Chapter Text
My twilight years have been devoted almost exclusively to reminiscence. Specifically, to the recollection and recording of the seventeen years I spent as the sole companion of Mr. Sherlock Holmes, a man who now needs no introduction or explanation of his methods. To his occasional dismay, thanks in part to my writings, he is well known across practically the entire world.
Despite this fame, there is still much about the man that remains obscured from the public. For one, there are many of his cases which I have deemed not suitable of being either written down or published. For some, the revelation of certain facts would place the notable figures involved in a precarious position. Such is true for the adventure of the Translucent Pearl, or that of the Adventurous Princess. Of these, I still retain my encrypted notes and intend to put them to paper someday, although it will still be many more years until they may be distributed.
There are also those cases that I witnessed which ended in disappointment and failure, so much as to be unbefitting for public enjoyment. These included the case of the Three Falling Candles or the very unfortunate death of Madame Jeanne Malherbe. Alongside these tragedies of which I feel uncomfortable profiting from, there are also the innumerable cases that were so dull, easily solved or so borne of false superstitions that they are barely worth mentioning.
But apart from these singular events, there is the matter of the true nature of myself and Holmes’ relationship, of which I have taken great pains to disguise in my work. But no more. I have taken the decision to recount fully and without censure the truth of our relations, and how they came to be as they are now.
This is not without risk. Holmes himself is against me writing this, as he has always been remarkably cautious when the matter of our collective safety is concerned. But I have somewhat convinced him, as this account will be only seen by the two of us and then sealed away in the Bank of England. It will not be opened until one hundred years have passed. Then it may be read by what I hope will be a kinder world.
I can see him now, studiously tending to the bees through the window of my study, and I hope that he understands that I take this decision with upmost seriousness, and I hope that its culmination will bring him some joy as we approach the ten-year anniversary of the fate of Sophie Willis.
-
I will presume that the reader is already familiar with the main happenings involving Holmes and I, so I will not recount them again here. As it stands, my first meeting with Holmes took place much in the way I described. The main point of divergence from my telling and my actual experience is my feelings as they developed over the first years of my acquaintance with Holmes.
I had been aware at least since my schoolboy days that I was endowered with what are now termed ‘homosexual’ proclivities. I had a few trysts with other men in my youth, mostly during my time in the armed forces. I was, for some time, an avid patron of some of the more notorious bathhouses of London.
Upon returning to England, like many men of similar inclination, I endeavoured to quieten and suppress that part of my nature, in order to live a normal life free from the violence of law and society which threaten any man that choses to live freely. This became more difficult as my relations with Holmes evolved.
Behind the exterior of many challenging and bewildering eccentricities lies a noble man; one who is capable of great empathy, with also a keen sense of justice. He provided for me a way into adventure and intrigue that I would never have known without his interference. This was what first drew me to him, but his more hidden qualities became those that ranked the most highly in my mind and heart, which finally caused my affections for him to grow exponentially.
We worked very well together, and lived with a great amount of intimacy, although it never passed into anything physical, no matter how I might have liked it to. My feelings remained unseen and unspoken, even as Holmes grew ever more dependent on me.
It grew to be a kind of torture. To be so near him, so close and yet so far. To know that he held me in the highest regard, in his upmost confidence, yet I hid such an unnerving truth from him. He has little respect for the letter of the law, so I knew I had little to fear from him in that regard. Still, I kept a promise to myself and did not pursue any intimacies with men when we lived together, fearing that his powers of deduction would lead him to easily infer any such activity.
The real agony came when he spoke so often and dismissively of matters of the heart. It seemed impossible to me that he would ever return my love. Added to this, any admission of my feelings would, I thought, irreconcilably damage our friendship, a risk I could not ever take, for his companionship was the dearest thing to me in the world.
Before I proceed to the events that fully enabled us to live as we do now, there is one case I must recount, partly because it is a fairly entertaining adventure that I could never publish, partly because it illustrates a great change in our understanding of each other.. I must first apologise for its brevity, as it is less than half the length of my usual stories, but there are a great number of other affairs that drew my companion’s attentions that were similarly resolved by the man in so short a time, this remains one of the most important.
-
It must have been around the end of 1887, as it was the last winter before my marriage. Mr. Auguste Rose rushed into our rooms with an air of great urgency one morning, interrupting our breakfast.
