The Curious Case of Dr. Watson
by Lyrical Soul

Chapter Eleven

As our cab nears Derry Lane, I look at Holmes with curiosity. "Do you believe Lestrade has solved the case?" 

Holmes looks at me, his lips quirked up in his familiar half-smile. "Watson, whilst we were in your bedroom, I told you I'd solved the case."

 "How...? What did I miss?"

"As usual, you've missed everything." He pats my hand. "But, since you had… other things on your mind, allow me to reiterate. Mrs. Langstrom sought vengeance against you."

"Yes, but why?"

"Please, Watson... allow a magician his secrets. All will be revealed soon." He squeezes my thigh. "Did you bring your bag as I asked?"

I nod. "How could I refuse your command?"

"Positively pawky, my boy." He rustles in his waistcoat pocket and pulls out his handkerchief. "This may help, as I know you will only get worse as the evening progresses if we don't fill your stomach." He hands me the cloth and looks at me expectantly.

I unfurl the handkerchief and laugh. "Biscuits and apple slices. Oh, Holmes! How very thoughtful of you."

"I find myself wanting to see your rather winsome smile directed at me in a manner that is not one of a biographer smiling at his subject. I fancied a few treats might do the trick."

"Ah, the way to a man's heart." I smile at him, and it pleases me to see him blush. "Like that?"

"Oh, indeed." He squeezes my thigh, then moves his hand away. "Did you also bring the sweet clover?"

"Yes, but I'm confused as to why you would need it..."

"Just follow my lead, Watson. When I ask for it, do not hesitate to give it to me."

"Of course. But Holmes-"

"Not another word, Watson," he cuts in. "We're here." He jumps down from the cab, and hands the driver a few coins. "Come along, dear fellow."

I sigh and leap down after him.

****

Lestrade is pacing in front of the estate, puffing nervously on a cigarette. He tosses it to the ground when he spies us, and rushes toward the cab. "It's about time!"

"We only received your telegram half an hour ago," I say soothingly. "We came straight-away."

"Quite right," he replies with downcast eyes. "Seems like longer."

"So," Holmes says casually, "what is it that you have discovered, Inspector?"

"A conspiracy!"

"Indeed?" Holmes' tone doesn't change, but I, who know him better than any, can hear the sarcasm in his innocent question. "What conclusions have you drawn to warrant such a change from this morning?"

Lestrade's face reddens. "Well, er... I thought about the evidence, and came to the conclusion that you were correct. And further investigation shows that two of my constables are well acquainted with Mr. Phelps-Binghampton. This conspiracy knows no bounds."

"Conspiracy?" I ask, feeling slightly confused.

"You will forgive Dr. Watson's… slowness," Holmes says, with a sideways glance at me. "He has had a rather trying day."

"For which I sincerely apologise," Lestrade says to me, and hands me a sheaf of papers. "I wrote up a paragraph or two on how I missed some clues, in case you'd like to include this tale in your series."

I take the papers, and smile. "I don't think this one will make it into The Strand, Inspector. A bit too racy for my readers."

"Well, I suppose we should go inside then." Lestrade sets his jaw and marches up the walkway, with Holmes and I in tow.

Mr. Phelps-Binghampton greets us at the front door, glowering furiously. "Mr. Watson is not welcome here," he says.

"That's Doctor Watson to the likes of you," Lestrade returns. "I'm here on official police business, Mr. Phelps, and these gentlemen are here in that same capacity. Kindly move aside, or I'll move you."

Lestrade's aggressive tone convinces Percy to move aside, albeit grudgingly. "Do come in then," he sneers, and bows us in with an exaggerated flourish.

We move past him into the foyer, where a sullen page takes our hats and coats. "The sitting room is that way." Phelps' hand waves carelessly toward a short hallway. "I'm sure you can find your way."

"Of course," Lestrade says stiffly. "This way, Mr. Holmes, Doctor."

I look around at the garishly decorated house, cringing at the elaborate statues and urns in the hallways. "Looks like the aftermath of a market sale at the Pantheon," I whisper to Holmes, as I brush past a fake cluster of hanging grapes.

