The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures (13 page)

“Good afternoon, Mr Holmes,” the inspector nodded cheerfully at my friend. “How may I assist you?”

“I think if your men pry up the flagstones of the cellar floor and dig about a little you’ll discover, as I suggested in our earlier conversation, the body of Alice Abernetty.”

“Murdered?”

“No. I’m sure Lady Abernetty died of natural causes. Concealment of death and wrongful disposal of a body is the only crime here.”

“I fear I shall not be the hero of this chronicle should you set it down on paper.” Holmes stretched his slippers towards the fire and leaned his cheek pensively on his hand. “I have disinherited brother and sister for the sake of a greedy, already wealthy woman, who seeks to impress and snare a younger man with a fashionable address. The terms of Sir William Abernetty’s will, now a matter of public record, gave me the answer. The house in Grosvenor Square only belonged to Lady Abernetty during

her lifetime. On her death it passed to his eldest child Mabel from the first marriage. Charles and Sabina Abernetty were to be dispossessed. There was very little real money. They were, shall we say, in an unenviable position. There were many times, Watson, when I nearly abandoned the case, but I was drawn on to its fascinating and macabre conclusion.”

“The law must be upheld, Holmes.”

“Oh, yes, the law,” he retorted, bitterly. “There are other laws, natural laws, that have been broken here.”

Since our return he had fallen into a mood of black depression and I was worried that he might disappear into his room and seek solace in his unfortunate addiction to cocaine. I therefore attempted to distract him by laying before him the points of the case I did not yet fully understand.

“Who was the woman we saw in the sick-bed on our second visit?”

“That I suspect was Mrs Minter, the cook. However unwilling they may have been, the Minters were accomplices to all that occurred. They probably agreed to the conspiracy knowing they could find no other place at their time of life.

“Charles thought he was very clever with that little ruse, but it only served to convince me further that Lady Abernetty was dead. Of course, he wasn’t aware of my identity then. But Miss Abernetty had already confirmed her suspicion of me. She was the youth watching our premises, Watson. When she burst into the sickroom later that day she was wearing a dress I had seen hanging up in the coach-house on my earlier visit as the groom in search of work. In their loveless, friendless childhood and youth they turned to a world of acting and make-believe. I’m quite sure Charles had his mother’s character down accurately in that little display today. Can you imagine, Watson, their bleak, deprived existence, reviled by the one person who might be expected to give them affection. It makes my blood run cold to think of it.” He leaned forward, his elbows hunched on his knees.

“What will become of them?”

“I can only hope the law will be kinder to them than I have been.”

“Come, Holmes, you deal with yourself too harshly. Things would have gone much harder for Miss Abernetty if you had told the inspector she attempted your life. It was only pure luck that the pistol misfired.”

“It was probably an old weapon that had belonged to her father and had been lying about in a drawer for years. She had every reason to hate me. By my interference I had brought their brief and pathetic idyll to an end. But they could not have carried on their deception indefinitely, not with that woman of remarkable perspicacity Mabel Bertram waiting in the wings.”

“What was the significance of the parsley in the butter?”

“Ah, yes! Did you not hear Mrs Bertram remark that her stepmother invariably had a roll with parsley butter for her breakfast. I believe that the cook had been preparing her tray and the butter had been taken from the icebox. Meanwhile, Miss Abernetty had gone to the sickroom to tend her mother’s needs and discovered she had died during the night.

“She acted quickly, Watson, and with great presence of mind. The servants were summarily dismissed and the plan put into action of burying the body under the flagstones in the cellar.

“In such a household, Watson, where the discipline is so rigid, so unyielding and the
presence
of the mistress, even one confined to a sick-room, so omnipotent, the butter in the natural course of events would have been returned to the icebox. The fact that the parsley had sunk so deep into the butter meant it had been left out for hours and other events, unnatural events, were taking place.”

He reached inside his pocket and drew out a slip of paper. “This is the fee I require from Mrs Bertram.”

“Holmes!”

