An Excellent Mystery
aka The Adventure of the Lost Luggage
by Soledad
Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes belongs to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. The modern version belongs to BBC and Messires Moffat and Gatiss. The items of the lost luggage were borrowed from this website: www. .uk/ lostluggage/ victorians. htm. Remove the breaks and you can see the actual items for yourself.
Notes: Philip Louis Adair is my creation. However, his entire family is ACD canon, taken from "The Empty House".
Beta read by my dear friend Linda Hoyland, whom I owe my eternal thanks.
Chapter 10 – A Peer of the Realm
It never came to the ladies' little get-together at the Café Royal – well, not on the following day, that is. Colonel Holroyd decided that they needed to share their newly-won knowledge and invited everyone to his house for afternoon tea.
Including the Watsons and the Bradstreets.
Tea turned out to be a sumptuous affair, and at this one rare occasion the ladies and the gentlemen were sitting together in the drawing room to have it. Mrs Holroyd presided over the event regally and seemed very much in her element. Unlike poor Mrs Watson, who didn't even recognise some of the elaborate desserts, despite her past as a governess in a wealthy house.
Fortunately, all attention was focused on her husband and Sherlock Holmes, who were explaining the results of the examination of Anderson's body, with the occasional help of Dr Sawyer. Mary Watson was already familiar with the bare facts – John had told her everything they figured out right upon his return to The Grand Hotel – but the other ladies were listening with rapt interest and asked lots of questions, which John dutifully answered.
"One half of the mystery seems to be solved," summarised Inspector Bradstreet. "Clearly, we have found Anderson. We still know not what happened to Miss Spice, though."
"Oh, I believe we have a fairly good idea," said Mrs Holroyd, exchanging a smug look with her protégée. "Does the name Philip Louis Adair appear familiar?"
"The Most Honourably Lord Adair," murmured Holmes thoughtfully, while the Watsons gave him confused looks. "Although, technically, he couldn't use the title just yet, even though he is the eldest son and heir of the Earl of Maynooth."
"Who is currently Governor of one of the Australian colonies," Colonel Holroyd nodded. "Yes, that is the one. I encountered him a few times in various London clubs… not a very pleasant gentleman. His only interests are horse-races, cards and women; and his father, the Earl, provides him the means to pursue those interests. I dread the day when he inherits his father's title and wealth."
"The Earl most likely wants to pacify his own conscience," supplied Dr Sawyer. "His first wife, a French noblewoman, died when Philip Louis was eleven years old; it was quite a scandal when he remarried barely two years later. Even so, Philip Louis is considerably older than his half-siblings, Ronald and Hilda, of whom the boy has always been the apple of their father's eye."
"Philip Louis was sent to the family of his late mother at the age of fourteen hand has mostly lived in France ever since," added Mrs Holroyd. "He might be his father's heir but they never got on, and he only occasionally visits England. The time when Alice Spice went missing and Anderson was murdered was one of those occasions."
"That might have been coincidence," said Inspector Bradstreet. He didn't look like someone who actually believed that it had been a coincidence, but – like every good policeman – he insisted on considering all possibilities.
"Hardly," replied Mrs Holroyd with a rather un-ladylike snort. "He wasn't only in England, he was in Birmingham. He stayed in The Sea Wanderer and left on the day after Miss Spice's disappearance."
Everyone but Colonel Holroyd gasped at that piece of new information; he merely winked at his manservant who was standing in the background. Even Holmes appeared impressed.
"Do you have any proof of this, madam?" he asked.
Mrs Holroyd produced a hand-written list of names, on which that of Philip Louis Adair was underlined with red.
"My maid Alice copied these names from the guest book of The Sea Wanderer," she explained. "These are all the bachelor gentlemen who stayed in the hotel in August 1879."
"And you believe that Miss Spice had a secret affair with Philip Louis?" her husband asked doubtfully. "She might have been a pretty girl with a generous inheritance, but certainly not the kind of woman who would be accepted by the peerage."
She nodded, certain in her knowledge. "I have been asking around discreetly. The other gentlemen on this list are either too old or of a social class Miss Spice would have considered beneath her; especially after her disastrous marriage. She wouldn't have made the same mistake twice."
"It would also explain the secrecy," said Dr Sawyer. "As the future Earl of Maynooth, Philip Louis could not admit an affair to a still married woman."