"Behave, Watson," he whispers back, with an eyebrow raised in warning. He frowns and skirts around a fountain depicting Neptune rising from the water, planted near the door of the sitting room. "But I do take your point."

Lestrade leads us inside the sitting room, where Miss Beauchamp, and four uniformed officers wait. "My two constables, Collins and Anderson, who arrested Dr. Watson this morning."

I look at the two constables and wince at the memory of being tossed in the back of the police cab. "I have some vague recollection of your faces, gentlemen. I fear the rest is a blur."

"Collins and Anderson, eh?" Holmes steps closer to the two men, who are standing contritely in the corner, hats in hand. He nods at Anderson. "Your mother is… ah, Mrs. Clarkson, Dr. Watson's patient, correct?"

"Yes, sir," he whispers, in awe of Holmes' talent. "How did you know, sir?"

"Ears never lie, Watson," he says with a grim smile. He looks at Collins. "A true conspiracy that knows no bounds. The erstwhile driver of the carriage that brought Mr. Phelps to Baker Street earlier?"

"Percy is my cousin, Mr. Holmes," Constable Collins says, ducking his head. "He offered me and James here a few coins if we'd drop by the Oaktree Inn and roust Dr. Watson."

"I'm warning you, Mickey…" Percy lunges toward the constable, but Lestrade's hand on his chest stops him.

"None of that, now." Again, Lestrade's tone is hard and firm. "My own constables aiding and abetting criminals! And taking bribes! What were you thinking, man?"

"I don't know, sir," Collins says, keeping his eyes on the floor. "When Percy told me that Dr. Watson beat up a lady, I felt it was my duty to defend her honour."

"He's lying! I'll not stand here and be made a fool of in my own home!" Percy yells, pushing Lestrade's arm aside. "John Watson is a blackguard and a cad who trifles with women, and sets them aside like garbage. There need be no conspiracy on my part to have such evil deeds come to light! And what would I gain by doing so? The only conspiracy here is that the world is blinded by the trickery of this busybody who calls himself a detective!"

"Oh, Percival!" Miss Beauchamp cries. "The time for lies is finished."

"And just what is your part in this caper?" Holmes asks her.

She turns to me. "Dr. Watson, Percy had my maid put a sleeping draught in your port."

"But, why?" I ask, horrified at the thought that I was drugged. "To what end?"

"It was not supposed to go this far," she continues. "We were only going to punish you for my uncle's death. But, I can't let this happen!"

"Your uncle?" Lestrade looks to Holmes, then to me. "Who is your uncle?"

Miss Beauchamp bursts into tears and crumples into her chair. "Jonas Oldacre!"

I take in a sharp breath and look to Holmes. "The Norwood case? That was… what, four years ago?"

"Nearly five," Holmes supplies. He turns to Percy and favours him with a rather knowing look. "Ah… Watson, I do believe the final puzzle piece has fallen into place. Mr. Phelps-Binghampton is the spurious Mr. Cornelius, to whom Mr. Oldacre paid those large sums you found in his ledger."

I frown momentarily, attempting to recollect. "Oh, yes… I seem to recall him doing so to avoid paying large sums he owed to various businesses and such. I thought Mr. Cornelius was a false name Oldacre used to skirt his creditors."

"It's a pity your account of the matter is already in print, Watson," Holmes says, his tone wry with humour. "This would make a rather dramatic revelation."

"I will agree that I was Jonas' business partner," Percy says coldly, "but you speak in riddles regarding debts and such."

"Oh, indeed!" Holmes laughs loudly. "It would take very little to find that you were the recipient of those payments, Mr. Phelps."

"It's true," Miss Beauchamp says. "Even his name is fake. Percival Cornelius is his true name. Percy Phelps was taken from one of your tales, Dr. Watson, to impress you."

"Well, it most certainly didn't work, since I didn't realize it," I say, somewhat shocked at this turn of events.

"Of course not," Percy sneers. "I tried to befriend you, to no avail. You couldn't be bothered. Not even after I introduced you to Penelope."

