Wilson - Mammoth Books Presents The Bothersome Business of the Dutch Nativity

Derek Wilson has written over thirty books of history, biography and fiction, including the acclaimed family biographies, Rothschild: A Story of Wealth and Power and The Astors 1763-1922: Landscape with Millionaires. He also also written two fascinating books on the circumnavigation of the globe, The World Encompassed - Drakes Voyage 1577-1580 and The Circumnavigators. In the world of mystery fiction he has created the character of Tim Lacy, international art connoisseur and investigator whose cases have been chronicled in The Triarchs, The Dresden Text and The Hellfire Papers.

Constable & Robinson Ltd
5556 Russell Square
London WC1B 4HP
www.constablerobinson.com

First published in the UK by Robinson,
an imprint of Constable & Robinson Ltd, 2012

The Bothersome Business of the Dutch Nativity Derek Wilson, 1997. First published in The Mammoth Book of New Sherlock Holmes Adventures, edited by Mike Ashley (Robinson, 1997). Reprinted by permission of the author.

The right of Derek Wilson to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988

All rights reserved. This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is entirely coincidental.

A copy of the British Library Cataloguing in
Publication Data is available from the British Library

ISBN: 978-1-47210-057-3 (ebook)

Printed and bound in the UK

1 3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

The death of my dear friend, Sherlock Holmes, affected me more than a little and had I not had the demands of a growing medical practice and the care of a loving wife the loss which I, and indeed the nation, had suffered must have seriously undermined my constitution. For a long time I could scarcely bear it when my affairs took me to places where some of Holmess greatest triumphs had been enacted or where together we had faced dangerous villains or petty scoundrels. As for Baker Street, I avoided it completely; always ordering cab drivers to proceed by some roundabout route when conveying me through that part of London.

Yet time, as has often been observed, is a healer. I shared that experience common to all bereaved people: the transformation of memories from dreams almost too painful to be endured into visitations of consolation. Increasingly I found myself turning over the leaves of my journals and the printed accounts of Sherlock Holmess cases which I had been privileged to record. Much of the material I had garnered about my friend consisted of tantalizing scraps hints about his earlier life and oblique references to cases of which I knew nothing. As the months passed more and more of my leisure time was spent in trying to arrange my memorabilia in some logical order so that I might obtain a grasp of the sweep of Holmess life. I lost no opportunity of asking others who had known my friend for any details that might have eluded me and it was in this way that what I call the Bothersome Business of the Dutch Nativity came to my attention.

In the spring of 1893, my wife and I were invited to Oxford to spend a few days with the Hungerfords. Adrian Hungerford was a fellow of Grenville college and he and Augusta were distant relatives of Marys. Despite Marys insistence that I should enjoy meeting her cousins it was with no very great enthusiasm that I accompanied her from Paddington station on the short journey to Englands most ancient centre of learning. As usual my beloved helpmeet was right. The Hungerfords were an intelligent and relaxed couple of middle years who gave us a welcome as warm as it was genuine.

It was on the second evening of our stay that Adrian Hungerford invited me to dine with him at his college. I enjoyed an excellent meal on the high table in Grenvilles ancient hall over which I was able, with some effort, to hold up my end of an erudite conversation with the master and the dean. After dinner I retired with the dozen or so fellows to the senior combination room where, over the ritual of claret, port and cigars, discussion, somewhat to my relief, ran into less scholarly channels.

Am I not right in thinking, Dr Watson, that you were at some time associated with that detective fellow what was his name Hutchings? The speaker was a shrivelled little man enveloped in a rather gangrenous masters gown who had been earlier introduced to me as Blessingham.

Holmes, Sherlock Holmes, Hungerford corrected before I had a chance to reply. Watson helped him with several of his cases, isnt that so, John? He turned to me with an apologetic smile. You must forgive our isolationism, old man. We spend most of our time here behind a raised drawbridge protected from the more sensational doings of the outside world.

Helped with several cases, did you say? Blessingham, who was obviously hard of hearing, cupped a hand to his ear and leaned closer. Well, you werent here for his first case, were you? He reached for the claret decanter, drained it into his glass and brandished it in the direction of a steward who hurried forward with a replacement.

You refer, Sir, to the Gloria Scott, I assume, I said.

Gloria who? Never heard of the woman. The old man gulped his wine. No I mean the nonsense about that painting.

I was suddenly aware that other conversations had stopped and that all eyes had turned towards Blessingham. Several of them registered alarm.

Rather hastily the dean said, Our guest doesnt want to hear about that lamentable incident.

By this time my curiosity was, of course, thoroughly aroused. On the countrary, I said. I am always eager to hear anything about my late friend.

The master made a flapping gesture with his hand. It was nothing and best forgotten. Holmes was only with us for a short time.

Holmes was here? I asked with genuine surprise. At Grenville? I had no idea

Yes, 1872, I think or was it 73? I know it was around the same time that Sternforth was up. Hes making quite a name for himself in Parliament now. Have you heard from him recently, Grenson? Skilfully, the master turned the talk to other matters.

It can be imagined that this unlocking and hasty refastening of a hitherto unknown part of Holmess early life stirred considerable excitement within me. It was with difficulty that I contained all the questions I was longing to ask about it. Not until the following afternoon did I have the opportunity to interrogate Hungerford on the matter. Mary and I were taking a stroll through Christchurch Meadows with our host and hostess and I contrived to urge Hungerford to a slightly faster pace so that we might walk on ahead.

What was that talk last night about Sherlock Holmes and a painting? I enquired. It seemed to embarrass some of your colleagues.