My Dearest Holmes (6 page)

'Oh, I don't think
he
is being blackmailed at all,' said Holmes impatiently. 'But his father undoubtedly is, and has, rather foolishly in my opinion, called on him for help.'

'His father?' I was surprised out of my confusion. 'But he has no father!'

'Tut, Watson, I'm surprised at you. And you a medical man! Everybody has a father somewhere. We may take that as a working hypothesis in at least ninety-nine point nine per cent of cases.'

'Well, good heavens, Holmes, I mean of course he has a father, but surely--do you mean that you are assuming he knows who his father is?'

'Well, I am assuming he does now. Whether he did before this present trouble, I am not yet in a position to say. But
now
, do you see--?' he continued, deliberately adopting the patient manner with which one explains the obvious to a child or to an idiot. 'He receives a message from a gentleman who claims to be his father, and he wishes, my good Watson, to check the gentleman's credentials, so to speak. And to whom does he apply for corroboration on the subject, do you think? Hmm? Come on now, my boy, your mental powers should be able to tackle this one.'

'Oh stop it, Holmes,' I said feebly, for I could see he was already embarking upon a fit of hilarity and I had no desire to join him. 'So he contacts his mother. But I still fail to see why it has to be blackmail.'

'Why, it could be nothing else,' said Holmes, controlling himself with difficulty. 'If the man has contacted neither his son nor the mother of his son for some twenty-odd years, nothing less than the threat of discovery could lead him to do so now. You see why I did not wish to go into the matter in front of Miss D'Arcy,' he continued in a serious voice, taking me by the elbow and leading me towards the door. 'The subject would naturally be upsetting for her. We had better wait until we have cleared the whole thing up. Now, Watson, up you go and change into a waistcoat that boasts its full regimen of buttons! I would fit a new shoelace too, if I were you; we may have a little walk ahead of us. And what a careless fellow you were this morning to nick your cheek like that. I meanwhile will go and don my accoutrements, and then I think we will make our way to Kensington, with a little detour for lunch en route.'

'Might I suggest that the
older
gentleman would be a more suitable disguise, Holmes?' I said sweetly. 'Kirkpatrick has always looked upon me, I may say, rather as a paternal figure, and since I am your senior by a mere couple of years, we can hardly expect him to do less for you.'

From the mischievous glint that stole into his eyes, I realised that somewhere in my little speech I had laid myself open to his repartee. I closed the door hurriedly and made my way to my room.

--
V
--

I
T WAS mid-afternoon by the time we reached Mr Maurice Kirkpatrick's elegant Kensington residence. I sent in my card and we were shown into a drawing room which was decorated rather alarmingly in red and black, with white alabaster statuettes and vases in every nook and niche. I had no idea that my friend's general air of decadence extended to his furnishings in so vulgar a manner, and noted with amusement that Holmes, abandoning his customary sartorial primness, had managed, with the aid of a loosely knotted silk necktie and several rather tasteless rings, to create just such an appearance as would blend in perfectly with Kirkpatrick's decor.

It was only a matter of minutes before the young gentleman appeared, looking surprised and harassed, although his manner was scrupulously polite as always. Holmes had chosen for some reason to adopt the pseudonym of Mr Melmond on this occasion, and I hastily introduced him as such.

'This is really very nice of you, Dr Watson,' responded poor Kirkpatrick, 'and it is always a pleasure to meet your friends. I do hope you will excuse my rather flurried appearance. My mother is staying with me at present, and she has just received some rather worrying news about a friend. Sad news, that is. Yes, the death of an old friend. I won't bore you with the details, but I do hope you won't take it amiss if our manner is a little reserved. I should like you to meet my mother, of course; you will take some tea with us?'

He spoke hurriedly and nervously, his long-lashed eyes darting from one to the other of us; though I noticed that the glances he flashed at Holmes bore a stamp of innocent appeal with which he had long ceased to favour me.

