Chapter 6: Difficulties and Distractions
Thursday, February 21, 1895
I rose early the following morning eager to get the day started. Ordinarily I was not due at Bart's until later in the morning, but as I had been absent the day before, I intended to arrive early and make my presence felt. I also wanted the time to eat a hearty breakfast, while also taking the opportunity to examine the morning headlines carefully in at least three of our newspapers. Holmes insisted on subscribing to every London paper, which kept us both very much current on the events of the day, but also awash in a small daily avalanche of newsprint. I rang Mrs. Hudson who appeared shortly with ham, eggs, kippers, toast, strawberry jam, and fresh coffee. The dear woman really did know how to put on an outstanding breakfast. While Holmes frequently passed on breakfast, often wasting Mrs. Hudson's efforts (to her great annoyance,) I always ate my breakfast, and with appropriate gusto as well. After warmly thanking Mrs. Hudson, I started in on the kippers and the Times. I knew Holmes had already left for the day as I saw the remains of coffee, toast, and two boiled eggs on the sideboard ready for Mrs. Hudson. As I ate and read, I could not help but wonder how Holmes would fare at Mrs. Robinson's boarding house and what data he or Thomas would find by trying to go back some number of months to the earlier deaths. It was obviously going to be slow going, but I wistfully felt I would be missing out and having a less exciting and far more routine day. The weather was proving much clearer than yesterday. A quick perusal of the headlines yielded nothing very interesting in the morning papers, so I determined to focus on finishing my ample breakfast and leaving promptly.
The day at Bart's went quickly. My early arrival was noted and appreciated. I was at a point in my career where my proven skill and experience made me a welcome addition to most of my professional colleagues' efforts. Their warm greetings allowed me to muse about my change in fortunes over time. Upon reflection, I decided, "It's good to be wanted!" Two baby deliveries and cleaning up the injuries from an early morning fight down near the docks, along with a steady flow of incoming patients, kept both me and the emergency surgical staff busy long after our usual leaving time. It was the usual mix of routine and chaos. It is for good reason that doctors spend much of their idle time contemplating better ways for men to resolve their more contentious affairs, as we are the people who pick up the broken pieces afterwards.
It wasn't until after 8:00 PM that I arrived back at Baker Street, tired and hungry, with Holmes not yet home. I was wondering when I would see him when Mrs. Hudson arrived with a note telling me that Holmes would not be back until much later, and instructions to just leave a sandwich or two on a covered plate for him along with a beer, as he was going to be deeply involved in chemical analysis elsewhere that evening. He would explain all later. Mrs. Hudson then turned to leave and bring up my supper, but I asked her if she had eaten hers. She had not; I proposed that I eat downstairs with her and spare her the trouble of carrying trays up the seventeen steps to our rooms.
I should confess that for me, eating with Mrs. Hudson was far more common than you might think. By now Mrs. Hudson was a dearly loved figure in both of her tenants' lives so it was perfectly natural to sit with her or visit for a spell, especially on a cold winter night, when Holmes was deep in a case or some chemical analysis, and I felt in need of company. Mrs. Hudson could be quite outgoing and comical when it came to talking about our neighbours or the doings in our little immediate corner of London. We spent a pleasant two hours eating supper, then drinking a fine dessert sherry. I gave her an overview of the cases of the railway deaths. I wondered if the deaths were the talk of the streets. Mrs. Hudson confirmed that Miss Wright and Miss Higby had been and still were. The others not so much, as they were too far in the past, with no obvious connection known to the public. We talked about the possible links to poisonous, suspicious pills, with Mrs. Hudson far less surprised than I that the young women may have been using odd, off-market pills and medications. It was well known that many highly reputable doctors still mixed their own formulations, while others on the fringe of medicine just manufactured oddities and cure-alls for those who could not afford doctors, or were too afraid, mistrustful, or just wanted a quick pill to fix themselves. This was London – but also just the ways things were. You could buy anything here if you had enough money, needed it enough, or had the right connections. I was surprised that Mrs. Hudson knew more underground, hidden chemist shops and assorted medical alchemists than I did. Our conversation left me with a mind full of questions as I headed off to bed that night.
The next morning, I got up early and readied myself quickly. Holmes was up before me and already eating breakfast when I came down. I could tell at a glance that the previous day's activities had not yielded the advances that Thomas and Holmes believed would be revealed. "Good morning, Holmes. I can already tell that your investigations and research yesterday were not successful, but that you are far from defeated."
