Pecunia non olet – Part 11

Harriet:

The fever did not go down, as I had almost feared. And so cooling leg compresses it was. Settling down on a chair by his bedside I once more resorted to putting my thoughts on paper – a method that had always served me well. Occasionally I changed the wet towels and managed to get him to drink some water.

Dinnertime came and with it a concerned looking Mrs. Hudson, carrying a tray with a slice of pie for me and a cup of broth for my spouse.

"How is he doing?" she enquired, putting the tray on our bedside table.

"The temperature has not gone down, but at least it has not gone up higher, else I would have taken care of a cold bath for him already. But he is poorly."

"If there is anything I can do to help..." she offered, concern gracing her round face.

"Thank you, Mrs Hudson." I smiled, taking her hand. "Thank you, for all you are doing for us."

In response, the kind and yet formidable landlady smiled: "It is my pleasure, Mrs Holmes. Your husband can be trying, but he is a good soul and I am still overjoyed to see him happy at last. He has been lonely."

Her motherly affection was touching and I wondered, what had become of my husband's natural parents. As yet he had not spoken of them, which made me believe they had died some time ago. I had met his brother and Sherlock had spoken of an uncle and I knew he went to boarding school with my brother. All this was certainly not much about one's partner in life. Oddly enough I had never as yet wondered if there were any more relations. - At which point I remembered, that we still needed to perform our visits to friends and family. Sherlock Holmes surely would be overjoyed… - I for my part was not looking forward to running around on pointless callings either, but I had a couple of relations who would not take it well if I did not introduce my husband to them. And then there was Cedric's and Imogene's New Years reception. At last this year I would not be partnered up randomly with one of my brother's peers, being the sister that had stayed on the shelf, so to say. Deciding I would ask my husband sometime soon about his childhood and family I tried to coax him into taking some of the soup, which with him more than half asleep was no easy feat. By the time I had managed, my pie was cold, but it tasted delicious nonetheless.

It was almost midnight, when the fever had gone down at last and tired I crawled into bed next to Sherlock, holding him as he normally did me and even though he was sleeping soundly by now, I thought I perceived a small smile as he snuggled up close to me.

xxx

I woke up the next morning to find Sherlock Holmes sitting on the edge of the bed, a glass of water in his hands which he drank greedily.

"How do you feel?" I asked him softly.

"Better than yesterday. Believe it or not, I cannot remember much after you have tucked me into bed a second time."

"You passed out with fever."

"Oh! I did not think I was that ill… - Seems I have misjudged my state of health. Have you found something when visiting Miss Hannigan? I think you said she had received another letter, but I cannot remember much of what you said after that." he admitted, refilling his glass.

Repeating what I had already told him the previous day, I also added what I had concluded while sitting by his bedside: "I think we can safely assume, that not the actual Miranda Hannigan was the target for blackmail, but the false one. Now, Walters had spoken of the situation when he had first encountered the Southerton's. As servants are rarely noticed – especially not if they are good at their job – I would think this might be where we will find our blackmailer. Though I as yet cannot rule out the Dawson's either. They might have seen a chance to get out of their dire straights."

"And the motive?" he enquired, a smile tucking at the corners of his mouth as he leaned back into the cushions, his arms snaking around me.

"Well, money, of course. A servants life is one of limited means and insecurity and as you have told me, the Dawson's are barely scraping by. It is a despicable way to get at it, but then again, how did Vespasian put it? - Pecunia non olet. Money does not stink and true it is." I answered, at which he smiled even more broadly.

"I think this sums up the whole case perfectly, my love. First, we have George Walters trying to get at the Trenton jewels by posing as the heir. Then we have Mr and Mrs Southerton, both rich in their own right, but also after the famous jewels. So, in consequence, they pose as brother and sister, the latter assuming the convenient identity of yet another young and completely innocent lady, thus scamming the scammer, who knowing he cannot afford a scandal, goes along with it without question. And now the blackmailer. Your list of suspects is also sound. Let us think it over after breakfast. I need something to eat, I am famished."

