Chapter 4

As I have stayed behind in London, some parts of the now following account were written by the lady herself, who was kind enough to contribute her notes and those of her husband to complete this most remarkable of tales. The parts of the account written by her will be marked in italics, to allow an easier understanding. - Doctor J. H. Watson

We left as soon as I had packed my things together and Mr Holmes had taken care of the windows, securing them so no-one would be able to open them again as easy as had been done the night before. He did so by simply blocking the latches with nails, so they could not be pushed aside with a knife blade anymore. Rather unceremoniously he hammered them into the wooden window sills, driving the unnecessary long nails in with surprising force. I have to admit, I was a bit sceptical at this measure, appreciating windows that could let in air if wanted or needed and it indeed proofed to be not quite as simple as originally thought, to pull out the nails again – but that is another story altogether.

We stopped briskly at Baker Street, so the detective could gather his things together and dispatch a telegram to my brother, that I was found and well and not the child's mother, giving the letter I had previously written to Imogen as means of explanation. And so, soon we were on our way to the old English capital.

Mrs Hudson, on our way out, pressed a basket into my hands.

"There, you'll need something decent to eat to get your strength up. - That man will be challenging to anybody's nerves."

I thanked her, wondering what was in store for me, with Sherlock Holmes.

It was a silent journey, him reading the papers and I busying myself with some needlework. Anyone looking in on us would never guess the weirdness of our meeting, the shortness of our acquaintance or the tragedy of our mission.

xxx

When we finally arrived at Winchester it was already getting dark, as the clouds had closed and a light but constant drizzle rained down on us. Only stopping shortly to drop our luggage off at the inn, where fortunately we where able to secure another room for my companion, we made our way to the small hospital – so very central and only a stones throw away from the busy main roads of the city and yet a lifetime away from the wealth and the elegance of the richer population living on the other side of the high street. The neighbourhood was slightly less shabby though than I was accustomed to and the people had a more rural way of living, with flocks of livestock kept in the shabby shacks behind each tiny cottage or in pens at the back of the kitchen. The stench of humans and animals living in such close vicinity was almost unbearable in the summer, but now, with the approaching winter the smell was mellowed down and the warmth of living in such closeness was a welcome convenience for people who otherwise would need to pay a considerable amount of their meagre income on coal, which now could be only used for the cooking and laundry and that was done sparsely at that.

Mr Holmes was carefully taking in his surroundings, walking beside me. I could almost feel the curious glances of the passers-by, who had become accustomed to me during the two days that I had spent among them, many of them worrying over their sick child putting all their trust in me. I hoped dearly I would not disappoint them. At that moment the immensity of my suspicion struck me. If those children where poisoned, it was on a scale that was horrific. Was it an insane attempt of some lunatic to rid the world of poverty? A religious fanatic wanting to save them in a screwed up manner? Or was it just for the thrill of getting away with murder? Whatever it was, it made me livid. At the thought, I could feel my whole body tense and tears welled up in my eyes that got very hard to retain, but I managed. It would not do any good to show weakness now. But my companion, used to observing people closely, must have picked up on my emotions nonetheless as he gave me a sideways glance of worry.

We arrived at our destination after about a ten-minute walk. The place was still busy, people coming and going. As we climbed the three steps to the main entrance, the door swung open and Dr Hayward accompanied a mother and her young infant, handing her something, wrapped in paper, which she gratefully took.

"Dr Stephens!" he greeted me, looking surprised to see me. "And?" he looked at the man at my side.

"Sherlock Holmes." he introduced himself, taking the other man's outstretched hand, closely watching the doctors impression.

"The detective?" Hayward asked, a sceptical look on his handsome face.

"Yes," I answered.

"Don't you think you are going a bit too far, Doctor?" Hayward had disagreed with me from the moment he had set foot over the threshold of the hospital, which was only shortly after my own arrival there, the day before yesterday.

His usual place of work was a private practice in the best part of town and only his wife had made him close it for the week and help out at a place so very far from his own social status as could possibly be. He managed to be polite and friendly to the patients and their relatives, but behind their backs, he talked about them in a bad manner, that revealed that he was less of the gentleman he thought himself to be. His wife helped likewise, rolling up her sleeves and covering her dresses with an apron as did everyone else and I liked her a great deal better than her pompous husband. Other than him, she enjoyed doing good and was not the least afraid of getting her hands dirty. On most days she was making her round through the slum, handing out any donations that wealthy women are so industrious to produce. - Goods that usually left me wondering, why anyone would think, that a baby's most essential need was an embroidered nappy with lace edging – after all they all ended up with the same contents than the plain ones. - With the difference that the less frilly clothes were more practical to an in all likeliness already overworked mother, with no frilling iron at hand and a wash-tub she shared with half the street. I am aware, that these are well-meant gifts and I also know that they are greatly appreciated. But for the amount of money and work going into such a decorated piece, ten plain ones could have been made.

