The Lost Casebooks of Sherlock Holmes (96 page)

‘There are two curious pieces of evidence in this matter, Watson. I fear they may yet lead the Suffolk constabulary far from the truth. Did you not observe them?'

‘I can't say that I did,' I replied rather impatiently, for the whole thing seemed plain enough to me.

‘There was a newspaper folded under the young woman's head and it had been charred a little in the abortive fire. It was a copy of the
East Anglian Times
for the day before yesterday. We must assume that the murderer put it there—but why? There were also fragments of a medicine bottle scattered on the floor. One of them included the neck of the bottle with the cork so well jammed into it that it appears immovable. Another fragment of the bottle had a label with writing upon it. Unless I am much mistaken, it read ‘Two or three teaspoonfuls, a sixth part to be taken every four hours—For Mrs. Gardiner's children.' The ink had run a little but I believe that was the inscription. I gather the name of the owners of this house is Crisp, not Gardiner,'

‘Perhaps it contained paraffin to add to the blaze,' I said a little irritably. ‘Mrs. Gardiner may have something to answer for.'

Holmes looked across the little garden towards the rear door of the house.

‘Were I to commit a murder and attempt to burn the body,' he said thoughtfully, ‘I do not think I should wedge the cork so tightly in a bottle of paraffin that I could not withdraw it quickly at the critical moment. I would, at the very least, make sure of that.'

I was too much affected by what I had just witnessed to pay much attention to my friend's forensic niceties.

During the remaining ten days of our stay at the Bell Hotel the murder of Rose Harsent, as her name proved to be, at twenty-three years old seemed to pursue us. It had seemed natural to me that the little community of Peasenhall should prefer a verdict of suicide by a poor girl who was six months pregnant with no father to her child rather than that one of its own members should stand accused of both the paternity and the murder. The facts made nonsense of this, however. So, at least, the coroner's jury found.

For the next week our good landlady at the Bell Hotel lost no opportunity to bring us the latest gossip. I cannot dignify it by the name of news. What neither Holmes nor I had realised was that what the newspapers now called ‘The Mystery of the Peasenhall Murder' had been preceded a year earlier by ‘The Great Peasenhall Scandal.' Our hostess described this earlier sensation with more relish than seemed quite decent.

She told us that two Peasenhall youths, George Wright and Alfonso Skinner, belonged to that unsavoury class of Peep ing Toms, whose amusement it is to spy on courting couples and the like. This pair of scoundrels let it be known that on the evening of 1 May, they had witnessed grossly indecent and dishonourable conduct between Rose Harsent and William Gardiner, a married man who was father of six children and who had risen to the position of foreman at Messrs. Smyth's Seed Drill Works in the village.

The alleged incident had taken place at a building in Peasenhall that they call the Doctor's Chapel, a Congregational chapel presided over by a local worthy, Mr. Crisp of the ill-fated Providence House. Rose Harsent was a servant at the house and it was part of her duties to clean this nearby chapel. Hence she had need of the chapel key from time to time. William Gardiner and his family lived two hundred yards further down the main street, at Alma Cottage. This industrious foreman was also a leading light of the Primitive Methodist connection at the pretty village of Sibton a couple of miles to the east. Rose Harsent sang in the choir at Sibton.

Once the scandal reached his ears, William Gardiner denounced it as a disgusting falsehood. He confronted his two slanderers, as he called them, who scornfully stood their ground. Gardiner then asked the superintendent minister of his congregation, Mr. Guy, to hold a chapel inquiry into the allegations. This was done, his accusers were heard but disbelieved, and Gardiner was exonerated. The minister and his elders thought the accusation ‘trumped up,' nothing but ‘a tissue of falsehood,' and reinstated Gardiner, who had resigned as a matter of honour from his positions as steward, choirmaster, and Sunday school superintendent when the story first reached him.

He now went to a solicitor and began proceedings for slander. Unfortunately, he then dropped these proceedings. His explanation was that Wright and Skinner had no money, that even if he won he must bear all the costs. He had no funds for this. On reflection, he also thought Rose Harsent would not be ‘strong enough' to face the ordeal of the witness-box and cross-examination. Innocent or guilty of the scandal, her reputation must be indelibly tarnished.

