The Moons of Jupiter are Swirling in the Sky, and It's Christmas at 221B Baker Street!

[kebechet]

 

In the hopes that 2016 will be a more auspicious year, we look towards the Great Benefic and do honor to His moons.

 

O Jove much-honor'd, Jove supremely great, to thee our holy rites we consecrate,

Our pray'rs and expiations, king divine, for all things round thy head exalted shine.

 

MOONS OF JUPITER: METIS

One of the Inner Moons, Metis is tidally locked to Jupiter. A scent of prudence, skill, and wise counsel, she is the perfect Moon to kick off a new year with a grounded, steady, firm foundation. Clary sage, oakmoss, white pine, and terebinth.

 

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The Blue Carbuncle is the first of our limited edition story sets for 221B Baker Street. All of our story scents in this line are built to be layered with the general catalogue character fragrances in this line.

The Blue Carbuncle will be live until 24 February 2016. Illustrations by Julie Dillon!

++ 221B BAKER STREET: THE BLUE CARBUNCLE
THE SECOND MORNING AFTER CHRISTMAS

I had called upon my friend Sherlock Holmes upon the second morning after Christmas, with the intention of wishing him the compliments of the season. He was lounging upon the sofa in a purple dressing-gown, a pipe-rack within his reach upon the right, and a pile of crumpled morning papers, evidently newly studied, near at hand. Beside the couch was a wooden chair, and on the angle of the back hung a very seedy and disreputable hard-felt hat, much the worse for wear, and cracked in several places. A lens and a forceps lying upon the seat of the chair suggested that the hat had been suspended in this manner for the purpose of examination.

 

A crackling fireplace, pipe smoke, fir needles, and a flutter of snow.

 

 

THIS BATTERED OLD FELT

“Did he not advertise?”

 

“No.”

 

“Then, what clue could you have as to his identity?”

 

“Only as much as we can deduce.”

 

“From his hat?”

 

“Precisely.”

 

“But you are joking. What can you gather from this old battered felt?”

 

“Here is my lens. You know my methods. What can you gather yourself as to the individuality of the man who has worn this article?”

 

I took the tattered object in my hands and turned it over rather ruefully. It was a very ordinary black hat of the usual round shape, hard and much the worse for wear. The lining had been of red silk, but was a good deal discoloured. There was no maker’s name; but, as Holmes had remarked, the initials “H. B.” were scrawled upon one side. It was pierced in the brim for a hat-securer, but the elastic was missing. For the rest, it was cracked, exceedingly dusty, and spotted in several places, although there seemed to have been some attempt to hide the discoloured patches by smearing them with ink.

 

“I can see nothing,” said I, handing it back to my friend.

 

“On the contrary, Watson, you can see everything. You fail, however, to reason from what you see. You are too timid in drawing your inferences.”

 

“Then, pray tell me what it is that you can infer from this hat?”

 

He picked it up and gazed at it in the peculiar introspective fashion which was characteristic of him. “It is perhaps less suggestive than it might have been,” he remarked, “and yet there are a few inferences which are very distinct, and a few others which represent at least a strong balance of probability. That the man was highly intellectual is of course obvious upon the face of it, and also that he was fairly well-to-do within the last three years, although he has now fallen upon evil days. He had foresight, but has less now than formerly, pointing to a moral retrogression, which, when taken with the decline of his fortunes, seems to indicate some evil influence, probably drink, at work upon him. This may account also for the obvious fact that his wife has ceased to love him.”

 

“My dear Holmes!”

 

“He has, however, retained some degree of self-respect,” he continued, disregarding my remonstrance. “He is a man who leads a sedentary life, goes out little, is out of training entirely, is middle-aged, has grizzled hair which he has had cut within the last few days, and which he anoints with lime-cream. These are the more patent facts which are to be deduced from his hat. Also, by the way, that it is extremely improbable that he has gas laid on in his house.”

 

“You are certainly joking, Holmes.”

 

“Not in the least. Is it possible that even now, when I give you these results, you are unable to see how they are attained?”

 

“I have no doubt that I am very stupid, but I must confess that I am unable to follow you. For example, how did you deduce that this man was intellectual?”

 

For answer Holmes clapped the hat upon his head. It came right over the forehead and settled upon the bridge of his nose. “It is a question of cubic capacity,” said he; “a man with so large a brain must have something in it.”

 

“The decline of his fortunes, then?”

