Sherlock Holmes and the Hilldrop Crescent Mystery by Val Andrews

Author:Val Andrews [Andrews, Val]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Lume Books
Published: 2015-09-21T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Five

Belle Elmore

The reader will recollect that contacting and questioning Mr. Clarkson Rose was one of the tasks that had fallen to my lot whilst Sherlock Holmes followed his mysterious (even to myself) investigations. To contact my quarry was a fairly easy task because theatrical performers are inclined to make themselves available to those who wish to engage them. From the advertisement that he had placed in The Era it was possible to deduce that he was quite well established and successful. The fact that it was in a column of Artiste’s Cards it could be judged to be one that had been placed in series, moreover the address was one in Kensington and there was a telephone number. Of course had Holmes been with me he could have suggested that Mr. Rose might be using the address and telephone number of a friend, or be staying at a boarding house, but as soon as I spoke upon the telephone with Rose I realised this not to be so. He had a reassuringly proprietorial air in his rich, fruity voice, unhurried was he in his manner and not irritated when he heard the purpose of my enquiry. I presented myself without the alias that I had used at Hilldrop Crescent and its surrounds.

“Do be seated Dr. Watson, some tea will arrive in a few minutes. Meanwhile I will try to recall anything of moment that I can remember concerning poor Belle. She was quite a nice lady you know, very generous and much loved by her fellow professionals. I mention this first because the journalists tended to paint a rather different picture of her.”

As he spoke to me Clarkson Rose stood before a huge portrait of himself in character as a grande dame. I could see that the portrait was of the style used as front of the house publicity. Rose seemed a little surprised that I recognised his portrait for what it was, so I explained, “Although an excellent likeness it borders upon the caricature. A nice oil painting, but a little garish, not fine, whilst everything else in your sitting room is in perfect taste.” He had an infectious smile this bespectacled and plump young man. He chuckled, “I am no connoisseur but I know what I like Doctor.”

Our preliminary banter was interrupted by the entrance of a parlour maid with the tea tray and almost immediately followed by that of a strong featured young woman who was introduced to me as Miss Olive Fox, alias Mrs. Clarkson Rose, “who always plays my idle son, Aladdin, in pantomime.”

It is not my intention to burden my reader with details of any small talk that ensued between the three of us. As Andrew Ducrow would have said, ‘I’ll cut the cackle and get to the horses’.

Mr. Rose was able to dispel the picture painted by the press at the Crippen trial of a fading or untalented performer. He said, “She might not have been exactly star material Doctor, but she was an able soubrette and comedienne.

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