Sherlock Holmes and The Other Woman (18 page)

“Almost. Ah, I wish you had thought to bring me some. Your wife has the best cook in all of England. If I were a marrying man I'd marry Bella Chabon.”

“I shall ask Beatrice to invite you to dinner to atone for my thoughtlessness, Mycroft.”

“That would be a most welcome courtesy, indeed.”

“It may be a while, however. She's leaving for Sussex as soon as possible.”

“Sussex? Why in God's name would anyone want to go to Sussex?”

“She has a cottage there.”

“But she's not going for her health... Come, Sherlock, what has happened?”

I said, “Wait until Gillespie has delivered the coffee and then I shall tell you all. You have a little time?”

“A little.”

We discussed politics for a few minutes. Emin Pasha, Madhist, Spain... Then there was a knock at the door and Gillespie entered with a large tray.

As soon as he'd left, the coffee poured, the bread buttered, and Mycroft finished grumbling about the demerits of plain bread compared with croissant concluded, I reviewed recent events.

My brother listened intently and did not interrupt. He waited until I was finished before saying, “Well, my influence over the legal justice system are not as potent as you seem to think. Still, I shall speak to some people and see what I might be able to arrange. I perfectly understand why you are anxious for your wife's safety. Still, I would have thought those boys could look after themselves.”

“Perhaps, but Beatrice is fond of them, and it would distress her if they were hurt. She has already suffered at the hands of that gang, Mycroft.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” He shifted his position again and it was obvious he was in some discomfort.

“Have you seen a doctor?” I asked.

“Why? He would just tell me I have gout. Probably urge me to take a little rest. As if I can loaf about like a shop clerk.”

“I do wish you'd...” I began, and then bit my tongue.

He met my eyes and said, “Careful, Sherlock. That comes perilously close to brotherly love.”

“I apologise,” I said, smiling. “I cannot imagine what I was thinking.”

I made myself swallow my other expressions of concern. Truly, my brother looked unwell. Seeing him in such obvious discomfort unsettled me and for the first time I thought about mortality, Mycroft's mortality, and the thought quite froze my joints.

With his assurance that he would see what he could do about Watteau's trial, I left. Gillespie handed me my coat and said, “I don't suppose you could get him to take a holiday, Mr Holmes? He's worn out, for all he protests he's perfectly well.”

“I could not even persuade him to see a doctor. But never fear, Gillespie. I have an idea.”

I returned to Baker Street and read the response to a telegram I sent last night. Michel Watteau of Ontario is wanted by the Canadians in connection with five murders. The French and the Americans also have charges against him. I harboured a brief and, I confess, grotesque thrill at the thought of that creature facing the guillotine. Then I remembered what passes for justice in today's France and shuddered.

Why has he come back to England? Is it only to punish me? No, there is something else, something more sinister. I thought about returning to see him in the cells, but it would only make me seem weak and give him the advantage. No, I must trust to my own wits.

It was almost two o'clock by the time I returned to Wimpole Street. The door was opened by an unfamiliar youth. I stared open mouthed for several seconds. “Tommy?” I said at last when I recovered the power of speech. “Good God!”

“Look smashing, don't I, Mr 'olmes? 'er ladyship took me and Billy shopping. All new threads she got us.”

“And haircuts. Well, well, you had a handsome face under all that grime, Tommy. I never knew.”

“Me neither.”

The combination of haircut and smart clothing somehow managed to reveal Tommy as a small boy. How curious; I never thought of him that way before.

Billy was sitting on the sofa reading a book. He was so engrossed he did not even notice me.

Beatrice was writing a letter. She signed her name before coming to greet me.

“I am sorry your brother is still under the weather,” she said.

“A clever woman must be the most dangerous creature in all of creation,” I said, laughing. “You are quite right. Mycroft has not improved and I am concerned about him. Perhaps you might invite him to dinner before you leave for Sussex? It would lift his spirits, I think.”

