London
- August, 1910
It is
with some trepidation that I set out to record the events of this past day
but I suppose after so many years of recording my good friend’s life, the
journalistic habit has become ingrained. It is only logical that I should
occasionally write of my own life. Although I’m sure that it will be no
surprise to my unknown reader that this matter concerns Holmes more – much more – than myself. I should
explain that I refer to you as my ‘unknown reader’ as I am writing this to
posterity, not for the adventure hungry crowds of today. Perhaps this will be
sent to Miss. Thomas, some day, but I’m not sure if that would be wise, or
even useful… Look at
this, wandering into obfuscation already! I must pay closer attention to the
matter at hand, or else this will take an entire ream of paper. Earlier
today, I met with a young woman of whom I have known for many years - albeit
from afar. I am the keeper of a trust fund for one Violet Thomas, a young
woman born and raised in the city of New York – raised by the matrons of a
private school, rather than by a loving family. Violet is not an orphan, but
she was cursed by circumstances to be born to parents that would not – or
could not – acknowledge her. Once again, I feel the urge to
rush ahead and divulge details out of the proper sequence. Suffice it to say
that, upon learning of Violet’s situation so many years ago, I heeded the
advice of my beloved second wife, Mary, and – with the permission of Violet’s
estranged mother, who was an acquaintance of mine – I established a small
fund on Violet’s behalf. With such a fund, Violet could be assured an
education and a much better future than that offered to wretched ‘wards of
the state’. From across the ocean, I
received quarterly reports of young Violet’s progress and I was unsurprised
to hear that she demonstrated herself to be a lively, intelligent creature
from the start. I fear she rather wore on the nerves of the sisters of St.
Thomas’ orphanage, where Violet’s life began and, following a rather
plaintive suggestion from the Mother Superior of that institution, Violet was
installed at the Billingsham School for Girls in Long Island, New York. Unfortunately, it was at this
time that Violet’s mother – with whom I had kept some scanty correspondence –
told me that she no longer wished to receive any word of her abandoned
daughter. In her final letter to me, Violet’s mother (who shall remain
nameless for the time being) told me that it tore at her heart to hear of a
child that she was forced to give up for want of a husband. The situation
saddened me, but I had no choice but to heed her wishes. The years passed quickly, as
they seem to as one grows older, and Violet caused some small scandal by
entering university shortly after her eighteenth birthday. The terms of the
fund that I had established – these terms written by myself and Violet’s
mother – stated that she was to be supported unconditionally, and I was happy
to allow the payment of school fees and books. My past experiences have
convinced me that the fairer sex is far more competent than some men will give
them credit for, and I was quite pleased for the opportunity to give this
young lady a chance to justify my belief. Several years’ study at
university led to a degree as it usually does – in psychology of all things.
Despite my medical background and career, I must confess that psychology is
something in which I am woefully under-read. However, it has taken an
increasingly prominent place on the medical stage and I understand it to be
one of the most challenging aspects of science. Therefore I am not surprised
that Violet tackled it with the same determined enthusiasm she apparently
tackled everything that came her way. She then went to Austria, to
study with the pre-eminent (if somewhat erratic) scientist, Doctor Hans
Petroff. Doctor Petroff is one of several determined, derided, pioneers of
the usage of psychology in the analysis of crime. Again, it is a matter I
don’t quite understand, although Holmes has occasionally declared that should
the science of psychology prove itself at all reliable, then it will have
nigh-limitless application in the identification and – it is to be hoped –
cure of criminal minds. I must admit, I suffered a
glimmer of suspicion and doubt when I learned of Violet’s area of study. I
had taken all precautions to keep the circumstances of her birth a secret –
again, at the request of her mother (her father was another matter, as will
be explained later) but was it possible that Violet had chosen this course
for a particular reason? My discreet inquiries of my sketchy contacts in
Vienna – dating back to my fateful trip to the Continent pursuing the
dastardly Moriarty – were unable to enlighten me. Two years passed
uneventfully and I breathed easier. A month ago, a letter was sent
by Violet to my bank manager, who acts as an intermediary in matters
pertaining to the fund. With the growing popularity of my little stories of
Holmes’ career, I had decided that my name was perhaps a trifle too well
known to be connected to Miss Thomas – again, my attempt to shield her from
the truth – and so my patient bank manager had become quite used to
occasionally receiving these letters. Violet’s missives were usually brief
and businesslike – asking for extra money for academic supplies, or a short
holiday – but this most recent missive was quite different from the usual. Miss Thomas wanted to meet the