Holmes looked up from his regular reading of the agony columns and gave me a weary smile, one that reflected his disappointment and a touch of fatigue. "Good morning, Watson. And, they say I'm the detective of Baker Street. Perhaps not the only one. Yes, my friend, we were unsuccessful on all fronts - at least so far. I am off again to the Yard soon, but you deserve a brief synopsis of our activities and failures. As always, failures take far less time to describe than successes. First my interviews at Miss Higby's boarding house, and my thorough search of her rooms, turned up nothing except confirmation that she had recently sought medical advice from an unknown medical source. I also spoke to those at the boarding house. They're very curious, Mrs. Robinson and her tenants. They were all helpful to their best degree, but they suffered from a common malady: a considerable lack of awareness of Miss Higby's private affairs. It seems the house rule is 'no prying in anyone's business,' and Miss Higby was apparently a most private young woman, despite her outwardly friendly, engaging, and obliging demeanor. According to her fellow boarders, Clara was the most ready to play games, to sing and entertain, or to deal a hand of cards. She helped Mrs. Robinson frequently and made several popular chicken dishes including a house favorite with curried rice. The house is full of devastated, grieving women. All are struck down; all are without answers for a loss none of them can understand. Honestly my friend, I wished you were there with me as you have more experience with dealing with death and loss. You know full-well such things are not my strength. I had so little to offer..."
Holmes paused, clearly uncomfortable with what he considered to be his failure to provide comfort. "You told them you were investigating, did you not Holmes? You gave them your assurance you were going to do something didn't you?" Holmes just nodded. "Holmes that is not nothing. You let those women know that Miss Higby mattered, and that someone cared. Sometimes that's all anyone can do. Doctors aren't particularly better at this than anyone; we just have more experience. Eventually we come to understand that such simple connection, a witness as it were, is one of the most important things one human being can offer another."
"Perhaps you are right Watson. I defer to your far deeper experience. I answered what questions I could, and then gave her rooms a search far beyond my usual thoroughness in an ultimately fruitless attempt to find what ailed her, what she was taking, and who prescribed it. I turned up nothing, not a trace." Holmes gave a grimace of frustration.
"What about Thomas' investigations or any of the chemical analyses?"
"The chemical analyses turned up nothing I can use, not yet anyway. As you likely noticed, no samples arrived at Baker Street for my use, because I managed to redirect them in time to the lab at Saint Bart's. Yes, my friend, ironically, we were both working in the same location yesterday. I opted not to disturb you, but I would have had someone find you if my research had proved useful. There wasn't much to analyze except for a little tea. As you know, the instructions were for an empty stomach. I therefore conclude that if she did take a pill or medication, it was not immediately before her death but perhaps 30 to 60 minutes beforehand and that the medication dissolved quickly."
"Odd enough as it may seem Holmes, is there a possibility this girl did not ingest any pills or medication before her death?"
"It is a fair question, Watson. However, while I recognized no obvious signs of any poisons, my analysis did show a number of complex, unidentifiable organic substances, which I could not pinpoint. It was Andrew Mercer who did Scottland Yard's analysis on their end. He could find no clues either. I'm off to see him first, right after I pick up Sergeant Thomas. Before you ask, Mercer's efforts to gather more records and evidence - such as they exist - was somewhat successful. It's given us more data to analyze, and so we will do so. Efforts are still ongoing to find any pill or medications gathered as evidence from the previous victims. It's a long shot, but we can't leave any stone unturned. It's unfortunate that so much time has elapsed, and that nobody was looking for anything pointing to anything other than suicide, or tragic misadventure. I will of course be asking Mercer for a sample of Miss Wright's pills, if he still has them. So far, those pills are the only sign that there is anything to investigate at all. Shaky ground, my friend, but I have solved cases that started with less."
Holmes was clearly eager to be off soon, so rather than delaying him through conversation, I urged him to not only finish his plate, but to have more eggs and toast. It was telling that he resisted his normal protestations about not needing food while on a case, which indicated that yesterday had been a long day indeed, one that did not include any midday meal. As Holmes rushed out, I could hear him telling Mrs. Hudson he would likely be home for dinner, but it would be late. I was left to eat my breakfast at a leisurely pace while doing a far more detailed read-through of the day's newspapers. This being Friday, I was scheduled to be done at Bart's somewhat later than on other days, as some unexpected early evening revelry often brought in patients with unexpected injuries.
The day was busy, but not particularly unusual. A high number of respiratory ailments and complaints came in throughout the afternoon, but this was to be expected. There was always a high number of people on Fridays: people who had waited all week in the hope a few more days would provide improvement, only to rush in on Friday because they knew there would be fewer doctors on staff for Saturday and Sunday. I was just completing my examination of a young pair of identical eleven-year-old twins, with developing bronchitis, when a hall porter announced I had a visitor in the staff lounge. I hurried to finish up with the twins, thinking that it was Holmes with significant progress at last.