"Or to a divorced one," Holmes added. "Therefore, they decided to get rid of Anderson. Miss Spice lured him to Birmingham, pretending to want to kit their marriage. Anderson believed her; but instead he got the torn-up marriage contract thrown into his face. Then an associate of Philip Louis shot him and made away with his body."
"It still doesn't explain the two pieces of luggage left at New Street Station, though," said Inspector Bradstreet.
Holmes waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, those were meant as a distraction. No-one expected them to be put in the Lost Luggage department, where they were forgotten."
"That sounds convincing," allowed Colonel Holroyd. "But where is Miss Spice now?"
"There is one way she could be safe," Holmes turned to Mrs Holroyd. "You said that Philip Louis has lived in France most of his life, right?"
She nodded. "His mother's family has considerable wealth in lands and houses there."
"And Mr Spice's parlour maid told you that Miss Spice met someone in Paris, didn't she?" asked Holmes from Mary Watson.
"Yes, but she could not tell who that man was," replied Mary. "Only that Miss Spice seemed very happy."
"Irrelevant," said Holmes. "It had to be Philip Louis Adair, in the light of what we have just learned. They had a torrid affair, which a future Earl obviously could not afford, given the marital status of his maitresse. So he took her with him to France – either to Paris or to some country estate of his mother's family – and that is where Miss Spice has been for the last ten years."
"But why did they have to murder Anderson?" asked Dr Watson. "Couldn't they just, I don't know, elope to France anyway?"
"I believe the meeting in Birmingham was some kind of test," answered Holmes. "Had he been uninterested in repairing the marriage, they might have let him alive. But since he very obviously wanted Alice back, he wouldn't have ceased to search for her. And that Philip Louis could not allow. He might have actually found her."
"So, in your opinion, Miss Spice is alive and living under a false name in France?" asked Inspector Bradstreet.
Holmes nodded. "That is the only logical solution."
"I could buy it," said Colonel Holroyd after a lengthy silence. "There is only one problem with your theory, Mr Holmes: How are we going to prove it?"
"We can begin in the cemetery," replied Holmes. "Anderson's body was hidden in the grave of a certain Miss Jacqueline Colbert."
"Which is important… why exactly?" asked Colonel Holroyd.
But his wife already knew the answer. "Because the maternal grandmother of Philip Louis Adair was a Colbert, too."
This was new for everyone.
"That explains the choice of the hiding place," said the colonel slowly. "But that raises the question again: how do we prove it?"
"Somebody had to help hiding the body," suggested the inspector. "We must try to find the people who used to help out in the cemetery ten years ago. Not the regular grave-diggers, just the irregular helpers. It is a thin thread, I know, but currently the only one we can follow."
"The cemetery Superintendent must still have the loan books where they registered the payments," suggested Holmes.
Inspector Bradstreet nodded. "I will speak with him; and I will send Constable Davies to talk to the helpers. He is very good with people."
"We need somebody in France, too," pointed out Colonel Holroyd. "I do not question the deductions of Mr Holmes, but if we could find a woman of matching looks and age living in the Colbert house in Paris, or on one of the Colbert estates, it would be helpful for proving his theory."
"It is not a theory," said Holmes indignantly. "It is a logical conclusion of all known facts.
"I am sure it is," the colonel's voice was dripping with sarcasm. "It still needs to be proved."
"And then what?" asked Dr Watson. "Neither you nor the inspector have jurisdiction in France. Besides, living under an alias is not a crime. And Miss Spice was not the one who shot her husband; of that I am fairly certain."
"'Cause she was young and pretty?" the inspector shook his head. "You are a helpless romantic, Doctor."
"No," corrected Holmes in his friend's stead. "Because she did not need to do it herself. And neither did Philip Louis Adair; he would never make his hands dirty with murdering somebody like Anderson. In a moment of utter rage – perhaps. But not in such a cold, pre-meditated manner. For this he would use somebody who is accustomed to killing."
"And who would that be?" inquired Mrs Holroyd, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
Holmes shrugged. "I do not know – not yet. But I shall find out. It is the actual murderer that we want; the one that we can have."
"How so?" asked the colonel.
"Because once I have found him, Philip Louis Adair will not hesitate to sacrifice him; to make sure that himself and Miss Spice will be safe," said Holmes grimly.