This was good news in the ears of a doctor. A patient with an appetite was a patient recovering his health. Had I recommended a bowl of porridge to him as a light meal, he refused point blank and Mrs, Hudson was wise enough to serve him the requested portion of bacon and scrambled eggs on toast.

"No one can get better on porridge." Sherlock insisted, chewing happily on his meal.

"I hope you keep it down. You should not overexert your stomach." I warned him, though more glad to see he was eating with real appetite, than with much concern.

"I won't. I'll eat slowly. - You are not the first doctor who tries to convince me of the benefits of a bowl of porridge when ill."

"Needless to say, Doctor Watson was also unsuccessful..." I grinned.

"Yes, needless to say."

"So, you said we would think over everything we have found out so far." I, at last, began, when we had finished and relocated to the two armchairs in front of the fireplace once more, where I made sure he was sufficiently wrapped up and his feet as close to the fire as possible, without them being actually in it.

"You know, I have never liked being ill, but with a caring wife I feel a lot less miserable than I usually did."

"That is the idea, Sherlock. One cares for the other. You have looked after me when I was not feeling well and now it is my turn. Have I told you lately, that I love you?"

"Even if you had, I like hearing it anyway." was his smiling reply as he took hold of my hand. "So, you suspect either the Dawson's or a servant. I dare say we can rule out the former. They have never met Everett Trenton, alias George Walters and consequently would not have known about the engagement. Of course one could assume they have lied, but considering the information on what they knew about the actual Everett Trenton, it is unlikely they did not challenge him as the rightful heir had they known about his youth. So that leaves the servants. It is of course not Miss Hannigan's footman, or anybody else from her household, as they, even if they had acted on the letter their mistress has received from the police, would have addressed the letter correctly, as they could not have known about the Southerton's and their actions."

From his demeanour, I could see he by now knew, who was behind the blackmailing and yet, he would not be persuaded to simply tell me.

"You are so close to the solution, I want you to reach it by your own conclusions. So, now it is your turn to reason."

"Right. As I have already suggested, there could be a servant, who saw Walters and Southerton in their initially compromising situation. Then again, as they entered an engagement, this would not be socially ruining them." And then indeed realisation hit me and I glanced up into the glittering eyes of Sherlock Holmes, who had watched me closely.

"The letter spoke of them having slept with one another," I continued. "From what you have said about Walters and from what he had said himself, I would not put it past them, to have actually done what was claimed in the note. And since there is now one particular maid left unemployed and cheated out of her wages due to Walters, she might now try and earn a bit of money by blackmailing her former employer's supposed fiancée."

"Bravo!" he clapped his hands together in delight. "Mrs Holmes, you have solved the case."

"Well, we know who it is, but not where to find her."

"Look at the postmark."

"Lisson Grove..." I gasped.

"It is the closest cesspool in proximity to Hampstead."

"What was her name again?"

"Jennifer – called Jenny or Jen."

"How does she look?"

"Commonly pretty, in her early twenties, quite buxom, golden blond hair – vacant expression." was his dry summary.

"Good, let's add out of money, desperate and ruthless to that." I continued his description. "I'll find her. Can I leave you for a few hours? I'll be back before tea."

My husband stared at me in surprise, then stammered: "Are you sure you want to go?"

"Sherlock, I know Lisson Grove well and I also know enough people there to be able to ask around without raising much suspicion. - I can always claim she has a medical condition of some sort that needs looking after. I wanted to pick up my correspondence anyway and check who is available to help out in December to put together a rota – which at any rate will cost me the whole of tomorrow and I might as well be prepared." was my calm reply as I got up and dressed appropriately.

Making sure he was comfortable I left Sherlock reading a book, a carafe of water and some biscuits within reach, wrapped up in his blanket and the fire blazing.

xxx

Sherlock:

It was once again an odd feeling to see my wife leave for Lisson Grove. Having seen her there, speaking with those women a decent woman normally never came into contact with, I was fairly put at ease that she would not be in any danger from the people living there. Still, she was on a mission to find a woman who was a blackmailer – a criminal. Was this really wise? I tried to concentrate but failed. Had it not been for Mrs Hudson, who seemed to have promised Harriet to keep me indoors at all cost, I would have gone after her. But the landlady, at last, was kind enough to agree to send Tom after her. I described the way and off he went, wearing once again his shabby clothes so he would not be too conspicuous amongst all the poverty he had only recently escaped. His face had lit up eagerly as I asked him for his help and I wondered if, perhaps, I was raising another Jack Wiggins.