trustees of her fund, she declared. Knowing that her money came from
benefactors in London, and unsure of when she would again have the
opportunity, she rather forcefully made a case for coming to the city. She
wished to present herself to those ‘to whom I owe my entire life’ and she admitted
to a burning curiosity about her circumstances also. I must admit, the doubt that
plagued my mind made me wish for my dear, departed Mary’s advice. Miss Thomas
was an adult woman by now – in her twenties – and thus quite justified in
making her request. But would it be wise to meet her? After all, the trust
had made no such condition of a personal meeting – but nor had it been
forbidden. In the end, my own curiosity
won over. I, too, was more than slightly curious to see what time had wrought
of a woman who had begun her life facing challenges that most would find it
difficult to overcome – an abandoned child is going to bear a certain amount
of social censure and speculation, no matter how well-mannered an environment
she inhabits – and had not only overcome those challenges, but gone out of
her way to find others to overcome. Why, I didn’t even know what she looked
like! So arrangements were made for
us to meet for luncheon at the Regency Hotel. My banker took care of the
correspondence admitting to Violet that her fund had but one trustee, etc.
and suggesting the time and place for our meeting. Seemingly by the next
mail, Violet assured me that such an arrangement would suit her ‘down to the
ground’ and that she looked forward to our meeting – set for earlier today. By the time the luncheon hour
arrived, I would not be human if I didn’t admit to having allowed myself a fortifying
drink, beforehand. In the course of the past fortnight, I wavered from
anticipation to trepidation and everything in between. Indeed, I came
perilously close to canceling our meeting, but – even in my nervous state – I
recoiled at such a churlish notion. Finally, a young woman was
shown to my table in the Regency’s sumptuous dining room. Perhaps it is
immodest to say so, but the force of her personality immediately struck me,
even before she had said a single word. Perhaps I have finally learned some
of Holmes’ way of observations, but it was clear to me that the pretty,
smiling woman that sat down before me was a person of piercing intelligence
and indomitable will. All this was conveyed to me merely by her strong
posture and forthright carriage. “Miss Violet Thomas, I
presume?” it was unoriginal, but given my trepidation, I had decided that it
was best to follow form. I was prepared to introduce
myself by a nom-de-plume that I had created, when Violet interrupted me
quickly. “Yes I am,” she smiled. “And
you would be Doctor John Watson.” She seemed quite pleased by my
thunderstruck expression. She even laughed slightly – although not unkindly.
“I’m sorry to shock you, doctor, but your visage is probably better known
than you realize, even in New York.” Her accent betrayed its American
origins, but it had been overlaid by a tone I couldn’t quite place. Later in
our conversation, I learned that it was the effect of speaking German and
French almost exclusively for the past two years, but I was in no state to
think of such things at the time. “I must admit, I already had
my suspicions,” Violet confessed – thus confusing me even further. “And the
moment I saw you here in the dining room, those suspicions were confirmed.
I’m glad to solve a burgeoning mystery in my life.” I assumed she was referring to
the mystery of my identity. “Of course, Miss Thomas. After so many years of
receiving support from an anonymous source, I must imagine that it’s a relief
to meet at last.” “Oh, that too.” Violet nodded
while perusing the menu. “But I was actually referring to the identity of my
father.” She stared directly at me with gray eyes I recognized as familiar –
albeit in a different face. “I had ruled it down to one of two men and when I
saw you…well…” she shrugged, as if that was all that needed to be said. In a desperate attempt to
maintain some pretext of secrecy – for my friends’ sake if naught else – I
tried to bluster. I should have known better. “Really, Miss Thomas, if you
think that I am your father, I must say that you’re quite mistaken.” Miss Thomas smiled again,
shaking her head slightly. “Doctor Watson, I wouldn’t dare suggest you have
been anything less than faithful to your wives,” Wives? So she knew of that
too? How long had this woman been harboring her suspicion? Of course, it
didn’t occur to me that any regular reader of my stories is fully informed
about my marital history. She continued, “I’m referring
to…” at this point, a belated sense of discretion seemed to catch up with her
as she glanced about the crowded dining room. “A mutual acquaintance,” she
concluded carefully. “Although he’s far more your friend than mine,” she
added without a trace of bitterness. I didn’t know what to say to
that. It was obvious that Miss Thomas was convinced that Holmes was the
father that she had never known. I was torn between loyalty to a friend and
loyalty to the truth that Miss. Thomas seemed determined to discover. After some moments’ thought, I
realized I should learn how my companion had reached this conclusion, and I
asked her so. Therein, Violet told me a tale of childhood curiosity,
compounded with a talent for tenacity that would do a Ghurka proud.
