Case of the Three Species

S Croyle A

Description

In the fourth and final book in the Before Watson series, Sherlock Holmes and his companion and assistant, Dr. Poppy Stamford, embark on their greatest adventure yet. They are charged with solving not one case but three. One involves bogus charges against Poppy's former stable boy. The second is their attempt to stop a wave of crime perpetrated by the Elephant Gang, the famous and ruthless girls' gang that terrorized London in the nineteenth century. The third is an investigation into who burglarized the brothel owned by Maggie May, a mysterious woman with a keen mind and a treasure trove of secrets. During this time, Poppy also faces great losses and the promise of a new life - if she can bring herself to give up her quest to capture Sherlock's intransigent heart.

Informations

• Publié par: Andrews UK
• Date de parution: 10 janvier 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781787054011
• Langue: English

Extrait

The Case
of the
Three Species
(The Mare, the Elephant, and the Pink Flamingo)
A ‘Before Watson’ Novel (Book Four)
Further Reminiscences of P. S. T.
(Based upon notes newspaper clippings, and correspondence received from Sherlock Holmes)
By A. S. Croyle




2019 digital version converted and published by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
Copyright © 2019 A.S. Croyle
The right of A.S. Croyle to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious or used fictitiously. Except for certain historical personages, any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any opinions expressed herein are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent those of MX Publishing.
MX Publishing
www.mxpublishing.co.uk
Cover by Brian Belanger




To Heather Edwards - A friend and first reader whose insights and suggestions were invaluable. Thank you for your patience and persistence!!
And to Rae Griffin - BFF and constructively critical when I need it the most.



Prologue
3 September, 1945
The war has officially ended!
I did not think I would live to see this day, a day that did not come easily. I think even Sherlock Holmes would have broken in character to express joy and relief.
Four months ago, the Western Allies invaded Germany and Soviet troops captured Berlin. Adolph Hitler, we were told, committed suicide and the Germans surrendered. On 8 May, thousands listened intently as King George’s speech about this was relayed by loudspeaker to those who had gathered in Trafalgar Square and Parliament Square. Earlier, Mr. Churchill broadcast a message to the nation from the Cabinet room at Number 10, telling us that the war with Germany was over and that the ceasefire had been signed on 7 May at the American advance headquarters in Rheims. In his message, he paid tribute to the men and women who had laid down their lives for victory, as well as to all those who had ‘fought valiantly on land, sea and in the air.’ Huge crowds, many dressed in red, white and blue, gathered outside Buckingham Palace and cheered when the King, Queen and two princesses came out onto the balcony.
My daughter Hope was there with her husband Keith. They were told by their employers that the war was likely to end and, if so, to take 8 May off. So Keith and Hope walked across the bridge to Trafalgar Square. I live with them but at the age of almost ninety, I am no longer mobile enough to participate in such gatherings. When they came home, I clasped her hands and said, “Tell me everything!”
Her eyes lit up. She has my dark eyes and hair - though now that she is in her mid-fifties, her hair is turning gray. Her brilliant smile and zest for life - those attributes she inherited from her late father.
“Mum, there were bonfires on some of the bomb sites and lights in some of the shops. Nelson was lit up by a searchlight.”
‘The Nelson’ to whom she referred was Nelson’s Column, a monument in Trafalgar Square in central London built to commemorate Admiral Horatio Nelson, who died at the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805.
“Long after dark, people were still flooding the streets,” Hope told me. “Many gathered around the different monuments, floodlit tonight specially for the occasion. There were fireworks, too, and burning effigies of Hitler. We pushed our way into the square, but a car was in our way. As we went around it, a girl in uniform tripped and literally fell into Keith’s arms. With a big smile she planted a kiss full on his mouth!” she laughed. “Everybody spent the evening dancing and celebrating and Mr. Churchill was greeted by cheering crowds as he made his way to Whitehall and appeared on the balcony of the Ministry of Health.”
I had heard his speech on the BBC. Mr. Churchill said, ‘We may allow ourselves a brief period of rejoicing; but let us not forget for a moment the toil and efforts that lie ahead. Japan with all her treachery and greed remains unsubdued.”
We were still at war with Japan. She refused to surrender.
Just a few months later, on 6 August and 9 August respectively, the United States dropped atomic bombs on the Japanese cities of Hiroshima and Nagasaki.
On 15 August, streets around the world were flooded once again with giddy, boisterous crowds. Paper littered the Strand; civilians and service personnel carried and waved the stars and stripes and the Union Jack, as they surged through Piccadilly Circus. On hearing of the surrender, ladies poured out on to the sidewalk and did the Lambeth walk, a jaunty dance that supposedly mimicked the way a cockney struts and which was made popular in a musical called Me and My Girl . Hope saw a New Zealand sailor and three GIs express their glee by chairing a London policeman in Piccadilly Circus. Russian, American and British soldiers cheered together. The King and Queen drove from Buckingham Palace to the House of Lords for the opening of Parliament and thousands lined the route and assembled in Parliament Square, giving their Majesties a tumultuous welcome rarely seen in London.
With the Soviet invasion of Manchuria, the invasion of the Japanese archipelago imminent, and the possibility of additional atomic bombings, Japan finally surrendered yesterday, 2 September. The signing of the unconditional surrender document occurred in Tokyo Bay aboard the battleship USS Missouri , officially ending World War II.
Jubilation has replaced much of the devastation and despair. London is ready to rebuild from the rubble.
As I drifted off to sleep last night, I was filled with memories of the happy and confusing times of my youth, of cheering crowds that gathered each November for the Lord Mayor’s Show in London. I remembered the last time Sherlock Holmes and I attended the parade together.
It was November 1880, just a few months before my brother, Dr. Michael Stamford, introduced Sherlock Holmes to Dr. John Watson. By that time, Sherlock wanted very much to move into a home owned by Mrs. Hudson on Baker Street. 221B Baker Street, to be exact. He said it was likely too much for his purse. He had considered looking for someone to share the flat. But he was still pondering who on earth, aside from me, would ever want to live with him. He had not met Dr. John Watson yet.
Not quite yet.



