The MX Book of New Sherlock Holmes Stories, Part VI

by David Marcum

  “That description could apply to another individual, also a ‘proper gentleman’ and exceedingly polite, whose name I learned today is associated with Lady Dorothy’s. This particular personage, the second highest in the land, is discreet - and married to the most beautiful woman in Britain, if not the whole of Europe.”

  “Holmes!” I cried. “You don’t mean - ?”

  He nodded. “This man, as you very well know, has many mistresses - including perhaps the Lady-in-Waiting in question - and often needs money, in addition to the Civil List, to lure such harpies with trinkets, ones which he can’t possibly let fall into the hands of a pawnbroker or a blackmailer.”

  “Very expensive trinkets by the sound of it,” said I.

  But Holmes ignored the interruption and continued, “What if somehow or other this man had an inkling of what might be about to happen to the gift (or bribe, if you prefer) which he had given to Lady Dorothy, and so sent someone, for example an Equerry, to waylay Mrs. Greene and get it back? Having presented it to a woman he was trying to make his mistress, and hearing she was about to sell it, he could not afford to lose such a thing, and might even have wished to get it back for future use!”

  “That would answer the question about the pick-pocket,” I said irritably. “But, again, what is so special about the trinket?”

  “It must be a very unusual one. Individual, as well as expensive enough to persuade a reluctant woman.”

  “But what makes you think the Heir to the Throne is involved?”

  “That’s a very long shot indeed, Watson, and at this point pure speculation, a theory built on gossamer and moonshine. But if Mrs. Greene is telling the truth, we know that the brooch belongs to one of the Court ladies, and not to an ordinary woman without royal connections. So it’s not unreasonable to suspect an associate of the Prince.”

  “But would he send an Equerry to pick a poor woman’s pocket? After all, one of his grooms or stable boys would do.”

  “Servants talk, and although the royal proclivities must be widely known, an Equerry is usually of high enough birth and with enough discretion not to indulge in gossip.”

  By this time my head was swimming, and as a diversion I said, “What are you going to do about it, if anything?”

  My friend looked grave. “I’m inclined to leave things alone,” he said. “But it irks one to see a humble charwoman so harassed and made use of.”

  I was well aware of Holmes’s basic kindness of heart, although he tried to hide it - and could certainly be harsh with members of the criminal community - but this time he appeared quite affected. For the rest of the evening, however, he was involved with a particularly abstruse problem in chemistry and seemed to have forgotten cleaning women, cat brooches, pick-pockets, princes, and everything to do with crime. But as it turned out, my conclusions proved totally erroneous.

  The next morning, I rose late, and by the time I sat down to my morning coffee, the weather was threatening to be no better than the day before. Holmes’s place at the table was vacant, but one didn’t have to be a detective to deduce that he had already had his breakfast. The remains of an egg and a half-eaten slice of bread, however, showed that he had been in something of a hurry, and upon enquiring what had happened, I was informed by Mrs. Hudson that her famous lodger had left the house very quickly, “in spite of the weather.”

  Had she seen him do so? I asked.

  No, but he had ordered an early breakfast, and she later heard him rummaging in his wardrobe, before slamming the front door and hurrying down the steps.

  I remembered on my first meeting with Holmes that I had said my short-comings included getting up at all sorts of ungodly hours, so on this occasion I wasn’t surprised that I’d heard nothing and completely missed his departure. What did surprise me, however, was what he looked like upon his return. This happened a considerable time after I had made my enquiries of our landlady, and I hardly recognised him. Gone were the deerstalker and his normal Norfolk jacket, and in their place was a top hat of the best quality. An immaculate suit and elegant cape were set off by white kid gloves and a well-placed bow tie, while his shoes looked decidedly expensive. But the whole effect of all this finery was apparently not designed to make him happy, for there was a look of utter chagrin on his thin face, and he appeared for all the world as if he were ready to strike someone.

  “I’ve just returned from Buck House,” he said through clenched teeth.

