Secret Archives of Sherlock Holmes, The, The (4 page)

‘Tell me about Dr Wilberforce and his sister. How did they become acquainted with Mrs Huxtable?’

‘That is another aspect of the situation which causes me anxiety,’ Miss Pilkington continued. ‘They were already staying at the Regal when we arrived, and as soon as they met that first morning at breakfast, they seemed – now, how can I describe it? – drawn to her like bees to a honeypot. She is a lonely lady and was greatly flattered by their attentions, particularly those of Dr Wilberforce.’

‘And the sister? What can you tell me about her?’

‘Judging by her accent, she seems to be of English origin. His accent is difficult to define but is definitely not English.’

‘South American?’ Holmes suggested.

‘Possibly.’ Miss Pilkington sounded dubious.

‘Or Australian?’

‘That is more likely,’ she agreed. ‘But I would not wish to swear to it. I am not well acquainted with Australian speech. She is a tall lady with a strong personality, I would have said, although she is much overshadowed by her brother, if that is indeed the relationship between them.’

‘You doubt it?’ Holmes inquired sharply.

‘I can see very little physical resemblance between
the two of them but that is no real proof, is it? They could be half-brother and -sister or step-relations. But whatever the connection, Miss Wilberforce is closely involved with the doctor.’ Reaching into her reticule, she produced a small oblong of white cardboard which she passed to Holmes. ‘I found this in Mrs Huxtable’s pocket yesterday evening when I hung up her clothes. She herself has not yet noticed it is missing but, knowing you were coming today, I thought it might be of interest to you.’

After looking at it carefully, Holmes passed it to me so that I, too, could read the words printed on it, which were: ‘The Hollies, Randolph Road, Harrogate, Yorkshire. Private Spa Treatments for Rheumatism and other Related Illnesses, including Circulatory Complaints, Chest and Lung Ailments, Blood and Heart Disorders and General Infirmities. Remedies include Hydrotherapy, Mesmerism, Galvanism, Magnetism and Herbal Physic under the Strict Supervision of a Fully Qualified Physician and Matron.’

‘A very comprehensive list indeed. It seems to cater for all the ailments that flesh is heir to,’ Holmes commented wryly, passing the card back to Miss Pilkington, who replaced it in her reticule. ‘I assume the matron is none other than Miss Wilberforce?’

‘That was my assumption,’ Miss Pilkington agreed, adding with an anxious air, ‘Will you take the case, Mr Holmes? I am becoming more and more concerned about
Mrs Huxtable’s well-being. She spoke this morning about seeking treatment for her breathing difficulties and I fear she may turn to the Wilberforces for help. I should very much like to know more about them before she places herself in their care.’

‘I understand your concern and shall indeed make inquiries on your behalf. By the way, is there any chance of our covertly observing Dr Wilberforce, and also his sister if that is possible? I should prefer a more public setting than the foyer or the dining room of the Regal Hotel, say, where they are more likely to be aware of the scrutiny of other people.’

‘I believe I know the very place, Mr Holmes!’ Miss Pilkington declared. ‘Dr Wilberforce is in the habit of taking a stroll along the Palace Pier at about eleven o’clock each morning before returning to the hotel for luncheon. His sister sometimes accompanies him.’

‘Excellent!’ Holmes declared. ‘Then that is one aspect of the case which is already settled. Are there any questions you would like to ask me before we take our leave?’

Miss Pilkington looked embarrassed.

‘About your fees, Mr Holmes …’ she began.

Holmes waved an airy hand.

‘Do not concern yourself with those, Miss Pilkington. I am sure we can come to some amicable arrangement. Now, Dr Watson and I will return to London, where I shall immediately telegraph the manager of the Regal
Hotel requesting a booking for two rooms for tomorrow evening. And I should warn you not to be surprised if we have changed our appearances as well as our names when you next see us. You see, we have met Dr Wilberforce and his sister before under other circumstances and it would ruin our plans if either of them should recognise us on this occasion. You must behave as if you have never seen us before.’

‘What plans?’ I inquired when, having paid the bill and taken leave of Miss Pilkington, we emerged from the Copper Kettle into the dazzling sunshine.

