The Tale of the Failing Orchard

The Mysterious Tale of the Failing Orchard

The tale that I feel bound to write down is one that is both unusual and fascinating. I feel it is my duty to keep a record of such cases for they not only show the great dexterity of the most cunning of criminal minds but also show of Holmes's great intellectual brilliance.

The case in question was first brought to my attention when I visited Holmes at his quarters in Baker’s Street around lunchtime. The weather being reasonably cheerful and an absence of patients in the afternoon meant that my course inevitably steered to Holmes door, particularly as I hadn’t seen him for a while.

I was shown up to find Holmes in one of his peculiar depressive moods. He did not appear to be taking cocaine, I was relieved to see, but sat with his feet upon his desk, and his eyes closed. What went on within his mind I had no idea and I didn’t venture to ask. Perhaps he relived past cases, invented others on the spot or composed music…his mind was certainly capable of all three and probably simultaneously. Having had my hat and coat taken from me I proceeded to sit and read the newspaper, glancing idly at the news stories of the day.

About fifteen minutes later as I neared the end of my reading Holmes voice spoke out across the room,

“Greetings Watson, I see that your practice is quiet.”

“How so?” I replied with some surprise, although not as much as I used to as I was already well acquainted with Holmes capacity for observation .

“Well for a start you’re here visiting me instead of being out and about; secondly, you no longer order your own newspaper, unless you have changed your reading habits - which knowing you, you wouldn’t have but thirdly and most importantly of all your clothes are still in remarkably good condition. Had you been busy this morning they ought to be sufficiently creased.” I nodded in acknowledgement at Holmes speech and was about to air my views on the rail strikes when Holmes spoke again,

“Actually you have timed your visit rather well, Watson, for there is a case that has been brought to my attention that may prove to be most promising.” With that he withdrew his feet from his desk and pushed a white letter across to me saying, “What do you make of that, Watson?”
The letter read as follows:

Dear Mr Holmes,
I am due to be in London over the next few days and would request that I could see you on the Tuesday of this coming week over a matter that may seem trivial to you but is causing me no little anxiety. If you could respond to this letter as soon as possible I would be grateful.

Yours,
Eliza Grange

I studied it for a minute or two before responding,

“It would seem she is well off from the quality of the paper, but beyond that…”

“Yes, there wasn’t too much else to go on bar the name,” interjected Holmes. “She is obviously left handed from the tilt of the writing and the paper itself is from a London-based firm. The name, however, I was able to look up in my files where I found out the following.” He picked the relevant file off his desk and opened it, then started to read aloud, “Eliza Grange, born 21st March 1875, came to inherit her large Hertfordshire estate from her father’s will when aged 20, when it passed from the guardianship of her uncle Gerald Grange. Is a well-known and well-liked writer who regularly moves in the higher society circles.” Holmes put down the file then continued, “What her problem is I do not know Watson, but the fact she states it as trivial greatly intrigues me for it is often the more trivial cases that are the most interesting.”

With that he strolled to the window and within a few minutes exclaimed, “Unless I am very much mistaken, there she is now.” I too moved to the window and looked out upon the busy London street. A shiny black cab had just pulled up outside our door and from it stepped a figure dressed in a smart pink dress, who promptly moved to the door and knocked. “Interesting to note that she is no way intimidated as some are when they come to call,” mused Holmes as he beckoned me to retake my seat, “I think we can safely assume that an illicit affair or the such is not at the heart of the case that we are to deal with.” Holmes had a mild disliking of cases tainted by crude and vulgar emotions as he felt it made for irrational and stupid acts that were easily solved…it was perhaps unfortunate that so many cases then involved such…but I digress from the case in hand. We both had retaken our seats when Eliza was shown into the room.

