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While holly is often thought of as being a festive decoration, it does, of course, grow outside of that specific period. Which means that although this story is a wintry one it did not take place at Christmas.
Although, to be fair, the origins did lie with the door wreath Mrs Maiden hung up just before Christmas. The wreath looked very pretty up to Christmas Day, but Christmas night the weather took a turn for the worse, and the wind and rain hammered at the cottage all night, so that on Boxing Day it was looking somewhat battered.
I would have been quite willing to let it remain for a day or two longer, but Holmes, who I knew was keen to dismantle it for a reason best known only to himself, argued that our housekeeper could not complain if it were removed. I warned him that that might be the case, but she would most certainly complain if he did not sweep up all the greenery once he had finished with his experiment.
Strangely enough he did heed my warning, although this might be as much to do with his having stepped on some leaves in his stockinged feet having returned from checking his hives.
It was about a ten days later that we had been invited for early evening drinks at the manor house which was the home of friends of Colonel Hayter. We had met them in the summer when visiting Hayter and they had intended to invite us to see them in the autumn. They had then been called up to town for several months, so our visit had been postponed, until finally we were invited for drinks in early January.
There was still the remains of daylight when we arrived at the manor house, and Holmes and I looked appreciatively at the gardens as we approached the front door. At least, I appreciated the way the gardener had succeeded in maintaining winter colour. Holmes no doubt had his own reasons for looking.
When we were in the drawing room, enjoying our drinks, one of our fellow guests expressed her disappointment at the absence of an elderly aunt.
“Yes, poor Aunt Felicity, she’s not been well these last few days,” our hostess replied. “We’ve persuaded her to eat a little fruit compote, but that’s all she can manage.”
Holmes drew me to one side. “Watson, would you recommend fruit compote to an elderly lady as being the best thing to eat?”
“Not generally. But if that was what she wanted, I would be inclined to let her.”
“And the other thing: would you recommend me eating holly berries?”
“No, certainly not! I doubt they’d do you much long-lasting harm, but you’d feel unwell for a few days.”
“And for a frail elderly lady?”
“Most definitely not! Why do you ask?”
“Did you notice the holly bushes at the front of the house?”
“Yes.”
“There were no berries on them. Didn’t that strike you as unusual?”
“The birds have been known to strip a bush.”
“But only once it gets very cold. And our holly bushes still have plenty of berries, and we’re not that far away.”
“You’re not suggesting the aunt has been given a diet of holly berries?”
“I think it more likely they’ve been mixed in with other fruits. I don’t doubt if we enquired of the cook, we’d find that the lady of the house has insisted she prepare her aunt’s food herself.”
I sighed. Sometimes it would be nice to have an evening out without Holmes finding complications. “What are you going to do?”
“We shall speak to the cook, and if I find any holly berries, and I suspect I will, then you must go to the old lady while I speak to our host.”
I agreed, albeit somewhat reluctantly. It was as Holmes feared. I found the lady in considerable distress and sent the maid to bring the hot milk I had requested the cook to prepare.
Shortly afterwards our hostess burst in complaining that the cook had refused to let her bring up the milk.
“Yes,” I replied. “Those were the orders I gave her.”
“But you have no right to do so!”
“I impressed upon her that I am a doctor and that it was important to follow my instructions to the letter.”
At that moment Holmes joined us. “Ah, Mrs Gayford, your husband is wishing to speak to you urgently in his study. Perhaps you could go and see him.”
The lady departed having glared at both of us.
Then Holmes turned to the old lady. “I’m sorry to tell you, madam, but your visit here will have to be cut short. Your nephew has agreed that in view of your current health problems it would be better for you to return to your own home tomorrow. I have arranged for a nurse to stay with you tonight, and until she arrives Dr Watson will sit with you.”
“Is that really necessary?” she asked.
“I think it will be wisest.”
I waited with my new patient until the nurse arrived. While perfectly competent, the nurse was not a lady I would recommend for her bedside manner, but she was highly regarded by many women who desperately needed some bedrest after giving birth, but whose husbands expected them to return rapidly to household tasks. And she was equally greatly feared by said husbands, so in the circumstances she was the ideal companion.
We returned to our cottage somewhat later than we had planned. Once we were home, I asked Holmes whether he thought the old lady would be safe overnight.
“Would you argue with Nurse Porter?” he replied. I shook my head. “Precisely! Yes, it was the usual tale: money unwisely invested and a refusal to curb their spending. Gayford expected to inherit his aunt’s property but was not prepared to wait for her death and had decided to speed it along. I suspect the old lady may well revise her will if she realises what was happening.”
“A good job you spotted the absence of holly berries.”
“Yes. One should never interfere with nature!”