The colonel shook his head. "I do not want to let them walk away with murder unscathed. Is there nothing we can do to frame them?"
"I fear not," said Holmes. "What the two have done is morally questionable but not against the law. We know they were behind the murder, but there is no way to prove it. Even if we catch the murderer and he confesses everything, it would be his word against that of a future peer of the realm. Whom, do you think, the court will believe?"
He was right and they all knew it. As much as he hated that he would have to let Adair and Miss Spice get away with their hideous deed, Colonel Holroyd understood that catching the actual murderer was the best they could hope for.
"But how are we supposed to find the murderer?" he asked.
"Inspector Bradstreet can follow the cemetery thread," replied Holmes. "It does not seem much, but it is very important. As for the French thread," he unexpectedly turned to Dr Sawyer. "Doctor, would you like to accompany me in Paris?"
"Me?" Dr Sawyer was very surprised; almost shocked. "Why me?"
"Because you are the one who actually knew Miss Spice," reminded her Holmes. "You would recognize her, even after ten years, would you not?"
"Perhaps," the good doctor was still not convinced, but Mrs Holroyd nodded in agreement.
"Mr Holmes is right, Sarah; you are the only one who can insist on having tea with Miss Spice and chatting about old times. It would be hard to explain your presence, though," she added, looking at Holmes. "You have become somewhat notorious in the recent years."
The detective waved impatiently. "I shan't be using my own name, of course. It is a good thing that my brother practically never leaves that club of his; most people are not even aware of his existence. Therefore I can use his title and get away with it. He would not mind, as long as he does not have to go out and mingle with people himself."
"His title?" echoed Dr Watson. "Your brother has a title?"
Holmes rolled his eyes. "My dear Watson, I have told you repeatedly that my ancestors were country squires, have I not? I rarely refer to it, as it would be more of a hindrance than any help in my area of work, but yes, my brother is the Viscount of Sherringford; a title inherited through our mother's line, together with the estate in Sussex. I am actually grateful for being a younger son and not burdened with obligations that come with a title, but I can play the part convincingly if my work requires doing so."
"I am sure you can," said Mrs Bradstreet, speaking up for the first time. "But Dr Sawyer cannot travel with you to Paris alone. That would cause mean-spirited talk, and she cannot afford that in her position."
"No, but I can take Miss Hooper with me," suggested Dr. Sawyer. "She works with me in the morgue," she added for Holmes and the Watsons," and wants to become a pathologist like me."
"And she is such a nervous wallflower that everyone will believe her to be your maid," added Mrs Holroyd smugly.
Mrs Bradstreet frowned. "But would she be willing to do it?"
"Oh, sure," Mrs Holroyd shrugged. "For a chance to visit Paris? She would never get that again. Besides, she adores Sarah; would do anything to help her."
"That could work," the colonel agreed. "Well; let us do this: we all go and investigate our respective threads. Then, once Dr Sawyer and Mr Holmes have returned from France, we shall meet in London and compare our results."
"But why in London?" asked the inspector.
The colonel gave Mary Watson a blinding smile. "Because Mrs Watson probably won't be able to travel far by then. And she deserves to be part of the solution, after all the help she has already provided. Besides, it will be earlier for Mr Spice to join us in London; and he would want to have answers, too."
That was true beyond doubt; more so given the fat that Mr Spice was Holmes's actual client, who came up for his and the Watsons' expenses in Birmingham. Therefore the gentlemen agreed that this was the right thing to do, and the rest of the afternoon was spent with working out the practical details.
The ladies retreated to Mrs Holroyd's private parlour and forged plans of their own. Naturally, Dr Sawyer had to promise to take copious notes during her investigation with the great detective, which she was then expected to share with the others. Mrs Holroyd intended to find out whether the Most Honourable Philip Louis Adair had come back to England lately and whether he was alone or in female companionship. The lather was considered rather unlikely, since Miss Spice's main intention had been to vanish without a trace, but not entirely impossible.
Before leaving the Holroyd house, Mrs Bradstreet took Mary Watson to the side and handed her a small jewellery box as well as her calling card.
"Here it is, as we have agreed," she said. "I shall write you, should the events here take an unexpected turn. I ask you to do the same."
Mary promised that she will, although she suspected that she would be busy with more domestic issues in the near future – like giving birth and taking care of her baby. But she, too, was very curious about the outcome of their ten-year-old mystery, and she knew she had better chances to learn the details (especially the scandalous ones) from Mrs Bradstreet and her friends than from her own husband.
