not to be moved, relayed to me in a telegram I have just now received from Holmes. From whom did you receive your orders to return her to the prison?"

I knew the answer to that question even better than he did and saw the confirmation of it in the expression on his face. He had seen a late edition of the newspaper, and although a fool, was not so much of a fool to not know that this was the crime he had eagerly been awaiting news of for the past three days. No police office, however, regardless of how pompous, would dare countermand a direct order from Scotland Yard.

When he hesitated I knew the battle was won. He retreated, but not without a petty attempt to salvage himself in the eyes of his fellow officers.

"Well Dr. Watson, I guess we all know why Mr. Holmes is so intent on keeping the lady holed up here at Baker Street. Most men have to search the streets of London for her kind but Mr. Holmes can keep his fancy lady right here under his own roof now can't he?"

I reacted instantaneously and instinctively. My fist shot out and connected forcibly with his eye, and Constable Donovan was flat on his back before the startled officers accompanying him could even respond. I don't know what the legal ramifications are for striking a police officer but at that moment my anger was such that it wouldn't have mattered. I left him moaning on the pavement, slammed and locked the house door, and determined that nothing would induce me to open it again until Holmes returned in the morning.

Mrs. Hudson had heard the commotion, as I'm sure half of our neighbours had. I could not, of course, repeat to her Constable Donovan's insulting comments but simply stated that he had been obstinate regarding the need to return Anne to prison and I had lost my temper. She packed my rapidly swelling hand with ice, muttered "tut, tut, tut" under her breath, but I could tell she was secretly delighted. I must confess that I viewed the emerging purple and blue colours with a certain smug satisfaction – if my hand looked like this his eye must be colourful indeed. I sent her off to bed shortly thereafter and settled myself in a chair by Anne's bedside to get what sleep I could before Holmes' much awaited return in the morning.

When I awoke at dawn the first thing that met my startled gaze was Anne's empty bed. I sprang from my chair and to my relief found her in our sitting room calmly drinking tea with Mrs. Hudson. My relief must have been evident on my face and they both laughed at me.

"Dear Dr. Watson, always so afraid that you have been somehow derelict in the commission of your duties. I know that you must be exhausted; if truth be told it was your resonant snores that awoke me so early this morning. I heard Mrs. Hudson preparing tea and have been greatly entertained by an account of your confrontation with Constable Donovan last evening. It is a comfort for me to know that when the determined Constable prevails at last and I am once again a prison inmate you will be in

a nearby cell awaiting sentencing for attacking a police officer. One likes to feel one has friends close by in these situations you know."

The three of us laughed at this nonsense and I noticed that Anne was wearing Holmes' drab brown dressing gown over her night clothes – complete with acid stains on the sleeves and the stem of his pipe emerging from a breast pocket. She seemed much calmer than the previous day and I knew it would be futile to advise her to take laudanum until Holmes returned. And so as the three of us awaited him we drank tea and ate toast and jam, chatting like old friends and carefully avoiding painful subjects.

When Holmes finally arrived at around 10 o'clock I viewed with dismay his gray and drawn face. He had always been quite adamant about the fact that he required very little sleep when engrossed in a case but the physician in me instantly recognized the signs of a man who was at the breaking point. Mrs. Hudson and Anne also sensed that he was deeply distressed and we waited in anxious silence for him to begin. He paced the room gathering his thoughts before sitting across from Anne and directing his words to her.

"Anne, there is no way for me to soften my words and I know you well enough to feel you would prefer blunt truths to evasions. Two people have been brutally murdered, two people intimately acquainted with you. This morning autopsies were performed at the London Coroner's and we were in possessions of the knife found in your cape. We were able to compare this knife with the wounds that were inflicted and it seems a certainty that this was indeed the weapon used in the attack. I imagine you must know that the mere fact that this knife was found in your possession is sufficient grounds for your immediate incarceration. However, this crime is now in the province of Inspector Lestrade, who owes me a favour or two for some little assistance I was able to render him in previous cases. After much discussion he has empowered me to make you the following offer. If you put yourself under his protection he will see to it that you are confined in a private room and will receive every possible medical attention while this crime is being resolved. He has agreed to an alternative, however, which I am reluctant to even propose to you. Scotland Yard would permit you, if you so choose, to remain with Dr. Watson and me for forty eight more hours in the hopes that in that time period we could restore your memory and apprehend the suspect. I am personally convinced that if the former could be achieved the latter would be elementary. The method we would employ to achieve this end would be difficult for you, Anne, very difficult indeed. Perhaps Dr. Watson would be so kind as to read the section in Dr. Richard Cook's medical text concerning his proposals for regaining memory loss in amnesia patients."

I did as he directed and read aloud the words that had seemed so feasible to Holmes and me just two days earlier. Theoretically his recommendations sounded infinitely logical, but I had grave doubts concerning employing such brutal methods with Anne. I could easily see that Holmes was equally reluctant but given the time frame that Scotland Yard had imposed upon us there really was no alternative. If Anne elected to align herself with Holmes and me we would have to transport her to the scene of the murders and

hope that her painful memories would resurface. As a physician I could only deplore the necessity of such a move for a patient who was still in pain and weak from the loss of blood. My somber thoughts were reflected on the faces of my companions and for a long time there was complete silence. It was Holmes who finally spoke and when he did his voice was grave.

"We will not make the decision for you, Anne; you must choose. I do not wish to influence you in any way but feel there is one thing you must know before making your decision. I spent a great deal of time at the crime scene yesterday studying the evidence and there is no doubt in my mind that you were present when these murders were committed. In light of this, I am reasonably confident that if we transport you to this location and you hear a detailed summation of my conclusions regarding how the crime was committed, you would indeed regain your memories of that horrible night. But it will be devastating for you, of that I have no doubt. You know, you must know by now, that Dr. Watson and I would do anything in our power to protect you, but even we cannot change the facts."

When Anne finally spoke her voice was low and tremulous.

"There is one thing, Mr. Holmes, that you have neglected to address and it is the sole factor upon which my decision will be based. Tell me the truth, not some half-truth, not something you have fabricated in an effort to protect me. Was I, in any way, responsible for these murders?"

His answer was clear and unequivocal.

"No, Anne, you were not."

For the first time her composure broke and her eyes swam with tears. Emotions were so taut in the room at this point that I knew if she broke down completely and wept we were all lost. But she did not; she drew herself together and smiled at the three of us through her tears.

"Well, that is settled then. I have never met Inspector Lestrade but could never hope to be treated by him in the same kindly and chivalric manner as I was by dear Constable Donovan. So I won't even attempt it, and you two gentlemen are forced to bear my presence for the next two days. I certainly hope I shall find myself to be an heiress, Mr. Holmes, as I have a sinking feeling that the fees for your services will be very dear indeed."

And so it was that Anne placed her trust in Holmes and me as we began a desperate race against time to restore her memory and solve this crime. We decided that the best course of action was to allow Anne the entire day to rest and gather her strength and that on the morrow the three of us would travel to Chawton on the early afternoon train.

Holmes sent a telegram to Inspector Lestrade informing him of Anne's decision and instructing him to meet us at Chawton Wold at 2 o'clock the following afternoon. I then administered laudanum to Anne and persuaded Holmes to retire to his room in the hopes that he could regain at least some of the sleep he had lost the previous three nights. I was surprised when he readily acquiesced, and knew it was a sure indication of his complete exhaustion of body and mind. I settled myself on the settee and was soon in a deep and dreamless sleep.

CHAPTER 6

When I awoke several hours later I could hear Holmes stirring in his bedchamber and he soon joined me in our sitting room. I was anxious to hear the details of the previous day's events but knew he would be reluctant to confide in me were there any chance that Anne could overhear us. The Turkish baths seemed an ideal location for privacy and he readily agreed to accompany me on the condition that Mrs. Hudson would bide with Anne in our absence. We gathered up fresh clothing and towels, rang the bell for Mrs. Hudson, and as Holmes sat on the settee drawing on and lacing his shoes he began to remonstrate with me.

"I'm not so foolish as to not know your clever ruse to lure me to the Turkish baths is an attempt to pry information from me concerning events surrounding Anne. That's fine, Watson, as far as it goes. But I'll not be a party to this fantasy you and Mrs. Hudson have concocted regarding my relationship with Anne. You are well aware of my long-standing attitude toward women – they are all an unmitigated nuisance and Anne is no exception. She has caused nothing but trouble in my well-regulated life since she first walked through our sitting room door looking like a drowned rat and I'll be heartily glad to consign her to the care of some solicitous relative on the morrow. She's been a millstone around my neck and…"

Here his words were cut short as Anne overturned on his head the entire three litre water vase filled with the roses that he had bought for her the previous morning. I had seen her standing in the bedroom doorway behind him but he was so intent on his admonitions to me he had observed neither the startled look on my face nor heard her approaching footsteps. I don't know how much of Holmes' speech Anne had overheard but it was obviously enough to thoroughly incense her. He sprang to his feet and turned to her in fury, looking ludicrous indeed with several flowers dangling from his drenched hair and clothing. His anger, however, was no match for hers.

"Millstone! Unmitigated Nuisance! You blackguard! You heartless misogynist! Believe me, you over-inflated egoist, you are not half so eager to be rid of me tomorrow as I am to be rid of you! Drowned rat, eh? Look at yourself in the mirror now, you insufferable narcissist!"

Unfortunately for Holmes, Mrs. Hudson had entered the room halfway through Anne's impassioned outburst, and although completely ignorant of its cause, was immediately at her side and he faced the two of them glaring at him – hands on hips, eyes flashing, and mouths pursed in anger. Poor Holmes – the bravest and most righteous of men when faced with murderous criminals – knew when to retreat. He summoned as much dignity as he could, which was difficult considering his hair was plastered to his head and his clothing was sodden, and we made a hasty departure. I made every attempt to keep a sympathetic expression on my face and maintained a diplomatic silence as we traversed our way through the busy London streets but I must confess it was difficult. The

combined effect of his drenched upper torso and his low mutterings to himself drew many an open mouthed stare from the London populace and I was heartily relieved when we at last reached the Turkish baths. It was not until we had settled ourselves comfortably in the warm and soothing waters that he finally was in enough command of himself to speak intelligibly.

"Yesterday, Watson, let's speak of yesterday. Other matters can wait. I received directions to Chawton Wold from the Chawton stationmaster and simply walked there as it was within a mile from the railway station. An imposing structure, Elizabethan I should imagine, all stone and ivy and a place where time has stood still. Exactly the setting one would imagine Anne would call home – the very air impregnated with old blood, old money, old privilege. I immediately requested an interview with the housekeeper and was informed that she was visiting a sick aunt in a neighbouring village and had been gone for the past week. The next in command was an aged retainer named Benson, a rather vague fellow who was obviously still in employ as a result of past services rather than present acumen. He had no idea where his master and mistress were but thought perhaps they had gone to join their daughter in Paris. Apparently this was a frequent occurrence and their hasty departure had caused no alarm to the staff. I could see that I had quickly pumped dry the well of Benson's knowledge and asked to be permitted to interview the cook. It's been my experience that next to a clever housekeeper, a cook is the most valuable source of information in a home. This proved to be the case in this instance and Mrs. Berry added that her mistress had been expecting Anne on the previous Tuesday for a short visit. She had been privy to an urgent telegram sent to Paris requesting Anne's presence although she was unaware of the reason for the summons. But Anne had never arrived, and most of the staff was unaware until the following morning that their master and mistress had apparently departed to join her abroad. She assumed that a telegram from Anne had arrived concerning a change in plans, was a bit surprised that the staff had not been informed of it, but had felt no cause for unease. The absence of the housekeeper no doubt added to the general confusion of the staff concerning the whereabouts of their master and mistress.

With a sinking heart I then proceeded to conduct a search of the external premises. The sudden absence of Mr. and Mrs. Waterbury had caused no alarm to the staff, but I could not be so sanguine. Chawton Wold comprises approximately one square mile with equal parts of grazing land, wooded land, and farming land. When I had entered the stone gates at the entrance to the estate I had noticed several outbuildings bordering on the grazing land. As I entered an old stone building used for storing hay I immediately knew that my suspicions were well founded. The outer walls held carefully stacked bales of hay but in the centre of the building a bale had been torn apart to cover the floor with several inches of loose hay. I carefully moved it aside with my foot and found what I had dreaded – two large and unmistakable bloodstains of recent origin. I followed a trail of blood to a stack of hay in the corner and uncovered the bodies of Anne's parents – both of them viciously stabbed many times. Secreted with the bodies was a small linen bag of the same fabric as Anne's cape and gown which contained her passport, some loose change, and a copy in

French of Les Miserables. It was clear to me that whoever had perpetrated this deed was careful to ensure that Anne's presence at the scene would be obvious whenever the bodies were eventually discovered. Ironically, it was this very circumstance that convinced me of Anne's innocence. We both know enough of her by now, Watson, to realize she is much too clever to have left behind such damning evidence. It was clearly planted in an attempt to incriminate her for the murders.

"At this point I returned to the house, sent a footman into town with a message to Inspector Lestrade to join me there, and spent the ensuing hour attempting to question the staff without alarming them unduly. The William mystery was easily resolved. A young man named William Compton and his mother own the neighbouring estate and, according to the staff, he has been rather persistent in his pursuit of Anne for several years. It seems the lady has consistently rebuffed his advances but her father was of a different mind and has been intent on furthering the match, particularly of late. This subject has been a constant source of tension between the father and daughter and several months ago they had an angry row that was overheard by the staff. Mr. Waterbury threatened to cut off her Sorbonne funds completely if she did not accept Mr. Compton's offer, and Anne countered by daring him to do so and vowing to make her own way giving violin lessons and recitals. Mr. Waterbury had quite a formidable temper when roused, but Anne refused to back down and departed for Paris the next morning still resolute on maintaining her independence. There has been no communication between them since that time, at least none that the staff is aware of, until earlier this week when Anne apparently complied with her father's urgent summons to return home. The mother seems a shadowy figure in all this – easily cowed by an overbearing husband and seeking only to keep peace between the two volatile members of her family. At this point in my inquiries Inspector Lestrade made his appearance and he was able, with only minor assistance on my part, to piece together events leading up to this horrendous crime. I had rather a difficult time dissuading him from arresting Anne immediately, and as you know we have only until tomorrow evening to produce another suspect for him in lieu of Anne. While Lestrade was busy collecting evidence at the scene of the crime I repaired to the Compton residence only to find that William had been in London for several days and that his return date was as yet undetermined. Incidentally, Watson, when I sent a telegram to Lestrade last evening requesting him to meet us at 2 p.m. at Chawton Wold tomorrow William received one also. This will draw some response I should imagine. I have no doubt that although his mother was not forthcoming to me regarding his whereabouts, she knows exactly where he abides while in London and will relay the message in the telegram to her son. Whether he is foolish enough to obey the summons remains to be seen. If my assumptions are correct concerning his culpability the mere sight of him at the scene where she had observed such butchery will go a long way toward freeing Anne from amnesia."

