Prompt from W. Y. Traveller – Doll

The Case of the Lost Little Girl

It all started with an innocuous knock at the front door of 221B Baker Street and ended in St. Mary's Churchyard on Paddington Green. But I suppose I should set the scene, first, and tell the story as it happened.

A light snow was falling that cold December afternoon. Holmes and I were seated opposite each other by the fireside. I was reading one of my medical journals and Holmes was putting new strings on his violin. From downstairs came the sound of the knocker on the front door and we both looked up.

"A man," Holmes said, judiciously. "One accustomed to authority, by the sound of it."

I set aside my journal and stood, collecting my pipe and tobacco from the mantelpiece. Holmes rose and went into his room, taking off his dressing gown as he went. He returned a moment later wearing a jacket and was just in time to answer the knock at our door.

"Mrs. Hudson," he said, greeting our venerable landlady. "A caller for me, I presume."

"A policeman, Mr. Holmes," she said.

"Where is he, Mrs. Hudson?" asked Holmes, peering out onto the landing over her head.

"Down in the sitting room," she said. "He has a child with him. Very cold. I settled her by the fire. I know it's unusual, sir, but won't you see them down there?"

Holmes looked to me questioningly and I gave him a nod. There seemed no reason not to use the sitting room if Mrs. Hudson had invited us to do so.

"Very well," said Holmes to our landlady. "We shall be down momentarily, Mrs. Hudson."

"Unusual for a policeman to bring a child along, Holmes," I observed while puffing my pipe to life.

"A girl child, at that, Watson," he said and loaded a pipe of his own. "I must admit, I'm intrigued."

We descended the stairs and entered the sitting room with its fireplace and the small Christmas tree Mrs. Hudson and Billy had set up the previous week. One of the smaller chairs had been moved next to the fire which had been stoked up and was filling the room with a comforting warmth. A very young girl of six or seven sat in it, shivering and clutching a black-haired doll tightly. Beside her and a little behind stood a large sergeant of the Metropolitan force. An odder match I do not think I have seen. It reminded me of nothing more than a great bull mastiff standing guard over a wee kitten. And this mastiff seemed to be taking his charge very seriously, as he eyed us warily on our entry.

"Good afternoon, Sergeant," said Holmes, his eyes running over the pair. I had no doubt he was taking in far more than I had with my fanciful musings.

"Good afternoon, sir," said the sergeant, turning to face us more directly. "Would you be Mr. Holmes, sir?"

"I am," said Holmes. "This is my associate, Dr. Watson. How may we be of assistance?"

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes, only I'm not sure you can be. I hope so, but I'm not sure," said the blue clad man. "My name is Sergeant Harper, sir. I found this child near Paddington Green an hour ago. She was wandering alone. Seemed quite lost, sir. I asked her name, but she would not speak to me, sir. There was no one about who recognized her. No one had seen where she came from. I had a mind to take her over to the hospital and leave her to be attended to while I made a report at the station. But it didn't seem right, sir. Leaving a little girl among strangers like that, I mean. I've a pair of little ones at home, you see. And then I remembered you, Mr. Holmes. I've heard your reputation. I thought it was worth the time to pay you a visit if in doing so I might put the girl back in the arms of them what love her, sir."

"Excuse me a moment, Sergeant," Holmes said. "Watson, see if the child is in need of your skills. I will return shortly."

"Of course, Holmes," I said as he walked out into the entrance hall. I thought Holmes was perhaps uncomfortable dealing with a child and was just as glad he had chosen discretion rather than some course of action that might worsen the situation. Holmes is not always the most tactful of men.

I knelt in front of our young guest and spent a few minutes under the watchful eye of Sergeant Harper examining the girl, but found no injuries and no physical reason to explain her silence. Her hair was damp from the falling snow and her cheeks and nose quite rosy from the cold, but she had not been injured. When I tried to take her pulse, however, she drew back from me, squeezing her dolly much tighter.

"It's alright, my dear," I said soothingly. "I won't take her away from you. Just let me have your wrist a moment."

Reluctantly the girl did. Her pulse was slightly elevated, but nothing to worry me.

"She says you're holding her too tight," Holmes said from behind me.

I glanced up to see him standing a few feet away. He had not been speaking to me, however. His eyes were on the girl. I glanced back at her in time to see her shoot a furtive look at Holmes and then down on the doll's head. Her arms relaxed a touch.

"She says thank you," said Holmes.

The little girl pressed her cheek down on the top of the doll's head and I thought I heard the barest of whispers, but made out no words. Seeing Holmes was making some progress I eased back from my patient and stood aside. Holmes, who is quite tall, went down to one knee and gave the girl a surprisingly kind and gentle smile. It was remarkable. I noticed, too, that Sergeant Harper was observing him very closely, as if he were ready to intervene at the slightest provocation.

