The Adventure of the Noble Bachelor: Part One

I'm Hugh Bonneville and welcome to Sherlock Holmes' short stories. The series where we delve into the files of Fiction's most brilliant detective, following his keen mind and unerring instincts from the first subtle clue to the final dramatic revelation. This time we present the adventure of the noble bachelor, the case that begins when the bride of one of England's most distinguished aristocrats vanishes without a trace on her wedding day. The disappearance of Lady Hattieson Simon sends shockwaves through London High Society and presents Holmes with a puzzle where nothing is quite as it seems. A secret message hidden in a bouquet, a jealous ex-lover, and a sodden wedging dress floating in the serpentine, all pieces of a transatlantic mystery that only Sherlock can solve. From the Noiser podcast network, this is the adventure of the noble bachelor. I'm Ian Glenn and this is Real Vikings. A monastery on a remote Scottish island overrun with pagan warriors. The dragon-shaped prowl for longboat cutting through Canada's icy waters. A North trader in North Africa, exchanging furs for silver under a desert sun. The Vikings terrified the medieval world, yet they beguilers today. Who were they really? Real Vikings, from the Noiser podcast network. Listen wherever you get your podcasts. Part 1 The Lords and Simon marriage and its curious termination have long ceased to be a subject of interest in those exalted circles in which the unfortunate bridegroom moves. Fresh scandals have eclipsed it, and their more peacom details have drawn the gossips away from this four-year-old drama. As I have reasoned to believe, however, that the full facts have never been revealed to the general public, and as my friend Sherlock Holmes had a considerable share in clearing the matter up, I feel that no memoir of him would be complete without some little sketch of this remarkable episode. It was a few weeks before my own marriage, during the days when I was still sharing rooms with Holmes in Baker Street, that he came home from an afternoon stroll to find a letter on the table waiting for him. I had remained indoors all day for the weather had taken a sudden turn to rain, with high or terminal winds and the Jezele bullet which I had brought back in one of my limbs as a relic of my Afghan campaign, throbbed with dull persistence. With my body in one easy chair and my legs upon another, I had surrounded myself with the cloud of newspapers until at last, saturated with the news of the day, I tossed them all aside and lay listless, watching the huge crest and monogram upon the envelope upon the table, and wondering lazily who my friend's noble correspondent could be. Here is a very fashionable epistle, I remarked as he entered, your morning letters, if I remember right, were from a fishmonger and a tide-waiter. Yes, my correspondence has certainly the charm of variety, he answered smiling. And the humbler are usually the more interesting, this looks like one of those unwelcome social summons is which call upon a man either to be bored or to lie. He broke the seal and glanced over the contents. Oh, come, it may prove to be something of interest after all. Not social, then. No distinctly professional. And from a noble client, one of the highest in England. My dear fellow, I congratulate you, I assure you Watson without affectation that the status of my client is a matter of less moment to me than the interest of his case. It is just possible, however, that that also may not be wanting in this new investigation. You have been reading the papers diligently of late, have you not? It looks like it, said I, ruffully, pointing to a huge bundle in the corner, I have had nothing else to do. It is fortunate for you will perhaps be able to post me up. I read nothing except the criminal news and the agony column. The latter is always instructive, but if you have followed recent events so closely you must have read about Lord Sonsimon and his wedding. Oh, yes, with the deepest interest. That is well. The letter which I hold in my hand is from Lord Sonsimon. I will read it to you, and in return you must turn over these papers and let me have whatever bears upon the matter. This is what he says. My dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Lord Backwater tells me that I may place implicit reliance upon your judgment and discretion. I have determined therefore to call upon you and to consult you in reference to the very painful event which has occurred in connection with my wedding. Mr. Lestrade of Scotland Yard is acting already in the matter, but he assures me that he sees no objection to your cooperation and that he even thinks that it might be of some assistance. I will call at four o'clock in the afternoon and should you have any other engagement at that time, I