"No, I am not going too far, Doctor Hayward. And I had thought I had given the order, that no child was to be released." I retorted, with perhaps a more touchy undertone than I intended.

He shrugged his shoulders, an exasperated sneer on his face. He then turned to look at Sherlock Holmes with an impression that clearly displayed his opinion of me. He raised an eyebrow as if to say. "Women – what can you expect?" But Holmes just smiled sweetly, looking at his opposite intently, not saying anything. I could see Hayward getting uncomfortable under the intense stare, till he just turned around to walk back into the house. He almost slammed the door in our faces.

"Who is he?"

"His name is Hayward, he is a doctor here in Winchester, but not working for the hospital. His wife does a lot of charity work and has pestered him to help."

"Hayward? The name sounds familiar." Holmes mumbled.

We had by now entered the anteroom, which was well lit and comfortably warm and hence always busy with people needing a quick warm up. It was inconvenient, but I rarely had the heart to throw them out, if they left again after a short while.

"Rhea, is everything all right?" I saw the woman sit in the far corner, crying, looking almost like a child with her small and slender frame and her rich and lovely red hair.

"Little Teddy is dead, also." she sobbed. "You remember how well he looked yesterday, so Alastair released him last night and this morning he was found dead in his cradle."

"Oh, that is horrible!" I cried out, stepping towards her and hugging her. At the same time livid. How dare that man! She sobbed into my shoulder for a moment longer, before recovering. "But Doctor, we need to carry on. I fear Alastair has released three children today to make room for another six who carry the same symptoms. We are running out of space. One little girl is very poorly and I think you should have a look at her right now. Alastair is quite at a loss."

"Who is Alastair?" Holmes whispered into my ear, as we walked down the corridor and into one of the wards.

"Doctor Hayward," I whispered back, "She is his wife."

He looked at her with sudden interest.

xxx

The little girl in question was breathing heavily, fighting for each breath. No pudgy little hands that reached for something or kicking of the tiny feet – she was too weak for that. I picked her up and held her upright so her lungs had a chance of expanding with less labour.

"How old is she?" I asked, cradling her tiny body in my arms, rocking back and forth to calm her down a bit. It worked, her eyes drooped a bit and she dozed off.

"She is ten weeks old, Madam." the mother answered, who was sitting beside the crib, looking as ill as her child.

"When did the symptoms start?" I wanted to know from the young woman, who could not be much older than twenty.

"This morning. I fed her milk in the morning and then left her with my mother to go to work. I work at the laundry down Stockbridge Road. It was about an hour later, that my littlest brother came running to fetch me as Megan had gotten severely ill. I asked for leave, which I did not get, but I left anyway and hurried home and there she was all grey and breathing heavily, not making a whimper or squeal. I brought her here right away, but the Doctor did not know what to do either." tears now shone in her eyes. "Can you help her please, Madam?"

"Are you well, yourself?" I asked her. She shook her head.

"I am sick with worry. She is all I have left from my dear Peter. He drowned in the canal four months ago, while repairing the weir. Got stuck under a dislocated beam. He never knew her." she sobbed silently.

"I am truly sorry. But you must rest a bit or else you will not be able to help your daughter in any way. Go home and sleep a while. I will call you if something happens for better or worse."

She did not want to go, but as Holmes reached out his hand to help her up, she complied with her fate and walked home.

"By God, I hope she sees her daughter alive again," I whispered, still holding the tiny baby that had now fallen asleep. The breathing was still laboured, but the tactics to hold her upright seemed to work. Just that I could of course not stand here all night long holding a child. But what to do? I finally got the idea of sending Rhea to bring over the escritoire from the doctor's office. It was one of these old-fashioned things that had a variable angle to it, depending if the user wanted to write or read. I handed the baby over to a startled Sherlock Holmes and pushed the mattress of the crib aside, before placing the bureau into it and then covering it with the thin mattress. A small smile played on Holmes' lips, as he carefully put the baby back into its bed, while I made sure, the little one could not slide down the slope by loosely swaddling her tying the corners of the blanket to a bandage and tying that in turn around and behind the mattress. It worked. At least for the moment.

Two hours later I had examined all my tiny patients. Some looking slightly better already, others still struggling. The latter ones I had carefully spoon fed some ground and dissolved active coal, to counteract the effects of the poison. Something I had resorted to, as soon as my suspicions had been roused. It seemed to work. The children's recovery was more speedy than before, as the poison was bound and flushed out of the system.

