Sherlock Holmes (19 page)

Holmes sat back and puffed
contentedly upon his pipe. I, however, was none the wiser, asking,
“Forgive me Holmes, I am still in a fog. What did you show
Lestrade?”

Holmes sighed, saying, “Firstly,
there was grit within the wound to Squires’ head. In the alleyway
at the rear, where the body was found, I discovered a smear of
blood where the back of Squires’ head had impacted the cobbles.
Secondly, the wound contained a small quantity of white paint… the
pigment used in the paint was white lead.”

I jolted upright, saying, “Lead?
So, over the two days before the altercation, he was being slowly
poisoned by the paint!”

Holmes again nodded. “I believe
that, on leaving the public house after his fracas with Stanton,
Squires collapsed due to the effects of both the alcohol he had
consumed and the lead poisoning from the paint. His subsequent fall
caused, I believe, the fatal bleeding to his brain.”

I considered this for a moment
before asking, “Was Lestrade convinced by this new evidence?”

Holmes now had a strange,
distant look in his eyes as he replied, "Yes, even he could see the
truth of the matter and that there was now sufficient doubt to
prevent a successful prosecution.”

Holmes then paused before
continuing, “It was something that he then showed me that I found
quite disturbing. On the mortuary slab next to that occupied by
Squires was the body of a young woman, only her head and shoulders
were visible. Lestrade reached forward and swept back the mortuary
sheet, revealing her body. As he did this, he made a facetious
comment that
her
death, that at least, was a
straight-forward suicide, adding that during the post mortem, she
was found to be three months pregnant."

I looked at Holmes and he was
clearly disturbed by what he had just told me. I pursed my lips as
I thought this over, asking, "Was she a street girl?"

Holmes shook his head. "No, I
believe not. She seemed quite well-fed and clean. Close to the head
of the slab was a small, marble-topped table where the small bundle
of her clothes and possessions had been placed. I did not examine
them but a cursory glance showed that they seemed quite
ordinary...and yet... I felt that something was wrong, Watson. What
would drive a young woman not just to take her
own
life but
also that of her unborn child?”

Holmes paused slightly before
asking, “I would be most grateful, Watson, if you would accompany
me this afternoon as I wish to re-visit the mortuary at
Hammersmith?"

Seeing his concern and as I had
nothing of great import to do, I readily agreed.

Chapter 2 – Hammersmith
mortuary

Luncheon was taken almost in
silence and it was only as we travelled towards Hammersmith that
Holmes turned towards me, asking, “You, no doubt, will have seen
young, unmarried, women in such a predicament Watson. In your
experience, what becomes of them?”

I was, at first, surprised by
his question but then realised that over the years that I had known
him, my friend had had little exposure to what one might call
everyday family life. I, on the other hand, had experienced the
full gamut of happiness, woes and tragedies befalling the stream of
humanity that passed through the doors of my medical practice.

I thought for a moment, puffing
out my cheeks a little and exhaling before answering, “Well, it
depends. Some young women are accepted by their families and
continue to live at home. Other families feel ashamed and the girl
is sent away to relatives in the country until the child is born.
They then return after a respectable period of time. A few
desperate souls seek to have their pregnancy terminated by having
an illicit, back-street abortion.”

Holmes nodded in silence as he
absorbed this information. He then pressed me further, asking, “You
have known some to take their own life?”

I nodded, gravely. “Sadly, yes.
It is not common but I know of a case within my own practice where
the young woman was shunned and cast out by her family. Suicide, it
would seem, was her only escape.”

I looked towards Holmes and saw
that he was indeed troubled. He sat back in the cab, a gloved
forefinger to his lips, staring straight ahead. He would say no
more until we had reached our destination.

Hammersmith mortuary was a low,
grey, stone building that passers-by did not give a second glance.
It crouched, furtive, like some small rodent, almost hidden behind
a row of wizened plane trees. Holmes led the way to a side entrance
and rang the bell. He was, of course, known to the attendant from
his previous visits and, within a few minutes, we were shown into
the mortuary proper. Only one of the two slabs was now occupied and
the outline of a slight figure could be seen beneath the mortuary
shroud.

