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48 pages

English

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It is summer in 1890, in Robertsbridge, a small village in East Sussex. Dr Watson, on holiday without Holmes, finds the village peaceful and sleepy, but the truth is different. He soon discovers that the villagers are afraid, the atmosphere is threatening. Why do three mysterious white monks haunt the ruined abbey? What does the gipsy seek? Where is a missing ten-year-old boy? Watson calls for Holmes, but why is Holmes fearful of endangering lives? We read in this exciting story how Holmes' patient deduction and Watson's courage come together, to solve a many-sided mystery just before it turns into disaster.

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Publié par	Andrews UK
Date de parution	08 mars 2021
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781787056947
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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Sherlock Holmes and the Mystery of the Three Monks
Johanna M. Rieke

Published in 2021 by
MX Publishing
www.mxpublishing.com
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
Copyright © 2021 Johanna M. Rieke
The right of Johanna M. Rieke to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

For Bryan, my dear husband, who is the great love of my life

After the Thames Murders
For the criminologist, the year 1890 had up to April shown no particularly unusual features of interest. At that point, however, London, as you, dear reader, may recall, was shaken by a series of murders. There seemed to be no common features, apart from the fact that the victims were killed in an extraordinarily bestial manner, and that the murders were all committed in a district on the south bank of the Thames, opposite the Isle of Dogs. This led to the press and public giving them the name of “The Thames Murders,” and so they are now known. I had come to concern myself with this affair only in June, as my newly started practice in Kensington demanded my full attention. Moreover, since I was now married, the little free time I could enjoy was spent with my dear wife, Mary. I saw therefore little of my friend Sherlock Holmes, but as summer came on, and the practice was less busy, I offered to help Holmes in his enquiries into the background of the Thames murders. At the risk of our lives we identified the murderer, and so ended his evil career, and were able to frustrate a plot which, had it succeeded, would have cost many innocent lives. I may here say no more, for the involvement of our present government in the matter obliges me to maintain silence in respect to the details. I can only say that it was, for me, by far the most dramatic experience that I had ever shared with Holmes. Knowing, dear reader, what dangers we had in earlier cases sometimes had to face, it will not come as a surprise, that we both paid a price for our final success. Both Holmes and I were wounded, in a final confrontation with our opponent, and had to spend some time in hospital, before Holmes went back to 221B Baker Street to recuperate in the care of the landlady and housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson, while I went with my Mary to convalesce in the Sussex countryside.
Mrs. Forrester, of London, by whom Mary had been employed as a companion up to our marriage, invited us to her country home by Robertsbridge, in East Sussex. This generous gesture may be more readily understood, when I explain the relationship of these two ladies. As Mary, after the unexplained disappearance of her father, Colonel Morstan, became an orphan, left to her own resources, she entered the service of Mrs. Forrester. Mary had thereby not only the opportunity to earn her own living, but she also found in Mrs. Forrester a loyal, almost motherly, friend, who became devoted to her. This benevolent concern for her well-being did not end with our marriage, although their contacts now were necessarily restricted to correspondence. Mrs. Forrester had however several times invited Mary to spend some days with her in Sussex, and so it came about, as she learned of my wounds, that she readily extended the invitation to both of us, to stay with her during my convalescence. Mary gladly accepted this invitation, and so we found ourselves, on June 19th, leaving London by train for Robertsbridge, a village some 10 miles north of Hastings. On arrival at the station in Robertsbridge, we found the pony and trap awaiting us, for the remaining three miles to Mrs. Forrester’s country house. She came out to greet us, and had soon led us to our room, where we unpacked our luggage. There followed most agreeable and relaxed days, during which I felt my strength returning. I was soon ready to face the future without anxiety, and to devote myself again to my patients and to my wife.
It was however not long before I noticed how often I thought of Holmes, and wondered how he was faring. Inevitably I became more concerned as time went by, not however because of his injury, for I could trust his robust constitution and his strong will to take care of that. My concern was much more, what he was now doing, especially since I hoped, if he had a new case to solve, that he would properly take care of himself. But much more disturbing was the thought that he might have no new case to occupy him, as I knew all too well, from the time I shared with him in Baker Street, the phases through which he might be passing. At first he would be like a restless, caged animal, pacing back and forth. There then followed outbreaks of irrational anger, which were mostly directed at his housekeeper, poor Mrs. Hudson. Finally he would then draw in on himself, give no more regard to person, appearance or sleep, and play discordantly on the violin for hours on end. In the worst case there was another phase which might then follow, when he would look for his needle and cocaine, make up a seven-per-cent solution, and inject it to try to animate his wits. This thought tormented me. I had on several occasions, as his friend and doctor, made clear to him my strongest objections; but it seemed to have made no impression. I failed miserably in my attempts to convince him that the stimulation, which he found in the drug, came at a fearful cost in his body and spirit. For him, the cocaine injection was the substitute for the stimulation he otherwise found in meeting the challenge of a difficult problem which required his full concentration.
I was so concerned that I decided to write to Holmes and to describe to him some of the features of our stay in Robertsbridge. That was of course not something which he would find particularly interesting, but it might at least occupy his mind and distract him from his extreme solution.

