Chronicles of the Lost Years (The Sherlock Holmes Series) (5 page)

Holmes gave her the funds without demur and she bid us goodnight before slipping from the room and disappearing through the tradesmen’s entrance at the back of my house. That was the last I saw of her until I arrived breathlessly at Victoria Station the next morning. I had just tussled with an Italian priest who had insisted on my services as translator and was heading for the train when I collided with a Sister of Mercy. The thought occurred to me that I was beset by the church when I focused on the startling green eyes beneath the wimple. “Elizabeth?” I breathed softly.

She nodded a little and picked up her carpet bag again. “Let me help you, Sister,” I said more loudly for the benefit of eavesdroppers. I assisted her onto the train. “I didn’t know you,” I said quietly as we made our way to our compartment.

“It was the only way I could think of to disguise my hair. Holmes hasn’t arrived?”

“No.” I made a small sound of annoyance as we reached the compartment, for the Italian priest was sitting quietly on the seat, his cane between his knees. “I have just had the most infuriating conversation with that silly priest. I don’t speak a word of Italian.”

Elizabeth put her fingers to her lips, suppressing a smile. “Oh,” she murmured simply, examining the priest through the glass.

I strode into the compartment and attempted to explain to the man that he was in the wrong seat. I found both my voice and my temper rising. After a moment, Elizabeth put a calming hand on my arm. “Leave him. He seems harmless enough.”

I threw myself into a seat. “Where’s Holmes? That is what I want to know.”

Elizabeth sat opposite me, next to the priest. “I have no doubt he will be on the train in time. Relax, Watson.”

I continued to watch anxiously through the window, growing steadily more anxious with each passing moment.

“Well, Watson, aren’t you going to greet me hello?” Holmes’ voice asked me, to my utter amazement. I jerked my head back to look at the priest. “My god!” I breathed, as the face filled out into the familiar lines and planes of my friend.

Elizabeth laughed softly. “I told you, didn’t I?”

Holmes turned to her, his face sinking back into the aged creases of the priest. “What gave me away?”

“You knew?” I asked of her.

She pointed to the hands resting on the walking stick. “You made a casual movement with your hands when we walked in and moved them into a position that looks quite awkward. It could only have been to disguise your knuckles, which you shredded last night.”

“I am impressed,” I said.

“Moriarty does not know of my knuckles, so if that is all that gave me away I am safe. For the moment. Now, I suggest we behave like strangers, at least until the train departs.”

Obediently, we studiously ignored each other until the train had pulled away from the station, when Holmes rose and shed his priestly garments and became once more the familiar figure I knew. He relaxed back into the seat. “I am glad to see you both made it through. Did Mycroft say anything to you, Watson?”

“Mycroft?” I repeated blankly.

“He was the large coachman who drove you here.”

I shook my head, bewildered.

“Elizabeth, did you notice anything strange or unusual on your way here?”

“I don’t believe I was followed. I spent the night at the convent I was raised in and traveled here with a group of nuns. Moriarty couldn’t possibly have traced me.”

Holmes considered her. “No. I don’t think he would have outguessed your movements.” I heard just the smallest note of amusement in his voice and studied Elizabeth anew. She appeared to have unsuspected talents.

Holmes lit a cigarette and fell into an introspective silence. Elizabeth, remaining in character, drew out a pocket copy of the Gospel and read quietly. I, having lacked the foresight to bring any reading matter with me, sat back and gazed out of the window at the passing scenes.

We were nearly to Canterbury when Holmes spoke. “I don’t for a moment suppose Moriarty has missed all three of us. I know he traced one of us as far as Victoria, for I saw him scanning the platform as I came on board and he will guess my plans to leave the country. So we are going to have to abandon our luggage and our comfortable berth and alight at Canterbury.” He gave us his plans to cross the country to Newhaven and then cross the channel to Dieppe, on the French coast.

“So we are limited to taking only what we can carry ourselves. Elizabeth, can you limit yourself to essentials and a few days’ rough living?”

