The Oedipus Manuscripts
Chapter Four—The Servant
February 8, 1890
Holmes fidgeted nervously and straightened his stringy brown tie as though it were strangling him. "Do calm yourself, Holmes," pleaded Watson. "She is only a client," the good doctor pointed out.
"So true, Watson," admitted Holmes, dropping his hand quickly into his lap, "She's only a client." He mouthed this last several times, as if trying to assure himself of the integrity of this line. Suddenly he peered up in the looking glass, to face his bemused colleague. "What?" he said with false offence.
"This latest character of yours, Holmes, or shall I say… Dr. Marvin Brown?" Watson's grin broadened, extending past his neatly trimmed moustache, "The bumbling young doctor from Essex who would marry Miss Galveston?"
Holmes dropped the nervous act and calmly finished his costume, which consisted of his usual brown tweed suit and tie, as well as two toned shoes. His hair was combed over in a ridiculous parted manner and one of Watson's well known bowlers rested on the hall-table, to perch askew on Holmes' slicked down hair. With a bit of brown grease pencil, he had thickened his eyebrows, and with a rouge pencil he gave his sallow face a ruddy complexion. It was not his best work, but his lead was fresh and temporary and he had to seize it right away.
"Good, eh? I am basing my performance on you, when I first met you. You had come to visit me in the chemistry lab of the university…"
"'A Study in Scarlet?'" recalled Watson, who had related that tale in the book of the same name. "Surely I am not as blundering as our young friend Dr. Brown?"
"Of course not," soothed Holmes, which was rather unlike him. "You were skittish, that's all. Not surprising for a man who had just gone through trauma in India. Dr. Brown will do very well to be less observant than Sherlock Holmes, who seems to scare away lowlifes. Take Michael Bailey, who could barely spit out his words once I made my identity known." Holmes picked up the bowler and a salt-and-pepper greatcoat. "The package, Watson?"
"Oh, yes, Holmes," fumbled Watson, searching for a small and rather greasy brown package. "Here it is," he said at last, producing it.
"Exactly as ordered?"
"Exactly as ordered. Now, be gone young rip; you shalln't be late for the meeting with your fiancée, Marvin." Holmes adopted a tentative slouch as he hurried out into the shockingly cold winter air.
"Good luck, Holmes… you'll need it today," breathed Watson as the waiting cab rolled away.
" 'The Taffeta Goose Theatre is an ordinary theatre with an extraordinary name. Founded in late Elizabethan times, two years before the death of William Shakespeare, it was commissioned by Earl Albert Norfolk of London in 1614 and named by his young daughter Molly after her stuffed toy goose, which was made out of yellow taffeta. Following Earl Norfolk's death in 1625, it was taken over by his nephew and later a fast succession of minor nobles who felt it was a family duty to keep the theatre functioning as a tribute to the patriarch of the Norfolk family crest. However, it is now owned by the granddaughter of the last Norfolk (Sir Adam Norfolk), Mrs. Abigail Tracy.' " Holmes read this article with amusement, and then shut the withered pages of the much recycled program, left on the curb outside the named place. It bore the declaration "Richard V".
The theatre group that performed its plays in the Goose Theatre was called the Unlucky Journeymen, which was a name that rang true- the patrons of this theatre were few and far between as of late, but this latest performance was sure to draw in a modest crowd into the yellow brick building. On a script of Parchment on the door of the much neglected building scrawled:
King Lear
February 15, 16, 22, 23
March 1, 2, 8, 9
Holmes made note of the dates of the performance in his mind, being a patron of Shakespeare himself, and tried the brass handle of the weathered door. It opened grudgingly for the detective, and a strange stench of blood, sweat, and must overpowered his senses. Keeping a straight face as he must, his entrance caught the eye of a man staring intently at a thick stack of papers Holmes assumed was a script.
"May I help you?" asked the man with a grunt, rising from a wooden chair which looked like it belonged to a dining set.
Holmes cleared his throat. "Hello, old chap, I'm looking for Miss Emma Galveston, if you please."
"Who's calling for her?" said the man warily, unsure if he liked the looks of this well dressed stranger, so different from the usual patrons of Goose Theatre on Pine Street.
"Well, I am Dr. Marvin Brown, sir. And who might you be?" said Holmes as innocently as he possibly could, even widening his grey eyes to maximise this seeming simplicity.
"James Ferguson," said Mr. Ferguson bluntly. "Why do you need to see Miss Emma? They're rehearsing, you know."
Holmes grinned good naturedly at this falsehood. The theatre was practically silent. "I am Emma's fiancé, Mr. Ferguson."
Ferguson returned the grin. "Oh, so she has a fiancé, does she?"
Holmes frowned. "No, Mr. Ferguson, it's not like that… we're really and truly engaged."
Ferguson's face became stoic. "Well then, come with me, Dr. Brown."
The stench and dust of the antechamber of the Taffeta Goose was only a slim glimpse into the rather ghastly backstage hallways of the ancient theatre. Reminiscent of catacombs, thought Holmes passively.
