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.

Beta read by my dear friend Linda Hoyland, whom I owe my eternal thanks.

Epilogue

"What are we going to tell Mr Spice, then?" Emily Holroyd asked her closest friends, Sarah Sawyer and Susan Bradstreet.

They were having tea, just the three of them, without the other resolute ladies from their close-knit circle, with Doctor Sawyer playing host – for the simple reason that she had no husband to eavesdrop on them.

"The truth; what else could we tell him?" replied Susan Bradstreet. "The facts are known to the police; and besides, I doubt that Mr Holmes would be willing to lie to his client. It was Mr Spice who hired him to find Alice – following your suggestion, may I point out," she looked at Mrs Holroyd.

"I wish I hadn't suggested it," said Mrs Holroyd bitterly. "He was better off not knowing."

"Perhaps; perhaps not," said Mrs Bradstreet thoughtfully. "Some people prefer the truth, even if it is a bitter one. At leas Alice, whatever her part in Mr Anderson's death might be, was happy with her second choice – or wasn't she?" she looked at Doctor Sawyer askance.

The doctor nodded. "She seemed to be. I thought first that she would be just a plaything for Mr Adair; but I was apparently wrong. Even though I cannot truly understand what a man like Philip Louis Adair saw in her."

"She was his," reminded them Mrs Bradstreet. "And she clearly admired him. Men like being admired; perhaps you should give it a try, my dear," she added, with a sideways glance at Mrs Holroyd. "It could do wonders for your marriage."

Mrs Holroyd made a very un-ladylike snort. "Do you admire your husband?"

"Of course I do," replied Mrs Bradstreet calmly. "James had many admirable traits; why else, do you think would I have married him in the first place?"

Which was very true. She had married below her social standing when she chose James Bradstreet; a choice she never regretted.

"Granted, he is a bit narrow-minded when it comes to women," she continued, "but then most men are. Even so, he is smart enough not to cross me, which is another thing I admire in him."

They laughed. Susan Bradstreet clearly was the one who called the shots in her house, but she discreetly reigned from the background and made sure never to embarrass her husband. This was a level of self-restraint Emily Holroyd could never quite find in herself, which led to frequent and spectacular fights between her and the colonel. Of course, she hadn't married beneath her social standing. Jacob was her equal – not to mention a battle-hardened soldier –, making it a lot harder to make him back off.

"Speaking of meek little wives who admire their husbands," Doctor Sawyer said with a wink in Mrs Bradstreet's direction, "have you heard from the Watsons? Mrs Watson should be due any time now."

"Jacob got a wire from Doctor Watson," told them Mrs Holroyd. "Apparently, they have a son – which led to a bit of uproar, as they were both sure it would be a girl and didn't even think of boys' names."

"What did they name the boy in the end?" asked Doctor Sawyer.

Mrs Holroyd shrugged. "I don't know; and, to be honest, I don't particularly care, either. Now, Sarah, stop being Mother; sit down and tell us everything about your journey to France. I want details. All details. I so envy you for having assisted Sherlock Holmes!"

"I for my part could have done without the dead bodies and nearly being killed," replied Doctor Sawyer dryly. "The entire journey was much like my regular work – and I prefer my dead on the autopsy table, not in their own salon."

But she did sit down, and she gave them a detailed report about her journey nonetheless. Few people were brave – or foolish – enough to deny Emily Holroyd what she wanted.

"Do you believe Doctor Sawyer was much traumatised?" asked Mary Watson.

She was sitting in the tiny drawing-room of their house in Queen Anne Street, resting in her rocking chair after having fed baby Ian. She was still exhausted from having gone through a complicated birth and Ian crying through half the night.

Holmes looked at her in honest confusion. "Why should she? She works with dead bodies all the time!"

"None of which she had known personally before; or which had been killed in front of her eyes; or tried to kill her before killing himself," pointed out Doctor Watson. "One of those things can traumatise a person; all three together would be downright shocking."

"Oh, I believe Doctor Sawyer is more resilient than you give her credit for," replied Holmes dismissively.

