Joanna sighed sadly and, rising from her chair, walked over to the Persian slipper that held her Turkish cigarettes.
“Do not smoke!” my father cried out.
Joanna rapidly withdrew her hand. “Will the cigarette smoke adversely affect Johnny?”
“Not Johnny, but you,” warned my father. “You see, you just touched your son’s hand that is no doubt loaded with the cholera bacteria. Your hand will transfer the bacteria to the cigarette, and when you bring that cigarette to your mouth it will carry with it heaven knows how many of those vicious microorganisms. And we will then have a second case of cholera in these rooms.”
“Thank you for being the wise and good physician, Watson,” Joanna acknowledged gratefully.
“Not at all,” my father said and reminded us that, although the initial cases of the disease occurred as a result of ingesting contaminated food, the disease can spread in the general population as a result of hand-to-mouth contact. “So we have to institute the following preventative measures. First, after Johnny finishes with his current bout of diarrhea, we must thoroughly scrub down the bathroom and anything else he may have touched, and restrict the lad to his bedroom and bedside commode. Next, we should stock up on rubber gloves and use them whenever we have contact with Johnny or any item he may have touched. Even then, it is wise to wash your hands with soap and water after any such contact. We are to have no visitors and Miss Hudson is not to be allowed in these rooms. Mail and messages and dishes of food can be left outside the door. We shall inform her that Johnny has severe bronchitis and it may well be contagious.”
So we set out to scrub down each and every room at 221b Baker Street, paying particular attention to anything Johnny touched or otherwise came in contact with. Once we had thoroughly cleaned the parlor, we waited until Johnny exited the bathroom, then washed down every surface of the toilet and basin, as well as every inch of the floor and walls within arm’s reach. It required several hours for us to complete these tasks and by then sunlight was streaming in through the window that overlooked the snow-covered street.
As we sat around the fireplace for a well-deserved rest, the phone rang. We debated briefly whether to answer it, for we were in no mood to do so, but then again it may be related to the outbreak of cholera and some new aspect of the disease.
Joanna reached for the phone and spoke at length with Inspector Lestrade. Her expression remained neutral as she agreed to something or other at a designated place. She then insisted on his presence there and received his consent before placing the phone down.
“Lestrade has arranged for us to meet with the Earl of Wessex later this morning,” Joanna informed us. “I was about to ask the inspector to delay the meeting, but was told the earl would shortly leave for his country estate. Thus, I agreed to a meeting at noon.”
“But surely you will wish to remain here to care for Johnny,” said I.
“And so I shall, for you will go in my stead,” Joanna went on. “We must learn all the details of the break-in and every aspect of the painting that was slashed. Delve deeply into the painting itself, namely the artist, the time period of his work, and how the earl came by it. And most importantly, how and why the painting found its way to Hawke and Evans for restoration.”
“What shall I hope to uncover?”
“Another important yet undisclosed clue.”
I hesitated to agree to the meeting, for my place was here with my family. “But what if I am needed to assist in Johnny’s care?”
“Watson and I can deal with any problems which arise,” Joanna said. “Furthermore, we need someone to deliver the stool specimen to the bacteriology laboratory at St. Bartholomew’s. Please be good enough to drop off the specimen on your way to meet with the earl.”
“You can of course reach me by phone at the earl’s house if you require my presence.”
“We shall inform you if such a need arises.”
As I retired to change from my bedclothes, I could not help but notice the firm resolve in Joanna’s face, but I also saw the sadness and worry in her eyes, and I knew I would carry the pangs of guilt with every step I took away from 221b Baker Street.
8The Countess
The Earl of Wessex, with Lestrade at his side, received me in the elegant drawing room of his mansion that was located in the affluent neighborhood of Belgravia. Lord Granville was quite short and slight of frame, with inquisitive brown eyes and a gentle face that held no pretense. After the introductions, he greeted me with a warm handshake, but seemed disappointed not to see Joanna.
“I had hoped to meet the famous daughter of Sherlock Holmes,” said he. “Is she indisposed?”
“No, my lord,” I replied. “She unfortunately was called away on a most urgent matter.”
“Relating to the art vandal?”
“So it would seem,” I lied easily.
“Is there then hope for a rapid resolution?”
“Only a glimmer,” I said and turned my attention to the defaced painting.
“Ah, to the painting which is the purpose of your visit.” Following my gaze, the earl walked over to the slashed portrait and shook his head sadly. “It is a precious work of art whose value goes far beyond its market price. You see, it was a wedding gift from Queen Victoria herself.”
“Was it from the