She pushed at the carpet bag at her feet. “I only have this bag.” She stood up and tugged at the fastenings of her habit. “Holmes, could you help me? These things are not designed to be cast off quickly.”

I stared up at her in amazement. “Elizabeth!”

Holmes smiled at my discomfort and reached up to untie the fastenings at the back of her wimple.

“Holmes!” I exclaimed, fast becoming horrified and confused.

Elizabeth quickly shed the long black flowing habit and threw it aside. She stood revealed in men’s trousers, shirt and waistcoat, her hair tightly fastened at the back of her head. I fell back against my seat, lost for words and not a little relieved.

She opened the carpet bag and pulled out and donned a soft brimmed hat and jacket. I watched in fascination as she adjusted the hat to cover her hair and shade its burnished sheen. “Do I pass?” she asked Holmes, who had watched the transformation with detached, clinical interest.

“Straighten your tie and pull your cuffs down,” he said, after a minute inspection.

Elizabeth complied.

“If you remain silent and keep your face from close inspection, you will pass. It would be wise to keep your hands in your pockets to disguise them and act as a callow, sullen youth. It was an excellent piece of forward planning.”

“Then you didn’t suggest it, Holmes?” I asked.

“No.”

“But you expected it. You knew,” I pointed out.

“You forget, Watson, what first brought Elizabeth to our attention.”

“Ah, yes,” I said, recalling the other set of men’s clothing.

Elizabeth smiled. “I foresaw we might have to flee on foot. I thought it best to be prepared for the possibility at the very least. And running is difficult in skirts.”

Holmes peered out the window. “Canterbury. In about three minutes.” He stood and picked up his hat.

•ï¡÷¡ï• •ï¡÷¡ï• •ï¡÷¡ï•

I have related earlier how we found ourselves hiking across to Newhaven and our race across Western Europe. Holmes and I were old hands at fast cross-country travelling. I suppose I expected our progress to be much slower with a woman in the party, but it was not so. Indeed it was I who had trouble keeping up.

On the third day we paused at a stream to refresh ourselves and I offered the flask to Elizabeth from which to drink. She sipped and handed it back. “You look exhausted, John,” she said, tucking her long legs up against her chest.

Holmes turned to study me. “Elizabeth is right. Is your leg troubling you?”

“A little,” I answered reluctantly, rubbing the knee. “It is nothing.”

“I want to reach the Swiss border tonight. Think you can manage it?”

“I will manage,” I said shortly.

Holmes examined me again, then turned away. He and Elizabeth exchanged looks before he abruptly walked away.

Elizabeth turned to me, troubled. “Are you sure you can manage?”

I watched Holmes’ retreating back. “In truth, I don’t know. So far the knee hasn’t started to swell. That is usually a good sign I am going to be laid up for a while.”

“Why didn’t you tell him that?” she asked.

“He has the bit between his teeth. I have seen him like this before. If we weren’t with him he’d probably walk all day and all night. I know of one occasion when he worked five days without cease. He collapsed afterwards, of course, but only when he’d solved the case.”

Her candid eyes were troubled and I looked away, a little embarrassed. “He is worried,” I told her truthfully. “He cannot keep in touch with the London police out here and he is afraid they will blunder the job of rounding up Moriarty’s gang. He feels the weight of responsibility for us, too.”

“You don’t want him to worry anymore?” she asked softly.

“No.”

“You’re very loyal, John,” she told me. “What if I ask him if we can rest in an inn for a couple of days? Would that help your leg?”

“It might, but I wouldn’t suggest it. He is quite single-minded and any delays would make him impossible to be near.”

“Perhaps after he has heard from London he will relax a little,” Elizabeth suggested. “I could try then.”

