“If the treasure can be traced back to India, I would like to hear of it,” Joanna requested.
“And so you shall, madam.”
On our way out we passed Moran’s housekeeper who had a most puzzled expression on her face. It was obvious Emma Lambert had no knowledge of what was transpiring. We left the unpleasant task of informing her up to Lestrade.
Outside the weather was clear, with a blue sky and a cool breeze. Fashionably dressed couples strolled down Curzon Street, oblivious to the evil that had gone on inside Christopher Moran’s lodgings.
My father said to Joanna, “I trust you will understand the need for me to tell Lestrade of your fictitious association with Sherlock Holmes. After all, you did demonstrate many of his deductive talents. Thus, I covered it with you being a trainee of his.”
“Thank you for that, Watson,” Joanna said. “I am particularly grateful you did not tell Lestrade the truth, for he obviously has a loose tongue and would have been more than eager to spread the word that I am in fact the daughter of Sherlock Holmes.”
My father and I were stunned speechless. We stood there with our mouths agape, like befuddled schoolboys, and wondered how she could possibly know.
My father swiftly turned to me. “Did you utter—”
“Not a word,” I swore.
“Nor I.”
“Then how?”
“Come, come, dear Watsons. You must give me at least some credit on this matter. When a topic interests me, I chase it to the very end, as I did with my lineage. It was not all that difficult.”
“But all the documents on your adoption were sealed,” my father said. “By law, they could not be unsealed.”
“There was no need to,” Joanna said with a shrug. “My adoptive parents told me of my birthday and the place of my birth and nothing more. So I traveled to St. Mary’s Hospital in Paddington and searched for the babies born on my birthday. There were four, three boys and a single girl whose name was Joanna Adler Norton. I had earlier read of my father’s exploits in A Scandal in Bohemia and recognized the last names of Adler and Norton. Irene Adler was the woman who had famously outwitted Sherlock Holmes and Godfrey Norton was the man she married and fled to Paris with.”
“But surely their trails were impossible to follow,” my father interjected.
“Difficult? Yes. Impossible? No. But at this point, I must admit I had to use my feminine instincts. First off, you may recall that Irene Adler was not a vicious, hardened woman, but rather a sensitive, caring one who was badly used by the King of Bohemia. Such a woman would never give up her newborn for adoption, even under the strongest pressure from her husband. No, there had to be a very urgent reason. Something had forced her, and left her no choice. Could this have been a fatal illness? I wondered. If so, she would have been terrified that her daughter would become motherless. So I searched the death records at St. Mary’s on or about the day of my birth. My mother, Irene Adler Norton, died on the day I was born. So, one piece of the puzzle was in place. The following year I went to Paris on a holiday with my parents, and unbeknownst to them I hired a private detective to find the whereabouts of my listed father, Godfrey Norton. I was soon to discover that Norton was a worthless scoundrel who had abandoned my mother and moved to Italy with his mistress. Most importantly, he had died of alcoholism a year before I entered this world. Thus, he could not be my father, and so the seed for truth was planted.”
“But surely nothing thus far pointed to Sherlock Holmes being your father,” I interrupted.
“Not initially,” Joanna replied. “But as I matured and time passed, I became aware of my intense interest in crime and detectives, whom I often matched wits against. I rarely lost. When I read Sherlock Homes’s text on The Whole Art of Deduction, it was as if I had written it. The writer and I seemed to be of one mind. It was then that I truly began to wonder if I could be the daughter of Sherlock Holmes. But here was a loveless, cold man who had never shown the least tender affection to women. What were the chances he and my mother would have had a secret, romantic assignation?”
“Almost impossible,” my father answered the rhetorical question.
“Almost is the key word here, Watson. Thus, it was not truly impossible. Surely you remember one of Sherlock Holmes’s cardinal rules, ‘Once you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains behind, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’ So the thought that Sherlock Holmes might be my biological father stuck with me. The thought was reinforced when sometime later I overheard my parents talking of a friend who was retiring from the practice of medicine. A dear friend who had arranged for the adoption of their daughter. This dear friend was you, Watson. Now I was nearly certain that Sherlock Holmes was my father, but had no solid proof. However, as the years passed, my son, Johnnie, grew and took on features that did not resemble either me or my now deceased husband. It was then that I happened upon a photograph of a young Sherlock Holmes in an old detective monograph. It truly took my breath away, for my son and Sherlock Holmes could have passed for twins. And so the puzzle of my lineage was solved once and for all.”
“And you no doubt noted my father’s reaction upon seeing young Johnnie for the first time,” I added.
“I did,” Joanna said, with a grin. “I prayed Watson would not faint as he did when Sherlock Holmes reappeared after his miraculous resurrection from his watery grave in the Reichenbach Falls.”
“I nearly did,” my father admitted, then, taking a deep breath, said, “But what a story you have told! What a remarkable story!”
“Now I have a favor to ask from you both,” Joanna said in all seriousness. “I wish for my lineage and connection to Sherlock Holmes to remain a hidden truth. I would be most grateful that under no circumstances were you ever to mention that I am the daughter of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler. For were it revealed, it would bring fame and notoriety, neither of which I seek. These two intruders can destroy any family and their private lives as well, and could adversely affect my dear Johnnie. Thus I have never spoken of my true identity to anyone and hope you will do the same.”
“Were you aware we knew all the while?” my father asked.
“Of course. You arranged for my adoption to the Middletons and would have only done so with the consent of Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler. They no doubt swore you to secrecy, for they would have understood the harm that could have come to me should my parental origin be revealed.”
“But if I was pledged to secrecy, how could you be certain that John would be told of your lineage?”