At some point during my wait for the return of my wife, I must have fallen asleep once more. I woke up when a gentle hand caressed my cheek and a soft kiss followed. Smiling I opened my eyes to glance up into the sparkling grey-blue ones of Harriet, almost overwhelmed by the affection mirrored in them.

"How are you, my dear?" she asked feeling my forehead for any signs of a rising temperature.

"Better than last night, but not quite as good as this morning," I admitted, shivering slightly.

"I'll just quickly organise a hot water bottle for you and a cup of tea – or would you rather have some broth?"

"Tea, please."

As Harriet slipped from the room, I leaned back with a gratified sigh, pulling the blanket closer around me. I was about to doze off again when I heard the distinct sound of the doorbell. Sighing again, this time in exasperation, I tried to appear alert, though I felt anything but. At the same time, I hoped I looked presentable enough – and even more that my wife with the aid of my experienced landlady would send away any visitors. Then again I was sure, if it were Miss Hannigan, neither of those good ladies would have the heart to turn her away.

It was not Miranda Hannigan, but neither was the visitor turned away. A moment later Harriet re-appeared, hot water bottle in hand and a downtrodden girl in tow. Jennifer the maid did look in a terrible state as she stepped out of the shadow, and I felt almost something akin to pity for her.

"Sit," Harriet ordered her, briskly, but not unfriendly, and the young woman chose to sit on the most uncomfortable chair the room had to offer – the one I usually used as a side table for my chemical experiments.

Waiting demurely for what was to follow, I realised the girl had not the slightest idea why she was here. Her eyes darted from me to Harriet and back in a questioning way and there was little left of her boisterous behaviour from a week ago. She clearly did not recognise me, which might turn out to be convenient. Well with my hair dishevelled and a stubbly chin as well as glassy eyes, this was not much astonishing at any rate. And with the light illuminating me from behind, my face was in the shadows, giving her little chance to see my features. Casting a quick glance at the window I realised it had begun to rain again.

"So," Harriet started, appearing much as if she were conducting an interview. "Your name is Jennifer Miller?"

A quiet yes was the answer.

"I heard you have worked for a gentleman before? Then you will be familiar with what a man requires."

There was a slight touch of sarcasm in Hattie's voice. The girl only nodded, uncertain where this interview was going. Looking at her more closely I found she actually looked quite wretched.

"You see, my brother" here Harriet pointed at me, "needs looking after. He has suffered from a fever lately and is only recovering slowly."

I stared at my wife aghast but was hard pressed at her wry expression to be annoyed, which in consequence made it difficult not to laugh at her surprisingly sly charade. Again the girl just nodded, keeping her eyes firmly down.

"His betrothed has little time for him. - I have always told you she is not the right one for you, William! But as it is, Miss Hannigan has not been here since you have fallen ill, has she now?"

At the mention of the name, the maids head had shot up in alarm, while Harriet carried on with acting the annoyed and overly protective sister. - A part she was naturally quite good at, I noted, certain she would be just as protective a mother.

"But no, no word is to be said against dear Miranda, is it – and I tell you, I would not trust her from here to Regents Park. - Oh, is something the matter?"

Jennifer Miller had jumped up from her chair and darted towards the door, trying to yank it open. It would not budge however and my wife held up the key.

"Oh no, Miss Miller, not so quick. I think you should meet with the actual Miss Hannigan and I dare say that is her arriving on our doorstep just now."

A carriage halted downstairs and a moment later there was another ring of the doorbell. Harriet unlocked the living room door to indeed reveal the real Miranda Hannigan, accompanied by her footman, who did not look as if he would have a single word spoken against his lady. Good man!

"May I introduce you to Miss Miranda Hannigan, Miss Miller?"

The girl stared at the newcomer in confusion, before finding her voice again: "But this is not Miss Hannigan..."

