Mary Watson And The Departed Doctor Read online

  Title Page

  Mary Watson and the Departed Doctor

  Fred Thursfield

  Publisher Information

  First published in 2016 by

  MX Publishing

  335 Princess Park Manor

  Royal Drive, London, N11 3GX

  www.mxpublishing.com

  Digital edition converted and distributed by

  Andrews UK Limited

  www.andrewsuk.com

  © Copyright 2016 Fred Thursfield

  The right of Fred Thursfield to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him 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 unauthorized 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. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The opinions expressed herein are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect those of MX Publishing or Andrews UK.

  Cover design by www.staunch.com

  Prologue - 2015

  The 1922 discovery in the Valley of the Kings by Howard Carter and George Herbert, 5th Earl of Carnarvon of Tutankhamen’s nearly intact tomb received worldwide press coverage. It sparked a renewed public interest in ancient Egypt, for which Tutankhamen’s burial mask, now displayed in the Cairo Museum, remains the popular symbol.

  ***

  There was more than a little reason to believe that King Tutankhamen may have been murdered. The two principal suspects, Aye who succeeded him as king, and General Horemhab who in turn succeeded Aye to the throne, both appear to have been powerful men who, in effect, ruled Egypt while King Tutankhamen, was a child.

  It would not be unreasonable at all to believe that, as the King grew into a young man, the two elder men would have resented losing much of their power. Furthermore, at the time of his death, King Tutankhamen, was certainly old enough to have sired an heir to the throne himself, which would have at least technically eliminated Aye and Horemhab from ever ascending the throne.

  It is also noteworthy that the young King was greatly loved in ancient Egypt for restoring the Amun priesthood after the death of his presumed heretic father, Akhenaten. However, this was almost certainly the work of Aye and General Horemhab, who could have even resented Tutankhamen receiving all the glory of their work.

  Finally, there was the matter of the Kings widow, Ankhespaton, who was apparently forced to marry Aye after King Tutankhamen’s death. Only a short time later, she disappeared from the annals of history, leading to speculation that she too might have been murdered.

  These circumstances all contribute to an ancient mystery, and much intrigue, a situation that was not completely uncommon in the Egyptian royal court. Attempts had, and would be made to murder pharaohs, a few of which were successful. Usually, these seem to have been plots with the purpose of eliminating one person to further the ambitions of another or of others.

  Mary Watson

  And

  The Departed Doctor

  As related from the case notes of Mary N. Morstan

  London, 1923

  Chapter 1

  The last day of my overseas holiday in New York City in 1922 was spent in the company of my cousin Mrs. Alice Eastman and my overseas travelling companion Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Together that evening we three had attended a performance by Harry Houdini (a world famous American magician and escape artist) at the Hippodrome Theatre.

  After the show had ended, but just before leaving to return to Alice’s home I had unexpectedly found myself quickly making my way through the theatre and back stage to discover the reason for Sherlock’s sudden and mysterious failure to reappear from one of the magic tricks.

  Not finding an immediate answer to my dilemma for a moment I was at a loss... then receiving a note from Mr. Houdini (explaining the reason for Sherlock’s disappearance) I found myself just standing there not knowing what to do next.

  After a time realizing that I could not undo what had just taken place (or for that matter bring the detective back) I heard myself saying (in rather a quiet voice) certainly an unplanned, unexpected, and somewhat wistful and absent good bye to Sherlock

  The next morning after consoling Alice (about the recent circumstances concerning her husband) then saying fare well to her... I alone, without the company of the consulting detective boarded the RMS Majestic (an ocean liner of the White Star line) for my return voyage to Southampton from there by train onto London.

  After a short time my life at home (with all it was) soon returned to its customary course and pace and I found myself once again settling back into the quiet, and predictable daily domestic routines I had grown accustomed to in the last three years.

  But as 1922 became 1923 I was becoming more aware that with having assisted Sherlock in successfully solving two recent cases (one previously in England and now one in America) certain personal characteristics about myself had begun to change.

  Most noticeably now when chronicling or writing instead of always closing with my married last name ‘Watson’ I found myself occasionally signing a completed document or personal letter with my maiden surname ‘Morstan.’

  Because of this encouraging transformation I was becoming more assured and confident of my place in the world. I no longer felt that I must continue to live in the shadow of my late husband’s fame and could now at last be my own person.

  I had also come to realize through Sherlock’s unexpected acknowledgement of my valued assistance and contributions to his cases during dinner one evening (at the Houdini’s) that in my own right if called upon for any reason I would eagerly take up the role of a capable solo detective.

