Chapter One
The paper today contained news about the rise of spiritualism as families seek solace from the terrible losses of what is now often termed “The Great War.”
It is not the first time that this has happened. The words from the Bible: “The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be; and that which is done is that which shall be done: and there is no new thing under the sun,” frequently come to mind.
The newspapers have taken to fulminating against mediums and séances, bemoaning that they are taking advantage of the suffering and sorrow of others.
I cannot help but think back to a strange case involving a family of mediums that Holmes and I were drawn into in the last decade of the 19th century.
I was back in my old rooms at Baker Street at the time, my wife having gone to the country to nurse a sick friend.
It was a chilly, blustery day in late October when Miss Kitty Pappwell came to our door seeking Holmes’s assistance.
Mrs. Hudson showed Miss Pappwell to our rooms. “This is Miss Pappwell, Mr. Holmes,” said Mrs. Hudson. “She has come to consult with you and Dr. Watson.”
The lady would have been in her mid-to-late twenties. She was petite, standing around five feet and three inches tall. Miss Pappwell was well-dressed; stylish but not fashionable.Her hands were encased in soft leather gloves that I took to be made of the finest kid skin in a concession against the chill. She had fine blonde hair and blue eyes that gave her an almost doll-like appearance. It was an appearance only. Miss Pappwell’s gaze was forthright as she looked from my friend to me and back again.
“Mr. Holmes,” she said. “I wish to employ you.”
Holmes gestured to her to take a seat. “In what capacity, Miss Pappwell? I warn you now, I do not involve myself with intrigues of the heart.”
“Such intrigues do not concern me, Mr. Holmes. I wish for you to investigate a murder.”
“That is surely the purvey of the police.”
“It would be, Mr. Holmes, if the police believed it was murder.”
“And they do not?”
Miss Pappwell shook her head. “No.They believe that my aunt committed suicide.”
“And you do not?”
“No.My Aunt Amaryllis would not have done such a thing.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but the lady cut me off.
“No, Dr. Watson. You must trust me on this. I know my aunt. We had made plans to visit an exhibition of the works of the artist Robert Anning Bell for the day after she died.”
Holmes looked thoughtful. “I agree that it is unlikely that your aunt would have made such plans with you if she had intended to take her own life.” He settled back comfortably in his seat. “Tell me everything, Miss Pappwell. Do not leave out a single detail, no matter how small.”
“My aunt, Amaryllis Winterbottom, was the widow of my mother’s brother, Cornelius Winterbottom. Uncle Corny was a lawyer. He was a partner in the practice of Smythe, Hastings and Winterbottom in the City.When he died, Mr. Smythe and Mr. Hastings bought his share of the practice from Aunt Amy. This money, with what Uncle Corny had left her, enabled my aunt to live comfortably.”
“Were there any children?” Holmes asked.
Miss Pappwell shook her head. “It was a great sadness to my aunt and uncle that they could not have children. My mother had eight children, of which I am number five. I gravitated towards my aunt at an early age. My mother considered me too free-spirited and too curious. Aunt Amy actively encouraged me to question the world around me.”
“Who benefits from your aunt’s death?” I asked.
“I do,” Miss Pappwell replied. “I am my aunt’s sole heiress.”
“Tell me of the events that led up to your aunt’s demise,” Holmes said.
“My aunt had remained in the home that Uncle Cornelius had bought for them when he became a partner in the legal practice.”
“Where is this house?” Holmes asked.
“It is close by Lincoln’s Inn Fields. My aunt liked the bustle of London, and it was close enough to the City to be convenient for my uncle.”
My friend nodded. “Pray continue.”
“My aunt was much involved with good works, mostly to do with education.Being an educated woman herself, she felt that a good education gave a person an advantage in life. She never stopped learning. Aunt Amy was deeply interested in people. How they thought and why they did the things they do. You understand?”
Holmes nodded again. “Indeed, Miss Pappwell, the workings of the human mind are quite possibly the most interesting puzzle of all.”
“My uncle died almost three years ago. About six months ago a friend of my aunt’s suggested that she might like to visit a medium. She said that even if the medium was a fake and uncle did not make an appearance, it would be a good opportunity to observe.”
“What did your aunt think of this?” I asked.
“She was quite taken with the idea of observing. Aunt Amy told me that she had no need to hear from Uncle Corney, but that her friend’s suggestion had merit.”
“The friend’s name?” Holmes asked, motioning for me to make a note of it.
“Mrs. Felicity Hazelwick. They have been friends since they were young girls. I have her card in my bag.” Miss Pappwell picked up her reticule and removed a card from it. I wrote down the Kensington address and handed the card back.
“My aunt began to ask around as to which medium would be good to visit. In the course of her enquiries, she came across the Loxworth family. They are something of a sensation, but unusual for clairvoyants, I am led to understand.”
“In what way?” Holmes asked. “Pray forgive my ignorance, unless such people are outright frauds, they do not often come to my attention.”
