Chapter 1

There is hardly a case, which involved my friend so personally and in such private a manner, as did the following account. It was several months after Holmes had returned from his three-year-long journey that one late October evening, we sat comfortably together in front of the fireplace. My friend had convinced me, that during my wives convalescence, which she spent together with her trusted friend Mrs Forester in Torquay, I should return to my old lodgings at Baker Street. It had been a trying day at the practice, which I currently shared with Doctor Verner. I missed my wife and I was only too glad, to just sit and listen to my friend playing his violin, which he currently did. There where times, when I found his fiddling a bit trying for my nerves, but that night he had chosen to play some recognisable pieces and not just reflect upon his mood. But this serene atmosphere was suddenly interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.

"Are you expecting anyone?" Holmes asked, putting down his Stradivarius.

"No, not I," I answered.

A moment later there was a tap on our living room door and the maid brought in a man of some height and substance. He wore a grey tweed suit, an ulster and a brown bowler hat and looked every inch the country squire. In his arms, he was carefully carrying a laundry basket.

"Sir C..." the maid tried to announce but was interrupted by the man himself.

"Holmes, I do need your help! I am quite at a loss what to make out of this." the man cried out, pushing himself past the startled girl, clutching the basket as if it contained something of immense value.

My friend raised an eyebrow, surprised at the familiarity with which the man spoke. I could see his eyes dart over the man.

"I see you arrived by train from Lewes early today, with the original intention of returning there again by afternoon. But since you are still here and feel the need to consult me at this late hour, something must have detained you and your return has become less certain. And since I doubt very much, that you have started out carrying that basket, I come to the conclusion, that it is the very reason you have knocked on my door."

"Well, I have read of your observations and deductions, that is why I am here. But I can see, that you do not remember, where we have met before." the man spoke, placing the basket carefully onto our dining table. "Well, I assume I have changed a bit since we have last seen one another. You certainly did. You must have grown at least a foot and a half, if not more. And I could hear downstairs, that your violin lessons did pay out after all. Mine did not. You might remember the day when I tried the upstroke so vigorously that I stabbed Mr Rupert, who stood behind me in the face with my bow. He never trusted me with anything again after that and decided that a piano would be a safer instrument for me to play."

"Cedric Stephrey!" my friend cried out. "Yes, I remember that incident well. But you are not here to talk about times past. So what is so pressing a matter, that you had to disturb two decent citizens in their well-earned recreation?"

"It indeed has something to do with this basket. - Or rather with what is in it." the man fidgeted.

"What is it then? An infant? Or..."

"It is indeed a child." our visitor interrupted my friend's thoughts. "How did you guess?"

"I do not guess. I conclude." Holmes corrected him. "You carried the basket in an unusual manner. Normally one would use the handles – unless one does not trust them enough and hence holds it underneath. That implies either something rather heavy or something quite fragile. Heavy it was not since you could easily carry it around, so it was something fragile. If it had been a vase or china figurine, it most probably would have been put into a box stuffed with straw – but it would have been my second suggestion - a box might not have been at hand. Anyway, the first assumption led to a small creature. A kitten or puppy would hardly suffice to knock on my door at this time of day, since it is well past nine, so the most likely content of the basket would be a baby. Is it yours?"

Sir Cedric looked abashed. "No, it is my sister's. I believe."

"You believe? What has she to say about it? I dare to assume she is an unmarried sister by the awkwardness of the situation."

"Well, that is the very thing, she has left the baby girl in my care and is gone. I don't know, where she is currently."

"That indeed is odd behaviour," Holmes admitted, walking over to the basket and pulling aside the blanket carefully. A tiny head with a shock of dark hair was revealed. The little girl was sleeping soundly, slightly kicking her feet and waving her puny fists in her untainted dreams.

"The baby must be very young still." the Holmes observed.

I got up to join him. Holmes was right. The child was tiny as it lay there, but she seemed to be absolutely healthy and well cared for. She could certainly not be older than a few days. I told the two men.

"But should a woman not rest after she has given birth?" a concerned Sir Cedric asked.

I nodded. Even though lately some doctors had come to the conclusion, that bed rest was actually unnecessary, even those thought it essential, that a woman should not overexert herself during the weeks following her confinement.

"You said, your sister left the child in your care, she hence must have communicated with you. How?"

"Oh, I have received a letter yesterday afternoon – here it is." the squire answered, handing Holmes a neatly folded letter.

"Dear Imogen," Holmes read aloud, "I am called away for a few days, could you please take care of little Lou, while I am away. Martha has asked for her holidays and just as well, I would not want to leave the responsibility resting on her shoulders for too long. If you could come to London tomorrow with the earliest train possible, I would greatly appreciate it. If need be, take Cedric into confidence. It's hardly any use hiding it any longer. Love Harriet - Imogen is your wife, I presume."