Yet, when I made my way to the lounge reception area, I found an old colleague and good friend from my earliest days as a medical student. Dr. Charles Sears was a jovial plain-faced man with sandy hair and a luxuriant mustache - something I don't think I have ever seen him without. His ordinary looks were offset by very blue eyes and a face that transformed entirely when he smiled or laughed, which was often. As a student he had earned the nickname, "Grins," as a result. His smile, and sense of humor, along with his warm personality often made him a greater hit with the ladies than any of the rest of us. I knew he had eventually specialized in female medicine, and unlike so many others, had broadened his scope to include all manner of female issues including obstetrics, and mental health. He was fast becoming a leader in a new way of thinking that believed that women and girls had their own highly specific medical needs, and that a 'one way works for all' approach was not ideal and might even be obsolete. He was a medical professional success story if ever there was one. He had a thriving practice on Harley Street, and was known to have some of the leading women in society as clients.
"Writer Boy," he cried warmly, grasping me by the hand. "So good to see you, Old Man. You're looking somewhat better than average. How are you doing?" I laughed, and replied, "Grins, how are you? It's been a few months at least. I am well, but you look first rate! You have an unmistakable air of medical prosperity hanging off you. It suits you well. What brings you to the meager staffroom of Barts on a Friday afternoon? Lord knows it's not the tea and biscuits."
"No, I'm afraid not. I'm here to see a patient. The housemaid of one of my long-time clients. The poor thing is a well-loved retainer, for over fifteen years. She's not someone who would ordinarily be a regular patient, but her case sounds interesting. I know your experience is extensive, and your manner is warm and sympathetic to people who are mentally troubled. I heard you were taking regular shifts here and, I was thinking you could come along and perhaps provide insight."
I told him I would be more than happy to and asked for particulars. "She is Mrs. Annie Kendell, forty-two years old, recently widowed, one son, currently at sea, a junior Lieutenant with her Majesty's Royal Navy. Mrs. Kendell is – or was - a woman of inordinate good health and a calm stable disposition. Until her husband died of heart trouble, she has had no trouble, but grief and the change brought about in her life has made sleep difficult. She was originally sent to me for trouble sleeping and increased anxiety. I gave her a regular prescription of laudanum, lavender, and chloramide: a special mixture I have had considerable success with. Unfortunately, she did not take to it well, complaining that it made her groggy and slow witted throughout the day. I changed it last week and I have not heard anything until today."
"It was reported to me that Annie was found last night, wandering in the gardens of the house next door, agitated, confused, and with wildly altering mood swings. She would be singing, almost ecstatic, and then moments later, crying helplessly. Eventually she was bundled up and brought here, and I was called."
As we spoke, we walked through the hospital to the ward where mentally agitated and disturbed patients were held for evaluation. After making ourselves known to the ward staff, we were shown to the room where Mrs. Kendell was residing. The room held one other patient, a young woman who appeared to be sleeping the sleep of the heavily sedated. Mrs. Kendell was closer to the door. She was awake but clearly agitated, muttering constantly to herself. She was wearing a hospital gown, and she was restrained to the bed by her ankles. She was a still handsome woman, and it was apparent that she lived her life with more than adequate nutrition and health care. For all that, she looked very much out of her depth, lost and haunted, and mostly unaware of her surroundings. It was a shocking aspect as nothing in her history, or anything Dr. Sears had told me would lead to anything close to circumstances like this.
I stood back, watching carefully, as my colleague approached the bed and gently called to her trying to get her attention. It took a minute or two, but she finally was able to focus on him enough to respond. "Dr. Sears? Sir? Why am I... what is happening to me?"
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Kendell. I am here to check on you. This is my friend and colleague, Dr. Watson; he's here to help too. What can you tell us, Mrs. Kendall? What do you remember?"
Mrs. Kendell paused trying to recall, clearly not able to make much sense out of her circumstances or the questions. She finally looked at me. "Hello, Mrs. Kendell, I am Dr. Watson, a doctor on staff here at the hospital. I am here to help you if I can." She looked back and forth between us for a few moments as if making certain that we were real.
"I am not sure what is real, Sirs. I feel very confused and frightened. I don't know how I ended up here. Is this really the hospital?" Upon our confirmation, she continued, "The last thing I remember clearly was Thursday evening. I finished my work in the kitchen, and helped Greta, the cook get some spices, pastry dough and some fruit ready for the Horton's family breakfast. Everyone is home, and Mr. Horton does not go into the office early on Fridays, so the family takes extra time over breakfast. It's a family tradition, you know. When we were finished, I went to finish sorting some laundry, and then I got the coal scuttles for the bedrooms and dining room ready for the morning. I..." She paused, uncertain what to say next. "I don't remember much after that." She paused again, lost in thought. "I remember being outside, I think. It was cold, I was cold. I needed to get somewhere... or perhaps find something." After another pause, she continued," find something, I think. Very cold. What day is it? What time?"
"It's just after 5:00 PM on Friday afternoon. You're currently at Barts, Saint Bartholomew's Hospital, Dr. Sears replied. You were cold because you were outside. You were in your night clothes wearing a blue bathrobe and slippers. You were found wandering through the Hewitt's garden at 3:30 AM this morning. Their dog was barking which woke up the Hewitt family. They came and got Mr. and Mrs. Horton." He paused, giving Mrs. Kendell a moment to digest this new information.
