"Baker Street 9: A Confession in Part"
For someone born on Valentine's Day, I'm not great with the schmoopie
thank yous and best wishes, so I will repay you for all the gifts,
e-cards, and amazing good will the best way I can -- with another
chapter of a fic! And yes, the next chapter of "Queer Identities"
is in the works, so sit tight! Thanks especially to Arwen... enjoy!
For Valentine's Day -- sort of...
Title: "Baker Street 9: A Confession in Part"
Author: Gaedhal
Pairing/Characters: Sherlock Holmes/Dr. John H. Watson; Major Griffith, Alfie Barton, Charles Griffith.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Notes/Warnings: "Sherlock Holmes" (2009) Universe. Set before the Blackwood case.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Summary: Young Griffith in trouble.
Previous chapters here:
1. "A Walk to Regent's Park"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/367955.html
2. "A Meeting in Piccadilly"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/368712.html
3. "A Journey in a Closed Carriage"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/370637.html
4. "An Arrival at Dusk"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/371960.html
5. "A Meal at a Long Table"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/372435.html
6. "A Hot Bath Proffered"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/372531.html
7. "A Warm Bed Shared"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/372913.html
8. "A Summons to Campton Grange"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/373336.html
By Gaedhal
"Now see here, Holmes!" the major thundered. "I summoned the doctor to treat my son, not to have the Earl's busybody brother stick his nose where it doesn't belong!"
"I'm only attempting to ascertain the situation," Holmes said calmly.
"Blast the situation!" Major Griffith's face was red with anger. "This is none of your affair! I will handle my own son in the way I see fit!"
"And the way you see fit has caused your son to try to hang himself," said Holmes, taking out his pipe and lighting it. "So that has worked well, hasn't it?"
"Damn you to Hell, sir!" the major sputtered. "I'll have you thrown out of this house on your ear!"
"I don't think my brother Mycroft would look kindly upon that," returned Holmes, blowing out a puff of smoke in the direction of the enraged major.
As this little exchange between Holmes and Major Griffith was playing out, my patient was becoming increasingly agitated. He tried to sit up and speak, but he was obviously in great distress. The valet, Barton, endeavoured to soothe him, but to no avail.
"Gentlemen!" I interjected. "If you must argue, please take your disagreement elsewhere! My patient needs peace and quiet, as do I if I am to treat him!"
As the major blinked and gaped at his stricken son, much of the fight seemed to go out of him, his shoulders slumping in dejection. "Come into my library, Holmes. We will discuss this further in private."
"Lead the way." Holmes cast me a triumphant wink as he followed Major Griffith out of the room.
"So, Barton," I said to the valet as we propped up Young Griffith with extra pillows. "Am I correct in surmising that you are the cousin of the footmen at Sherringford, James and Henry?"
"Yes, Doctor!" said Alfie Barton, brightening. "Campton Grange is part of the larger Sherringford estate -- the major is the Earl's tenant -- so many of us in service here were trained at the Hall. My mother and Mrs. Hopkins are sisters, and my own sister is a parlour maid there. Jamie and Harry and I was all born at Sherringford and raised up there."
"I wondered how they knew there was a physician in residence," I commented.
"There's not much what is a secret in these parts, especially with the servants," claimed Alfie. "We know everything going on, both above and below stairs."
"And what do you know about this matter?" I probed, trying to use Holmes' own methods of obtaining information. "You are the major's manservant, but I imagine you also valet for his son, is that not true?"
Alfie looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Yes, Doctor," he conceded. "Mr. Charles and me -- well, I've known him all his life." He unconsciously stroked his young master's troubled brow. "This is a small world 'round here, sir."
"And there is little hidden between a master and his servant, as you attested before," I remarked. "So why would a gentleman of good family want to end his life? A young man with seemingly all the attributes society deems necessary for happiness? Exceeding good looks, fortune, two loving parents, a fine home -- what more could be desired?"
"Alfred..." Charles Griffith suddenly rasped out. "Do not... tell!"
"Don't pain yourself, sir!" Alfie cried. "The doctor only wants to help you!"
"N... no!" And the young gentleman began to weep piteously.
I opened my bag and retrieved a small bottle of laudanum and a spoon. "This will allow you to sleep, Charles," I said, giving him a minor dose. "Let yourself rest for now. Things will look brighter when you awaken."
