A Study in Lavender: Queering Sherlock Holmes (18 page)

We laughed before Holmes continued, “That leads us to ask why he was kidnapped. As usual, too many possible answers arise and we have no evidence for any of them – except one.”

“He is an invert.”

“We try that idea, then – just because it’s available. Tanny saw a tall, strong man take Eric away in a fine carriage. For verbal convenience, let us refer to this man as Eric’s ‘brother.’ Eric knows his aristocratic, military older brother would be ashamed of him for being an invert and would take decisive steps to prevent embarrassment. So Eric waits until the brother is out of the country indefinitely on duty, then he immediately slips off to London to hide, and he supports himself by the only means he can. You see how precarious my early thoughts can be, and why I do not share them? The brother returns to England early, and is enraged to find that Eric is not only an invert but a prostitute. He kidnaps Eric, and Eric is locked away ever since. Or, he may be killed.”

“I dearly hope not. We must rescue him.”

“One other question. After returning to England, how did the brother so quickly find Eric, hiding in an invert milieu the brother would know nothing about? It’s possible he corresponded ahead of time with a solicitor or a detective. But, there is another answer. We might keep an eye out for a possible servant, or a younger brother or sister, loyal enough to Eric to be entrusted with his secrets, but helpless enough to be done out of them by the oldest brother.”

“What is our next step?”

“It would be for me to go tomorrow to The Queen’s Wessex and ask politely, discreetly whether they have an imposingly tall, strong officer, probably with the last initial ‘S.’ He might have a brother twenty years old whose first initial would be ‘E’ and whose name might be ‘Eric.’ He might have another, even younger sibling… We will not discuss this with Tanny for a few days.”

“And where will I be?”

Holmes smiled. “Here, tending your patient?”

In the morning, Holmes went on his errand. I remained in our rooms watching over Tanny and ensuring that Jack did not tire him too much with playing games and with their animated and endless conversation.

Holmes returned for dinner, but did not offer a report. That night, after Tanny was asleep, Holmes smiled smugly and said, “The Queen’s Wessex have a tall, powerful Major Linton Soames who possesses one brother, Eric, who is twenty, and a second, Andrew, fourteen. They are the sons of Lieutenant General Sir Attwood Soames, now deceased. Their mother still lives, and resides in their fine house in Kensington.”

“So Eric Selden is probably Eric Soames.”

“It may be so… Several of the major’s fellow officers detest him heartily as an intolerant, humourless bully, but all acknowledge him as a ferocious and formidable soldier. We know that Eric’s physical build is similar to Tanny’s, and his personality is the one Tanny has described. He would stand no chance whatever in a fight with Linton Soames.

“Aside from needing to confirm our suspicions, the next question would be how to free Eric from such a brother. And keep him free. The problem is complicated by the requirement to avoid exposing Eric’s – or Tanny’s – activities to the police.”

“And what is the solution?”

“Now that we know what facts are wanted, the solution is to gather them. I wonder, for example, about young Andrew Soames.”

Peace settled into our flat the following morning. Much to Jack’s dismay, Tanny insisted on returning to his own room and I decided that the reassurance the room offered him was important. I would have sent Jack to help him on the way, but Tanny’s room might have suggested to Jack’s inquisitive mind a resemblance to his own former room, and I didn’t judge him to be ready. So I rode with Tanny myself.

“He’s such a fine boy. It’s terrible that Mr Kent should have happened to him – though doubtless Jack’s choices then were no better than mine were. I’ve known there must be such a boy who came after me, and I wondered about him. I’m relieved he’s safe with you now.”

Late that afternoon, Jack, with appropriate awe, showed Inspector Hopkins up to our door. Hopkins said Holmes had asked him for help on Tanny’s case. Holmes did often seek the cooperation of Hopkins, though he avoided the other Yard inspectors unless they were offering him cases or he was asking them to make arrests. Hopkins had come by without making an appointment, and I didn’t know how long we would have to wait for Holmes, or whether to expect him that evening at all.

I offered Hopkins a cup of tea, which he accepted. I wanted him, as a policeman, to enlighten me on Tanny’s activities, and I started by recalling our first meeting with Tanny.

Hopkins interrupted. “Doctor, I would remind you to be careful how you phrase what you ask or tell me in this matter. You are used to working with Holmes, who is not a policeman. Although he must not break the law, neither is he sworn to enforce it. He keeps his own counsel and acts as he thinks best. I am not so free.

“The constable from that night lodged a complaint that I’d wrongfully taken his badge. I replied noting that he’d publicly, insultingly called Mr Tanner and Mr Sherlock Holmes inverts, saying they were prostitute and client, when Mr Tanner had done a service by chasing down a pickpocket, as Mr Holmes had testified. A board under Inspector Lestrade found the constable’s accusations ridiculous on their face and they confirmed his dismissal from the Metropolitan Police. This justifies me in ignoring his insinuations. If you were inadvertently to corroborate him, though, I’d be compelled to investigate.”

“I’ve seen men importuned by female prostitutes or their touts, but I’ve never seen a man approached by a man. It would seem impossible. If Tanny were what the constable claimed, how could he and a client even recognize each other in their secrecy? How could any two inverts recognize each other?”