“Certainly. He may join us tonight if he is free. Would you like to telephone him?”

“Thank you, I shall.”

As I dialled the exchange I said, “I see you have been shopping. I hope you were careful.”

“I was. Dr Watson is a perfect bodyguard, though I fear those boys rather wore him out.”

Midnight

It has been a long, if pleasant enough day. I have decided I quite like staying at Wimpole Street. The staff are pleasant and helpful, the house quiet and well ordered, and my wife is an excellent hostess.

“I feel quite the queen bee,” she said this evening as we sat down to dinner. “Surrounded as I am by all these handsome gentlemen.”

Mycroft can be a charming guest when he puts his mind to it. He very much likes his new sister and not only because of the quality of her table. We discussed a great many things such as the current state of the military, the merits of electric light over gas, and the reviews of Strauss's latest,
Don Quixote
.

Beatrice was careful to include the boys in the conversation and I was very surprised to hear Billy say he would like to join the army as soon as he is old enough.

“And what would you like to do in the army, young man?” Mycroft asked.

“I'd defend the Queen,” said the boy, “and my country. I should like to plan an attack and lead men into battle.”

“You would need to be an officer,” Watson said. “Tommy Atkins - common soldiers - do not do much in the way of planning.”

Billy looked crestfallen. “Oh. I don't think I could be an officer. You need to be able to buy a commission, don't you?”

“If you need to be commissioned, Billy, I am sure it can be arranged,” Beatrice said. “But you will need to study hard, too.”

He stared at her in awe. I was reminded of a picture book I had as a child: Ali Baba beholding the treasure in the cave. That was Billy at that moment.

“What about you, Tommy?” I said. “Do you mean to follow your friend into the army?”

He shuffled uncomfortably in his seat for a moment before saying, “I'd like to play the piano, Mr 'olmes. Lady B 'as been teaching me this afternoon. It's smashing!”

“Tommy has an excellent ear,” Beatrice said. “I think he will make a very good pianist. You shall have more lessons when we go to Sussex. And you, Billy, shall have plenty of books.”

“Thanks awfully, miss,” Billy said.

They turned their attention to their plates. Though utterly bewildered by the assortment of knives and forks, they followed my lead and did far better than I would have expected. How easy it is to change a life. A little caring, a little thought, some soap and clean clothes. The change in these boys seemed almost miraculous and yet, now I think about it, it is not so strange, really.

“Speaking of military matters,” Mycroft said. “What news from France? Have you heard from your friend Zola, Beatrice?”

“He has appealed his conviction. Now we wait. He is distressed but resolute.”

“I hope the courts will come to their senses,” he said.”But I am not optimistic.”

“On the subject of trials, what news of a court date for Watteau, Mr Holmes?” Watson said.

“I had a word with some people. We have been able to arrange it for this Thursday, the fifth. At least the trial should be short and the boys' testimony will be fairly swift.”

“We can be ready to departure for Sussex as soon as the boys have given evidence,” Beatrice said. “I hope you will not mind staying here until then.”

“We'll cope, miss,” Billy said with a cheeky grin.

“That's splendid of you,” she said in the same spirit. After a pause she added, “You know, the cottage is not very far from the sea. It is so quiet and peaceful there. I wonder - forgive me for asking - but I wonder if you might be willing to come with us, Mycroft?”

“Me? To Sussex? What on earth for?”

“For a holiday. Peace and quiet and Mme Chabon's good food. I promise you'd be very well looked after. Frankly, you'd be doing me a favour.”

“Would I?” Mycroft looked sceptical. “How so?”

“Well, your brother will be here working on his case and I would rest easier in my mind if Dr Watson were with him. On the other hand, I would feel much safer knowing there was a man at hand in Sussex. I have my father's valet, of course, but he is very old. Would you consider it, at least?”

“Well... it is a very busy time,” Mycroft began.