“As she herself observed she intended to be
grateful
and Mr Aston Plush added the rider of
generous
. I have acquired for her a fashionable address and possibly a new husband.
You
shall have your little jaunt to Baden-Baden, Watson.”

“That’s exceedingly generous of you, Holmes,” I stammered.

A smile warmed his austere features. “You deserve it, my dear fellow, after all I’ve put you through today. Even a solitary misanthropic chap like myself knows the value of true friendship.”

The Adventure of Vittoria, the Circus Belle

Edward D. Hoch

After “The Incumbent Invalid” there was a brief period when little came Holme’s way and he soon began to complain that his practice was “degenerating into an agency for recovering lost lead pencils and giving advice to young ladies from boarding-schools,” an attitude which coloured his initial feelings about the case that became “The Adventure of the Copper Beeches”. Despite the success of that case matters again went quiet and it is probably during his period that Holmes became more open in his use of cocaine for stimulation. Watson refers to it in. “The Yellow Face”, a case which arose in the spring of 1886 and which was one of Holmes’s few recorded failures. Holmes was clearly in the doldrums during this period.

But matters soon began to improve. We find from the summer of 1886 cases begin to tumble one on top of another and Watson again found trouble keeping a record of them all. The American writer and scholar of crime, Edward D. Hoch, is renowned for his mystery stories, and he has occasionally turned a hand to writing stories featuring Sherlock Holmes. These are mostly of his own invention, but his interest in the circus caused him to stumble upon some records which helped us piece together the case later referred to by Watson about Vittoria, the Circus Belle.

My friend Mr Sherlock Holmes, upon looking through his fabled index of past cases, took occasion to remind me that I have never recorded the remarkable affair of Vittoria, the Circus Belle. My only excuse for this dereliction is that the summer of ‘86 had furnished us with a long series of interesting cases and somehow my notes for this one became buried among them. There was also an aspect of the case which was slightly embarrassing.

Certainly by that year Vittoria was known even to those who never attended a circus. In America during the year 1880 a rival of Barnum and the Ringling Brothers named Adam Forepaugh came up with a unique idea for promoting his tent show. Forepaugh was one of the circus world’s most picturesque characters, forever coming up with new schemes. Inspired by America’s first beauty contest held at a beach in Delaware, he sponsored a competition with a $10,000 prize for the country’s most beautiful woman, resulting in the selection of Louise Montague as the winner. Forepaugh promptly hired her to ride in his circus parade and proclaimed her as “the $10,000 beauty”.

It did not take long for a similar promotion campaign to take root in England. In 1882 the Rover Brothers, who imagined themselves to be our British version of the Ringlings, launched their own contest for the loveliest young woman in the country. The winner was Vittoria Costello, a young shopgirl who was immediately transformed into “Vittoria, the Circus Belle”. When her likeness began to appear regularly on circus handbills and posters there was some grumbling about the similarity of her given name to that of Her Majesty, but it was the young woman’s true name and she could not be prevented from using it.

This was all either Holmes or I knew about her when Mrs Hudson announced an unscheduled visitor – a veiled young woman – on a sunny morning in early August. “Show her up by all means!” Holmes instructed, putting down his pipe and rising to greet our visitor. “Clients who attempt to conceal their identity always intrigue me!”

After a few moments we were joined by the woman herself. She was tall and willowy, dressed in a black riding costume with hat and veil. I could barely distinguish her features through the double layer of netting. “Thank you for seeing me, Mr Holmes,” she said. “Be assured it is a matter of utmost urgency that brings me here.”

“Pray be seated, madam. This is my friend and associate, Dr Watson. We are at your service.”

She took the chair opposite the door, as if fearful of someone who might be following her. “Mr Holmes, I believe my life to be in great danger.”

“And why do you think that, Miss Costello?”

Her body jerked in surprise at his words. I admit I was surprised myself. “You know me?” she asked. “We have never met.”