"Mrs. Kendell, do you know if you took your usual sleeping drought last night?" I asked.
"I am not sure, Doctor, sir. I do not remember. I got a new formula from Dr. Sears last week, which I have been taking. I get to sleep right enough but I wake up about three to four hours later and I can't sleep much of the rest of the night. I don't sleep well on account of Bill dying late last year." She looked down staring at the bed, troubled by the thought of her husband's death. "He died sudden, he did. His heart, they said. My Bill..." She wandered off in her thoughts for a few minutes. Neither Sears nor I could bring her back to focus. She began shifting uncomfortably and then suddenly became more agitated. "I can't move! My legs! Am I tied to the bed?" She attempted to get out of bed, and being unable to, began to writhe and moan in fear.
We both stepped closer and tried to soothe her. "Please calm yourself Mrs. Kendell. It's all going to be fine. When the Hortons tried to take you back home, you became very agitated, even violent. You would not come back and insisted on wandering off. That's why they ultimately brought you here. Doctor Hancock, the neighborhood doctor that lives three houses down, was sent for and he advised them to bring you here. You came in the family carriage, but you kept trying to get out and wander away. When the attending physician and the nurses brought you to this ward, you would not stay. They attached you to the bed for your own safety and protection. Nobody is trying to hurt you. We just want to understand and help."
Dr. Sears continued gently speaking to her until she started calming down. "I don't feel right," she said. Then, as if the thought just occurred to her, "Am I in a hospital for loonies? I don't want to be a loony!"
"You are in a ward for people who are mentally hurting at Bartholomew's hospital, Dr. Sears said, "This is not Bethlehem Royal Hospital." She calmed down gradually to where she could converse normally again. "I'm scared bad, sirs. What's happening to me?"
"That's what we are trying to find out," I said." You are not in any trouble. We are just attempting to understand why you suddenly became confused and went wandering around at night, in your night things in the cold. Anything you can tell us will be most useful if you can just remember."
"I am so tired," she said. "I just want to rest. if I could sleep, perhaps I can remember."
Sears and I withdrew to consult. After a rapid exchange of views on her symptoms, we both felt that a good meal and a sleeping draught would likely improve her condition and state of mind. We both went back to the troubled woman and told her that she would soon get a good dinner and then something to help her sleep. "Perhaps you will feel better and remember more in the morning," Dr. Sears told her. We both spent a few minutes reassuring her that all would be well, then we left, with Sears leaving final instructions for the ward staff.
As we left the ward, we discussed what we had seen. "Honestly, it's as if she came down with a brain fever, but with less pervasive symptoms" I said. Sears agreed. "I have met Mrs. Kendell numerous times before, in her duties as a trusted employee at the Horton residence. She has always appeared calm, practical, competent, and diligent. Mrs. Horton has the utmost trust in her, and cares for her deeply, which is why I was called in on this case. Mrs. Horton wants only the best for her. 'No standard or minimal care- only the best,' she said. It's not like anything I have seen before, except perhaps poison or drug intoxication. It's why some food and a night of sleep might yield some significant improvement." I could not help but agree with his assessment.
We were now in the foyer near the main entrance. "I can look in on her around midday tomorrow. I was planning on clocking a few hours tomorrow anyway," I told him. "I will send you a telegram after I see her with an update on her condition." Dr. Sears thanked me profusely, and after a few more minutes of pleasant, light conversation, we departed. He left while I went back to my primary ward to complete some paperwork before I too left for the night.
It was a cold cab ride to Baker Street. For once Holmes had arrived before me and was already ensuring the fire was well stocked, the evening papers sorted and separated from the morning editions, and a cup of tea poured. He had already changed into his favorite mouse colored dressing gown, a sure sign that he was settling in for a night of reading and contemplation. He greeted me warmly at the door and passed a cup of tea into my hands as soon as I had removed my coat, which I accepted gratefully. "Unexpected events late in the day I see," he said with a slight smile, knowing full well I would want to know how he deduced it. "Oh, come now Holmes, how did you know that?" I demanded, both frustrated and curious as to how he knew.
"It's easy enough. I know my Watson. You arrived later than you planned - something you try hard not to do on a Friday, especially if it's likely you'll be posting some hours tomorrow. You climbed the stairs slowly, but not so slowly to indicate your leg is bothering you. You appear distracted in the way you do when something new or odd happens at the end of the day, which you have not had sufficient time to think through. Hence my deduction that the end of your shift had an odd patient or incident." His smirk told me he knew he was right.
"Well alright, Holmes, you are correct as usual. Towards the end of the day, I had a visitor. At first, I thought it was you with news, but it turned out to be my old friend, Dr. Charles Sears, my medical school chum, 'Grins." He had a patient in the mentally disturbed ward, and he wanted my advice." I briefly gave Holmes an account of the case and my assessment of Mrs. Kendell. "It's an odd coincidence, Holmes - a woman out of her head due to poison or a medically self-inflicted misadventure. We've seen more than our share of such oddities recently. Too many. I will check up on Mrs. Kendell tomorrow, for her sake, and to be honest, for my own peace of mind."