“I had a telephone installed just last month, and there is a study. You could still handle any crisis that might occur, and the trains to London are regular should you need to return.” She took a sip of wine before adding, casually, “I know Mme Chabon would love to try some of her recipes on a man of your palate. Just yesterday, she said she wanted to make a lamprey à la bordelaise. I confess I do not care for the dish myself, but she would be dearly love to make it for you.”

“No, it is not for everyone,” Mycroft agreed. “The sauce is made from the blood of the lamprey.”

“She spoke of cherries clafouti for dessert.”

“Well,” said Mycroft with a little lick of his lips. “If I can be of service. After all, what's a brother for?”

Chapter Seventeen

Thursday 5 May 1898

This morning Billy and Tommy gave their evidence. Mr Justice Mellors was not pleased at the proceedings being rushed, but a well-placed word from the right official moved things along and His Honour kept his sermonising to a minimum.

The crown prosecution in the form of Sir Peter Huggins managed to slip in the suggestion that should the English courts fail in their duty, the Canadians would be happy to do show us how things should be done.

“We do not care about Canada,” declared the judge.

“Surely,” said Sir Peter in his silkiest tones, “the murder of a pregnant woman should outrage the entire world, My Lord.”

“Never mind that,” the judge said with a malevolent glare at the accused. “Get on with it.”

And so it all went very swiftly indeed. Billy gave his evidence calmly and without the relish I half-expected of him. Clearly and concisely, he told the court that he happened to be returning from the Chapel Market by way of the Pentonville Road. Then on Claremont Street, he witnessed the accused shooting a man dead with no provocation whatever.

“How do you know the man you observed was the accused?” Huggins asked.

“Because we jumped on 'im; me and my mate Tommy.”

A chorus of oohs and “Stout lad!” echoed through the chamber.

“And what happened then?”

“Tommy 'ad a whistle, sir. 'E blew it loud and a bobby... er, policeman came and put 'is nibs under arrest. Then we went back to the station and gave our statement.”

The defence did not even bother to question him. Billy was discharged with a commendation from the bench, told he was a fine example of today's youth, and his parents should be proud of him.

Next came Tommy, more nervous, pale beneath his freckles, but he, too, delivered his testimony with calm and assurance. He had little to do but corroborate Billy's testimony, and then he too was commended and dismissed.

The only other witness for the day was Constable Keller. He related that he had been alerted by the sound of a whistle. “The man was dead, your honour,” he said. “With his brains all over the pavement.”

The judge looked queasy; Huggins did a poor job of concealing a smile, and the remainder of the proceedings have been adjourned until tomorrow.

Beatrice and I took the boys to the Savoy for a late lunch as a reward.

After the splendour of Beatrice's home and table, the boys were not at all awed by the Savoy. They were allowed to order what they pleased and, though understandably giddy, behaved remarkably well.

“What shall you do next, Sherlock?” Beatrice asked as we left the Savoy. “Do you have a plan?”

“I shall return to Demosthenes Jones. If the Egyptian was paid to send me in one direction, it is possible that Jones was, too. I also want to go back to Camden Town to see if I have missed anything. Finally, I need to see if there have been any developments in the diamond district.”

“You will be careful?” B said.”Forgive me; foolish question. I know John will not let any harm befall you.”

“You may count on me,” Watson said. He stepped back apace, presumably to allow me to bid farewell to my wife in some tender fashion.

I shook Beatrice's hand and she squeezed my fingers. “Will you write to me of all that is happening? If not for my concern then at least for my curiosity.”

“I shall. And if Mycroft becomes a bother let me know and I will find some reason to hasten his return to London.”

She treated me to her deep throaty laughter that always makes me smile. I handed her into the carriage. Billy said, “I'll take care of the lady, Mr 'olmes, never fear.”

“
We'll
take care of the lady,” Tommy amended.

“I don't doubt it. Mycroft will meet you at Victoria.”

The cab sped off leaving Watson and me standing on the Strand on a damp Thursday afternoon.

“You all right, Holmes?” Watson said.