hope that you will postpone it as this matter is of paramount importance. Yours faithfully, Robert St. Simon. It is dated from Grovena Mansons written with a quill pen and the noble Lord has had the misfortune to get a smear of ink upon the outer side of his right little finger. Remarked Holmes as he folded up the epistle. He says for a clock it is three now he will be here in an hour. Then I have just time with your assistance to get clear upon the subject. Turn over those papers and arrange the extracts in their order of time while I take a glance as to who our client is. He picked a red-covered volume from a line of books of reference beside the mantelpiece. Yeah he is, said he, sitting down and flattening it out upon his knee. Lord Robert Walslingham Devere St. Simon, second son of the Duke of Belmoral. Arms as your three kaltrups in chief over a fessable born in 1846. He's 41 years of age which is mature for marriage, was under secretary for the colonies in a late administration. The Duke's father was at one time secretary for foreign affairs. They inherit plantagenet blood by direct descent and tuda on the distaff side. Well there is nothing very instructive in all this. I think that I must turn to you Watson for something more solid. I have very little difficulty in finding what I want, said I. For the facts are quite recent and the matter struck me as remarkable. I feared to refer them to you however as I knew that you had an inquiry on hand and that you disliked the intrusion of other matters. Oh you mean the little problem of the grove-n-er-square furniture van? That is quite cleared up now. Though indeed it was obvious from the first. Pray, give me the results of your newspaper selections. Here is the first notice which I can find. It is in the personal column of the morning post and dates as you see some weeks back. A marriage has been arranged it says and will if rumour is correct, very shortly take place between Lord Robertson Simon, second son of the Duke of Balmoral and Miss Hattie Duran, the only daughter of Alluicious Duran, S. Quire of San Francisco, California, USA. That is all. Turs and to the point remarked Holmes stretching his long thin legs towards the fire. There was a paragraph amplifying this in one of the society papers of the same week. Here it is. There will soon be a call for protection in the marriage market for the present free trade principle appears to tell heavily against our home product. One by one the management of the noble houses of Great Britain is passing into the hands of our fair cousins from across the Atlantic. An important addition has been made during the last week to the list of the prizes which have been born away by these charming invaders. Lord St. Simon, who has shown himself for over 20 years, proof against the little gods arrows, has now definitely announced his approaching marriage with Miss Hattie Duran. The fascinating daughter of a California millionaire. Mr. Ran, whose graceful figure and striking face attracted much attention at the Westbury House festivities, is an only child and it is currently reported that her diary will run to considerably over the six figures, with the expectances for the future. As it is an open secret that the Duke of Balmoral has been compelled to sell his pictures within the last few years, and as Lord St. Simon has no property of his own, save the smallest state of Birchmore, it is obvious that the Californian ares is not the only gainer by an alliance which will enable her to make the easy and common transition from a Republican lady to a British peerless. Anything else? Asked Holmes, yawning. Oh, yes, plenty. Then there is another note in the morning post to say that the marriage would be an absolutely quiet one. That it would be at St. George's Hanover Square, that only half a dozen intimate friends would be invited, and that the party would return to the furnished house at Lancaster Gate, which has been taken by Mr. Allewish's Duran. Two days later, that is, on Wednesday last, there is a current announcement that the wedding had taken place, and that the honeymoon would be passed at Lord Backwater's place near Peter's Field. Those are all the notices which appeared before the disappearance of the bride. Before the what? Asked Holmes with a start. The vanishing of the lady. When did she vanish then? At the wedding breakfast. Indeed. This is more interesting than it promised to be. Quite dramatic, in fact. Yes, it struck me as being a little out of the common. They often vanish before the ceremony, and occasionally during the honeymoon, but I cannot call to mind anything quite so prompt as this. Pray, let me have the details. I warn you that they are very incomplete. Perhaps we may make them less so. Such as they are, they are set forth in a single article of a morning paper of yesterday, which