“Arthur Holmwood would have inherited Ring regardless of any criminal act. But the facts speak for themselves. The lack of servants, the threadbare carpets in the hall, the missing silverware in the drawing room as evidenced by marks in the dust upon the sideboard. I put to you, Watson, that Lord Godalming does not own the Westenra estate any longer.”
“Sold? But then where did the profits go? Is the family in such debt?”
“Watson, though I laud you for staying clear of the gossip columns and keeping your mind on higher endeavours, sometimes I do wish you would keep your eyes and ears open. No, if the Holmwoods carried debts of such magnitude, someone in society would have heard of it. They survive on the income of Ring’s great estate, but a wretched survival it has become. With her husband in a poor state of mind, and only a skeleton staff at their disposal, Lady Godalming must rely on someone to keep their affairs in order, for she is certainly unused to the many trials of running such a household. There is one man, close to Lord Godalming, who I am sure is only too happy to take care of matters.”
“Van Helsing?”
“If Van Helsing is not the direct beneficiary of this scheme, he is certainly involved.”
“Then Van Helsing is taking advantage of their misfortune?”
“You say ‘their’ misfortune, Watson. Surely you do not think Genevieve Holmwood an innocent party?”
“It is crass to slur a young woman so, Holmes, simply for marrying above her station.”
“Oh, I do Lady Godalming no such injustice, Watson. There is far more to her than that. She took us—strangers both—to the bedside of her sick and troubled husband, so that we could see for ourselves the fear in which he lives; to convince us that the things of which he is afraid are very real, at least to him. But did you note the most important detail when she came to greet us?”
I wracked my brains, but in the end I could think of nothing.
“Of course not, for I suspect her attempt at distraction worked a charm upon you. She did not ask us why we had come, Watson.”
CHAPTER FIVE
A TELEGRAM
Genevieve Holmwood, Lady Godalming, to Professor Abraham Van Helsing,
10 April 1894
* * *
The detective has been and gone. He asked of you a lot, but I played my part beautifully. G.
CHAPTER SIX
A BATTLE OF WITS
“So what now, Holmes?” I asked. Holmes had been pacing back and forth so much I worried that he would wear a hole in the hearth-rug.
“Hmm?” As was so often the case, Holmes was so deep in thought that he barely acknowledged my presence, let alone my question.
I shuffled through the Dracula Papers, which I had been reading again. “I expect we shall need to interview the Harkers,” I said. “Perhaps we should find the girl that Inspector Cotford mentioned. Kate something-or-other? Although I am tired of all this sneaking around, Holmes.”
“Sneaking around?” Holmes stopped pacing. “Whatever do you mean, Watson?”
“I mean that the full weight of suspicion clearly falls upon Professor Van Helsing. You obviously believe him to be involved in some great conspiracy, though I cannot tell what that might be—it all seems a rather elaborate and dangerous way to obtain property. Regardless, Van Helsing is not a million miles away. According to the newspapers he is here, in London; I do not understand why we don’t just find him and get the measure of the man.”
“Sometimes, Watson, I do believe the consistent simplicity of your approach is the very making of our little enterprise.”
“Thank you… I think.”
“Don’t mention it. Our tip-toeing around has not been in vain, old fellow. Indeed, it has provided us with a great deal of information about the professor and his wiles.”
“It has?”
“Oh, indubitably. If Van Helsing is half as clever as we are led to believe, then he is already aware of our involvement—and if I was wrong about that before, I am sure Lady Godalming would have warned him of our investigation by now.”
“What makes you so sure?” I asked.
“If she is not in league with the man, then she is at least a friend to him. To that end, I engineered the situation so that she would feel compelled to contact Van Helsing even were she not in his employ. I made certain to disparage Van Helsing’s good name, while encouraging you to cast doubt upon his medical expertise.”
“Well, I wouldn’t say—”
“Don’t be modest, old fellow,” Holmes went on, before I could say that I meant no disrespect at all to a fellow practitioner. “Professor Abraham Van Helsing must surely now be following one of three possible courses of action.”
“Oh?”
“He will either be gathering intelligence to use against us, making arrangements to flee, or, if he is innocent, preparing to defend his honour against any accusations that may come his way.”
