My Sherlock Holmes Part 6

"Yes, go on."

"Juliet is inquiring into the whereabouts of Romeo."

"'Wherefore' means 'why,'" Holmes barked, "not 'where.'"

"It does?"

"Yes, it does."

"Oh, then she's asking why Romeo is-is what?"

"Why Romeo is Romeo."

"Why he's named Romeo? Well, I guess that's a good question. It's a dumb name, ain't it?"

Holmes shook his head. "Young man," he said, "you're as sharp as a pin, but you're sadly in need of an education."

And he persisted.

"Now then," he asked, "why does Juliet care to know anything about Romeo?"

"Well, he's her bloke, ain't he?"

"That's good enough for me," Holmes said.

I smiled in relief, not really knowing what I was smiling at.

"You're capable of better things, young man," he said. "We're going to give you an education."

"Education." I hooted. "I've got no time for that nonsense. I've got a business to run. And besides, I can't really see myself, all fancied up like a schoolboy and sitting in a cla.s.sroom."

"Who in the blazes said a word about cla.s.srooms? I said you need an education-not an incarceration," he said. "Cla.s.ses come later with college."

"College." I snorted. "Me? I've got life just the way I want it. Why go muck it up with college? I go about my business. I make my rounds. I know where to get a shilling here and a shilling there. Last week it was, I got two shillings from a gentleman who needed me to hold his horses for ten minutes. Who do you know who can earn two shillings in ten minutes?"

"Let me ask you a question," said Holmes. "If you were walking down the street and you came across a half-crown coin resting, half hidden, in the filth of the gutter, what would you do?"

"I'd look about," I immediately responded, "to make sure it was not a joke because I hate to be made a fool of."

"And if it were not a joke?"

"I'd s.n.a.t.c.h it up right quick."

"Why," he asked.

"If you see something of value in the gutter," I said, "you can't just leave it there."

"Even if it's awash in mud and grime?"

"You clean it off," I said, "and then you get good use out of it."

"You are that coin, young man," said Holmes, "and you're due for a good cleaning and an education. Otherwise you will remain in the gutter and have no opportunity for improvement."

I didn't like being tricked by my own words and I stormed out. I walked around London trying to calm down. It didn't work. His words made me take notice of what was all around me: chaps who were five, ten, or even fifteen years my elder who were, to put as good a face on it as possible, faring poorly. They were no longer swift enough to run errands. They were hobbled by alcohol and atrocious injuries. They were sleeping under bridges and in railway arches. The more industrious of them concocted the vilest of appearances, the better to beg with. I had seen these scenes thousands of times and laughed at them. Thanks to Mr. Holmes, on this particular promenade I felt as if I were seeing my future.

I returned to 221B Baker Street the following day and announced my willingness to be educated. He smiled and a.s.sured me that it would not hurt much. His notions of how to educate me were as unorthodox as that brief academic examination he inflicted upon me that day that was so significant. He taught me the essentials of the disciplines in which he was well-versed. As Dr. Watson has pointed out, there is much Mr. Holmes did not know or care to know. To my new tutor's credit, he recognized that a great many fields of knowledge might serve me even if they were irrelevant to him. He engaged other tutors to school me. Apparently he solicited donations from a select few souls to pay for any and all expenses. This is what we call the Wiggins Fund.

I was given a thorough grounding in the cla.s.sics. He made sure that I learned proper language and manners. He warned me never to speak in my own natural way. He said that the English were of such a peculiar nature that, despite my virtues and all that I may have attained, I would be shunned if my speech betrayed my origins. We've all got to come from somewhere and I'm not ashamed of any of it. But I was not going to put all this work in and then lose everything just because of some silly prejudice about aitches, for example.

To my surprise, I took to this new regime rather well. I discovered that much of what they call education is similar to how we navigate our lives on the street-except education frowns on the more colorful language with which we seasoned our speech. We take the facts in as we see them and use them to formulate ideas and actions-whether those ideas are about the best way to live a good life or the best way to secure the best errands. The process by which we think and act is the same. That was both depressing and rea.s.suring.

I was admitted to Christ Church, Oxford, at the age of seventeen. I never questioned how I was able to matriculate there. I know I displayed some merit. I also know that it did not hurt to have Mr. Holmes as a champion. More than anything else I wanted to sit in a lecture where Dr. Charles Lutwidge Dodgson, whom some may know as Lewis Carroll, stood at the podium and talked about the wonders of mathematics. Unfortunately, Dodgson no longer cared to be a lecturer and had retired from the activity. He did, however, continue to give cla.s.ses in logic to some lucky few, mostly high school girls. I managed to wheedle myself into a private cla.s.s he conducted in the house, which is what we call Christ Church College. I had not lost my ability or instinct for doing errands and services and, quite frankly, I had ingratiated myself with Dr. Dodgson.