  “Buckingham Palace?” I asked in amazement.

  “I decided after all to find out something more about the Lady-in-Waiting and her mysterious brooch by having a chat with someone who holds high office at the Palace, a man I once helped many years ago. According to him, the two women are at daggers drawn.”

  “Two women? I’m afraid I fail to follow you, Holmes.”

  “I saw them myself as I came back out into Buckingham Palace Road. Her Majesty was just returning from one of her drives, in spite of the weather. There was even a sizable crowd to greet her, although not as many as there would have been on a fine day. I didn’t recognise one of her ladies, and my former client identified her for me as Lady Dorothy Fitzsimmons. The other had only recently quitted this very room, and was glaring at Lady Dorothy with every appearance of extreme repugnance.”

  I got up to pour us both a stiff drink. “Quitted this room?” I echoed. “The only woman to have been here recently was Mrs. Greene.”

  “And there she was, only now a young and beautiful woman dressed in the latest fashion and riding round London with Royalty.”

  “Maybe a daughter, or more likely, a grand-daughter.”

  “Daughters and grand-daughters of charwomen do not become Ladies-in-Waiting. That honour is reserved for women belonging to the very best families, such as, for example, the Earl and Countess of Winchester or the Duke and Duchess of Branscombe.”

  “In that case, my dear fellow, you must have been mistaken.”

  “I grant you the hairstyle, the hat, and all the rest of it were different. But I happened to notice a small but quite distinct, and I would wager a unique or at least a most unusual, birthmark on the left hand index finger of the girl when she for some reason removed her glove. A birthmark I had already observed through a small hole in ‘Mrs. Greene’s’ glove while you, Watson, were tactfully looking out of the window during our interview. That woman, old chap, is a consummate actress, and her disguise fitted her chosen role exactly. I am furious with myself for not recognising the deception. She even took me in with her theatrical make-up. It is now my opinion that there was no valuable brooch in the shape of a cat, no pick-pocket, and no visit to Appledore Towers. Merryweather told the truth - he was not expecting to see ‘Mrs. Greene.’ The whole thing was a farrago of nonsense from start to finish.”

  “It seems strange to decide that the whole story was fabricated simply because the woman disguised herself to bring you into the matter. Why, only yesterday you were theorising about the possibility of an Equerry being sent by The Prince of Wales to act as a pick-pocket.”

  “True, Watson. But if the woman pretending to be ‘Mrs. Greene’ could assume a false identity and start certain events in motion, then one has to question the validity of the whole structure. In such a light, nothing fits together.”

  “Who, then, is this ‘Mrs. Greene’, who appears to be on the same footing as Lady Dorothy Fitzsimmons?

  “The man I went to see, and who accompanied me out into Buckingham Palace Road, noticed my surprise and identified her as Lady Geraldine St. Giles, daughter of the Earl and Countess of Winchester.”

  “Then how was it that she didn’t recognise the man who came to see you the other day about what was happening on her father’s estate? Seeing him leave our rooms would certainly frighten her, and perhaps put an end to her schemes, or cause her to change her mind about proceeding with them.”

&nbs
p; “He was, if I recall, muffled up to the eyes because of the weather. And also, I suspect, doing his best not to be recognised by anyone - since the Earl probably wished to keep his dealings with me secret, at least for the time being. It’s not beyond the bounds of possibility, of course, that they would not know one another, especially if he were an out-door servant, or someone known only to the Earl as a friend.”

  “And the point of it all?” I asked.

  “That’s still to be discovered. But one very odd thing I will tell you. While I was still in the office at the Palace, the door opened, and who should walk in but our old friend, Colonel Oliver Temperley!”

  “That rogue?” I cried. “He can’t still be on the loose!”

  “There, I knew that would surprise you! He carried a sheaf of papers in his hand and gave me a most obsequious smirk, as if to say, ‘I bet you’re wondering what I’m doing here.’”

  “And what was he? Doing there, I mean?”