Sir Cedric answered in the affirmative.

"So how did the letter end up with you? Is it not possible that there has been a great misunderstanding?"

"Holmes, a misunderstanding is exactly what I am hoping for. As for your first question – my wife was called away almost four weeks ago to take care of her mother. She had a stroke and it does seem she will not recover. And then there is Viola as well, that is my wife's sister. She has suffered from brain fever when she was a child and also needs a lot of care. Apart from short messages, I have no news from my Imogen. Which is hardly surprising since I trust her to be kept extremely busy. All my wife's mail I put on her writing table it is just that Hattie's letter was as an express and I took the liberty to open it for my wife since it did appear to be a matter of some urgency and required prompt attention, which my wife at the moment was unable to give."

"Who did you think little Lou was?" I wondered, reading the epistle over again.

"On her last visit, my sister spoke of getting herself a dog. There have been a couple of burglaries around where she lives and as she lives on her own aside from a young maid that also sleeps in the house. She thought it a sensible plan to guard herself against any evil that might arise. I had thought little Lou was a puppy."

"Where does she live?" the detective wanted to know.

"Chiswick."

"Ah, the Chiswick Chiseller's, the police calls them. I am happy to say, that it has gone quiet there again lately. They seemed to have taken advantage of the summer vacations and since then have kept their heads low. I dare say a dog might be a wise thing though for two – well three young ladies, actually."

He wrapped the blanket around the little creature and sat back down in his chair.

"Please Cedric, take a seat." he offered and then asked me, to organise some tea. I rang the bell and the maid appeared.

"Could you not simply ask your wife about the child?" Holmes inquired.

"I have not thought about it, I have to admit."

Holmes raised an eyebrow and then shook his head in exasperated disbelieve.

"Well, it would have been the most obvious step to take, since your sister has quite clearly indicated in her letter, that your wife is in her confidence."

"You think so? Perhaps I could send her a telegram."

The maid arrived with the tea tray and as she put the tray down I could see her stare at the baby, that was still sleeping in its basket atop the dining table, in amazement. My friend followed her gaze with knitted brows.

"Jane, could you please take care of the little one for the moment? Mrs Hudson will be all too happy to look after her as well, I am sure." Holmes finally asked. Or rather ordered, since there was no room for any refusal.

"Sir." the girl curtsied and carefully picked up the sleeping child as if she had done so a thousand times before. "I have four younger brothers and three younger sisters. It will be no bother at all," she explained her aptitude, smiling at the child in her arms.

"So it seems. Do you think, you could look after her till tomorrow, perhaps?" Holmes took the opportunity.

"Sure, if Mrs, Hudson does not mind."

"I'll take care she does not."

A curt nod followed and she was out of the door.

"What is it with women and babies?" Holmes shook his head. "Please, help yourself."

For several minutes we sat in silence, drinking our tea.

"I think I might just dispatch the telegram right now and then leave for Chiswick and come back in the morning." Cedric Stephrey finally said, getting up from his chair.

"There are some telegram forms in my desk drawer." I offered and so he sat down at my desk to write his message.

"Do you think this will suffice?" he looked up after a few minutes. "Dear Imogen, Hattie has left a child in my care. Could you please enlighten me as to what is going on with her and where she might be? Cedric"

"It might be a little blunt, but then again, I do not know your wife. And you said, she is extremely busy, so I reckon she will appreciate it's shortness. I think it should give you the information needed anyhow. - If she indeed has it."

"And you are certain, your housemaid will be able to look after the child until tomorrow?"

"That should be the least of your worries. She has managed to survive in her position for more than half a year now – if she was not reliable I can assure you, my landlady would have gotten rid of her already. Anyhow, in case there is a problem, Mrs Hudson will be there as well and of course, we have a doctor at hand." Holmes assured, picking up his violin again.

xxx

It was almost midday when Holmes' old schoolfellow arrived again at Baker Street. His face was grave and the groove on his forehead was more prominent than the night before.

"No good news then, I suppose," Holmes said as soon as he had laid eyes on the man.

"No." The large man slumped down onto a chair, tossing a dispatch in Holmes' direction.

"Dear Cedric, I am at a loss as to what to say. Harriet has not taken me into confidence, but she looked decidedly peaky last time I saw her – that was in June. I did not think any of it then, but perhaps it would explain a lot if she had been expecting. I was always tired then, as you might remember. But how she could be so careless, I do not know. I cannot believe it of her. There might still be another possibility I am sure. She used to help at a house for destitute women in Lisson Grove, perhaps it is a child left in her care from there. Thinking about it and knowing your sister, I do honestly believe, that that is the more likely option. - I so hope it is. The place is called Saint Anne's if I remember it correctly. I am sorry to be not more useful, love Imogen" he read aloud again.