I took it upon myself a few years ago to introduce Holmes to Dodgson. My motive was simple. I wanted to be present at what had every promise of being the most dazzling discourse between two of our civilization's most prominent logicians.

I suppose I also wanted to show Mr. Holmes that I was moving in respectable circles, not as a mere boastful moment but rather a tribute to Mr. Holmes himself. It was he that transformed me from a street urchin into an educated man with prospects. He did it by revealing to me the world of letters and learning and he gave me a bit of artifice that would help me in the variety of social and professional situations. Thanks to his help and that of those anonymous donors, I had the wherewithal to advance to and study at Oxford. I did not know where my education would take me. Holmes made no secret of his belief that I would be a splendid consulting detective. Dodgson told me the great satisfaction that comes to he who devotes his life to the intricacies of mathematics.

I took the precaution of warning them that, disparate souls as they were, they might not like each other. I was little prepared for the result of my warning. The historic meeting took place at what Dodgson referred to as his "house," a suite of ten rooms in stairway seven of Tom Quad at Christ Church College. Its previous occupant had been Lord Bute. While Dodgson proudly made mention of his abode's n.o.ble pedigree, he was quick to point out that neither the rank nor the t.i.tle had been transferred to him.

"There is no way I could be mistaken for a member of the peerage," he said with a certain degree of rue, brightly adding, "but at least it gives me the opportunity to bask in the company of similarly afflicted souls, such as yourselves."

The three of us sat at a large roomy table in his study, a chamber that always comforted and delighted all who had the good fortune to enjoy its hospitality. It was rumored that such occasions tended to be infrequent except for a rare invitation to a favored student, the visit of some noteworthy individual to the grounds of Christ Church or children under the age of ten.

Reverend Dodgson's willingness to meet with Mr. Holmes surprised me. The don possessed an extremely shy nature. Some even said he was a recluse who rarely ventured forth, except to deliver a lecture, a very occasional sermon, or to go for one of his brisk walks. I thought this to be an exaggeration.

Dodgson prepared the tea in a precise, if not eccentric, manner. As was his long-standing custom, he held the pot firmly and paced back and forth while tilting the pot first to the left and then to the right. I had time to admire the three-globed chandelier overhead, which illuminated the room with a brilliance and a warmth that, I fancied, were exceeded only by the humble genius's warmth and demeanor. I looked beyond Mr. Holmes toward the great window and its view of St. Aldate's, framed by solid curtains. On the sill was a great pile of books and monographs. To the right of the window was the noted famous Dodgson bookcase, neatly laden with all sorts of arcane treasures. To my right was the deep fireplace with its ample mantel on which rested a few ornate jars and vases. Reverend Dodgson ceased his determined parading when exactly ten minutes had elapsed and he joined us at the table.

Dodgson held up the ornate teapot and asked, "Shall I be mother?"

Holmes and I nodded, and Dr. Dodgson poured tea for each of us.

We sipped of the bracing, steeped elixir and smiled at each other. After a discreet pause, Professor Dodgson asked, "And what do you do, Holmes?"

Mr. Holmes seemed surprised by the good professor's apparent ignorance of his exploits.

"I play the violin," replied Mr. Holmes, "and as an avocation I fight the forces of evil."

"Quite a responsibility," said Dodgson.

"I suppose," said Mr. Holmes.

"After all, Bach's airs should not be fiddled with by just anyone; else Bach's heirs will be most vexed."

Mr. Holmes smiled a tight smile. Dodgson, on the other hand, warmly recommended the raspberry jam. Mr. Holmes dutifully spread the fragrant fruit compound across his biscuit.

"And," continued Dodgson, "Just how do you wage war against evil?"

"I a.s.sist my patrons, according to their needs and according to my own curiosity. I find innocent people who have been abducted. I apprehend perpetrators of fiendish crimes and see to it that they are sent to gaol where they belong."

"Ahh," said Dodgson, "you are a magician."

"Nothing of the sort," said Mr. Holmes. "My weapon is not magic but pure logic."

"People vanish and you make them materialize. You seek other people and make them vanish."

"You have a refreshing, and most unusual definition of magic," snapped Mr. Holmes.

"Just how are you faring in your war against evil?"

"I have had my share of triumphs," replied Mr. Holmes.

"What joy," said Dodgson. "Please allow me to thank you on behalf of Christendom. I know I shall sleep better tonight."

Mr. Holmes leaned forward and tapped his finger upon the table. "If you only knew how bitter the battle and resourceful the enemy, you would never dare close your eyes to sleep again, sir!"

"I do have some notion of the battle, sir; but if it weren't for sleep and the visitation of dreams, we would be bereft of ideas. More tea?"

"No, thank you," said Mr. Holmes. "I read your defense of Euclid. It seemed to be a most appropriate use of your special talent.

"Thank you."

"And are you still writing those little entertainments for the kiddies?"

"Yes," said Dodgson, "we mustn't all be scaring the children. Now, must we?"

