Sir Henry Baskerville

"By thunder, you had a mystery conference here and you didn't send me an invitation?"

Sir Henry Baskerville never did spit the tang of the North American West out of his speech. I don't think he ever wanted to. It certainly came through loud and clear ahead of him when he stomped into the Room, waving a brochure at me.

I straightened up from sorting out the piles of books into Dewey order.

"It was a mystery writers' convention. Not characters. They just gave a public reading of their works here. Had we known you'd be in town, we would have been thrilled to have them meet you." I waved my hand to my work. "Had I known you were in town, I would've asked you to help. You know what writers are like when they're inside a library."

That backed him off.

"Now whoa, miss! I came for an apology, not a job."

"Well, you're getting the job if I don't get the apology. I'm not a mystery writer -- ."

"That's for darn sure," Baskerville muttered.

" -- and I'm not on the committee of the Library or of the Crime Writers of Canada. My manager did not believe me when I said the voice of a fictional policeman caused the damage to the Room. He's certainly not going to believe I saw Sir Henry Baskerville in the ... the ..."

"Flesh?"

"Whatever you fictional characters put on to manifest yourselves."

He took a step toward me and spread his arms. "I am wearing clothes."

And wearing them very well, I thought. The man certainly looks manly in his Levis. Watson did not mention the pull of his muscles on his T-shirt, but then Sir Henry was not wearing a T-shirt when Watson wrote of him in Chapter 4 of The Hound of the Baskervilles.

Our clients were punctual to their appointment, for the clock had just struck ten when Dr. Mortimer was shown up, followed by the young baronet. The latter was a small, alert, dark-eyed man about thirty years of age, very sturdily built, with thick black eyebrows and a strong, pugnacious face. He wore a ruddy-tinted tweed suit and had the weather-beaten appearance of one who has spent most of his time in the open air, and yet there was something in his steady eye and the quiet assurance of his bearing which indicated the gentleman.

He had not left his pugnacious face at home. "I'm not conspicuous, am I? Fashions are still more casual in your century than in mine?"
"No," I replied. "You fit in very well."

His expression eased into a smile - which also fit very well. "I'm glad to hear it. I don't like looking out of place."

"So I read. You went shopping the day you landed in England."

"Well ... I felt like an uncouth colonial the moment I got on the ship. I mean, what was I? Before the title, I was plain Hank Baskerville with a small farmstead in Assiniboine country. Next thing, I'm the rich English millionaire, Sir Henry Baskerville, sitting at the First Class table trying to mind my manners, with women fawning over me and sharps wanting me to invest my fortune with them - all of them talking in accents I hadn't heard before."

"But you were born in England," I began, puzzled.

"Devonshire. Every region had its own accent in my day. You could tell a Cornishman from a Yorkshireman from an Essex man. Now radio, television, the Beatles and Coronation Street have made everyone back home sound like a cross between professors and costermen. And I left when I was fifteen, remember. I had spent more than half my life in North America before I became Sir Henry."

"So what is your nationality?"

He gave a dry laugh. "Englishman. American. Canadian. They all claim me, just because I'm rich and famous. When I was poor and unknown, no one cared. Certainly not my family. Dr. Watson put it into my mouth that after Dad's death I 'went to a friend in America'. My grandfather didn't want me. Uncles Charles and Rodger, off in other parts of the world, didn't send for me. My Uncle Hugo, who was heir before Uncle Charles, didn't want me. My mother wasn't good enough to marry a Baskerville, so I wasn't good enough to be one. I was born in Devonshire, so according to the register, I'm English; but my heart straddles the western plains and prairies. I'd be dead without my heart, so I'm Americanadian."

"Was there a 'friend in America'?" I asked softly.

"If you call the Dr. Barnardo's Homes 'friends'. Well, maybe they were. I was fifteen years old and living hand to mouth. They got me off the street and sent me where a strong, smart lad might have a chance to survive. Yeah, I reckon they were my friends. I was also adventurous, so I didn't do too badly. Went from job to job, then settled down, and the moment I settled, the lawyers came with the news I was Sir Henry. Lord High Muck-a-Muck at last."

Baskerville looked around the room. "Uncle Charles' money made it worth while, God bless him. He did a lot of good."

"Did you marry Beryl Stapleton?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. No. Someday I'll tell the whole story. Doctor Watson's a darn good friend to me and to Holmes. He covered up a lot, and he euphemized a lot. Or maybe I should let the past die the way he wrote it. There are some things that can't be said."

Gazing through the window, he said very softly, "Some things I don't want to remember."

Canadian Mystery Writers who have written Sherlock Holmes Stories:
[if you know of others, tell me. I'll add them

Sydney Hosier wrote Murder, Mrs. Hudson and other books in the Mrs. Hudson series

Howard Engel, the author of the Benny Cooperman mysteries set in St. Catharines [Grantham wrote Mr. Doyle & Dr. Bell.

Stephen Leacock wrote "Maddened by Mystery: or, The Defective Detective" a short story in Nonsense Novels in 1920.

Curious incidents : being a collection of the further adventures of Sherlock Holmes / edited by J. R. Campbell & Charles V. Prepolec -- 2002
And Curious incidents II
(More authors than just Canadians, as one sharp reviewer noted, but edited and published by Canadians. Support your Authors & Publishers. They could use the cash.)

Ronald C. Weyman wrote Sherlock Holmes and the Mark of the Beast, Sherlock Holmes: Travels in the Canadian West, and Sherlock Holmes: the Ultimate Disguise

L. B. Greenwood wrote Sherlock Holmes and the Case of the Raleigh Legacy

Jay Shakley wrote The Villars-Manningham Papers and other Stories of Sherlock Holmes - 1978