Nyland’s brother, Adam Bellamy, had poisoned himself over the course of four days, ingesting carefully measured doses of arsenic in the hope his death would be considered natural. Bellamy’s sister, Mrs Nyland, refused to accept the explanation her brother had arranged and had asked Holmes to investigate the circumstances surrounding his demise. Holmes accepted the case and discovered, in the night stand by Bellamy’s deathbed, a hidden drawer. The secrets contained within the drawer were such that I took the unusual step of presenting Holmes’s findings to Mrs Nyland myself.
“I knew it wasn’t cholera,” Mrs Nyland insisted as she dabbed at the tears on her face. “Adam was too protective of his health. I knew it was something else, knew something happened to him, but I never suspected this. It makes even less sense than the doctor’s suggestion. Have you any idea – any idea at all – why he would do such a thing?”
Holmes shifted in his seat, the focus of his gaze growing even more intense. I hesitated to answer, wanting to select my words carefully. Mrs Nyland filled the quiet, her grief making my brief silence unbearable.
“My brother was a mild-tempered man, Dr Watson, and I know as well as anyone his guarded disposition. Adam was not given to outbursts or emotional excesses. He kept to himself, never taking a wife, content with the company of his few friends. I know there were times when he struggled. Times when I wished he could find comfort in someone, someone with whom he might share his confidences. Someone who meant as much to him as my late husband meant to me. I tried to be there for him, I thought our friendship could –”
“You must not blame yourself, Mrs Nyland. If our investigation proved anything it was the high regard in which your brother held you. Nothing we found suggests you contributed in any way to your brother’s death.”
“Then – why?” Her grief so raw, the sincerity of her question so heartfelt, I struggled to find the words to answer her need.
“Mrs Nyland, did you request a post-mortem examination of your brother?”
“What?” She shook her head. “No, it did not occur to me at the time. I doubted the doctor’s findings but I’d seen my brother’s body. It was obvious no violence had been done to him.”
“Yes, of course,” I said. “It’s possible however that a closer examination would have revealed some sort of illness. As a physician, I have had to inform patients of the fatal maladies they have contracted. As you would expect, such news is a dreadful shock and different men react to the news in different ways. Many seek some way of exerting control over their situations. Rather than suffering through their afflictions they chose to end their life by their own hand. You understand they are drawn to such desperate actions for a variety of reasons. It can restore a sense of control while at the same time sparing their loved ones a long, painful and – you must forgive me for speaking so bluntly – financially draining illness. You mentioned your brother took precautions regarding his health. Sometimes such men mistakenly feel responsible for succumbing to their illness. A ridiculous notion but one which I have observed in patients. Such guilt can contribute to such decisions.”
Mrs Nyland looked thoughtfully at the empty fireplace, considering my explanation.
“But Adam’s doctor said nothing to me about –”
“Nor would he,” I interrupted. “Medical men often find themselves in difficult situations of this sort. Our training is strict and unrelenting. We are forbidden from revealing matters discussed in confidence – even with the patient’s families. Among my profession it is considered a matter of honour. If your brother instructed his doctor not to discuss his illness with you, then the doctor had no choice but to keep such information secret. Oftentimes such confidentiality is contrary to the physician’s better judgement but a