Douglas Preston - White Fire

At this, I had to laugh. “It looks as if you’ve met your match, Holmes.”

“As for Northumberland, I would guess you noted a trace of accent in my speech?”

“Your accent is not precisely of Northumberland,” Holmes told her, “but rather contains a suggestion of Tyne and Wear, perhaps of the Sunderland area, with an overlay of Staffordshire.”

At this the lady evinced surprise. “My mother’s people were from Sunderland, and my father’s from Staffordshire. I wasn’t aware I had retained a hint of either accent.”

“Our modes of speech are bred in the bone, madam. We cannot escape them any more than we can the colour of our eyes.”

“In that case, how did you know I came from Northumberland?”

Holmes pointed at the woman’s footwear. “Because of your Wellingtons. I would surmise you began your journey in snow. We have not had rain in the last four days; Northumberland is the coldest county in England; and it is the only one presently with snow still on the ground.”

“And how would you know there is snow in Northumberland?” I asked Holmes.

Holmes gestured at a nearby copy of The Times , a pained expression on his face. “Now, madam, do me the kindness of telling us your name and how we may be of assistance.”

“My name is Victoria Selkirk,” the woman said. “And my impending marriage is, in large part, why I am here.”

“Do go on,” Holmes said, relapsing into his seat.

“Please forgive my calling on you without prior notice,” Miss Selkirk said. “But the fact is I don’t know who else to turn to.”

Holmes took a sip of his brandy and waited for the young lady to continue.

“My fiancé’s estate, Aspern Hall, is situated a few miles outside Hexham. My mother and I have taken a cottage on the grounds in preparation for the wedding. Over the last few months, the region has been plagued by a ferocious wolf.”

“A wolf?” I remarked in surprise.

Miss Selkirk nodded. “To date it has killed two men.”

“But wolves are extinct in Britain,” I said.

“Not necessarily, Watson,” Holmes told me. “Some believe they still exist in the most remote and inaccessible locales.” He turned back to Miss Selkirk. “Tell me about these killings.”

“They were savage, as would be expected of a wild beast.” She hesitated. “And — increasingly — the creature seems to be developing a taste for its victims.”

“A man-eating wolf?” I said. “Extraordinary.”

“Perhaps,” Holmes replied. “Yet it is not beyond the bounds of possibility. Consider the example of the man-eating lions of Tsavo. When other game is scarce — and you will recall the severity of last winter — carnivores will adapt in order to survive.” He glanced at Miss Selkirk. “Have there been eyewitnesses?”

“Yes. Two.”

“And what did they report having seen?”

“A huge wolf, retreating into the forest.”

“What was the distance from which these observations were made?”

“Both were made across a blanket bog…I would say several hundred yards.”

Holmes inclined his head. “By day or by night?”

“By night. With a moon.”

“And were there any particular distinguishing characteristics of this wolf, besides its great size?”

“Yes. Its head was covered in white fur.”

“White fur,” Holmes repeated. He put his fingertips together and fell silent for a moment. Then he roused himself and addressed the young woman again. “And how, exactly, can we be of help?”

“My fiancé, Edwin, is the heir to the Aspern estate. The Aspern family is the most prominent in that vicinity. Given the fear that has gripped the countryside, he feels it necessary to take onto himself the task of destroying this beast before it kills yet again. He has been going out into the forest at night, often alone. Even though he is armed, I’m terrified for his safety and fear that some misfortune may befall him.”

“I see. Miss Selkirk—” Holmes continued, now a little severely— “I fear that I am unable to assist you. What you need are the services of a game hunter, not a consulting detective.”

The anxiety on Miss Selkirk’s features deepened. “But I had heard of your successful close with that dreadful business at Baskerville Hall. That is why I came to you.”

“That business, my dear woman, was the work of a man, not a beast.”

“But…” Miss Selkirk hesitated. Her air of self-possession grew more tenuous. “My fiancé is most determined. He feels it an obligation because of his station in life. And his father, Sir Percival, hasn’t seen fit to prevent him. Please, Mr. Holmes. There is no one else who can help me.”

Holmes took a sip of his brandy; he sighed, rose, took a turn round the room, then sat down again. “You mentioned the wolf was seen retreating into a forest,” he said. “May I assume you are speaking of Kielder Forest?”

Miss Selkirk nodded. “Aspern Hall abuts it.”

“Did you know, Watson,” Holmes said, turning to me, “that Northumberland’s Kielder Forest is the largest remaining wooded area in England?”

“I did not,” I replied.

“And that it is famed, in part, for housing the country’s last large remaining population of the Eurasian red squirrel?”

Glancing over at Holmes, I saw that his look of cold disinterestedness had been replaced with one both sharp and keen. I of course knew of his great interest in Sciurus vulgaris . He was perhaps the world’s foremost expert on the creature’s behaviour and taxonomy, and had published several monographs on the subject. I also sensed in him an unusual admiration for this woman.

“In a population bed that large, there may well be opportunities to observe variances heretofore undiscovered,” Holmes said, more to himself than to us. Then he glanced at our guest. “Do you have rooms in town?” he asked.

“I arranged to stay with relatives in Islington.”

“Miss Selkirk,” he replied, “I am inclined to take up this investigation — almost in spite of the case rather than because of it.” He looked at me, and then — significantly — at the hat stand, upon which hung both my bowler and his cloth cap with its long ear-flaps.

“I’m your man,” I replied instantly.

“In that case,” Holmes told Miss Selkirk, “we will meet you tomorrow morning at Paddington Station, where — unless I am much mistaken — there is an 8:20 express departing for Northumberland.”

And he saw the young woman to the door.

The following morning, as planned, we met Victoria Selkirk at Paddington Station and prepared to set off for Hexham. Holmes, normally a late riser, appeared to have regained his dubiousness concerning the case. He was restless and uncommunicative, and as the train puffed out it was left to me to make conversation with the young Miss Selkirk. To pass the time, I asked her about Aspern Hall and its tenants, both older and younger.

The Hall, she explained, had been rebuilt from the remains of an ancient priory, originally constructed around 1450 and partially razed during Henry VIII’s dissolution of the monasteries. Its current owner, Sir Percival Aspern, had been a hatter by trade. In his youth he had patented a revolutionary method for making green felt.

Holmes paused in his perusal of the passing scenery. “Green felt, you say?”

Miss Selkirk nodded. “Beyond its use for gaming tables, the colour was most fashionable in millinery shops during the ’50s. Sir Percival made his fortune with it.”

Holmes waved a hand, as if swatting away an insect, and returned his attention to the compartment window.

Sir Percival’s specialty hats, Miss Selkirk informed me, now held a royal warrant from Queen Victoria and formed the basis for his knighthood. His son Edwin — her fiancé—had gone into the army quite early, having held a commission in the light dragoons. He was now in temporary residence at the Hall, considering whether or not to make the military a lifelong career.