Sherlock Holmes (53 page)

The Major smiled. “The General
was no fool. After news of the uprising at Meerut had reached him,
he took steps to fortify a position around two barrack blocks to
act as a fall-back, a redoubt. He didn’t think it would be needed
so little provisions were laid aside. The fortifications were,
perhaps, not as robust as they could have been.”

The Major paused and I could see
beads of sweat upon his brow. “With the uprising imminent, Nana
Sahib came to the General and offered him his assistance. Wheeler
was a proud man and he declined. In early June, the uprising began.
As a precaution, the British troops and their families retreated to
their fortification. However, the plan was flawed. The only
available water for the redoubt was from a well that was exposed to
murderous musket fire. Many brave men died trying to fetch water
for the 1000 British troops and their families, some 300 women and
children.”

The Major again paused, he
looked grey. I was greatly concerned and asked if he was well
enough to continue.

He nodded, saying, “Yes, thank
you Doctor. I was weakened by Enteric fever during my service and I
still suffer from its effects to this day. The number of dead and
injured grew daily and when General Wheeler’s own son was killed,
he seemed to give up all hope. After three weeks of the siege, Nana
Sahib sent a message to the General offering all those in the
barracks safe conduct and the use of boats to take them down the
Ganges to our garrison in Allahabad. After two days of talks,
Wheeler finally, but reluctantly, agreed. I fear the fate of the
women and children must have weighed heavily upon his mind. What
happened next I gleaned from one of only four survivors to the
massacre."

The Major looked considerably
worse but held up his hand to me as I began to rise from the
settee. “Nana Sahib sent elephants to transport the women, children
and the injured to the waiting boats. Hardly had the boats been
loaded when the Indian crews jumped overboard. Immediately, the
boats were raked with grapeshot and musket fire from prepared
positions on the banks. My God what carnage there was! After the
barrage, Indian cavalry rode into the river, slashing the wounded
with their sabres. The river turned blood red and the corpses
floated off downstream. Only one boat managed to break free and it
drifted to an outpost above Allahabad. This boat carried the only
four men to survive the massacre."

Recounting this was clearly
having a grave effect on the old soldier. I again made to rise but
once again the Major waved me to be seated. “I must tell all” he
panted. “I was told by Sepoy prisoners that the surviving men at
Cawnpore were immediately put to the sword. The women and children
were lead away to a house of women, a ‘Bibi-Ghar.’ The horror that
followed is difficult for anyone to imagine. On July the 15th, a
group of men were gathered together, including the town’s butchers.
They entered the house where the women and children were being held
captive and, armed with knives and hatchets, they hacked them all
to pieces. As far as I am aware, not a single soul survived. When
they had done, they threw the bodies down a well."

The Major was now gravely ill. I
rose from the settee and knelt before him. “Ring the bell for the
maid, Holmes."

Holmes found the bell rope and
rang furiously.

The Major was panting heavily
and sweat was pouring down his face. “Please, Doctor. I must
finish. You must know everything."

As the maid appeared, I shouted,
“Bring me some brandy, girl, and make some tea."

The maid rushed from the room to
re-appear a few moments later clutching a large, cut-glass decanter
and a brandy glass. I poured out a good measure of the spirit and
put it to the Majors lips. He took a sip and sank back into the
chair. After a few minutes, his colour had returned a little. The
maid brought in the tea and I prevailed upon the Major to drink a
little of it.

Once calmed, the Major insisted
on finishing. “When our troops from Allahabad were finally able to
push up the valleys of the Ganges and on to Cawnpore, terrible,
terrible retribution was metered out to Sepoy prisoners. On one of
the night forays towards Bithur, the homeland of Nana Sahib, a
patrol came upon a camel train returning from the border. The
natives were challenged and a shot rang out from the camel train.
The troops returned fire and the natives were all killed save a
young boy who had hidden behind the carcass of a dead camel. The
wares of the natives were collected and the patrol returned with
the boy to our regiment in Allahabad. When questioned, the young
boy told how someone of great importance had bought a passage to
the border. The man had been addressed as 'Sahib'."

