Sherlock Holmes Investigates.
The Case of Lady Chatterley’s Voodoo Dolls
Copyright 2011 Philip van Wulven
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My friend Holmes was sunk into a decidedly gloomy frame of mind, lethargic in his demeanour and barely responsive to all attempts at conversation. I had noted his condition over several weeks, and had begun to fear for his good health should this continue.
After some consultation with Mary, my wife, she and I had resolved on a purely pleasurable outing to assist him into a more relaxed and convivial state.
At dinner I asked, “I say, Holmes, would you care for a jaunt down to Hampshire tomorrow? Mary and I were intending to go to the Wessex Cup Race-meet, but now her sister has taken ill with malaria again, and she will be fussing around the bedside for the next several days. She insists I go without her, but I am in need of company.”
Holmes allowed a hint of amusement to flicker across his face, no doubt aware of my subterfuge, but said, “Why not? There is little to detain me here at present.”
We arrived at Waterloo station in good time for the early express next morning, and were soon seated comfortably.
Holmes, apparently indifferent to the early hour, was dapper, composed, and serenely alert. This change in his manner and mood was quite marked, so that I could congratulate myself on the very rapid success of the scheme. On the other hand, I felt somewhat less chipper, until we had availed ourselves of the excellent breakfast collation packed by Mary, along with a well insulated flask of good strong Abyssinian coffee.
“We are making excellent time, I see,” he observed. “The new engines they have recently purchased continue to surprise the operators with their efficiency. I will wager the engineer of this locomotive is an older man who distrusts their capability on the upward inclines, and so sees the firebox is over stoked, to generate more steam pressure, as was necessary with the older models.”
I replied, “Oh, I have no doubt you may be correct, Holmes, as to our current velocity, but the steepest climb is yet before us.”
Holmes raised his left eyebrow to a miniscule degree and gave a slight smile, but did not otherwise acknowledge my doubts. Instead, he busied himself with his tobacco pipe, and was soon wreathed in a comfortable cloud of curling blue fumes.
His prognostication was shortly proven justified, as I saw through the carriage window that we had crested the rise and approached Woking apace, some minutes before our scheduled arrival there.
While at the station for a somewhat extended wait, in order to depart again as per the timetable, I noticed the engineer of our train in agitated consultation with the stationmaster, which involved much gesticulation and flourishing of fob-watches. He was indeed of mature age, with sparse white hair extruded from the rim of his cap, and a florid choleric countenance.
His stoker, a swarthy muscular lout, watched the altercation with every appearance of enjoyment at his workmate’s discomfort.
“Now there is a surprising anomaly, Watson. Lascar seamen are not usually employed in Her Majesty’s Realm in any capacity other than as seamen. That fellow is well away from his native milieu. No doubt he has obtained employment with the London and South Western Railway, based on prior experience in the same capacity aboard a ship recently docked at Southampton.” He knew my question before it was articulated, and so continued, “His attire is of a cloth and cut more generally found in the bazaars of Singapore, or perhaps a trading outpost of the British East India Company in the Malayan Peninsula, than in any emporium in London or Southampton. Further, the style and quality is entirely such as worn by seamen, rather than land based labourers.”
This incident would not be worthy of note, or further comment, had we not spied this same fellow shortly after our arrival at the Winchester racetrack. He was now himself a principal in an altercation which proceeded with some animation and intensity amidst the crowd of otherwise quite orderly spectators.
I said, “I say, there’s the Lascar stoker from our train, d’you see him? That other person appears to be cut from the same cloth, just a bit more worn and wrinkled by the usage of time. Another Lascar away from his element. What possible interest can the Wessex Cup have for Oriental seamen, d’you suppose, Holmes?”
“Very probably their interest is not so much in the horses or the race itself, but more in the attendant wagering and ready amiability of those fortunate enough to come into large amounts of the coin of the Realm by virtue of inspired choices at the bookmakers. In that connection, I suggest you note that the elder of the two may well be a long-term resident of this country, for he wears a cap of the type commonly worn by porters at Covent Garden Market.”
Holmes observed the ongoing dispute with interest a moment longer, and then remarked, “Why, I do believe there is more at stake than a minor dispute related to pecuniary gain, Watson. Observe, if you will, the demeanour of the younger man.”
Thus alerted, I paid close attention. The younger fellow loomed over his adversary by a full head, yet seemed intimidated and somewhat fearful despite his physical ascendance. He was evidently remonstrating with the other, with much head shaking and an admonitory tone to his voice, at odds with the anger and tension betrayed by his hunched shoulders and clenched fists.
The older man reached into his jacket pocket and grasped some object within, whereat the other recoiled, with an expression of terror mixed with disgust. Then he turned abruptly away with a cry of, “Voodoo! Voodoo!” and fled into the crowd.
Holmes stood still, and said, “Now, once more I am reminded of the pitfalls of the assumptive factor in making an accurate assessment of both people and events, Watson. With that single word everything must be seen from an entirely different perspective. We must bear in mind that at the root of human dispute have always been the same factors. To whit, power, money, religion, and sex.”
“Goodness me Holmes, you quite embarrass me. There are delicate ears here, and though I can but concur with the sentiment, I must condemn the mode of expression in such a place.”
I observed only the usual level of indifference amongst those nearest us in the press of the crowded area, though there was a party including several ladies just a short distance away, near the entrance to the enclosure.
“Quite correctly so, my friend. However, I feel we must leave such nicety for less urgent occasions. This development requires our immediate attention, for I greatly fear we have stumbled upon a crisis point in a matter of some potential for murderous consequences. Observe who else is present, if you will.”
I scanned the faces passing by in their progress towards the enclosure, the bookmakers stands, and the refreshment booths, but saw no-one of evident significance, until a man with a head of wild curly black hair turned towards us, and gave a slight nod of recognition before vanishing from view behind the parasols and feathered hats of an approaching group of ladies.
“Why, that is the gypsy fellow from Dartmoor, Josiah Green, is it not? Even at the remove of the ten years since that affair, he is quite recognisable. Surely you do not expect violence of him? He seemed decent enough when we spoke. Indeed, his appearance here is only to be expected,
for his band come to this race meet and the Fair every year, as a matter of long established custom.”
“He is the grandson of their drabarni, or spell caster and magic worker, as they advertise her. She uses his faculties in service of her somewhat esoteric pursuits, as we discovered, and he was observing those Lascars with close attention. I conclude, his interest and hers must be related to the matter of this Voodoo, which the elder Lascar apparently practices.”
We entered the Club enclosure, where the press of the crowd was less, the people more sedate and better mannered, and our view of the track would have been much improved, but that Holmes said, “Let us remain close by the fence awhile, in order to allow our Mr Green to more readily speak with us, and apprise us of some detail as to this affair.”
The first race was run, and the contenders for the second had entered the starting area, before his hope was fulfilled. Green appeared through the crowd, and doffed his hat as he approached.
“Mr Holmes, Dr. Watson, good morning, gentlemen.”
Holmes cavalierly thrust aside his customary attention to the norms of social interaction, and said, “Mr Green. Without obfuscation or polite innuendo, what is this business of Voodoun, how could it affect you and your grandmother in any degree, and why should