But Charles Griffith shook his head in stout denial even as he slipped into a unsettled slumber.
"Poor Mr. Charles! Is he going to be all right, Doctor?" Alfie asked with genuine concern.
"There's a nasty burn from the rope on his neck, but it is not life-threatening. And he can speak, so I doubt there is permanent damage to his larynx. But whatever it is that caused him to attempt to take his own life still remains. If he is in so much despair, he may attempt it again -- and next time succeed!"
"That mustn't happen, Doctor!" Alfie declared. "Mr. Charles is a good fellow, but he... he..."
"You can tell me, Barton," I coaxed. "If the lad is in trouble, then my intimate companion Mr. Sherlock Holmes will come to his aid, as he has for countless others, both great and humble. The major said it would be the ruination of their family, but surely it can't be as bad all that."
"To the major's mind it is," said Alfie, lowering his voice. "It's blackmail, Doctor."
I sighed. "That is not an uncommon crime. Mr. Holmes has solved many a case of blackmail, including one for a very exaulted personage involving some compromising letters."
Alfie's eyes widened. "This was about letters, too, Doctor!" He paused, unsure whether to offer further intelligence. "Love letters."
Not a surprising development. As Holmes has often reiterated to me, blackmail is a vile crime that requires physical evidence, and inappropriate epistles are a common avenue for a scoundrel to harass a careless correspondent.
"Love letters are often the means by which a besotted man is caught by his own foolish sentiments," I lectured. "He pours out his heart to an unworthy female, who then uses his tender feelings against him. I can see why an impressionable young gentleman like Charles Griffith should feel his whole world had ended with the revelation of a thwarted love."
"Yes," Alfie agreed. "But this is... is something worse, Doctor. It isn't the one who the letters was written to who demanded money from him, but another, an unscrupulous villain! He drained poor Mr. Charles of his allowance and even caused him to pawn some valuables he inherited from his grandfather. And when that was gone, he borrowed money from his sister, Miss Anne. But when he could no longer pay, the cad went to the major. He showed him one of the letters and said he had more. And he threatened to reveal the contents and leave poor Charles in disgrace!"
"Surely at that juncture the police should have been called!" I asserted.
"No!" breathed Alfie. "Not the authorities! That would certainly be the worst thing possible! Then it would surely be made public and Mr. Charles and the family would never hold their heads up in society again!"
"Why in heaven's name?" I inquired. "What was in those letters that was so damning?"
"Not so much what was in the letters, which was full of lover's twaddle and silly verses," said Alfie. "But who they was written to. For they was addressed to another man. And not a gentleman of Mr. Charles' own station, which would be bad enough, but to a common Mary-Ann! A fellow what displays himself in a low public house in lady's garments and then sells himself for a few shillings to any man with the price. That's who Mr. Charles was writing to, who he fancied he was in love with! And this is the conclusion!"
I was truly taken aback by Alfie's revelations. My mind immediately flew to the Salisbury and other such 'theatrical' establishments. But I imagine the low dives where such she-men ply their trade are not to be found on St. Martin's Lane or even Charing Cross, but deep in the shadows of the City, far from the knowledge of decent folk.
"I... I have heard of such places," I acknowledged with a shudder. "But I never dreamed that an attractive young gentleman could be trapped in such a sordid web!"
Alfie Barton shook his head sadly. "Now you see why the young master wanted to off himself! The guilt of it was tearing him apart, but when his father found out the truth it was more than he could bear! I blame myself, Doctor! I should've seen it coming! I should've watched him like a hawk!"
"Buck up, man!" I urged "There is nothing anyone can do if a chap is determined to harm himself. But you were right to tell me the truth. My friend Mr. Holmes will get to the bottom of this!"
Alfie seized my hand and squeezed it. "That's good of you, Doctor! If Mr. Sherlock can see it clear to help Mr. Charles, then he's a fine, fine fellow to my mind -- even if he is the Earl's brother!"
I raised an eyebrow at the valet. "And what, pray, is wrong with Mr. Mycroft?"
Alfie grinned at me slyly. "Why what everyone knows about all the Sherringford-Holmes family, Doctor -- that they're all stone crazy! But if he can ease Mr. Charles' mind and catch this blackmailer, then I won't hold being a loony against Mr. Sherlock Holmes!"