Here he concluded his narration and we spent a long time in companionable silence. I was rather hoping that the momentous events of the previous day had distracted his mind

from more immediate concerns but when he at last broke the silence I found that this was not the case.

"Well, Watson, I imagine that we must think of returning to our lodgings some time in the near future although I must confess I am somewhat apprehensive of our reception. The fairer sex is your department; do you see any possible means by which I can extricate myself from this mess? And please, don't suggest flowers, they are rather dear at this time of year and I don't relish having another dozen roses dumped about my ears."

I must say I was rather flattered by his soliciting my advice and as we dressed and began our walk back to Baker Street I confided that only once had I beheld my normally placid wife in a temper such as Anne had exhibited earlier that day. On the day in question I had told her that I would be working on medical research in the hospital lab until quite late and advised her to not wait up for me. And such I had intended until an old friend from my medical school days happened by the lab and we spent the evening in a local tavern smoking cigars and drinking much more than was good for either of us. When I finally stumbled home in the early hours of the morning my wife was unfortunately waiting up for me and the ensuing scene was one I can scarcely contemplate even today without shuttering. Holmes enjoyed the story immensely and seemed to derive considerable comfort from it.

"Thank you, Watson, thank you indeed for that extremely edifying and entertaining story, but I am still in urgent need of advice on how to comport myself when we once again enter the lion's den. I can't very well assert that the sentiments I expressed were inaccurate – Anne's far too intelligent to fall for that. And really, she is scarcely the only one with cause to be offended. I've been called many things in my days, Watson, but 'over-inflated egoist' and 'insufferable narcissist' is just too much! Proud maybe, but egoist? Perhaps some of my comments about women could have been overlooked but I imagine the 'drowned rat' epithet is what really set her off. This just proves my point, Watson, women are a damned nuisance and I was right all along! But she must be assuaged; I dread tomorrow enough already but if she remains incensed with me it will be even more of a nightmare than I have already envisioned. I need some help here, old boy, there are few subjects I am in complete ignorance of, but the subject of women happens to be one of them. Particularly a woman such as Anne, my God Watson, I'll not soon forget the sight of her standing there looking daggers at me. I've come to a sorry pass indeed when I'm afraid to even return to my own home!"

By this point in his complaining I simply could not contain myself any longer and what began as a grin turned into hearty laughter. He looked affronted at first but then finally shrugged his shoulders and gave me a half-hearted smile.

"You are correct of course, Watson, my whinings are absolutely pathetic. Regardless of the outcome, I can guarantee you this is one case that I will never grant you permission to chronicle in your history of the great Sherlock Holmes. But you must admit all my

previously related reasons for never allowing a member of the fairer sex to interfere with my work have certainly been shown to be true in this case. Anne has turned my life upside down since first I beheld her and I am more convinced than ever that a woman would be disastrous to my life. You needn't smirk, Watson, I will admit to you in confidence that Anne has indeed tempted me more than any woman I have ever met, but this evening has shown me quite clearly what my life would be like were I to abandon intellect for sentiment. Nothing but trouble, my dear friend, women are nothing but trouble."

Here we arrived at our Baker Street lodgings and with trepidation approached our sitting room door. We were alternately relieved and concerned to find the rooms empty and immediately descended to Mrs. Hudson's apartments. Her outer door was locked and fastened to it was a note in Anne's writing addressed to Holmes. 'Have gone dancing with some sailors we met in the street. Don't wait up. Anne.' Holmes crumbled the note in his clenched fist and looked at me with an expression of incredulity and rage on his face.

"Now, Holmes, calm yourself. They have probably just gone to a neighbour's for tea. Anne is in no shape for dancing – are you forgetting her still painful wounds?" And here I couldn't resist a playful dig. "They are probably having a nice comfortable chat with the neighbourhood wags concerning how hopelessly incorrigible men are. They'll be returning soon and I have no doubt that Anne will be more than willing to share with you any new insights she's gained on the subject."

He glared at me and we returned to our chambers to await the return of the two women. I attempted to read the evening paper but found concentration difficult with his incessant pacing and frequent trips to the window. He could say what he liked about women being nothing but trouble and preferring the intellect to sentiment but I knew him too well to be fooled. Years earlier when I had confided in him my attachments to Mary he had remarked with chagrin that he was beholding the countenance of a 'doomed man' and I knew I was looking at just such another in our sitting room that evening.

It was two hours later and quite dark outside when the women finally returned in a hansom cab. Mrs. Hudson accompanied Anne to our rooms and was completely undaunted by the murderous expression Holmes directed at her.

"Well now, Mr. Holmes, I can see you're quite put out at missing your tea and here it is almost supper time. I'll hasten to prepare a tray for the three of you and have it up directly."

Holmes nodded to her stiffly and directed me to help her with the preparations. I was surprised at his request but complied with alacrity, welcoming the chance to be anywhere at that moment but in the room with Anne and Holmes. Mrs. Hudson was in high good humour as we prepared the repast and as I sliced bread and cheese for her she informed

me that she and Anne had spent the preceding hours in a hansom cab driving through the parks of London. She knew that Anne had left a note for Holmes but was unaware of its contents and laughed heartily when informed of Anne's message that they had gone dancing with sailors.

"Now, Dr. Watson, I know your sympathy must lie with Mr. Holmes but you must admit it's rather a pleasure to see him get some of his own back. I love the man dearly, you know I do, but there's no one to say naught to him regardless of the subject. He leads you around by the nose, expecting you to be at his beck and call regardless the hour, and even the swells from Scotland Yard are in awe of him. And along comes this dear slip of a girl who minces no words and tells him exactly the hoity toity pompous buffoon he's become. She regrets it now, of course, and knows it's due to his kindness that she's not languishing in some gaol. And mark my words, he wouldn't be so angry right now if he didn't know that every word she spoke was true. And strangely, Anne seems to have the very same attitude about men that Mr. Holmes has about women. Odd, is it not? Has no use for them at all – thinks they're all bullies and manipulators. It wouldn't surprise me a bit if we were to find that Anne's father is a bit of a tyrant and the reason she feels the way she does about men."

I recalled what Holmes had said concerning Mr. Waterbury and was once again surprised by the depths of Mrs. Hudson's insight into people. By unspoken agreement we took a great deal of time preparing the meal and it was over an hour later when I finally returned to our rooms with a laden tea tray. Although it was long past dark by this time the sole light in the room emanated from the coals in the fireplace. Holmes stood directly in front of the flames with an arm possessively wrapped around Anne's waist and her head rested on his shoulder. They scarcely moved when I entered the room but I could see that Anne's face was deeply flushed and there were traces of tears on her cheeks. Holmes' expression was difficult to read – a strange mixture of triumph and resolution. Our meal was a silent one broken only by unsuccessful attempts on my part to engage them in conversation. Their thoughts were clearly elsewhere and I finally relinquished any attempts to interrupt their private reveries. By the time we had finished Anne was obviously exhausted and in pain and readily acquiesced to my proposal of laudanum and repose. Holmes escorted her to the door of her bedchamber and kissed her gently as he bade her goodnight. From this, and from the possessive manner he had held her when I entered our rooms earlier in the evening, I could easily surmise the substance of what had transpired between them in my absence. The details were denied me, however, as Holmes went immediately to his own bedchamber directly across the hall from Anne's and firmly shut the door. I settled myself as comfortably as I could on the settee with the sanguine hopes that the three of us would sleep long and well to prepare us for the difficult day facing us. This was not to be, and twice during the night Holmes and I were awakened by Anne's cries as terrifying nightmares disturbed her sleep. Both times I administered more laudanum and both times Holmes held her trembling form until sleep once again claimed her. Holmes was ashen the second time he tiptoed from her room and conversed with me in anxious whispers concerning the import of her dreams. I was able

to assure him that as frightening as they were, they were actually a good sign in that they indicated that Anne's memory was once again beginning to surface. I convinced him that our grim task at Chawton Wold would be furthered by each successive nightmare she had and that, disturbing as they were, they were actually advancing our cause. His relief was evident and as he rose to re-enter his bedchamber I couldn't stop myself from asking, "You love her then, Holmes?" His reply was so quiet I almost missed it "Yes, Watson, yes. I do indeed love her."

CHAPTER 7

When we departed at midday on Sunday for the Charring Cross Station the weather that greeted us was as overcast and gloomy as our thoughts. We should have been well fortified by the plenteous breakfast that Mrs. Hudson had prepared for us, but in fact the three of us had scarcely eaten a bite. We passed a silent meal with each of us casting surreptitious glances at the others; Holmes was resolutely attempting to be calm but eyeing Anne solicitously, Anne was attempting to allay his fears by appearing as unconcerned as possible, and I watched them both with poorly disguised concern. We all knew that the conclusion of this day would see the return of Anne to gaol or the re-emergence of memories so traumatic that her mind had simply refused to acknowledge them. As Anne's physician I was deeply concerned for her physical as well as mental health, and as Holmes' friend I worried that his newly emerging relationship with Anne would be irrevocably altered by the events of this day. He refused to acknowledge his vulnerability, but I was painfully aware of it. Holmes was a master at suppressing and disguising his emotions, but we had been together too long for me to mistake his anxiety.

However, with the conclusion of our meal and our preparations for departure, Holmes became a different man. Gone was the indecisiveness of the previous day, gone was the protective lover of the previous night, and he was all efficiency and professionalism. He refused to allow Anne to enter the railway station until the train had already pulled in, and immediately drew the blinds and locked the door of our private room on the train. Anne watched him uneasily but was silent, attempting by her compliance to indicate her utmost faith in him. When we arrived at the Chawton Station he hustled her unceremoniously into the Waterbury carriage that awaited us, seated me beside her in the interior, and joined the coachman on the driving seat. These precautions seemed unnecessary to me until I recalled that William Compton had by this time drawn his own inferences concerning the meeting at Chawton Wold and had only a few short hours to eliminate the threat that Anne posed to him. Thankfully, our arrival was uneventful, and I watched Anne carefully as she surveyed the ancestral home where she had been born and raised. A contingent of servants was arranged on the entrance steps to the hall but Anne gazed at them all with blank eyes, clinging to Holmes' arm and looking thoroughly bewildered. The staff was silent and regarded her anxiously. Two days previously when Scotland Yard was busy with the crime scene it was Holmes who had soothed and counseled the staff far into the night. He had acknowledged to them that Anne had indeed returned to England as expected the previous Tuesday but that she was now suffering from a total loss of memory. He hadn't expanded on the reason for her amnesia but I knew the staff would needs be ignorant indeed if they hadn't drawn a connection between the murder of their master and mistress and Anne's present condition. They had also been informed of Anne's injuries and had the foresight to request the attendance of the local physician who stepped forward to introduce himself as Dr. Linquist to Holmes

and me. I drew him aside and apprised him that there had been no alteration in Anne's condition and elaborated on the treatments that I had employed for her wounds.

As I was speaking to the physician I became aware of a tall blond man standing apart from the staff and regarding Anne with deep distress on his countenance. He approached her hesitantly and gently took one of her hands in his.

"Annie? You must know me, Annie. You may have forgotten all else but I cannot believe that you have forgotten me."

That Anne did not recall him was obvious as she withdrew her hand from his and shrank back against Holmes' protective shoulder. The man gazed at her in disbelief and turned to Holmes in bewilderment.

"Then it is true what you have told me, Mr. Holmes. She truly does not know me. I would never have believed it if I hadn't seen it for myself." Here he returned his gaze to Anne and spoke with firm resolution. "You need have no fear for the future, Annie. I will help you through this and I will remain steadfast beside you as I have always been. We will see this through together, my dear cousin, and no matter how long it takes you must know that I will always be true to you, as you have always been true to me."

I saw a brief flicker of annoyance cross Holmes' face at this impassioned speech but when he spoke his voice was controlled. "Thank you, Mr. Waterbury, but as I explained to you two days ago, and as you can see for yourself, your services are not required at the present time. Our primary objective at this time is to not distress Miss Waterbury in any way, and I'm confident that any friend of hers must feel the same."

Dismissing Anne's cousin with a curt nod, he drew Anne forward to the entrance hall and we began a tour of the principal rooms in an attempt to elicit a response from her. There was none – not in the impressive two-story entrance hall, not in the numerous formal and informal sitting rooms, not in the dining room with a magnificent walnut table that seated twenty-four people, and not in the oak paneled library with its valuable collection of books that must have been the work of many generations. If Holmes had been conducting a tour of another man's home Anne could not have been more indifferent. As we entered her bedchamber I felt sure that she would behold something to awaken her memories but she regarded her surrounding with no pleasure and little curiosity. I must confess that I viewed her room with more interest than she did. It was a large chamber and every wall was lined with books from the floor to the ceiling. Flanking a huge stone fireplace were two large over-stuffed armchairs and covering the dark wood floor was a splendid oriental rug of deep and rich colours. It was a cozy and inviting room, but it had more the air of the reading room of a private men's club than a young woman's bedchamber.

We had just concluded our unsuccessful examination of Anne's room when a servant announced that Inspector Lestrade and several Scotland Yard officers desired our attendance in the library. When Lestrade introduced himself to Anne the relief that she felt at not encountering another office of Constable Donovan's ilk was evident on her countenance. It also indicated to me that her failure to recognize any of what should have been familiar surroundings convinced her that there was a very good possibility that her care from this evening forward would be consigned to Inspector Lestrade rather than Holmes. A depressing thought, to be sure, but despite his unadorned speech and ferret-like features he was obviously a gentleman and a professional in his line of work. If Holmes and I did indeed fail at this day's endeavor to re-awaken in Anne her traumatic memories we could resign her to his protection, reluctantly of course, but with every confidence that she would be treated with dignity and kindness.

We proceeded from the house to the stone outbuilding where Holmes had made his grisly discovery earlier in the week. By unspoken agreement Lestrade and I flanked each side of Anne and Holmes followed directly behind her. The interior of the building was quite dark but when we entered two large and unmistakable bloodstains were immediately obvious just inside the door. I felt Anne's hand tremble on my arm when she beheld them but she spoke not a word. Holmes' gaze never left her face as he slowly began his narrative of the events that had transpired earlier that week. He informed her of the telegram that her father had dispatched to the Sorbonne requesting her immediate return home. He had been able to trace her arrival at Dover on the evening packet and her railway travel to Chawton with an 8 p.m. arrival time. She had walked from the station to her home, as she frequently did if the weather was not inclement, and upon entering through the gates of the estate had seen a lantern glimmering in the outbuilding nearest the road. Holmes also conjectured that she had heard the sound of angry voices raised in dissent. Whatever the cause of the argument, it had turned deadly and a knife which was used for sheep shearing had been removed from the wall and Mr. Waterbury was fatally attacked. His wife had attempted to defend him and was struck down with equal brutality. It was Holmes' conjecture that Anne had entered the building at this point, had wrestled the knife away from the assailant, and while holding her mother as her life slipped away had uttered the words that Holmes and I had heard during her nightmare "William, my God, William! You have killed them both!" She was then attacked herself, and fled for her life while being pursued by a desperate man bent on silencing her at all cost. She successfully eluded capture, and her assailant returned to the outbuilding, covered the bloodstained floor with straw, and secreted the bodies behind several bales of hay.