She was a quite pretty young woman in her mid-twenties with auburn hair and many dimples. She seemed slightly concerned by my presence but Holmes reassured her in his gentle at-ease manner that she wasn’t intruding upon anything and that she was welcome to take a seat. Unusually this was one of the few times that he chose not to make an amusing set of remarks about where the girl had been, what countries she had visited and what she had done that morning - although he no doubt had already done so within his mind. Instead he merely asked her to begin her story. Eliza did so, speaking in a slightly rushed and anxious voice,

“Mr Holmes I am so glad that you are available. I have become so concerned, though, about affairs that have started to take shape at Belleview. As you are probably aware I came into my inheritance about five years ago and I feared some sort of backlash from my Uncle, but he seemed genuinely pleased. He himself was given an ample lump sum but doesn't work, so it has dwindled somewhat from what it was.

About six months ago, a painting above my bed fell and would have killed me if it were not for the fact that it gave a warning creak before falling, and again a month ago the reins attached between my horse and carriage snapped at the top of a steep hill. I was able to survive only by jumping out. And last week I fell ill for a few days after eating dinner that my Uncle had prepared. I’m not really sure what to do…I mean perhaps they were all accidents? It might be I’m deluded and blaming my Uncle for nothing at all. I was wondering, Mr Holmes, if there is anything that you can do to help me.. I‘m so worried.” Holmes remained with a grave face throughout this narrative before lighting his pipe and taking a puff from it. He replied,

“The facts as you state them, Miss Grange, definitely seem to point to your uncle or another making plans against you, for three attempts, that cannot be coincidence. What day are you planning to return home?”

“Tomorrow afternoon about six in the evening,” she replied.

“Well then, I suggest that Watson and I post guard about the house that night in an effort to protect you and to catch him red-handed. I advise that you are careful as to what you eat and drink and that you lock yourself within your bedroom for the night, perhaps leaving some hint at your correspondence with us lying about. That way he should make his move and we shall catch him. Are you brave enough to carry out such a plan, Miss Grange?”

“Yes,” she replied courageously as she looked Holmes in the eye, “I will do as you say, Sir.”

“I thought you would embrace the plan,” Holmes replied with a smile, “for you are one of the rare people who seem to have abundant courage. So all is settled then…I will look further into the affairs surrounding your estate in the meantime to get a clearer picture of events but until then, I wish you well.” Eliza rose and with smile and curtsey left the room shutting the door.

“It seems a relatively simple case after all, Holmes,” I said with the merest hint of disappointment.

“Perhaps,” Holmes replied with a troubled face, “but I’m not so sure Watson…something is telling me that there may be more going on here than first meets the eye. By the way you don’t mind going down to Hertfordshire tomorrow, do you?”

“Not at all,” I replied, “it would be a pleasure…I can always reschedule the couple of appointments I have for earlier in the day.”

“Good,” Holmes replied, “then I’ll meet you back here at two tomorrow, until then it is probably best if you depart for I am going to have to give the matter some serious thought and make enquiries before I am satisfied on this matter.

* * *

The following day I entered my friend's apartment to find him furiously smoking away in some agitation.

“Are you all right, Holmes?” I asked anxiously. Holmes brow was knitted together tightly, showing the furious thinking that was taking place beneath. It was several minutes before he answered:

“I just can’t understand some of the aspects of this case, Watson,” he said. “There are pieces that jut out and jar, and I just can’t place my finger on a solution. Still…”he said jumping to his feet and putting down his pipe, “it is most refreshing to have a case that exercises my mind such as this. I have felt the monotony of the past few months drift away today.”

“What is it that you have a problem with?” I asked in curiosity as we sat in the first class carriage bound for Herffordshire.

“Well for a start, the estate is compromised largely of an orchard near the village as most of the surrounding land has been sold off. The orchard itself has been failing for many years, yet neither her uncle nor she have had it cut down or sold off, despite some quite lucrative offers. The land itself is out of view of the Manor and would be of no real loss so I cannot yet understand why it hasn’t been sold. Eliza didn‘t strike me as the sort of woman who would be sentimental about such things…secondly, I’ve made many enquiries about Gerald but am yet to find a trace of criminalism or ill-temper within his history. It is of course entirely probable that he himself has been pushed over by the sight of such a fortune but then why didn’t he try to gain it sooner…unless he is an infinitely more cunning man than my informative suggest he is. Thirdly and most curious of all, Gerald has actually been gaining money over the last eight months, despite having no apparent employment.”

