Chapter 11: Irene

When I awoke the following morning, I was filled with what I can only describe as a devilish sense of amusement. I loved having both Holmes and Watson in my house, endlessly amused by their affectionately barbed exchanges. Adding in Mrs Turner and her ways made for a ceaseless buffet of delights for me to savour.

I rose early to see to my bees, who also seemed to be in a buoyant state, though I suppose the impression was in my mind alone. Returning to the house, I found Holmes alone at the table, drinking coffee and going over his notebook. “I’ve told Watson that he must attempt to infiltrate the Oakhill Farm household today,” he said without looking up.

“How will he manage it?” I asked.

“I will be with him,” said Holmes, “but in a guise other than my own.”

“I see,” I answered. “What do you wish me to do?”

“Tell Edith the truth about her husband. Involve Dr Clarke if you must. We may need her help to catch the murderer, and I want to ensure her full cooperation before that happens.”

“I think, perhaps, the easiest way would be to produce Julia Rayburn,” I said. I wished I hadn’t, even though it was true.

“I agree,” said Holmes, “but I did not think you would be open to the idea of attempting it.”

“I believe it to be the only way of doing what you ask successfully,” I answered, feeling my joyful frame of mind evaporate as my thoughts grew darker.

Watson emerged then, looking as fresh as a gentleman on a country holiday. “I hope this is appropriate attire for the day, Holmes,” he said, standing at attention in the middle of the floor, as if he were undergoing a military inspection.

“Haven’t you brought anything shabbier?” Holmes asked critically.

“No,” said the doctor. “I didn’t come down with the object of insinuating myself into a farmhouse.”

“Very well,” groused Holmes.

“I - might have something that would be useful,” said the voice of my housekeeper from her vantage point in the kitchen doorway. “I’m afraid it’s below Dr Watson’s dignity, but I have some clothing that’s meant to be donated to the church.”

“Excellent,” said Holmes. “Bring the possibilities here, please.”

A surreal scene followed, in which Mrs Turner surrounded my friend with piles of dingy garments, as if he were a bird in a nest, while Watson and I looked on in amused amazement.

Holmes picked out an outfit worthy of a gardener or farm labourer, a grey shirt and brown trousers that looked as if they had seen much better days. “Here, Watson,” he said, “this is far more like it.”

The doctor took the clothing gingerly. “Well,” he mumbled, “I suppose it’s not the worst thing you’ve ever asked me to do.” Mrs Turner looked conflicted, pleased to have been helpful on the one hand, horrified at the impeachment of the doctor’s dignity on the other.

“Thank you, Mrs Turner,” I said quickly. “You’ve saved us.”

“Yes, indeed,” said Dr Watson, blushing. “We’d have been hopeless without you.” He turned tail and disappeared to dress himself in the guise Holmes had dictated. The detective vanished as well, to turn himself into whomever he planned to be for the day. I stole a look at my housekeeper, who was still standing motionless in the kitchen doorway with a slight smile on her face.

I waited on the sofa, amused that for once, I was free to remain in my own character while the two men changed theirs. I knew Holmes’s love of the drama of disguise, and I was glad that he had a reason to employ it. He would never have admitted it, but it seemed to provide an outlet for the part of him that might have enjoyed treading the boards of the London stage.

Dr Watson emerged quickly, looking more ordinary than I had ever seen him. Normally, there is a pervasive neatness about the doctor, an air that marks him out as a former military man, but Holmes had chosen his clothing well, and he looked like a farmer or one of the working men of the village.

Holmes took longer, but when he came into the sitting room, he looked as ordinary as his friend, an accomplishment that was far more difficult to achieve. I had seen his powers of transformation during the Florida case, but years had elapsed, and I saw with fresh eyes. He smiled at my obvious astonishment.

“I hadn’t expected to create such an impression in one accustomed to my methods,” he said, clearly pleased with himself.

“You both look your parts very well,” I said, not willing to allow him a victory. “I wish you the greatest of luck.”

“No need for luck,” said Holmes. “Watson and I are old hands at this sort of thing.”

“Though I am not usually in disguise,” said Watson, not sounding overly pleased at his lot.

“I would hardly call it a disguise, Watson,” said his flatmate. “It’s merely a way to gain you an entrance. You’ve no need to speak or act differently than you normally do.”

“Well, that’s merciful,” said the doctor, and I thought I detected a note of sarcasm in his voice.

“Your task, I fear, may be more difficult than ours,” said Holmes quietly, looking at me with a steady gaze.

“Difficult but not impossible,” I answered. “It will be better, I believe, for Edith to know the truth as quickly as possible.”

“Better, perhaps, but no less painful,” said my friend, and I was reminded that he understood human emotion far more completely than his reputation indicated.

