A study in bruises - Part 2

Sherlock:

"Did you not study in Oxford, Mr Bertram?" I asked, when my wife and Mrs Stamford had left, leaving the rest of us behind in the rather overcrowded and yet comfortable parlour.

It was not so much the amount of people, for, after all, there were only five of us, but as so often was the case, every imaginable piece of furniture on God's wide planet had been stuffed into it, alongside a collection of ferns on the window sill and a piano, that, judging by the bench that went with it, hadn't been used in a good while. One corner held a crate with toys, the hobbyhorse that had been shoved into it with several building bricks, a stuffed dog and a spinning top peeking over the sideboard as if it was to add to the conversation.

"Yes, I only moved to London about four months ago to take up my position at Barts... - How do you know?" Henry Bertram stuttered confusedly.

"Because he's Sherlock Holmes, Bertram," Stamford grinned.

"I take it you haven't read Dr Watson's latest publication?" I carried on, undeterred by my host's remark referring to the one story Watson had published shortly after my return to 'resurrect' me properly.

"No. I haven't done much reading lately other than medical publications. Mary, that is my sister, told me I should read it, but as yet I was too busy."

"Ah, I told you often to not overdo it, Bertram. To study is important, but a man needs a life," his mentor patted him on the shoulder in a fatherly manner and the poured all of us a drink.

"There Stamford is right, Bertram," I agreed, taking the offered glass of Sherry.

"Well, I read the papers. So, I knew of your return, of course, Mr Holmes."

"At least I didn't shock you then."

"No, I just didn't expect to meet you," there was a slight frown that clearly showed that slowly but surely he began to put two and two together but it was Stamford, naturally, who dropped the bombshell.

"Holmes, did you not travel under the name of Hendrik Sigerson?" he asked after a moment of contemplation.

"I did."

It didn't sink in at first, but when it did, Henry Bertram had to sit down dumbstruck. It took a couple of minutes until he was able to gather his wits enough to say something.

"But he was the one who told me that you had died. - I mean..."

"I know exactly what you mean, Bertram. The oddity of the whole situation is hard to put into words. However, it seems, that in consequence of our little adventure you have developed an interest in criminalistics."

"Yes, I have. At first, as you very well know, I considered a change of career, but then it occurred to me, that perhaps to confront myself with my own weaknesses might be a better path instead of running away from them."

"Decidedly so," I answered sincerely.

Knowing one's strengths and weaknesses was of the utmost importance in any case. It neither bode well to underestimate one's own capabilities nor to overestimate them. In both cases, it could lead to disaster, though admittedly, the latter option was more prone to do harm, while the other was bound to hold one back.

"Since he arrived in London he's been diligently digging through our collection – the one little Jack Horner's skull found his last resting place," Stamford grinned and consequently brought Harriet back into the picture.

Jack Horner, yes, the name was real, and he had been rather short in life, had been chiefly responsible to drive my wife into my arms then – and my life now. I quite liked the guy, save for the fact that he had scared Hattie so.

"Ah yes, murdered with a candelabra. An enlightening way to go, don't you think?"

My four companions chuckled and Mrs Watson remarked dryly: "Yes, very."

To my surprise we were then re-joined by Mrs Stamford and Harriet. Well, that was rather quick.

"And?" Stanford asked at seeing them enter.

"Oh, a very interesting case, but perhaps not so unheard of as one might think," Harriet remarked off-handedly before sitting down next to me in an armchair that obviously could do with a new spring or two judging by the way my wife sank into it, with some surprise on her face.

"Not?"

"No, but still, I would be very interested to study your case. There are similar circumstances documented, and I already spoke to your wife and she would be willing to have me examine her at some point in the near future. I guess I will be quite busy in a couple of months..." my wife remarked, her hand resting on her swollen stomach as she tried to prop herself up more comfortably.

This again produced a series of chuckles.

"Of that you can be sure," Mrs Stamford agreed. "The sleepless nights will be challenging, whether you have a nurse or not, believe me. It is just a mother's fate to wake up to her child's wails, I am afraid."

"And with two children at once it must be even more trying," Mary Watson mused, casting an odd glance towards my wife.

Oh dear...

"Yes, and I also know that men are fortunate enough not to be roused by a baby's cry that easily," Hattie smirked towards me.

"So, when is your little one due, Doctor Stephens? It must be an interesting experience for you, I presume, considering your field of expertise," Agatha Stamford inquired eagerly.

As a mother she naturally had an eager interest in those kind of things and as for my part, I was fairly curious as to where this conversation would lead us. I was sure that there was something my wife had as yet kept from me, but that, of course, didn't mean my suspicions were true.

"Yes, very interesting and as it seems my body is determined to make the most of itm not sparing me a single symptom of my condition. - According to my calculations the baby will arrive sometime in September... - But as it is, there is no way to be one hundred percent sure. I am currently trying to find a more accurate way to determine a pregnancy than the current ones. As it is, too many factors can make an accurate calculation impossible."

"Very true," Watson sighed. "If I may say so, Doctor, looking at you, and considering that you have been slender before, I would have assumed you to be around six to seven months along instead of roughly five."

"Well, she looks like Agatha did at that stage," Stamford threw in and almost made me spit out the sherry I had just finished. "She always looked a good two months ahead of her time. - Do you suspect you are having twins, Mrs... - Doctor Stephens?"

His confusion as to her actual name was quite hilarious and even more funny was, that neither the Watsons nor my wife thought of enlightening our poor host. Actually, the contrary, they all played along quite nicely, but at this moment, I have to admit that with all my amusement, I caught my breath as I awaited Harriet's answer.

