Truth or dare - Part 2

Harriet:

The snow whirled around us more heavily by the minute as we at last, both a little out of breath, reached the small bridge and the group of people now gathered there. Glancing down into the water I saw the face of a young woman, her long blond hair moving gently in the almost still depths underneath the branches of an old weeping willow, where it became increasingly entangled. Her eyes stared back at us unseeingly.

"Is there nothing we can do to help her?" Agnes Deveraux asked silently, refusing to accept that what she saw was only the shell of what had once been a beautiful girl.

"No." was her fiancé's equally quiet reply, holding her hand.

Almost devotional silence fell among us, neither able to drag away their eyes from this almost mystical picture before us. With her white dress, the dead woman almost looked like a fairy. I knew my husband took everything in, assessing the situation more thoroughly than either of the others did, but it was only when two more constables arrived on the scene and one left again straight away to fetch an inspector that we also began to stir.

"I wonder how long she has been in the water." I mused, as one of the policemen attempted to usher us away.

"Not long. She is not yet frozen stiff, look at how her arms are floating as well as her dress. It might just be mere minutes." was Sherlock's muttered reply. "It is a shame the snowfall is this heavy, it is covering all traces of what might have happened here."

It was this remark that made one of the constable's stop, looking at the man before him more thoroughly and at last, he recognised Sherlock Holmes.

"Ah, good you are here, Sir," he said, a relieved smile playing on his lips. "But this is clearly not a place for the ladies now, is it?"

"I agree to the extent that Mr Verner should escort Miss Deveraux back to her house. But this lady here might be of great use."

This remark was met with a sceptically raised eyebrow but was not further questioned.

"So I take it you won't mind if I had a look around?" Sherlock carried on as soon as his cousin had led away Miss Deveraux.

"I cannot say really, as it will be up to the inspector taking over this case, but I dare say he should be all right with it."

Sherlock began examining the scene as good as was possible given the weather had all but destroyed every possible trace by now. Even our own tracks in the snow were hardly visible anymore and the ones left by the two lovers filled up just as quickly, after a few minutes being nothing but mere outlines.

"I wonder how it is, that the water is not frozen over," I remarked, watching my husband crawl around on his knees, examining the bannisters on either side of the narrow bridge.

"Because there is a spring here which feeds the pond." was his off hand answer as he seemed to concentrate on one spot in particular.

"Ah, this is where she went in." he, at last, announced, just as from afar a small group of people came towards us.

"You think she has killed herself?" the constable enquired, looking at the small piece of torn white fabric Sherlock had found stuck to the underside of one of the wooden beams.

"I did not say that. As long as the body is not examined we can hardly determine whether she has committed suicide or was thrown in there, whether she was alive when thrown in or whether she was already dead." was my spouses reprimand as he got up again to greet none other than Inspector Hopkins.

"Why am I not surprised to find the two of you here?" the young inspector laughed as he took my outstretched hand.

"Because you know us too well." was my dry reply to which he laughed even more.

"So, what have we got here?"

Hopkins, almost as thoroughly as my husband had done, assessed the situation, which took only a few minutes as the weather became increasingly uncomfortable, before asking the men accompanying him to pull the body ashore and having it transported to the next morgue as in this weather an examination on the spot would be quite pointless. With instructions to drag the water, he turned towards us again, his expression an open question.

xxx

Sherlock:

"I take it, you would like to pursue this case?" Harriet asked as the body of the young woman was lifted onto a stretcher to be carried away.

"Yes. If it is one and if you don't mind. I would like to take a quick look at the body to see if I can find a few more clues as to why and how she ended up in the water, upsetting Miss Deveraux."

My wife smiled wryly at that, before taking my hand and pulling me along: "Well, then let us go, my dear."

It was much like my Harriet to be curious and by now I had found out that she appreciated a good mystery and a bit of brain work almost as much as I did myself.