We stood in silence, save for
the hiss of the double mantled gas light above the slab. Holmes
gave the slightest of nods and the mortuary attendant pulled down
the sheet, revealing to us the pale figure of a young woman. The
body was now brightly illuminated and lay before us as if in
perfect peace. Standing respectfully to one side, the attendant
looked on as we began our examination.

To my eyes, she appeared to be
aged in the region of twenty-five years, auburn haired and of
slight build. My examination was intimately thorough and, apart
from the crude stitching from the post mortem, I found nothing out
of the ordinary. Thankfully, the foetus had been removed and placed
elsewhere and not left on the slab with its mother. Holmes nodded
towards the marble-topped table close to the head of the slab.
Silently, we proceeded to examine the young woman's clothes and the
contents of her small handbag.

Holmes inclined his head
slightly as if to prompt me to present my findings. I obliged
saying that I thought her to be aged in her mid-twenties. I had
found nothing worthy of comment except for the fact that she
appeared to have unexplained spots of coloured paint on the soles
of both feet. She had worn spectacles, and, from her belongings,
had been named Violet Dixon.

Holmes I could see was a little
displeased, saying curtly, “Well, Watson, perhaps forensic science
is not your forte. Let us begin. This woman is, as you say, aged
around twenty-five years. From an examination of her hands, she was
a left-handed seamstress. There is a clear indentation on one
finger from where she had worn a thimble for many years.

The marks behind her ears and
the indentations on the bridge of her nose do confirm that the
corrective spectacles in her belongings were hers. The prescription
suggests that she was myopic due to the close work required by her
occupation."

I smiled, at least inwardly, for
some small part of my observation had been found to be correct.

Holmes continued, "She was
sentimental and her ring finger shows the single mark of an
engagement ring but no corresponding mark for a wedding ring. She
had been engaged but was, at the time of her death, both unmarried
and un-betrothed. It suggests to me that she had recently broken
off her engagement to a gentleman who, I believe, is an
undiscovered artist who still has, so to speak, to make his mark on
the world. I also believe that Miss Dixon recently modelled,
perhaps unclothed, for her artist beau. The small patches of paint
on the soles of her feet are oil based and of several colours,
undoubtedly from drips on his studio floor. The soles of her shoes,
show slight traces of a similar residue.”

Seeing my blank look, Holmes
sighed and continued, “The flesh on her ring finger showed only a
slight indentation which indicates that the engagement ring had
been worn for some time but had been removed for some weeks. In her
purse I found a shirt button bearing a partial fingerprint in blue
paint. The button had some worn thread attached which had been
cleanly cut with scissors. I deduce that she had replaced it with a
new one and had kept the old one for sentimental reasons, a memento
of her sweetheart. Successful artists wear an artists overall. This
was a button undoubtedly from the old shirt that our penniless
artist wears to protect his clothes whilst he paints in his
studio.”

I stood in amazement and waited
for my friend to complete his remarkable presentation. “A fresh,
used, penny bus ticket indicates that she probably only travelled a
mile or so from her home. A distance far enough for her not to be
recognised but close enough to preclude a journey through the city.
There is also a receipt for thirty shillings from a boarding house
in Edith Road. It would seem that she had recently rented a
furnished room for a period of one week.” Holmes turned towards the
mortuary attendant and asked, “I presume that that was where the
body was found?”

The attendant nodded, saying,
“Yes, Mr Holmes. She was found in her room two days ago when she
didn't appear for breakfast. The post mortem revealed that she had
taken an overdose of Laudanum.”

Holmes turned back towards me.
His face was now grim. “And finally, I suspect that she had
recently tried in vain to terminate her own pregnancy.”

I stood mortified, gasping out,
“...but… but I looked particularly, I saw no marks on the body to
suggest this.”

Holmes shook his head, saying,
“No, for there were none. However, tucked out of sight within the
lining of her purse, I found this.”