"I could not possibly say, Doctor Stamford. As yet, the likeliness that I might be further along than I initially thought is just as likely as this alternative – or the possibility that the baby is a rather large one," she added after the slightest of pauses, skilfully evading an actual answer.

"So I take it your husband is a burly fellow?"

"No, not in the least, he is rather lean, but he is tall."

"And perhaps we should change the subject, Mr Holmes is starting to look uncomfortable, Charles," Mrs Stamford threw in. "It is not a subject that bachelors feel very comfortable with – unless they are doctors, of course."

I was uncomfortable, that much was true, but not for the reasons she suspected, well, and I wasn't a bachelor. But considering what my wife had just said, I was determined that I would see that the nursery was prepared as soon as I could find the time. Better be safe than sorry. A bit of wallpaper, some paint, and a second cradle perhaps, should do the trick.

Even had Mrs Stamford not sought to change the subject, not a minute later we were interrupted anyway by the information that dinner was ready to be served.

Helping Harriet out of the armchair beside me, I offered her my arm and all seven of us piled into the dining room – a small room, but comfortable and well laid out, if perhaps again a bit stuffy with all the knick-knacks neatly displayed on various shelves and on the mantelpiece, taking up any space that wasn't taken by several photographs and paintings. In short, it was a perfectly respectable example of a typical home of our time.

As the food was brought in, one course after the other and all smelling delicious, soon the conversation turned towards how I had met both Stamford and Watson for the first time.

"Meeting Holmes for the first time is an instance I will never forget, I presume," Stamford remarked after the subject had been brought forward by Bertram.

"No, nor I," Watson emphasised with a heavy sigh and a smirk in my direction.

"So, how did you meet?" Mrs Watson inquired, her glass half-way to her mouth. "I mean, I know how you met Mr Holmes, John, but without Doctor Stamford, you wouldn't have, so I am quite curious how you all met one another."

"Are you sure you would like to hear such a gruesome story?" Mrs Stamford threw in and then trailed off with a sheepish glance in my direction. "I mean, I am quite used to such kind of topics, but I am not so sure about..."

"Well, I am sure, Mary has had her share of unsavoury details as much as I had," Hattie laughed. "As a matter of fact, at the moment I assist at the coroner's office."

Mary Watson nodded solemnly the corners of her mouth twitching.

"You do? Hear, Bertram, yet another specialist you might want to talk to!"

"Oh, I would not call myself a specialist," Harriet waved Stamford's remark aside. "But I will, of course, answer any questions you might have. - If I can, that is."

"Thank you!"

"I for my part, have to say, that I can't exactly recall how we have met, Stamford," I admitted, for I really could not.

I was working on a challenging case then, as far as I could remember, that had pushed other concerns aside. But what had it been? Not that I forgot the cases I had then worked on, it was just that I couldn't pinpoint when exactly I met whom unless they were involved in the case somehow.

"Well, it was an oddly spectacular meeting," Doctor Stamford began his tale. "We had an autopsy scheduled and I was the first to be in the dissecting room – aside from Holmes that is. He was standing there bent over the slab studying the body and then, all of a sudden, took the stick he had brought with him and began beating the specimen. To say I was shocked would have been an understatement and I as well as another student who had then arrived, rushed to keep him from continuing his maltreatment of the body."

"Which, of course, you failed at," I laughed, now remembering the incident. "But may I point out, that a body doesn't feel anything? I would rather concern if a living person gets beaten."

"Be as it may, but beating a dead man still is fairly disturbing."

"Oh, it is, not that I disagree with you, and as a matter of fact, that was the exact reason why I did it in the first place. I wanted to find out, whether bodies bruise after death or not. - I believe I told you so back then?"

Both Stamford and Watson nodded.

"And?" Bertram asked eagerly, bending forward in his chair.

"Ah, the answer is a complex one. Initially, they don't. Once the blood stops circulating, the blood doesn't get forced out of the burst capillaries as it would when the person is alive. So no, there are no haematoma after death. But..." I smiled, "having said that, the skin gets damaged even after death and once decomposition sets in, the parts of skin that have been tampered with dry and the epidermis lifts off the dermis far quicker than in the other places, producing pretty much the same effect as it leads to a distinct discolouration."

"Sherlock, that was, perhaps a little too much detail for a dinner table," my wife informed me, though I could see the amusement in her eyes.

"Well, we did ask," Watson chuckled.

"True," Stamford agreed dryly, taking another spoon-full of the asparagus soup. "What would actually interest me, did it help you I any way with your line of work, Holmes?"

"Yes, greatly so. At that point I had no notion if bruises could be produced after death and even though I had tried I could not find any studies on the topic – it was simply not something medicine was interested in then. In short, I hadn't had a choice but to find out for myself. It might interest you, that what had shocked you so greatly, Stamford, brought a man to justice."

"You were working on a case back then?"

"Of course I did, Watson. Even I have my limits and had it not been for the case, who knows how long it would have taken for the police, and myself for that matter, to figure it out. Back then it was commonly accepted that haematoma could form just as well after as before death and I shudder to think of how many murderers got away with killing someone on that assumption. - Beating a corpse might be a tasteless past-time, but it is no hanging-offence."

"Past-time indeed!"

"You are, of course, aware, that now you won't get around telling us the whole story, aren't you, Mr Holmes?" Mrs Watson pointed out.

I had feared as much. But at any rate, it was an interesting enough case.

A.N.: Sorry, I know it is a lot of introduction... At any rate, thank you for all your support. I greatly appreciate it and am always happy to hear from you. Have a lovely week.

Love

Nic