A Study in Lavender: Queering Sherlock Holmes (2 page)

Court of Honour

J.R. Campbell

The Well-Educated Young Man

T
he Bride and the Bachelors

The Adventure of the Hidden Lane

Whom God Destroys

The Adventure of the Unidentified Flying Object

The Adventure of the Poesy Ring

Contributors

Among the cases of Sherlock Holmes which Watson chose not to publish until now, this one gives us information that sheds a most revealing light on Mycroft Holmes, Sherlock’s brother, and the Diogenes Club where Mycroft spends quite a lot of time. Mycroft only appears in four of the original Holmes stories but has made a number of appearances in works outside the original canon as well as in movies. This tale allows us a peek at yet another side of Sherlock’s older brother and leads to another tantalizing secret, the details of which…well, read for yourself.

by Stephen Osborne

I have in my notebooks records of many cases which, for one reason or another, should never see the light of day. Some cannot be printed due to national security while a few pertain to personages of such importance that knowledge of their actions could bring shame and disgrace to some of the loftiest houses of England. As I put pen to paper to record the following events, I have to wonder if the facts in the murder of Pierre Jean-Claude Villiar should ever see the light of day. Indeed, I intend to leave this record among my personal papers, only to be read many years after my death. By that time, perhaps, these events will seem less shocking.

I recall it was a brisk morning in November when I was roused from my slumbers by Holmes. I could see by the candle held high in his hand that his face was grave. “I’m sorry to have disturbed your rest, my friend,” said he, “but I would appreciate it if you would dress yourself and join me in the sitting room.”

I raised my head from the pillows and tried to shake the cobwebs from my brain. “What is it?” I asked, my voice still blurred from sleep. “What’s going on?”

“Lestrade is waiting for us, Watson, along with a man from the Foreign Office. Rouse yourself, my friend! Best not to keep them waiting.” He turned to leave, but paused at the door. In a quiet voice, he continued. “Mycroft, it seems, has disappeared.”

“Your brother?” I asked. Holmes, however, was already in motion. If he heard my query he didn’t bother to answer.

I dressed in haste, my mind in a whirl. I recalled Holmes telling me, at the time of the affair of the Greek interpreter, that Mycroft rarely deviated from his set pattern. It took events of the gravest import to shift the man from his usual pattern, which included his lodging, his office at Whitehall, and the Diogenes Club. What, I wondered, could have happened to the man?

Upon entering the sitting room I found Holmes standing by the mantel engaged in lighting his pipe. Seated on our sofa were Inspector Lestrade and a man who introduced himself as Sir Miles Danvers of the Foreign Office. Holmes glanced my way when I came in, but then immediately lowered his eyes. I could only imagine how the news of his brother’s disappearance was distressing him.

“Good of you to join us, Watson,” said he. “Lestrade and Sir Miles have come with grave news.”

Lestrade, nodding, said, “There’s been a murder at the Diogenes Club, Doctor. Early this morning one of the porters went into one of the upstairs rooms to find the body of a young man. The victim appears to have been killed by the poker from the fireplace. There were several blows to the back of his skull. The poker was next to the body.” Lestrade spoke slowly, as if revealing the facts were painful to him.

Confused, I asked, “What has this to do with Mycroft? Holmes tells me he’s missing.”

Sir Miles shifted uncomfortably. “The porter has stated that the murdered man was last seen with Mr Holmes. We enquired, but could find no trace of Mycroft Holmes. He’s not been to his lodgings, nor to Whitehall.”

I scoffed. “Surely you can’t think that Mycroft Holmes is mixed up in this affair?”

Lestrade shook his head. “At this point we merely want to question Mr Holmes. Given the nature of the young man’s state of undress, and the purpose of the room in which the murder took place…”

“What do you mean? What about the man’s state of undress?”

Sir Miles cleared his throat, giving Holmes a brief, apologetic look. “The young man was naked, Dr Watson. The room itself was a special bedchamber, used by members to indulge in…” Here the man stopped, clearly unsure of what words to use.

Lestrade, his lip curling slightly, finished the sentence. “Unnatural desires.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. “Are you suggesting,” I said, “that an old and respectable club like the Diogenes would allow such a despicable…”

Holmes, with a wry smile, interrupted me. “My dear fellow, you must calm your indignations. Rooms such as the one Sir Miles speaks of have been a mainstay in several of the more fashionable clubs of London for years. It is handled with the greatest of discretion, and the members can choose the sex and even the age of their partner. I’ve known for quite some time that the secretary of the Diogenes, Marshall Owen, has provided this service.”

“But,” I cried, aghast, “your own brother is a member of the club! Surely he wouldn’t associate with a place that would allow such atrocities to occur!”

My friend’s brow furrowed. “There is little that escapes my brother’s attention, my dear Watson, as you must have gathered. But we must leave these matters for the moment. A murder has taken place, and time is wasting. I trust, Lestrade, that nothing has been touched?”

“Knowing your methods,” said he, “I instructed my men to leave the murder scene as it was until you had a chance to examine it.”

“Then we must make all haste to get to the Diogenes Club.” Without waiting for a response from either the Scotland Yard man or Sir Miles, Holmes suddenly turned and headed for the door. Lestrade rose with a sigh and we had to hurry to keep up with my friend, who seemed, as he often did when on a case, suddenly possessed of a strange energy.

The atmosphere at the Diogenes was funereal as Mays, the club porter, led us up the stairs to the murder room. As soon as I entered, I felt my blood freeze in my veins. The room was elegantly attired, complete with a canopied bed, several comfortable looking chairs, and a rather large writing desk. It was next to this that the body lay. He had been a young man and would probably have been considered good-looking, if a little effeminate. His features were soft and his frame thin. The lad was indeed unclothed and was lying on his stomach, his youthful face turned toward us. The damage done by the poker was extensive and the gore contrasted sharply with the boy’s delicate features.

