THE DOUBLE IMAGE


a Fetlock Holmes Story


© Elizabeth Jane Andreoli 1994-1997



first published in GOING NATIVE magazine 1994-1996


Many years have passed since the following events took place, so it is now safe for me to record them for posterity. Of all the strange intrigues that my friend Mr. Fetlock Holmes has untangled, this was one of the most evil. Even now it is imprudent to reveal the date, or any fact by which the reader might trace the actual occurrence.

We had been out for our evening canter and had not long returned when a crash upon the door announced the presence of a visitor. A filly of great beauty swept in at the gallop, then staggered, fell to her knees and lay prostrate and insensible at our feet. For a few moments we stared in silent amazement at her perfect form, streaked with sweat and quivering with exhaustion.

"Forgive me," she murmured as consciousness returned to her lovely eyes. "Nay, ask not my name. It is my purpose that pressed me thus far, and in which I seek your aid."

"As you wish, my lady," replied Holmes. "Nevertheless I see I have the honour of addressing the fair star of the Lipizzaner troupe currently touring this country."

"How know you this?" she asked in alarm.

"Your grace, your beauty, your pure white coat,"

"And the fact that you are still wearing your costume," I interjected.

"Who is this creature?" demanded the Lipizzaner.

"May I introduce my friend and colleague Dr. Withers. You may speak freely, my lady. Pray tell us what has brought you here in such extremity."

"We Lipizzaners and the pride of our country," she began. "We travel across the world displaying equine grace and perfection of movement in its purest form. It is not an easy life. The training - the discipline - " She sighed and swayed once more. I would have steadied her, but Holmes was there before me.
"We are called upon to be ambassadors for our race, but sometimes there is another calling. Espionage, Mr. Holmes. We go where others cannot go and see things we are not meant to see."
She paused, and shuddered.
"We have uncovered a plot to commit foul murder. Tomorrow, our Archduke will ride in state to visit your King. The whole world will be watching. But as he rides in the procession, his horse will rear and dash him to the ground. It will roll on him and crush the life from his body. Treachery! Treachery, Mr. Holmes. A fell substitution has been made. When the brave Archduke leaps into the saddle, he will not be mounting Ebony, his old and trusted steed, but on a blackguard. A murdering double who will stop at nothing to achieve his fell purpose. My spies have discovered where Ebony is held captive a mere half mile from this place at the old hunting lodge. I pray you sir, help us to restore him to his rightful place. He is held chained, and guarded night and day by a savage pair of Shire stallions whose killer instinct is a by-word in the underworld, while Sinbad, his double, lodges at the Horseguards Parade."

I was deeply moved by her story and her distress. Holmes was lost in thought for some time. He paced to and fro, nosing idly at his hay-net and seeming oblivious of our company. It was only when he began to make straying motions towards his Bavarian nose-flute that I took it upon myself to utter a warning cough. He started and seemed to return to his senses.

"Forgive me, madam. Your story intrigues me."

The Lipizzaner reared her head. "But what are you going to do Mr. Holmes? Will you help us?"

"I am going to bed," said Holmes abruptly. "You may count upon it that I will give this matter my most detailed attention. You may call again tomorrow at ten. And now - goodnight."

"I say, Holmes," I remarked when I had escorted the lady from the premises. "That was a strange way to treat a lady!"

"Unless I am mistaken, Withers, that was no lady. I fear that a devilish plot is indeed at work, and we must lose no time in daunting its fell purpose. Come. Let us be swift."

So saying he made preparations for a foray to the hunting lodge. Holmes was a master of disguise but I had never before been privileged to watch him at his transforming arts. With mud and hoof polish he altered his appearance. A vacant leer and a rolling gait changed his lean and muscular frame to that of a vagrant hack. Had I not witnessed the process I would perforce have failed to recognise him. He smiled, well pleased with his efforts.

"You ready, me old mate?" he enquired in rasping tones. "Orft we goes then!"

We set off at a brisk trot. When we reached the outskirts of the woods, Holmes motioned me to stay out of sight. I watched with my heart in my mouth as he rolled and wheezed his way to the hunting lodge.

"Anyone ‘ome?" he called. "I’m lorst an’ could do wiv a drink. Anyone ‘ome?"

A clop of heavy hooves and a vast silhouette announced the presence of a Shire horse.

"Hello?" he called, uncertainly. "Hello? Anything wrong?"

"Nuffin’ wrong, guvnor," rasped Holmes. "I just needs a drink an’ some directions. Me rider fell orft an’ left me to it a few mile back. Which way’s the ‘Orseshoe Stables from ‘ere?"

"Horace, I say, Horace!" called the Shire.

"What is it Roger?"

"Some poor fellow here, needs a drink and some directions. Can you help?"

"Certainly, old chap. Bring him in."

A few minutes later, Holmes emerged, escorted by two Shire horses. I listened intently, ready to defend my dear friend with my life if necessary.

"So nice to have met you," said Horace.

"Yes, do drop in any time you’re passing," said Roger. "Now what was it again?"

"Turn left at the elm grove, carry straight on past the pond, then turn right when you reach the road. Can’t miss it," said Horace. "Now cut along. We’re expecting a visitor soon."

"Oh gosh, yes!" said Roger. "It’s all terribly exciting. I’m sure Mr. Houdini’s agent is going to be desperately impressed when he sees the way old Sinbad in there can get out of those chains by himself. I’m awfully sorry he shouted like that. Best not to let him know you were here. He doesn’t like visitors much - I expect it’s his artistic temperament."

"Quite frankly Roger, I’ll be awfully glad when he leaves. I mean Heaven knows, I don’t mind doing a favour for a lady and an old friend of your family, but really he can be dreadfully rude."

"Well don’t worry old chap. The lady said he’d be fetched tonight by this agent chappie and that’s the last we’ll see of him. Back to normal, eh?"

They butted each other cheerfully on the flanks with a force that might have stoved in a brick wall as Holmes bid them goodnight.

Back at our stable, Holmes in high good humour abandoned his disguise.

"Holmes!" I cried in admiration. "How did you know that the lady’s tale was false?"

"Elementary," replied Holmes. Two details betrayed her. Firstly, she is a foreigner and does not know how gentle a breed the giant Shires are. Secondly she spoke of the Archduke leaping into the saddle. It is a byword among the horseguards that the noble Archduke could not mount a five-bar gate without assistance and the use of blocks. Withers, there was indeed a plot to murder, and you and I were intended to be its accessories. Who but the best detective mind in all England could be relied upon to find a way into the Horseguards Parade on the eve of a Royal ceremony when all other ruses had failed? When she calls tomorrow we will tell her that she need not fear. The Archduke is safe. We will in the meantime alert the Constabulary to mount a guard on Ebony and foil any further attempts to make the substitution."

He sighed. "So often does great beauty conceal a treacherous heart, Withers. It behoves us creatures of intellect to take refuge in higher pleasures." He reached for his nose-flute, and I for my nose-bag and ear-plugs.

So it was that amid pomp and ceremony, the Archduke Ferdinand of Austria rode out to meet the King, and due to the unique skills of Fetlock Holmes, left these shores in safety to complete his journey to Sarajevo.



Modified:25/7/97

Created:25/7/97