For the next forty-eight hours, Elizabeth was never far from my side and whenever I felt myself back sliding or faltering she was there with a helping hand or quiet word of encouragement. Holmes was not aware of her subtle delaying tactics. On one occasion she pretended to have a cramp in her side, giving me five minutes’ grace in which to rest my leg, while Holmes fumed, scanning the horizon anxiously. She buffered his impatience and kept me going and by the time we reached Strasburg and the hotel to which Holmes had arranged to have his most urgent cable addressed, I was quite in awe of her abilities.

Elizabeth was kicking the ground like a sulking youth and I was resting on a flat rock in the low rays of the sun, when Holmes emerged from the hotel foyer with the cable in his hand.

“Well?” I asked simply as he reached us.

“Moriarty escaped.” Holmes crushed the cable in one hand and threw it to the ground. “He escaped.” His voice was deeply bitter. He looked out across the mountains, screwing his eyes up in the sunlight. Abruptly he turned and walked away again.

I sighed. “Unfortunate. He has spent nearly a year building the trap and in the end it fails to catch the mouse.”

Elizabeth picked up the cable, smoothed it out and read it. “All the others were rounded up. All except Moriarty.”

I rubbed my leg wearily. “I wonder what Holmes will decide to do next?”

Elizabeth considered carefully. “We will have to leave Strasburg. Moriarty may trace us here through the cable. Can you go on tonight, John?”

“I will have too.”

“I will try and help.”

“You have been,” I assured her. I felt a sudden bitter frustration. “I am getting too old for this sort of thing.”

“Nonsense,” Elizabeth scoffed. “You’re no older than Holmes.”

“Holmes thrives on this. It is his meat and bread. Now he knows the outcome, you watch him. He seems to quiver with the excitement of it all.” I sat up. “I prefer to live my excitement vicariously.”

Holmes returned then, striding rapidly. “It is clear Moriarty will flee London. He has nowhere to go. I have had my revenge on him, yet he is still at liberty, his organization in ruins. He will come after me and when we meet, death will be on the agenda.” He studied us both. “You must return to London. It is safe enough there for you now. Certainly it is much safer than my company.”

I protested. “I refuse to even consider it, Holmes. I could be of help.” It was the beginning of an argument that lasted for nearly thirty minutes. I insisted on remaining with Holmes and he was his usual intractable self, demanding I return. Elizabeth stayed well out of the argument, merely observing our heated exchanges. I did not like her hearing some of the truths we threw at each other, yet I judged the situation important enough to ignore such considerations.

Then Holmes drew her into the argument. He indicated her. “Very well, then. If you will not return for my sake, do it for Elizabeth. You can hardly countenance her continuing on this dangerous adventure. You must take her back to London.”

I laughed shortly. “I have you there, Holmes. With all due respect to Elizabeth, I will not leave you even to return her to London. You cannot argue that she will slow you down because for the last three days she has more than kept up with you and managed to help me along as she was doing it.”

“I know,” Holmes replied, surprising both of us. He waved his hand impatiently. “I will find you a
pensione
to stay in,” he told her.

“I am coming with you,” Elizabeth said flatly. “You’re not discarding me like a cast-off shoe. You insisted I come this far. I insist I continue with you.”

Holmes threw up his hands. “Can I not make you understand? Moriarty is going to search for and find me. When he does he is going to do his very best to kill me. He is not going to concern himself with preserving innocent bystanders. If you come with me you will be in equal danger.”

“We understand that,” I said, speaking for us both.

“Very well, Watson, it is your decision. However, in all conscience I cannot allow you to come, Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth put her hands on her hips. “Tell me, Holmes, have you always been so damned obstinate?”

I sucked in my breath, shocked. I turned to where Holmes stood, motionless, his thin features frozen. Then he smiled, the expression blossoming with humor. “I know my assumptions are right. Why should I salve your pride by doing what I know is dangerously incorrect?”

“Pride has nothing to do with it. I owe you my life, Holmes. You hauled me out of Moriarty’s grasp in London. You could have left me there. I was of no importance to you and you had more urgent business to think about. So I stay. Besides, I could be of some use to you. Give me your revolver.”