Holmes wasted no time. Pulling out his glass, he crouched over the body, being careful to avoid the blood soaking the carpeting. After a moment, he glanced up at Mays, who was hovering near the doorway. “You were the one who found the body, Mays?”

“Quite,” Holmes replied, turning his attention back to the body. I was standing several paces back, but I could see the young man’s hand was stretched out and was clutching the leg of the desk. By his hand, in the bloody mess, were several coins and what looked to be a match-book. This Holmes examined carefully. Finally he straightened and turned to us.

“I can tell you little,” he said grimly, “other than the obvious fact that this young man was French and that he has been in this country but a short time. He was also a very determined young man who sought to better himself.”

Sir Miles’ mouth fell open. “How in blazes do you come to those conclusions, sir?” he asked.

Lestrade allowed himself a smirk. “I think I can answer that, Sir Miles. The match-book is from the Hotel Montmartre in Paris, where the young man has obviously stayed in the past, and…”

Holmes interrupted. “On the contrary, Lestrade. The young man has in all likelihood never been to the Hotel Montmartre, and certainly didn’t leave the match-book here. The match-book was placed by the body at least a half-hour after the murder took place. The coins, however, were certainly on the floor before the murder took place. In fact, I would venture that the coins were tossed down and that the young man bent over to retrieve them. That’s when he was struck with the poker.”

“How do you know,” Sir Miles asked, “that the match-book was placed there after the fact?”

“The blood had already partially dried before the match-book was placed there,” Holmes replied. “The tops of the coins themselves are spattered with blood, showing they were already on the floor when the murder occurred.”

I bent closer, trying to keep my eyes on the coins and ignoring the corpse itself. “It appears that he was attempting to pick up one of the coins,” I pointed out. “He’s reached out his hand, but instead of grabbing one of the coins, he instead grabbed hold of the leg of the desk. See here, Holmes, where one of the coins has obviously been disturbed? There’s a slight smear in the blood on the carpet where he’s shifted the coin. Most of the coins are pence, but the one shifted is a pound coin. The young man may have been leaving us a clue!”

Holmes nodded. “He indeed attempted to leave a clue to his murderer. I must speak with the club secretary. Mays, could you bring Mr Owen to us?”

The secretary, Marshall Owen, was a small, nervous man. During his interrogation he continually pulled out his handkerchief to mop his brow. “A terrible business, this,” he said, looking from Holmes to Lestrade. He seemed uncertain as to whom he should be speaking.

“To get to the heart of the matter,” Holmes said, “we must quickly dispense with some unpleasantness. We must make no pretences that this young man was here for any reason other than to satisfy some desires of certain members of the club, and that you, Owen, supplied both the room and the services to the members.”

Owen’s face, already pale, grew even paler. “If this should get out to the newspapers…”

Lestrade spoke up. “I can’t make any promises, mind you, but there are aspects of this case that the Yard wouldn’t necessarily want brought to the public attention.”

This seemed to calm the secretary somewhat, although he still glanced uneasily at the corpse on the floor before us. “Must we talk with that still in the room?”

Holmes seemed surprised that the body was still there. Knowing the great man as I did, I knew that he saw the body as a mere puzzle. After examining the naked young man, he’d forgotten the corpse was still present. “Certainly it can be covered if you so wish.”

Lestrade went to the hall and summoned some men, who worked on removing the body while Holmes continued, his eyes boring into those of the club secretary. “Owen, I understand that my brother, Mycroft, was the last person in the company of this young man.”

Owen made a conscious effort to steady his nerves. “That is true, Mr Holmes. Mr Mycroft was in the room from midnight to approximately one o’clock with Pierre.”

“Pierre?”

“That is the only name I knew him by. The young gentlemen I use are supplied by a contact I have in Whitechapel. Rarely do I know more than their first names.”

“Who else used the services of Pierre tonight?”

Owen hesitated, but after a stern look from Lestrade he went on. “Two others had the room before Mr Mycroft Holmes. The first was Lord Bettinger.”

“What?” Sir Miles exclaimed. “Surely you jest!”

“The second,” the secretary continued, ignoring the outburst, “was Mr Wallace Pound.”

I immediately thought of the coin that had been shifted in the blood. Holmes had agreed that the unfortunate Pierre had made an effort to identify his killer. Surely it was no coincidence that one of the gentlemen was named Pound and that had been the denomination of the coin in question? I tried to speak, but Holmes quieted me with a look. He paced the carpet in front of Owen and asked, “Can you tell me how these trysts are arranged?”

Owen cleared his throat. “The member usually makes his desires known to me by giving a note to Mays. Last night, having arranged for Pierre to be present, I informed the members interested in his services…”

“Informed how?”

“Again, by a discreet note sent by Mays. I arranged that each member should have an hour with Pierre. After each session, Mays would come in and tidy the room in preparation for the next gentleman.”

I winced at the words Holmes used, but Mays merely nodded. “After his hour was up, I had a half-hour to get everything ready for Mr Pound.”

“Did you speak to Pierre at all?”

Mays took in a deep breath. “The young man wasn’t of a pleasant disposition, sir. I tried to make polite conversation, but I must confess I felt snubbed by the young man. He acted like he was too good to speak to a mere porter, and here he was nothing more than a common tart!” The porter’s cheeks flamed crimson. “Pierre was a most unpleasant young man,” he repeated.