The Furt The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes: The Titanic Tragedy

‘Not yet. For security reasons, he has not been told the lady’s name; only that she will contact him in his cabin. You might like to tell him the rest after the ship departs. It should be a pleasant surprise for him. I don’t believe that he has ever met the young woman.’

‘Mycroft, I do believe you are becoming as deceitful as Professor Moriarty himself. But I do thank you for this opportunity to see Holmes before he begins his mission in the United States. Your Mr Reilly tells me there is some danger.’

Mycroft started, then peered into the distance as if lost in thought.

‘It is a dangerous world, Watson. A very dangerous world. But my brother has encountered danger many times in the past. I am confident that he’ll make it through this ordeal. Meanwhile, you have a train to catch. I will not detain you any longer. Tell Sherlock that I will dine with him at the Diogenes Club when he returns.’

We shook hands and I walked quickly into the station, which had a clean, modern look, following its recent renovation. The boat train was not difficult to locate. It was the centre of attention, surrounded by well-dressed passengers, with their friends and relatives who were seeing them off. Porters and servants were moving quickly to load the train. I hurried to my compartment in one of the chocolate-brown coaches.

It was a relaxing eighty-mile journey, passing through Surbiton, Woking, Basingstoke, Winchester and Eastleigh, on its way to the White Star berth at Southampton docks. Shortly after the train left Winchester, I decided to walk down to the dining car for some tea and biscuits. There was little of interest in the morning paper and, growing tired of my private compartment, I was in the mood for some conversation with other passengers — perhaps some of the ‘rich and famous’ Mycroft had mentioned. But as I entered the dining car, I found that all of the tables were occupied. This turned out to be a blessing, in disguise. An uncommonly attractive young woman — perhaps thirty years old — was sitting alone. I approached her and asked if I might join her. She readily acquiesced.

‘Thank you. I was afraid, for a moment, that I would have to order tea in my compartment. This is much more pleasant. My name is Watson, Doctor John Watson.’

She stared at me for a moment and then asked tentatively, ‘Might I inquire if you are the Doctor Watson who wrote about Sherlock Holmes?’

I confessed that I was.

‘This is indeed fortuitous. I read one of your adventures in an old Strand Magazine only a few weeks ago. My name is Miss Holly Storm-Fleming.’

There was something about the lady’s appearance and manner that was almost contradictory. This was clearly a lady of taste and breeding. She wore a silken, light blue dress with white lace trimming. When she spoke, her voice was clear and expressive, with a slight American accent. Her light brown hair was perfectly in place, falling softly about her shoulders. Yet, she was not at all reserved. Miss Storm-Fleming possessed an unrestrained vitality that brightened her every word and move.

‘It is my pleasure, Miss Storm-Fleming — or should I say Mrs?’

‘My husband passed away two years ago. Fortunately, his estate was large enough to enable me to live comfortably and go back to the United States whenever I like...’

‘Are you from America?’

‘Yes, I was born and raised in Chicago. I moved to New York when I was twenty-one. That is where I met my husband, Gerald. He was there as part of a British trade delegation, and I had a small part in a Broadway production. The members of the delegation attended one of our performances and afterwards they were invited to a reception to meet the cast. We started talking and, the first thing I knew, I was heading back to London with him.’

‘And now you’re returning to New York. Do you go there to visit friends, or is this just an opportunity to travel on the Titanic?’

‘Oh, a little of both, I suppose. I still have good friends in the theatre, and I will be getting together with them. But on this occasion, I have to confess, the Titanic was a big part of it. And how about you, Doctor? Why are you taking this voyage?’

‘I find that I am getting on in years and I discovered that — although I’ve travelled extensively on several continents — I have never been to America. This seemed like an excellent opportunity.’

‘Will Mr Holmes be on board? I’d love to meet him.’

I was not in the habit of lying. I especially did not want to be dishonest with someone as kind and charming as Miss Storm-Fleming. But national security and Holmes’s own safety were at stake. It was indeed important that I was discreet.

‘Unfortunately Holmes will not be travelling with us. He is retired now, but still very involved in several research projects. I am afraid he has little interest in being idle on board a ship.’

The remainder of the journey passed by quickly. It was not long before the train arrived at Southampton and we were approaching the docks. We arrived at half past eleven, precisely on time. The boat train wound its way along the water-front before slowly turning on to a side track flanking the White Star dock at Berth 44.

Miss Storm-Fleming and I parted company in the dining car, so that we could return to our respective compartments to gather up our belongings.

‘I look forward to meeting you again on board ship, Miss Storm-Fleming. Allow me to ask you to join me for dinner one evening.’

‘I will be looking forward to it, Doctor... Imagine, meeting the famous Doctor Watson. This voyage will be more exciting than I expected.’

Chapter Three

NOON ON WEDNESDAY 10 APRIL 1912

The Titanic was indeed a magnificent sight. It was, of course, a huge ship. But beyond its size, it had a grace and stature reminiscent of the stately wooden sailing vessels that had excited me so in my youth. But with modern engineering, crossing the Atlantic was no longer a hardship. It was more like spending a week in a fine hotel.

The ship’s superstructure shone in the midday sun. The thin gold line at the hull’s upper edge clearly and proudly identified the new vessel as part of the White Star Line. The Titanic’s four huge funnels towered against the blue sky. The air was crisp, and there was a smell of burning coal in the air. As I moved with the crowd, the excitement of the approaching journey began to affect me.

Before stepping onto the gangway, I moved to the side and examined my ticket. My cabin was on C Deck, on the port side. I was eager to see the Titanic’s accommodation. The advertisements I had read had promised unparalleled luxury.

When I reached the deck, one of the stewards also examined my ticket and led me across the wooden decks through a doorway to the interior of the ship. The steward, an efficient young man with little time to spare, marched quickly through the corridors until we came to the door marked C28.

I was most favourably impressed by my quarters. They were small, but much more homelike than other ships’ cabins I had seen. There was a large green sofa, a wardrobe and a dressing table. I was especially pleased to see the comfortable-looking bed, rather than a fixed berth.

‘The gent’s lavatory is down the hall and to the right,’ said the steward, pointing aft of the ship.

‘I understood that there were private baths on this deck.’

‘There are, sir. One cabin in three has one. The cabins are arranged in groups of three that can be let together, or separately. There are connecting doors, but do not be concerned. They are all locked here in this section.’

‘And since my cabin opens to the main corridor, I won’t have a view of the water. I was hoping to have a window.’

‘Oh no, sir. All first-class cabins have a view. Over there in the corner there’s a little passage to your porthole.’

‘Very good. And my bag?’

‘It will be up soon, sir. If you need any assistance in the future, just press the button and someone will be along to help.’