A Study in Sherlock

“That evening, all was as usual, yet by the end of it, I found myself light-headed and short of breath. I ascribed it to our change of air and thought little of it, especially as I felt fine the next day. Two nights later, it happened again, and again I was better for the rest of the week. The pattern has continued. I am quite well until I share a light meal with him before he plays, then I become increasingly ill until I can barely get through a performance. Three nights ago, I could not rise from my chair and had to be helped from the stage. It was so bad I had to miss the last two performances. Only today was I well enough to seek Mr Holmes’s help. Now you tell me I have come in vain.”

She sank back on the sofa, defeated.

“Not necessarily, my dear,” said Dr Watson. “I may lack his quick intelligence, but I learned much from close observation of his methods.”

“And I have read all your published accounts of his remarkable deductions,” I said. (I would not be so bold as to tell him that in one or two of those accounts Mr Holmes seemed to go around his elbow to reach his thumb whereas a woman would have gone directly across the palm, so to speak.) “Perhaps together we may help. Where do you take those light meals? Who prepares the food? Who serves it?”

We soon had a full account from her. Her maid brought up a tray to their rooms. As a rule, the tray held a small tureen of clear broth, a half loaf of bread and butter, and a pot of tea.

“Who serves?” asked Dr Watson as he made notes on a small pad he had taken from his pocket.

“I do,” Elizabeth told him. “I dismiss the maid and ladle the soup from the tureen into identical bowls. I also cut and butter our bread. My husband pours the tea, then adds one lump of sugar to each cup, and a few drops of milk.” She paused before continuing with a bitter look of shame. “It pains me to admit that when I asked him to fetch a handkerchief from our bedroom three nights ago, I switched our cups in case he should have slipped something into the tea without my seeing even though I had watched his every movement. That night, as I’ve told you, I was as sick as ever I have been. It was a long programme and I almost collapsed before it was finished.”

Dr Watson looked up from his notes. “Your maid?”

“Maria was born in my grandparents’ house. If she wishes me harm, why wait until we are in London? As for the manservant, Giorgio did resent me when William and I first married. A wife does bring change, does she not?”

“Indeed,” Dr Watson murmured, and I felt he was remembering the changes his own marriage had wrought.

“He has since forgiven me, though, because he and Maria are to wed when we return to Venice. Nevertheless, my first suspicions fell there, yet how could either of them poison a tureen of soup, a loaf of bread, or a pot of tea without poisoning both of us? No, it has to be William. There’s no one else. But how? And why?”

“Is there another woman?” I asked.

“No, Aunt. At least I don’t think so. He’s very handsome and many women have thrown themselves at him whether or not I am there, but I can honestly say he doesn’t seem to notice. His family tell me that he was quite homely as a boy—all arms and gangly legs and interested only in his music. He still thinks of himself that way.” A blush brought colour to her pale face. “I am the first woman to break through his reserve.”

“Would he benefit by your death?” asked the doctor.

With a smile for me, Elizabeth shook her head. “As Aunt will tell you, sir, my father married for love, not money; and what money he did leave disappeared into her second marriage.”

“When is your husband’s next performance?”

“Tonight. We will sup together as usual and I will be there to assist him as long as I am able. It’s a shorter programme than last time, so perhaps I can manage.” She reached for her handbag. “I brought two passes. I hoped that you and Mr Holmes might agree to come and we could act as if the meeting were an accident.”

“An excellent idea,” I said briskly, plucking the tickets from her hand. I gave one to Dr Watson and retained the other for myself. “Even better would be if I joined you for your early meal.”

She started to protest but I held up my hand to stop her. “While he may prefer to sup alone with you, I am your aunt whom you have not seen in years. We can go back to your lodgings together as if the accidental meeting occurred this afternoon.”

“I have told William about you,” she said slowly, “and we did plan to call on you during our stay here.”

“Excellent,” said Dr Watson. “Having met accidentally, it would be only natural that your aunt should wish to meet your husband immediately. I do not see how he can object and I doubt he will attempt anything with two pairs of eyes watching.”

He questioned Elizabeth a second time about her exact symptoms, then asked if he might borrow the key to Mr Holmes’s rooms. “I should like to consult his notes on poisons.”

I handed it over most willingly.