I will read to you. It is headed singular occurrence at a fashionable wedding. The family of Lord Robertson Simon has been thrown into the greatest consternation by these strange and painful episodes which have taken place in connection with his wedding. The ceremony, as shortly announced in the papers of yesterday, occurred on the previous morning. But it is only now that it has been possible to confirm the strange rumors which have been so persistently floating about. In spite of the attempts of the friends to hush the matter up, so much public attention has now been drawn to it that no good purpose can be served by affecting to disregard what is a common subject for conversation. The ceremony which was performed at St George's Hanover Square was a very quiet one. No one being present saved the father of the bride, Mr. Aloysius Durran, the Duchess of Balmoral, Lord Backwater, Lord Eustace and Lady Clara since Simon, the younger brother and sister of the bridegroom, and Lady Alicia Wittington. The whole party proceeded afterwards to the house of Mr. Aloysius Durran at Lancaster Gate where breakfast had been prepared. It appears that some little trouble was caused by a woman whose name has not been ascertained, who endeavored to force her way into the house after the bridal party alleging that she had some claim upon Lord St Simon. It was only after a painful and prolonged scene that she was ejected by the butler and the footman. The bride who had fortunately entered the house before this unpleasant interruption had sat down to breakfast with the rest when she complained of a sudden in disposition and retired to her room. Her prolonged absence having caused some comment her father followed her, but learned from her maid that she had only come up to her chamber for an instant. Caught up an ulster and bonnet and hurried down to the passage. One of the footmen declared that he had seen a lady leave the house thus apparalled, but had refused to credit that it was his mistress believing her to be with the company. On ascertaining that his daughter had disappeared, Mr. Aloysius Durran, in conjunction with the bridegroom, instantly put themselves in communication with the police, and very energetic inquiries are being made which will probably result in a speedy clearing up of this very singular business. Up to a late hour last night, however, nothing had transpired as to the whereabouts of the missing lady. There are rumours of foul play in the matter, and it is said that the police have caused the arrest of the woman who had caused the original disturbance, in the belief that from jealousy or some other motive, she may have been concerned in the strange disappearance of the bride. And is that all? Only one little item in another of the morning papers, but it is a suggestive one, and it is that Miss Flora Miller, the lady who had caused the disturbance, has actually been arrested. She appears that she was formerly a doncers at the Allegro, and that she has known the bridegroom for some years. There are no further particulars, and the whole case is in your hands now. So far it has been set forth in the public press. And an exceedingly interesting case it appears to be. I would not have missed it for worlds. But there is a ring at the bell, Watson, and as the clock makes it a few minutes after four, I have no doubt that this will prove to be our noble client. Do not dream of going, Watson, for I very much prefer having a witness, if only as a check to my own memory. Lord Roberts Simon announced our pageboy throwing open the door. A gentleman entered with a pleasant, cultured face, high-nosed and pale, with something perhaps of petulence about the mouth, and with the steady, well-opened eye of a man whose pleasant lot it had ever been to command and to be obeyed. His manner was brisk, and yet his general appearance gave an undue impression of age, for he had a slight forward stoop and a little bend of the knees as he walked. His hair, too, as he swept off his very curly brimmed hat, was grizzled round the edges and thin upon the top. As to his dress, it was careful to the verge of fobbishness, with high collar, black frot coat, white waste-cut, yellow gloves, patent leather shoes and light-coloured gators. He advanced slowly into the room, turning his head from left to right, and swinging in his right hand the cord which held his golden eye-classes. Good day, Lord St Simon, said Holmes, rising and bowing. Pray take the basket-chair. This is my friend and colleague, Dr Watson. Draw up a little to the fire, and we will talk this matter over. A most painful matter to me, as you can most readily imagine, Mr Holmes. I have been cut to the quick. I understand that you have already managed several delicate cases of this sort, sir, though I presume that they were hardly from the same class