Apparently it had not been difficult for Miss Thomas to view her birth
certificate, which had been placed in the care of the Billingsham School.
That document revealed the name of her mother – Irene Adler – and then it had
merely been a matter of time and research to determine probable candidates
for the paternal side of her history. “Miss Adler traveled
extensively,” Violet admitted, somewhat ruefully. “And I had awful trouble
untangling her time here in Europe, particularly that sham marriage of hers
to Godfrey Norton in ’87.” Now that gave me a
start. As I understood it, only four people on this earth knew of the truth
of the marriage between Irene Adler and Godfrey Norton – the circumstances of
which I had partially documented some time after it’s occurrence – and now
Miss Taylor was telling me she was the fifth. “It took some digging, but I found
the annulment papers filed with a church diocese in Connecticut a few years
ago.” Miss Taylor told me easily. “After all, once my mother knew she had
nothing to fear from the King of Bohemia, the need for the marriage to Norton
was meaningless.” Violet’s smile became almost conspiring at that mention of
my work. I wondered if perhaps she had determined his true identity
also, but discretion forbade my asking. After that, she told me, it
was a matter of further research upon Adler’s travels and, more tellingly,
when she took time off from her stage career, which continued to flourish on
the Eastern seaboard. Such time taken away from the stage – particularly if
it was taken during the opening season – would suggest an extended illness,
or the careful steps taken to hide a birth and recovery. “As I told you,” Violet
concluded. “I had narrowed the likely candidates to two men. One was this
King of Bohemia of yours – for I have found evidence that the King’s
willpower wasn’t perhaps quite as solid as it could have been and the other,
well…” her conspiritial smile returned. “I learned a long time ago to listen
to my hunches. And,” she added with a note of finality, “I know you’re no
longer acquainted with that straying monarch, so why would you be administering
a fund for his offspring?” With that, Violet turned her attention to the
entrée that had been placed before her. Faced by such frank
determination, there was little I could do but concede defeat. “I am
surprised,” I admitted, “although I realize that perhaps I should not be.
After all, I should expect a daughter of his,” there seemed to be an
unspoken agreement that my friend should remain nameless, “would show signs
of the same intelligence and talents.” Miss Thomas brightened
noticeably at my remark. “Now, Doctor Watson, the subject of environment
versus inherited tendencies is a very interesting one in my field,” she began
quickly. Almost as quickly, she stopped herself. “I’m sorry,” she apologized.