"It's an appropriate response, Watson," said Holmes. "Best to follow the data and the evidence rather than wildly speculate, although such circumstances would lead many to such speculation. Waiting to see what the next day brings has often kept me from making the poor choice or drawing the wrong conclusion. It may well help you here."
"Meanwhile my day did not provide me much to move our investigation forward. It's times like this when I must remember that lack of evidence in certain places is in fact a form of evidence. Not to belabor the point, my investigations and research with Mercer yielded little I could use. Fortunately, he did in fact have some sample pills from Miss Wright still in storage. We spent much of the day examining one of her pills in minute detail. As has already been told to us, the pills are round, spherical, medium-sized and a peculiar off-white in colour, rather pearl like appearance, and slightly blue. The rather standard pill binders were in evidence: cellulose, glycerin, and both corn and wheat starches. It's the rest that is odd. No known toxins or poisons can be identified, yet a wide range of complex solubles are contained as likely active ingredients. We made more progress by determining that at least one of the compounds is similar to highly refined opium. That at least supports the hypothesis that the purpose of the drug is to alter the mind as well as the sense of perception. Our problem is that Mercer's samples are all we have. Our supply for destructive testing is highly limited. We did not see any evidence that the primary active ingredients are anything other than plant-based; the one other thing we learned is that the manufacturing process is highly sophisticated. There's evidence of highly volatile alkaloids, some of which vaporize or are transformed entirely in acid. So far, it's reasonable to theorize that the chemical process involved in biological assimilation has been deliberately designed to interact in the acidic environment of an empty stomach. There's clever organic manipulation at the heart of these medications. Whatever these pills are, it's at the very forefront of biochemical science."
"Doesn't this advanced skill set help narrow things down, Holmes? Surely there are not many people with such skills?"
"A good first assumption, and certainly a place to start, my friend. I must caution you that such an assumption was only a good place to start our investigation as of not too long ago. As you well know from your own practice, the days of simple formulations, and small-scope manufacturing in a simple or even not so simple apothecary shop, are coming to a close. Medications and drugs of all sorts are fast becoming bigger concerns, with research done in labs by teams of many rather than the gifted, chosen, and educated few. Sophisticated manufacturing is following right behind. We both know that the average doctor will mostly be buying or prescribing popular drugs manufactured by substantial companies, in less than twenty years. This is likely for the best, as dozens of useless formulas, placebos, and variations of snake oil will fall by the wayside as the field grows and expands."
"This approach is all for the best, Holmes, but if anything, your assessment of the new coming reality leaves me troubled about our current investigation. These pills, if they are in fact somehow implicated in at least one or two of these deaths, are unacceptably dangerous! Drugs like these should be carefully studied and introduced with the utmost care and due diligence - extreme care. It brings us right back to the beginning question we started with: what are these pills? Who made them and what are they prescribed for? How did such dangerous drugs get into the hands of young working women, most from the lowest ranks of society? Honestly Holmes we are calling these things 'drugs,' but they are in fact, poisons, for any practical definition of the word!"
Holmes responded, "As always, your medical mind and compassionate nature gets to the heart of the matter. You have defined the problem most succinctly. The very nature of your definition of these pills as poison points to the next series of steps in this investigation. We must start looking for similar deaths in a wider area perhaps well outside London. We must also start looking for likely experts in this field, and we must determine who are the big fish in the sea of pharmacological research and manufacturing. I am hoping I can count on your help in the weeks ahead, my friend. Sergeant Thomas is eager to help. Of course, Mercer is also keen to participate. I have a few others in mind as well. I don't want to make this a full-frontal assault on the chemists and apothecaries of Great Britain, so we will keep this quite private - at least for now."
"I am happy to help Holmes. As a medical man, I find dangerous drugs abhorrent. I'm your man!"
"Good old Watson! I assure you, your help will be invaluable!"
"Our discussion was interrupted by Mrs. Hudson bringing up a hearty meal of trout, followed by one of her favorite shepherd's pie dishes, along with a fine claret. We decided to give the case a rest and talked instead of some of the news coming out of Egypt regarding recent discoveries near Thebes. Both Holmes and I shared a fascination with ancient Egyptian culture, an attribute shared by so many of our countrymen. We talked so often of taking trips overseas, with portions of America or Egypt always making it to the top of our wish list. While we both find the usual discoveries of mummies or tomb artifacts fascinating, we also carefully follow papyrus finds and other artifacts that illustrate the cultural and daily lives of the people at various levels of Egyptian society.