By this point in Holmes' recitation Anne was deathly pale and my arm was no longer sufficient to support her. She would have slipped to the ground has she not been supported by Lestrade and me – his heavily muscled arm securely around her shoulder and my arm wrapped tightly around her waist. There was absolute silence and the only sound was Anne's short gasps of breath as she attempted to assimilate all that Holmes had related. Suddenly the stillness was broken by loud and accusing tones.

"No, Mr. Holmes, not quite. Not even close, in fact. Dear Annie has bewitched you as she has bewitched many other men and you cannot see the truth right before your eyes. She is the one who did this; I know it as surely as if I had beheld it. From her birth she has been the pampered darling of two doting parents and in only one area of her entire life have they dared to thwart her. She was to marry me; it was the foremost wish of both our parents for years, and yet she refused and dared to defy them, dared to defy me. Any of the servants can tell you that their altercations on this subject were frequent and bitter. I know as if I was here that last Tuesday night there was just such an altercation and Annie murdered her own parents to protect her inheritance. She killed them both, I know she did, for why else would her bag have been found with the bodies? So now arrest her, arrest her and make her pay for what she has done to them and to me!"

I had treated enough patients with dementia to know for certain that I was confronting just such a one in the person of William Compton. Although not an ill-favoured man in physical appearance his wild eyes and disjointed speech gave the lie to his attempts at logic. We had all been so focused on him and his impassioned speech that we had failed to notice its effect on Anne. She disengaged herself from Lestrade and me and stepped forward to confront her accuser face to face.

"William, you are the one who will pay for this deed with your very life. You and your deceit and your blackmail and your greed. And this is what it has come to. Mr. Holmes was correct in his account of that night, as you very well know in that blackened cavern that passes as your heart. You are all that is evil, you are…"

We should have foreseen it but the suddenness of William's attack caught us unprepared. He lunged at her and his strong hands were wrapped around her slender neck before any of us could react. Lestrade reached him first and attempted to wrestle him to the ground while Holmes and I caught Anne and carried her inert form out of harm's way. She was still alive, but just barely, and the rapidly emerging welts on her neck gave mute testimony to the brutality of William's attack. While we attempted to revive her we were vaguely aware of the commotion behind us. William was finally subdued by the joint efforts of two Scotland Yard officers as well as Lestrade but not before we were all liberally covered with straw and considerable damage had been done to the officers and the interior of the outbuilding. He could not have given more convincing evidence of the murderous nature of his temper had he signed a confession on the spot.

At the time my efforts were exclusively focused on Anne and it was many anxious minutes before I was successful in my attempts to revive her. Holmes and I agreed that our first concern must be to remove her from the scene of so much chaos. She was still too weak to walk, however, and Holmes lifted her in his arms and carried her to her bedchamber. There he consigned her to the care of Dr. Linquist and me as he joined the Scotland Yard officers in the library for their interrogation of William. Dr. Linquist and I immediately administered a generous dose of laudanum and I said what I could to comfort her. I praised her bravery, assured her of William's confinement and her own

safety, and told her that either Dr. Linquist or I would be in constant attendance in the difficult days ahead. When her eyes finally closed in sleep we assisted the housekeeper in attiring her in nightclothes and I removed the dressings on her wounds and explained to Dr. Linquist the care that they required. We then wrapped her rapidly swelling neck in cold vinegar and brown paper. It was only when these ministrations were completed that my thoughts turned to Holmes, and I left Anne to the care of the other physician as I went to join him in the library where the interrogation of William was proceeding.

Before I even entered the library my ears were assailed by the plaintive scolding of a very angry woman. Mrs. Compton had arrived at Chawton Wold with the obvious intention of convincing Scotland Yard that a grievous error had been committed by the arrest of her son. She attempted to convince with tears and entreaties where her son had failed with threats and belligerence. Holmes' face was an impassive mask but Lestrade was having none of it. He had two trump cards to play and was smug in his recitation of them. Scotland Yard had recently developed an efficient method of raising fingerprints from a smooth surface and examining them under a microscope. I waited in vain for a reference to Holmes – for it was he who had painstakingly developed this technique – but I was not really surprised when one was not forthcoming. Lestrade had long ago convinced me that he had developed a remarkably inability to differentiate between his own achievements and those of Holmes. Holmes never seemed to mind, in fact he seemed to prefer the present arrangement, but I always felt affronted for him. In this instance Lestrade had every confidence that the fingerprints that had been carefully lifted from the knife found in Anne's cape pocket would match those of William. He also had not missed William's reference to Anne's bag which had been found with the bodies and he knew the import of such a statement. No one outside the inner circle of Scotland Yard had been informed of this discovery and the mere fact that William was aware of it was damning evidence of his involvement. His recitation only served to make William's mother more angry and vocal and he finally determined that there was no point in attempting an interrogation until he had secured his suspect at Scotland Yard headquarters. He wanted to obtain Anne's testimony before he departed, as I was afraid he would, and was somewhat disgruntled upon finding that due to my administering laudanum she would be unable to converse with him for several hours. I apologized for the necessity and received a reluctant acknowledgement that under the present circumstances a physician's right to care for the needs of his patient superceded even Scotland Yard's right to obtain her testimony. With this he and the Scotland Yard entourage departed with their unrepentant prisoner for the Chawton railway station and from thence to London.

Unfortunately for Holmes, before he left Lestrade had been uncharacteristically generous in his fulsome praise of all that Holmes had done to unravel this mystery. This was all that Mrs. Compton needed to redirect her energies, and she was persistent indeed. Holmes was regaled with a long enumeration of all that poor William had suffered at the hands of the fickle Anne, and many instances were given of her stubbornness and independence. She allowed that perhaps William may have played some small part in the

tragic events at Chawton Wold, but if he did Anne had forced him to and was undoubtedly the instigator. Holmes listened to all of this with remarkable patience, and then firmly took her arm, led her to the front steps of the house, and shut the door in her face as she was still talking. "Mark my words, Watson," he muttered, "That woman is going to be even more trouble than her disgusting excuse for a son."

Holmes desired to see Anne before we departed and stood by her bedside for several long minutes in silence. He carefully unwrapped the vinegar soaked paper that was bound about her throat, and his face darkened in anger as he beheld the purple impressions that William's hands had made on her pale skin. We received assurances from Dr. Linquist that he would remain in constant attendance on her and then began a silent walk to the railway station at Chawton. Lestrade had previously been informed of the pertinent facts concerning this crime but we both knew that our depositions at Scotland Yard would be crucial to the final resolution of this case. There was none of the usual jubilation between Holmes and me that frequently marked the successful conclusion of one of his endeavors. And Holmes had indeed been successful in his attempt to vindicate Anne despite the evidence and capture the true culprit responsible for the murder of her parents. The mystery had been solved, but I knew that this would not be a case in which Holmes simply supplied Lestrade with the pertinent facts necessary for prosecution and then walked away. I had a deep and unshakable conviction that our involvement in this case had only just begun. I didn't need words from Holmes to convince me that his thoughts were as solemn as mine. He didn't advise me to be silent, but then he didn't need to. One glimpse at his grim and weary face was all that I needed to understand what was required of our friendship in the present instance. And so I was silent, and he was silent, and the only sound surrounding us was the monotonous click-clack click-clack of the wheels of our railway car as we began our journey to London.

CHAPTER 8

The reception that Holmes and I received from Scotland Yard considerably lightened my mood on that otherwise drear day. He was treated with all the obsequious homage due a conquering hero and I could see by the sardonic glint in his eye that he knew it was very well deserved. Although Scotland Yard was peopled with officers a good deal more astute than Constable Donovan they had fallen for the same trap that he had. Anne had been the sole and obvious suspect in this case, and Holmes had once again saved them from the public disgrace of arresting the wrong person. It was obvious that they really had given no credence to his theory of Anne's innocence and another's culpability, despite the ample evidence of previous cases where Holmes had overlooked the obvious and had ultimately been proved correct. There was yet another factor which further increased their veneration – Holmes insisted that his name not be used in the official reports and therefore all credit for this coup was to be attributed to Scotland Yard. Lestrade in particular was all that was attentive and grateful. He alone had trusted Holmes' instincts and had endangered his own rising career by sanctioning the somewhat unethical agreement that Anne would remain in Holmes' custody for forty eight hours after the warrant had been issued for her arrest. He was a very thankful and a very relieved man on that day, hovering over Holmes solicitously with cups of tea and plates of stale biscuits. Holmes took it all in stride, having been subjected to similar behavior on previous occasions, and we dictated our testimonies to the court stenographer in record time.

It was approaching twilight when we departed from Scotland Yard headquarters and the rain that had threatened earlier in the day began to fall in great drenching sheets. We returned to Baker Street, removed our wet clothing and replaced them with dry, and set about determining our next course of action. I assured Holmes that I was not feeling any ill effects from the traumatic events of the day and that I had determined to relieve Dr. Linquist for the night watch at Anne's bedside. I advised him that there was no advantage to his presence at Chawton Wold and that his attendance would undoubtedly be more helpful in the morning when Lestrade conducted his interrogation of Anne. I hoped that he would spend the intervening time resting, for I knew that anyone would be exhausted both mentally and physically by the events of the previous five days. He demurred at first, but without much conviction. When I insisted he finally acquiesced, and I had the distinct impression that my suggestion was precisely what he desired but his conscience held him back from proposing it. And so I departed alone for Chawton, huddling under an umbrella and praying that there would be a conveyance I could hire at the railway station to transport me to Chawton Wold.

I was fortunate in that when I entered the Charring Cross Station I was hailed by Charles Waterbury, Anne's cousin, who assured me that the Waterbury carriage would be at the station to meet him and he would be delighted to have me accompany him. I welcomed the opportunity to become better acquainted with him and we engaged in conversation for the entire trip. His was an open and disarming nature, and his deep concern for Anne

endeared him to me. It was impossible to dislike him, although I felt a vague and uneasy disloyalty towards Holmes for my regard. I know now it was jealousy for his sake, but at the time I was unaware of it. Charles confided in me that he considered Anne to be his dearest friend and explained that he and his two sisters had spent their summer holidays at Chawton Wold. He had taught Anne to swim, to shoot a slingshot, to ride a horse. When Anne was twelve and her father was appointed British Ambassador to Austria he had accompanied the family abroad and had attended the male counterpart of the German boarding school that she had attended. On weekends and school holidays they had traveled from one end of Europe to another, sometimes accompanied by her parents, and sometimes just the two of them. His own sisters were not more dear to him, and if his presence at Chawton Wold could give her any comfort at this trying time he intended to stay as long as necessary. He had completed his bar exams the previous spring and was presently employed as a junior clerk in Lincoln's Court Inn. He didn't much like the law, was rather bored by it in fact, and had taken an indefinite leave of absence to be with Anne.

As we approached Anne's home in the Waterbury carriage I could see the exterior had undergone a transformation in my absence. Yards of black bunting were draped over the front entrance door as well as principal windows and the brass knocker was muffled. I hastened to Anne's room and was assured by Dr. Linquist that my patient was satisfactory. She had awakened briefly at suppertime, eaten a light repast, and was now once again in a laudanum induced sleep. I replenished the dying embers in the stone fireplace and settled myself comfortably under a warm afghan in one of the down stuffed armchairs facing the fire. I had not intended to nod off, but it was not many minutes before my comfortable position and the warm room brought on a deep sleep.

I awoke when the morning sky was a bleak streak of gray beyond Anne's windows and beheld her sitting in the chair opposite me calmly preparing a pot of tea. I was embarrassed by my lack of vigilance but she quickly put my scruples to rest. She had only just awakened, was in no pain to speak of, and required nothing more than a cup of tea. She prepared one for me also, and slowly, haltingly, we began to speak of the preceding day. I was particularly curious to know what had prompted the return of her memory but was hesitant to ask for fear of giving her pain. I soon saw that she was willing, even eager, to give voice to her deepest feelings and for several hours we conversed in hushed tones. There were many tears shed, not just hers but mine as well, as we spoke of grief and regrets, love and bereavement. She told me that it was not Holmes' recitation of the murders that had awakened her dormant memories, nor even William's bitter and disjointed accusations. It was William's face that had restored every painful memory – his face distorted by rage and jealousy just as it had been on that fateful night. She wept as she recalled the friendship of their childhood years. William and Anne and her three Waterbury cousins had been inseparable during their summer holidays for all the years of her childhood. It was not until her father had retired his ambassadorship when Anne was sixteen and they returned from Europe to Chawton Wold that Anne noticed an alteration in William and she had done everything in her

power to discourage him. Her father, however, did not, and was pressing in his attempts to further the match. He saw all the advantages inherent in the joining of their two estates that Anne could not. He was insistent, but reasonable, until the Christmas holidays just passed when Anne had become aware of a new urgency in his demands. He berated her stubbornness bitterly, and threatened disinheritance and a complete severing of all ties between her parents and herself should she remain adamant in her refusal of William's suit. This was a new father, a bullying and authoritative monomaniac, and although her faith in him was deeply shaken, her resolve never was. She fled back to the Sorbonne the following morning, and although she had managed to communicate secretly with her mother, she had heard nothing from her father until receiving his telegram earlier in the week. And so she had returned home, fervently hoping that his summons indicated a change of heart on his part. Anne allowed that the force of his personality, which had been so instrumental in his rise in international politics, had frequently been felt in his own home, but she had never been the object of his unbending authority in the past. She was stunned by it, aggrieved by it, and her tears fell copiously as the full realization was felt by her that now there was no way to make amends. I tried to comfort her, but I must confess my tears fell as freely as hers when confronted by such grief.

It was thus that Holmes found us when he quietly entered her room that morning – both of us with red and swollen eyes and the traces of undried tears on our cheeks. Holmes has always been a master at knowing the appropriate course of action and without a word he drew the chair from Anne's desk up between us, enclosed one of Anne's hands in his own, and placed his other hand gently on my shoulder. We sat for a long time thus, just the three of us, staring at the flames that leapt in the fireplace and silently recalling all that joined us together.

