Sherlock Holmes and The Mystery Of Einstein's Daughter

Chapter X We Meet Edith Durham

Another tarantass took us to the Vaskrsenja Hristova Monastery. A young monk conducted us in silence to the Archimandrite, a tall man in the long black robes and high cap of the Orthodox ecclesiasts. He spoke in the oddest broken French.

‘From England,’ he repeated several times, incredulously. ‘Like Madame Durham, all the way from England to see Serbia. Quelle voyage! Veritablement des heros!’He assured us we were welcome, ‘for we are Christians, and is not hospitality one of the first of the Christian virtues?’

The mention of Edith Durham set us on the trail to meet her. She was visible from some way off, seated at an artist’s easel a short distance from the river bank, dressed as the New Woman in fiocchi - shirtwaist, tall stiff collar, necktie, and heavy serge skirt. The hair was cropped boyishly, the face neither plain nor pretty. I thought, so this is the intrepid woman who wanders through the Balkans among Albanians, Serbs, Croats, Bosnians, Slovaks and a dozen other tribes and religions. Her observations and conclusions formed from scouring the Peninsular would be finding their way back to the new Foreign Secretary Sir Edward Grey.

‘So you are Mycroft’s famous brother,’ she said, inspecting Holmes as intently as she had been staring at the dead snake-eyed skink she was in the midst of painting.

Wasn’t spying a rather dangerous occupation, here in the Cockpit of Europe, I asked. Shortly after Holmes and I were last in the Balkans an American missionary by the name of Miss Stone was kidnapped and held to ransom on the Bulgarian border. Negotiations with the bandits were bungled and she was murdered. Miss Durham appeared undaunted.

‘I tell everyone I am like the Brothers Grimm, collecting folk tales and local superstitions,’ she replied. ‘For example, Dr. Watson, do you know the local cure for epilepsy? As a medical man you might find it useful.’

‘I don’t know, I’m afraid,’ I replied.

‘If you see a snake swallowing a frog, you must throw a black handkerchief over it. This gives the snake such a fright it disgorges the frog. The handkerchief can then be thrown over the head of anyone suffering an epileptic fit. The sufferer will immediately disgorge the disease.’

‘What is the reason you are touring Serbia at this time?’Holmes enquired.

‘The Pig War, of course,’ Miss Durham replied.

I struggled to keep a straight face. ‘The Pig War!’ I exclaimed.

‘There are rumours of an impending pig war between the Habsburg Empire and the Kingdom of Serbia,’ she explained.

‘What exactly is a Pig War?’ I asked, exploding with laughter.

‘You may consider it a trivial matter, Dr. Watson,’ Miss Durham chided, ‘but it could lead to a general war. Pigs produced in Serbia are sold to the Austria-Hungarians but they are threatening an embargo. The pig market forms only a tiny part of the Austria-Hungarian economy but it’s of over-riding importance to the Serbs. Serbia’s Liberals and Radicals are fanatically devoted to Russia. They follow a policy of irritating Vienna at every opportunity, therefore Belgrade will break any embargo by selling her pigs via the Adriatic to France. A stratagem of this sort would seriously rile Franz Joseph and raise the temperature enormously.’

‘Why should that be of any special concern to England?’ I asked, perplexed.

‘Destabilisation in this region could have the severest consequences for the whole of Europe.’

The exchange was followed by an awkward silence. The Tisza River was huge, fast and muddy. We stared at a dead sheep among the flotsam surging by. Miss Durham broke the silence,

‘Now in turn let me ask you, why are you here with summer just over the horizon? And how can I be helpful?’

I launched into a detailed account, how we had been commissioned by Berne University to investigate the background of a potential member of the faculty by the name of Albert Einstein. We had not met the young man but we had met his Serb wife Mileva and their baby son Hans Albert. I told her Mileva’s younger sister Rózsika had hung back, too shy to approach us. I showed the two notes and explained how Holmes had deduced “Titel” was a small town in Serbia but we had drawn a complete blank on “Lieserl”. We had scoured official records in Novi-Sad with no results. The unexpected arrival of tickets for Zorka’s Magical Marionette Show with its dramatic plot. Finally, I handed Miss Durham the inscribed stone which had led us to the discovery of the tiny skeleton at a haunted house in Titel.

She looked up from the painting. ‘And now?’ she asked.

‘We have no idea how to proceed,’ I replied.

‘You say the skeleton was that of a girl of perhaps 20 months of age?’

‘Within two or three months either way, yes.’