  As the inevitable outcome of my acquired and now well tested abilities of deduction, reasoning and in at least in one instance disguise (in New York City) I had found myself for a brief time beginning to explore new and definitely interesting challenges.

  I had also experienced original and ground-breaking opportunities most women might not have thought possible for their gender at the time.

  These revelations however had left me with a confusing dilemma. Appreciating that although I had now come into possession... in a manner of speaking of interesting deductive and investigative skills I had to come to terms with the reality that there was no longer anyone to share them with. Because of this there would never be any further cause or situation (that I could see) in which to put them to use ever again.

  Each year... during the early days of April I set aside some time to carry out what is generally referred to as ‘spring cleaning.’ For me in particular this means undertaking a series of small to large household tasks in order to make my home spick-and-span from the attic to the ground floor.

  Every piece of furniture within the walls of 126 Hill House Road is moved. Any surface within the house that is covered is now uncovered either to be completely dusted or thoroughly cleaned.

  This annual spring time routine has now come to include the large writing desk (that had been John’s) located in my study where I attend to matters concerning typewriter, pen and paper.

  From it the payment of household accounts is seen to, I
continue my ongoing correspondence to and from close friends and most importantly in the past it was where my often quickly hand written ‘case notes’ concerning Sherlock’s vocation had been transformed by typewriter into precise detective journals.

  I admit that the present condition (mostly due to my overseas vacation) of the surface including the small drawers and pigeon holes of my desk after a time had become - and could be best described in a manner similar as to how John had explained when first seeing Sherlock’s desk and study at his cottage in Doncaster...

  (But) he kept his cigars in the coal-scuttle, his tobacco in the toe end of a Persian slipper, and his unanswered correspondence transfixed by a jack-knife into the very centre of his wooden mantelpiece. Thus month after month his papers accumulated, until every corner of the room was stacked with bundles of manuscripts which were on no account to be burned, and which could not be put away save by their owner.

  What would appear to others as chaos, however, is to my friend a wealth of useful information. Throughout many cases, Holmes would dive into his apparent mess of random papers and artefacts, only to retrieve precisely the specific document or eclectic item he was looking for.

  Rather than allowing myself to become over whelmed with what I was about to undertake I chose instead to follow a very simple and practical approach to the task I had set out for myself. Coming to terms with the ‘paper work’ (as I thought of it as being) that had accumulated on the desk I would eventually come to create two stacks or collections.

  There would first be a discarded collection going to my left that would make its way from my desk and into the wire waste paper basket that was next to me. Then going to my right there would be a saved collection to be filed for the present time then properly dealt with at a later date.

  To save time while carrying this out I decided to give only a quick glance at each piece of paper that I would pickup from the desk then determine if it was to make the journey left or right. In the beginning the ‘paper work’ in front of me consisted mostly of articles of interest that for various reasons I had cut out from daily newspapers to keep.

  As well among this particular ‘newspaper collection’ were saved crossword puzzles from the Times that I had come to enjoy to be solved in my leisure time.

  I had shown little or no interest in these acrostic mysteries when John was alive. Later while in Sherlock’s company it had been revealed to me that this was one of the more interesting (and less harmful) ways he had found to remain mentally sharp when not involved with a case.

  Sherlock had explained this to me in a nonchalant manner “I find the most agreeable and stimulating way to begin my days after finishing breakfast to pour myself a second cup of coffee... pick up a pencil (or any writing instrument) that is close at hand and decrypt as many of the across and down words contained in the puzzle that I am able to before Mrs. Hudson announces... often in a loud voice from down stairs at the front door that the morning post has arrived.”

  There were also completed shopping lists and notes reminding me of appointments I had made in the past that had been attended to.

  Also among the collection were personal reminders to myself that I had quickly jotted down on the back of empty envelopes. Then there were names and corresponding telephone numbers waiting to be transferred from the paper they were originally recorded on to index cards.

  As the ‘discarded’ collection to my left began to fill the waste paper basket I found myself first quickly looking at... then for a brief time allowing myself to pause from my task... go back and fondly remember in my mind where I was at the time when the various colourful tourist souvenir items... such as brochures, ticket stubs, post cards and photographs I had brought back from my visit to New York City had first come into my possession.

  Next just slightly out of my reach... from what seemed like a time so very long ago were the many yellowed with age already opened envelopes each holding either a brief telegram, a personal hand written or formal typed written letter.

  My remembrance of each folded piece of paper with in each envelope was like an old photograph that had started to fade with time.

