The Adventure at Old Basingstoke: A Sherlock Holmes Pastiche

By Kathleen Kaska

 

 

In the many cases in which I cooperated with my friend Sherlock Holmes over the years of our association, none began as chaotically as the Old Basingstoke case. Holmes and I had just returned from an exhausting adventure in Dartmoor, where he had found what was to many, a local hero. Silver Blaze, the missing star racehorse owned by Colonel Ross, had miraculously reappeared to win the Wessex Plate as if my friend had waved a magic wand.

Our return trip, with Colonel Ross in tow, was not without incident. By the time we reached Clapham Junction, Holmes had explained the extraordinary links in his chain of reasoning that led to the return of the horse and had issued an invitation for the Colonel to join us in Baker Street for a cigar. We expected to be at Victoria in a mere ten minutes. However, a problem with a fire earlier in the day along the tracks had resulted in train delays. Rather than waiting for the delayed train to Victoria Station, we got off at Clapham Junction. Ross left us there, and Holmes and I made the six-mile trudge to Baker Street, partly by cab and some by foot. I went immediately to bed, but Holmes was still energetic, as the lethargy that ordinarily followed a case had not yet set in. I said goodnight and left him working his way through a stack of mail and newspapers.

The next morning, I wanted nothing more than to rise long after the sun was well in the sky. Unfortunately, that was not to be. A loud pounding woke me. I stumbled out of bed, almost knocking a water pitcher from my nightstand. I knew it was not Holmes. He never bothered to knock. I donned my dressing gown and threw open the door to find our landlady, Mrs. Hudson, in hysterics.

“Oh, Dr. Watson, please come at once, for Mr. Holmes has truly gone mad.”

The poor lady had no need to say more, for the smell of the acrid smoke filled the staircase. “Alert the fire brigade, Mrs. Hudson,” I shouted. I ran down into a billowing black cloud wafting in from the kitchen. I pushed open the door to find Holmes waving a dishtowel toward the open window. “No worries, Watson. The oven fire has been extinguished.” His efforts resulted not in clearing the air but rather in causing a white dust storm to whirl. He was barely recognizable in that he was dusted in flour from head to foot.

“Good lord, Holmes. Mrs. Hudson is correct. You have lost your mind.”

“On the contrary. I’m enjoying myself immensely, and with much satisfaction, I completed my experiment. Help Mrs. Hudson tidy her kitchen while I do the same with my appearance. I suspect we will receive a visitor at any moment.”

Holmes disappeared up the stairs as an urgent rap sounded at our door.

“Wonderful!” he shouted from the landing. “Right on time. Please let Miss Lily Chambers in. Mrs. Hudson, we’ll have tea!”

“Tea? Dr. Watson?” Mrs. Hudson looked as if she were about to swoon as she regarded her kitchen.

“Never mind tea, Mrs. Hudson. I’ll tend to our visitor.” I opened the door to a lovely, fair-headed woman with the most striking blue eyes, the color of cornflower. “Mr. Holmes, you received my letter?”

“Please come in. I am Dr. Watson. Mr. Holmes will be in shortly. I am sorry, but we seem to have had an accident in the kitchen.

“Oh, my.” She waved her hand in front of her face. “I do hope everything is all right.”

“The situation looks worse than it is. I assure you. You are Miss Chambers?”

“Yes, I’m Lily Chambers. I come from the village of Old Basingstoke. I do hope Mr. Holmes will help me despite my having troubled him so urgently.”

I led the young lady to our sitting room and suggested she take the open window seat as her eyes began to water. “I’m afraid we won’t be able to serve tea.”

“I do not wish for tea.” She coughed. “Perhaps water.”

I fanned the room with a magazine and poured her a glass of water. Holmes dashed in, unchanged but with a freshly washed face.

“Please accept my apologies for not responding to your letter. Dr. Watson and I have been in Devonshire and have only returned last night, upon which I found your letter waiting. I hope your stay at the Bisbey Inn last night was pleasant. After your long walk to the train station yesterday, you must have been exhausted. Now, please tell me about the break-ins and the fire at your bakery. And may I add that it would be hasty to close down your business?”

She blinked in astonishment. “Why, Mr. Holmes, you are every bit as skilled as my dear friend Helen Armitage reported to me after you helped her sort through that terrible ordeal with her horrid stepfather, Dr. Roylott.”

“Ah, Helen Stoner, as I knew her before her marriage.”

“Before I begin my story, please enlighten me as to how you knew the details of my circumstances.”