“But what accusations, Holmes? We have the word of Mr Cotford, a disgraced former policeman who is now an inveterate drunk. We have some papers that may have been misplaced, but which you obviously think were suppressed somehow… Perhaps there’s an argument that he has defrauded Lord Godalming, though there is no evidence. Do you think he killed Miss Westenra? Is that it?”
“You’re right, Watson, of course. We are lacking hard evidence, but have faith that it shall come. We have no body to examine, no crime scene to scrutinise. We have simply the details of a fantastic tale, already concluded, and an insinuation of guilt. However, you must look deeper. There are numerous crimes detailed in the Dracula Papers, not all of which may at first be apparent to the untrained eye. If Van Helsing is not responsible for them, I would stake my reputation that he is intimately involved. Mycroft must believe it also, or why involve us at all? To believe otherwise is to believe in the existence of vampires, and that, Watson, is absurd.”
I frowned, for Holmes appeared for a moment to be far from himself. I half wondered if Frank Cotford’s little witch-hunt against Van Helsing had not influenced my friend’s thinking unduly. “Very well, Holmes, let’s say you are correct. And if he flees the country? If you really believe Van Helsing to be guilty of some crime, then surely our delay can only work in his favour.”
To my surprise, Holmes seemed to consider this. He took one more draw on his pipe, and sat down in his armchair before replying.
“Watson, the Dracula Papers give me a singular impression of Professor Van Helsing—the impression of a man absolutely assured of his own genius, who has taken great pains to cover his tracks and produced a dazzling, nigh-impenetrable story to do so. Such a man would not run from us, even if my modest reputation were brought to his attention. No, such a man would look us in the eye and scorn us, and that is what I am waiting for. Each moment we hesitate before confronting him is a moment for his confidence to grow, and our case to build, do you see?”
“You think he will make some mistake that will cast doubt on his character?” I asked.
“Perhaps, though I do not underestimate him one jot. More likely, he will soon move against us.”
Holmes spoke so gravely that I felt my chest tighten. I thought of the tales of the vampire count, draining blood from his victims. I thought of the ghastly visage of Lord Godalming, so recently a man of vigour and adventure. I wondered if Van Helsing had been responsible for the horrendous crimes discussed in the Dracula Papers, and did not relish becoming an enemy of such a man.
“What makes you so sure of this?” I asked.
“Because Van Helsing, by reputation at least, rather reminds me of another professor with whom I played a deadly game not too long ago,” Holmes responded, somewhat distantly.
The thought of Moriarty had not been far from my mind during the past day. I loosened my collar as Holmes spoke of his old nemesis.
“You think it will come to that?” I asked, somewhat hoarsely. I remembered all too well my time without Holmes, believing he was dead at Moriarty’s hands.
“If we allow i
t,” Holmes replied, wistful and almost sad. His melancholy passed abruptly, and invigorated by some train of thought perhaps, he leapt from his chair. “Watson, you are right, of course. If I have learned one thing from my time abroad, it is that dancing with the devil is not a task for those faint of heart. We shall pay a visit to the professor this very evening and get the measure of the man.”
“Tonight? I…”
“Tonight! Now, Watson, I need to think. I am sure you need to make yourself ready. Be sure to pack a small case with a change of clothes for dinner; there’s an excellent fellow.”
And with no further word, Holmes exchanged his brier for his violin, and began to play.
* * *
We arrived at Carfax shortly before dusk. It was a larger property than I had imagined, and grander, too. Perhaps it was testament to the change in tenancy, but the house was not quite the gloomy, tumbledown pile that had been described in the Dracula Papers. It was, however, clearly unoccupied.
Holmes and I had left our cabbie waiting at the road, and traversed the drive on foot. The gardens were large and tree-lined, and the house sizable and square, its tall mullioned windows and whitewashed walls a testament to early Georgian design. Though a high wall surrounded the property, and ivy clung to the north face of the house, there was none of the haunting gloom that we had expected.
“It appears no one is home,” I said.
“Of course not, Watson. The renovation of Carfax is not quite complete, and Van Helsing divides his time between this house and an apartment at the Savoy. Besides that, tonight he has an invitation to a Royal Society gala, which I am certain he will attend. Again, I must remind you of the value of reading those inches of society columns.”
I sighed. “You knew all that, and yet you still brought us out here? For what purpose, Holmes?”
“Knowing that the professor is not at home, and that the house is unlikely to be staffed at present due to its state of disrepair, I decided this would be a good time to reconnoitre the lair of the enemy.”