 

“This hat is three years old. These flat brims curled at the edge came in then. It is a hat of the very best quality. Look at the band of ribbed silk and the excellent lining. If this man could afford to buy so expensive a hat three years ago, and has had no hat since, then he has assuredly gone down in the world.”

 

The shadow of declining fortunes: lime cream and bourbon vetiver with a dribble of candle wax.

 

 

THE COUNTESS OF MORCAR’S BLUE CARBUNCLE

“The goose, Mr. Holmes! The goose, sir!” he gasped.

 

“Eh? What of it, then? Has it returned to life and flapped off through the kitchen window?” Holmes twisted himself round upon the sofa to get a fairer view of the man’s excited face.

 

“See here, sir! See what my wife found in its crop!” He held out his hand and displayed upon the centre of the palm a brilliantly scintillating blue stone, rather smaller than a bean in size, but of such purity and radiance that it twinkled like an electric point in the dark hollow of his hand.

 

Sherlock Holmes sat up with a whistle. “By Jove, Peterson!” said he, “this is treasure trove indeed. I suppose you know what you have got?”

 

“A diamond, sir? A precious stone. It cuts into glass as though it were putty.”

 

“It’s more than a precious stone. It is the precious stone.”

 

“Not the Countess of Morcar’s blue carbuncle!” I ejaculated.

 

Dazzling blue musk, white juniper, iris pallida, white oudh, and sugar crystals.

 

 

A RIFLED JEWELRY CASE

“Hotel Cosmopolitan Jewel Robbery. John Horner, 26, plumber, was brought up upon the charge of having upon the 22nd inst., abstracted from the jewel-case of the Countess of Morcar the valuable gem known as the blue carbuncle. James Ryder, upper-attendant at the hotel, gave his evidence to the effect that he had shown Horner up to the dressing-room of the Countess of Morcar upon the day of the robbery in order that he might solder the second bar of the grate, which was loose. He had remained with Horner some little time, but had finally been called away. On returning, he found that Horner had disappeared, that the bureau had been forced open, and that the small morocco casket in which, as it afterwards transpired, the Countess was accustomed to keep her jewel, was lying empty upon the dressing-table. Ryder instantly gave the alarm, and Horner was arrested the same evening; but the stone could not be found either upon his person or in his rooms. Catherine Cusack, maid to the Countess, deposed to having heard Ryder’s cry of dismay on discovering the robbery, and to having rushed into the room, where she found matters as described by the last witness. Inspector Bradstreet, B division, gave evidence as to the arrest of Horner, who struggled frantically, and protested his innocence in the strongest terms. Evidence of a previous conviction for robbery having been given against the prisoner, the magistrate refused to deal summarily with the offence, but referred it to the Assizes. Horner, who had shown signs of intense emotion during the proceedings, fainted away at the conclusion and was carried out of court.”

 

Gilded cypress wood, padded silk, and a hint of perfume.

 

 

THE DEVIL’S PET BAITS

“It’s a bonny thing,” said he. “Just see how it glints and sparkles. Of course it is a nucleus and focus of crime. Every good stone is. They are the devil’s pet baits. In the larger and older jewels every facet may stand for a bloody deed. This stone is not yet twenty years old. It was found in the banks of the Amoy River in southern China and is remarkable in having every characteristic of the carbuncle, save that it is blue in shade instead of ruby red. In spite of its youth, it has already a sinister history. There have been two murders, a vitriol-throwing, a suicide, and several robberies brought about for the sake of this forty-grain weight of crystallised charcoal. Who would think that so pretty a toy would be a purveyor to the gallows and the prison? I’ll lock it up in my strong box now and drop a line to the Countess to say that we have it.”

 

The madness of avarice: rich patchouli-infused golden amber, leather, black oudh, and almond.

 

 

ALIAS

The man hesitated for an instant. “My name is John Robinson,” he answered with a sidelong glance.

 

“No, no; the real name,” said Holmes sweetly. “It is always awkward doing business with an alias.”

 

A masquerade, a scent to camouflage: tonka bean and vanilla with red patchouli, Spanish king mandarin, white sandalwood, black pepper, and rose geranium.

 

 

THE SEASON OF FORGIVENESS

“I suppose that I am commuting a felony, but it is just possible that I am saving a soul. This fellow will not go wrong again; he is too terribly frightened. Send him to gaol now, and you make him a gaol-bird for life. Besides, it is the season of forgiveness. Chance has put in our way a most singular and whimsical problem, and its solution is its own reward.”

 

White clove, bright carnation, labdanum, sweet patchouli, Terebinth pine, warm sandalwood, and a drop of Ceylon cinnamon.