“I was remembering our friend Collins who died not twenty feet from this very spot... We have lost some good friends over the years, Watson.”

“Given the nature of our work, not nearly as many as one might expect. Collins's widow is doing very well and his children are thriving. Come. Let us not linger here. We have work to do.”

We took ourselves off to Soho to see Demosthenes Jones. He looked up with his usual bland face. “Ah, Mr... Holmesss,” he hissed. His eyelids were sunk lower than usual and he reeked of hashish.

“I think you know why we are here, Jones,” I said.

“I'm sure I do not, Mr Holmesss,” he replied. He puffed on the hookah and offered the mouthpiece to me, shrugged at my reaction, and resumed puffing.

“Your friend the Egyptian is dead. Murdered.”

“I know no Egyptian,” he replied.

“Know no Egyptian!” Watson spluttered. “Why, man, it was you who sent us to him. Bashir of the Chapel Market.”

“Oh, that fellow. I don't actually know the man, you understand. I just heard his name.”

“He was murdered because someone paid him to lead us on a merry chase for non-existent treasure. That same person paid you, too. Can you not see your peril?”

His dull eyes barely registered my words. I kicked at the hookah and sent it flying through a tawdry beaded curtain.

“Here, here, no reasson to get upsset, Mr Holmess,” said the man.

“Your life is at risk. Don't you see that?”

“Who'd want to hurt me? I don't know nothin'.”

“Who told you about Bashir? Answer me, who was it?”

But he was too far gone to reply.

“Leave it, Holmes,” Watson said. “You won't get any sense out of him in this state. Best come back early in the morning before he's started smoking.” He coughed and covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief.

We stepped out into the busy streets. I glanced at my pocket watch.

“It's five o'clock,” I said. “I feel we have wasted the whole day.”

“Not so. The trial took up hours, and then you had to say a proper goodbye to your wife. I do hope those boys won't wear her out. They are on their best behaviour now, but heaven help her once their natural exuberance re-emerges.”

“Perhaps,” I said. “I would like to do my own reconnaissance of Camden Town. I should like to check in on Hatton Garden, too, but that can wait until tomorrow.”

We crossed Leicester Square and began our walk back to Baker Street. At the corner, I hesitated and looked back.

“Holmes?” Watson said.

“I wonder if I do right to leave him... Perhaps I should stay here and keep an eye on the man.”

“Surely if he were at risk they'd have killed him by now?”

“Perhaps... Little of this case makes sense to me, Watson. It feels like...”

“Like?”

I shook my head. “As if there were a dozen men making decisions and each pulling in a different direction. One man I can match but playing chess with a dozen all at once, each with a different style and set of skills...”

“It's a puzzle,” he agreed. “But you'll solve it, Holmes. The man, indeed, I should say the army has not been born who could defeat you.” He patted my shoulder in a brotherly manner. “If you'd been at Balaclava in '54 the outcome might have been far different.”

“I think Mycroft would have served them better. Ha! I wonder how he'll do in Sussex with two unruly boys and a tiny cottage.”

“The boys probably won't spend much time indoors, Holmes. Beatrice will have them out on the beach if I am any judge. I think Mycroft will do very well indeed. The break will do him a great deal of good.”

“True. He has been looking very poorly. But what am I to do about Jones?”

“Well, you cannot stay here. You are too recognisable. Surely he's safe enough for the moment? You can return later in disguise if you wish. Or I can stay here. I'm not as obviously recognisable as you are.”

That was something.

“You would not mind?” I said.”There is a restaurant just across the street from Jones's shop. You could sit there, have dinner, and keep watch. I'll come back to replace you as soon as I've changed.”

“Yes, all right... No. No, Holmes, that makes no sense. Go on to Camden Town and do whatever you must. I'll be all right here for a few hours. I shall follow Jones when he leaves. Don't worry; I'll keep a good distance. I have learned something from watching you, you know.”

“Of course you have, that is not the issue.”