"Unfortunately, you do not have the type of disposition that makes one want to befriend you," I sneer back. "You ingratiated yourself to the members of my club under false pretences… Should I feel remorse for not being more open to your overtures of friendship?"

"No man is an island, Mr. Watson." Percy shakes his head in mock sadness. "But what would you know of such things? You are the great chronicler of Sherlock Holmes-"

"And you are quite mad," Lestrade cuts in. "And I've heard quite enough from you. Miss Beauchamp, are you willing to swear in court that your fiancé was in league with Jonas Oldacre? And that he willingly bribed officers of the law in order to publicly shame Dr. Watson?"

"And," Holmes adds, looking around, "that he swindled Mrs. Langstrom out of her inheritance from her husband, Lord Langstrom, causing her to live hand to mouth, while he lives in this… Grecian nightmare?"

Percy bristles at this, but Lestrade's firm hand on his arm prevents him from making any remark.

"It isn't Percy's fault, really," Miss Beauchamp responds. "Penelope's aunt is Mrs. Lexington, Uncle Jonas' housekeeper… and mistress, if you will. She loved Uncle, and wanted to do anything she could to help him with his plan. Her share of the deal was to be substantial, but as you know, it came to naught. She was spared a hanging, but was sentenced to hard labour.

"A year into her sentence, twenty prisoners attempted to escape, but were caught and punished. During the scuffle, Margaret was injured, resulting in severe disfigurement. She went mad, was removed from the prison, and placed in Bedlam. All her income was seized, leaving Penelope without money. She was forced to seek a husband for financial security. Lord Langstrom was a cruel man, who had horrid vices, and when he died in shame, Penelope had no choice other than to accept Percy's evil scheme, if she wanted to continue to live at Langstrom manor."

"And why did you agree to marry Percy if you knew he was such an evil man?" I ask, pressing a handkerchief in her hands.

"It's the oldest story in the world, I'm afraid." She dabs at her eyes. "I was a young girl, and I fell hopelessly in love. I begged my father for permission to marry, but he refused. But because my father could never deny me anything, he betrothed me to Percy on his death bed. I did not know it at the time, but my father made it so that if I changed my mind, I would lose all I own, and end up in the penury. Or worse. And through all of this," she sighs, with a loving look toward Percy, "I still love him."

"How like a woman," Holmes observes.

"It is a woman's nature to love a man such as myself," Percy says, puffing his chest out with pride.

"Cad," I hiss at Percy, who is casually picking at his fingernails.

"I am guilty of no wrong doing," he says. "Call me a cad if you'd like, Doctor, but one cannot be arrested for it."

"You can be arrested for conspiracy and bribery," Lestrade says firmly. "And I'm most certain that the case of Jonas Oldacre has not gone beyond the arm of prosecution." He turns to the two constables. "And you two… you know the penalty for accepting bribes."

Constable Anderson swallows hard. "Sir… I… I would like to apologize to Dr. Watson for cuffing him on the neck."

"You're lucky he doesn't have you in court for bodily injury, you young cur," Lestrade says angrily. "And to think I believed your word over his! How shameful. A disgrace to the uniform, the both of you. Go back to the Yard and wait for me. Now."

The two men scurry away, and Lestrade hauls out his cuffs. "Percival Cornelius-"

"Percival Binghampton Cornelius, Junior," he corrects in a high-handed tone.

"Pardon me." Lestrade's tone is positively icy. "Percival Binghampton Cornelius Junior, I place you under arrest for conspiracy and bribery." He clicks the iron on Percy's wrists with a snap. "Down to the Yard with the lot of you, then."

"Just one moment, Lestrade," Holmes cuts in. "Before you go, I'd like to see Mrs. Langstrom, and I would like you there in a law enforcement capacity. Where is she?"

"In the sick room, with Dr. Davies," Miss Beauchamp says.

"Excellent," Holmes says, turning to leave the room. "If you would, Inspector…?"