***
thank yous and best wishes, so I will repay you for all the gifts,
e-cards, and amazing good will the best way I can -- with another
chapter of a fic! And yes, the next chapter of "Queer Identities"
is in the works, so sit tight! Thanks especially to Arwen... enjoy!
For Valentine's Day -- sort of...
Title: "Baker Street 9: A Confession in Part"
Author: Gaedhal
Pairing/Characters: Sherlock Holmes/Dr. John H. Watson; Major Griffith, Alfie Barton, Charles Griffith.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: None
Notes/Warnings: "Sherlock Holmes" (2009) Universe. Set before the Blackwood case.
Disclaimer: This is for fun, not profit. Enjoy.
Summary: Young Griffith in trouble.
Previous chapters here:
1. "A Walk to Regent's Park"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/367955.html
2. "A Meeting in Piccadilly"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/368712.html
3. "A Journey in a Closed Carriage"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/370637.html
4. "An Arrival at Dusk"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/371960.html
5. "A Meal at a Long Table"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/372435.html
6. "A Hot Bath Proffered"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/372531.html
7. "A Warm Bed Shared"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/372913.html
8. "A Summons to Campton Grange"
http://gaedhal.livejournal.com/373336.html
By Gaedhal
"Now see here, Holmes!" the major thundered. "I summoned the doctor to treat my son, not to have the Earl's busybody brother stick his nose where it doesn't belong!"
"I'm only attempting to ascertain the situation," Holmes said calmly.
"Blast the situation!" Major Griffith's face was red with anger. "This is none of your affair! I will handle my own son in the way I see fit!"
"And the way you see fit has caused your son to try to hang himself," said Holmes, taking out his pipe and lighting it. "So that has worked well, hasn't it?"
"Damn you to Hell, sir!" the major sputtered. "I'll have you thrown out of this house on your ear!"
"I don't think my brother Mycroft would look kindly upon that," returned Holmes, blowing out a puff of smoke in the direction of the enraged major.
As this little exchange between Holmes and Major Griffith was playing out, my patient was becoming increasingly agitated. He tried to sit up and speak, but he was obviously in great distress. The valet, Barton, endeavoured to soothe him, but to no avail.
"Gentlemen!" I interjected. "If you must argue, please take your disagreement elsewhere! My patient needs peace and quiet, as do I if I am to treat him!"
As the major blinked and gaped at his stricken son, much of the fight seemed to go out of him, his shoulders slumping in dejection. "Come into my library, Holmes. We will discuss this further in private."
"Lead the way." Holmes cast me a triumphant wink as he followed Major Griffith out of the room.
"So, Barton," I said to the valet as we propped up Young Griffith with extra pillows. "Am I correct in surmising that you are the cousin of the footmen at Sherringford, James and Henry?"
"Yes, Doctor!" said Alfie Barton, brightening. "Campton Grange is part of the larger Sherringford estate -- the major is the Earl's tenant -- so many of us in service here were trained at the Hall. My mother and Mrs. Hopkins are sisters, and my own sister is a parlour maid there. Jamie and Harry and I was all born at Sherringford and raised up there."
"I wondered how they knew there was a physician in residence," I commented.
"There's not much what is a secret in these parts, especially with the servants," claimed Alfie. "We know everything going on, both above and below stairs."
"And what do you know about this matter?" I probed, trying to use Holmes' own methods of obtaining information. "You are the major's manservant, but I imagine you also valet for his son, is that not true?"
Alfie looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Yes, Doctor," he conceded. "Mr. Charles and me -- well, I've known him all his life." He unconsciously stroked his young master's troubled brow. "This is a small world 'round here, sir."
"And there is little hidden between a master and his servant, as you attested before," I remarked. "So why would a gentleman of good family want to end his life? A young man with seemingly all the attributes society deems necessary for happiness? Exceeding good looks, fortune, two loving parents, a fine home -- what more could be desired?"
"Alfred..." Charles Griffith suddenly rasped out. "Do not... tell!"
"Don't pain yourself, sir!" Alfie cried. "The doctor only wants to help you!"
"N... no!" And the young gentleman began to weep piteously.
I opened my bag and retrieved a small bottle of laudanum and a spoon. "This will allow you to sleep, Charles," I said, giving him a minor dose. "Let yourself rest for now. Things will look brighter when you awaken."