It was Anne who finally broke the silence. She rose from her chair, kissed each of us on the cheek, and hustled us from her room. "Unless I miss my guess," she explained, "that commotion I hear in the entrance hall below is the arrival of Scotland Yard officials desirous of my testimony, and I must bathe and dress before I confront them." She was indeed correct and I was pleased to see that when she entered the library a short time later her demeanor was placid and composed, her red-rimmed eyes the only evidence of her private pain. Holmes and I flanked each side of her during the interrogation, and although as it turned out our assistance was not required to collaborate her testimony, I have every confidence that our presence lent her the strength she needed for the frequently brutal questions she was required to answer. The part of the interrogation that I most dreaded for Anne's sake was quite easily resolved. Lestrade simply read to Anne Holmes' synopsis of the turn of events in the outbuilding the previous Tuesday evening and asked if she had any amendments or corrections to provide. She did not, but then the line of questioning took a decided turn for the worse. The powers to be at Scotland Yard had decided that a crucial area of the defense of William during trial would be the level of intimacy in her relationship with him. "When had she become aware of his intentions toward her? Had she ever encouraged him? Had she ever exchanged gifts or love letters with him? Had she ever permitted him to kiss her? Had she ever permitted any other

intimacies that a normal man might consider as encouraging to his suit?" By this point in the inquiry Anne's face was a deep red, and she emphatically denied being intimate with William in any way. Holmes was livid, and the only factor that held him back from calling a halt to the entire proceedings was the assurance from Lestrade that if Anne could provide satisfactory answers to these questions now she would be spared their repetition at the public inquest to be held later in the day. Lestrade pledged himself to providing a transcript of this morning's testimony to the magistrate in charge of the inquest, and promised to do everything in his power to prevent a repetition of the intrusive questions. He was as good as his word, thankfully, and when the interrogation concluded Anne kindly invited him to stay for tea and breakfast after the court stenographer and other officials had departed. He accepted awkwardly, painfully conscious that there were not many women who could so readily forgive the part he had played in this morning's proceedings. As it turned out, his presence at the meal was just what was required to lighten the mood of Charles, Anne, Holmes and I. Anne, in an obvious attempt to put him at ease, asked him whether he had ever collaborated with Holmes on cases prior to this one. Lestrade was typically quite reluctant to draw credit from himself and place it where it rightly belonged, but on that morning he was still rejoicing in the success of the previous day's endeavor and he was expansive in his praise of Holmes. He had an attentive audience in Anne and expanded at great length on Holmes' acumen. Anne was highly diverted, and I must say I forgave him his earlier awkward interrogation when I saw the smiles light her pale face. Holmes seemed to feel the same – he was normally quite reluctant to hear his praises sung, but in this case he encouraged it when he saw its effect on Anne.

Lestrade departed for London shortly after the meal to consult with the magistrate prior to the inquest, Anne retired to her room at my insistence to rest before our departure, and Charles, Holmes and I repaired to the library. Charles made several attempts to draw Holmes into conversation but was rudely rebuffed each time. I did what I could to intervene but I must confess with little success. There was an unmistakable air of tension in the room and an unspoken animosity between the two men that I was at a loss to understand at the time. We finally lapsed into silence – Charles with a bewildered and affronted countenance, and Holmes with an untractable and stubborn one.

Several hours later the three of us departed with Anne for the London inquest. We were greeted outside the courtroom by a throng of over a hundred news reporters and spectators. I had not seen a newspaper in several days and was unaware of the slant the local papers had given the story. One glance at the headlines of the three most prominent London papers would have been sufficient to forewarn me: 'Obsessed Lover Murders Woman's Parents,' 'Former Ambassador Dies at Hands of Daughter's Lover,' 'Spurned Suitor Exacts Murderous Revenge.' It was a macabre twist to the case, but we should have anticipated it. We did not, however, and the best we could do for Anne at the time was to provide her with a protective barrier of Lestrade shoving his way through the spectators in front, Charles and Holmes protecting her on each side, and me following closely behind. There was one humourous incident in the proceedings, which

considerably lightened our grim moods. When Constable Donovan took the stand to give his deposition his swollen and purple eye was there for all the world to see and comment on. Anne, who was seated on my right side, gently prodded me with her elbow and murmured, "My, my. I wonder who would be so bold as to attack such an impressive officer." Holmes looked questioningly at my right hand, which bore similar colours and swelling, and raised an inquisitive eyebrow in my direction. It wasn't until later that evening when we were once again at our Baker Street lodgings that he had an opportunity to question me privately concerning Constable Donovan's injuries. I gave him the same explanation that I had given to Mrs. Hudson, that he had angered me by his insistence on Anne's immediate incarceration, but was not really surprised when he fixed me with a steely gaze and ordered me to continue. I did so reluctantly, and watched his face change from mildly amused to murderously livid. "By God, Watson, it's fortunate you are telling me this now and not earlier when the Constable was anywhere near striking distance. I assure you, a blackened eye would have been the least of his injuries when I finished with him." I had no doubt that he spoke the truth, and it was indeed fortunate for the pompous officer that he was permitted to give his testimony blissfully unaware of the revenge Holmes would have exacted from him had the cause of his blackened eye been known. Constable Donovan's deposition was followed by that of the farmer Barney Jackson, then that of Lestrade, Holmes and me, and finally Anne. The questions were difficult for her, but not as difficult as they would have been had Lestrade not already provided the magistrate with answers to the most intrusive questions. The verdict of the magistrate and inquest committee was a foregone conclusion and issued in a perfunctory manner at the conclusion of the proceedings. 'First degree premeditated murder of Mr. and Mrs. Waterbury by the suspect William Compton.' A trail date was set for three weeks from the present, to be convened at Old Bailey Courthouse, which adjoined the prison where William was incarcerated.

By the time we returned to Chawton Wold Anne was too exhausted and in too much pain to join us for the late tea that her housekeeper had provided. I accompanied her upstairs, cleaned and rebound her wounds, and remained at her bedside until she was deeply asleep and Dr. Linquist arrived to watch over her during the night. When I entered the library I found Charles and the housekeeper finalizing plans for the funerals which were to take place the following morning. Holmes and I could be of no service here, and we departed for our Baker Street lodgings.

We departed in good time for the funerals on the following morning and were accompanied by Mrs. Hudson. The previous evening Holmes had politely inquired whether she would like to attend the service with us she had accepted with alacrity. Unfortunately, her fashion sense concerning the solemnity of the present occasion was rather incongruously illustrated by an enormous straw hat draped with black bunting. A heavy black veil was attached to the brim with several ornamental and dagger-like straight pins, and the ensemble was completed by garish black lace gloves that reached halfway up her forearms. Holmes and I spent the entire service dodging the broad rim of her hat, keeping our minds from more depressing reflections, so perhaps its usefulness

compensated for its entire lack of appropriateness. Mr. Waterbury's status in international politics necessitated the attendance of a great many British politicians and there was quite a crush as we arrived at the tiny village church. We were able to find seats in the rear of the church but many did not and the double doors remained open during the service to accommodate the crowds outside. Anne was seated in the front between Charles and his sisters and we were unable to even approach her until the reception, which followed the service, and was held at Chawton Wold. Charles never left her side and kept his hand firmly on her arm as she received the numerous mourners who had called to offer their sympathy. We spoke to her only briefly, and then Holmes immediately consulted one of the servants regarding providing a conveyance for our return to the Chawton Station. Mrs. Hudson was displeased; she obviously felt, as did I, that we should wait until the crowds had thinned a bit to have more time to spend with Anne. Holmes was adamant, however, and after we were seated in the carriage he made an attempt to explain our hasty departure.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson, very sorry indeed to deprive you of the opportunity to converse privately with Anne. But there was no chance of that, none whatsoever, not with her hanging onto the arm of that possessive cousin of hers all morning. No chance at all."

So this was the way the wind blew. Holmes was jealous! I knew him well enough to know that it was an emotion that he was entirely unfamiliar with, and would have stoutly denied had Mrs. Hudson and I confronted him with it. Mrs. Hudson gave me a sly grin and replied "Now, now, Mr. Holmes. Think back. He has been hanging onto her arm all morning, and not the other way around. There is a difference, you know." Holmes merely grunted and we continued the rest of our journey in silence.

There was something else troubling Holmes, something beyond his jealously of Charles and the stress of this day and the days preceding it. When we returned to Baker Street he paced, smoked his pipe, and paced some more. I knew it would be pointless to question him, and so I waited, watching his strained face and worrying. It was not until late in the evening, when I had almost despaired of having him confide in me, that he finally spoke.

"Watson, there is something more at work here, something we have failed to uncover, something that points to a motivation for these crimes that we have yet to understand. I waited in vain during the inquest for a reference to something Anne said during her bitter accusations to William. Did no one else catch her reference to blackmail? Think back and recall her words. 'You and your deceit and your blackmail and your greed.' The deceit and the greed are obvious, but what of the reference to blackmail? I very much fear there are darker forces at work here, Watson, and Anne inadvertently let slip words pointing to the very key to unlocking this mystery. Or perhaps she did understand… and is purposely withholding information. Arresting Williams should have signaled an end to this mystery, but I shall be very much surprised if revelations are not forthcoming that will shake Lestrade's case to its very foundations."

He said no more concerning his suspicions, but then he didn't need to. My thoughts were as grim as his and I felt in my very core that he was correct. I had hoped for Anne's sake that the funerals conducted today would represent an end to some of the suffering that she was forced to endure, but instead I saw a deepening of the mists that engulfed her.

CHAPTER 9

In the days and weeks that followed I resumed my medical practise and Holmes involved himself in several cases that did not require much effort on his part and were quite easily resolved. We met at Baker Street in midafternoon and established a comfortable pattern of calling on Anne at teatime twice or thrice per week. We never notified Anne of our intentions prior to our arrival, and she never seemed unduly surprised to see us. She seemed to quickly recover her strength, and I was delighted when less than two weeks after her injuries I was able to remove the tiny sutures from her wounds with my medical snippets and tweezers. When the weather was fine she and Holmes rode horses while I read comfortably by the fire. When it rained they played backgammon or chess. I was pleased to see that he was more evenly matched by her skills than he ever had been by mine, and she was even able to trounce him soundly several times. On those occasions the library rang with their laughter – Anne crowing smugly at her victory and mocking his ineptness, and Holmes feigning indignation and asserting that she must have cheated in order to obtain her triumph. It was a very strange courtship – if it was in fact a courtship at all – but then when had Holmes ever approached anything in a conventional manner? We never spoke of the trauma that had brought us together, and only rarely of the trial that was fast approaching. I met Lestrade on the street one day and he mentioned that Anne had kept an appointment with Scotland Yard to receive instructions on how best to answer the questions that William's attorney would pose to her when she took the stand. She never mentioned this meeting to us, and I ascribed her reticence to a desire on her part to remove herself emotionally as much as possible from events over which she had no control.

Twice when we visited we encountered her cousin Charles, and both he and Holmes made a conscious effort towards a civility that had been lacking in their previous meetings. They did it for Anne's sake I knew, but regardless of the motivation she remained unaware of the tension between the two men. Much more troublesome to all of us was the presence of Mrs. Compton, who called frequently and at all hours to lament on the fate of her son. She remained adamant in her belief in William's innocence, and hinted darkly of secret plots and collaboration. Lestrade had informed us that she was a frequent and most unwelcome visitor to his private offices at Scotland Yard. He dismissed her suspicions and ignored her as much as possible. Anne, of course, could not, and despite her efforts we could see that each visit deeply distressed her.

About a fortnight after the funerals I returned to my lodgings after a day of seeing patients to be greeted by a beaming Mrs. Hudson. The post that day had brought her a mysterious package, which contained round-trip railway tickets from Victoria Station to the small village in Cornwall where she had been born and raised. It also contained confirmation of a pre-paid reservation in her name at the local inn for lodging and meals, and a short note from Anne stating that the housekeeper from Chawton Wold would take up residence at Baker Street in her absence to ensure that the lodgings were run as smoothly as possible during her holiday. I was delighted for Mrs. Hudson and knew

immediately that Anne must have heard, as Holmes and I had on numerous occasions, of the incomparable wonders of the small coastal village where she had spent her childhood. But Mrs. Hudson had more treasures to share with me, and her excitement was palpable as she withdrew three more items from the large hatbox. The box contained a brightly coloured coral shawl, lace gloves of the same hue, and a truly remarkable coral hat, complete with a wide satin sash and tiny seashells decorating the enormous brim. I could not even imagine any other lady of my acquaintance wearing such an ensemble, but it was obvious that Anne had correctly read Mrs. Hudson's fashion preferences. She was positively aglow with the anticipation of her triumphant arrival at the town of her childhood attired in such splendour.

Mrs. Hudson informed me that Holmes and I had also received packages and we hastened upstairs to see what mine contained. For me Anne had sent two round-trip railway tickets to the seaside resort of Brighton from Rochester, which was where my wife was presently residing with her parents. The envelope also contained pre-paid reservations for all meals and a suite of rooms on the ground floor of Brighton's most prestigious hotel, and a certificate from the local livery stable confirming the reservation of a landau which would be at our disposal for the entire week. Wrapped in thin gold paper at the bottom of the parcel was a white shawl of virgin Scottish wool that was as lovely as it was warm. I was speechless as I beheld these gifts but Mrs. Hudson, predictably, was not. "Oh Dr. Watson, just the very thing at this time of year for that dear wife of yours. There's nothing to compare to fresh sea air when one has consumption, and I've no doubt it will do Mary a world of good. And you too, after this long separation from her and all your recent hard work, you too will benefit immensely from such a holiday. I scarce know what to say; dear Anne has hit upon the very things to please us above all else."

Holmes entered our rooms at this point and we quickly explained to him the cause of our excitement. Mrs. Hudson donned for him her new shawl, gloves and hat and I must say I admired his forbearance when he politely commented that she looked "very fashionable indeed." When she turned to carefully restore her treasures to the hatbox the smile that twitched on his lips was the only indication of his secret amusement. He then turned his attention to the parcel that had arrived for him which was much larger and more carefully wrapped than either of ours. Enclosed within layers of protective cambric was a violin case, and when Holmes opened it he gave a gasp of surprise. He lifted the violin out of its case as reverently as if it were a living thing, and placed it with great care on his desk. Removing a small mirror from one of the cubbyholes above his desk, he carefully inserted it in the front recess of the violin in order to read an inscription on the underside of the wood. He angled the mirror so that Mrs. Hudson and I could also see the inscription – a strangely fashioned S intertwined with a music clef. We were still bewildered until he explained the curious symbol. "You are looking at the distinctive trademark of Antonius Stradivarius, the father of violin making. His workmanship was unique in the seventeenth century and no one has yet succeeded in equaling it. There are less than five hundred such violins in the world today, and each of them has a registered pedigree of ownership." Here he removed a heavy vellum envelope enclosed in the

violin case, which contained a detailed list of previous owners beginning in the mid-seventeenth century. Listed on the very bottom was 'Sherlock Holmes, London, 1883.'Also enclosed in the envelope was a short note from Anne. "Dear Mr. Holmes, Please accept this in lieu of your own violin which was rendered unusable by my clumsiness. Anne." The three of us chuckled as we read this note, which I'm sure was exactly what Anne had intended. How like Anne to refer to her 'clumsiness' in falling upon Holmes' violin after her near fatal bullet wounds.