‘Sir, you must help me! I am in terrible trouble!’ he declared.
He was well dressed, in his early twenties. With waves of blond hair, striking blue eyes and a delicate comportment, he made a fine example of the male sex.
‘Please, take a seat.’ Holmes, easily intrigued by such a cry for help, indicated a place on our settee while I went to order tea in order to calm the youth.
‘I was given your name by Syvester Carthe-Bourne.’ Said Rose. ‘Who assured me of your complete discretion. He said you would be more than willing to help me. You must, please, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Watson. I am a desperate man.’
‘Carthe-Bourne?’ I asked. The name was foreign to me and Holmes did not seem to recognise it either. I helped myself to his indexes, which I had previously organised alphabetically and found the name easily enough. Holmes’ only note on the man had been, ‘BM-resolved.’
I opened my mouth in order to ask him the meaning of this, but Rose interrupted me.
‘I am being extorted, to an amount I cannot possibly pay. I could ask my father for the funds, of course, but that would mean revealing my proclivities to him, a situation I’m sure you both understand the impossibility of.’
‘Please, Mr. Rose. Start at the beginning, and tell us your story in the most depth possible, so that we may be able to help.’ Holmes said.
‘Very well.’ The man reassumed a more tranquil air. ‘I have been at Oxford for the past two years. At the beginning of my studies, I made the acquaintance of a man by the name of Hartington. Ambrose Hartington. He is the son of a Baronet. Sir Eustace Hartington. Our coupling was almost immediate. We have been very happy together, with little to bother us.’
Holmes exhaled, having finally understood the purpose of Rose’s visit.
‘Watson….’ He began, surely intending to dismiss me.
‘I will of course look up Eustace Barington in Burke's Peerage. You have my assurance.’ I stated with a look to him I hoped expressed my support.
I watched Holmes’ reaction as I said these words. His shoulders deflated and a visible tension released from his body. He then became incredibly focused on the issue at hand, listening intently to Rose.
‘Who else knows of your association?’ He asked the young man.
‘We have a close circle of like-minded friends, but none of them could have….’
‘None of them are in need of money?’
‘To do such a thing to a…a…. a comrade. It is unthinkable!’
I found the Hartingtons to be a grand, respectable Norfolk family, with little in their history to scandalise. Barington was the eldest child of Sir Eustace and Lady Barington, who also had two young daughters, only one of which was out in society. I relayed this information to Holmes.
‘How long have your relations with Mr. Hartington been continuing as they do now?’ He asked.
‘For a year and a half, I think. We have been very careful, I can assure you. We have taken every precaution necessary.’
‘And what is the exact nature of the obstacle to your and Mr. Hartington’s happiness?’
‘Here!’ Rose retrieved from his pockets a letter folded in a haphazard manner. ‘It appeared at my digs in Oxford this morning, and ever since I have been panicked and have despaired greatly.’
Holmes took the letter and torn envelope from the young man and examined it thoroughly. It was addressed simply to Auguste Rose, with no stamps or post markings.
‘This was not posted?’ Holmes asked.
‘No. I found it at the foot of my door. I inquired around to ask if anyone had seen someone deliver it, but it must have been in the dead of night, as no one had seen such a figure.’
As the letter is no longer in my possession, I will not be able to re-create its contents accurately, I instead present here a facsimile;
Dear Mr. Rose,
I am aware of the nature of your relationship to Ambrose Barington. In order to avoid the great scandal that I could easily wreak upon you, I suggest you provide me a one-time payment of five thousand pounds. Please send the money to 2 New Street, Holt, before the 20th December. Also, if you have any affection for Ambrose, you will leave him alone.
A sum that even a gentleman like Rose would struggle to produce and he was given only a week to do so.
Holmes examined the letter with great care.
‘What do you make of this, Watson?’ he asked, almost out of habit.
‘It is well written, in a delicate hand.’ I answered.
Holmes was absorbed in the letter. ‘Note the fine quality of the paper, Watson. the rapid slope of the s, the way the ink smudges slightly at the beginning of every line.’
‘Have you seen the tear on the bottom right corner?’ I asked, whispering.