“That is understandable,” Miss Pappwell said. “The clairvoyant mediums are three sisters. A set of twins and an older sister. They are managed by their brother. You commit to six sessions: two with each medium. The seances are held at the Loxworth home in Bloomsbury. A person may attend only six sessions.Repeat visits are forbidden. They will also not allow family members of former sitters to attend.”
“I admit that that is indeed unusual,” Holmes said. “I should have thought that, in the usual course of things, repeat visits would be encouraged. If only to fleece more money from the gullible flock.”
Miss Pappwell raised her eyebrows. “You consider all clairvoyants to be frauds, Mr. Holmes?”
“Let us just say that in the course of my work I have never encountered a genuine one,” Holmes replied.
Miss Pappwell nodded and returned to her story. “My aunt applied and was accepted. It was during her third séance that she learned why the Loxworths had become such a sensation.”
“And why is that?” Holmes asked softly.
“One of the clairvoyants has a guide that comes through. Not at every séance, but at enough that his presence is feared.”
“Feared? Why so?” I asked.
“They call him the Messenger of Death,” Miss Pappwell replied. “And he comes through only to tell one of the sitters that they are going to die. Moreover, he always gives a date of death.”
Holmes gave her a shrewd look. “And this messenger came to your aunt?”
“He did.”
“And told her that she was going to die?”
“He did.”
“And your aunt’s reaction to this twaddle?”
“She laughed in the medium’s face and stalked out of the séance. Aunt Amy sent for me the next day and told me what had happened. She refused to take it seriously. Indeed, she was scornful of the entire thing. That is when we made the arrangements to go to the exhibition.”
“A brave woman,” I commented. “I am not sure that I would have the courage to laugh in the face of someone who had prophesied my death.”
“The day your aunt died?” Holmes asked softly.
“It was the day she was told it would be,” Miss Pappwell responded flatly.
“How did your aunt die, Miss Pappwell?” Holmes asked.
“According to the police surgeon she drank poison. I am afraid that I do not know what poison. Which is why the police believe her death to be suicide.But they are ignoring several points that I have brought to their attention.”
“And those points are?” Holmes asked.
“My aunt was found sitting in an armchair in her parlour. There was nothing near her that could have held poison.No cup. No glass. There is also a piece of jewellery missing. It is a tear drop ruby brooch that was one of the last gifts that Uncle Corney gave her.”
Holmes sat in silence for a few moments. He looked across at the young woman. “Very well, Miss Pappwell, I shall take your case. I shall need from you a detailed description of the missing item, and your permission to access the house.”
Miss Pappwell reached into her reticule again. “You have both, Mr. Holmes. I wrote out a description of the missing jewellery.” She withdrew a sheaf of papers from the bag. “Here it is, along with the names of the police involved. I have included my own address as well.Please come to me when you wish to see the house. I have the keys.”
Miss Pappwell paused, and then said, “I am afraid that I do not have details for the Loxworths. I know only that they live in Bloomsbury. There was nothing pertaining to them in my aunt’s house. Not even a calling card.”
“That is of no matter, Miss Pappwell. Such information can be easily acquired.”
The young lady rose to her feet. “Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I am much reassured that there will be justice for my aunt with you taking the case.”
“You are too kind, Miss Pappwell,” Holmes murmured, as he showed the lady to the door.
Returning to our rooms he turned to me, a slight smile on his face, “Well, my friend, it looks as if, once again, the game is afoot.”
I took my usual seat and looked up at my friend. “The Messenger of Death? You intend to take on the supernatural?”
Holmes waved his right hand in a dismissive gesture. “Bah! The Messenger of Death will prove to be mummery, no more than that. No, Watson, we are dealing with a very human murderer.”
“How can you say that?”
“I am confident that if such a messenger from the divine or otherwise were truly making an appearance, then the deceased would not have been poisoned.Poisoning is such a prosaic way to die.”
“You would expect something more theatrical?” I asked, amused despite myself.
“I would expect something a little less open to obvious murder,” Holmes replied quietly.
I nodded. “What do we do first? Do we talk to the police officer in charge?”
Holmes consulted the papers that Miss Pappwell had given him. “I do not think so. The attending officer was Inspector Miles Lovell of E Division. I do not know the man. Let us not challenge his views until we have a little more to go on.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed.
“We need more information on Mrs. Winterbottom. I therefore suggest that we visit the offices of Smythe and Hastings, as well as the home of Mrs. Hazelwick. After that, I know someone who will mostly likely be able to assist us with the elusive Loxworth family.”
I turned from where I was removing my coat from the stand to ask, “Your brother or Langdale Pike?”
“Well done, Watson!” Holmes said with a smile. “On this occasion, I think Langdale Pike would be more useful.Unless the Loxworths are a threat to Queen and country, I very much doubt Mycroft will have expended the energy to have them watched.”