The following afternoon Mrs. Hudson insisted on accompanying Holmes and me when we paid our teatime visit to Anne. The two of us had a difficult task hiding our dismay when she appeared wearing her 'Cornwall ensemble,' which she had donned for the express purpose of showing Anne how very becoming it was. She drew several astonished looks at the Charring Cross Station which she dismissed to Holmes and me as indicative of the lamentable lack of fashion consciousness on the part of the general London populace. Anne was kindness itself when she beheld her, and assured Mrs. Hudson that her striking appearance would have her Cornwall companions "speechless with envy." She looked pointedly at Holmes and me when she made this comment, as though daring us to contradict her. Naturally we did not, and after tea Mrs. Hudson went happily off to converse with Anne's housekeeper about the onerous responsibility of presiding at Baker Street during her absence. Holmes and I took this opportunity to convey our deep appreciation to Anne for her thoughtful gifts, but she brushed aside our thanks with an easy graciousness. She maintained that she was the one who was in our debt, and if we were pleased with her small tokens of gratitude then that was sufficient. She promised to join Mary and me in Brighton during one of the days of our holiday, and happily accepted our invitation to call at Baker Street the next afternoon to hear a performance by Holmes on the new violin. When she did call she handled the violin every bit as reverently as Holmes had, but she refused his request that she play it. She wanted to hear him perform, and I must say that when he did I have never heard him play so well. He played several selections from Mozart, the composer he admired above all others. He was only successful in persuading Anne to take up the instrument when he ruefully admitted that his own talents were insufficient for his favourite composition, Mozart's magnificent 'Requiem'. She played it for him, and I didn't even need to see the contented smile that lit his face to know that she played it very well indeed. I imagine that many men would have been intimidated by her superior performance, but Holmes quite clearly was not. His love of music in general, and of Mozart in particular, was such that he was lost to every other sensation save the beauty of the haunting melody that engulfed and surrounded us. It was quite late in the evening when Holmes and Anne departed for Chawton Wold, and if anyone had told me then that this was the last evening the three of us would spend in such enjoyable companionship for a very long time I would never have believed it.

The next time the three of us met was on the first day of the trial in a small room adjoining the judge's chambers at Old Bailey. We were there for a pre-trial conference with the prosecuting attorney which was also attended by Barney Jackson, Lestrade, and

our old friend Constable Donovan. When he saw me enter the room he began to approach me with a purposeful look in his eye. He happened to glance at Holmes who was standing directly beside me and whatever he saw on his countenance froze him in his tracks and he quickly reversed directions. After that brief encounter he made it a point to avoid ever being in the vicinity of Holmes or me and any bottled up resentment he still harboured against me remained unspoken. More importantly, he treated Anne with all due respect and made a conscious effort to atone for all past transgressions. He must have been aware that Holmes fixed him with a watchful eye whenever circumstances required that he converse with her, and he was very careful to keep his behavior above reproach. Holmes and I were very aware that there were many factors that week that would distress Anne, but at least impertinence from Constable Donovan would not be one of them.

The trial began with all the pomp and dignity for which the English court system is renowned. It was presided over by four black gowned and white wigged judges seated on a dais several feet above the defendant, witnesses, and attorneys. According to English Law a guilty verdict required approval by three of the four judges, but an acquittal required only two votes in the affirmative. Death by hanging was the automatic sentence if a guilty verdict was rendered unless the court accepted a plea of mitigating circumstances, in which case William would be sentenced to transportation to Australia. It was obvious early on in the trial that William's attorney had despaired of proving his innocence and was hoping to save his life by proving mitigating circumstances. Unfortunately, the means by which he attempted to accomplish this involved portraying Anne as a willing accomplice, or at the very least a seductress who had practiced her wiles on a gullible William. We had been prepared for this eventuality by the prosecuting attorney during the pre-trial conference, but the actuality of it was very painful and disconcerting.

There was one element which I found most curious during the course of the trial. Three different times the angry confrontation between Mr. Waterbury and William was mentioned, by Holmes, Anne and William himself. Yet the reason for this confrontation was never pursued, in fact whenever it was mentioned both the defense and the prosecuting attorneys quickly turned the line of questioning toward another area completely. Was I the only one in the courtroom who desired clarification on why a man would murder the parents of the woman he hoped to marry – particularly the father who from all accounts had favoured his suit? The defense as well as prosecution seemed in league in deflecting all attempts to illuminate this point – which I found even more puzzling. I recalled Holmes' earlier assessment of 'darker forces at work' and knew for a certainty that we were not in possession of all the relevant information in this case. I waited in vain for an indication from the judges that they required clarification on that point, but soon lost hope of any resolution from that quarter. One of the judges was so deaf he frequently interrupted the proceedings by calling out "What? What was it he just said?" Another was long past the age of voluntary retirement and slept through the majority of the testimony. The other two appeared jaded and bored, giving the distinct

impression that in their terms on the bench they had seen it all and nothing would surprise them, which unfortunately was probably true.

The first two days of the trial testimony was given by the farmer Barney Jackson, Constable Donovan, Lestrade, Holmes and me. There was only one unexpected development; William's defense attorney seemed unduly interested in a recounting of every aspect of Anne's amnesia. When I was on the stand he phrased his questions in such a way as to imply that my medical expertise was inadequate for detecting a ruse, and spent a good deal of time in an effort to force me to admit that amnesia was a simple ailment to feign. I bristled at this, but unfortunately his conclusion was correct. I knew that Anne had not feigned amnesia, but I could easily see that my arguments fell on deaf ears. For whatever reason, the defense had planted the seed of doubt that Anne had not really been a victim of memory loss, and my weak arguments to the contrary were insufficient for refuting it.

When Anne took the stand on the third day of the trial her serene composure belied the sordid accusations that confronted her. The prosecution questioned her first, and carefully drew from her the pertinent facts relating to William's unsuccessful courtship, her father's pressing demands, and the amnesia that was a direct result of the horrors that she had witnessed. I believe the prosecution hoped that by canvassing these issues themselves the defense would feel they had been adequately addressed, but unfortunately that was not the case. When the defense attorney began questioning her it became immediately apparent that an attempt to exonerate William would necessarily involve execrating her. She had been prepared for the fact that the intrusive questions regarding her relationship with William that Lestrade had asked her previously would be repeated in open court, but had neglected to realize how difficult it would be to confront such issues before a court overflowing with witnesses. The gallery of the courtroom was packed to overflowing with newsmen and eager spectators who were obviously enjoying the proceedings immensely. They frequently displayed their amusement at the most graphic questions by rowdy laughter and raucous catcalls until sternly called to order by the bailiff of the court. Anne bore it all admirably, never losing her composure and steadfastly denying that her involvement with William ever went beyond the bounds of friendship. When the question of amnesia was raised it immediately became obvious why the defense attorney had particularly stressed this factor in his previous interrogations. He challenged Anne to prove that her memory loss had not been feigned, which she could not of course, and then hinted darkly that it was merely a ruse to give her and Sherlock Holmes sufficient time to produce a suspect other than herself, in this case the hapless William. There was a collective gasp which rose from the courtroom at this audacious accusation, for although Holmes' reputation had not yet reached the level it would in succeeding years, his honour and vigilant pursuit of justice were well known to the London masses. For the first time in her testimony Anne allowed her gaze to turn to Holmes, and whatever she saw on his countenance convinced her that she must immediately put a stop to this particular vein of questioning. She smiled at the defense attorney and stated "If you insist on continuing this line of inquiry, Sir, I'm afraid

Scotland Yard will soon be investigating yet another murder. Sherlock Holmes will assist them of course, but it will undoubtedly be one of the few cases where he will be unable to produce a suspect." At this the occupants of the gallery erupted in laughter and cheers, stomping their feet on the hard oaken floor in approval. It took quite a long time for the indignant bailiff to restore order, and when the questioning resumed William's attorney carefully avoided further references to Holmes. I didn't dare glance at his face, but the white knuckles I had seen on his hands as he clasp the arms of his chair gradually regained their flesh tones as his grip relaxed.

All in all Anne testified for six grueling hours on that day and when court was finally recessed and she stepped down from the stand it was obvious to Charles, Holmes and me that the admirable composure she had maintained was at the breaking point. Her eyes were unnaturally bright with unshed tears and her bottom lip was trembling uncontrollably. Holmes took her firmly by the arm and we followed silently in his wake as he led us into the labyrinth that comprised the inner chambers of the ancient courthouse. He found a small room that was unattended, drew Anne swiftly inside, and shut the door firmly on Charles and me. Charles looked at me in astonishment but when he reached for the door handle I was able to convince him to let it be. They remained in the room for quite a long time and when they emerged I was relieved to see that despite her red eyes Anne looked calm and once again in control of her emotions. The entire front of Holmes' dark waistcoat and starched white shirt was damp with her tears, and when Charles saw this his face darkened in anger. He was a sensible man, however, and knew that this was not the time to accuse Holmes of undue familiarity with his beloved cousin. Holmes led us unerringly through a myriad of passageways until we found a rear entrance to the courthouse and emerged onto one of London's many side streets. He hailed a hansom cab to transport Anne and Charles to the railway station, and the two of us turned our steps toward Baker Street buoyed by the confidence that the worst was behind us.

When William took the stand the next morning it was not many minutes into his testimony before I realized that my earlier diagnosis of dementia was indeed accurate. His defense attorney made a valiant effort to curtail his verbosity, but with generally unsuccessful results. Most of the questions posed to him could have been answered by a simple yes or no reply, but William felt compelled to answer each question in great and rambling detail. The common theme that emerged was that he was a tragically wronged man, a victim of Anne, a victim of the Waterburys, a victim of unforeseen circumstances, a victim of fate who deserved pity rather than censure. The gallery was vastly amused by all of this, which unfortunately caused William to be even more loquacious concerning his pitiable state. The strangest element of his testimony was that he seemed to be addressing his remarks to his mother who was seated in the front row of the gallery. She frequently smiled at him and nodded in approval when he made what she considered to be a particularly convincing point. I couldn't help reflecting that were I in William's position I would have addressed myself to Anne, who was the true victim of his villainy, or to the judges, upon whom the determination of his fate rested. He did not, however,

and completely disregarded all attempts by his own attorney to portray him as a rational man who had been caught up in events over which he had no control. After less than an hour of this the defense attorney had clearly had enough and reluctantly turned him over to the prosecuting attorney for questioning. The attorney immediately focused his attention on areas where William had displayed particular vulnerability, and knew exactly what questions to pose in order to ignite his volatile temper. It was not many minutes before William had risen in great anger from the witness chair, pointing at Anne and screaming that he had indeed murdered her parents and would do it again tomorrow with even greater satisfaction. He was raving by this point, and had to be forcibly removed from the courtroom by two bailiffs, screaming bitter invectives at Anne the entire time. Thus ended William's testimony, and the two attorneys were mercifully brief in their final arguments. William's unexpected confession on the stand made the task of the prosecuting attorney a simple one, and the ill-disguised contempt with which the defense attorney regarded his client was clearly evident in his summation. He pleaded for compassion, he pleaded for mercy, but there was not a soul in that courtroom who had any doubts of what the verdict and sentence would be on the following morning.

Lestrade, Charles and Anne accompanied Holmes and I back to Baker Street where, if not precisely jubilant, we were all greatly relieved. Holmes brought out a bottle of champagne that he had purchased for just such an occasion, and each of us acknowledged that we felt a great weight had been lifted from our shoulders. When the two cousins departed in mid-afternoon for Chawton Wold none of us could foresee how soon we would meet again, and under vastly different circumstances.

Charles and Anne returned to Baker Street shortly after dark and one look at their faces convinced us that something very serious indeed had occurred during their absence. We seated them by the fire and I was surprised that it was Charles rather than Anne who explained their unexpected arrival. I was even more surprised to perceive her uneasiness, and for the first time in their acquaintance she seemed reluctant to meet Holmes' eye. He perceived it also, and though he listened to Charles, he looked at Anne.

"Mr. Holmes, we have a rather singular request to make of you but one that I'm confident you will comply with once you know the circumstances. Anne and I have been reminiscing this afternoon on our childhoods and of course such recollections called to mind the important part that William played in our early years. We both feel there would be no purpose served by his execution, and are very desirous that the court impose transportation to Australia instead. You have a great deal of influence with the prosecutor from Scotland Yard, as well as within the judicial system itself, and we know that were you to propose such an alternative it would receive every possible consideration. So we are here to ask that you make a formal request for transportation during tomorrow's sentencing hearing."

"No" was Holmes' terse reply.

Charles was immediately on his feet and faced Holmes with an angry and incredulous expression. "No? Just no? No explanation, no attempt at civility, just no?"

Holmes rose also and walked to our sitting room door which he opened wide. "If you do not have the courtesy to favour me with the truth, I certainly can not be faulted for my incivility in refusing you. You and Anne may leave now. There is nothing that incenses me more than being lied to. My answer is no and will remain no. Good evening to both of you."

Charles was clearly at a loss and looked to Anne for guidance. Her face had flushed a deep red and when she looked at Holmes her expression was chagrined but not overly surprised. "Mr. Holmes, Charles, please be seated again. Yes, there is more to the story but I had hoped to be spared having to recount it. Mrs. Compton was awaiting us this afternoon when we returned to Chawton Wold, and entreated us in the most pitiable manner to do what we could to save the life of her son. Even you, Mr. Holmes, would have been moved by the urgency of her pleas. I feel that justice will be served if William is transported, and you must acknowledge that no one has higher claims than I do for seeking vengeance."

This last remark was unfortunate, but Anne could not know that Holmes had very strong opinions indeed concerning capital punishment. Her use of the word vengeance was also regrettable, as Holmes preferred to think in terms of justice rather than vengeance. I had seen him on prior occasions do all that he could to lighten the sentence, or have charges dismissed entirely, for the truly repentant, but he was a relentless advocate for maximum penalties for those who flaunted the law with impunity. His reply to her was cold and angry. "My answer remains no. And you, Anne, would do well to consider that I have heard lies and evasions from others a good deal more adroit at it than you are."