‘That was made by Rose. You saw how little care he gave to the letter when he presented it to us. But what I find curious is this slight ink mark at the top of the page. You will note that the paper is not of standard size, being cut an inch above. Cut with sewing scissors, no doubt. Yet there remains the edge of a letterhead in this drawing here. What do you make of it?’
Using a magnifying glass, I was able to identify what had been cut off. It was a sort of crude form with what appeared to be talons protruding from it, measuring barely a quarter of an inch.
‘It seems to be some sort of cat’s paw.’ I declared.
‘Exactly.’
‘Do you not find the use of Barington’s Christian name curious?’
‘Yes, it could indicate that writer knows the man intimately and has forgotten his or hers veneer of distance in the rush in which this letter was produced.’
‘You will help me?’ Rose whimpered, meekly, from where he had been thoroughly ignored for the past few minutes.
‘Of course we will.’ I said to him, as reassuringly as I could. ‘Holmes and I will do whatever we can. He is experienced in such matters.’
This seemed to calm him.
‘I must speak with Mr. Barington.’ Said Holmes.
‘I have not told Ambrose of this. I have hoped to spare him the stress.’
‘It is very important. This concerns him as well. I cannot fully ascertain the facts of the case without his involvement. He is named in this letter, I will remind you.’
‘Very well. He is staying with his family. They will be suspicious of strangers coming, but they know me well. You will have to accompany me.’
We made the arrangements to go to Norfolk the next day, with Rose agreeing to send a telegram to the grand house in advance. I gave him more encouragement as he left, the frightened little creature he was.
As I closed the door, Holmes continued his examination of the letter and Burke's Peerage, ignoring me completely. He lit his pipe.
‘Holmes……’ I began.
He took a deep breath, clearly apprehensive about what line of inquiry I was planning on taking.
‘This is not the first time you have dealt with such a case as this.’ I said.
‘With blackmail?’
‘With the blackmail of inverts.’
He looked up from the letter. ‘No, it is not. I have been engaged in such cases before.’
‘I see.’
‘That law is a blight. Its only advantage is fill the pockets of blackmailers! These men perform no act of harm to any one, no real crime. Yet they are punished for it! That is my opinion. If you are offended by it, then you are free to leave.’ He declared this as he made grand gestures with his right hand, making trails of smoke.
‘I am in complete agreement, Holmes.’
‘Oh. I see. Very good.’ He replied, meekly. In a moment, he had regained his composure. ‘You will accompany me to Norfolk, I hope?’
‘Yes, naturally. I would not leave your side for all the world.’
-
We alighted the next day in Norwich, where we took a carriage to Ketterlings, the family seat of the Baringtons. Rose joined us, emanating a great deal of nervousness, of which it was necessary I attempt to alleviate.
Ketterlings was a grand manor house in the Georgian tradition, with an impressive number of windows, perfectly maintained lawn and tasteful décor. We were welcomed by Lady Barington, the mother of Ambrose Barington.
A very attractive woman of about fifty, with greying hair and a round face, jewels on practically each of her fingers, especially her right hand, she was very agitated to see just Rose at her home, let alone the two strangers in his party. At first, it was difficult to convince her to allow us in, but Barington appeared, and, with full trust in Rose, was able to facilitate our entry. He was overjoyed to see his lover, whom he pretended to his family to only be his good friend. Barington was unsure at our inclusion into the visiting party, but Rose was able to assure him silently, explaining the entire situation to him in private.
Holmes was able to begin his investigations immediately, as Barington toured us around the property. Every room was placed under the detective’s intense scrutiny as he ran around, poking his head in every nook and cranny, asking a thousand questions on matters involving the family. There was a frenetic interview with Bartington, made as Holmes explored Ketterings.
‘Where is Sir Eustace?’ he asked as he turned a corner.
‘He is in Nice at the moment. He will be purchasing a townhouse on the Promenade des Anglais and he has been in France since September. He plans to be back before Christmas.’
‘With whom will he be travelling?’
‘His valet and a private secretary. Because of the nature of the trip, he preferred to journey with few servants and luggage.’
‘He takes with him the family stationary?’
‘I…well, yes, he always writes on the same paper for his personal and business affairs.’
‘With which hand, my good man?!’
‘I’m sorry… oh, his right hand, of course.’
‘And where does he write?’
‘In the library.’
‘Point me to it, and I will reach it in very good time.’
Holmes was off in a flurry to his destination, the three of us trailing behind.