'My dear fellow,' I said in a determined voice, 'we would not dream of imposing on your hospitality at such a time. Pray do accept our apologies for this unwitting intrusion. We will call another day.'

We had both risen, and Holmes trod heavily upon my foot as he turned to admire a Greek statuette that stood upon a side table.

'Oh, a thousand apologies, Watson,' he said in a genial voice. 'How clumsy of me! Of course, my dear Mr Kirkpatrick, Dr Watson is right. We will most certainly not intrude upon you or Mrs Kirkpatrick. But my goodness, I must take this opportunity to admire such a remarkably beautiful statuette. A miniature of Michelangelo's "David", is it not? What an exquisite copy! The proportions appear to be just right.'

'Why, Mr Melmond, you must be quite a connoisseur!' cried Maurice Kirkpatrick in delight, a slow, winning smile forming on his face. 'Yes, this is but one of my little beauties, as you can see'--here he indicated the room with a sweeping gesture. 'I am a collector, you know, in a small way. I love beautiful things. You must stay and have tea with us, I simply cannot let you go now that you have been so kind as to admire my little David. What do you think of this figure of Achilles? I found it in a little shop in Museum Street, quite by accident. No, Dr Watson, I insist that you both take tea with us. It will lift my mother's spirits, I assure you. She shares my love of Greek culture, you know, Mr Melmond. She will be so pleased to meet you. Oh yes, you must certainly stay.'

He rang the bell for the servant, and ordered tea on the spot. 'And please tell Mrs Kirkpatrick that my friends would be delighted if she will join us.'

Having procured our invitation, Holmes proceeded to make his way around the room, murmuring admiringly at every fresh monstrosity, and throwing up his hands in affected delight. I comforted myself by thinking that he cut a very foolish figure in so fanciful a get-up, and by picturing to myself the reaction of Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard if he could see the great detective now.

Kirkpatrick eventually joined me on the sofa while Holmes seated himself gracefully in an armchair.

'But Watson here is hiding his light under a bushel!' said he with a merry laugh; it was obvious that he was greatly enjoying himself. 'If anyone has an artist's eye for beauty, Mr Kirkpatrick, it is he. As you have, no doubt, had occasion to remark. Yes, I think I can say very decidedly that my friend here has an eye for beauty.'

He was watching Kirkpatrick as he spoke; the compliment was obviously meant for him rather than for me; and so it was received, for the affected young baggage blushed and lowered his absurd lashes in a most tasteless manner.

As I bit my lip and tried to think of a suitable rejoinder, Holmes continued, 'You have been walking the garden this morning, Mr Kirkpatrick? And my goodness, if I did not perceive you to be a gentleman of civilized habits, I would say you had been--climbing a wall?'

I must say that I was pleased to see the alacrity with which the smug look vanished from my young friend's face.

'Good heavens, Mr Melmond! Why, I...yes, I believe I took a turn in the garden; but as for climbing a wall--why, what an extraordinary notion! Whatever put it into your mind?'

'My dear sir, you have forgotten to change your shoes! There is garden earth upon them, and upon the hem of your trousers--strange, for it has not been raining lately--you must have ventured into a flower bed by mistake, I imagine, or else your gardener has been careless with some loose soil. And then, there appears to be some brick dust adhering there also and, remarkably, to the knees--I trust you do not think me rude, Mr Kirkpatrick? It is just a little trick of mine, to try out my powers of observation upon a new acquaintance. I do not mean to be offensive, I assure you, quite the opposite...And then there are your shirt cuffs, and the scuffing of your shoes...But there, I see that I have embarrassed you, and that was never my intention. My dear sir, I do not wish to pry. When a young man such as yourself has his mother to stay, he has often to resort to a little--ingenuity...'

Here, mercifully, there was a knock at the door, and tea was announced. With a watery smile at Holmes, and a most suspicious glance at me, Kirkpatrick turned his attention to the deposition of the trays, and a moment later the appearance of Miss--or Mrs Kirkpatrick, for so of course we addressed her as we rose to take part in the introductions--precluded any further allusion to our host's morning adventure.