1
My last adventure with Sherlock Holmes began on 9 November 1880.
Shivering and standing near Mansion House, the Georgian town palace that is the official residence of the Lord Mayor of the City of London, I was surrounded by an assortment of little children, some well-dressed like my nephew Alexander and little Billy, my aunt and uncle’s ward - and some less affluent toddlers and youth, dressed in tattered clothing, worn boots and threadbare coats. The latter group was comprised of Sherlock Holmes’ homeless helpers... Rattle, Ollie, Ivy and others, all of them led by their self-proclaimed leader, one Archibald William Wiggins, known to most simply as Wiggins.
Ivy, an adorable little girl whom I longed to dress in petticoats and velvet dresses, fancy hats and fur muffs, tugged at my sleeve. She asked, “’ow did all this ’appen, Miss? ’ow did it all start?”
“The parade, you mean, Ivy?”
She nodded. So I explained to the little girl, as best I could, the origin of the Lord Mayor’s Show.
“Well, Ivy, it all began in the sixteen hundreds.”
“Is that a long time ago, Miss?”
Smiling, I said, “Yes, a very, very long time ago.”
I told her that the King had made life very difficult for the people of London with taxes, and that the people felt like baronial hostages for a very, very long time. (My explanation to Ivy became a bit more simplified when she asked what a baronial dispute was.) “So,” I said, “King John tried to win the love of his people by allowing them to choose their own Mayor. But he insisted that immediately after the election, the Mayor had to leave the safety of the City of London, travel upriver to distant Westminster, a very inconvenient journey, and swear loyalty to the Crown.”
I explained that over the centuries, this event became one of London’s favorite rituals. The parade moved from river barges to horseback to the magnificent State Coach, and around it grew the rowdy and joyful medieval festival and parade that is known as the Lord Mayor’s Show. It has marched... and floated and trotted, and occasionally fought through hundreds of years, despite two bouts of the plague, the Great Fire of London, and countless wars.
“There are fewer sword fights these days but the floats are grander than ever,” I said.
“Sword fights?” Rattle asked. “Like with real swords, Miss?”
“Indeed,” I laughed. “It’s a great day out, isn’t it Wiggins?”
Wiggins shrugged but his wide smile betrayed his appreciation for the festivities.
Sherlock Holmes suddenly appeared at my side. It took me by surprise because he so rarely indulged in such “frivolous events.”
He sighed and said, “You do not plan the parade before you win the championship.”
“What on earth are you talking about?”
“Things are still unsettled in the East. When our troops were emulsified at the Battle of Maiwand in Afghanistan a f