‘And she was choked to death?’

‘Yes.’

‘And the burial was to say the least hastily done?’

I nodded.

Miss Durham went on, ‘It’s not unknown in this part of the world for a palsied baby to be put to death. ’She was silent for several minutes. Then she asked, ‘Are you at all au fait with the law here - based as it is on Roman law?’ she asked.

We admitted we had little or no familiarity with local laws.

‘Then I shall tell you the laws of Serbia. If the mother kills a child when it is less than twelve months old, the court will rule she has done so while her equilibrium remained disturbed from giving birth. If the child is killed after the age of twelve months, by the mother or anyone else, it’s deemed murder. The penalty is death. In Belgrade the culprit would be taken to a place unfrequented by the public and shot. In the towns and villages like Novi-Sad or Titel the shooting would take place in public.’

Miss Durham looked at me with a slight lift of her eyebrows. ‘Are you now quite as surprised to find you can discover no trace of documents or anybody who will talk?’

She dipped the paint brush into a blob of suitably reptilian green paint. ‘Dr. Watson, you have, no doubt, described the sequence of events correctly, but there is one point which you have failed to include.’

I was startled at her remonstrance. ‘I am sure I - I...’ I stammered.

‘I heard you met someone connected to the Marić family.’

‘Ah that, yes, Jelena,’ I confessed. ‘I did leave her out - but for good reason.’

‘Which is?’ came the query.

‘That despite crossing her palm with gold we learnt nothing.’ I shrugged ruefully. ‘Unless, Miss Durham, it’s of interest to anyone what small gifts Mileva made to Einstein.’

She withdrew the brush sharply from the canvas. ‘Why should the woman give you that particular information?’

‘Perhaps to avoid telling us anything of importance,’ I hazarded.

‘And these gifts Mileva made to Einstein?’ Miss Durham asked.

‘Shirts. She told us Mileva gave Einstein shirts. She burst into song, in fact.’

‘And gave you the English translation?’

I nodded. Miss Durham stared from one to other of us. She bent down and put the snake-eyed skink into a small box out of the warm sun.

‘Were the words, “In Banok and Bjelopavlice. She called to everyone. To everyone she gave a shirt”?’

‘Why yes,’ I replied.

‘And it was definitely Mileva she referred to? Mileva gave Einstein the shirts? You are certain of that?’

‘Without any doubt.’

I pointed at Holmes. ‘My good friend here will tell you I take assiduous notes.’

Her face took on a curious expression. The paintbrush went back into the jar. ‘And you have no idea what this particular gift means?’

Without waiting for my reply she went on, ‘I can tell you. To say a woman gave a man a shirt means she had intimate relations with him. Out of wedlock. We would call her a woman of loose morals, a ‘clergyman’s daughter’.’

She retrieved the skink and paint brush and turned back to the canvas. ‘Gentlemen, I want to finish this before the light changes.’

As we left, Miss Durham called out, ‘Mr. Holmes, can I ask you two favours in return for any help I have managed to provide - the George Edalji case. I have been following it. When you get back to London, could you look into the matter? The man has been accused of writing menacing letters and slashing ponies. His father was a Parsi. I believe him to be completely innocent. And secondly, before you return to Berne I would like you to take a small gift from me to a Father Florus at a small church not far from here, Our Lady Among The Rocks.’

She reached into a capacious bag and brought out a tin of sausages and another of pears. She dipped back into the bag. Out came a small book of Verlaine’s poetry.

‘And this too. By special request of the Father,’ she added.

I returned to take possession of the slim volume and tins. ‘Is the church far?’ I enquired dubiously.

‘Think of Bunyan,’ she replied ominously. “When I came to the foot of the hill called Difficulty, I met with a very aged man, who asked me what I was, and whither bound. I told him that I am a pilgrim, going to the Celestial City”.’She added, ‘You will discover how poor the roadways are here, in their world - after all, a road that will serve a cart will serve the rapacious Turk and his artillery.’

With a farewell wave she called out, ‘Gentlemen, I wish you in bocca al lupo!- the best of luck. You swim in dangerous waters. The moment you fit the pieces together, I suggest you waste no time in quitting the Balkans. What you may discover will leave you vulnerable to revenge. Desperate to avoid family disgrace, Miloš Marić will offer a reward to any passing hajduci to take care of you. You are out of danger only while he believes you have discovered nothing.’

She added, without a trace of a smile, ‘though if the worst happens you may rely on me to publish your obituaries in The Times.’