  While looking at this collection of most personal correspondence a wave of melancholy washed over me for a moment as I remembered a time when envelopes such as these had been addressed to both John and me then later only

  I alone receiving such telegrams and letters from Sherlock and his older brother Mycroft.

  Already knowing what the contents of each open envelope held and witnessing for a moment the faint long forgotten images and the echoes they were evoking from another time and place I found that I had no wish to dwell upon... or retrace a life for me now over and done with. So I coldly and without acknowledging any emotionlessly dismissed them all and quickly placed them each in turn to my right.

  As my desk was now mostly clear of ‘paper work’ there was only one last article to be dealt with and from its immediate appearance for some present unknown reason that particular piece of paper appeared to have been hastily folded in half.

  But as I gazed at it mutely lying there in front of me I suddenly remembered the traumatic nature of its contents. At that point I found myself only wanting to quickly dismiss it and the painful emotions and memories it was recalling in my mind without ever acknowledging it much less picking it up to unfold and read it again.

  I remember the exact time and day at St. Bartholomew’s hospital in 1920 when it had first come into my possession.

  The attending doctor at the time (a Doctor Lewis) very much at a loss for words while witnessing the growing emotional grief his final sombre pronouncement (concerning John) had just brought about quietly announced while handing me this particular piece of paper.” This is only for your records Mrs. Watson”

  Taking it reluctantly from his hand... at that very moment I suddenly felt a numbing cold sensation start to spread all through me... and an absolute emptiness come over me... it was as though at that very moment I had been drained of all life with what had just been disclosed.

  Almost at once I came to a sudden and overwhelming understanding that the secure and comfortable world I had shared with my loving husband for so many years had been (with only the simple innocent act of receiving the document) suddenly wrenched away from me... so I gave the official notification I had just so blindly taken from the doctor only a cursory glance.

  With the chaotic and emotionally troubling state of mind I was finding myself coming to none of the details it contained registered or made any immediate sense to me so in quiet desperation and without thinking I found myself quickly folding it then placing it into my hand bag.

  Somehow hoping with this one desperate, futile and certainly empty gesture I could somehow shut out and therefore obliterate the devastatingly emotional life altering event that had just taken place.

  ***

  In my overwhelming grief three years ago and to where I am today I have allowed myself to occasionally go back and relive the few very precious memories I still have of my final hours and days spent in hospital at my husband’s bedside. But as then and now I am troubled by the lack of specific details concerning his death.

  Mixed with these memories was and still is the word “indeterminate’’ that keeps coming to the front of my mind. It was certainly not a description or explanation that I as a nurse or for that matter anyone in the medical profession would come to expect to read much less accept on any official certificate just below the formal declaration stating ‘the cause of death’.

  Emotionally settling myself I found the courage to finally unfold and come to terms with what I realized I had been holding onto all this time.

  Reading from top to bottom there on a single piece of letter sized whitepaper was laid out the type written cold impartial medical details and detached emotionless statistical information concerning the ending of a life.
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  However it was that one out of place word that again drew my attention and started me thinking that I might have to bring my dormant investigative skills back into use.

  Chapter 2

  I have come to have knowledge of... and also a considerable understanding through professional experience first from John then Sherlock and close personal experience from my writer friend Winifred that death may occur in many ways and forms.

  There is of course death by natural causes, sometimes by poisoning (both accidental and deliberate), ill health and occasionally from unforeseen medical complications. There is violent death (as in combat), accidental (unintentional), self-inflicted (suicide) and lastly premeditated death more commonly known of as murder.

  Of all the ways to leave or alternatively to be made to leave this mortal world premeditated deaths should be the least likely to occur and the most troubling ones to accept when they do.

  This particular type of death most often involves a conscience intent, a single minded conviction, and is often motivated by some blind impulse or purpose.

  It is frequently carried out with a certain cold, callous and detached keenness on the part of the person wanting to end a life to follow through with the act from the often much unanticipated or unexpected beginning to the inevitable or fatal end.

  With this last cause of death it has been proven all too often that there is rarely any sense of right or wrong involved or even experienced for having carried out the arbitrary act of ending a life.

  With these thoughts I put aside my present housekeeping task for a moment... sat back in my chair and looked again at the document in my hand and found myself now seriously questioning the actual cause of John’s demise and what had or had not been discovered during his autopsy.

  ***

  An autopsy - also known as a post-mortem examination, is a highly specialized surgical procedure that consists of a thorough examination of a corpse to determine the cause and manner of death and to evaluate any disease or injury that may be present. It is usually performed by a specialized medical doctor known of as a pathologist.