“It’s quite simple. You have your bag with you, and you have not removed the inn’s tag from the handle. For your garment to have absorbed such delicious smells of cinnamon and apples, I knew you owned a bakery. And since the Willow Bakery is the only one in Old Basingstoke, it has to be yours. In coming to Baker Street to seek my help, you did not hire transport for your five-mile walk to the Old Basingstoke Station, in which you had to cross the burnt field from yesterday’s fire—evident by the ash that covers the hem of your dress. The only reason not to hire transport is that you are experiencing financial difficulty, which may be caused by the break-ins and exacerbated by the fire. Another reason why you chose to stay at the Bisbee Inn, where the rates are the most reasonable in this area.”

“But how did you deduce these troubles with my bakery?”

“Ah, deduction was not necessary. I read about the break-ins and the fire in your bakery in this morning’s paper. The fire, whose flames leapt into the nearby field and spread to the train tracks. For that to have happened, your bakery has to be on the edge of town. I was happy to read the fire was contained quickly with little damage to your business. But I fear we have no time to waste. Dr. Watson, prepare a bag while I change my clothes. The break-ins are another matter. We are leaving on the 12:10 from Waterloo to accompany this lady back to her village before another suspicious death—possibly murder—occurs.”

“What on earth does this mean?” I sputtered. “You were talking about a break-in and a small fire, not murder!”

Miss Chambers drew a startled breath and fainted. After reviving her with a nip of brandy, I joined Holmes in our travel preparations. Our day was just beginning.

Less than an hour later, we were on the train heading east to Old Basingstoke. Needless to say, I was not in the best of moods, having been aroused after only a few hours of sleep, denied my breakfast, and forced to endure a harrowing cab ride to the station. So when Holmes requested time alone in our compartment to think, I was delighted. The prospect of enjoying a meal with the lovely lady caused my spirits to rise, but, alas, I found myself alone in the dining car, Miss Chambers preferring to stroll through the train as her nerves were too tense to relax. Moments later, the porter delivered to me a note from Holmes requesting my companionship immediately. I had every intention of doing so, but before I could comply, my luncheon arrived. I remained seated, determined to eat before I answered his summons. Within a few minutes, both he and Miss Chambers took a seat across from me.

“I must say, Watson, a summons from me is always entirely justified. Oh, it won’t do—really it won’t, to have you sitting here feeling discontented.”

“I must say, Holmes, I am perfectly content.” Embarrassed by Holmes’s too accurate assessment of my mood, I turned from him and smiled at Miss Chambers.

“You are far from content. Although you missed your breakfast, you haven’t touched your kippers, your napkin is wadded into a tight ball, and your jaw is clenched so tightly, I fear you will break a molar,” Holmes said as the waiter passed him a menu.

“Easy deduction, Holmes. One any child could make.”

“I care nothing for analogies,” he said.

“My kippers are untouched because they have only just arrived,” said I, with some asperity.

“Ah, I see.” He smiled at me and shrugged his shoulders in his easy fashion. He turned to the waiter. “Yes. Kidneys on toast, curried eggs, stewed figs. And for you, Miss Chambers?”

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes, but your mention of a possible murder has upset me, and I fear I cannot eat even a morsel.”

Holmes handed the menu back to the waiter and patted her kindly on the shoulder. “Fear not. We will have this mystery cleared by the end of the day. Please tell me, Miss Chambers, did Sir Percy Figensnow, from Halton Manor, frequent your bakery?”

“My bakery? Sir Percy?” Her eyes widened, and her breath caught.

“Yes, Miss Chambers. Sir Percy, being a resident of the small village of Old Basingstoke, surely came in a time or two.”

“He came in just once, a few weeks ago. He requested I deliver a batch of scones to Halton Manor every morning.”

“And did you?”

“At first, I did, but I didn’t like closing the bakery while I made the delivery. Customers complained about my absence, so I asked Sir Percy’s housekeeper if she could have someone pick them up.”

“And who was this someone?”

“Various members of the household staff,” she said. “Will you excuse me? I find again that I am in need of air.” With that, she left us.

“I fear you have upset her further, Holmes.”

“A necessity.” He laid a copy of last Tuesday’s newspaper down in front of me. “While I await my meal, read the story on page three and give me your deductions, Watson.” He tapped his long, bony finger on a headline—Sir Percy Figensnow Found Dead at Halton Manor. Foul Play Suspected.

“I suppose this story has something to do with the fiasco you created in poor Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen.”

Holmes lit his pipe, an odd behavior of smoking before a meal that I could never quite understand. “Read, Watson. I’m eager to hear your thoughts on the matter.”

