14. THE CASE OF THE BRILLIANT WOMAN

Historically, women have been insulted by the male of the species who considered them intellectually inferior.

We were, for a change, punting down the River Cam, drifting like deities of old through Cambridge and soaking up the sun while we went.

“You never did tell me why were here, Holmes,” I ventured after a while. The question had been eating into my mind since he had hurried me from Baker Street without a word of explanation. And now here we were, fifty miles from home and punting idly down the River Cam under a blazing sun.

“It’s to do with your favourite sub-species, Watson,” he said cryptically.

“My favourite what?” I asked, and, “you make less sense by the day, Sherlock!” I added.

“Women,” he said, smiling that annoying smile he clad his face in when he knew I wasn’t understanding him. “It’s elementary really, my friend.”

“Women?” I stammered. My repetition sounded almost childish.

“Did you know, Watson, that some of the brightest brains belong to women?” he said. “Were you aware that there are colleges in the university we are presently drifting by where women can prove their worth and yet not receive a degree for their labours, whilst the laziest and least worthy of their male counterparts can sail through their studies and end up being applauded with a cap and gown and parchment praising them?”

“I know that, Holmes,” I said gruffly. “But it’s wise to bear in mind that the female brain is not considered to be the equal of the male version. That women are more emotional, more maternal...”

“They are bound to be, Watson!” snapped Holmes. “Maternal means mothering! It implies a biological quality not shared by you and me! But it does not exclude intellect and intellectual brilliance, and there are women who, given the chance, could sail past us when it comes to the evaluation of deep matters!”

“They may sail past me, but you are one of a kind, Holmes,” I said generously, knowing that he lived part of his life for praise.

“Be that as it may, I am giving some thought to Lady Primrose Sebastion,” he said.

“She’s a fine woman,” I murmured. And I knew that she was, though she was more acquainted with Holmes than with me.

“Yes, Watson, in every respect! I have known her for many years off and on and have never ceased to be astounded by her comprehension of most matters of the intellect. She has more scientific knowledge than any man I know broader even than my own and you do know how I use a scientific approach to the solving of the many problems that come my way.”

“I have seen you at work, Holmes,” I said.

“Well the Lady Primrose Sebastion is more than my equal,” he confessed, “yet she cannot get recognition for her genius. So I am determined to open doors for her, and hopefully for others of her sex who deserve such recognition. You do know that I occasionally find myself flouting the law if flouting the law seems the appropriate thing to do?”

“On rare occasions, Holmes,” I admitted.

“Well, to that end I am going to steal an examination paper, the one offered to students at the end of their course, and let her finish it in the privacy of her home and under the proper conditions. And then, at the appropriate time, I am going to enter her efforts along with those of the other students, all of which are male, and see how she does. Her paper will be marked as it will be the word of a pseudonym. She will be called, for the examination, Sebastion Primrose!”

“This is probably something that will trap you, Holmes, I warned him. “The professors will surely not be fooled by so simple a ruse!”

“Then we will see, Watson,” he said. “Now help me pull up here, by this bank. It is but a short stroll from there to the college building, and I will appear to be just another student, though maybe a little more advanced in years than some!”

“You will never be confused with students!” I protested.

“Just watch me, Watson,” he said, and with a great deal of skill and alacrity he undressed from his workaday clothes, his smart suit and deerstalker hat, and revealed that underneath he was attired in typical Cambridge student clothing. It also seemed that years fell from his face as he became, even to my eyes, a student on the banks of the River Cam.

“Why Holmes!” I ejaculated, “I never cease to be amazed by your skills!”

“This will be amusing, Watson,” he said, “Wait you here for me, and we will be off within the hour, and I will have purloined a copy of the very examination the sweet Lady Primrose will complete. And then, on examination day, I will return with it and it will find its way into a pile with all the others for the professors to check over!”

I watched him climb out of the punt and couldn’t help admiring the way he sauntered almost aimlessly along until, before he was out of sight, he had mingled with a group of genuine students and was chatting with them as though he’d known them all his life.

His plan worked like the complex interior of a fine old grandfather clock and a month later we found ourselves back on the River Cam and on a punt. This time the weather was drizzly with heavy clouds threatening a downpour. But Holmes was unbothered by such trifles as the weather and once again prepared to saunter off towards the college, this time carrying a Gladstone bag in which he kept the Lady Primrose Sebastion’s completed examination paper.

“It must remain dry, Watson. She completed this in the time allowed by the Professors, and under the most stringent examination conditions. I was her invigilator, and I would brook no deceit, not that she tried any, you understand.”

“But how are you going to submit it?” I asked. “I should imagine that security is of paramount importance on days like this.”

“I have my ways and means, Watson,” he said.

Then he was gone, another student, somewhat sloppily dressed as if he’d spent his maturing years at Eton and needed a time to relax. He was just another student. That’s what any onlooker would see and think.

He returned to me, still sauntering and smiling confidently, within the hour, and we set off again along the Cam towards the railway station where transport back to London was due.

“I am confident this will work, Watson,” he said, “for it is unworthy of the human race to treat half of its citizens as though they were inferior intellectually. The Lady Primrose Sebastion will prove that I am right, I am certain of that!”

“I am still unsure,” I muttered, “one sees so many women who give every appearance of being some kind of underclass! Even amongst the better class of people as well as the masses there are those who bother themselves with trivia and sordid gossip.”

“Really, Watson,” he admonished me, “and of the hoards of men who traipse to their daily toil every day, wearing either bowler or cloth cap! Both give the impression of a kind of mindlessness! Yet amongst them are some, a few, who would have given Conan Doyle a run for his money given the chance!”

Weeks passed before anything else was said of the Lady Primrose’s academia, and then, one day, Holmes brought a handsome young man into Baker Street. He had a fine moustache and was dressed after the manner of university students, and he smoked his cigarettes with considerable artistry.

“Watson,” said Sherlock, smiling, “have you met my friend before?”

I shook my head. “I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure, Holmes,” I said.

“Then allow me to make introductions. I am sure you will be delighted to meet my dear friend Sebastion, who this very day is off the Cambridge to celebrate earning a first class honours degree in a highly complex subject! I’m sure you will wish the young gentleman well!”

“Congratulations!” I said, smiling, and then it struck me.

“Gentleman?” I breathed, as I gazed at the slight protrusions on the young man’s chest and the subtle smile on her face.

© Peter Rogerson 31.07.17