Holmes had his rather frequent moments of moodiness, melancholy and introspection, even times when dark depression appeared to dog his every step. However, when Holmes was in a talkative mood, he could be a sparkling and witty conversationalist. Tonight was one of those nights. I might expect that a day of failure with Andrew Mercer would make him moody and withdrawn. Perhaps it was the stimulation of a day spent in likeminded company with an analyst and chemist he respected. Perhaps it was an indication of maturity and passing years. Holmes was a somewhat different man after he returned from his false death - a time I now think of as his 'hiatus.' I believed that his years away from Baker Street and his old life with all its familiar comforts, routines, and daily frustrations, gave him a much-needed perspective on dealing with frustrating cases. Additional experience and successes had allowed him to have more patience when complex cases did not yield clues quickly.
After the table was cleared, we settled down to reading the backlog of newspapers, followed up by Holmes playing some of his favorite Mozart pieces on his Stradivarius while I caught up on some of my case notes and writing. The evening passed in companionable harmony.
The following morning saw us both up rather earlier than is usual for either of us. Holmes intended to pursue his research on the pills further through library searches, and by following up with some of his extensive contacts and colleagues who had expertise in organic chemistry, and research in drugs and pharmacology. Meanwhile, I was off to Saint Bartholomew's for a follow up with Mrs. Kendell, and then some research of my own with the drug resident physicians on staff. I knew Holmes had been up much of the night pondering the case, as signs of extensive pipe smoking were all around his chair. Yet he did not look tired or lacking in sleep. After Mrs. Hudson's traditional Saturday breakfast of kippers, sausage, and eggs with toast, we wished each other a good and profitable day.
I knew I would not see Holmes at all that day so I told Mrs. Hudson I would eat a sandwich elsewhere at midday and called a cab of my own. The day was just cold enough, and with enough of a breeze, to make me grateful I no longer had to economize on the fare. As I rode, I could not help but fret about the odd, unexplained circumstances of Mrs. Kendell. I was also somewhat overwhelmed at the thought of the scope of research and investigation ahead of us as we tried to track down the completely unknown origins of the pills which appeared to be at the heart of at least some of the mysterious deaths. As a medical man, I was trying my best to keep objective, professional perspective, but I was utterly horrified in a way that shook me profoundly. If these were real medications created by professionals, they were easily the most dangerous treatment methods I had ever experienced. A small voice in my mind kept cycling the same questions over and over: Who? What?, Why?, What purpose? What tests? What safety measures? And most of all my questions to an unknown would-be colleague: How could you? How could such medications be justified?
When I got to the hospital, I checked in with the ward senior physician where I usually worked, explained my mission and made my way to the ward where Mrs. Kendell was staying. To my considerable surprise I found her sitting up in bed, weak and confused about the events of the last thirty-six to forty hours, but otherwise entirely present, rational, and lucid. I took the opportunity to give her a thorough physical examination, including her vision, hearing, reflexes and overall strength. This was followed by an extensive discussion with her about her life, her duties at the Horton home, and the events leading up to her breakdown. She was entirely concise about the details of Thursday up to and including the late evening. Beyond that it was confusion, just flashes of memories, agitation, and lots of fear.
"I feel perfectly fine doctor, except for what I don't remember. I know I met you yesterday, and Dr. Sears too, but I don't remember none too much of what we talked about. As for Thursday evening or Friday morning, I remember being frightened, terribly frightened, and feeling like I needed to leave - leave and be somewhere, anywhere else. I'm sorry Doctor sir, I do not know what else I can tell you. I feel like a fool, I does, and like I have been a frightful bother to everyone, especially Mr. and Mrs. Horton. I have truly set them all a topsy-turvy. I probably don't have a situation with them anymore!"
With this last statement she began to cry, displaying the first distressed emotions of our discussion. I sought to reassure her and told her that it was Mrs. Horton who had called in the services of Dr. Sears. Mrs. Horton was deeply worried, and only wanted her well-being and recovery. I was gradually able to calm Mrs. Kendell down, reassuring her that all was not lost, and she was safe. Once she was calmed down, she asked me to communicate with Dr. Sears and to the Horton's with the aim of obtaining her release from the hospital. "I have caused enough trouble. I have duties and obligations. The house ain't going to properly clean itself - and Cook needs help in the kitchen too, right enough. I have plenty of work to do if they'll have me back."
I told her I would immediately communicate with both Dr. Sears and the Horton's. I talked to her about her sleep difficulties. It was quickly obvious that I could not offer much more advice to her beyond what Dr. Sears could provide. I decided I would follow up with him later, rather than muddying the waters with her at a time when her personal circumstances felt so uncertain. I left her with the assurances that all would be well and that she should eat a good meal and rest while she could.