Knowing I would get no more information from him, I dove into the story.

“Sir Percy Figensnow was found dead yesterday. A severe blow to the back of his head was given as the cause of death. Sir Percy was in the habit of having tea and bakery scones in his rose garden in the morning. When he did not come inside to prepare for his visit with Major Falter at the Bear and Boar Inn, his butler went in search and found Sir Percy dead.’”

I stopped reading and glanced at Holmes, whose meal had just arrived. He slipped a curried egg into his mouth. I continued with the story.

“According to Inspector Rutherford of Old Basingstoke, Sir Percy had been dead for at least two hours. The inspector at first believed that Sir Percy had died of natural causes. There did not appear to be a struggle or confrontation. There was no blood save for a small amount left on a stone the inspector found a few feet from the body.’”

I laid the paper down. “So this was the murder you spoke about, and you suspect it is connected with the trouble surrounding Miss Chambers’s bakery.”

“I don’t suspect, I know. Now, give me your opinion of the incident.”

“It appears a simple case of someone wishing the man dead and finding their chance to do away with him since it was known that Sir Percy could be found most mornings in his garden.”

“Very good, Watson. Continue.”

My friend was peering at me with such expectation that I elaborated on my deduction. “Perhaps this Major Falter, accustomed to Sir Percy’s habits, came to Halton Manor, went into the rose garden, and bashed in his friend’s head, then rushed away.”

“Excellent! Save for your missing the obvious. Sir Percy was not murdered. I have been unfair to you, my dear Watson, for I have not told you everything. Miss Chambers is returning. We will say nothing more of this in front of her.”

“What do you propose to do once you get to Old Basingstoke, Mr. Holmes?” Miss Chambers said as she returned to her seat.

“You will return to the bakery while Dr. Watson and I will begin our enquiries. I will be in touch with you later in the day.”

Upon our arrival, we left Miss Chambers at the station, and Holmes and I checked into the Bear and Boar Inn. “Now, Holmes,” I implored, “you must fill me in.”

“That’s my plan, my dear Watson. As men are creatures of habit, not even the death of a friend will interfere with a person’s routine. Did you notice the gentleman crying in his beer in the pub when we came in? Major Falter, no doubt. We will have a word with him before we visit Inspector Rutherford.”

Major Falter was indeed well-oiled. Holmes wasted no time and came right to the point.

“Major Falter, I am Sherlock Holmes, and this is Dr. Watson. We are here looking into the death of Sir Percy.”

Major Falter, ruddy-faced, with grizzled orange hair and bulging eyes, fought back a belch. “I’ve heard of you, Mr. Holmes. You solving crimes all over Devonshire. That missing racehorse—I got a good laugh from that one. I hope you can find out who did this to my old friend. I fear I have little faith in our local authorities.”

“We can but try. What can you tell me about the day Sir Percy was attacked in his rose garden?”

“Not much. We usually have a pint or two at lunchtime. When Sir Percy did not appear, I assumed it was his stomach. He’d been having troubles the last few weeks. I kept telling him he needed more exercise. Puttering in his garden was not enough. A man has to stay fit.” Major Falter pounded his chest a few times. “Must keep the old ticker ticking, I always say.”

Miss Chambers suddenly rushed into the pub. “Oh, Mr. Holmes,” she cried, obviously distraught. “I’m so glad I found you. I am on my way to the police station.”

“Another break-in, Miss Chambers?”

“Oh, much worse! My brother who is—or was—Sir Percy’s butler, has been arrested for his murder.”

“Then we will accompany you. Good day, Major. You’ve been quite helpful.”

We found Inspector Rutherford at his desk, looking pleased and somewhat arrogant. “Ah, Mr. Holmes, I heard you were in our little village. And I can venture a guess as to why. I must say that I was impressed by your assistance in recovering Colonel Ross’s horse.”

“I assisted no one, Inspector. I found Silver Blaze on my own. I hear you have arrested Miss Chambers’s brother for Sir Percy’s murder. Perhaps you can tell me more.”

“There’s nothing to tell, Mr. Holmes. Jasper Chambers bashed in his employer’s head.”

“Anything else unusual about the body?”

“Ain’t that enough? The man’s skull was cracked open.”

“Please, Mr. Holmes, you must help him,” sobbed Miss Chambers. “My brother is a kind and gentle man. He would not harm anyone.”

“I’m sorry, Miss Chambers,” Inspector Rutherford said, not sounding the least bit sorry. “But your brother has confessed.”

I caught the dear lady as she swayed. I thought that she had fainted, but she recovered herself by a supreme effort and the smelling salts I kept with me.