My First Letter to Holmes
Robertsbridge, 29 June, 1890
My dear Holmes,
Ten days have already passed, since you left me with Mary at London Bridge station, as we took the train which would take us to Robertsbridge. After a good journey we were made welcome most hospitably, at Mrs. Forrester’s house, which lies north of Robertsbridge and stands alone in the country. Her land is bordered on the east side by a stream, and on the south side by a track which leads into the old London road, leading first to the small village of Etchingham, northwest from us. There are here no immediate neighbours, but Mrs. Forrester maintains friendly relations with a family living two miles south of Robertsbridge, that of Richard Welling, a business person who has a factory manufacturing various kinds of printing ink near Hastings. Alongside his property there is, on the east side of the road to Battle and Hastings, a narrow road which leads to the Old Abbey, a former monastery. If this name seems curious, it is in Robertsbridge necessary, for there were here two abbeys, of which however the old one is completely ruined and in a parlous state.
As you see, I have already acquired a certain knowledge about this district. I might almost say that I was obliged to learn, but you might form your own opinion about this. I came by my knowledge shortly after our arrival here, when the local vicar, Reverend Samuel Crane, paid a visit to Mrs. Forrester . He had heard that a London doctor, with his wife, was visiting, and could not resist the opportunity to have what he called a “cultivated conversation,” which he seemed to miss in his daily affairs. When he heard my name, however, he could not hold back his admiration. You, Holmes, were praised for your tireless battle for good, and I was praised for my exciting accounts in the “Strand” magazine. Be assured, my dear friend, that in Reverend Crane you have an enthusiastic admirer of your deductive skills, and it has become clear that he is therein not alone. I will enlarge on this later. It suffices to say that I was taken by his sympathy, and, at his insistence, told him something of our lesser adventures. There came, inevitably, the moment where he felt obliged to share with me some of his extensive knowledge of Robertsbridge. So it was that he embarked upon a lengthy, and exhausting, account about the village and its abbeys. While he was talking, apparently without stopping to draw breath, it occurred to me that I might have been spared this history lesson, had I not allowed the good vicar to address me as the friend and companion of that man whom he so much admired. It is therefore perhaps my duty to pass on to you at least an outline of the information he wanted to share with us .
The first abbey, the one that is here known as the ‘Old,’ was endowed in 1176 by Richard, he who would in 1178 become King Richard I of England. It was a subsidiary monastery of Boxley Abbey, a Cistercian abbey, of which the first Abbot was Robert de St. Martin. He gave his name to the first bridge over the river Rother. In 1197 the Abbots of Robertsbridge and Boxley went to search for England’s lost King John, whom they in fact found, in Bavaria, the southern part of Germany. During their long absence it became clear that the Abbey had been built in an uns