Unperturbed, my comrade responded, ‘In which eventuality, Miss Durham, it would be good of you to deliver my head to a James Mortimer, House-surgeon.’

‘Address?’

‘The Charing Cross Hospital. During the Baskerville affair he took a cast of my head and made me promise him the pukka one in the course of time.’

At this we thanked her for her help and picked up our fishing rods. I was eager to commence. Chub, carp and barbell in the Tisza were said to match a trout for speed, and surpass it for power.

We were some yards away when she called after us a second time: ‘Mr. Holmes, the name of the puppet show, tell me again?’

I replied in Holmes’s stead. ‘Zorka’s Magical Marionette Show.’

‘And Einstein’s sister-in-law - her first name?’

‘Rózsika.’

On the breeze Miss Durham’s words came to us. ‘That would be her full Christian name. Down here her family and friends would use the popular term of endearment for Rózsika.’

‘What would that be?’ I called back.

‘Zorka.’

Out of earshot of this most remarkable woman I grasped Holmes’s elbow.

‘Holmes,’ I exclaimed, ‘the marionette show - ’

‘Rózsika and Zorka. One and the same.’

I cast my mind back to the dark, silent creature observing us from afar at the Café Bollwerk.

‘Therefore the marionette play- ’ I began.

‘Staged by Mileva’s sister.’

‘So it must have been Rózsika at the haunted house!’

‘Without doubt, one and the same. I too can make no sense of it, Watson. Why would Rózsika-cum-Zorka want us to know how her infant daughter died? What does it matter? Why would she send those notes to the Rector? What could it possibly have to do with Einstein?’

We had hardly settled ourselves at the river when with a loud cry Holmes struck himself across the forehead.

‘Of course - of course, Watson! You and I are the most absolute fools in Europe! What blunderers we have been!’

‘Steady, Holmes,’ I protested. ‘Perhaps you could enlighten me as to...’

‘The marionette, my dear fellow, the marionette! The mother. The one hovering above the cradle!’

‘What about her?’

‘The orthopaedic shoe. Which foot was it on, the right or the left?’

‘The left.’

‘Precisely! Every detail of the plot was exact, right down to the displacement of which hip. Answer me this,’ Holmes commanded, ‘when you observed Rózsika at the Café Bollwerk, she rested on her deformed foot, is it not so?’

‘As would one with such an affliction,’ I affirmed.

‘Which foot - think hard, my friend! Remember, she was facing us.’

‘The right foot, Holmes. Definitely her right foot.’

‘You are certain? It is of the utmost importance.’

‘No doubt whatsoever, my dear fellow. I am a medical man. I took particular note because this affliction strikes mostly at the other hip.’

‘So as the puppet wore the shoe on her left foot, Watson- ?’

I stared at my companion in the uttermost astonishment. I stammered, ‘The puppeteer was telling us the infant was not Rózsika’s child after all. She was - ’

‘Mileva’s. That is precisely what the puppeteer was telling us. At the time I thought the shoe had been placed on the left foot at random but it was not so.’

‘And therefore the father is - ’

‘Who else but the one Mileva gave shirts to.’

‘Einstein!’ I cried out. ‘Lieserl was Einstein’s daughter!’

Back in the Vaskrsenja Hristova Monastery, Holmes spoke.

‘Once more I need you to remind me. What was it Besso said about Mileva when we met at the Bollwerk Café, something about a dramatic change? You were scribbling away at the time. The exact words, please.’

I pulled out my note-book and flicked back through the pages.

‘Besso said “Quite suddenly her mood changed - I can’t explain it any other way than that she stopped smiling. One day she was a lively person - the next she was visibly distraught”. He went on to say, “Something must have happened between Mileva and Albert”.’

‘And when did Besso say that change occurred?’ asked Holmes.

‘Around September 1903.’

‘The skeleton, Watson. When do you estimate the little girl was placed in the ground?’

‘About that very time - within a few weeks either way,’ I replied.

‘The military puppet represented Mileva’s father. He was once a soldier. The moment Mileva heard of her child’s death she knew.’

‘She knew what?’

‘That it was her father and he could only have carried out Lieserl’s murder with Einstein’s agreement.’

‘Holmes,’ I said, brimming with anger, ‘we must set off immediately. We must reveal this at once to the Rector and Professor Sobel. For Einstein to condone, perhaps incite the killing of his baby girl, even one with a badly-damaged brain -the wretch deserves whatever punishment he’s due.’