“Inspector, may I speak to your prisoner?” Holmes asked.

“You are wasting your time. But if you must.”

“Dr. Watson will accompany me. Miss Chambers, I suggest you wait for us outside.”

She did as Holmes directed, and we followed the inspector into another room, which contained a trio of cells. In the middle cell, Jasper Chambers stood staring out a tiny window, looking out toward the street. He’d removed his jacket and loosened his collar, as the cell was stifling.

“You have fifteen minutes, Mr. Holmes,” said the inspector.

“I’ll need less,” Holmes said.

Inspector Rutherford smirked and left.

“Mr. Chambers, my name is Sherlock Holmes, and this is Dr. Watson. Your sister engaged us to look into the break-ins at her bakery. Our arrival seems to have coincided with your confession to murder. Perhaps you could tell us about Sir Percy’s death.”

He lifted his chin. “It’s a simple story, Mr. Holmes. My sister should never have contacted you.”

“Nevertheless, please tell me, and pray, be precise as to details.”

“It will do no good. I followed Sir Percy to his rose garden and struck him. Sir Percy was a brutal man. He often accosted the chambermaid, Molly. The poor girl was terrified of Sir Percy. I often found her sobbing. More times than I can count, her dress was disheveled and she had bruises that she claimed were from her work. I finally swore that if I found her in such distress one more time, I would stop him. That morning, she was bringing fresh linen upstairs when he grabbed her. I heard her scream and ran up only to find Sir Percy coming downstairs, laughing. He told me to leave it alone and threatened me—told me to mind my own business. He blocked my way, and I couldn’t get to Molly. I had no choice but to leave. Later, I found Molly in her quarters. Her dress had been ripped open, and she had scratches on her arm. This had happened too many times. I found him in the garden, whistling as if he hadn’t a care in the world. I couldn’t stop myself. I took the stone and struck him.”

“Very well. What can you tell me about Sir Percy’s failing health?”

Chambers’s face turned ashen. “I had not noticed a decline in his health.”

“I’ve heard enough,” Holmes said.

We walked back into the central area of the station, where the inspector awaited our return.

The man shrugged. “I told you you were wasting your time.”

Holmes and I stepped outside. “Hurry, Watson. We need to get to Halton Manor, for I fear Molly, the chambermaid, may flee.”

We got a dog-cart at the inn for the short ride to the manor. Holmes chose the servants’ entrance and didn’t bother to knock. We found the household staff in the kitchen having their tea. A middle-aged woman stood up. “Who are you, barging into this house?”

“I am Sherlock Holmes, and you must be the housekeeper. I will not keep you from your tea. I only wish to speak to two members of your staff—your cook, and Molly the chambermaid.”

The woman frowned. “I’m Mrs. Cooperson. I know about you, Mr. Holmes, and I will not have you bothering the staff. This is a difficult time for us.”

“I understand. Just your cook and that young woman there.” Holmes pointed to a mousy girl with a red nose and a tear-stained face. “I assume that is Molly. You may be present for the interview, Mrs. Cooperson. This involves Sir Percy’s death. Where would be a good place to speak in private?”

Mrs. Cooperson looked as if she were about to deny Holmes’s request, but then she glanced at Molly and said, “Follow me.”

The housekeeper led us to the library. “What do you wish to say to Molly?”

“Would you be so kind as to produce the cook as well,” he said.

A few moments later, a doughy woman came in, anxiously twisting her apron. “I’m Mrs. Hughes. I am the cook here at Halton Manor,” she said.

“Mrs. Hughes, for the last several weeks, Sir Percy has been receiving a daily batch of scones from the Willow Bakery. Has anyone else in the household eaten them?”

“Oh, no, Mr. Holmes. Sir Percy so enjoyed his scones. We would not think to help ourselves to what was clearly meant for him.”

“Sir Percy was hardy and healthy?” Holmes asked.

“Recently, he complained of stomach ails. I done my best to offer him the blandest food, but it didn’t seem to help.”

“Sir Percy had never been in the best of health,” said Mrs. Cooperson. “He was an elderly man, and such ailments are not unusual.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Hughes. I have nothing more to ask. Now with all due modesty, it is paramount I see the young woman’s arms. Could you assist in this, Mrs. Cooperson? The gentleman with me is a doctor.” Holmes picked up a throw off the sofa. “If you would loosen her bodice and drape this over her, Dr. Watson can examine her injuries.”

At the prospect of this indignity, Molly sank to the floor and sobbed.

“I will not allow this,” Mrs. Cooperson said.