"She tells me she liked the custard tarts you shared at tea," Holmes said in the same gentle tone. The little girl looked up as if suspicious that he was teasing her. "Would you like some more, Dolly?"

I blinked and had to suppress a chuckle. Even in so serious a situation, to hear the possessor of the greatest analytical mind I had ever encountered addressing a child's doll was really straining my limits.

"Of course!" Holmes said smiling broadly, as if answering the doll. "Your friend may have some if she likes. Oh, Mrs. Hudson?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes?" our landlady called from just around the corner.

"Would you mind bringing in some of those excellent tarts of yours?" he asked.

"Certainly, Mr. Holmes," Mrs. Hudson replied and after a brief pause she came into the sitting room with a silver tray upon which were custard tarts, a tea set and the small kettle she usually made hot chocolate in.

Holmes moved one of the low tables over for Mrs. Hudson to set the tray on and we spent a moment sorting out cups and plates and tarts. It was all quite comical. I didn't know which was more amusing; watching Holmes pouring hot chocolate into a teacup for the little girl or seeing the looming figure of Sergeant Harper holding a frilly china cup while trying to look imposing.

In any event, the little girl drank some of the chocolate and nibbled at a tart, politely sharing it with her doll.

"Your dolly says she comes from France," Holmes said after he had a mouthful of chocolate and set the cup down. "She also tells me the two of you often walk on the Green in the afternoons. She likes it there very much. She won't tell me her name, though."

"Silvia," the little girl whispered without looking up.

"Ah. What a nice name," Holmes said. "My name is Sherlock, Silvia. I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

I had to turn away when Holmes reached out and shook the doll by the hand. He, of course, paid me no mind at all.

"Silvia says you were out walking this afternoon with someone she calls nanny," Holmes went on. "Is that true?"

"Mrs. Perkins," the little girl whispered.

Holmes shot a look at the sergeant, but Harper shook his head. He didn't know the woman.

"How long has Mrs. Perkins been your governess?" Holmes asked.

"Since we came to London," she said and sipped more chocolate.

"I see," said Holmes. "The weather was warm when you arrived."

"Oh no. It was cold." The girl's voice was growing in volume, but not by much. "Father bought me a new coat before we came here."

"Was that because you had outgrown your old one?" Holmes asked.

"Yes," she said and finally looked up, though she did not meet his eyes. "I kept the old one, though."

"Oh?" Holmes prompted her.

"Mother gave it to me," she said and turned her face down and kissed the top of the doll's head.

"And where is your mother now?" asked Holmes.

"In heaven with grandfather," the little girl replied. "Father says she is watching over me now."

"I have no doubt she is," said Holmes in a voice I had never heard him use before. "Where is your father?"

"In a place called Bordeaux," she said and took another bite of her tart. "These are good. Cook's are good, too, but these are better."

"They are good, aren't they?" Holmes smiled. "Mrs. Hudson baked them this morning. Will your father be gone for very long?"

"He promised to be home before Christmas Eve," she said. "He said he might bring me a new friend for Silvia, but I asked him to bring her a new dress. Silvia doesn't need new friends. She has me."

"I know just what you mean," Holmes told her. "One friend can be enough, sometimes, but it's nice to make new friends. Would you like to be my friend?"

The girl looked at him earnestly for a long moment and then her expression softened. She put out her hand and said, "My name is Abigale."

"I am very pleased to meet you, Abigale," said Holmes and took her little hand in his fingers, giving it the barest of squeezes. "I am Sherlock. My surname is Holmes. Do you know your surname?"

"I don't think I have one," said Abigale, frowning.

"Well, what is your father's name?" asked Holmes.

"Father," she said, puzzled. "Sometimes I call him papa."

"I see." Holmes frowned a little. I believe he was growing frustrated, but to his credit he was not deterred. "What do your father's friends and the servants call him?"

"Oh," Abigale blinked, seeming to comprehend. "Mrs. Perkins calls him sir, mostly. Cook calls him Mr. Lewis."

"Excellent, Abigale," said Holmes, clearly pleased and placed another tart on the little girl's plate. She smiled and ate the last bite of her first tart, picking up the second instantly. "Will you excuse us a moment, dear?"

"Yes, Sherlock," she said around a mouthful of crumbs and custard.

"Sergeant, Watson," Holmes said, standing and striding to the doorway.

We joined him and the three of us spoke softly to keep the girl from hearing.

"It is imperative, Sergeant Harper, that we return to Paddington Green immediately," said Holmes.

"But the child can't go back out in this weather so soon, Mr. Holmes," Harper protested sternly.