All the same, it looked bad for William Gardiner when he withdrew the slander action. It seemed halfway to an admission of guilt. His wife Georgina never believed the charge, for she said her husband had been at home with her during the time when he was alleged to have been with Rose Harsent at the Doctor's Chapel. Rose had been the friend of Mrs. Gardiner and continued to be so after the scandal, an ally who came regularly to the house, and a coreligionist at Sibton chapel. Throughout the entire affair, however, Georgina Gardiner's evidence, true or false, was ridiculed by spiteful locals as that of a wife protecting her husband, herself, and their six children.

Naturally, Gardiner became the first suspect in the subsequent death of Rose Harsent. Worse still for him, various ‘evidence' or tales now emerged from the year when the gossip ran riot before the murder. I recalled that Holmes had seen the name Mrs. Gardiner written on the label of the broken medicine bottle beside the body. Yet Mrs. Gardiner explained that she had given Rose the bottle, which then contained camphorated oil for a throat complaint. No doubt it might later have held paraffin, used by the intruder in the attempt to start a fire.

A Methodist preacher, Henry Rouse, claimed to have seen Gardiner and Rose walking together between Peasenhall and the chapel some weeks after the scandal. He had written a letter to Gardiner, warning him against indiscretion. Unfortunately, for reasons he could not explain, Mr. Rouse sent the letter anonymously and in his wife's handwriting. It was subsequently proved that this old man had been the instigator of slander and author of anonymous warnings in another village, from which he had moved to Peasenhall at short notice.

Gardiner himself had to admit sending two letters to Rose during this time, although when read in public they contained only the most unobjectionable account of the measures he was taking to seek justice for them both. The most damning letter, said to be Gardiner's, was an anonymous lover's assignation note. This came to Rose Harsent by post not many hours before her death. The writer asked her to leave a candle in the window of her attic room at ten
P
.
M
. that night. If this signal told him the coast was clear, he would come to her at midnight, by way of that back kitchen, where her body was afterwards found. The great courtroom expert, Thomas Gurrin, held that this note and its envelope were in Gardiner's writing. Two humble bank examiners of suspect signatures swore that the script was not Gardiner's. It seemed to me, as they say, six of one and half a dozen of the other.

Undeniably, it was a case of the most sordid kind. Holmes and I seemed well out of it. All the same, I was not the least surprised that it made headlines in the local papers or that before the end of our visit William Gardiner had been arrested and charged with the young woman's murder. The evidence, such as it was, pointed only at him. Holmes said little or nothing about it, contenting himself with the antiquities of Suffolk.

On the last Saturday of our visit, however, my friend suggested that we might make a railway excursion to the nearby coast and enjoy a little sea air. Great Yarmouth was the destination chosen for our day by the sea. It was a pleasant enough place, though inclining a little too much toward a resort for trippers, in my view. That need not have mattered, had Sherlock Holmes not noticed a gaudy placard on the promenade for a beach sideshow. It was a fly-by-night affair in a canvas booth, and it promised a tableau of ‘The Dreadful Peasenhall Murder.'

Poor Rose Harsent had not been dead a week, and the man accused of her murder had been arrested only a few days ago. Already some rascal was taking his profit from their misfortune. All the same, Holmes must visit this disgraceful display. It was evident that the proprietor of the waxwork had never heard of laws relating to contempt of court or indeed the presumption of innocence. Neither the setting nor the persons of the display resembled reality, of course. Yet there before us was a makebelieve Rose Harsent in the pose of having her throat cut by a makebelieve William Gardiner—all in wax. The whole thing was a trap to fleece idlers and muckrakers.

Holmes said not a word as we stared at this outrage. I am pleased to say that the police had already been informed. The exhibition was closed down and the proprietor taken into custody a few hours later. It was only when we had left the booth and walked a few yards by the sea that my friend turned to me and remarked:

‘Unless I am very much mistaken, Watson, we shall hear more of this wretched matter. As yet, we know far too little to judge the case. Curious, is it not, how so many ignorant people believe that creating a scandal will draw the veil from some hidden truth? In reality, scandal obscures the truth more effectively than anything else. For the present, however, William Gardiner may thank his lucky stars that the law of Judge Lynch does not yet operate in the fair county of Suffolk.'