But Charles Griffith shook his head in stout denial even as he slipped into a unsettled slumber.
"Poor Mr. Charles! Is he going to be all right, Doctor?" Alfie asked with genuine concern.
"There's a nasty burn from the rope on his neck, but it is not life-threatening. And he can speak, so I doubt there is permanent damage to his larynx. But whatever it is that caused him to attempt to take his own life still remains. If he is in so much despair, he may attempt it again -- and next time succeed!"
"That mustn't happen, Doctor!" Alfie declared. "Mr. Charles is a good fellow, but he... he..."
"You can tell me, Barton," I coaxed. "If the lad is in trouble, then my intimate companion Mr. Sherlock Holmes will come to his aid, as he has for countless others, both great and humble. The major said it would be the ruination of their family, but surely it can't be as bad all that."
"To the major's mind it is," said Alfie, lowering his voice. "It's blackmail, Doctor."
I sighed. "That is not an uncommon crime. Mr. Holmes has solved many a case of blackmail, including one for a very exaulted personage involving some compromising letters."
Alfie's eyes widened. "This was about letters, too, Doctor!" He paused, unsure whether to offer further intelligence. "Love letters."
Not a surprising development. As Holmes has often reiterated to me, blackmail is a vile crime that requires physical evidence, and inappropriate epistles are a common avenue for a scoundrel to harass a careless correspondent.
"Love letters are often the means by which a besotted man is caught by his own foolish sentiments," I lectured. "He pours out his heart to an unworthy female, who then uses his tender feelings against him. I can see why an impressionable young gentleman like Charles Griffith should feel his whole world had ended with the revelation of a thwarted love."
"Yes," Alfie agreed. "But this is... is something worse, Doctor. It isn't the one who the letters was written to who demanded money from him, but another, an unscrupulous villain! He drained poor Mr. Charles of his allowance and even caused him to pawn some valuables he inherited from his grandfather. And when that was gone, he borrowed money from his sister, Miss Anne. But when he could no longer pay, the cad went to the major. He showed him one of the letters and said he had more. And he threatened to reveal the contents and leave poor Charles in disgrace!"
"Surely at that juncture the police should have been called!" I asserted.
"No!" breathed Alfie. "Not the authorities! That would certainly be the worst thing possible! Then it would surely be made public and Mr. Charles and the family would never hold their heads up in society again!"
"Why in heaven's name?" I inquired. "What was in those letters that was so damning?"
"Not so much what was in the letters, which was full of lover's twaddle and silly verses," said Alfie. "But who they was written to. For they was addressed to another man. And not a gentleman of Mr. Charles' own station, which would be bad enough, but to a common Mary-Ann! A fellow what displays himself in a low public house in lady's garments and then sells himself for a few shillings to any man with the price. That's who Mr. Charles was writing to, who he fancied he was in love with! And this is the conclusion!"
I was truly taken aback by Alfie's revelations. My mind immediately flew to the Salisbury and other such 'theatrical' establishments. But I imagine the low dives where such she-men ply their trade are not to be found on St. Martin's Lane or even Charing Cross, but deep in the shadows of the City, far from the knowledge of decent folk.
"I... I have heard of such places," I acknowledged with a shudder. "But I never dreamed that an attractive young gentleman could be trapped in such a sordid web!"
Alfie Barton shook his head sadly. "Now you see why the young master wanted to off himself! The guilt of it was tearing him apart, but when his father found out the truth it was more than he could bear! I blame myself, Doctor! I should've seen it coming! I should've watched him like a hawk!"
"Buck up, man!" I urged "There is nothing anyone can do if a chap is determined to harm himself. But you were right to tell me the truth. My friend Mr. Holmes will get to the bottom of this!"
Alfie seized my hand and squeezed it. "That's good of you, Doctor! If Mr. Sherlock can see it clear to help Mr. Charles, then he's a fine, fine fellow to my mind -- even if he is the Earl's brother!"
I raised an eyebrow at the valet. "And what, pray, is wrong with Mr. Mycroft?"
Alfie grinned at me slyly. "Why what everyone knows about all the Sherringford-Holmes family, Doctor -- that they're all stone crazy! But if he can ease Mr. Charles' mind and catch this blackmailer, then I won't hold being a loony against Mr. Sherlock Holmes!"
***