Lestrade pushes Percy down on the settee, and fixes him with a glare. "I'm sure you won't be any trouble while I wait, but do let me remind you that you're under arrest, Mr. Cornelius, so don't attempt to leave or remove the cuffs." He motions to the two other constables who are standing guard over their fellow officers. "Don't let them move an inch."

"Yes, sir," they say in unison.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Percy says snidely. "And before you ask, Mr. Holmes, yes, Jameson is a real doctor."

Holmes whirls to face him. "Oh, I highly doubt that, Mr. Cornelius, seeing that he was under your employ." He motions to the door of the sick room. "Shall we?"

***

I shut the door of the sick room firmly, and look at the bandaged-covered body lying still on the bed. She moans in pain, and shifts restlessly. "Who is it? Who's there?" Her voice is raspy and hoarse, barely above a whisper. "Jim?"

"No, ma'am," Lestrade says. "It's Inspector Lestrade. I've brought Sherlock Holmes, and Dr. Watson with me.

Dr. Davies hurries in from the side room. "You have much nerve showing your face here, Dr. Watson!" His face is flushed with anger, and he comes toward me with balled fists.

Holmes steps between us, hands raised in protest. "Now, now, Mr. Davies, we come in peace."

"That's *doctor* to the likes of you!" he spits at Holmes.

"You were struck off four years ago, Black Jim Davies," Holmes continues. "And I do believe you guilty of duplicity, Mrs. Langstrom. Mr. Davies, unwrap those bandages, if you will."

"I shall do no such thing!"

Lestrade unfurls a sheet of paper. "I have a warrant that says you will. I have a legal right to observe and note her injuries so that I may determine whether or not Dr. Watson should be arrested. Undo the bandages."

Davies does so, removing the gauze slowly and carefully, until Penelope's face is revealed.

I gasp and take a step backward. "What the devil!"

Penelope's face is barely recognizable. Both eyes are blackened, her lips caked with dried blood, and her cheeks are smattered with dark bruises.

"Is that evidence enough?" Davies sneers. "Or would you care to see the scratches and such on her body?"

"Substantial bruising," Holmes observes, taking his glass in hand to look more closely at her face. "What have you given her for the swelling?"

"You're no doctor, Mr. Holmes," Davies argues. "Why do you want to know?"

"If my flatmate and biographer is a blackguard and cad, is it not my duty to see that Mrs. Langstrom receives the best medical care available? At Dr. Watson's expense, of course."

"Well…" Davies looks at me, then back at Holmes. "I suppose you are right in that respect."

"Wonderful." Holmes steps closer to the bed, and looks at Penelope with unmasked sympathy. "Dr. Watson caused these bruises?"

She nods slowly.

"Your injuries are such that it pains you to speak?" Holmes continues.

"Her throat is swollen from large hands about her throat," Davies says. "You can see the marks of his fingers quite clearly just above the jaw line."

"Indeed I can." Holmes peers at her throat through his glass again, then steps back. "It is my understanding that there are herbs that can reduce swelling. Perhaps a bit of sweet clover will help your throat." He turns to me. "Watson…?"

I open my bag and produce the small bottle of sweet clover. "A bit in some hot water will make a nice, soothing broth."

Holmes takes the bottle and shows it to Davies. "Just a pinch or two should do the trick."

Penelope thrashes about on the bed, kicking the coverlet aside. "No!" she shrieks, her voice full and rather high-pitched. "No! Keep that away from me!"

Lestrade looks at Holmes in bewilderment. "What is the meaning of this?"

"It would appear that Mrs. Langstrom's delicate condition prevents her from taking sweet clover, as it would do harm to her unborn child."

"What?" I gasp and grab hold of the doorknob for support. "What is this about, Penelope?"

"Patience, Watson," Holmes says softly, favouring me with a kind look. "Why don't you sit down, dear chap. You look as though you're about to-"

"I am fine," I cut in.

Though I am shocked at this turn of events, I must admit there is no better thing to see than Holmes unveiling the elements of the case. I sit down on a nearby settee, and wait.

 
Chapter Twelve