‘To lay the Wilberforces by the heels, of course,’ he replied crisply. ‘There should be no difficulty in identifying Dr Wilberforce as Holy Peters. Judging by your lack of response, Watson, when I asked Miss Pilkington if Dr Wilberforce had any distinguishing marks or scars, you have clearly forgotten that Holy Peters was bitten on the ear in a bar-room brawl in Adelaide in ’89, which has literally left a mark.
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However, he may have tried to alter his appearance in certain ways, grown a beard or dyed his hair, for instance. He has evidently changed his lure …’

‘Lure?’ I asked, puzzled by his use of the word.

‘My dear Watson, do try not to be obtuse. I am referring to his speciality in using religion to tempt his victims into his net. It was for this reason he earned the soubriquet of Holy Peters. Apparently he has abandoned this ploy for another equally attractive to lonely ladies of a certain age who like to talk about themselves, in particular their health. So we may assume his title of “Doctor” refers in this particular instance not to any assumed religious qualification but rather to a medical degree. However, no matter what changes he makes to his name or professional title, he cannot change that one detail of his appearance, his damaged ear, which will identify him beyond any doubt. And as soon as this can be established, then he and his sister can pay the price they owe to justice, for it is time those unspeakable villains were behind bars for the attempted murder of Lady Frances Carfax.’ He broke off to hail a passing cab. Having hustled me inside and given the driver the instruction to take us to the railway station, he added, ‘I am sorry to cut short our little excursion to the seaside, my dear fellow, but, God willing, we shall return tomorrow to make free of the delights of sea, sun and sand which this charming town has to offer.’

We had hardly set foot in our Baker Street lodgings than Holmes dashed out again to send a telegram to
the Regal Hotel requesting two rooms for the following night. Within the hour, having received confirmation of the booking, he set off once more, this time to call on Inspector Lestrade at Scotland Yard, and after that to buy any extra necessities we would need for our disguises when we returned to Brighton.

‘Nothing too elaborate,’ he decided. ‘We do not want to draw unnecessary attention to ourselves. Something in the holiday mood, I think, but not excessively ebullient. Modesty shall be our maxim.’

It was hardly a suitable precept for Holmes, I thought with some amusement as I followed him up the attic stairs to the lumber rooms where he stored the appurtenances of his many disguises,
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although I had to admit that it was because of his tendency towards the theatrical that he was able to assume the appearance and identity of another person with astonishing ease.

In this case, it was that of a City gentleman with a weakness for fashionable attire setting out for a few days’ relaxation away from the tedium of a London office. He wore flannels and a blazer, a little too extravagantly striped for my taste, and a boater which, tipped at
a jaunty angle, gave him a festive, holidaymaking air. A silver-topped cane, a brown wig
en brosse
, a small clipped moustache and a pair of gold-rimmed eyeglasses completed his transformation.

As I lack Holmes’ skill at carrying off a disguise with confidence, mine was similar to his but far less conspicuous, consisting of a light-brown moustache with a matching wig, worn with a plain navy blazer and a pair of grey flannels. Thus disguised I felt, as we sauntered along the esplanade towards the hotel, that we blended in perfectly with the other visitors enjoying the sea air.

On Holmes’ advice, I had packed my army service revolver into my portmanteau, for, as he reminded me, Holy Peters was a dangerous villain who would stop at nothing to avoid arrest. His own preferred weapon was a weighted riding crop.
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We saw nothing of Miss Pilkington or her employer Mrs Huxtable until we strolled down to the dining-room for dinner later that evening and saw them sitting at a table overlooking the sun veranda and the more distant view of the passing crowds against the glittering backdrop of the sea. Seated with them were the unforgettable figures of Holy Peters and his loathsome companion,
now masquerading under the false identities of Dr and Miss Wilberforce.

They had changed very little since the last time we had confronted them in their shabby lodgings in Poultney Square. They were older, of course, but still easily recognisable despite the fact that Holy Peters had put on weight over the intervening years so that his jowls were now quite pendulous, while in contrast his so-called sister was thinner than I remembered, her cheekbones more protuberant and her lips more tightly compressed. They were both well dressed and gave the impression of a successful, professional couple, at ease in the marble and plush surroundings of the Regal Hotel.

