Domesticity In Disguise

You're at a scion meeting. The topic of women in the Canon comes up. Which woman do you think will generate the most excitement in the males present?

Irene Adler? Nope. Pinnacle of Victorian womanhood that she is, she just doesn't cut it against this femme fatate. Maud Bellamy? Well, she is the primo Sherlockian babe, but wrong again. Mary Morstan? Okay, so just maybe she might have been cute, but you're reaching now. There is still another, another woman who has excited more scholarly Sherlockian libidos and incited more lewd commentary at scion meetings than any of her sisters. Let me remind you:

". . . a little blonde woman stood in the opening, clad in some sort of light mousseline de soie, with a touch of fluffy pink chiffon at her neck and wrists. She stood with her figure outlined against the flood of light, one hand upon the door, one half-raised in eagerness, her body slightly bent, her head and face protruded, with eager eyes and parted lips, a standing question."

Remember her? Mrs. Neville St. Clair of "The Man With The Twisted Lip," the woman who shopped at the original Victoria's Secret? Remember her excitement at seeing Holmes, and her disappointment at seeing that Watson had also come along? Male Sherlockians have been giving each other the nudge-nudge, wink-wink, "need I say more?" for years whenever TWIS comes up for discussion. The woman was hot for Sherlock; we've all known that for years, right?

Never mind that her husband had only been missing for four days. Or that there is a keen sympathy between them -- so keen that when Neville cuts himself, Mrs. St. Clair senses it from the other end of the house. What manner of vibes would Neville be picking up if his wife suddenly decided to cheat on him? Her betrayal would certainly not go unnoticed.

It was pondering upon that "keen sympathy" that gave me a new hint as to just what was really going on in the St. Clair household. In previous ruminations on the subject I had concluded that Mrs. St. Clair was an old friend of Holmes's. Whether it was as a relative or a childhood companion, Mrs. St. Clair had developed certain familiarities with Holmes that emerge in TWIS. The subject of "keen sympathy" was to take my thoughts one step further.

The idea of two people who feel each other's pain is not all that rare. Whether in fiction or Fortean reality, however, the phenomenon of "keen sympathy" is usually seen in siblings, especially in the mysterious bonds that tie twins together. Could it be that in some weird reversal of the Stapletons' relationship in HOUN, the St. Clairs were not really husband and wife, but brother and sister?

If a brother/sister relationship were the reason for the "keen sympathy," we confront a new problem: who was the father of Mrs. St. Clair's two children? That question practically answers itself. Who was it that Mrs. St. Clair waited up for in that flimsy nightie of hers? Her husband, of course.

Now if you were a consulting detective whose fame was growing by leaps and bounds, and all of criminal London was out for your blood, would you move a wife and kids into the address which your biographer had published in -- the Strand? Certainly not. You would use 221B for an office and move the family to the suburbs under an assumed name for their own protection. Sure, some people would know your secret-your brother, maybe, and your goofy brother-in-law who pretends he's a journalist while really begging for a living (there's a stereotypic brother-in-law for you)-but you could carry on the career of consulting detective and raise a family with relative ease.

But if we postulate that Mrs. St. Clair (notice how she was never given a first name) was really the wife of Sherlock Holmes, we are then left with a final question: Who was she? The answer to that one is both easy and obvious. Who do you think?

In TWIS, the lady of Holmes's affections speaks to her husband as she's always spoken to him, with a certain wifely tone added. Listen for a moment; I'm sure you'll recognize the voice.

"Now, Mr. Sherlock Holmes."

Thank goodness she gave up her overcoat and hat for mousseline de soie.

(Printed in Plugs & Dottles, December 1990 )