On the next day Sherlock Holmes and the Watsons took their leave from Mr Field and Miss Robinson. Well… the Watsons did. Holmes could not be bothered by such mundane things; not that anyone would have expected him to do so.
Before leaving for London, Mary made sure to take the time and speak to Miss Robinson in private, revealing her the fate of the man she had loved so much but by whom she had not been loved, merely used and then abandoned.
The poor woman was devastated, of course, but Mary hoped that now that she could no longer wait for Anderson's return – unlikely as it had been from the very beginning – she might be able to move on and make something of her life. There were still a few good, decent men out there, looking for a loving wife. Her own John was the living proof of that.
Life returned to its old, comfortable pace after their return. Soon thereafter Holmes left for Paris with Dr Sawyer, but neither of the Watsons felt the least envious about that. Mary had never been to France and hoped that one day they could afford to go there; but she wanted it to be just the two of them (well, three, once the baby arrived). Just a family holiday, without mysteries, missing rich, spoiled girls and murderers.
For that to happen, though, they would have to lay a pretty penny to the side; not to mention the upcoming costs a new baby would cause. And thus, though Mary sometimes missed her husband and felt a little lonely in their small home, she understood why her John spent long hours in the practice and with visiting his patients – longer hours even than he usually spent when assisting Holmes on a case.
They needed the money, that was the honest truth. Neither of them wanted to touch Mary's small inheritance or sell the pearls she had received from Mr Sholto – him of the guilty conscience and the shadowy character. Those were for absolute emergencies only, and they both hoped they would never need to use them.
Thus Mary was fairly surprised when – a fortnight or so after their return – John asked her if she felt up to go out on Sunday afternoon.
"Where are we going?" she wanted to know before saying either aye or nay.
"Westminster," answered her husband. "I must pay and overdue visit to Mrs Anderson. She needs to know what happened to her son."
"Everything that happened?" asked Mary with a frown.
"Well, not everything," said John. "Just that he had been murdered ten years ago and was now finally found. I do not believe we should burden her with the full truth."
"No, I agree," Mary nodded with emphasis. "The news would be bad enough for her; she truly does not need to know that the woman her son loved betrayed him and was in all likelihood in league with his murderer. It would break her heart."
"So you are coming with me?" asked John.
She nodded. "Yes, I shall go with you. I have my own commission regarding the Andersons."
"What commission?"
"Mrs Bradstreet had persuaded her husband that the broche Anderson bought for Miss Spice is no longer needed as evidence. And since he bought it honestly, the family can have it back," she opened her handbag and took out the small jewellery box. "She entrusted it to me, believing that we would be better suited to deliver it."
"That was very thoughtful of her," said John, a little surprised. Mrs Bradstreet did not strike him as an overly sentimental person.
"I asked," admitted Mary with a bashful smile.
John looked at her with a whole new level of admiration. He had always known that Mary was more than just a doctor's meek little wife – even though she appeared fairly content with the role, after having lived in the homes of strangers for almost two decades – but she still surprised him from time to time. Even though volunteering for such a sad duty, which required a great deal of tack and compassion, fit very well with her caring nature.
He cleared his throat. "You," he declared, "are a jewel. I never knew how lonely I was before I met you."
"You had Mr Holmes," she pointed out reasonably. "I doubt that you had the time to be lonely, with him chasing after criminals and you in his tow all the time."
John laughed. "My dear, Sherlock Holmes is a truly extraordinary man, but not somebody who would sit at one's bedside after a bad night full of nightmares. Nor is he particularly suited for long, leisurely walks or peaceful evenings at the fireplace. I admire him very much – always have and always will – but he is not the one I would turn to for comfort." He smiled and kissed her hand. "Besides, you are a lot prettier."
Mari batted his hand away, laughing.
"Oh, come on! I am as big as a house!"
"And who says big houses cannot be beautiful?" asked John rhetorically; then he became serious again. "If you please, I will call on the Andersons and make an appointment with them. Then we can go together and visit."
"Do it," Mary kissed him briefly on the cheek. "But hurry up. I have the feeling that this little one will not leave us time for social calls much longer."
~TBC~
Apologies for the briefness of this chapter. This seemed a good place to stop.