"Have you ever heard of Saint Anne's?" Sir Cedric asked the two of us. I shook my head, but Holmes, knowing London better than hardly any other man I knew, nodded thoughtfully.

"Yes, I have. It's a place where women can go to give birth. They either try and set up mother and child with a charitable family or find suitable adoptive parents."

"Needless to say," I interjected, "that there are more children than charitable families."

"Yes, needless to say so."

"Then perhaps we should go there?" the desperate brother asked.

xxx

It was obvious that Sir Cedric was appalled by what met his eyes. The destitution and wretchedness of the place must be in stark contrast to the rolling hills around Lewes or the cosy homesteads of Chiswick. Most people visiting London and sometimes even the ones living there are never aware of these places within a few furlongs of their accommodations and residences. Places where people lived in homes that could only be described as being hovels and rattraps; among dirt, refuse, excrement and desolation. With no sanitary facilities worth being called thus and shabby water pumps to supply them with the most essential of liquids. The alehouses where dingy places where crime was strive and prostitution a common sight.

Saint Anne's was a moderate sized building in one of the narrow side lanes. It also was in odd contrast to its surroundings. It was kept in decent shape, no peeling paint or grubby windows, but a comfortable primness that seemed strangely inviting in this desolate part of town. As we entered, we found ourselves in a small but snugly warm waiting room, heated by an iron stove on the wall opposite the entrance door, next to a large and currently deserted desk. Every one of the about ten chairs was occupied and a few of the women where clearly due to give birth. I could see my two companions get a bit uncomfortable at the prospect of possibly being present at such an event. A young woman, clearly in charge of the waiting room entered through a door to our right and seeing the three of us, looked slightly irritated.

"Sir's, how may I help you? This is a hospital strictly for women." It was the polite way to attempt to throw us out, but Holmes ignored the insolence and instead answered what was actually intended to be a rhetorical question.

"We are here to inquire after a Miss Harriet Stephrey."

"Never heard of her."

"But she is supposed to help out as a volunteer." Sir Cedric insisted.

"I could have a look at the register, but I am sure I have never heard of her. Stephrey..." she trailed off, walking over to the desk.

"As I have said, there is no volunteer of that name." She said after a while having consulted the not overly thick volume.

"Could it possibly be, that she has adopted one of the children from here?" Holmes dug deeper.

"We do not give children to unmarried women – or baby farmers for that matter. Doctor Stephens has made sure of that. And now, please excuse me, since Doctor Stephens has been called away to an emergency three days ago, we are short staffed."

"Doctor Stephens is the head doctor?" Holmes asked.

"Yes. And now unless you know a Doctor who might be willing to help us out here, I must ask you to leave. Mrs Fuller, if you will follow me please."

An older woman got up from her seat and with a weary smile walked after the young nurse, the signs of chronic syphilis clearly showing on her wrinkled face.

With a sigh, I took off my overcoat and my frock coat and rolled up my sleeves.

"Watson?" Holmes looked at me and then nodded approvingly. "Perhaps old friend, you might be able to find out something about Miss Stephrey after all."

I followed the two amazed women into the recesses of the small hospital.

xxx

When I returned home in the evening Holmes was alone, pouring over a medical volume. Cedric Stephrey had left for his own home again together with baby Louise.

"Have you found out something?" I inquired.

"I think so, and yet, I am still at a loss as to what to do with my findings. - This book was written by a Doctor Stephens and I presume it is the very doctor who heads Saint Anne's."

"Oh, I know that book and the author, aside from Sir Owen he is one of the best men in this field. I never thought he would work in such a place, but it makes sense. A very polite and humble chap he is."

"You have met Doctor Stephens then?" my friend asked eagerly and surprised.

"No, I have never met him. But I had a case of a young woman suffering from an ovarian cyst and I wrote to him asking for his expertise. His advice helped to save her. That makes it indeed even more remarkable that he works at a place like that. Sounds as if he could take his pick or even set up practice on Harley Street."

"Yes, I agree. This book is very well written, I was surprised to even find a chapter dedicated to the pathological signs of rape and abuse." Holmes closed the book and pulled two neatly folded sheets of paper out of his pocket.

"After we left you in Lisson Grove, we, of course, went to Chiswick. I had a good look around the house, Watson, and I found this." he handed me the papers. "Read them."