I too could offer very little help in resolving these issues, although personally I could see little to be concerned about in either, the evidence still clearly pointed to Gerald being the instigator of the crimes and that was still very much my view as we departed from the train.

It was quarter to six when we crossed the centre of the village, heading towards the Manor on the other side of it, and quarter past when we were within the Manor grounds. There we positioned ourselves to overlook Miss Eliza‘s bedroom window. Holmes was sure this is where the villain would strike should he choose, rather than batter down a locked door. I was checking my watch ten minutes on, in the freezing night air, when a women’s scream echoed out into the night air followed by a shot then several seconds later another, startling me and causing Holmes to run for the building at a pace calling out,

“Curses Watson, I told her to be careful and now it may be too late, save for justice itself.” Holmes quickly broke into the house via a back window. I followed rather clumsily behind. We made our way up to the first floor landing where Holmes stumbled over a body on the floor. I made for the gas lamps...only to find there were none. It quickly occured to me that it must be one of the more modern and upmarket dwellings that had electricity installed, soon I came upon a large brass switch in the wall, illuminating the scene before our eyes. Gerald lay dead upon the floor, shot through the head, holding a revolver, whilst Eliza lay pale and unconscious on the floor several metres away also holding a gun. It was clear looking at the scene to see what had happened, Eliza must have armed herself for protection following Holmes orders and having dropped some hints that the game was afoot to Gerald, had perhaps left her room to go to the bathroom only for Gerald to have approached carrying a gun. She, however, proved to be the better shot; the bullet from Gerald’s gun had ended up in the woodwork to the side of her head. Holmes however, having checked Eliza’s pulse, prowled the floor for some time before helping me lift Eliza downstairs.

I quickly located some brandy and soon Eliza had recovered sufficiently to confirm my suspicions. She had left her room to find Gerald coming up the stairs with a gun; he had fired and missed and she had then fired in fear of her life. Holmes heard her out before speaking.

“It seems that you have had a lucky escape then and for that I am sorry for I should have ensured we arrived sooner…I did not expect him to strike so early in the evening. One other question Eliza, why haven’t you sold off the large orchard that lies due South of the property? It is a question that has puzzled most greatly.” I thought that I must have been mistaken for it was as though a spark of alarm flickered across Eliza’s eyes at such an unexpected question.

“Why yes,” she rallied with a mild laugh, “It was my father’s wish that it shouldn’t be sold and so both my uncle and I respected it.”

“Ah, then I must thank you for clearing that up for me,” Holmes said gracefully. “Now, Watson, if you would be so kind as to ensure Miss Eliza is all right then I’ll ring for the police who can sort out the mess upstairs.” I spent the next ten minutes looking after Eliza, who still appeared to be in a state of shock.

The police arrived, and soon after Holmes returned and we left, not to go back to London but to stay overnight at the local inn. From there Holmes sent and received several telegrams and by the next morning much of his bad mood had vanished.

“So now we head back to London?” I queried of Holmes.

“No Watson, at least not at first, for the problems that I have had surrounding this case appear to be resolving themselves before my eyes. I have been blind, Watson, not to have seen what was occurring before my eyes, a drama set out to play into the criminal’s hands…and such cunning and nerve as I have rarely seen in its execution.” I was more than a little puzzled by Holmes secretive remarks and more so when we returned to the scene of last night's tragedy. This time we were shown into the house by an officer who opened the door for us. Holmes spent the next half an hour searching the house until he returned to the kitchen where I sat waiting.

“Amazing, Watson, quite amazing,” said Holmes with some vigour, “I don’t think I’ve had to deal with a case quite like it.”

“It seems pretty tied up to me,” I replied dryly. “By the way where is Eliza, is she still in shock from last night?” Unusually Holmes actually broke out into a laugh before replying,

“Come Watson, surely you see it all now? …Perhaps not, but I assure you Miss Eliza is more than well; perhaps you’ll understand better when I show you what lies in her basement." Curious, I followed Holmes energetic strides into the basement. To my amazement part of the wall had been pulled back and a tunnel could be seen heading South. We followed the tunnel for a long while until it emerged into a huge concrete room filled with green iron machines clanking away.