There was a horrible silence following these harsh words and when Anne finally spoke her voice was every bit as angry as his. "I see, Mr. Holmes, that your morbid curiosity will not be satisfied until I have confessed every mortifying detail. Very well. Mrs. Compton has in her possession some letters, very indiscreet letters, which she is fully prepared to release to the press tomorrow unless William is transported rather than executed. If William receives a sentence of transportation she will immediately give the letters to my keeping. It was these letters that were the cause of the confrontation between William and my father the night my parents were murdered. Their suppression is more important to me than achieving justice for the murder of my parents, and certainly more important than attempting to maintain any semblance of pride when confronting your cruelty. You may rest content that you have at last procured the truth from me, and in doing so you have humiliated me in every possible way and destroyed every vestige of the respect and admiration with which I once regarded you."

She and Charles departed, and Holmes was in such a state I knew any rational conversation with him would be impossible. I retreated to my bedroom, and several

times during the night was awakened by his incessant pacing. I had no idea what he would do at the sentencing hearing, and very much feared that he didn't either.

In the morning Holmes was silent concerning his decision but when we entered Old Bailey he went immediately to the defense table to confer with William's attorney. I knew what this signified, and could only rejoice. His love for Anne had forced him to overcome his scruples and he would plead for the life of the man he felt rightly deserved to feel the full force of English Law. When the four judges entered the courtroom and the verdict had been read, 'Guilty of premeditated first degree murder,' William's attorney interrupted the proceedings to state that Mr. Sherlock Holmes requested permission to address the court. Permission was granted, and even the curiosity-seekers in the gallery were silent when he began speaking.

"As this court is well aware, I am a tireless advocate of swift retribution for those who flaunt the laws of this country. There are exceptions in every case, however, and William Compton represents just such an exception. I request the court to seriously consider transportation rather than execution, and am doing so with the unqualified approval of the Waterbury's only child, Anne. I request this in the name of justice; she requests this in the name of mercy."

It was obvious that this was an unexpected development, and the four judges retired to confer behind closed doors. It was not many minutes before they returned and announced their decision, 'Transportation for life to Australia.' I turned to Holmes to assess his reaction, but he had already departed.

CHAPTER 10

I did not regret that I had already made preparations for Mary and me to depart for Brighton two days after the conclusion of the trial. Holmes was in no mood for companionship and scarcely spoke to me at all before my departure. I knew that he was distressed, but such was the nature of the man that I also knew my absence would benefit him more than my counsel. He needed time to sort out his feelings for Anne and needed to seriously evaluate the standards he set for others as well as for himself. Scrupulously honest himself, he would not abide evasiveness or deceit in others. He now knew for a certainty that Anne had deliberately withheld information from him and that he had forfeited her regard by forcing her to confess it. I wondered whether she could ever forgive him but even more doubtful was whether he could ever forgive her. The assumption we both made was that the letters were from Anne to William but I must admit I wasn't really convinced that was the case. Holmes had been correct when he accused her of being a very poor liar, and I had been present when she had steadfastly maintained to Lestrade and in court that her relationship with William never went beyond the bounds of friendship. I believed her then, and oddly, I believed her still. It crossed my mind that perhaps the letters were between Anne and Charles and the jealously that Holmes had immediately felt toward Anne's cousin was well warranted. If that were the case it would not have been difficult for Mrs. Compton to obtain them. Undoubtedly there was frequent communication between the servants at her estate and Chawton Wold and it would have been a simple matter to bribe one of the servants into producing them. But if Anne and Charles were lovers, and I must admit that in all the time I spent with them I saw no indication of this, why had they simply not married and thus put an end to William's pursuit of her as well as her father's manipulations? Anne cared for Charles deeply, anyone could see that, but I had never seen her look at him the way she looked at Holmes. It was Holmes she loved, I had no doubt of it, and I was equally certain that he loved her with a passion that actually frightened him. But they were both proud and stubborn people and they were angry with each other with a vehemence that only proud and stubborn people can feel. Anne felt degraded and humiliated by his distrust, and Holmes felt affronted and betrayed by her deception. I could conceive of no resolution to their estrangement, and I was heartily glad to leave the intrigues of London behind to spend a peaceful week with my beloved wife.

The suite of rooms that Anne had reserved for us at Brighton's finest hotel was positively luxurious and even the weather conspired to produce an idyllic week. The first two days of our holiday we took long rides in the landau to explore the surrounding countryside, and by midweek Mary felt strong enough to venture to the seashore and we took a long walk along the beach. The following day the kitchen at our hotel prepared a picnic lunch for us and we spent the entire day outside in the sunshine. We climbed the escarpment to the west of the shoreline and had our lunch under a protective canopy of venerable oak and copper beech trees. Mary fell asleep with her head in my lap, and I smiled when I saw that our hours in the sun had raised a thin line of freckles across the bridge of her nose. It had been a long time since I had seen her so healthy and even a longer time

since I had seen her so happy. That night, for the first time in a very long time, I held her in my arms as a man can only hold the woman he loves, and I thanked God for our joy.

Anne arrived in late morning on the following day as she had promised she would and there was an instant rapport between the two women. I had, of course, confided in Mary the entire history of the stormy relationship between Anne and Holmes. Mary was very fond of Holmes but rather in awe of him and was quite curious to meet the woman who could capture his fancy. I seated them comfortably on the veranda of our hotel and went off to take a refreshing swim in the salt sea. When I gazed back at them from the water's edge I could see that they were already deep in conversation and I purposely prolonged my swim to give them ample time for happy communications. When I returned from the sea my initial impression was that my design had failed miserably, for they were both clutching sodden handkerchiefs and were both in tears. Mary saw the expression on my face and quickly reassured me. "My dear John, don't look so crestfallen. There are times when a good cry is every bit as therapeutic as a good laugh and this happens to be one of them. If you most know, Anne and I were discussing the eternal mystery of men. We have decided there are two distinct types – loving, faithful ones such as you, and puzzling, aggravating ones such as your dear friend Sherlock Holmes."

Their smiles assured me that all was indeed well and that was the last time that Holmes' name was mentioned that day. I changed from swimming togs into street clothes and we went for a landau ride and a short walk along the sandy beach. Mary and Anne conversed like old and dear acquaintances, and they made a lovely pair as they walked along arm in arm – Mary with her dark eyes and dark hair, and Anne with her striking blue eyes and pale golden curls. After we had completed tea we escorted Anne to the railway station for her return to Chawton Wold. The only reflection I had that clouded that otherwise happy day was that if Holmes had been with us it would have been a perfect day indeed.

The remainder of the week passed quickly by, far too quickly, and it was not until the evening before our departure that Mary confided in me the substance of her tearful conversation with Anne. Mary had mentioned Holmes cautiously, unsure if Anne would welcome the opportunity to discuss him. Anne was hesitant at first, but the chance to unburden herself to one of Mary's obvious sensitivity was just too tempting. She knew that Mary was in all likelihood already aware of their bitter estrangement and it was this discussion that had reduced both women to tears. Holmes had been correct in his assumption concerning Anne's attempt to conceal the existence of the letters but he could not have been more incorrect concerning their contents. The letters were from her father to Mrs. Compton, with whom he had engaged in an illicit love affair of over ten years duration. Anne was made aware of the affair and the existence of the letters during her Christmas holiday when her father had angrily admitted that William had threatened to divulge all to her mother if Anne did not accept him as her husband. She was horrified, both by her father's unfaithfulness and William's blackmail, and fled back to the Sorbonne in deep distress. On the Tuesday that Anne was expected home Mr. Waterbury had instructed William to meet him in the outbuilding closest to the gates of

the estate in hopes of waylaying Anne and using their joint influence to pressure her into accepting William's suit. Unfortunately, Mrs. Waterbury had followed her husband to the outbuilding, and had heard just enough of their discussion to fully arouse her suspicions. William, hot-headed and impulsive by nature, now saw a further opportunity to gain his objective, and threatened to release the letters to the press if Mrs. Waterbury did not join her husband in pressing for Anne's acceptance of his proposal. His gloating demands had pushed Anne's father too far, however, and William was forcibly thrown against one of the walls of the outbuilding. He sought to protect himself with the first item that came to hand, in this case a razor sharp sheep shearing knife that was attached to the wall. Mrs. Waterbury was struck down while attempting to protect her husband, and Anne would undoubtedly have been William's third victim had she not successfully eluded capture.

I was overcome by these revelations and could certainly understand why I found both women in tears. Anne had not been protecting her own name in misleading Holmes; she had been protecting the reputation of an esteemed British statesman who had retired from office with an untarnished record. I now fully understood why each visit from Mrs. Compton before the trial had so obviously upset her. William's mother had not merely been lamenting the fate of her son; she been blackmailing Anne in the same deplorable way that her son had blackmailed Mr. Waterbury. She had bitterly blamed Anne for all that had transpired, and admitted that it was she who had given the incriminating letters to her son and advised him to use them against the Waterburys to further their aim. There were other factors than William's obsession with Anne that compelled her; William's gambling and profligate ways had sunk their estate deeply in debt. Any affection that she had once felt for Anne's father was superceded by her desire to have William gain possession of Anne's dowry and unite the two estates. Both mother and son were united in their conviction that any means they employed to further this end were entirely justifiable. How Anne had borne this, coupled with her near fatal wounds and the brutal murder of her parents, was more than I could even begin to comprehend. And then Holmes, that proud, righteous moralist, had dared to hurt her even more by humiliating her into confessing her suppression of the letters. If he had entered the room at that point I would gladly have wrung his neck. I was quite angry when I thought of him, and eager to confront him with his deplorable fallibility regarding Anne. This was not to be, however. Anne had exacted a solemn pledge from Mary that the contents of the letters were not to be divulged to Holmes by either herself or me. She knew that he loved her, in fact he had confessed as much to her, but she also deplored his lack of faith in her integrity. She would forgive him only when he could trust her as she had trusted him, and accept her past as unconditionally as she had accepted his.

When I returned to Baker Street from my holiday it was immediately obvious that Holmes' foul temper had not improved in my absence. If anything, it was worse, and to further complicate matters this was the week that Mrs. Hudson had chosen to take her holiday in Cornwall. Anne's harried housekeeper did her best, but Holmes was set in his ways, and unfortunately Mrs. Hudson was well aware of his peculiar likes and dislikes

and the new housekeeper was not. His tea was too weak, he detested raisins in his morning muffins, there was too much starch in his pillowcase. Nothing pleased him, nothing was to his liking. I did my best to soothe things over with Anne's housekeeper, but I'm sure she returned to Chawton Wold at the conclusion of the week with the firm conviction that Holmes was a singularly irascible man, and judging from his behavior that week, he certainly was.

I felt that enough time had elapsed for Holmes and me to have a rational discussion concerning Anne, for I have always been a firm believer that one needs to talk things out when one is troubled. Holmes quickly disabused me of that notion and was as rude and nasty as only he could be. There was nothing troubling him, nothing whatever, and I would do well to mind my own business and leave him to his. He knew where my sympathies must lie, for I had always been a fool where women were concerned, and he would thank me to keep my unsolicited opinions to myself. I was furious at this, absolutely and completely furious, and for several days our rooms at Baker Street were unnaturally silent.

I don't know how long our uneasy standoff would have continued had fate not intervened at a most opportune time. Holmes' brother Mycroft desired his services, and in a most peculiar and engrossing case. For quite some time there had been a series of seemingly unrelated leaks at the highest level of several European capitals. The only common denominator in these crimes was that the men who were entrusted with the missing documents were all involved at the time of their disappearance with a young and beautiful woman. This woman was a master of disguises, having appeared at one capital as a blond heiress, at another as a dark haired widow, and was employed as a red headed government stenographer at yet another. Mycroft determined that the disparate investigations of the several countries involved should be headed by one man and consequently Holmes departed for the continent with no firm expectation of his return date to England. There was no mention of me accompanying him, but then I wouldn't have accepted even had he asked me. Let someone else cope with his mood swings and irascible temper; I was heartily glad to see him go.

Shortly after Holmes' departure I saw an article in The London Times stating that the great prison ship 'The Night Hawk' was set to sail from Plymouth to Australia the 2nd of July. I knew that William would be on that ship and determined to visit Anne on that day in order to offer any comfort that I could. When I arrived I found her in the company of her cousin Charles and a lovely young woman with a heavy French accent who was holding a tiny infant. She was introduced as Marie, Charles' wife, and my astonishment must immediately have shown on my face. Charles, thankfully, incorrectly interrupted my shock as indicating surprise that she had not been with Anne in the difficult days involving the loss of her parents and the trial, and hastily explained that his wife had been bedridden and recovering in childbed during that time. Anne and Marie had been undergraduate roommates at the Sorbonne and she had met Charles while visiting Chawton Wold during one of the school holidays. Anne had done everything in her

power to further a match between her cousin and her dearest friend and their wedding had taken place three years earlier. They were presently residing with their newborn daughter at Chawton Wold until such time as the Compton estate would be available to them. Charles had purchased the estate from Mrs. Compton, who had departed two weeks earlier for Australia. The interior of the home had suffered severe neglect due to the financial losses of the Comptons and extensive repairs were underway to make it habitable for Charles and his wife. Anne was happily involved in much of the redecoration efforts and the sitting room where we conversed was littered with a bright collection of paint samples and fabric swatches. She told me that she had also been engaged by the prestigious London School of Music to tutor their most promising violin students and came to London each Tuesday and Wednesday for that purpose. I don't know if she was even aware that this was the day that William was to depart from England and I never mentioned the original reason for my visit. I had thought to find her gloomy and in need of my comfort, instead I found her cheerful and busy, surrounded by those she loved and who loved her in return.

I had planned to mention as casually as possible that Holmes was on the continent, implying that his lack of communication with her was necessitated by his absence from the country. I decide against it, however, and his name was never mentioned between us. I privately resolved to have it out with him on his return and reveal as much as possible of the true nature of things without breaking my pledge to Mary and Anne. He professed to be a man who honoured the truth, well I would give him the truth, even if I had to cram it down his obstinate throat.

CHAPTER 11

A fortnight later when Holmes returned from the continent he presented me with a leather bound copy of the most recent edition of the works by Dr. Richard Cook. I accepted it graciously for what it was – the closest Holmes could come to an apology for his bearish behavior to me before his departure. We soon fell in with our previous habits and I postponed my confrontation with him while I worked out the details of a scheme I had devised to bring Anne and Holmes together. I had seen a small article in The London Times concerning a violin recital to be given by the most gifted students at the London School of Music. The article stated 'Miss Anne Waterbury, a graduate of the Sorbonne Department of Music, will conclude the evening with a performance of her own composition.' I was a bit doubtful that Holmes would consider the prospect of listening to violin students an enjoyable evening but when I proposed that he accompany me he immediately accepted. I knew it was guilt that compelled him, for this was not the first occasion since his return that he had willing acquiesced to a suggestion of mine which he felt would give me pleasure. So much the better; guilt was exactly the sentiment I wanted him feeling the next time he beheld Anne, and hopefully he would realize that I was not the only individual he had wronged and who required amends.

