by Irene Adler
At that point, Lupin let out a long sigh.“Tomorrow I am going to have a conversation with my father. He’s not exactly a saint either, but I’m afraid I won’t enjoy it very much.”
Sherlock and I burst out laughing. After Arsène’s witty remark, we climbed out of the carriage in an excellent mood and headed toward the majestic cathedral.
Unlike Saint-Sulpice, Notre-Dame was open, although completely empty. We followed the duke’s directions and, at the start of the right nave, found a narrow spiral staircase that wound up the North Tower.
We tackled it almost at a run, eager to emerge at the top. I found myself at the front, and when I finally reached the end of the stairs … I jumped and let out a scream. Before me stood a monstrous figure. It looked at me with a diabolical grin.
My friends joined me in a flash.
Right away, I heard Sherlock’s unmistakable cackling. “Apparently you’re not a fan of Mr. Viollet-le-Duc!” he teased.
Hearing the name was enough for me to understand what had happened. The creature who had greeted me up there was nothing more than a gargoyle, one of the disturbing statues that the architect Viollet-le-Duc had placed at the top of the north tower of the cathedral during his recent restorations.
That funny misunderstanding enlivened our happy visit. The time spent up there with Sherlock and Arsène, watching Paris stretched out before us along the winding course of the Seine, is one of the most beautiful, intense memories that I have kept of our friendship. It stays with me even today.
So it was with great regret that I asked them to climb back down and return to the d’Aurevilly mansion. As much as I’d wanted to stay, I had no intention whatsoever of breaking my word to Mr. Nelson.
In front of the cathedral, just as the duke had arranged, we found the carriage, which brought us back to the mansion. Sherlock would not be leaving for London with Vaneighem and the guards before nightfall, and we resolved to meet again before he left for a final farewell.
Waiting for me on the stairs to the mansion, I found neither Mr. Nelson nor my father, but rather the lady from the cameo.
“Good day, Irene,” the woman greeted me. “Your father sent a telegram saying that he would be a few hours late.”
“Ah, I understand. Thank you very much for passing the message to me,” I replied with a curtsy, preparing to climb the stairs.
But the woman placed a slender, delicate hand on my arm. “Irene,” she said, after a deep sigh. “Do you mind if we take advantage of this time to … talk?”
“No, of course not. On the contrary, I would be very happy to do so,” I replied, unable to look away from her anxious eyes.
The woman accompanied me to a sitting room on the ground floor, a small chamber with brocade curtains. Even today, I remember every tiny detail of it.
We sat down on a sofa that was covered with azure silk. For a little while, we did nothing more than look at one another without saying anything, just like the night before.
“I have spent years imagining this moment, Irene,” the woman suddenly said, looking down. “And now that it has arrived, everything seems so strange that …” Her voice suddenly broke, and I noticed that her eyes had become shiny.
Instinctively, I reached over and clasped her hand. Then I bent down a bit to meet her eyes.
“Please tell me, ma’am. I beg you.”
“Of course, Irene. Of course …” she said as the tears began to line her cheeks. Then she breathed a very heavy sigh, seeming to gather all her strength. She looked me in the eyes, and at last she spoke. “My name, Irene, is Alexandra Sophie von Klemnitz and … I am your mother.”
* * *
I don’t remember much else about that day. I recall that after several hours, my father finally arrived, straight from Amiens, where he had been for business. When he got out of the carriage in the duke’s gardens, I went to meet him, forcing myself not to run.
Papa gave me a firm, serious look with his clear eyes, and then he hugged me as strongly as I had ever remembered him having done. We did not exchange a word.
In the garden behind me, my mother, Alexandra Sophie, watched us from the foot of the stone staircase of the mansion. The fountain there next to her murmured in its low, soft voice.
At dusk, a carriage took me to the Boulevard de Courcelles, where I had an appointment with Lupin and Sherlock — the latter of whom would be departing for London shortly. And as important as that goodbye was to me — a goodbye I knew was the prelude to months of longing — it was overshadowed by the words I’d heard that afternoon from the kind lips of that woman … my mother.