“Your veiling implies that your face would be known, and I note the unmistakable odor of tanbark about you, suggestive of a circus ring. No, no – it is not an unpleasant odor. It brings back memories of childhood. I believe there is even a bit of the bark itself clinging to your riding boot.” My eyes were drawn to her boot, almost as large as my own, and to the trim calf that showed beneath her skirt. “Since the Rover Brothers Circus is the only one in the London area at the present time, and since Vittoria the Circus Belle rides in their parades, it seemed obvious to me that you were Vittoria Costello. Please continue with your story.”

She lifted the veil, revealing a face of striking beauty. Her eyes, though troubled, still sparkled with youth and her hair had the shimmer of ravens’ wings. The sketches on the circus posters hardly did her justice. “I had heard of your remarkable powers, Mr Holmes, but you astonish me. As you may know from the newspaper accounts, I was employed by Hatchard’s bookshop on Piccadilly when friends persuaded me to enter the Rover Brothers’ contest. I never thought I would win, and when I did I’ll admit I was a bit reluctant to give up my old life and become Vittoria, the Circus Belle.”

Holmes retrieved his pipe and studied her with piercing eyes. “I admit to knowing very little about circuses. Exactly what duties do you perform with the show?”

“When the Rovers hired me directly after the contest, they said I only had to ride a horse in the circus parade, and perhaps once around the ring at the beginning and end of the shows. Of course until recently circuses were mainly equestrian events, with a clown providing some acrobatic comedy and joking with the ringmaster between riding demonstrations. Now things are changing. P. T. Barnum in America has a tent that will hold twenty thousand spectators and has three rings, after the American custom. Astley’s here in London has a permanent building with a large scenic stage for horses and other animals. The trapeze acts introduced by the French gymnast Leotard are becoming increasingly popular with many circuses. And they say the Hagenbecks will soon introduce a big cage for wild animal acts.”

“You know a great deal about your profession,” Holmes murmured.

“It may not be my profession much longer, Mr Holmes. You see, the Rover Brothers suggested last year that I develop some sort of talent to enhance my image, something besides my horsemanship. They even suggested I might try tightrope walking or snake handling. I was horrified by both suggestions. This spring they put me into a knife-throwing act with a Spaniard named Diaz.” She showed us a slight scar on her left forearm. “This is what I received from it, and just during the rehearsal!”

“Is that what has brought you here?”

“Hardly! There is another young woman with the circus, an acrobat, who feels she should have the title of Circus Belle. Her name is Edith Everage. She has suggested several times that I leave my position and now I believe she is trying to kill me.”

“Has there been an actual attempt on your life?”

“Two, in fact. A week ago yesterday, when the circus played at Stratford, a horse I was riding tried to throw me.”

Holmes waved his hand. “A common enough occurrence.”

“Someone had placed a burr beneath my saddle. When my weight pressed it into the animal’s flesh he started to buck. Luckily there were people nearby to rescue me.”

“And the other attempt?”

“Much more serious. Two days ago, shortly before the Monday afternoon performance in Oxford, the knife-thrower Diaz was poisoned. You may have seen it in the papers. The poison was in a water bottle I used between rides. I’m convinced it was meant for me.”

“The knife-thrower died?”

“Yes. It was horrible!”

“Where is the circus playing now?”

“They’re setting up in Reading for a performance tomorrow afternoon. A new tiger is arriving with its keeper tonight. I fear they might want me to perform with it and I’m afraid for my life, Mr Holmes.”

“The two earlier incidents may have no relation to each other. Still, I have not attended a circus since my youth. What say, Watson? Shall we journey to Reading tomorrow for the big show?”

We caught a mid-morning train at Paddington station. The weather was warm for his usual traveling-cloak and he wore simple tweeds. As was his custom, Holmes read through several papers during the journey, expressing pleasure when he came upon an account of Diaz’s death in Oxford. He had died from poisoning but no further details had been given by the Oxford police.

“Perhaps it was an accident,” I ventured. “She may be worried about nothing.”

“We shall see, Watson.” He put down the last of the papers as the train was pulling into Reading Station. Off to the right we could see King’s Meadow where a circus tent had been erected. Already carriages and strollers were heading in the direction, and there were children gathering at the animal enclosures.