“Then you leave me no choice but to accompany Molly to the police station.”

“I did nothing wrong!” Molly shouted.

Holmes walked up to her. “Your arms,” he said. “Now.”

“Holmes.” I implored. Rarely had I seen my friend so intimidating.

“I will not let an innocent man hang for murder,” Holmes said. “Now, Molly, we can avoid this embarrassment if you tell me why you and Jasper Chambers made up the story about Sir Percy accosting you the morning he died.”

“Molly, is this true?” Mrs. Cooperson said.

After a moment, Molly nodded. Mrs. Cooperson intervened. “Mr. Holmes, you should know that Sir Percy was not an honorable man. I’d done my best to keep him away from the young female staff, but his behavior had gotten worse. I heard that he had started bothering ladies in the village. He had attacked Molly before. Why did you lie this time, Molly?”

“Mr. Chambers told me that if he was arrested, I was to tell that story.”

“But why?” Mrs. Cooperson asked.

Holmes raised a finger. “I know the answer. Come, Watson, we will leave this poor girl in peace. Mrs. Cooperson, we will be on our way after I make a brief visit to the rose garden.”

I watched while Holmes combed the garden, looking at every inch of the ground, the rose bushes, and the table where Sir Percy most probably had his morning tea and scones. Finally, he seemed satisfied.

“What now, Holmes?” I asked as we left.

“One more stop and then to the police station to have Jasper Chambers released.”

We entered the Willow Bakery and found Miss Chambers busy with several customers. As I watched her, I realized we had yet to inspect the premises regarding the break-ins and the fire. As Holmes had said, the fire damage to the premises was minimal. I spared a thought for Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen and wondered how she was getting on with the cleanup at Baker Street.

“Oh, Mr. Holmes, I hope you have good news for me,” she said as she ushered the last customer out.

“Soon. Where you were on the morning Sir Percy died?”

“Why, I was here, as like I am every morning. My customers keep me busy.”

“Thank you.” He abruptly turned on his heel and left with me in his wake. Moments later, we were once again sitting in the cell across from Jasper Chambers. Holmes requested that Inspector Rutherford join us this time.

“Mr. Chambers,” Holmes began, “you confessed to a murder that was not committed. Sir Percy certainly died of natural causes. You suspected your sister of poisoning him since he became ill soon after the daily delivery of scones began. When you saw his body in the rose garden, you picked up the stone and bashed in his head to make it look like murder, to which you would then confess. But he was already dead, for a body bleeds very little once the blood stops flowing. The only blood was on the rock. I found none in the garden. You feared your sister had poisoned the scones because he had attacked her, as he did other village women.”

The man’s cheeks flooded with color, and I knew Holmes was correct.

“Lily was so frightened of him, Mr. Holmes. She often told me she would kill him if she had the chance. I knew she kept rat poison in her bakery. I broke in and removed it, but Lily continued to purchase more. I finally decided to set fire to the bakery. I felt it was better than allowing my sister to continue with what I thought was a murderous revenge. Thank God the fire brigade arrived quickly. I could have burned down the entire village.”

“And you told Molly to say that Sir Percy attacked her the morning of his death so that you would have a motive for his murder.”

“That is true. I would do anything to protect my sister.”

“Well, I’ll be,” Inspector Rutherford said. “Mr. Holmes, you’ve outdone yourself.”

We left the inspector and his suspect in deep conversation. Holmes and I returned to the Bear and Boar for a satisfying supper, the best meal we had eaten in two days. As we finished our coffee, I realized there was one thing about this remarkable case that I still did not understand. “Wait a minute, Holmes,” I said. “This is all well and good, but you have still not explained your antics in Mrs. Hudson’s kitchen.”

Holmes smiled. “Having read of Sir Percy’s suspicious death and daily consumption of scones, I suspected poisoning. I wanted to see how much poison could be added to scones before the taste was detected. Once I realized a lethal amount could not be tasted if enough sugar was added, I feared Sir Percy had been murdered. What didn’t fit was the absence of blood, and the body showing no sign of poisoning.”

“Holmes, tell me you didn’t eat poisoned scones!”

“I tasted. I did not swallow.” He smiled again. “I confess that the fire I set, however, was not an attempt to replicate the one in Miss Chambers’s bakery. Alas, baking is not in my repertoire.”

I laughed. “Well done, Holmes. You saved an innocent man from the gallows. I hope he and Miss Chambers find solace in your success.”

“As you say, but I suspect Jasper Chambers will have to answer for attempted arson of his sister’s bakery. And I am afraid I may have to answer to Mrs. Hudson.”