“But something worries you. What is it, Holmes? I can see on your face that you are troubled.”

“Watteau said or implied that the people I care about are most at risk. Really, I wonder if it might not have been wiser if you had gone to Sussex with the others.”

“Oh, for goodness sake.” He stood facing me with his most determined face set. “I'm a grown man, not a schoolboy nor a woman nor an out of condition older man. I am a soldier.”

My impulse to laugh did battle with my urge to salute. I managed to do neither. “Of course you are, my dear fellow. Very well, do you go on to the restaurant and keep an eye on Jones. I shall follow your suggestion and go to Camden as soon as I have changed. Please, be careful.”

“Of course. And you, too.”

In Baker Street, I found a group of the Irregulars. I called Kevin over and said, “I have a job, if you boys are interested?”

“Whatever you need, Mr 'olmes.”

I gave him his instructions and nodded. “Right you are, sir.”

“Good lad. Here's a little money, just in case.”

Two hours later, I was sitting in a small public house in Camden Town enjoying a glass of bitter. The place was soon full and I kept watch as the groups formed, changed, reformed. After an hour, I had selected a small group of working men dressed, like me, in flat caps and stout working gear. The man who was the apparent leader of the group was holding forth on the disgraceful matter of immigration.

“Coming over 'ere,” he declared. “Stealing our jobs, robbing us blind. Some of 'em look like soot, the colour of 'em.”

“Not in a region like this,” I said. “Surely Camden is for Londoners. You wouldn't find foreigners in parts like this, surely”?

“You think not, Mr - ?”

“Stout,” said I. “John Stout at your service.”

I tipped my hat and bowed slightly. Men like that enjoy good manners even though they often have little enough themselves.

“You see,” said my new friend. “That's 'ow an Englishman behaves. Proper respect. Not to contradict you, Mr Stout, but you'd be astonished at the newcomers we 'ave, right 'ere in Camden.”

“No,” I said in a properly aghast tone. “You do astonish me, Mr-”

“Blessed, Sir. Jabez Blessed at your service.” He doffed his cap and bowed in a stately manner.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance,” I said. I turned my chair slightly towards them and, at their gesture, pulled it over to join in the group.

“I thought about moving to Camden Town,” I said. “Don't at all like the way things are going in Hackney. Came here tonight to take a gander. I am disappointed, very disappointed...” I shook my head in sorrow. I was half-afraid I'd overdone it but the men were too much in their cups to notice.

“Well, it's the way this city is going, ain't it?” said another man. A hefty labourer with splinters in his fingers and huge callouses on his hands and arms. A former blacksmith and now a carpenter.

“It's never been much different, Bert,” said Blessed. “But it's getting worse.”

“Are there many newcomers in this district?” I asked. “I thought Camden was a stable, well-settled area.”

“Some parts of it, Mr Stout. Some parts of it. But around the fringes... Do you know we've got an African living here now?”

“Probably got tired of the desert,” said Bert. All the men hooted.

“Well, that's exotic, that is,” I declared. “Well I never. What's an African doing in these parts, eh?”

“Up to no good, I'd say.”

“Does he come in here?” I asked. “Is he sociable?”

“Not he. Don't drink. Some religious thing, I hear.”

“Still,” said Bert. “He's pleasant enough, I will say. Polite and keeps himself to himself.”

“Well, that's something,” I said. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and ordered another round for my new friends. Oh, they were so happy to include me in their little coterie. Any Englishman can be had for the price of a pint. Half a pint if his straits are bad enough.

I stayed another couple of hours, insisted on buying yet another round, and finally made an exaggerated stumble out the door a little past eleven. A shame Mr Amun did not frequent the public house. I hoped Watson had had a better evening.

Not until I reached Baker Street did I realise anything was amiss. Kevin was on the doorstep and he sprang up the moment he spotted me.

“We've been searching all over for you, Mr 'olmes,” he said.

“Why, what has happened?”

“It's Dr Watson, sir. 'e's been attacked.”