The following morning the rain had cleared and, after a hearty breakfast of bacon and eggs followed by a round of toast smothered with Mrs Hudson’s fine strawberry preserve, we set off for Bow Street Police Station.
On arrival we presented ourselves at the desk of the duty Sergeant who, of course, knew Holmes. At our approach he stood and saluted. “Good morning, Mr Holmes, Dr Watson. How may I help you?”
Holmes touched his hat, saying, “Good morning, Sergeant. You have a young girl here called Flora, who, I understand, has been arrested on a charge of murder.”
The Sergeant looked a little surprised. “Why yes, Mr Holmes...but it is hardly something that you might be interested in.”
I could see Holmes bristle a little at this. “Never the less, I would like to speak to her, if I may.”
The Sergeant reached for a large bunch of keys and beckoned us to follow him. “This way, gentlemen, if you please.” He led us down a narrow, stone flagged passage towards the women’s cells where he stopped outside one of the large, iron doors. To one side of the door was a small, framed slate on which had been chalked the name of the prisoner, 'Flora Smith'. The Sergeant looked through the peephole in the cell door. Satisfied, he unlocked the cell and turned to us, saying, “Here you are, sir. Call when you are finished.”
We entered the cell and the door closed behind us with a solid 'clang' as iron met granite. Before us was a slight figure in a coarse, prison dress and sitting on a straw mattress. She was a girl, I would say, of around 16 years, thin faced and with fair hair. As she turned to look at us, I could see that her face was tear streaked. Holmes touched his hat and said, “Good morning, Flora. I am Sherlock Holmes and this is my friend, Dr Watson. We are here at the request of your cousin, Alfie.”
Flora wiped her face with her hand and gave us a small smile. “Good morning, sir. Would you care to sit down?” Flora moved up a little on the mattress and Holmes sat beside her. I sat on the single chair that was placed beside a small table. Together with the latrine bucket, it was the only furniture present. I looked around the bleak cell. It measured barely ten feet by six feet and was painted a sombre green. The only light to enter the cell was from a small, barred window made from square glass blocks.
Flora looked at Holmes. “I have heard stories about you, Mr Holmes from Alfie. You are a famous detective.”
Holmes smiled. “I am here to help you, Flora, if you will let me. You must tell me everything about what happened on the day when your parents died.” Flora’s face clouded over and her head dropped as the memory of her parent's death was clearly painful for her. Holmes reached for her hand. “Tell me what happened...from the beginning.” Flora looked up at Holmes and, again, gave a weak smile and nodded.
“Well, sir. We had only recently moved to Broad Street from Fairbrother Street where we had been renting a cellar. This new house was much better as we had a front room, a kitchen and two bedrooms. We couldn’t use the front bedroom though as the roof leaked so.
Anyway, on Friday evening it was windy and quite cold. Dad had not been able to work for many weeks. He used to go door to door selling firewood but he had become so weak that he couldn’t do that no more. Mum used to go with him, she pushed the barrow but that was bad for her. She was always coughing, it was the bronchitis and couldn’t breathe proper. Neither of them had been able to earn a penny in the last week or so. I was the only one earning from hawking drapery… and that paid very little.”
Holmes was attentive but I could see that he was eager to get to the events leading to her parent's death, asking, “What happened that evening, Flora?”
Flora began again. “Well, sir. As I said, it was cold so before bed I laid a fire in the bedroom grate. Dad had already had a fall in the cellar trying to get some coke. My brother, Stephen, had brought some Rattle-Jacks the previous week on his cart and...”
Holmes held up his index finger, and the child paused. It was clear that he did not know the term, asking, “Rattle-Jacks?”
Flora looked at Holmes, a little bemused. “You never heard of Rattle-Jacks? They're bits of waste coke that you gets from the gas works. They glow nice and warm once they gets going. So, I gets some sticks, breaks up a bit of coal I found in the cellar and, with the Rattle-Jacks, I lights the fire. It was the first time that we had lit a fire in the bedroom grate and we goes to bed about eleven o’clock.”
Flora paused for breath and, with a sniff, she continued, “Anyways, when we retired, the bedroom was full of smoke so Dad opens the window for a while, just until it clears, like. The wind was strong and there was a fierce draught from the window. Dad had to place a piece of folded newspaper in the gap in the frame to stop it. At about five o’clock the next morning I hears a strange noise and wakes up...and...and...Dad is lying dead across my legs. It’s like he's kneeled up and then fallen asleep. I...I...couldn’t move! I just screamed but I couldn't get up.” Flora began to sob and her poor little body shook.
Holmes took her hand again, saying, “What about your mother, Flora?”
Flora wiped her eyes on the sleeve of the prison dress. “I cried out 'Dad’s dead!'... and... and then Mum cries out, 'I can’t breathe, I'm dying! Help me!' and then she collapses on top of Dad and she just died. I tried to get up, Mr Holmes, I really did. I banged on the wall but nobody heard me. I was trapped there for most of the day. I finally managed to get free and I staggered to the shop to get help. I was stumbling...like I was drunk but I hadn’t touched a drop, Mr Holmes, there was no drink in the house."
Flora gave a huge sob. Holmes patted her hand again and waited for her to continue. "The next thing I know, a police Sergeant had arrived and I was questioned… but I was all confused. He went away and then later he comes back and I was arrested. He put me in hand cuffs and I was brought here!”
At this point Flora collapsed before our eyes and I rushed to her side. Taking my hip flask from my coat pocket, I forced a little medicinal brandy between her lips. Flora coughed, due to the fiery spirit, but she swiftly recovered. She looked up at Holmes. “Please, Mr Holmes. I ain't done nothing wrong, honest. They put me in this cell and then a little later they said...they said they was going to charge me with murder!”
Holmes smiled, saying, “I believe you Flora. I will take your case and we will see you again, quite soon.” Holmes stood and called for the Sergeant who promptly arrived to release us from the cell.
Back at the Sergeant's desk Holmes asked to see the police report of the incident and was given a transcript of the events. “May I borrow this...just for today?”
The Sergeant rubbed his chin. “Well, it is a bit irregular, Mr Holmes, but as it's you, I suppose it will be alright. As it's here, you might also want to see the result of the post-mortem too.”
Holmes smiled. “Splendid! I will return them both to you in the morning, Sergeant.” With that he swept from the police station with me hurrying in hot pursuit.