After we said farewell to Sherlock, and his carriage drew away along the roads of a semideserted Paris, it was Lupin’s and my turn to say goodbye. It was understood that I would return that evening to Evreux with my father, while he would remain in Paris with his father.
We took a few steps toward the nearby Parc Monceau, where we stopped. Lupin leaned his back against the railing and stayed silent like that for a little while. The dusk light filtered through the linden branches. Their golden color promised warmer, gentler days and the arrival of spring.
Lupin and I looked into one another’s eyes, and I noticed that his dark eyes had never seemed as big as they did at that moment.
“This adventure has finally come to an end,” he said after a brief silence. “And this time, perhaps, we ventured farther than we’d expected.”
Later on, I often asked myself what Arsène had meant, but right then, I only had one thought. Yes, this time our investigation had brought truly unexpected, unsettling news into my life.
“Goodbye, Irene.” Lupin took my hand and gently pressed it to his. It was warm and dry, and it gave me a feeling of security, even though I always felt most myself when living through dangerous situations with him and Sherlock.
“Arsène …” I began, lowering my gaze.
“Yes?” he replied, with a smile. I could not tell if it was bold or embarrassed.
I looked him straight in the face, with my best smile. “Goodbye, Arsène.”
And for that moment in time, that was all that could be said.
Sherlock, Lupin & Me is published by Capstone Young Readers
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All names, characters and related indicia contained in this book, copyright of Atlantyca Dreamfarm s.r.l., are exclusively licensed to Atlantyca S.p.A. in their original version. Their translated and/or adapted versions are property of Atlantyca S.p.A. All rights reserved.
© 2013 Atlantyca Dreamfarm s.r.l., Italy
© 2016 for this book in English language — (Stone Arch Books/Capstone Young Readers)
Text by Pierdomenico Baccalario and Alessandro Gatti
Editorial project by Atlantyca Dreamfarm S.r.l., Italy
Translated into the English language by Nanette McGuinness
Original edition published by Edizioni Piemme S.p.A., Italy
Original title: La cattedrale della paura
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Adler, Irene (Fictitious character), author.
[Cattedrale della paura. English]
The cathedral of fear / by Irene Adler ; illustrated by Iacopo Bruno ; text by Pierdomenico Baccalario and Alessandro Gatti.
pages cm. -- (Sherlock
, Lupin & me)
Translation of: La Cattedrale della paura.
Summary: In March 1871 Irene’s family moves from London to Evreux in Normandy, but after a strange woman warns her that her mother is in danger, Irene calls upon her friends Arsène Lupin and Sherlock Holmes for help and soon the three young detectives are caught up in the search for an ancient relic said to be in a secret crypt beneath the streets of Paris — a Paris which is torn apart by war and currently ruled by the Commune.
ISBN 978-1-4965-0490-6 (library binding)
ISBN 978-1-62370-257-1 (paper over board)
ISBN 978-1-4965-0491-3 (pbk.)
ISBN 978-1-4965-2348-8 (ebook pdf)
ISBN 978-1-62370-573-2 (ebook)
1. Adler, Irene (Fictitious character)--Juvenile fiction. 2. Holmes, Sherlock--Juvenile fiction. 3. Lupin, Arsène (Fictitious character)--Juvenile fiction. 4. Relics--Juvenile fiction. 5. Detective and mystery stories. 6. Paris (France)--History--Commune, 1871--Juvenile fiction. 7. Evreux (France)--History--19th century--Juvenile fiction. [1. Mystery and detective stories. 2. Characters in literature--Fiction. 3. Paris (France)--History--Commune, 1871--Fiction. 4. Evreux (France)--History--19th century--Fiction. 5. France--History--19th century--Fiction.] I. Bruno, Iacopo, illustrator. II. Baccalario, Pierdomenico, author. III. Gatti, Alessandro, 1975- author. IV. Title.
PZ7.A261545Cat 2016
[Fic]--dc23
2015004543
Designer: Peggie Carley