The Major now looked in a state
of collapse but insisted on finishing the tale. “The boy recounted
how the camel train had left Cawnpore in great secrecy and in the
dead of night. The camel drivers were nervous on the return from
the border to Cawnpore. They panicked when they were challenged by
the British patrol and it was the leader of the train that had
fired the shot. The camel train was searched for weapons and
documents. The young subaltern in command of the patrol found a
great prize amongst the belongings of the leader. This he handed
over to the Duke, as commanding officer of the regiment. It was
only seen by the subaltern and the Duke.”

I reached forward and, taking
out my handkerchief, I gently mopped the Major's brow. He smiled
weakly and then continued. “Some of the men had got wind of
valuables being found and the rest of the belongings were torn
apart and divided. I was given a sealed casket by the Duke which I
locked away in the regimental safe. When the regiment was recalled,
the casket was conveyed back to England in the Duke’s personal
effects. Only later did I realize the terrible importance of what
the casket might contain and the shame that its discovery might
bring to his family. I had hoped that any shame had died with the
old Duke.”

The Major looked ashen, his
breathing was now extremely shallow. I took the teacup from his
limp hand and felt for a pulse, it was feeble. I gave a worried
look to Holmes, saying, “This cannot continue, Holmes!”

Holmes leapt up and again rang
furiously for the maid before asking, “Who is the family doctor,
girl?”

The maid looked at the Major and
back to Holmes, she was clearly terrified. “It's… Doctor
Meadows, sir. He lives but five doors away."

Holmes ushered the maid from the
room, crying, “Run quickly and fetch him! Tell him it is a matter
of great urgency!”

The maid fled from the house and
barely two minutes later a tall, middle-aged man dressed in a frock
coat and carrying a large black bag hurried into the room.

Whilst he ministered to the
Major, we introduced ourselves and offered what help we could. Dr
Meadows was grateful but said he needed none.

After a few minutes, the Major
had stirred a little and, with a rasping voice, whispered, “Do what
you can for the young Duke, Holmes."

Holmes reached for the Majors
hand and promised he would. Satisfied that we could be of no
further service, we bade the Doctor a good afternoon and hurried
off to Kings Cross Station to catch the half past six express to
Salcombe.

At King’s Cross, Holmes dashed
into the telegraph office, talked briefly to the clerk and then
scribbled off two telegrams. Racing across the platform, we had
barely enough time to settle into our seats before the train pulled
out of the station.

We were fortunate to have a
compartment to ourselves and Holmes stretched out his legs, resting
them carefully on the seat opposite before closing his eyes. “To
whom did you send the telegrams?” I enquired.

Still with his eyes closed,
Holmes replied, “One was to the landlord of ‘The Grapes’, a
hostelry in Salcombe which was recommended by the clerk in the
telegraph office. The other was to brother Mycroft. He has contacts
both within the military and also in the Inns of Court."

I did not press him further on
his telegram to Mycroft Holmes as it was clear he was turning
things over in his mind. I settled back for the journey. At
Salcombe station we ventured outside to hire a pony and trap to
convey us to the Grange.

The Grange itself was some 3
miles from the station. As we drew near, I could see it was a
good-sized building which had been constructed with a neo-classical
façade with a large, ornate gilt clock inset in the Grecian-styled
peak. The grounds comprised several dozen acres of parkland, a lake
and also extensive formal gardens. Pulling to a stop on the
gravelled drive, Holmes paid the driver and we walked up the wide
steps to the imposing front entrance. Upon ringing the bell, a
footman in full livery opened the door.

“Good evening, sir. You will be
Mr Holmes and Doctor Watson." We nodded. "Please, follow me. His
grace is waiting for you in his study.”

The footman led us through a
grand, marble floored vestibule and down a corridor to where the
Duke was waiting.