Unfortunately, we were seated too far away from their table to see details of any individual feature, such as signs of damage to Dr Wilberforce’s ear.

Miss Pilkington was aware of our arrival but, intelligent woman that she was, showed no sign of having recognised us, her glance merely passing casually over us as we took our places at a vacant table while she continued listening to the lady seated at her left, whom I took to be her employer, Mrs Huxtable.

She was a plump lady in her late sixties, fashionably attired and with an air of self-satisfaction about her which only wealth and the certainty of always getting her own way could have given her. There was a stubborn set to her lips and an imperious tilt to her head. Here
was a woman, I thought, who demanded attention and was easily persuaded by flattery. The raised colour in her cheeks suggested high blood pressure, exacerbated, I suspected, by an overindulgent lifestyle. Her weight may also have contributed to breathing difficulties. Had I been her physician, I would have put her on a strict diet which excluded all cakes, cream and sugar as well as any form of alcohol. I noticed that she frequently sipped from a glass of Madeira wine which stood by her plate and which an obsequious wine waiter kept replenishing.

‘A perfect example of a stray chicken ready for plucking, wouldn’t you say, Watson?’ Holmes murmured, not raising his eyes from studying the menu. I had no opportunity to agree to this remark, for a waiter arrived to take our order and the subject was dropped until later that evening when, dinner over, we set off at Holmes’ suggestion for a brief walk along the Palace Pier where, according to Miss Pilkington, Dr Wilberforce, or Holy Peters as I preferred to think of him, was accustomed to take a pre-luncheon stroll.

Now that the sun had set, the air was cooler and the crowds of holidaymakers had dispersed a little, although a festival atmosphere still lingered in the flags and bunting which decorated the stalls and kiosks lining the pier. Here and there were gaps in the railings opening on to steps leading down to landing stages where passengers from the pleasure steamers could
disembark and from which swimmers and fishermen could have easy access to the sea at different levels. As we passed them, some of the anglers were already putting away their rods and keepnets in readiness for going home and Holmes and I decided to follow their example and return to the hotel.

There was no sign of Holy Peters, his sister nor Miss Pilkington, although, when Holmes invited me to join him upstairs after dinner to confirm the plans for the following day, he discovered, on letting himself into his bedroom, a folded slip of paper lying on the carpet just inside the room which someone had evidently slid underneath the door – Miss Pilkington, as he ascertained, when he had unfolded it and scanned its contents before passing it on to me.

There was no superscription to the message which was short and to the point.

‘I believe Dr Wilberforce intends to act soon over the matter of my employer. This evening after dinner she announced that she had arranged to move to his clinic as a patient in two days’ time, that is on Friday.

‘She has agreed to pay me a month’s salary in lieu of notice. I thought I should notify you of this fact as soon as possible as I have very serious concerns over her future welfare. Edith D. Pilkington.’

‘Concerns which I myself share,’ Holmes said gravely as he refolded the note and placed it in his pocket book. ‘Well, Watson, the stakes have been raised and we must
accordingly elevate our own game. Early tomorrow morning I shall telegraph Lestrade, explaining the situation to him and requesting his presence here in Brighton with arrest warrants for both the Wilberforces. There is a fast train from Victoria at 8.07 which arrives at 9.49. I shall arrange to meet him at the entrance to the Palace Pier at a quarter past the hour. All we can do in the meantime is trust that we have chosen the right villains.’

Lestrade was only a few minutes late for our rendezvous the following morning, and as Holmes and I lingered outside the ticket office wearing the disguises we had worn the day before, we surveyed the crowds of people who were already making their way on to the pier, including a number of anglers equipped with rods and some with folding stools who were taking up vantage points along the railings and the steps of the landing stages.

Holmes and I were also suitably equipped, although in our case for a quite different catch, he with his loaded riding crop, I with my Webley No. 2 revolver which fitted snugly into the pocket of my blazer.

Within ten minutes we were joined by Lestrade, dressed like us in flannels, blazer and boater and looking so unfamiliar in this holiday attire that I failed to recognise him. It was only when he approached Holmes and shook his hand that I realised with a start who he was.