I went to the central communications center of the hospital. St. Barts had its own telegraph and telephone switchboard. I placed a call to Dr. Sears' office and was fortunately able to get him before he had left for the day. Everything discussed with Mrs. Kendell was analyzed in detail. He was as surprised as I was about her remarkable recovery. We agreed that there wasn't much value in keeping her beyond the evening. If she continued to be lucid and stable, she should be sent home tomorrow morning. I agreed to send a telegram to the Horton's advising them that Mrs. Kendell was much improved and was hoping to be released soon. Dr. Sears would contact them with additional details. I then went back to my regular ward to finish out my shift and complete some backlogged paperwork - the bane of every doctor's existence.
When I eventually arrived back at Baker Street for the evening, I was tired and hungry. The day had been busier than I expected. My consultation with Mrs. Kendell and the following discussion with Dr. Sears had been considerably longer than planned, so I had not stopped for any kind of sandwich or other food. Fortunately, the ever-attentive Mrs. Hudson noticed how tired I was and quickly approached with a restorative pot of tea and some biscuits. As I gradually settled down before the already stoked fire with the evening papers, I considered, not for the first time, how lucky Holmes and I were to have a landlady who cared for our well-being rather than providing just the simple basics of room and board. I was late, but it was still more than half an hour before I heard Holmes's key in the door downstairs. I could tell by his slow tread on the stairs that, if anything, his day had been longer than mine, and likely more frustrating." Good evening, Holmes," I said, and poured him the last full cup out of the teapot. He thanked me briefly, gave me a wan attempt at a smile, and then dropped into his chair wearily.
I left him in peace, knowing his moods, pondering the ironies of our relationship. In years past, he might not have offered a greeting, a smile of any kind - or even accepted the cup of tea. Mrs. Hudson knocked and asked if we wanted dinner immediately or if we wanted to wait. Holmes declared his preference for an immediate meal which I heartily agreed with. When Mrs. Hudson left, I looked at him for a long moment, then ventured a one-word question. "Well?"
Watson, as always, I am grateful for your gift of silence. You know when to speak and when to let things be. Most others don't have the skill or even know its value." After a long pause, Holmes continued, "I had a long day of research, fact finding or at least attempted fact finding, and multiple discussions with supposed experts. I came away with lots of suppositions, speculations, innuendos, and lists of things to consider or follow-up on. Is any of it useful? I could not even begin to tell you, as I have little that is solid enough to help me separate fact from fiction. I am back to what I said from the beginning: coming in to these cases weeks, even months after the events occurred, when so many erroneous assumptions and missed opportunities for investigation came and went - it is a hard hole to dig out of." He trailed off, and stared into the fire, as if seeking missing clues there.
"It doesn't help that we still don't know for certain all the deaths are related or not, or if the drugs were involved," I said.
"That's it entirely," he said. "I don't really know the full extent of events or the crime(s) if any. Are we all just chasing our tails? Every instinct I have tells me that there's at least one crime here, possibly more, but I can't find solid ground to stand on. The good Sergeant isn't much better. He too is off gathering disparate facts and lists but to what end? I fear we may have weeks or months of analysis and cross- referencing to do well before we stumble on something that takes us to a place of greater understanding."
"I confess to the additional fear that we could gather new, additional data the hard way," I said. "With still more gruesome deaths possible, these pills and what they stand for, and where they came from, if they are in fact a new poison, fill me with abject horror. It's beyond my understanding that such drugs could be out in the hands of the public without any form of review or supervision."
"I share every ounce of your concern, Watson. It's beyond understanding, and certainly simple decency, that such deadly toys are playing havoc in the world, yet undefined and largely untestable. We certainly can't feed the little that we have left to some poor wretch, just to see if they will jump in front of a train!"
Our conversation was interrupted by Mrs. Hudson, who brought up our dinner, a hearty bean and vegetable soup followed by veal, vegetables, and potatoes. To distract Holmes, I gave him a summary of the surprising recovery of Mrs. Kendell and the likely next step which will be her release. He asked many detailed questions, some of which I had no answers for because the patient herself did not. It seemed Holmes was interested because he needed a mystery to resolve after a long day of making no progress on his own case. "Very odd indeed," he mused. "Is medicine frequently like this, a mysterious ailment followed by a sudden equally mysterious recovery? It can't be like this too often."
"It happens more often than most doctors admit," I said, "Although, it happens far less than it used to. The boundaries between the known and the unknown keep changing with every passing year. We know so very much more about the body than we used to, even several decades ago - although the same cannot be said about the brain and the mind. The human psyche is the ultimate frontier, with research only beginning to shed light in an almost infinite darkness. We can be thankful for Mrs. Kendell's recovery, and Dr. Sears, along with the Horton's can keep her under observation for changes and relapses. However, barring additional information, including more clues about what happened on Thursday night or Friday morning, we may never really know what happened to her."
Holmes briefly considered, then scowled, "I don't envy you doctor. Practicing your skills in a field with so many unknowns on so many problems, without sufficient data or science to reach a successful conclusion, would frustrate me endlessly. I don't mind a mystery, or an unsolved problem. In fact, I live for them! But most of my mysteries ultimately have a cause that can be identified. Or investigation determines that events occurred by the hand of man and therefore can be discovered. I don't think I would thrive in a world where the unknown hand of God is so close by, leaving doctors and patients both helpless to impact or even understand events. I am hard pressed right now with my own series of mysteries. Each to his own, I suppose."