After about four minutes, Ferguson rapped on a well worn narrow door which had clearly been built in a time when men were generally shorter then they were now. Ferguson, who stood a good six foot two, stooped ill temperedly to enter the chamber when a voice from within permitted him doing so.
"Miss Emma? Your fiancé is here to see you." Miss Galveston's face clouded with confusion. "You know, Dr. Marvin Brown," insisted James with a wicked smile. Holmes followed a safe distance into the cramped room, ducking himself at the doorway.
Miss Galveston's face increased confusion in his arrival. "Mr. H-" The look on his face warned her to stop, and she instinctively trusted it.
"My dear Emma, I have a gift for you," said Holmes swiftly, drawing the greasy little package from his greatcoat pocket and handing it to her gently. Still entirely baffled, Miss Galveston complied and tore off the twine and paper. Within was a small leather box. She opened it with a gasp of genuine surprise- it was a single yellow diamond on an ornate antique gold band. "The engraving, dearest," urged Holmes.
Emma turned the ring to read the inside. It was in eloquent script: Joues-tu depuis longtemps. Play along!
Suddenly Miss Galveston was all charm. "Oh… Marvin, it's beautiful!" she said with actor's tears.
Holmes smiled. "I'm so glad you like it, Emma." He leaned closer to her, and she kissed him quickly but benevolently.
Ferguson backed out awkwardly with a, "I'll leave you alone with your fiancé, Miss Emma." The door closed, and Emma Galveston whirled on Holmes.
"Mr. Holmes, what is the meaning of all this!" she shrieked, letting her swift temper get the best of her.
"Please, Miss Galveston, the walls have ears," said Holmes coolly. "Sharper than a serpent's tooth," he murmured to himself, quoting King Lear.
"I'm sorry Mr. Holmes, I forgot myself. But perhaps you have forgotten yourself as well, Dr. Brown. What kind of plan could possibly involve posing as my husband-to-be?"
"One that would get me in to see you as fast as I could, Miss Galveston. Your life may be again in danger."
She arched a narrow black eyebrow. "What do you mean?" she whispered, with her voice wavering slightly.
It was uncharacteristic of him. This he knew. But suddenly he felt a strong pity for the young woman, and the only thing he wanted to do at that moment was to calm her. A hysterical woman will do me no good, he told himself. "Who are you playing?" he asked abruptly.
"Regan," responded the woman quietly.
Curious, thought Holmes, the wicked sister who was poisoned to death. He said, "Who plays the other characters?"
"Mrs. Abigail Faust, the daughter of the woman who owns our theatre, plays Goneril, and her husband Xander Faust plays King Lear. My dear friend Miss Juliet Mason plays Cordelia, and her brother Max Mason plays Kent. Ferguson plays Gloucester, and his cousins Thomas and David play Edgar and Edmund. And Victor Humphreys plays my husband." All this she answered with a good measure of suspicion and confusion.
Humphreys, thought Holmes. The red headed gentleman who had given Kathryn Robinson and Emma Galveston their drinks the night both were poisoned. The red headed gentleman who had come inquiring about Emma at the pub. "What do you know about Victor Humphreys?" he said severely.
Emma brightened. "Oh, Victor and I have been friends since childhood."
Holmes was taken aback. "You have?"
"Oh, yes. Victor was the son of an attorney in Chelmsford; he spent a good amount of time at the manor when Lord d'Emeraldé was settling the estate of his uncle. Victor, Lise, Jenny, and I used to spend a great deal of time together until Mr. Humphreys took a position in a firm in London."
"Will you forgive me?" asked Holmes stiffly. "There is something that I must do," he said with a hint of desperation.
"Holmes?" said Lestrade with confusion, "Working on some sort of case?" He had been summoned without warning to the office of the Times by the detective.
Holmes was busy rifling through a stack of yellowed newspapers from '88. "Archives, Lestrade. Possibly the most useful things this city can offer the inquiring mind. In the future, you will take my advice to heart and use the archives when looking for past crimes. You will find that they often give a more thorough description of criminal activities then the records at the Yard."
Lestrade snorted impatiently, feeling as though Holmes, the civilian, thought he could teach Lestrade, the officer of the law, a thing or two about criminal activity. A brilliant mind, but an amateur and a civilian none the less. "What are you looking for?"
"Something on the firm Brubaker and Humphrey, which went under in 1888 with the death of Clarence Brubaker."
"Why?"
"Confound it, Lestrade, stop asking why and help me- There!" shouted Holmes excitedly, finding the very thing he was looking for in the Sunday issue of October 21, 1888.
" 'The law firm of attorneys Clarence Brubaker and Victor Humphreys, Sr. closed its doors today after many years of public service to London. This was brought on by both the death of Clarence Brubaker four days ago and the scandal which has stricken Humphreys since the incarceration of his son, Victor Humphreys, Jr. for forgery, embezzlement within a client's company, and the attempted murder of said client. Humphreys Junior has been cleared of the latter charge due to lack of evidence and the mental state of the client, but will be still sentenced for forgery and embezzlement.' " After reading this article out loud disgustedly, Holmes sallow face turned from yellow to white.
"I should have known- Miss Galveston is in grave danger!"
Next Chapter: The Truth of King Lear