Doctor Watson raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Would you care to elaborate? What exactly did happen in Paris?"

The great detective, however, shook his head. "Some details are not mine to tell. But she did show impressive courage and calm in the face of a death threat; not many women would be able to do that. Or men, for that matter."

"So, is the case closed now?" asked Mary. "Have you found out who has committed the actual murder ten years ago?"

Holmes shook his head again. "No; and since both Mr Adair and Miss Spice are dead, we don't have many trails to follow – save that of the hypothetical weapon."

"You aren't giving up, though," said Doctor Watson. It clearly wasn't a question; it still earned him a raised Holmesian eyebrow.

"Obviously not. There are but a handful of weapon makers who can build a rifle with the specifications you described upon examining Mr Anderson's body. I shall contact every single one of them. I shall find the murderer, no matter how many years it may take."

"That will be little consolation for Mr Spice… or for the Anderson family," commented Mary Watson softly. "Mrs Anderson might see the recent tragedy as divine justice, but Mr Spice… was he very angry with you?"

"He was… not pleased," admitted Holmes. "But then, neither was I. This was a highly unsatisfying case for all parties involved; one that will haunt us all for a long time yet," he rose. "Well, I must go. I have another client to meet within the hour."

He took his coat and his hat from the Watsons' maid and left in a moderate pace. Mary Watson looked at her husband with a faint smile.

"Not to disagree with Mr Holmes on principle, John, but I for my part was more than satisfied with the case," she said. "I got to see how the two of you work on a case, I got to stay in The Grand Hotel, I got to visit the Jeweller's Quarter and I met a couple of extraordinary ladies. It was the most excitement I had ever since Mr Holmes solved the mystery surrounding my father's death."

"Enough excitement for the foreseeable future?" asked Doctor Watson teasingly.

His wife laughed. "More than enough; especially now that Ian will keep me busy for a while. Speaking of which; have you thought about whom we should ask to be Ian's godfather and godmother?"

"I was thinking of Doctor Stamford for godfather," said John slowly. "He has been a good friend for a long time; without him I would never have met Holmes, and without Holmes I would never have met you. I owe him a great deal. As for godmother – I really have no idea. We don't have that many lady friends."

"What about Miss Anderson?" suggested Mary. "She is not a complete stranger – she cared for Harriet long enough, after all – and it would do her good to have something to look forward to. Also, it would ease the Andersons' loneliness to meet with us from time to time."

John thought of the bleak, oppressive atmosphere of the Andersons' home and a vivacious young woman like Betsy Anderson being trapped there and could only agree with his wife's suggestion. Who knew, perhaps even Mrs Anderson would find some comfort in having an honourable grandson.

Besides, he and Mary didn't have that many friends, save for the Stamfords – and, of course, Holmes. As for family, Mary had none and he himself had only Harriet, which didn't mean much.

Perhaps it was time for expanding their social circle.

"Unless you want to ask Doctor Sawyer, of course," added Mary as an afterthought.

John thought about that for a moment – then he shook his head.

"No, that would not make much sense," he said. "She lives in Birmingham, we live in London; and we don't really belong to the same social circles. The only thing we had in common was the case; and that is well and truly over."

"True," admitted Mary. "Is that the reason why you didn't consider asking Colonel Holroyd, either?"

John nodded. "Part of the reason, yes. Other than the fact that I wouldn't really want to have anything to do with Mrs Holroyd."

"Neither would I," Mary smiled at him. "The Stamfords and the Andersons it is, then. I'll ask the Andersons if you ask Doctor Stamford."

"Will do," John stood and leaned down to kiss her. "Have a bit of rest now; I'm sure his nibs will start crying again soon enough."

~The End~

SoledadCartwright at 20.05.2017.

Endnote: My lovely and resourceful beta pointed out to me that a boy-child should have two godfathers in Britain. I stand corrected. It is just so that the Watsons don't have that many friends, and somehow I can't imagine them asking Holmes. ;))