Maria Kirkpatrick was a tall and graceful woman, and one could tell that it was she who had given her son his beautiful eyes and complexion; although her hair was darker than his, with an interesting coppery tint. There were unmistakeable traces of sadness, even of fear, upon her face, but her eyes spoke of an already well-tested courage and a determined quality which had obviously stood her in good stead over the years. Both Holmes and I warmed to her, and I longed to have some quiet words with her, to reassure her as to Miss D'Arcy's state of mind and health; but this of course was impossible under the circumstances.

It was made even more impossible by Holmes suddenly switching his attention, and his charm, from the son to the mother, and striking up an easy conversation with her about the literature and culture of ancient Greece (in which she appeared to be well versed); thus leaving me prey to the whispered enquiries of my former friend, Maurice Kirkpatrick. I found his persistence very awkward.

How long had I known Mr Melmond? Where had I met him? Had he a profession, or private means? Where did he live? And by the way, how was my celebrated friend Mr Sherlock Holmes, of whom he had heard so much? Might he look forward to an introduction to that gentleman also, in the near future?

I did the best I could, and painted a very plausible picture of a decadent gentleman of dwindling income and unreliable habits, which I fancy left my enquirer rather disappointed, if no less suspicious. As for Mr Holmes, I added casually, he was at present engaged in a case which took him from London; and really he was so busy all the time, that it was very difficult to get him to pay social calls, but I would of course do my best. Maurice Kirkpatrick sipped at his tea and continued to eye me with distrust. At last I was able to turn my attention to the other half of our party, and was interested to hear that the topic had strayed somewhat nearer home.

'And so, you know the Carstairs of Sussex?' Holmes was saying, and I could tell that his interest was genuine. 'Why, what an interesting coincidence, Mrs Kirkpatrick! I knew the younger son, Mr Edward Carstairs, at college--only slightly, I may add, but I did have occasion to visit the family home. I was anxious to consult a particular old volume for my researches, and Carstairs was kind enough to let me have use of the library there. It certainly contained many fascinating first editions; I have rarely seen such a collection. However, I did not become intimate with the family. There is almost a decade between the elder and younger brother, I believe.'

'Yes, I believe so.' Miss Kirkpatrick spoke quickly, with downcast eyes, and even I could see that we were hot on the scent.

'Did you know him?' persisted Holmes. 'Rumour has it that he was somewhat dissolute as a youth. Obviously he has now settled down, and is quite a model of respectability, I believe, and happily married. I must confess myself disappointed that I never met him; he was from home on my only visit.'

'I...knew him slightly,' said Miss Kirkpatrick; and then noticing that her son and I were listening, took the opportunity to turn the conversation. 'But Maurice, why are you not entertaining Dr Watson? How very rude you must think us, Dr Watson. Allow Maurice to help you to some cake.'

A sharp look passed between mother and son, and the latter responded with alacrity. 'Yes, Dr Watson, you really must try some of this, it's excellent,' said he, attacking the unfortunate cake with the knife in such a way as to leave no doubt that there was a vicious streak in his nature.

The rest of the meal passed rather hysterically, with both mother and son conversing wildly, and sometimes simultaneously, on every topic under the sun. Holmes remained as demure as ever, with a bon mot for every occasion, but I became confused and eventually sank into silence.

--
VI
--

T
HAT WAS
not
a successful visit,' I murmured, as we walked hurriedly away an hour or so later.

'My dear Watson, what can you mean? It was most successful. I now have all the information I need to complete my investigations.'

I sighed in exasperation, and thrust my hands further into my pockets. 'If you measure a visit by the amount of personal information you manage to squeeze out of your hosts, regardless of the amount of distress you cause or the amount of suspicion you arouse, then yes, I suppose you could call it successful,' I snapped. 'But you will excuse
me
from applying that epithet to what must certainly rank among the most embarrassing social occasions of my life. I can never enter that house again. You realise Kirkpatrick was suspicious?'