Arrowood

‘I mean no offence, sir,’ she replied, now noticing the edge to his voice.

‘Let me tell you something, Miss . . .’

‘Cousture. Miss Caroline Cousture.’

‘Appearances can be deceptive, Miss Cousture. Holmes is famous because his assistant writes stories and sells them. He’s a detective with a chronicler. But what about the cases we never hear about? The ones that do not get turned into stories for the public? What about the cases in which people are killed by his blundering mistakes?’

‘Killed, sir?’ asked the woman.

‘Are you familiar with the Openshaw case, Miss Cousture?’

The woman shook her head.

‘The Case of the Five Pips?’

Again she shook her head.

‘A young man sent to his death by the Great Detective. Over the Waterloo Bridge. And that isn’t the only one. You must know the Case of the Dancing Men? It was in the newspaper.’

‘No, sir.’

‘Mr Hilton Cubitt?’

‘I do not read newspapers.’

‘Shot. Shot dead and his wife almost killed as well. No, no, Holmes is far from perfect. Did you know he has private means, miss? Well, I hear he turns down as many cases as he accepts, and why do you think? Why, I wonder, would a detective turn down so many cases? And, please, don’t think I’m envious of him. I am not. I pity him. Why? Because he’s a deductive agent. He takes small clues and makes large things of them. Often wrong, in my opinion. There.’ He threw his hands in the air. ‘I’ve said it. Of course he’s famous, but I’m afraid he doesn’t understand people. With Holmes, there are always clues: marks on the ground, the fortuitous faggot of ash on the table, a singular type of clay on the boat. But what of the case with no clues? It’s commoner than you think, Miss Cousture. Then it’s about people. About reading people.’ Here he gestured at the shelf holding his small collection of books on the psychology of the mind. ‘I am an emotional agent, not a deductive agent. And why? I see people. I see into their souls. I smell out the truth with my nose.’

As he spoke, his stare fixed on her, I noticed her flush. Her eyes fell to the floor.

‘And sometimes that smell is so strong it burrows inside me like a worm,’ he continued. ‘I know people. I know them so badly it torments me. That is how I solve my cases. I might not have my picture in the Daily News. I might not have a housekeeper and rooms in Baker Street and a brother in the government, but if I choose to accept your case – and I don’t guarantee that until I hear what you have to say – if I choose to accept it, then you’ll find no fault in me nor in my assistant.’

I watched him with great admiration: when he got into his stride, the guvnor was irrepressible. And what he said was true: his emotions were both his strength and his weakness. That was why he needed me more than he sometimes understood.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Miss Cousture. ‘I do not mean to insult you. I know nothing of this detective business. All I know is how they talk of Mr Holmes. Forgive me, sir.’

He nodded and harrumphed, and finally sat back in his chair by the fire.

‘Tell us all. Leave nothing out. Who is your brother and why do you need to find him?’

She clasped her hands in her lap and composed herself.

‘We are from Rouen, sir. I come here just two years before to work. I’m a photographer. In France, they do not accept a woman as photographer, and so my uncle he helps me gain employment here, on Great Dover Street. He is a dealer of art. My brother Thierry worked for a patisserie at home, but there was a little trouble.’

‘Trouble?’ demanded the guvnor. ‘What trouble?’

She hesitated.

‘Unless you tell me everything, I cannot help.’

‘They accuse him of stealing from the shop,’ she said.

‘And did he steal?’

‘I think yes.’

She glanced humbly at him, then her eyes brushed my own. I’m ashamed to confess that even though I was married more than fifteen years before to the most commonsensical woman in the whole of Walworth, that look stirred up an urge in me that hadn’t been stirred in a while. This young woman with her almond face and her single chipped tooth was a natural beauty.

‘Continue,’ he said.

‘He had to go very quick from Rouen so he followed me to London. He found a job in a chophouse. Four nights ago he comes back from work very scared. He begs of me some money to go back to France. He will not tell me why he must go back. I’ve never seen him so much scared.’ She paused here to catch her breath and dab at her eyes with the corner of a yellowed handkerchief. ‘I say no to him. I could not let him go back to Rouen. If he returns he will be in trouble. I don’t want this.’

She hesitated again, a tear appearing in her eye.

‘But perhaps more I wanted him here in London with me. This is a lonely city for a stranger, sir. And a dangerous one for a woman.’

‘Take a moment, mademoiselle,’ said my employer nobly. He sat forward in his chair, his belly hanging on his knees.

‘He left in a great anger. I have not seen him since. He’s not been at work.’ The tears began to flow properly now. ‘Where does he sleep?’

‘Now, my dear,’ said the guvnor. ‘You don’t need us. Your brother’s no doubt hiding. He’ll seek you when he feels safe.’

She held her handkerchief over her eyes until she had control of herself. She blew her nose.

‘I can pay, if that’s what concerns you,’ she said at last, pulling a small purse from inside her coat and withdrawing a handful of guineas. ‘Look.’

‘Put them away, miss. If he’s that frightened, he’s probably back in France.’

She shook her head.

‘No, sir, he is not in France. The day after I refuse him I come from work and see that my clock is gone, and my second shoes and a shift I bought only this winter last. The landlady says to me he was there that afternoon.’

‘There! He’s sold them to pay his fare.’

‘No, sir. His papers, his clothes, they are still in my room. How he enters France without the papers? Something has happened to him.’ As she spoke, she dropped the coins back into the purse and withdrew some notes. ‘Please, Mr Arrowood. He’s all I have. I have nobody to turn to.’

The guvnor watched as she unfolded two five-pound notes: it was some time since we’d seen banknotes in that room.

‘Why not go to the police?’ he asked.

‘They will say what you say. I beg you, Mr Arrowood.’

‘Miss Cousture, I could take your money, and no doubt there are many private agents in London who would happily have it. But it’s one of my principles that I never take money if I don’t think there’s a case, particularly from a person with limited means. I don’t mean to insult you, but I’m sure that money you have there is either hard saved or borrowed. Your brother’s probably holed up with a woman somewhere. Wait a few more days. If he doesn’t return, then come back and see us.’

Her pale face flushed. She rose and stepped to the grate, holding the banknotes to the glowing coals. ‘If you do not take my case I put this money in your fire,’ she said sharply.

‘Please be sensible, miss,’ said the guvnor.

‘The money’s nothing to me. And I think you prefer it in your pocket than your fire?’