On the evening in question I thought all was lost when we seated ourselves in one of the front rows of the symphony hall and Holmes began reading the programme. I knew the exact moment he read Anne's name for he stiffened and raised a questioning eyebrow in my direction. He didn't vacate his seat, however, and I waited anxiously until he finally commented. "Well, Watson, I knew you had something up your sleeve beside a new-found taste for violin music. Matchmaking doesn't become you any more than deception, my friend, but I'll humour you in this instance. I had already determined to see Anne some time in the not too distant future and this evening is as good a time as any. So you may relax; I'm not about to bolt out of my seat and leave you here alone to endure a hopelessly boring evening of listening to incompetent violinists."

Holmes was only too correct in his assessment of the quality of music we were forced to endure, and had the audience not been peopled with proud relatives of would-be violin prodigies there would have been scant applause and even less pleasure. The evening seemed interminable and when Anne finally appeared on the stage the audience was restless and obviously anxious for the conclusion of the recital. When she began to play, however, a hush immediately descended, and those who had been making noisy preparations for a hasty departure quickly resumed their places. There was one common factor that united them all – the love of violin music – and there was not a soul in that audience who didn't know that they were listening to an unparalleled performance. There was thunderous applause and calls for encores when she concluded, and as she bowed her eyes swept the crowd and rested on my face, and then on Holmes. I knew what her encore would be before she even drew the bow across the strings and the haunting majesty of Mozart's 'Requiem' filled the small auditorium. At its completion Anne looked directly at Holmes and a small smile curved on her lips and lit her bright

eyes. 'Requiem' had been a gift, a gift of love, from Anne to Holmes. All my carefully laid plans of confronting Holmes and forcing him to reach out to her went right out the window. My words would not be necessary; Anne herself had thrown down the gauntlet and I had no doubt that Holmes would respond.

We attended a small reception afterward, consisting of stale scones and warm lemonade, which was hosted by the proud mothers of the amateur violinists. There was quite a crush surrounded Anne and when we finally made our way through the crowd there was no opportunity for private conversation. Holmes, ever a master of taking whatever opportunity availed itself to him to express himself, took her hand and slowly raised it to his lips. His eyes held hers, and even before I beheld the deep flush that stained her cheeks, I knew that she fully understood him. We left soon afterward, Holmes silent and deep in thought, me equally silent and buoyed by the happy knowledge that my little scheme had succeeded beyond my wildest hopes.

The next afternoon when I returned from my rounds of seeing patients Holmes was seated at his desk reading. I was halfway across the room when I stopped dead in my tracks to look more carefully at the papers that were scattered about his desk. They were letters – and I instantly knew what letters. Anne had sent by morning post the letters her father had written to Mrs. Compton. I sat down on the chair nearest the desk and waited, for I knew that the time had finally come for Holmes to be made fully aware of the injustice of his accusations to Anne. His voice broke the silence. "Watson, you will be astonished when I explain to you the contents of the box you see resting on my desk." Here he turned his chair toward me and looked at me for the first time since I had entered the room. He has always mocked me for my inability to conceal my emotions, and one look at the thunderous expression that slowly spread across his features was all that I needed to know that he had correctly read my present ones. "You knew – you knew this all along and yet you concealed it from me!" So great was his anger that for an instant I actually feared that he would physically attack me. I began speaking hastily, and assured him that I did not know until Anne had visited Mary and me in Brighton, and that I had every intention of relating the whole matter to him until informed by Mary of the pledge of secrecy she had made in both our names. He grew visibly calmer as I related this, for Holmes was a silent repository of many a confidence in his years of detecting, and no one valued a pledge of secrecy more than he did. He showed me portions of some of the letters and Anne's description that they were 'indiscreet' was grossly understated. They were as compulsive and passionate as the man who had penned them and their publication would undoubtedly have destroyed the reputation of one of Britain's finest statesmen. Anne had fully comprehended this and the only communication from her that the package contained was a quote from Julius Caesar 'The evil that men do lives after them; the good is oft interred with their bones.' She had revered her father despite his faults, and had almost sacrificed the affection of the man she loved to ensure that the good rather than the evil, would outlive him.

The floodgates were down, and Holmes and I were finally able to speak openly of all that

had happened. I found that his thoughts on the letters had been similar to mine; he had upon calmer reflection realized that the chance that William was the recipient was highly unlikely. Charles was the next logical choice but when he removed himself from England and had time for more rational thought he had found that possibility to be unlikely also. I told him then that I had met Charles' wife and of the birth of their first child which had prevented us from meeting her earlier. He was quite obviously pleased to hear this and for the first time acknowledged that perhaps he had misjudged Charles and that he was a likable enough chap after all. Whether he would have been such a likable chap had Holmes not been informed of the existence of a wife was doubtful to me, but I wisely kept such thoughts to myself. I spoke in detail of all that Mary had confided to me of her meeting with Anne, and warned him that he might encounter some resistance on her part due to what she had perceived as his lack of faith in her integrity. He brushed this aside and was confident that he could persuade her to forgive him. "And then…?" I asked hesitantly, for I had a pretty clear idea where all of this would lead but wasn't actually sure that he did. He had always firmly avowed that he would never take a wife, besides his oft voiced criticism of women in general he simply never felt the married state would suit him. Fiercely independent, primarily selfish, and emotionally private – he was not exactly good husband material. I had previously agreed with his reasoning on this point, but that was before the advent of Anne in his life, and I waited patiently for his reply. "And then, you ask? Well, the usual of course. I'll put my head in the yoke as willingly as the next man and spend the rest of my days wondering whatever had possessed me to be so foolish." His wide smile belied his words, and he began to make preparations to depart for Chawton Wold. When he departed I was confident that the next time I beheld him I would be looking at the fortunate man affianced to Anne Waterbury. I didn't expect him 'til after eleven, for that was the arrival time of the last train from Chawton, and I seated myself comfortably for an enjoyable evening reading Dr. Cook's new book.

I heard his footsteps on the stairs shortly after nine and one look at his face was enough to freeze the words of congratulations that were already forming on my lips. He gave me a wry smile, seated himself in the chair across from me, and explained. "Watson, your earlier hint that perhaps I might encounter some little resistance from the lady proved only too accurate. I had interpreted her sending the letters as a sign that she was wanting to remove all uncertainty from our relationship with each other. Hah! The message more accurately could be summed up 'Here, you bloody fool, read these and commence apologizing and groveling and perhaps in five or ten year's time I just may forgive you.' That woman has a nasty temper, Watson, a very formidable temper indeed. I consider myself to be a brave man, but I'd sooner face London's most degenerate criminals in a dark alley than live through another scene such as I did this evening. When I was finally able to get a word in edgewise I made my abject apologies in as convincing a manner as possible and then got to the real purpose of my visit. You would have thought I was asking our venerable Queen to bestow the crown jewels on me. She had never intended to marry, has always been quite opposed to the idea in fact, and would certainly never consider bestowing her hand on a man who had illustrated as pointedly as I had that he

has no regard for her judgement and no faith in her virtue. She went on in this manner for quite a long time and was thoroughly enjoying my discomfort. But I know Anne, and I know that once she has me properly humbled, she'll come around. She loves me, Watson, and none of her fiery speeches or righteous indignation could disguise that fact. She wants to be properly courted, I should imagine every woman does but Anne seems more intent on it than most, and by God, she'll be courted!"

The next several weeks saw a transformation in Holmes that was as humourous as it was gratifying. He spent an inordinate amount of time on his appearance, visited a barber who was very dear but regarded as the best in our part of London, and purchased several new waistcoats to add to his scanty wardrobe. He seldom visited Anne without a gift – a slim volume of poetry, a bouquet of flowers, lace handkerchiefs that he had specially embroidered with her initials. I accompanied him several times on his visits to Chawton Wold and I must say my admiration for Anne grew apace. They were engaged in an intricate dance, the dance of courtship, and it was a pleasure for me to sit on the sidelines and watch the progress of their steps. He grew bold, she drew back, he pouted, she soothed. They both knew where it would all end and they enjoyed the journey while anticipating the destination. On the Tuesdays that Anne came to London to tutor at the London School of Music she took rooms at the London Plaza Hotel and invariably went out with Holmes for the evening. They generally attended either the theatre or the opera and I frequently joined them for dinner before they departed for the performance.

Holmes was quite busy with his practise that summer and I assisted him in several interesting cases. We became familiar figures to the conductor on the train bound for Chawton, handing him a bouquet of flowers with a hastily written note for delivery to the Chawton Station and from thence to Anne at Chawton Wold. They were peace offerings from Holmes whenever the demands of his profession forced him to cancel plans that had previously been made between them. Anne never seemed to mind these abrupt disturbances of their plans and was an attentive audience when Holmes later explained whatever activities we were involved in that had prevented his attendance. He was concerned with two quite lengthy and difficult cases that summer, one that involved the loss of valuable jewelry by an American heiress, and another concerning fraudulent land sales in the West Indies. He was also still working on the case which had engaged him in Europe early in the summer, the 'Bilingual Beauty' case as Mycroft had dubbed it, and received frequent communiqués from the continent. He had traced her as far as Edinburgh, and there the trail went cold. The brothers were confident that she would eventually surface in London and that it was only a matter of time before Mycroft would hear news of her and Holmes would drop about her the net that he had been patiently weaving for many months.

One evening in late summer when we were dining at Chawton Wold Holmes mentioned some of the particulars of this case and began to speak of his brother. Mycroft is a colourful character and the explanation took some little time. When Anne expressed an interest in meeting him Holmes readily agreed but I was doubtful that such an event

would take place. Mycroft seldom strayed far from his lodgings or the all male bastion of the Diogonese Club and I feared that even his brother would be unsuccessful in luring him away from his familiar haunts. Holmes had set his mind on such a meeting, however, and showed me the telegram that he had dispatched to his brother. 'Am desirous of your meeting a lady who will interest you immensely. 7 o'clock, Tuesday, London Gardens Restaurant. Sherlock.' He was quite pleased with his slyness, only regretting that Mycroft would probably surmise his relationship with the lady before Holmes has the pleasure of informing him, and Mycroft took the bait and responded that he would attend. On the evening in question I was required to meet Mycroft at the restaurant while Holmes fetched Anne from the London Plaza Hotel. Mycroft was unusually complacent that evening and as we nursed our before dinner drinks he seemed every bit as anxious to meet Anne as Holmes could desire. He must have surmised what was in the wind, for the mere fact that his brother was even to be seen in the company of a woman was telling enough. I didn't enlighten him, however, and left to Holmes the satisfaction of presenting to Mycroft his future sister-in-law.

Anne was a stickler for observing the proprieties of mourning, and even after five months had passed since the death of her parents refused to dress in any colours but the mandatory black or white. When she entered the restaurant on Holmes' arm she was dressed in a simple white satin gown which fell in graceful folds around her slim figure. Her golden hair was done in plaits which were wound about her head with a thin rope of white pearls. She looked absolutely stunning and even Mycroft's legendary aplomb was shaken when he was introduced to her. Holmes saw it all, of course, and his wide smile grew even wider as he witnessed his brother's obvious discomfort.

The evening began pleasantly enough, with the usual comments about the elegance of the restaurant and the pleasantness of the weather. When we ordered our meal Anne kindly translated from the French menu for me and explained to the maitre d' some little alteration that I required. Mycroft watched her closely and proceeded to ask her what other languages she was conversant in. Anne listed them and was a bit taken aback by the manner in which he questioned her. He then asked her what countries she had traveled to, unfortunately in the same interrogatory fashion. By the time we had concluded the soup course of the meal the questions he posed to her could no longer be considered merely conversational and even his tone became aggressively confrontational. Anne glanced pointedly at Holmes several times, obviously expecting him to do something, anything, to stem the tide of Mycroft's relentless interrogation. She had surmised from what Holmes had related about his brother that he was somewhat of a peculiar individual and he was certainly behaving in a very peculiar manner that evening. Holmes tried several times to divert the conversation but Mycroft seemed intent on his questioning and simply ignored him. When he abruptly asked Anne whether she found it difficult to remove brown or red henna from her blonde hair she looked at him as one looks at a man possessed. She had clearly had enough, rose from her chair, and excused herself to go to the ladies retiring room.

She was no sooner out of hearing when Mycroft turned to his brother with a triumphant smile. "Well done, Sherlock, congratulations! Whitehall will be absolutely delighted with this. And never fear, if the little lady realizes that we are on to her and attempts to escape I have two Scotland Yard detectives guarding the entrance who will return her to us."

Holmes' countenance went from absolute fury to dawning awareness and then back to fury again. "Mycroft, you bloody idiot, did you think I was presenting you with the Bilingual Beauty? Good heavens man, how could you be so obtuse? I was presenting you with the woman I had hoped would be my wife, but I should imagine that hope is now futile after she has met you."

It is difficult to shake Mycroft's habitual complacency but he was about as nonplussed as a man could possibly be. "Sherlock, your telegram, how else was I to interpret your wanting me to meet 'a lady who would interest me immensely'? There is only one lady who has been engaging our thoughts and actions these last several months, and of course I thought this was the lady referred to. You are the idiot Sherlock, for imagining I would read your telegram any other way!"

By this point the noisy altercation between the brothers had drawn the attention of nearby diners, so much so that I actually feared the maitre d' would expel us from the premises. The brothers were interrupted in their angry accusations by the arrival of Anne at our table, white faced and angry, held firmly by each arm by the guards that Mycroft had stationed at the entrance of the restaurant. Anne had decided the evening was beyond salvaging and had attempted to hail a hansom cab and return to her hotel. Mycroft quickly dismissed the guards and begged Anne to be seated. She did, but there was a look of murder in her eyes. Holmes wisely decided that his brother was on his own and the two of us sat back while Mycroft attempted to explain the misunderstanding that had prompted his boorish behavior. It was not many minutes into his disjointed explanation that I detected a faint smile on Anne's lips and Mycroft had not even concluded before the four of us were laughing uncontrollably. Anne could have prolonged his apologies, and many women would have relished the opportunity to humble the man who was renowned for his infallible insights, but she did not. She held out her small hand to him, smiling widely, and recommended that they begin their acquaintance anew. He held her hand awkwardly, not knowing precisely what to do with it, and then raised it to his lips with a sheepish grin. The rest of the evening passed by pleasantly and when Mycroft and I bade Holmes and Anne goodnight he paid her the highest compliment he could think of.

"Miss Waterbury, you don't by any chance have a sister, do you?" We went off into the night with sounds of laughter echoing behind us.