"Mrs. Hudson will see to her, I assure you," Holmes told him. "It is the girl's governess who is in need of our aid now."

"The girl was alone," Harper said. He blinked and then his eyes flashed. "I'm a fool, Mr. Holmes! Pardon me, sir."

"Where will we look?" I asked.

"The sergeant will take us to the place he first found the girl," Holmes said. "I examined her coat while I was out of the room. There is a smudge of mud and grass on the back of it and one sleeve. I believe the child was pushed and she fell on the lawn."

"With the falling snow, sir, the signs will be covered by now," Harper observed.

"We should still be able to find an impression," replied Holmes. "Go out and summon a four wheeler, Sergeant, while Watson and I fetch our coats. I've already explained to Mrs. Hudson what we will be doing."

As if summoned by the mention of her name, Mrs. Hudson came into the hall carrying a blanket. Holmes and I ascended the stairs to get our things. I slipped my revolver into my pocket and took my medical bag. I felt these were the best preparations I could make under the circumstances. We emerged from the house to find Sergeant Harper standing stolidly by a four wheeler with its door open. We piled in, our breath steaming in the cold, and the driver whisked us away west, up Baker Street towards the Green. Minutes of tense silence passed as the driver exhorted his team to greater speed. The afternoon traffic was lighter than in summer, but the roadway was slick with patches of snow and ice making the short journey a precarious one. Many times I heard the horse's shoes slide on the frosted cobbles only to click their rough shod hooves into the spaces between the stones. Bless the unknown smith who invented them!

"Here, Driver!" Sergeant Harper shouted up through the small trap that communicated with the cabman. "Stop here!"

"Oh good fortune, Watson!" Holmes exclaimed on getting out of the cab.

We had stopped near a section of the iron fence that was under repair, its palings missing. Holmes, like a hound on a scent, dashed to the gap in the fence and examined the ground while I paid our driver and made him promise to wait until we returned. Sergeant Harper took the man's name and warned him not to leave. The cabbie, looking a little pale under the ruddy blush from the cold, nodded his understanding to the fierce officer.

"It is as I thought, Watson," said Holmes when we joined him. "You see?"

I did. The snow had once more covered the grass, but there was a clear impression from where a tiny form had fallen, making a sort of snow angel. Nearby were many footprints. A struggle had taken place. The prints led off across the Green, through trees and shrubs, towards the distant churchyard.

"He isn't a tall man," said Holmes, examining one set of prints. "Limps on his right leg. The woman, you can see, resisted him for quite a way. She turned back many times to look for the child."

"An abduction, it seems clear to me, sir," Harper growled. I heard the leather of his gloves creek as he knotted his fists. "We must hurry, gentlemen."

It took no skill to follow the tracks in the snow and Holmes was content to allow the big sergeant to lead the way. We finally came to the old churchyard and its rows of tombstones. The church looked as though it was empty, but a small outhouse behind gave off smoke from a chimney. Darkness was coming on with evening. It would be night soon and we felt the urgency of rescuing the abducted woman weighing on us heavily.

Rather than going round to the gate, Sergeant Harper climbed the fence and perforce Holmes and I followed him.

"Sergeant!" Holmes hissed, bringing the man to a stop. "He may be watchful. More caution is needed now. A man who abducts a woman is likely a coward, but a coward might kill his victim to keep her from us."

Harper considered that a moment, his color rising in his cheeks, but he gave Holmes a nod and let him take the lead. Stealthily we three crept up to the outhouse, taking station near one of its small, dirty windows. With great care Holmes leaned forward to look through the glass. From within I could hear quiet sobbing and the harsh voice of a man.

"Stop that!" the man said. "Shouldn't have given up on me, Polly. A man makes mistakes. I was good to you. Shouldn't have given up on me."

There was a clatter of pans and more sobbing.

"He is making tea," whispered Holmes. "In the back of the room. She is sitting on the bed next to the wall opposite this one. Her hands are tied behind her back and a gag in her mouth."

Harper opened his cloak and from his belt he took his billy club, a length of ash as long as his forearm. I had several times seen officers wield these weapons and if Harper were as skilled as he was fierce, I felt justice would be quite swift in coming to the abductor of Mrs. Perkins.

"We go in fast, gentlemen," said Holmes as more sounds emanated from the little house. "There will be a table between you and the man, Sergeant. I will interpose myself between he and the woman. Watson, come in behind us with your revolver at the ready. Sergeant, lead the way."

A powerful kick of Harper's leg tore the thin door from its frame and sent it crashing into the cramped room. The man at the stove spun, wide eyed and gaping. Harper rushed into the room and smashed into him with such force the whole shack trembled under the impact. Holmes was right behind him and I behind Holmes, but the action was over in the instant it began. I dare say Sergeant Harper would have made a fine addition to any scrum.