of society. No, I am descending. I beg pardon. My last client of the sort was a king. Oh, really? I had no idea. And which king? The king of Scandinavia. What? Had he lost his wife? You can understand, said Holmes, swavly, that I extend to the affairs of my other clients the same secrecy which I promise to you in yours. Of course. Very right. Very right. I'm sure I beg pardon. As to my own case, I am ready to give you any information which may assist you in forming an opinion. Thank you. I have already learned all that is in the public, Prince, nothing more. I presume that I may take it as correct, this article, for example, as to the disappearance of the bride. Lord Sonsheiman glanced over it. Yes. It is correct as far as it goes. But it needs a great deal of supplementing before anyone could offer an opinion. I think that I may arrive at my facts most directly by questioning you. Pray, do so. When did you first meet Miss Hadiduran in San Francisco a year ago? You were traveling in the States? Yes. Did you become engaged then? No. But you were on a friendly footing. I was amused by her society, and she could see that I was amused. Her father is very rich. He is said to be the richest man on the Pacific slope. And how did he make his money? In mining. He had nothing a few years ago, then he struck gold, invested in it, and came up by leaps and bounds. Now, what is your own impression as to the young ladies and your wife's character? The nobleman swung his glasses a little faster and stared down into the fire. And you'll see Mr. Holmes said he. My wife was 20 before her father became a rich man. During that time she ran free in a mining camp and wandered through woods or mountains so that her education has come from nature, rather than from the schoolmaster. She is what we call an England a tomboy, with a strong nature, wild and free, unfettered by any sort of traditions. She is impetuous, volcanic, I was about to say. She is swift in making up her mind and fearless in carrying out her resolutions. On the other hand, I would not have given her the name which I have the honour to bear. He gave a little stately cough, and I not thought her to be at bottom a noble woman. I believe that she is capable of heroic self-sacrifice and that anything dishonorable would be repugnant to her. Have you heard photograph? I have brought this with me. He opened a locket and showed us the full face of a very lovely woman. It was not a photograph but an ivory miniature, and the artist had brought out the full effect of the lustrous black hair, the large dark eyes and the exquisite mouth. Holmes gazed long and earnestly at it. Then he closed the locket and handed it back to Lord St. Simon. The young lady came to London then and you renewed your acquaintance? Yes, her father bought her over for this last London season. I met her several times, became engaged to her and have now married her. She brought, I understand, a considerable dowry. A fair dowry, not more than is usual in my family. And this, of course, remains to you since the marriage is a fatter-complete. I really have made no inquiries on the subject. Very naturally not. Did you see Mr. Ran on the day before the wedding? Yes. Was she in good spirits? Never better. She kept talking of what we should do in our future lives. Indeed, that is very interesting. And on the morning of the wedding? She was as bright as possible, at least until after the ceremony. And did you observe any change in her then? Well, to tell the truth, I saw then the first signs that I had ever seen that her temper was just a little sharp. The incident, however, was too trivial to relate and can have no possible bearing upon the case. Pray, let us have it for all that. Oh, it is childish. She dropped her bouquet as we went towards the vestry. She was passing the front puer at the time and it fell over into the puer. There was a moment still lay, but the gentleman in the puer handed it up to her again and it did not appear to be the worst for the fall, yet when I spoke to her of the matter, she answered me abruptly. And in the carriage, on our way home, she seemed absurdly agitated over this trifling cause. Indeed. You say that there was a gentleman in the puer. Some of the general public were present then? Oh, yes, it is impossible to exclude them when the church is open. This gentleman was not one of your wife's friends. No, no. I call him a gentleman by courtesy, but he was quite a common-looking person. I hardly noticed his appearance, but really I think that we are wondering rather far from the point. Lady St Simon then returned from the wedding in a less cheerful frame of mind than she had gone to it. What did she do on re-entering her father's house? I saw her in conversation with her maid. And who is her maid? Alice is her name. She is an American and came from