‘Surely my house is not of interest in this case as Auguste is the one being targeted, not I?’ Barington asked as Holmes ran past us in a frenzy of research.
‘It will not do well to question his methods.’ I explained. ‘Despite the apparent lack of logical ordering, all will be revealed in good time.’
‘You are very familiar with his personality. The two of you have known each other a long time?’ he asked, casually.
‘We have known each other some eight years.’ I replied.
Barington smiled in admiration, a look he shared with Rose that revealed both men found that our long companionship represented a destination for them. They both clearly believed Holmes and I to be in the same intimacy as they. Since this misunderstanding allowed them to more fully trust us, I decided not to correct it.
‘Hah! There it is!’ Holmes cried out in the study. He leapt over the desk to where the three of us were conversing. ‘I must meet your sisters.’ He said to Barington, who appeared slightly perturbed by Holmes’ aggressive enthusiasm, but obliged him anyway, taking us to the drawing room where Violet and Isodora Barington were resting.
Violet was a young girl of just seventeen, yet already quite tall and striking, her older sister was also beautiful. Holmes, of course, had no time for admiring the women, and took one look at Isodora, who was embroidering, and dismissed her, focusing instead on Violet.
‘Have you finished your schooling, Miss. Barington?’
‘I am currently at Mrs. Broker’s Finishing School for Girls in Selby.’ The girl replied in slight awe and astonishment.
‘When did you return to Ketterlings?’
‘Late last night. I came from York on the 4:35 train.’
‘With someone to accompany you, I presume.’
‘I chaperoned her myself.’ Barington interjected. ‘I stayed in Selby overnight.’
‘Very well!’ said Holmes with some excitement, leaping from his seat. ‘Now, I must conduct an interview with Lady Elizabeth! Where is she?’
‘In the study, I believe.’ Said Barington.
With little regard to propriety, Holmes ran through the hallway, with the three of us following after him.
He threw the door to the study open in a rage.
‘Lady Barington!’ he yelled. The woman rose from her chair in fright.
‘You have committed a great offence, a horrid and malicious act against your own son!’
‘What is the meaning of this?’ she demanded.
‘I have here..’ with a flourish, he produced the offending letter. ‘A letter that you sent to Mr. Auguste Rose, blackmailing him for the sum of one hundred guineas! All for the offense of loving your own son!’
‘You have no proof of this claim.’ Said Lady Barington.
‘Mother!’ exclaimed Barington.
‘There is ample proof, here in this room!’ Holmes rushed to the fireplace and pointed to a stone engraving at the top of the fireplace. ‘And here!’ he said, taking another, mostly blank piece of paper, which he placed in front of her eyes.
‘What is this symbol in front of you?’ he asked.
Lady Barington retained her composure. ‘That is our family coat of arms.’
‘Ha! Ha! Watson! Will you please examine both the Barington coat of arms and the edge of the letterhead of the blackmail letter.’
I did as I was told. The Barington coat of arms, which appeared on both the stationary and above the fireplace, was in many ways, very similar to our country’s emblem. A shield featuring symbols of the old family, leant on by two lions on their hind legs on each side. On the right side, the lowest paw of a lion matched perfectly to the foot we had noticed on the blackmail letter. The quality of the paper was also identical.
‘This letter could only have written on this paper.’ I surmised.
‘Exactly! Only on the bespoke stationary of the fine old family of the Baringtons.’ Holmes tutted. ‘The cutting was very sloppy work, Lady Barington. You must have been in a rush.’
‘It could have been any person in this household.’ She protested.
‘Only a woman. Only a woman would have such a fine and delicate hand. And only an educated women. The fact that this woman was completing her task with a great deal of urgency by the smudging of the left side, indicating, what, Watson?’
‘That the writer must be left-handed!’ It was a deduction he had taught me before, and he smiled with pleasure when I used it.
‘Yes! A very rare condition, and not one that applies to Miss. Isodora, who embroiders with her right hand. As for Miss. Violet, she was too far away from Oxford to have delivered the letter the morning before last, as well as being far from the family study where the stationary is stored. Leaving only the lady of the house to have sent the letter! I noticed upon entering the house that the Lady Barington had a thick ring with a large emerald on the smallest finger of her right hand. One which must surely disturb the user when writing! You!’ He pointed to said Lady. ‘You wanted to scare Rose away, but without altering him to your real identity.’