"Why should children be spared knowledge of reality?" asked Mr. Holmes. "How does that prepare them for the responsibilities of maturity?"

"I have noticed that the people who so a.s.suredly use the word 'maturity' are better at p.r.o.nouncing it than exemplifying it. What do you think?"

"I think," said Mr. Holmes, daubing at his lips with the linen napkin and rising from his chair, "that I have urgent business elsewhere."

I was stunned.

Mr. Holmes fixed his intense eyes on me and softly said, "Well, young man, are you returning to London with me or shall you waste the afternoon by drinking tea and pretending to find virtue in the idle science of pure mathematics?"

I looked at Mr. Holmes and then at Dodgson. Each was staring at me, waiting to see whose company I would prefer for that afternoon and, it might be, forever after. Each, in his own way, has been a benefactor. Each in his own way has been a teacher. They were treating me like the stray dog that I am-a dog that must show love and obedience to one or another master.

Mr. Holmes's lip actually began to curl, not as I was prepared to expect, in contempt, but in laughter. And Dodgson, dear, sweet, shy, humble Dodgson permitted himself the barest outline of a smile.

"Well done, Reverend," said Mr. Holmes.

"The stage lost a fine actor, Mr. Holmes," said Dodgson, "when you chose to fight the forces of evil. Of course, there are those who choose to think of the stage, itself, as evil; but we can discount those poor, misguided wretches."

My shocked mien apparently changed to bafflement.

"Good G.o.d, my young friend," said Holmes. "How could you possibly believe that two such Englishmen as Reverend Dodgson and I could not find, each in the other, a worthwhile and appropriate companion? I must admit it was quite flattering to be thought of as the good don's peer."

"I meant no harm," I offered.

"Of course not," said Mr. Holmes. "And to be perfectly frank, your little foray into matchmaking pleased Reverend Dodgson and I no end, and so we decided to perform this little dramatic sketch as a thank-you."

I was scarcely in the mood to say "you're welcome," although to have two such esteemed and accomplished fellows stage a little performance especially for me did charm me in some uncharted and probably dangerous area of my psyche.

"And," added Mr. Holmes, "we derived a special pleasure from your desire to introduce us because Reverend Dodgson is one of the small band of people who have come together at my urging to help you make your way in the world."

My face reddened. I am grateful for the kindness shown to me by Mr. Holmes and, as I learned on that day Professor Dodgson, and those others whose ident.i.ties were unknown to me. But I do not like the cloak of deception that forever covers me. I do not like knowing of my fraud.

Sensing my thoughts, Holmes said, "Be of good cheer, young fellow. All of us harbor secrets, some nastier than yours."

"We all are sinners," agreed Dodgson. "In my prayers, I constantly ask G.o.d to give me a new life."

"You?" I asked in disbelief.

"Does he?" asked Mr. Holmes.

"In his own mysterious manner," Dodgson sighed, "I suppose that he does. Each sunrise is an opportunity to find and walk on the righteous path with His blessing. But by the time the sun has set, we have already contrived to grasp the temptations that we had hoped to renounce."

"You lead an exemplary life, sir," I interjected.

"Only in deed," he said. "Only in deed."

"My good Reverend," said Mr. Holmes, "you are hobbled by your knowledge of G.o.d's word. We, on the other hand, are saved by our comparative ignorance. I do know, however, about the G.o.d of justice and he will not find you wanting."

Dodgson sighed again, and said, "And I in turn hope that when I arrive at the Pearly Gates for judgment, you will be there to plead my case."

"If it's not too much of a bother," said Mr. Holmes, "I prefer not to precede you on such a journey."

Dodgson refilled our teacups and said, "Actually one reason I encouraged our young friend to arrange this meeting is because of a little problem I have. I might be in need of your services, Holmes."

The great detective wiped his lips with a napkin and casually reached into his pocket for his pipe.

"Please don't smoke," said Dodgson curtly. "You know I hate smoking."

"Quite right," said Mr. Holmes, and replaced the faithful stained calabash. "Please tell me more."

"I," Dodgson began, "have been-" And here he paused-not for dramatic effect but as a victim of the stammer that had plagued him all of his life.

We looked at him expectantly. Finally the words came.

"Stung! I have been-stung. I need you to use those magical powers about which we had such a good laugh to make my good name reappear."

"My dear fellow," said Holmes, "I am hardly the scourge of gossip-mongers."

"Nor do I ask your help in such a pursuit. Let me just state it flat out. Four of my diaries are missing. They cover the years 1858 to 1862. They are private musings, my daily thoughts. By reviewing the entries I am helped in striving for redemption. I fear that someone has stolen them for the purpose of profiting from the dissemination of those matters in my life which I prefer to keep hidden. I don't know what to do. I couldn't bear the thought of the whole world sharing my secrets."

"I see," said Mr. Holmes. "I shall have to ask you a few questions."

"I had better excuse myself," I said.