CHAPTER 12

It was not many weeks after Anne's introduction to Mycroft that Holmes and I set off on foot from our lodgings to collect her from the London School of Music after a day of tutoring. They had made no specific plans for the evening and were going to dine at Baker Street at Mrs. Hudson's insistence. On the way Holmes diverted our steps to a side street and entered the premises of one of London's oldest and most prestigious jewelers. He pocketed a small blue velvet box that the proprietor handed him but refused to divulge its contents to me. I felt obliged to remind him that Anne never wore jewelry but he just smiled and said "She'll wear this." I had my doubts, for as I began to know her better I fully understood how her distaste for jewelry was so in keeping with her general disdain for any indication of ostentation or affluence. When we first made her acquaintance I had thought her apparel to be outdated; I now realized that the stark simplicity of her clothing had never been in fashion and was totally of her own creation. She only permitted one small concession to frivolity, if it could be called such, and that was the embroidered edelweiss that inevitably was to found somewhere on her clothing. She told us once that edelweiss reminded her of her years in Austria and the many hours she had spent wandering among those glorious wildflowers that grow in such profusion in the Austrian Alps. But she never wore jewelry and I very much feared that Holmes' confidence was sadly misplaced.

When we had completed our meal at Baker Street and Mrs. Hudson had removed the dinner tray Holmes placed the velvet box on the table in front of Anne. She looked up at him in surprise, for she knew as well as I that he must have been aware of her oft expressed disdain for 'trinkets'. When she examined the contents of the box her expression gradually changed from wary to delight and then to awe. The box contained a gold locket on a delicate filigree chain with two miniature portraits – exact replicas of the oil paintings of her mother and father which hung in the drawing room at Chawton Wold. When pressed for an explanation Holmes admitted that on three successive weeks when Anne was tutoring in London he had engaged London's most renown portrait painter to travel to Chawton and duplicate the paintings as accurately as possible for enclosure in the locket. The locket itself had been a wedding gift from his father to his mother and had been an heirloom in the Holmes family for over five generations. Anne knew as well as Holmes and I what her acceptance of this gift would indicate but she did not hesitate. She fastened it about her neck, rose from her chair, and walked unhesitantly into his waiting arms. I rose also, mumbled something about going out to procure the evening paper, and left them alone in the deepening twilight.

I prolonged my absence for over an hour, for I recalled with poignancy how dear were the times that Mary and I were able to converse together privately when we were first engaged. In the past Holmes and Anne had never made me feel that I was intruding and indeed my presence was often necessary for the strict sense of propriety that Holmes had insisted on maintaining in his courtship. But there are limits, even to Holmes' unbending morality, and I very much doubted that he would welcome the presence of a third party

when the goal that he had sought with such single-minded determination was finally within his reach. When I entered the sitting room they were seated together on the settee, Holmes' arm possessively around Anne and her head resting on his shoulder, and the smiles that lit their faces as they greeted me told me all that I needed to know.

They were married that spring in the small chapel at Chawton and departed immediately after a small dinner celebration for the Isle of Skye in Scotland. The wedding itself was a private ceremony attended by very few – I stood up with Holmes of course and Marie was Anne's sole bridal attendant. Mrs. Hudson, Charles, Mycroft and Lestrade comprised the rest of the wedding party, and though our numbers were scanty, our wishes were plentiful. Anne and Holmes had withstood tragedy and uncertainty in the past year such as few couples have to endure in a lifetime and the love that they felt for each other had overcome every difficulty. Theirs would be an unconventional union I knew but I had every expectation of their continued happiness. Holmes had always been remarkably successful at compartmentalizing his affairs and he had determined that his Baker Street life as consulting detective would not unduly influence his Chawton Wold life as husband. I wasn't so sure this was possible but Anne seemed to think it was and that was the material point. Holmes kept his rooms at Baker Street and upon his return from the Isle of Skye resumed his profession in much the same manner as previously. He attempted to restrict his work to daylight hours but unfortunately that was not always possible. I was surprised at Anne's indifference to the uncertainty of any set routine in their relationship and she seemed to regard our unscheduled comings and goings in her life with unusual equanimity. Not many wives would turn a blind eye to the sudden arrival of her husband and his partner at all hours of the night, frequently after an absence of several days, but Anne never seemed to mind. If we were exhausted from our endeavors she hustled us both off to bed like a governess shepherding tired schoolboys; if we were exhilarated she sat up for hours listening patiently to the details of our exploits. Many times the three of us greeted the dawn slowly breaking beyond the windows of the library at Chawton Wold, drinking brandy and discussing the triumphant conclusion of one of Holmes' cases.

They had been married over a year and a half when Holmes entered our sitting room one morning after taking the morning train in from Chawton. I was preparing to leave for my morning rounds but could see that something was amiss with him, seriously amiss. So I seated myself in the chair opposite him and waited, for there was one quite dramatic alteration in Holmes that marriage with Anne had accomplished. Her remarkable tolerance for the ambiguity of their lives did not extend to one area and that was his habitual reticence to unburden himself when troubled. She wheedled, she pouted, she scolded, she did whatever his particular behavior at the time indicated would be the correct course of action, and she always succeeded. He finally gave up any attempts to circumvent her, and after a time ruefully admitted to me that perhaps my theory of openly discussing one's troubles was not such a far-flung idea after all. Holmes had always been inclined to moodiness, but under Anne's relentless tutelage ultimately found that airing

one's difficulties is infinitely preferable to inward festering. So on that morning I waited; I knew that he would eventually confide in me, and he did.

"Well, Watson, we've had a rather unexpected development at Chawton Wold. I imagine I should have expected it, but then I fault myself for not foreseeing what I realize now was inevitable. In short, Anne informed me this morning that I am to become a father in the early summer. Good God, Watson, I have only just become comfortable with the notion of being a husband, and now this!"

I was delighted for him and offered my sincere congratulations and was rather puzzled by his obvious dismay. Holmes was so adept at adjusting to alterations in circumstances involving his profession and so unaccountably wary when facing alterations in his personal life. He was concerned about Anne's health, of course, but more than most men he was profoundly aware of the enormous responsibility inherent in being a father. I did what I could to reassure him but not being a parent myself I was somewhat at a loss. Mycroft, predictably, was worthless; his disdain for children was almost equal to his disdain for women. I was present when Holmes informed his brother of his future parenthood and Mycroft was only marginally civil. His congratulations were lukewarm at best, and it was obvious that he considered his brother to have deeply entrenched himself in the enemy camp – first by taking a wife, and now by becoming a father. Holmes had expected as much and consequently was not unduly affronted.

I broached the subject of Holmes' trepidation at his impending fatherhood to Anne one day when he was absent and was more than a little surprised at her reply. "When one has had as unhappy a childhood as he, one is much more conscious of the frailty of youth." I imagine she assumed that I knew the circumstances of his youth already, but I was deeply shocked when she went on to discuss more openly the details of the childhood that Mycroft and Holmes had endured. I had never been present when either brother had mentioned their parents and the only reference I had ever heard of them was a cryptic comment that Mycroft had made on the evening that Holmes had announced his engagement. "Well, Sherlock, I believe that you have chosen well. You, at least, do not seem likely to repeat the folly of our father in his choice of a wife." I wondered about this at the time but knew intuitively that Holmes would not be forthcoming were I to request an explanation. Anne knew it all and knew that her husband's less than enthusiastic reception to the news that they were shortly to become parents was deep-rooted and understandable. His father had adored his mother to the point of obsession and had refused for many years to acknowledge the evidence of her unfaithfulness. She had died when Sherlock was ten and Mycroft fifteen and both brothers had been painfully aware of what their father had refused to see. At that time the brothers had made a solemn pledge to never marry – to never allow themselves to be duped like the father they both had loved but could not respect. Anne's explanation clarified for me the one area of Holmes' temperament that I had never been able to understand – his deep and abiding distrust of women. I could see now why the letters that seemed to indicate Anne's involvement with a lover had caused him such bitterness and I also understood for the first

time why he had gone to such lengths to deny his attraction to Anne. He had never accepted my steadfast belief in the importance of formative years in the development of one's character but here was living proof that my theories were valid. Holmes wanted desperately to be the type of parent that he had not been blessed with and Anne and I were in complete agreement that he would indeed succeed.

Half a world away in Sydney Australia events were transpiring that would have a profound effect on all of us. When Anne and Holmes were celebrating the first anniversary of their wedding, William Compton was burying his mother. She had never recovered from the shock of her son's actions and the subsequent trial and had died a heartbroken and bitter woman less than a year after her arrival in Australia. She had left William a relatively wealthy man and he set about with single-minded determination to realize the dreams that he had been envisioning for months. He purchased a secluded parcel of land on the ocean, renewed contact with several hardened convicts whose acquaintance he had made on the prison ship during his transportation journey, and set them to work erecting an enormous barn on the premises. When Anne and Holmes were adjusting to the idea of being parents, the secret work in the carefully concealed barn was almost completed. William had commissioned his fellow convicts with the task of constructing a ship that was seaworthy enough to transport them back to England and had paid them handsomely for their efforts. When Anne and Holmes were busy decorating the great hall at Chawton Wold for the Christmas holidays, William had already set sail for England. His obsession with Anne had not diminished with the passage of time, if anything, it had increased, and he was more determined than ever to exact revenge for her rejection of him and the sentence he had received in the court of English law. William was not the only man to return to England after receiving a life sentence of transportation to Australia, but the few who accomplished it were understandably secretive about this capital crime, for the punishment for such action was hanging. A few such men were betrayed by those around them and a few were revealed only after their own deaths of natural causes. Most transportees realized that overcoming the almost insurmountable odds necessary to complete the journey, coupled with the inevitable danger of daily life in England, was simply not worth the risk – but William did not. He was successful in landing his ship at Portsmouth in the dead of night and he and his fellow crewmen dispersed to once again resume their lives on British soil.

Holmes and I were in Yorkshire when the telegram from Charles reached us. 'Return to Chawton immediately. Charles.' Anne was six months with child at that time and we both immediately feared that problems of that nature had necessitated the terse telegram. Anne had been unusually reluctant to let Holmes depart for Yorkshire and when she bade us farewell she clung to him and there were tears in her eyes. We reasoned that perhaps she had been ill, had known that something was not quite right, but had been hesitant to ask him to postpone our journey. Her tearful farewell had unnerved us both for she usually saw us off with happy smiles and admonitions to avoid the local gaming halls and brothels. On the train journey north I gave Holmes an abbreviated medical lecture on the fluctuating state of a woman's emotions when she is with child and at the time it seemed a feasible explanation. I now know for a certainty that on some unconscious level Anne knew that she would never behold her beloved husband's face again, at least not on this side of the grave. Within three days of our departure she and her unborn child were murdered by William, who then turned the gun on himself. When Holmes and I finally arrived at the Chawton Station from Yorkshire we were met by the Waterbury coachman wearing an armband of black bunting and we knew without words the tragedy that awaited us at Chawton Wold.

The ensuing days and months were a nightmare that even now I cannot recall without pain. Holmes was bowed down by grief and guilt, and he blamed himself for Anne's death, for it was his speech in the Old Bailey Courthouse that had convinced the judges to transport rather than execute William. There was no reasoning with him, although Charles and I did everything in our power to relieve him. Even Mycroft was stunned when he saw the condition of his brother and bestirred himself to call at our lodgings at Baker Street to do what he could to provide diversion. Lestrade also became a frequent visitor. He consulted with Holmes on a regular basis concerning the more puzzling of crimes that Scotland Yard was involved with and requested his collaboration on several cases that he hoped would be of interest to him. Holmes was not a pleasant companion in those days but Lestrade bore his abruptness and sarcasm with admirable composure.

I had known that it was Lestrade who was in charge of the investigation into Anne's death but was not aware until much later the extent to which he pursued his inquiry. He made his official report to Scotland Yard within weeks of Anne's murder but the rest he did for Holmes, and for Holmes alone. It took him several months but he was finally successful in ferreting out William's crewmembers and granted them all full immunity from prosecution in return for their testimony. From them he heard of William's gradual descent into dementia on the trip from Australia and the convict who had accompanied him from Portsmouth to London had been present when William learned of Anne's marriage to Holmes. He was exhilarated by the news and boasted with maniacal pride that by murdering Anne he would also succeed in exacting revenge on the man responsible for his arrest and incarceration. Lestrade did not confine his inquiries to London but also established contact with an investigator in Australia who provided information concerning William's activities in that country. It took him almost a year to complete the investigation to his satisfaction and at that time I received a short note from him requesting my presence at his Scotland Yard office at my earliest convenience. He knew that some day Holmes would want to know the details that he had so painstakingly gathered concerning Anne's death and he also knew that I, above all others, would know when that day had come. When I arrived at his office he seated me at his desk, trimmed the lamp, handed me a heavy vellum envelope and left me alone to peruse its contents. He found me an hour later with my head buried in my arms among the scattered documents, sobbing uncontrollably. I wept for Anne and her unique beauty, I wept for her unborn child, but most of all I wept for Holmes and my inability to even find words to comfort him.

When I returned from Lestrade's office Holmes was seated at his desk and looked up in

surprise at the condition of my face. I simply handed him the envelope and told him that it was from Lestrade for his future examination. He knew what it contained, and wordlessly placed it on one of the shelves above his desk where it gathered dust for several years. He spent those years working at a feverish pace and the recognition and respect with which he was generally viewed was well deserved. He was exhausted, however, and was finally heeding my advice and was about to embark on a much needed holiday. He was going to Scotland for two weeks of rest and solitude; he did not elaborate on where in Scotland but I knew intuitively that he was returning to the Isle of Skye. I removed Lestrade's envelope from above his desk and placed it among the articles of clothing that he was packing in his portmanteau. "It's time, Holmes," was all I said, but it was sufficient. "Yes, Watson, you are correct. It is indeed time."

On the first evening that Holmes returned from his holiday we sat up until quite late sipping brandy and discussing various points of interest in his recent excursions. There was a new resolve to him, a new peace that I had not seen for many a year. He told me that he had read Lestrade's papers and had then destroyed them. He had determined to cede Chawton Wold and the surrounding estate to Charles and the joining of the two estates of Waterbury and Compton would finally be realized. He had firmly resolved to put the past behind him and devote himself entirely to the profession which previously had been a source of undeniable satisfaction. He requested of my friendship a total absence of any references to Anne in the future. I readily agreed despite my deeply felt convictions to the contrary and when I requested his permission to write this story it was the first time in almost forty years that her name had been mentioned by either of us. But we are old men now, and I have found it increasingly difficult to abide the speculation that has always surrounded Holmes, particularly concerning his singular obsession with his profession, and also his singular indifference towards women. So I have related here as faithfully as I am able the events which transpired in the early days of our partnership, events which were to have such a profound effect on the formation of his character. Holmes has a great heart as well as a great mind and he would not be the man he is today without the influence of the only woman he ever loved. Holmes knows this, and the epitaph he had commissioned over forty years ago for the tombstone of Anne and their unborn child is eloquent in its simplicity:

Underneath this stone doth lie,

As much beauty as could die.

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