“Printing machines,” murmured Holmes, “some of the finest in Europe and hidden deep within the English countryside.

“So Gerald was running a scamming business,” I hazarded a guess.

“No not Gerald, really Watson, have you been paying attention to the case at all…it was Miss Eliza herself who was running the operation…and has been doing so for the last four or so years looking at when forged money started to enter the market in this area. It’s not the first such scheme that I’ve had to deal with. I do believe that cases involving smaller scale operations were among the ones I have dealt with, but never something quite on this scale.” I stood aghast, my thoughts a whirl as to how Eliza could in any way be involved in the affair.

“Explain yourself, Holmes,” I cried.

“Certainly,” he said, “but let us first return to the house.” This we did and when seated in the kitchen he told of how he had reached his conclusion. “This case troubled me from the first Watson, not only did I feel that along with courage there was another deeper characteristic present in Eliza, but also that the facts of the case she put to me didn’t really stack up. Why would her Uncle wait four years before trying to kill her? If he was concerned about being the primary suspect to murder then why attempt to kill her in such a way as having a painting fall on her head? Clearly, although it would be made to look like an accident, the suspicion would still fall on him and any evidence of tampering would hang him. Then he attempted to poison her food, an act that, should it have come off, would have had him hanged for sure. So he was either cunning to wait four years then careless, or for an unspecified reason waited four years before trying.

The only explanation for the latter was sudden debt but as I discovered before we left, he had a reasonably healthy balance from being Eliza’s guardian and then over the last few months had started to gain yet more money. That puzzled me and still failed to explain the situation. I also discovered that Miss Eliza’s wealth was increasing despite her having no job and the estate losing money, more so due to the orchard which had consistently produced a poor harvest.” Holmes paused then continued,

“I still had no idea what was going on when we arrived up here until the drama staged by Miss Eliza. When we reached the scene to find her alive my suspicions were further aroused. Crucially, Watson, several seconds passed between the first and second shots, yet they should have been almost instantaneous. Suddenly it became clear, Eliza had fired first then run over to Gerald and fired into the wall from where he lay before placing the gun in his hand. The bank accounts started to make sense, Gerald was blackmailing his niece over something, and seeing as he mainly stayed on the estate, it would seem likely that the problem lay there. I began to wonder again about the orchard and why it was so unproductive and so asked Eliza. Her eyes gave away that the secret lay there, obviously it now becomes clear as to why she was unwilling to sell it. She probably persuaded her Uncle to keep it for her, who wasn’t quite the brute she painted him to be, and certainly not a murderer, although he was a greedy man. If the orchard had been sold, the concrete room, which had originally been built as the cellar for an older store building before being renovated, would have been discovered beneath and her secret outed.”

“Why then come to you?” I asked as my mind tried to adjust to Miss Eliza being the cold-hearted killer Holmes had described.

“Because she wanted to safely get rid of Gerald,” Holmes replied, “And she fancied she could outwit me doing it…she may well have read some of my cases, such as the one concerning the man who started sending a snake through to his ward's room to try and gain her inheritance, and so thought she could pull off the same trick. Last night I rang up some more of my contacts and had them find out some crucial information. Eliza spent a lot of time in the company of the Frenchman Dauphane during her time with the upper class, another slippery figure who continues to avoid capture by committing untraceable crimes. Eliza was in the same mould. I think most people would have sympathised with her actions last night, and even I nearly fell for the act she carried out within my room when she came to see me. Thankfully though, it seems that justice has indeed been done. A toast, Watson?”

And on that note I close the case. Miss Eliza Grange was hanged within a few months for the murder of her uncle and the case closed as one of the most interesting to date that Holmes has been required to solve. Thankfully my practice is picking up a bit now as Winter draws near, but still I find myself longing to be with my friend on another such case. Perhaps tomorrow I’ll find time to slip down amongst the whitened streets of London and visit the cosy, smoke-filled, flat of the most celebrated detective of our time.