  “That’s what I need to find out, and the sooner the better. I’ve since discovered from my visit to the Palace that ‘Mrs. Greene’ - Lady Geraldine - plans to travel within the day to her father’s estate in the country. I suggest we go down there and take careful note of her reaction when she sees us. That is, if you are willing and don’t have too much doctoring on at the moment.”

  “Certainly I’m willing, and only need to pack a bag and make a telephone call to Jackson.”

  “One of the doctors who covers for you when we are away? Well, that’s settled then.”

  The train journey proved uneventful and, in response to a telegram from Holmes, an equipage was ready at the station to take us to the Earl’s Country House, so that we were soon seated comfortably before a blazing fire in His Grace’s study, enjoying a cigar and a glass of the finest brandy. The Earl was a gracious host, and he obviously spoke of sending an emissary to Baker Street, but otherwise our conversation was comfortable, with no specific aim or direction. However, it was finally necessary to return to why the nobleman’s representative had travelled to London.

  “No doubt you remember,” said the Earl to Holmes, “being told by him that some of my other servants, when locking up after the Household retired for the night, had become aware of a shadowy figure flitting about the grounds, especially near the Summer House, which is situated well away from the kennels, so the dogs were not disturbed and consequently didn’t raise the alarum.”

  “There was no attempt to apprehend this shadowy figure?”

  “I don’t say there was no attempt. But my men were never able to come to grips with him.”

  “Then if Your Grace is willing to put us up for the night, my colleague and I will wait in the grounds for this gentleman and - if he does appear again - try to find out what he is up to.”

  The “silent shoe routine” all over again, I thought, remembering our nocturnal visit to Charles Augustus Milverton’s dwelling. Only this time, it would be out in the open air, in pitch black and, much more likely in boots.

  The Earl said he was more than willing to put us up for as long as it took to solve the mystery, and we went upstairs to dress for dinner and to meet the Countess who, said Holmes to me in an aside, was very like her daughter, and with the same elegant figure.

  I could say nothing on the subject since, unlike Holmes, I had only seen the daughter in her guise as “Mrs. Greene”, and was unprepared for what the Countess said after she had greeted her unexpected guests: “I’m afraid Geraldine can’t be with us this evening for dinner. She has just come to the end of her present period of duty as the Queen’s Lady-in-Waiting and decided to stay in London for the early part of the evening. However, we are expecting her to arrive later tonight, and I’m sure she will be delighted to meet both of you tomorrow.”

  As for myself, I was more than a little doubtful how Lady Geraldine would react when she saw Holmes - and me for that matter. But soon it was time for us to prepare for a night in the bitter cold, one which promised to be a long and unpleasant one. We donned our warm overcoats and thick gloves and situated ourselves among the bushes and trees surrounding the Summer House while we waited impatiently for something to happen. At one point, as dawn was approaching, I reminded Holmes that I had asked him when still in our comfortable rooms in Baker Street what was the point of her impersonation as “Mrs. Greene”, especially if, as he had said, the whole episode was nothing but a farce.

  “From what I was able to deduce by asking a judicious question here and there, it was simple jealousy on the part of Geraldine St. Giles,” Holmes whispered. “I said at the time that Lady Dorothy Fitzsimmons may be one of the Prince of Wales’ lady-loves. Geraldine, attractive as she is, was obviously not to the Royal Taste! It may have been nothing more than an elaborate scheme to get her own back by telling us about expensive objects being offered for sale, or even pawned, leading us to assume that a gentlemanly pick-pocket was being employed by an easily recognised personage, a man who had given her rival an expensive jewel and wished to prevent his action becoming public knowledge. We were meant to believe that a mistress needed funds so desperately she sent somebody to Appledore Towers and put herself at the mercy of money-lenders or even worse. She would be instantly got rid of, to spend the rest of her days away from the Court in a decent obscurity on her father’s estate, unable to make a good marriage, and condemned for life to a frustrated spinsterhood. Family feeling may be strong, but social conventions are stronger.”