"It is not the woman, who was to marry your employer, that is correct, but alas, this is Miss Miranda Hannigan."

"Employer? Ha!" Jenny spat, her eyes shooting daggers. "He is a prick with a dirty mind and insistent hands, leaving me without my pay and without a reference."

"If I remember it correctly you rather liked his advances..." I mused.

"If you remember – oh, the sleuth who came looking for the jewels. Was that you, who had anything to do with having Trenton, or whatever his real name is, arrested?"

"Yes."

"Arsehole!"

"Oh, I love a good compliment – and if a criminal calls me an arsehole, I know I have done something right," I answered suavely, registering that my head was starting to hurt and the shivers were back for good.

"I am not a criminal. What was I supposed to do, hey? I have no place to stay, no money – nothing."

"There are several places, you could have asked for help."

"I have no references, lady!"

"I have registered it, Miss Miller, but there are places were one in your situation can apply and ladies who would have taken you in for a few weeks and then would have been willing to give you a good reference. - If you deserved one that is. So, the question is, would you deserve one?"

Jennifer Miller chose not to answer my wife's question, which in itself was answer enough.

"Well enough. But then you should stop blaming everybody around you and instead work on improving yourself, else you will end up in the gutter this or the other way." Harriet stated matter of factly, however not unkindly. "Come, sit down – you, too, Miranda. We will find a solution, I am sure."

The girl just laughed bitterly but did as she was bid. Miranda Hannigan looked at the girl and I could see nothing but pity in her friendly features, and it was she, who spoke first.

"On my way here, Charles and I came to an understanding." she blushed when both Harriet and I started to smile broadly. "Oh no, not such an understanding. An understanding, that I could do with another scullery maid, as mine has just this afternoon quit her job to take care of her younger siblings – her mother has died of typhus not a month ago and she's got a couple of younger siblings that need looking after. So, Miss Miller, I could use a scullery maid and I would offer you the vacant position. I know it is not the rank you held before and it will pay a lot less, but I would be willing to assist you as long as my assistance is needed."

Speechless Jennifer Miller sat on her chair, till at last tears were flowing down her face, being unfamiliar with so much kindness.

"There is just one condition I have," Miss Hannigan added. "I will not have you behave indecently, and I will expect an apology from you."

To avoid any more of the ensuing sentimental scene, I asked Charles the footman, to help me to bed. - I still had a hidden agenda concerning him and this was a good moment to act upon it.

xxx

"Why on earth did you refuse to marry this woman? - She told us she has asked you and she loves you dearly and I can see you love her as well. So?" I asked without further ado as soon as the bedroom door had closed behind us and the sobbing and soothing were no longer heard.

"Mr Holmes, she is far above me. I grew up on the streets, I have no recollection of my parents, nothing to offer, how could I..."

"You have something to offer. Something she values higher than anything – your love. Don't underestimate its worth. Money she can get anywhere, status, too. But true love is a rarity. Don't let it slip away."

Coughing I slipped into bed, while he still stood there contemplating. Then with a smile, he bowed his head, thanked me and left.

The next day the invitation to Miranda Hannigan's wedding arrived, written on a plain sheet of writing paper.

To finish this most interesting case at last it is to be said, that Miss Miller was not quite able to change her ways and so one morning she left and was never heard of again. But perhaps for the sake of Miss Hannigan and her other maids, this was not so bad after all.

George Walters on the other hand, who was only fined and then released from prison a week after the conclusion of this case saw his chance and decided to at last better himself and finding some employment as a clerk, managed to turn his life around.

The Southerton's, to my great dismay, as they had the least excuse to offer for their deeds, simply got away, without any consequences. But, as the criminal law will have it, in their case there was no victim deceived and hence no crime committed. The bigamy had only been attempted, but as extramarital intercourse is, fortunately for many a man and woman, not a criminal offence, but only a moral one, this also did not serve to get at them. A bit of well-placed rumour from my wife, her aunt and Mrs Willis though had them move within the next four months to a place unknown to us. As yet at least, as I would not be surprised, if we came across them some time again, presumably sooner than later.