***

We parted after breakfast, the two men beginning the journey to the farm on foot, which befit the station they planned to imitate. I began my much briefer walk back to the Stevenson house, a journey that felt shorter than I wished it to be, so much did I loathe making it. Ever since Holmes had connected the threads of Julia’s shame and Edith’s sad deception, I had known that a moment like this must come. If Edith believed in her husband’s innocence against the evidence of his own odd behaviour, then it was unlikely, I knew, that she would take the word of someone else without the proof of her own eyes. Whether she would believe that Julia’s baby was actually her husband’s, I didn’t know. I hoped, however, that all of the circumstances would align in such a way that she would be forced to accept the truth, even if she could not do so at first.

My own experience with my late husband’s duplicity had taught me the value of the brutal truth. Lies may feel safer and more comfortable, but they are poison. Better to know the ugly reality than a beautiful fiction.

I found Julia pruning flowers in front of her family’s home. She smiled when she saw me approach, but her pale face and dark-rimmed eyes showed that she had slept little, if at all. “Good morning, Miss Adler,” she said softly, rising and taking my hand.

“Good morning, Julia,” I said. “May I have a cup of tea?” I couldn’t face broaching the day’s subject in the front garden of the Stevenson home. The girl led me to the kitchen, which was part of the servants’ domain. I was surprised, but the maids and footmen we passed only nodded, and a few greeted “Miss Julia” as if they were used to her ways.

“Mrs Teague,” said Julia, once we reached the environs of the kitchen, “I would like to make Miss Adler a cup of tea.” The cook nodded, and I watched as Julia made tea, an act that would have been quite normal for most of the people of the village, but which was, for the daughter of Charles Stevenson, almost an act of rebellion.

Once the tea was made, Julia and I took our places at the servants’ table. “Please forgive my eccentricity,” said the girl, taking a sip of tea from her china cup. “I’ve always liked this part of the house best. When I was a little girl, I would come down here and learn all sorts of things from Teague and the others. I can polish a pair of my father’s shoes better than either of the current footmen. My parents thought I would grow out of my below-stairs enthrallment, but I never did. My visits became more discreet, but I was still a frequent guest up to the day of my wedding.” She flinched after she spoke the last word.

“Don’t they mind the fact that you don’t keep your place?” I asked, more out of a desire to understand Julia than because I actually wondered. My experience with household servants made me well assured that they were likely to mind a great deal, though they would take pains to appear as if they did not.

“My parents don’t know, and the others are used to me. They have to warn any new arrivals, but everyone adjusts in time. I’ve often thought the staff was more like my family than my parents are,” Julia finished. I couldn’t help doubting that the hardworking maids and footmen I saw could possibly feel the same way about the privileged daughter of the house.

After a few moments of drinking my tea and bolstering my courage, I began. “Julia, I need you to do something that will be very difficult.”

“Anything,” she said. “It doesn’t matter now.” I looked around to confirm that we were fully alone.

“I fear you will feel differently in a moment,” I said, speaking quietly. “The truth is, James Phillimore deceived his wife as much as he did you. Rather than disappearing, he left the village on purpose to escape what he claimed was blackmail by Dr Clarke over something that concerned his parents. Edith chose to believe him. We need her help now, but I don’t believe we’ll be able to get it without you to corroborate your story. It may - it probably will be very difficult, but I see no other way to make Edith comprehend the depth of her husband’s deceitfulness.”

“Penance is never easy,” said Julia.

“It’s obvious that Phillimore actually fled to escape his wife finding out about the child and his relationship with you. I assume he convinced you to keep quiet to preserve your own reputation.”

“Yes,” she answered. “He made it seem like my idea, but he assured me that if I breathed a word of what he’d done, we would go down together. He was afraid, though. I could see it in his eyes the last time we spoke.”

“I’m sure, then, that part of his desperation was fear that you would tell his secret.”

“He said he had always admired my discretion, and he made it seem like I would be a disappointment to him and to myself if I gave in and told anyone.”

“Miss Adler - ” she met my eyes with fire in her own. “I’m glad Ed knows. Please, when I’m gone, tell him that I helped you. He might not think so ill of me if he knew.”

“Tell him yourself,” I said, feeling a flash of something that was either inspiration or madness. “Speak to him before you go. You must agree that you at least owe him that.”

“You’re sure he’ll see me?” she asked.

“I’m sure,” I said.

“Very well,” she answered, her eyes fixed on her pale hand as it rested on the table. “If you believe he wishes it, I will do so.”

“I’m convinced he wishes it more than you can bear to believe,” I answered.

***

Julia and I drove to the farm in silence. I had nothing more to tell her, since her part in the day’s events would depend on Edith as much as on either of us. I simply hoped I could avoid causing a scene that would bring unbearable pain to either of the two women. I like to pride myself on a certain measure of emotional objectivity, but I could not manage to detach myself from my dread of what I was about to undertake.

We gained admittance to the house easily, and we were shown into the parlour, where Edith soon joined us. She looked surprised when she saw Julia, but I saw something flash across her face as she came into the room that suggested she might not be as shocked at what we were there to reveal as I’d feared.

“Now, Watson, the fair sex is your department,” said Holmes, with a smile, when the dwindling frou-frou of skirts had ended in the slam of the front door.

- The Adventure of the Second Stain