  Holmes shifted his position slightly and continued. “The whole ruse, of course, could have been thought up to discredit Lady Dorothy so that she might more credibly be seen as the prime suspect, thus diverting attention from the real thief when the loss of a jewel is eventually discovered.”

  “What a tortuous mind that young person must have,” I said with feeling.

  At that moment, we became aware of a slight movement towards the Summer House. A door opened without a sound and someone went in. I was unable to discern whether man or woman, but I heard Holmes say quietly, “Colonel Temperley, if I’m any judge of a man’s gait.”

  We had waited many hours for something to happen, and now (as careful as a couple of burglars intent on a break-in,) we crept up to a window. There were two people in the Summer House. One large and muscular, the other small - and wearing the kind of thick dressing-gown one associates with a young woman’s bedroom on a bitterly cold winter’s night. Apparently, Lady Geraldine had returned home while we were hiding in the grounds and had made her way unseen to the Summer House. The couple were talking in almost inaudible tones but I heard the man hiss, “I’ve been coming here for a number of nights, so I hope you’ve got it at last!” Thus, the identity of the Earls’ nightly intruder was solved.

  The Lady’s answer was obviously a whispered “Yes,” followed by an angry “I don’t understand why this couldn’t have been done in London. Why did you want to do it here, at my parents’ home?”

  The Colonel ignored her, growling, “Hand it over!”

  A small box changed hands, and then the woman was gone, gliding silently and swiftly back towards the Main House. As Temperley came out of the Summer House, Holmes sprang at him. But he was too late. Our adversary began to run as fast as he could. But, in spite of the wound I received at Maiwand, I ran even faster, and had almost brought him down when he turned a gun on me. I could only stop, cursing my luck and with my hands up, while the miscreant - with a resounding oath - disappeared at a gallop.

  “What, no old service revolver?” asked a quiet voice behind me.

  Yes, I thought, breathing heavily. But so intent had I been on catching the man that I’d forgotten all about it, and the gun was still in my pocket.

  However our luck wasn’t completely out. By the light of Holmes’s torch, which we were no longer afraid to use, we discovered that in his headlong flight the Colonel had dropped the box he was carrying. It lay on its
side in the roots of a nearby tree, and my friend pounced on it with a cry. “Now we’ll see something worth seeing!” he said as he opened it. And there, sure enough, without a cover of any kind and completely unprotected, lay the finest diamond I have ever encountered in my life. But I was aware even in the dim light of a torch that the jewel had been cut more than once, so guessed that when it was first mined, it must have been even more impressive.

  “Found initially in Persia,” breathed Holmes, “and later one of the so-called spoils of war acquired by the British. It is said to be unlucky for men, and so is worn only by women. Given to the Queen in 1849, it was an enormous attraction at The Great Exhibition of 1851. Her Majesty frequently adorns herself with it, especially since she was proclaimed Empress of India.”

  “The Koh-i-Noor,” I said in an awed voice. “The most famous diamond in the world, sometimes called ‘The Mountain of Light’.”

  “What?”

  “That’s the literal meaning in English of the words Koh-i-Noor.”

  But Holmes took no notice of this, and we made our way back to the Earl and his Countess. Early as it was, to our surprise every light in the house was on, and when we entered the drawing-room, we saw that the Countess was in tears. The Earl, looking haggard and worn, gazed vacantly at us as if he hardly knew who we were and sat in his chair like a man in a trance. Servants were running about in various stages of undress, while the butler was vainly trying to persuade his Master to drink a small glass of brandy. Meanwhile the Countess’s maid was trying to persuade her Mistress to do the same, but with little success.

  It later transpired that both parents had met and spoken to their daughter upon her return from London the previous night, before she ostensibly went to bed. But when a young servant entered her room with a cup of early morning tea, she found the bed hadn’t been slept in, and that most of Geraldine’s jewels were missing, along with a travelling bag and some of her clothes. Worse still, there was a note on the dressing-table, saying there was no point in trying to trace her as she had “gone back to London to be with the man I love best in the world.”