Although it was April and it had
been a fine, warm, spring day, a fire blazed in the grate of rather
grand, Italian marble fireplace. My previous experiences of stately
homes had taught me that they seemed to be cold regardless of the
month of the year or the weather. The study was modestly, but
expensively, furnished. His grace was sitting in a large leather
chair close to the fire. He had obviously had dinner served to him
here, the air was still heavy with the smell of roast beef. The
plates had been cleared and he had been sitting back enjoying a
glass of brandy and was lighting a cigar as we entered.

On seeing us, he tossed the
lighted taper into the grate and almost bounded forward to greet
us, shaking our hands energetically. It was clear that he was
relieved to see us, saying, “Gentlemen! Welcome to the Grange.
Please sit down."

As I sat, my stomach rumbled
rather loudly and I immediately apologised. The odour of the beef
had gotten the better of my digestive system.

“Surely you have eaten?”
enquired the Duke, greatly concerned.

Holmes answered, “I fear not,
your grace. We have been either engaged in this matter or
travelling for most of the time since you left us in Baker
Street."

“Great heavens! What kind of
host am I?” He cried and reached for the silken bell cord. A few
moments later a footman appeared and the Duke instructed him to go
to the kitchen and ask the cook to prepare two plates of cold beef.
“Will you stay here this evening?” he asked, “You would be most
welcome?”

Holmes smiled, "Thank you, your
grace, but no. I have reserved rooms at ‘The Grapes’ in town. I
would, however, like to see the painting before we eat."

“Of course. This way,
gentleman.”

The Duke walked across the room
and pulled aside a heavily embroidered curtain. He led the way down
a short stone staircase to a small chamber that was directly below
the study. Within the chamber was a stout, oak door with sturdy
iron fittings and a great iron lock. Reaching into his pocket, the
Duke withdrew a large, ornate key. He unlocked the oak door which,
I could see, was several inches thick. The inside of the small
strong-room was in darkness. The Duke lit a small candle which was
on a shelf in the chamber and entered the strong-room. After but a
few moments, he returned bearing a painting measuring some two feet
square in a swept, gilded frame.

An easel had been erected in the
corner of the chamber in readiness for the painting and the Duke
carefully placed it upon it. Holmes pulled out his magnifying glass
and began to examine the painted surface minutely. Once completed,
he turned the painting over and repeated the process, examining
every inch of the canvas.

Whilst Holmes was examining the
minutia, I was looking rather more at the composition of the
picture and its subject. The view was of the front of the house,
showing the façade and the formal gardens. The painting was of the
trompe l'oeil style, almost like a photograph. The building itself
was depicted in fine detail, the ornate, gilt clock was painted to
show a time of 4 o’clock. The stonework of the façade depicting the
Grecian figures, the box hedging and even the different plantings
in the garden were portrayed flawlessly.

It was clear that the Brigadier
had had a fine memory and had spent many weeks on the painting
during his voyage back to England. A small brass plaque had been
fixed to the bottom of the frame and was engraved, ‘Salcombe
Grange, June 1858.’

           
Holmes replaced his magnifying glass, saying, “Thank you, your
grace. It is a very interesting picture. Perhaps tomorrow you will
be so kind as to show us round the house and gardens?”

“Certainly, Mr Holmes, but now
you need to eat!”

The three of us ascended the
staircase and on the study table we found that there had been
placed two plates and cutlery and napkins. In the centre were
slices of cold beef, fresh bread and butter, a large stilton cheese
and an array of pickles. Two fine crystal glasses had been provided
together with an opened bottle of Chateau Balzac, 1882. Holmes and
I pulled up our chairs and, together, we made great inroads into
the meal.

After we had eaten and feeling
replete, we thanked our host. We bade him farewell and, on
instructing the driver, we were taken by his grace’s carriage to
‘The Grapes’ in Salcombe.

The Grapes was an old coaching
inn with a wide archway to accommodate the mail coach and its
rooftop luggage. We entered and found ourselves in a pleasant bar
with smaller rooms off to each side. The landlord was behind the
counter and we found him to be a jolly fellow. Having introduced
ourselves, he made us most welcome. In the bar were a variety of
characters, farm labourers, clerks and the odd family man, perhaps
seeking some refuge from the demands of domesticity.