California with her. A confidential servant? A little too much so. It seemed to me that her mistress allowed her to take great liberties. Still, of course, in America they look upon these things in a different way. How long did she speak to this Alice? Oh, a few minutes. I had something else to think of. You did not overhear what they said. Lady St Simon said something about jumping a claim. She was accustomed to use slang of the kind. I have no idea what she meant. American slang is very expressive sometimes. And what did your wife do when she finished speaking to her maid? She walked into the breakfast room. On your arm? No, alone. She was very independent in little matters like that. Then after we had sat down for ten minutes or so, she rose hurriedly, muttered some words of apology and left the room. She never came back. But this maid, Alice, as I understand, deposes that she went to her room, covered her bride's dress with a long ulster, put on a bonnet, and went out. Quite so. And she was afterwards seen walking into Hyde Park in company with Flora Miller, a woman who is now in custody, and who had already made a disturbance at Mr. Dohan's house that morning. Yes, I should like a few particulars as to this young lady and your relations to her. Lord Sinciman shrugged his shoulders and raised his eyebrows. We have been on a friendly footing for some years. I may say on a very friendly footing. She used to be at the Allegro. I have not treated her ungenerously, and she had no just cause of complaint against me, but you know what women are, Mr. Holmes. Flora was a dear little thing, but exceedingly hot-headed and devotedly attached to me. She wrote me dreadful letters when she heard that I was about to be married, and to tell the truth, the reason why I had the marriage celebrated so quietly was that I feared, unless there might be a scandal in the church. She came to Mr. Dohan's door just after we returned, and she endeavoured to push her way in, uttering very abusive expressions towards my wife, and even threatening her. But I had foreseen the possibility of something of the sort, and I had two police fellows there in five at close, who soon pushed her out again. She was quiet when she saw that there was no good in making a vow. Did your wife hear all this? No, thank goodness she did not. And she was seen walking with this very woman afterwards. Yes, that is what Mr. Lestroid of Scotland Yard looks upon as so serious. It is thought that Flora decoid my wife out, and laid some terrible trap for her. Well, it is a possible supposition. You think so too? I did not say a probable one, but you do not yourself look upon this as likely. I do not think Flora would hurt a fly. Still, jealousy is a strange transformer of characters. Pray, what is your own theory as to what took place? Well, really, I came to seek a theory not to propound one. I have given you all the facts. Since you ask me, however, I may say that it has occurred to me as possible that the excitement of this affair, the consciousness that she had made so immense a social stride, had the effect of causing some little nervous disturbance in my wife. In short, that she had become suddenly deranged? Well, really, when I consider that she has turned her back, will not say upon me, but upon so much that many have aspired to without success, I can hardly explain it in any other fashion. Well, certainly, that is also a conceivable hypothesis, said Holmes smiling. And now, Lord Sonsheim, and I think that I have nearly all my data, may I ask whether you were seated at the breakfast table so that you could see out of the window? We could see the other side of the road and the park. Quite so. Then I do not think that I need to detain you longer. I shall communicate with you. Oh, should you be fortunate enough to solve this problem, said our client, rising? I have solved it. Eh? What was that? I say that I have solved it. Where then is my wife? That is a detail which I shall speedily supply. Next time on Sherlock Holmes' short stories, a wedding dress found floating in the serpentine leads Holmes and Lestrade to very different conclusions. A dropped bouquet and a forgotten hotel bill reveal a transatlantic secret hidden in plain sight and an unexpected arrival at Baker Street leads to heartbreak. That's next time. Can't wait a week until the next episode. Well, listen to it right away by subscribing to Noiser Plus. Head to www.noiser.com slash subscriptions for more information or click the link in the episode description. Deliver us up to 100 hours of hair nourishment with the indulgent scent of a Moroccan garden. Herbal essence is new Moroccan organ oil Alexa, spark-quality hair repair without the price tag. Try it now. Herbal essence. Suffers prepared to smoothness nourishment with the regimen use versus non-conditioning shampoo.