2

Why Holmes or I should hear more of this hateful business was beyond me. The trial of William Gardiner for the murder of Rose Harsent came on before Mr. Justice Grantham and a jury at Suffolk Assizes in Ipswich, and neither of us received any summons to appear as a witness for either the prosecution or the defence. I had not even been called to give medical testimony at the inquest. Dr. Lay could say all that had to be said about such matters. It was Holmes who brought up the case six months later, after breakfast in Baker Street, on a dank November morning.

‘I trust, Watson, you have no pressing engagements for the next few hours. I believe we are about to have a visitor, and I should greatly appreciate your company.'

‘Oh, has someone made an appointment? I thought the day was free.'

‘No appointment has been made. Indeed, I and the gentleman in question are complete strangers.'

‘Then who the devil is he to come here in such a manner?'

‘His name is Mr. Ernest Wild and he is the author of a successful operetta,
The Help
, and a widely praised volume of verse,
The Lamp of Destiny
.'

‘My dear Holmes, perhaps you would tell me why in thunder this librettist and versifier, unmet by either of us, is to descend upon us unannounced. If he is to descend at all!'

My friend chuckled.

‘Because, Watson, Mr. Ernest Wild is also a young barrister of the Inner Temple and defence counsel to William Gardiner of Peasenhall in his trial for the murder of Rose Harsent. The famous Marshall Hall should look to his laurels, for Ernest Wild has already defended thirty murder cases and saved twenty-seven clients from the gallows.'

I was impressed by this and said so.

‘He did not, of course, obtain acquittals in all twenty-seven cases but, at the very least, murder was reduced to manslaughter and his client lived to fight—possibly to kill—another day. Mr. Ernest Wild is what they call a coming man.'

‘And why should he visit us?'

‘For a reason known to all the world but you, old fellow. I was up unaccustomedly early this morning and have had the advantage of reading the
Morning Post
long before you came down to your breakfast. Two trials of William Gardiner have come and gone. The result is that two juries could not agree upon a verdict and he must be tried again. The worst is that at present eleven jurors would hang him but one held out. Even that man did not think Gardiner innocent. However, he has a conscientious objection to capital punishment and has written to the paper to say so. Had I not a distaste for puns, I should say it is only thanks to that one man that Gardiner's life still hangs by a thread rather than by a rope. Ernest Wild knows very well that the likely outcome of another trial will be the hanging of his client. As a defender, he has done almost everything within his power and it has been too little. Where else should he look for assistance?'

‘Yet how can you be sure he will come to us?'

‘Wait and listen!' he said softly.

We did so for several minutes and heard nothing. Then, as I was thinking what nonsense the whole thing was, there came the unmistakable jangle of the Baker Street doorbell.

‘Voila!' said Holmes with a smile of insufferable smugness.

It seems he had advised Mrs. Hudson of this likely visit. The door of the sitting room opened and with ‘Mr. Wild to see Mr. Holmes, sir!' she ushered in a dark-haired man in his earlier thirties. His wide-boned face, strong features, the firm line of his mouth, and the penetrating gaze of his pale eyes gave him a look of solemnity and determination. Yet the line of the mouth and the hard gaze of the eyes could turn in an instant into the most charming and boyish smile. At present, there was no occasion for a smile. He shook hands with us both, took his seat almost without waiting for an invitation, and came straight to the point. He nodded at the
Morning Post
which lay on the table, a little the worse for wear after Holmes's attentions.

‘Gentlemen, it is good of you to receive me at such short notice. I observe you have read the morning paper. No doubt you have seen the outcome of the murder trial at Ipswich yesterday. William Gardiner has evaded the hangman briefly by virtue of a single juror's whimsy. Unfortunately, he has not escaped for long, if the Crown persists in trial after trial.'

‘As they will most certainly do,' said Holmes, reaching for his pipe with a weary gesture. ‘They cannot do otherwise, if eleven jurors are already of one mind.'