He held out to me a scrap of
paper which I took. Moving a little closer to the gas light, I
examined it. The item appeared to be a small advertisement that had
been neatly cut from a newspaper or periodical. Holding it up to
the light, I read aloud, “Lady Cardswell's Female Pills, guaranteed
to gently and safely dissolve and remove unwanted...” I could not
continue. I shook my head in disbelief. “This is outrageous,
Holmes! These pills purport to arrest pregnancy and promote
abortion! Who would offer such a thing?” I stammered.

Holmes’ face was rigid with
anger. “There are those without scruples in our society, Watson,
who are happy to prey upon the weak and helpless. In the case of
Miss Dixon, they took her money and provided false hope for the
poor unfortunate... and we see before us the result of their
trickery and greed.”

I handed the paper back to
Holmes who carefully folded it and placed it in the pocket of his
waistcoat. With a nod of thanks to the mortuary attendant, we left
and, on hailing a Hansom, were soon on our way back to Baker
Street.

For most of the journey, Holmes
was silent. I could see that he was still angered by what he had
found and it was not until we were but a hundred yards from or
rooms that he spoke. “We must obtain some of these 'miraculous'
pills, Watson. I doubt if any reputable chemist would stock them.
Indeed, I would imagine that it would be a serious offence so to
do.”

I nodded, saying, “Yes, I
noticed that there was no address for the supplier save only a post
office box number from whence they could be purchased.”

As we neared the corner of New
Street, Holmes hammered on the roof of the cab with his cane. The
cab pulled sharply to a stop and Holmes leapt from it, heading
towards the post office whilst shouting over his shoulder, “I
think, Watson, that we must risk ten shillings on a postal
order!”

That evening we sat and smoked.
The air in our sitting room soon took on that familiar blue haze
and we were lost in our own thoughts. As I turned over the events
of the day in my head, I found myself troubled. Although we knew
the identity of the young woman, we had no notion of where she
might have lived or, indeed, who might be searching for news of
her.

Holmes had settled back in his
armchair with his eyes closed and was humming softly to himself. He
had taken his pipe from his mouth and was to be seen conducting
some piece of music with the stem.

I was a little reticent to
disturb Holmes’ enjoyment of the moment but I felt I needed to know
how he intended to proceed.

"Holmes? What do you see as the
way forward in this case? I assume that you wish to learn more?" I
asked.

Holmes paused, replaced the pipe
between his lips and drew deeply upon it before saying, "It is a
necessity, Watson. I cannot allow this vile trickery to continue.
In the morning I will place a carefully worded advertisement in
several newspapers asking for the whereabouts of Miss Violet Dixon.
My hope is that our artist friend will respond, as might her
parents. You, on the other hand, will endeavour to order some of
these miraculous pills... under an assumed name, of course."

I was indeed relieved to hear
this concession to my professional standing. As a doctor, I could
not be seen to be purchasing such quackery!

The morning came and, after a
hearty breakfast, we each set about our tasks. Facing each other
across our dining table, Holmes carefully crafted an advertisement
that he hoped would elicit a response from those close to Miss
Dixon. I, on the other hand, simply wrote a letter requesting a
supply of the pills and enclosing the payment of ten shillings by
means of the postal order. On finishing our respective tasks,
Holmes rang the bell for Mrs Hudson in order that our mail might be
despatched.

We heard nothing for the
following two days. Whilst we waited, I busied myself, catching up
on my reading of ‘The Lancet’ and the continuing task of cutting
out and cataloguing items of interest from our daily newspapers.
These tasks, I found, kept me quite occupied and I was unaware of
the time passing.

Holmes did not fare as well. He
spent some time readying his chemicals and assembling his apparatus
in anticipation of the analysis of the pills. He was also seen to
spread out a map of London on our dining table. With a compass, he
drew a circle around the address in Edith Road to indicate the
maximum distance that you could ride on an omnibus for a penny
fare. He plotted upon the map the various routes that could be
taken and, whilst it filled his time, he found it hugely vexing.
Looking at the map, I understood his frustration. The circle
encompassed a considerable area of the city and many hundreds, if
not thousands, of homes.