“Or, instead, even more familiar to you would be your own case, supposing you find a woman romantically appealing. You’re a man of refinement. You wouldn’t crudely display your interest, much less blurt it out in words. Your upbringing teaches you to be chivalrous, to avoid embarrassing her. You would at first send signals so subtle that she could politely ignore them with ease. More likely, she wouldn’t notice them unless she shared your interest, so her own hope made her aware. In fact, you wouldn’t think of them as ‘signals’ at all – because you wouldn’t calculate them. You’d merely raise, by the smallest amount, the gate that censors your natural reactions and let your feelings softly colour your countenance and your words. If she chose, she might do the same in return. It would take time before you were sure of what you observed, and then you might raise the gate a little more. Not until later would there be overt gestures on either side – and certainly nothing that would be ‘proof’ to a detective. Still, all the while, you would carry on a wordless conversation with her, and you both would be aware of it.”

“Yes, that’s all quite right.”

“For two men it’s the same, but much different in practice because hidden to all except other inverts. You, Doctor, who are not an invert, would not notice my signals unless they were unusually explicit, enough to overcome your reluctance to accuse me of unspeakable crime. Otherwise, you take it on faith that such things cannot happen, not among nice people. But to an experienced invert my signals stand out vividly, because most men send nothing. They can be subtle, and they work rapidly.

“Now suppose hypothetically, for illustration, that Mr Tanner were what the constable accused him of being. He attended Covent Garden that evening, as you and Holmes did, because he enjoys the opera and his knowledge of it is important to his conversation. The performance concludes, and he wishes to find a client. How does he do it? Really, it’s astonishingly simple. He merely goes outside and lazes indolently by one of the pillars in front.”

“How can that be?”

“Well, change now to the point of view of the client. He too has been at the performance. He wishes to continue his pleasant evening. He goes outside and sees our hypothetical Mr Tanner, who is young, dressed for the opera, and superbly attractive, but alone and doing nothing. What is the client to think? There are other men idling in front of Covent Garden, but they are with a woman or a friend, or conversing in a group. Why would a man alone have so little to do? You, Doctor, would not ask that question. Holmes would, but he sees everything.

“The client would notice Tanner. How does he make contact? Again, simply. He moves close enough, stands idle, and occasionally looks in Tanner’s direction. Soon, Tanner is aware of him and their eyes meet. In our society males take good care never to acknowledge another male’s existence unless they are friends or have business. Anything else may mean a challenge.

“It is Tanner’s turn. He moves his station. He finds the client still looking at him. He drifts over and makes some inconsequential remark about the performance, such as any two strangers might make. The client nicely invites him to dinner. Tanner smiles. In a few words, they confirm that the usual fee will be offered and accepted. Then they go off together.

“That’s how it works, in our hypothetical illustration. Nothing notable occurs, but both men understand. For explaining to you, I’ve made it sound elaborate and intellectual. In practice, it’s as easy as breathing.”

It was then a few weeks after midsummer. The days were long. Friends from America have pointed out to me in some wonder, that, at London’s higher latitude, the time the sun takes to set in summer is endlessly long compared to what they are used to. Indeed, at first it would not seem to become darker but merely to lack comparatively in brightness. That feeling hovers effortlessly for over an hour and shadows lengthen, until the colours change and darkness is felt. Then the sun goes below the horizon and the night, still unhurried, happens. As I sat inside, in our rooms, on a city street, the effect was eerie. Until it was dark, the process showed only as a constantly deepening strangeness in the ambient light, with a burnished glow from the windows.

I remained in a chair for a long time, and even when it got dark I did not light a lamp. I was lost in thought about issues that my talk with Hopkins had not made clear but I needed to understand. It wasn’t Hopkins’ words that unsettled me. Several small incidents in the past had done that. Hopkins had reawakened those abrasions.

He had reminded me of the constable’s angry accusation that Tanny and Holmes were inverts. Hopkins said that if the constable’s assertions were to receive corroboration, then investigation would be in order. I thought it was Tanny’s case he referred to, for Tanny himself had later confirmed it privately to Holmes and me. However, Tanny implicitly confirmed also the accusation against Holmes – by assuming that Holmes could be receptive to him. I was annoyed with him for that, and I’d impatiently dismissed the notion. After all, who would know better if Holmes would be an invert? Tanny, who’d met him that night? Or myself, who’d been his closest friend for thirteen years?

But, yet, wait.

It had only been two days ago that Holmes had lectured me on the importance of following out alternative hypotheses and of not ‘thinking’ until I knew.

A meaningless thing had bothered me about Tanny’s interest in Holmes. Holmes had not taken the simplest, most final way to discourage him. He had turned him down and said a relationship between them was “not possible.” But he’d not denied being an invert.

Would I know if Holmes was an invert? After all, Holmes was so secretive that it had taken me all of nine years – until the case of the Greek interpreter – to find out merely that he had a brother. I shared a flat with Holmes, but he gave me little report of his irregular movements. At that very moment, I had no idea where he’d gone or if he would return that night.

Still, how could I not know something so important? Easily. It had often been remarked – by Holmes, by me, and by various Scotland Yard inspectors – that if Holmes had been a criminal, no one could have caught him. Suppose Holmes had been born a criminal – simply by being born an invert? He had described for me the life of secrecy that faced Jack Wright. Suppose that, as a youth, Holmes had put himself through the required training. Who would be able to find what Holmes chose to hide, unless he wished them to discover it?