Dearest Reymond,

if I may call you so - and I think I just might, since it took me so much trouble to find out your first name - but I must tell you just how much your letter touched me and how ardently I would like to meet you. I never dared to dream, you would answer my note and you have helped me so much with your advice and your sound and clear words that I just have to show my gratitude to you in person.

You just need to tell me where and when we could see each other and I will make sure to be there. You seem to hide a lot behind your work and I would dearly love to be the one person, who brings you into the light.

In loving admiration

Caroline Briggs

"Who is Caroline Briggs?"

"She is an opera singer. Quite good, but her voice is lacking emotion." Holmes replied.

"Perhaps Doctor Stephens could change that." I quipped.

"Read the other letter."

Dear Miss Briggs,

the letter I have written to you was in a strictly professional way and I beg you to refrain from any further pursuance of your seeming admiration for my person. I can assure you that I am by no means the man you take me to be. I am neither hiding nor do I desire a life in the limelight. I am glad I could help you and will do so again if there is the professional need for it, but unless it is concerning your health I do not wish any further communication.

Yours respectfully

R. H. Stephens

"Admittedly it does not appear as if he is willing to alter Miss Briggs lack of vocal emotion," I agreed. "But what do you see in these letters? Apart from the confirmation that he is a polite man. - I wonder how many men would have rejected such an impertinent offer in such a noble but firm way."

"What I see in these letters? Nothing." Holmes lit his pipe thoughtfully before continuing. "It is more the fact, that I found both letters on Miss Stephrey's desk. And that Reymond is spelt in a peculiar way, don't you think?"

Aghast I stared at the two sheets of paper now spread out on the table in front of me.

"But why would Miss Stephrey have Doctor Stephens' personal correspondence in her house? Do you suspect them to have an affair?"

My companion smiled pensively, reaching for another letter.

"Here, Watson, the letter that was addressed to Lady Imogen."

I read the already familiar words, failing to understand the significance in regard to the other two epistles.

"It is the exact same handwriting, Watson." Holmes enlightened me.

I compared the letter with the one from Caroline Briggs, but could not see much familiarity.

"The exact same handwriting than Doctor Stephens'"

I stared at the two letters in disbelieve. But Holmes was right. It was the same handwriting, energetic, sharp, intellectual.

"I have to admit, I have rarely seen a female handwriting looking this strong and almost masculine – and yet, if you look closely there is elegance and grace. I have to admit, I am intrigued by Sir Cedric's sister. Or perhaps I should say, by Doctor Stephens."

"Are you implying, that..." I stared at the man opposite of me.

"Yes, Watson, I am implying that Harriet Stephrey is Doctor Reymond H. Stephens."

"But how? And why?"

"Watson, you must be aware, that women are allowed to study medicine."

"Of course. But I have actually never seen a woman in practice."

"Would you chose a female doctor as your medical consultant?" Holmes asked with a smirk.

"It would be indecent, no doubt!" I retorted.

"But you are treating female patients as well as male ones. Where is the difference?"

"That is something completely different, Holmes."

"Really? I disagree."

"Would you go to a woman doctor?" I could not resist asking.

"Yes, if she is a good doctor, I would."

"Then it is a shame, Doctor Stephens has specialised in gynaecology and childbirth."

"Yes, it does not appear likely that I will ever require her aid unless I turn out to be a medical wonder." he laughed. But then, turning serious again continued:

"I have written a note to Saint Anne's only minutes before you arrived to establish if my deductions regarding Doctor Stephens' sex are actually correct, but that still leaves us with the problem where to find her."

"No, Doctor Stephens has been called to Winchester. There seemed to have been an emergency of some sorts. That is what I could gather during the afternoon."

"Excellent, then we have solved the first part of the puzzle."

Half an hour later Holmes' theory was confirmed.

"So that only leaves the question if little Lou is her child or not," I remarked over a light supper.

"I am pretty certain she is one of her patients, Watson," Holmes answered looking up from one of the evening papers.

"Watson! Look at that!" he handed me the paper.

Mysterious disease killing infants in Winchester, the headlines read.

"Good gracious!" I exclaimed after reading the article, shocked.

Almost thirty children had died within a week, all within the same poverty-stricken district of Winchester. The officials had tried to keep the epidemic as secret as possible, till finally, it had carried off the baby daughter of a merchant and councillor, who lived in a part of town bordering the affected area and by now, the whole city was in panic. Parents fled, hoping to bring their children to safety, fingers were pointed for not raising an alarm any sooner and all reason seemed to have disappeared.

In my mind, I pictured the lonely figure of a woman with long flowing hair and a white gown trying to restore sense and health. And as I fell asleep she slowly turned to my lovely Mary.