“I tend to forget that not everyone is as interested as I am when it comes to
the study of the mind.” I assured her that she was
quite forgiven, and wondered if perhaps this was a cue to change the subject,
but that was not the case. Within a matter of moments, Miss Thomas’
expression had faded from happy interest to deep thought – another behavior
that reminded me of our ‘mutual acquaintance’. “Does he know?” she
asked, finally, her voice low. I considered my answer very
carefully. I decided that prevarication would not be well received by this
woman – and it would certainly be detected. “Does he know about your
existence? Yes, he does.” I admitted. “As for my role in your upbringing…” I
shrugged, helpless. “I have done my best to keep it from him, but that
doesn’t mean I have succeeded.” “Why would you keep your
support of me a secret? I understand the funds come from the success of your
writings?” “That and some initial capital
was provided by your mother. Although there were times…” I trailed off in
thought. “What?” she persisted,
doggedly. I smiled, feeling a little
foolish. “There were times, rarely, that I suspected the monies I received
for my tales was somewhat out of proportion for their quality. I always made
a point of depositing that excess into your fund-” “And you think he might
have arranged for that overpayment?” my forthright companion concluded. I nodded. “At the time I
wondered if he was simply trying to ensure that I would have some kind of
pension – doctors rarely become rich.” I admitted. “So I have already
discovered,” she agreed amiably. Once again, I found myself
charmed by her pretty demeanor. Aside from a slight sharpness to her features
and the clear gray eyes that could be attributed to her father, Violet Thomas
had otherwise taken after her mother in matters of appearance – much to her
benefit, I think. “With luck, I shall soon be
awarded my medical degree.” She announced, not without some pride. “Much of
my time in Vienna was spent in the internship now required before one can
practice medicine in Europe or the Americas.” I beamed with genuine good
feeling. Obviously, here was a woman who intended great things for her
future. “Congratulations, young lady,” I was a tad familiar, perhaps, but I
couldn’t help sharing her obvious sense of accomplishment. “I’m sure many
young women will follow in your footsteps,” I declared, a little grandiosely. Miss Thomas laughed at that.
“Not precisely, I don’t think. Not too many women would show the interest in
criminal psychology that I have.” My companion’s gaze grew distant for a
moment. “You know, I rather think that was his fault. My decision to
emphasize the treatment of criminal minds, I mean.” I sought to intervene the
sudden downturn in her mood that I sensed coming on – my years with Holmes
were keeping me in good stead. “Are you bringing up the environment versus
inheritance argument again, Miss Thomas?” I inquired. She began to answer me, and
then paused as she saw through my attempt to divert the conversation. “Oh no,
you’re not drawing me into that,” she cautioned. Her mien quickly became
serious, but not dour. “There is something else I should tell you, I
suppose,” she began, reluctantly. “Although whether or not you want to tell him
is your decision.” “Please go on,” I urged, quite
curious. What was she going to reveal now, this creature of surprise? “Once I attain my final
degree, I will be changing my name.” She told me bluntly. “Particularly my
surname. Thomas was appended to me as I was without a last name when left at
the orphanage.” Violet shrugged. “It being St. Thomas’ orphanage, the sisters
thought it a perfectly fitting name. But…” Miss Thomas’ voice faded as she
was overcome by some reluctance. “But?” I persisted, sensing
that she only needed drawing out. In some respects, she was still a young
woman, even if her usual manner didn’t suggest it. “But I feel the need to
acknowledge my mother, somehow,” she admitted. “So I’ll be changing my last
name to Adler,” she finished in a rush. I nodded in sympathy. For a
girl to grow up not knowing her parents and then to learn their identities by
sheer determination… It was an understandable urge. I saw no harm in it
myself, Adler being a relatively common name, particularly in the vast United
States. A suggestion of Violet’s
feline smile returned. “And I know my father has already been acknowledged.
After all, Violet Sherrinford was his mother, was she not?” I could not suppress my
admiration. “Indeed she was. I think I may tell that that is precisely why
your mother chose that name for you.” Perhaps this was another uncalled-for familiarity
but, again, I felt compelled to tell this young lady something of her
past. Miss Thomas’
smile became wistful. “I had hoped so. Thank you.” By this time, we were both
quite finished with our food and I was at a loss as to what should be said next.
My days of spending time with young ladies had long since been relegated to
the past and this particular young lady was quite able to throw me off
my stride. “Is there anything else I can
do for you, Miss Thomas?” “Regarding this matter? I
think not,” Frankly, I believed there was something she wanted to ask me, but
for some reason, she held herself back. Feeling that I had already pried too
far, I chose not to press the issue. Then, like a dog shaking off water, my
companion discarded the encroaching signs of a melancholy mood. “But there is
something you could do for me, if you could do a favor for a silly Yankee in
a foreign country?” Once again, a catlike smile graced her features. How
could I refuse her? “Anything that is within my
ability to do.” I promised, to her obvious delight. “I’ve never been to London
before,” she confessed. “And I know almost nothing about this city. Could you
perhaps recommend a few places…?” |