After I disclosed to Holmes that the day's events had left me no opportunity to do any investigation of my own, we shifted to discussing how we would coordinate data as we began to get deeper into the aspects of the investigation. It was becoming clear that this was to be a long, involved process with at least four of us, (Holmes and I, Sergeant Thomas, and Mercer) actively gathering data. We needed a way to not step on or redo the work already covered by another member of the team. Holmes, as the leader of the investigation, and the most experienced, was clearly the one who should coordinate all the data. He was capable of absorbing and remembering astonishing amounts of information, and since he would ultimately want to see it all anyway, he was the obvious choice. We also discussed Holmes' thoughts on how he would allocate his time in the days and weeks ahead, especially considering the always considerable demands on his time.
Between Scotland Yard, requests from other cities and jurisdictions, the constant flow of private clients, requests from Mycroft or the British government, and numerous foreign governments, the issue was usually which cases he would refuse or turn away. Fortunately, Holmes' skills and experience had expanded to the level where he could balance more open cases at once than he had in the late 1880s. Holmes also had the ability to make requests of the constabulary and even government forces, to do the legwork necessary to gather data that he once would have had to do by himself. It wasn't just Sergeant Thomas or a few eager young constables that Holmes could count on. Holmes did not often pull in services from the Metropolitan Force, but as we discussed ways to manage this complex series of cases, it soon became obvious that he would need more resources and cooperation from the official force. Unfortunately, even as Holmes' schedule was always filled, so was mine. My ability to drop everything including all my patients was much more constrained. With seniority and success came responsibilities for us both. I no longer owned my own practice, and yet earned a greater income. As a senior medical man, others counted on me. Holmes understood this. He still would and did ask for my time but understood when it was not available. (Through the many cases I published, it often appeared that I was always free for Holmes at a moment's notice. It only appeared that way because the instances that got recorded were almost always the cases I was available for.)
As neither of us had plans scheduled for the morning, we spent the rest of the evening reading, catching up on writing and enjoying one of our favorite after dinner wines from Italy. I eventually bid Holmes a good night around 11:30 PM and left him pouring through some of his old lab notes on plant-based alkaloids, common in many drugs.
The following day I decided to spend a few hours at the Athenaeum club. I had recently become a member after an invitation and gift from a wealthy client. As many of the members were from the fields of medicine and science, I decided it was time to get to know some of my new club members better as well. As a prelude to asking for information about contacts in the field of pharmacology. I got some viable names, people I could talk to, and some names of select companies that experts believed were doing state-of-the-art medical research. It was a start anyway and gave me information to bring back to the team. Over the following week, I mined my contacts at Saint Barts, the club and at Bethlehem Royal Hospital, more particularly known to the public by the not so flattering name as 'Bedlam.' I know that Holmes was busy doing various forms of investigation and research of his own. He had quietly tapped on two of his close organic chemistry colleagues for leads as well. We were starting to build a substantial list of names of both people - doctors and independent chemists - as well as companies specializing in medical remedies of all sorts. A substantial list, but what to do with it? It was going to take our small team some weeks, even months, to work our way through the data we had gathered. Both Holmes and I also well knew that the more we dug for leads, the bigger the list would become. The late winter cold and influenza cycle was at its peak and so my time was limited. Holmes was also being pulled away from the investigation as was Sergeant Thomas, by significant new crimes including a double murder of dock workers, the unexpected deaths of a young pair of barristers from different law practices, both of whom were working on a separate but related fraud cases, and the spectacular theft of the entire inventory at James McCormick jewelry. We were all buried by work and knew it was not likely to change.
I did have some good news. I received word from Dr. Sears that Mrs. Kendell was back home with the Horton's and was doing well, but did not recover much of her memories of the events leading to her agitated disorientation and hospital confinement. Dr. Sears was of a mind that Mrs. Kendell would likely not recover those memories, but if there was no relapse she would be well enough in the end. Both Dr. Sears and the Horton's agreed they would keep her under observation. Fortunately, Mrs. Kendell was back to full strength and vigor within a week of being discharged and was back to her normal range of duties. I received letters in the post in early March from Mrs. Kendell and Mrs. Horton thanking me for my help. I had no answers but at least I had the satisfaction of knowing a good decent woman was well on the road to recovery, apparently none the worse for wear. Doctors learned to accept and appreciate the small victories even when we can't explain them. Both Sears and I saw this as a victory, a stroke of good fortune from the fickle gods of fate.
(Thanks to James Birdsong for his kind reviews. Also, thanks to Deliahmonroe for reviewing and sending me comments. Please feel free to forward this story to any of your Sherlockian friends who might be interested. There's a lot more story coming…)