While the sergeant clapped the darbies on the stunned and bleeding man Holmes and I freed Mrs. Perkins of her bonds. The dear woman threw her arms about my neck, sobbing into my shoulder. I did my best to comfort her while Holmes stood back.

"Where is Abigale?" Mrs. Perkins asked desperately. "She is out there alone! You must find her!"

"Abigale is safe and warm," said Holmes soothingly. "It is her you must thank for your rescue."

"Abigale is safe?" Mrs. Perkins asked, relief showing in her tone. "She told you what happened?"

"She and Silvia, yes," Holmes said, smiling gently.

I took a few minutes to examine the governess, finding that her injuries were very minor. Her wrists were chafed from the cord her husband had used to bind them and there was a darkening bruise about one, but otherwise she was quite well. I gave her a drink of brandy to calm her nerves before we, in company with the sergeant and his prisoner, made our way back across the Green to where our cab waited. Sergeant Harper thanked us and bade us a good evening. He promised to come round and escort Mrs. Perkins home as soon as he had deposited her husband at the station.

On the way back to Backer Street Mrs. Perkins explained that her husband had been an upstanding tradesman, a cooper, who had fallen to drink. In debt and unable to free himself of his demon, Perkins had turned to theft and robbery. Finally the law had caught up to him and Perkins had been sentenced to prison. Mrs. Perkins had unsuccessfully applied for a divorce, wishing to move on with her life. Her family, though not wealthy, was of good standing and she found work as a governess. Mr. Lewis and his late wife had taken her on to look after little Abigale. When they moved to France, Mrs. Perkins was very glad to accompany them and leave her former life behind. She felt sure that her husband would give up on her and had no fear when they returned to London at the end of October in order that Mr. Lewis could assume a managerial position in his firm.

Mrs. Perkins had been surprised by her husband when she and Abigale went out for their afternoon stroll. Perkins had come from behind, accosting the poor woman, demanding she come back to him. They'd argued and when Abigale attempted to defend her governess, Perkins, the cad, had shoved the child down. Incensed by his wife's resistance, the man compelled her to follow him, dragging her across the Green to the little shack where he lived, now working as the groundskeeper of St. Mary's Church.

The reunion between governess and child was heartwarming to say the least. Mrs. Hudson brought tea and Abigale insisted that Holmes sit beside her on the sofa while he told her all the things Silvia said. Sergeant Parker arrived soon after and thanked Holmes and myself for all of our help.

"I can see the things said about you, sir, are true," Harper said and shook my friend by the hand before turning to me. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll see them home safe. Never fear."

And we did not. If there were one man in London who could bring those two safely to their door, it was Sergeant Harper. Holmes was quiet the rest of the evening and I did not disturb him.

Two days later a knock came at our door. Mrs. Hudson entered at Holmes' invitation and behind her came Abigale and Mrs. Perkins, looking much more relaxed than they had the last time we'd seen them.

"Hello, Sherlock," Abigale said and held up a small package wrapped in red paper.

"Abigale!" Mrs. Perkins began to scold, but Holmes held up a hand.

"Hello, Abigale," said Holmes with a smile. "What is this?"

"A present," she said with a charming grin. "Open it!"

Holmes took the package from her and with his customary fastidiousness undid the ribbon, letting the wrapping fall away. He removed the lid of the box and I had to stifle a full on laugh at the look on his face. A small stuffed bear rested within, its glass eyes shining in the light coming through the window.

"Do you like him?" Abigale asked, clutching her doll close. "I was going to get you a doll like Silvia, but Mrs. Perkins said boys don't play with dolls."

Holmes took the bear from the box and held him up. The toy emitted a groan vaguely reminiscent of the growl of a bear and Holmes' eyebrows rose, an amused twinkle in his dark eyes.

"He is quite handsome," said Holmes, glancing at me. "And he sounds hungry. Mrs. Hudson, would you have anything to feed a bear and our friends here?"

"Of course, Mr. Holmes," said our landlady smiling mischievously. She went downstairs and returned several minutes later with a tray of tea and biscuits and warm milk for Abigale.

We spent nearly an hour with our guests, eating and listening to Abigale telling us about her dolls and the new kitten they had gotten. She was surprised when Holmes told her the kitten was grey and it liked to jump from behind curtains to pounce on Abigale. When she demanded to know how he knew this, Holmes merely explained that Silvia had told him.

The most remarkable thing that I can remember from that visit was Holmes sitting in his chair by the fire with his new stuffed bear at his side. He even shared a biscuit with it to keep it from being hungry, he said.