Last, before retreating to the office was little Megan again. She was now sleeping calmly and her complexion had a less greyish hue to it than it had had when I first had seen her.

"Will she be all right, do you think?" Holmes asked, his face unreadable. He had walked around with me, taking in every detail, observing, making mental notes.

"I do not know," I confessed. "But I hope so. And what did you observe?"

"Apart from one very irate doctor and one very committed and capable one, not much."

"I wonder who is who." I sighed. He just chuckled.

"Any clue which poison it might be?" Holmes asked after a moment of silence.

"I think it might be something as profane as arsenic. There are not many studies, how it works in a body this small. And before you ask, I also have no idea how the poison is applied."

xxx

"I think we should return to the hotel, Miss Stephrey – or what would you actually like to be called?"

"Miss Stephrey is just fine. But I cannot leave, there is so much to do and I was absent for longer than I had planned. I cannot go. Not already."

"May I remind you, that you have suffered a severe shock this morning? That you are on your feet since six and that it is now well past ten?"

"I'll be all right." I knew he was right. But I felt an obligation to stay and oversee my patients.

"No, you will not!" he insisted. I got up in defiance. I had never liked being ordered, but at the same time, I was too tired to argue at any rate. At last, I rang for the night nurse and told her to call me if anything went for the worse. It was not, that I had given in to Holmes, but I had given in to my blurry vision and lightheadedness that told me he had a point.

xxx

Reaching the small hotel, we rang for the porter to hand us our keys. Yawning he reached behind him, giving me mine.

"We have brought up your luggage, Sir – Madam," he informed us.

"I also require my key," Holmes pointed out. The porter, different from the one we had spoken to earlier and yet unknown to me, stared at him in astonishment.

"But are you not sharing your room with your wife?"

"I would most certainly share with my wife if I had one," he replied.

The man looked puzzled at first, but then, as if remembering something, he bent over the counter slightly, whispering something in Holmes' ear, in a conspirational fashion, I could not make out. The detective seemed perplexed.

"Excuse me?" he retorted angrily after a few instances that the information seemingly had needed to sink in. "I came in earlier, taking a single room and left my luggage to be brought up to that room, what was there to misunderstand?"

"Well, Sir, we know a gentleman and his lady-friend, when we see them together," the porter winked in my direction. "Pratt I reckon wanted to save you the trouble of needing to scurry across the corridor in the middle of the night."

Both of us stared at the man aghast, the either avoiding to look at the other.

"But we explicitly told him," Holmes insisted a light tint of colour to his pale cheeks.

"And I have stayed here for two days, did I ever strike you as a woman who would do such a thing?"

"Not as you are standing here in front of me, Madam," the man admitted, "But then again, I have never met you before, as you had your key on you. But Pratt told me, that you told him you were a doctor and that he is certain, that you would not care much about convention..." he trailed off.

I was about to give the man a piece of my mind, but my companion held me back, which of course was a wise thing considering that none of this had been his fault.

"To resolve this awkward situation, I suggest you get my baggage out of the ladies room and designate another one to me. That should do the trick, shouldn't it?"

"But sir, there are no more rooms available." the Porter mumbled contritely.

I stared at the man in disbelief.

"But since I arrived here, there were hardly any guests in the house and last night when I left, only three rooms were taken."

I looked at the key hooks behind the man and counted fifteen rooms, with eleven keys still in their place. Holmes had also seen the keys and pointed out the fact.

"I know, but we are expecting a large family party that'll stay for the whole week – some kind of birthday, as far as Pratt understood the man paying for the rooms. They'll be in early tomorrow morning, some maybe even tonight, we cannot be sure of that, as the said gentleman was not very clear on that point and at any rate, the rooms have been paid for and are prepared and we cannot designate any of them to somebody else."

By now he had become serious, seeing that the situation had been completely misinterpreted by his colleague. He looked apologetically at us, trying to figure out, what could be done to help our situation.

"I can only offer, to send the footman to another inn and get you a room there, while you wait in the lobby. Apart from that, there is really nothing I can do, I am afraid."

Holmes hesitated.

"Would you be all right on your own?" he asked me in a quiet tone.

"Of course. Why would I not be?"

"Because there is still someone out there, trying to intimidate you, possibly even hurt you." was the reply. " I am not very comfortable, leaving you on your own. How can I face your brother, if something would happen to you, while under my care and protection? Something that I could have prevented?"

"I will be fine," I assured him hoping his fears were exaggerated.

"Then send the footman."