Lady Barington had grown deathly pale. ‘I meant no harm.’
‘Hah!’ cried Barington in amazement.
‘Most mothers would simply pay off the offending individual.’ I said, having had some experience with this type of predicament in the past.
‘And to only have the cycle repeat again as Ambrose would find another lover?’ Lady Barington protested. ‘Besides, Rose’s family are wealthy. He would have no need for any more money and thus I would have no ability to incentivise him except to ask for a truly extortionate amount. No, I would have to scare him, in order for Ambrose to understand the risks involved in his behaviour. I know my son, and I know that only such a drastic method would have worked.’
‘How did you know about us?’ asked Rose.
‘I make my business to know the activities of all of my children.’
‘You have always inferred with matters that do not concern you! Your obsession with controlling us will lead us far away from here!’ Barington cried with great emotion. ‘If you expose Auguste, then I will leave to the continent and reveal all myself. That will please you greatly, I’m sure!’
‘I act only for your wellbeing!’ with this, Lady Barington barrelled out of the room.
Barington collapsed onto a chaise longue in a state of psychological exhaustion. Rose came to comfort him.
‘Is there anything more we can do?’ I asked.
Barington shook his head.
‘I must thank the two of you for your involvement.’ Said Rose. ‘But now we must try to deal with the outcomes of such a revelation. Privately. With the knowledge of the identity of the villain, I can insure my safety. I believe we may be able to find agreement of some sort, especially as Sir Eustace will soon return from the continent. He has always been the more level-headed of the couple, and is often able to bring his wife to reason.’
We left the charming location in time for lunch at a nearby public house.
‘It was the location of Holt, a Norfolk village, that first alerted me to the possible involvement of the Barington family in this adventure.’ Said Holmes as we walked away from the house, apropos of nothing. ‘I say that only to answer the question that was burning you, my dear Watson.’
In the train returning us to London, as he contemplated the country view outside of our carriage, which was empty save for us, Holmes remarked ‘Not one for your annals, Watson.’
‘I should think not.’ I replied. ‘Besides the fact it may get us and many others in trouble with the law, it lacks a satisfying ending in which the villain is served proper justice, which makes for the most compelling narratives.’
‘Do you think that Lady Barington deserved a greater sentence?’
‘She wished to enact a great harm. Admittedly I believe she rushed through its execution and thus did not consider its consequences. She did seem to believe that her intentions were good, although I have to disagree.’
‘She had little to worry about. With his money and social position, Barington would have been fairly well insulated from the terrible impacts that many inverts in this country suffer from. The great schools and universities of this country are in fact filled with them… You will not write down that I said that my dear Watson, I hope?’
‘I would not dream of it.’
We fell into silence for another few minutes, both absorbed in watching the world outside.
‘I was surprised…’ Holmes began. ‘When you reacted with some nonchalance to the facts of today’s case.’
I knew that this would be a crucial moment. I had thus far managed to evade Holmes’ observational abilities, but the wrong words could reveal my true nature, of which I still wished to conceal from him. Even if I knew it would not offend him, surely he would deduce how it affected my feelings toward him?
‘You forget that I have travelled around the world.’ I said. ‘I have met many people and seen a great deal outside of polite society.’
At this, I remember distinctly, the train stopped at the charming village of Brentwood. This name clings to my memory thanks to the words Holmes uttered next.
‘Do you think they will be happy?’
It took a few seconds for me to understand the meaning of his question.
‘Rose and Barington?’ I asked.
‘It must place a great deal of stress upon a couple, the threat of exposure. To never be fully welcomed in society in the true understanding of their situation.’
‘It is worth it. When the love is strong enough. All can be endured, in fact it must, the devotion and passion between two people must survive for the sake of the joy and companionship it brings them.’
‘But will it last?’
‘In the right circumstances, the love will last a lifetime.’
‘Have you ever known such an everlasting love?’
Lying to him came easily by that point.
‘I have not.’ I said.
This was not the last time Holmes would assist a homosexual against blackmail. It was a type of case he would always accept, regardless of complexity, challenge or the social status of the people involved. He insisted upon it. I saw this as simply an expression of his strong convictions, and admired him greatly for it. My fondness for him only grew.