"I thought you were cold?" I teased as we trudged along, by now looking like two snowmen, the snow and frost clinging to our coats, gloves and hats.

"I have a husband who promised to warm me up later on and I will hold him to his word, you know." she grinned.

From behind us, I could hear Hopkins chuckle, which kept me from replying that I had a bit more in mind than simply warming her up.

It was fortunate that the morgue was around the corner, just on the other side of Regents Park and within less than ten minutes we arrived there. It was a gloomy brick building at the back of the Royal College of Physicians and at this time of year with so many respiratory diseases due to the unhealthy sooty air in the city fairly occupied with bodies waiting to be either inspected or buried. Once more it took a bit of explaining that my wife was actually one of their lot and would not faint at the sight of a corpse – or in this case corpses. Taking off our outerwear we hung them up in the warden's office so they could dry – or at least attempt to dry, and then followed young Hopkins into the dissecting room which was adjacent to the mortuary.

"She looks as if she is wearing a débutante's dress," Harriet remarked as she walked over to the slab. "But the ceremonies have not started yet."

I looked at my wife in surprise, having forgotten that she had gone through an official introduction into society some years back herself. She certainly had a point. The young woman's dress certainly looked like an evening gown, now discoloured from the water, but once clearly of an ivory shade. She did not wear gloves however and no jewellery. Still, the latter might be explained by somebody having robbed her. That she did not wear any embellishments did not mean she had not before she had gone into the water.

"She must have been at a fitting." Harriet suddenly carried on, examining the hem of the skirt, which sported several pins, while I had taken a look at the woman's face and neck, where I could make out the faintest imprint of two hands. "And the seam on the bodice has been let out. Odd..."

"Meaning?" I enquired, pulling up her eyelids and found what I had anticipated.

"I am not sure yet, she might have gained a bit of weight since she had her measures taken, but normally a woman would take great care not to and rather lace herself in more tightly. Unless she could not do so, of course."

"She was strangled," I informed Harriet, pointing at the marks on the bodies neck and the petechial bleeding in her eyes, inner eyelids and inside of her lips.

"Is there any water in her lungs?"

"I don't think so, but you might want to take a look."

Here Hopkins interrupted: "We will certainly know once an autopsy has been conducted."

"Yes," Harriet replied, "but you could just as well press down hard on her chest. If there is enough water to have her drown, it will be pressed upwards and into her mouth cavity."

"All right. Then let's see, shall we?"

Both Hopkins and I compressed the young woman's thorax while Harriet to get a more accurate result had stuck her fore and middle finger into her mouth to feel for any liquid. There was no water in her lungs.

"So she must have been dead before she was thrown into the pond then." the inspector concluded.

Harriet and I only nodded, but by the looks of it, something had caught her attention.

"Sherlock, she is still warm." she at last spoke.

"What do you mean?"

"She is still warm inside, she cannot have been in there more than a couple of minutes. I mean, she even has not begun to stiffen. How come we have not heard or seen anything?"

I startled, looking from the body on the slab to my wife and back, for the moment lost for an answer, before remembering the setting once again. The bridge from the direction we had taken had been hidden by a small group of trees. Only on our way back had we been able to see it. Sadly my wife nodded at my statement, carrying on with her task.

But if there had been any traces on the girl, they had been washed away. Only a few dead leaves which must have been lying at the bottom of the pool had caught in her very long hair, which even surpassed Harriet's waist long locks. No wonder she had become entangled in the branches of the low hanging willow within such a short time.

Slowly we began undressing her, examining every item thoroughly in the hopes of finding something which could lead us on. It was lucky that the dressmaker had put a label in the back of the dress, giving us a first lead. As I read out the name of the salon aloud my wife whistled from between her teeth.

"So one thing is clear, she must have a wealthy background if she can afford a dress made by Madame Clairemont. At any rate, this is excellent silk and the pearls at the hem here are actual ones, not wax imitations."