“Because the Middletons informed me of a secret trust my biological parents had set up for me,” Joanna replied. “At my request, Lord Blalock, who was once Chancellor of the Exchequer, was good enough to search into the matter and learn that you, Watson, were the sole trustee. Now, with your advancing years, you would have to appoint a new trustee to eventually take your place. It could only be someone whom you trusted implicitly. It had to be John who was told of the trust and its benefactor, the daughter of Sherlock Holmes.”
“But why did you not tell us of your true identity earlier?” I asked. “Surely we had gained your confidence.”
“Indeed you had,” Joanna said. “And that is the reason I am divulging the details now. But during the investigation, I thought it best not to do so. With the three of us separately holding on to the secret, I felt assured it would remain hidden. But were the secret shared, we might well begin to speak of it casually to one another and our words could reach unintended ears.”
“Such as Lestrade’s,” my father said, nodding. “He could not wait to tell of your fictitious association with Sherlock Holmes after vowing not to.”
“Precisely my point,” Joanna agreed. “So I must again ask that my lineage never be revealed, for it is in my family’s best interest that it remain sealed and hidden.”
“I shall never speak of it again,” my father pledged.
“Nor I,” I promised.
“And you must consent n
ever to write of this story, Watson, for the facts would eventually reveal my participation and then my exposure. Again, neither of these are wanted.”
“The story will remain unwritten.”
Joanna gave us a warm smile and said, “But I must say that if another perplexing case comes your way, I would not object to being asked to join you two for another adventure.”
“That would be our pleasure,” my father said, and took Joanna’s arm. “Now that all vows and promises are signed and sealed, I suggest we ride to Simpson’s-in-the-Strand for a well-deserved dinner.”
“A capital idea, Watson!” Joanna said. “But pray tell, how did you read my mind?”
“From simple deduction,” my father replied. “I noticed that you gazed at the restaurant across the way several times and ignored the other structures. And when the transport carrying the sign PURVEYOR OF FINE FOODS passed by, you appeared to be very interested in it. You even involuntarily licked your lips. Thus, I reasoned that your appetite must be aroused.”
“But why Simpson’s?” Joanna asked.
“That is elementary, my dear Joanna. For you see, that is in your blood.”
As the pair strolled arm in arm just ahead, I could not help but feel the thrill of the past unfolding before me. In my mind’s eye, I could envision Holmes and Watson once more sauntering down Baker Street, the very street they lived on. They were no doubt chatting about some new clue in their current case and enjoying their favorite pipefuls. With effort, I brought my thoughts back to the present. Gazing again at the fine couple in front of me, I was reminded that my dear father, through the grace of God, remains on the face of this good earth. And that Sherlock Holmes, through the lovely presence of Joanna Blalock, is after all still with us.
CLOSING NOTES
I promised my father I would never write this story. But I have broken this promise because my wife, Joanna, has given me permission to do so. After all, it is truly her story, not mine.
Our son, Johnnie, attends a boys’ boarding school near Oxford, where he excels in all subjects and has a keen interest in the art of deduction. The principal wishes to advance the lad to a higher grade, but Joanna has declined this offer, believing that Johnnie will always be ahead of the others, regardless of the class level.
My father has suffered a mild stroke that has left him with some weakness on the right side, but his mind remains sharp. He is recovering nicely and spends most of his time reviewing old files for his next Sherlock Holmes adventure. Johnnie Blalock often visits his new grandfather. They get along famously. There is clearly a special bond between the two.
Joanna and I now reside at 221b Baker Street.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Special thanks to Peter Wolverton and Anne Brewer, superb editors, who managed to find the best novel in my manuscript.
ALSO BY LEONARD GOLDBERG
Transplant
Deadly Medicine
A Deadly Practice
Deadly Care
Deadly Harvest
Deadly Exposure
Lethal Measures
Fatal Care
Brainwaves
Fever Cell
The Cure
Patient One
Plague Ship
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Leonard Goldberg is the USA Today and internationally bestselling author of, among other works of fiction, the Joanna Blalock series of medical thrillers. His novels, acclaimed by critics as well as by fellow authors, have been translated into a dozen languages and sold more than a million copies worldwide. Dr. Goldberg’s novels have been selections of the Book of the Month Club, French and Czech book clubs, and The Mystery Guild. They have been featured as People magazine’s “Page-Turner of the Week,” as well as at the International Book Fair in Budapest. Dr. Goldberg has had a long career as a consulting physician affiliated with the UCLA Medical Center, where he was clinical professor of Medicine. He lives full-time now on an island off the coast of Charleston, South Carolina. You can sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Introduction
1. The Game Is Afoot
2. Joanna Blalock
3. The Nearsighted Gardener
4. Christopher Moran
5. Proof of Lineage
6. St. Bartholomew’s
7. The Message
8. The Athenian Club
9. Toby Two
10. Greenbaum’s Funeral Home
11. Moran’s Secretary
12. The Visit
13. The Stroll
14. The Knighted Curator
15. The Housekeeper
16. The Code
17. The Intruder
18. An Unexpected Death
19. Derek Cardogan
20. The Staging
21. The Players
22. The Special Care Unit
23. The Treasure
Closing Notes
Acknowledgments
Also by Leonard Goldberg
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
A THOMAS DUNNE BOOK FOR MINOTAUR BOOKS.
An imprint of St. Martin’s Press.
THE DAUGHTER OF SHERLOCK HOLMES. Copyright © 2017 by Leonard Goldberg. All rights reserved. For information, address St. Martin’s Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.
www.thomasdunnebooks.com
www.minotaurbooks.com
Cover design by David Baldeosingh Rotstein
Cover illustration by Liam Peters
The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available upon request.
ISBN 978-1-250-10104-4 (hardcover)
ISBN 978-1-250-10105-1 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781250101051
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First Edition: June 2017
The Daughter of Sherlock Holmes Page 26