"Then certainly somebody must be missing her." Hopkins sighed with relief in the assumption his work would not be overly complicated by having to find out who the victim was.

"Unless the somebody who would miss her is the one who killed her," Hattie interjected thoughtfully.

Indeed, murder rarely was a matter of randomly killing somebody, lest alone a seemingly sheltered young woman, I thought to myself before I suggested to Hopkins, who stood by, taking notes: "But at any rate, this Madame Clairemont should be able to tell us, who she is. You might want to start with questioning her if no-one reports this young lady missing."

Together Harriet and I took off her undergarments when once more something caught my eye. The corset was not just tied at the back but had two more laces on either side of the front, which was not so much closed with the usual busk but plain hooks and eyelets.

"This is an odd corset, I don't think I have ever seen anything like it." I could not help remarking.

"I have, and it confirms my suspicion." Biting her lip, my wife looked up at me. "I think we might have found a motive."

Pressing her hand down the woman's stomach with a grim expression Harriet muttered to herself, then nodded, before turning pale.

"Good God, it is still alive!"

"What?" both Hopkins and I cried out simultaneously.

"Is there no scalpel?" my wife cried frantically.

I glanced around but could not see one.

"Then give me your penknife. It does not matter much anyway. - Quickly!"

I did as she bid me. Harriet all but snatched it from my hands before she carefully placed a cut just underneath the dead woman's navel. What followed, I will never forget. The situation became positively unreal as Harriet cut deeper and a little fist appeared from between the severed flesh. Next, to me Hopkins grabbed for my shoulder to steady himself as my wife freed the baby from its confinement, cutting off the umbilical cord after having tied it off with a piece string from the young woman's drawers. The child indeed lived, and once Harriet had cleared out its mouth it began crying. A weak cry at first, but a cry nonetheless. As if in a trance I reached for a towel and holding it out my wife placed the baby into my arms, a tear running down her cheek as she glanced up and into my eyes showing that despite her clear-sightedness she was greatly shaken.

"It is full term, or at least close to, by the looks of it," she whispered softly, caressing the little girls head.

"But how can this be?" I stared at the child in my arms, its little body soiled with the blood from her dead mother, a white greasy substance smearing her head and body and settling between her tiny fingers like rancid butter.

Carefully I wrapped the towel around her, pulling her close to my body so she would not get too cold in this chilly environment.

"I have no idea, Sherlock. But it is close to Christmas, perhaps this is a little miracle." Hattie smiled, sniffing slightly.

Yes, a miracle this was. Never in my life had I come across something like this before.

"But at any rate, she cannot have been dead long if the child she carried is still alive, I would say, we are talking mere minutes. Then again, it may as well be that the cold water has saved her from dying along with her mother, after all, there are reports of people nearly drowning, who have been under water for up to half an hour and who survived, given it was cold enough. Sure they suffered from hypothermia, but they recovered fully." she, at last, carried on contemplatively, wiping her bloody hands on another towel.

Hopkins, who till now had been quiet at last was able to open his mouth again: "But how could she hide such a secret?"

"When a woman laces herself so tightly as she seems to have done, despite her maternity corset, there is foremost the risk of a miscarriage – which might be exactly what she had wanted to achieve, seeing that she is not wearing a wedding ring. But sometimes the baby is just pressed into such a position, that it is barely noticeable, which seems to have happened here. From the original seams of her gown, we might be able to deduce how small she had been at the first measuring. But before she fell pregnant, she might just as well have had a lot smaller waist than she has now, even though she is still very thin. It does not take forever to make a dress, so in comparison to how slender she initially was, she actually might have gained quite a bit of weight."

Both Hopkins and I nodded to indicate we understood what she had told us.

Glancing down at the squirming bundle in my arms I could not help asking: "And what are we going to do with her now?"

"I could take her for a few days until we have found a more permanent solution. Unless you have any objections, that is."

I smiled, of course, my wife would offer to do so and I had no objection.