I recalled from the Dracula Papers that the hunters came to Carfax on the trail of the Count, and broke in. They found only Dracula’s coffins, filled with Transylvanian earth.
“You don’t mean us to force entry into the man’s house, do you, Holmes? There is absolutely no legal recourse for us to—”
Holmes raised a hand to silence me. “Of course not, my dear fellow. I mean only to explore the lay of the land, and to follow in the footsteps of another character from our fanciful tale of Dracula.”
“Another? Who—”
Before I could finish, Holmes had bounded across a sheltered lawn, his long, thin legs carrying him in great strides, until he reached a boundary wall covered in aged honeysuckle. Even as I rushed to follow, Holmes was up and over the wall, leaving me agog at my friend’s sudden wellspring of energy.
For a moment I stood alone, in the dark shadow of Carfax, uncertain what I should do. Then from above me came the scuffing of boots and the scuttling of loose mortar, and Holmes appeared, offering his hand over the wall.
“Come on, Watson, no time to dawdle.”
In a trice I was hoisted upwards, and as I swung my legs over the aged capstones I saw the object of Holmes’s little jaunt. Ahead of us, across a wide lawn and expansive courtyard, was Purfleet Asylum.
I dropped down beside Holmes, who was skulking behind the bushes in a most ungentlemanly fashion.
“Really, Holmes, if you wanted to see Dr Seward I am sure you could have just made an appointment.”
“I do not want to see Dr Seward, Watson. I want to see how the lunatic, Renfield, so easily managed to escape the asylum and enter the grounds of Carfax on more than one occasion. And now we do see.”
“I agree; it’s hardly the most secure perimeter to contain such dangerous patients.”
“The fact that the wall still has not been raised, or a more secure fence installed, begs an interesting question. Are the inmates of Purfleet Asylum really as dangerous as Dr Seward stated? Or rather, was it just the one inmate who was dangerous?”
“Does it matter?” I grumbled, dusting off my trousers.
“Of course it matters,” said Holmes. “If this asylum is one of the strictest security, then not only would Renfield’s escape have been implausible, but this wall would be considerably higher for the sake of the general public. If, on the other hand, the asylum is designed to accommodate only those lunatics who pose no great threat, then why was Renfield here at all? Here is a man severely disturbed and possessed of great physical strength. And yet he was so poorly guarded that he could flee his cell, wound an orderly and pass through the hospital corridors, before escaping through the—presumably locked—doors?”
“Seward as good as admits in his diary that it was his own hubris that was to blame,” I reasoned. “That he was so fascinated by Renfield as a case study that he allowed himself to become remiss in his duties.”
“But of course, Dr Seward was not the only doctor on the staff. Could he have been so negligent without his fellows noticing?”
“You’re right, Holmes. There was another doctor mentioned—Irish-sounding fellow. Hennessey?”
“I think you’re right, Watson. I tell you something, this Dr Seward really does hold together so many parts of our puzzle. He knew both Van Helsing and Lucy Westenra separately. He coincidentally operates an asylum contiguous with a property bought by Count Dracula. Dracula could not possibly have known Lucy, could he? And yet when he first arrived in England it was to her he went, in distant Whitby. Van Helsing then pointed the finger of blame at Dracula. And then—”
“And then Seward convinced Renfield that the object of his ravings was Dracula,” I said, thinking of the man’s tragic end. “If Renfield believed that Count Dracula was the imaginary ‘master’ he both worshipped and feared, then learning, even accidentally, that the Count was moving in next door would surely have intensified his delusions.”
“A first-class deduction, Watson! A more believable scenario than the one presented to us, don’t you think? And although I am certain Seward or the professor would wave away your theory with talk of psychic suggestion and other such esoteric notions, it is a sequence of events I am partial to investigate. When next we return here, it will be to speak with Seward directly, but that can wait. It is with his mentor that we have business tonight. You brought a change of clothes, as I suggested?”
“Why, yes, Holmes.”
“Very good. Our next stop is the Royal Society, and we can’t very well go there with Purfleet dirt all over our suits, can we?”
* * *
How Holmes managed to secure our admittance to the exclusive Royal Society gala I do not know, but I would hazard a guess that his brother was involved. The event was an exclusive one, open only to fellows, patrons and esteemed guests drawn from the upper echelons of society, academia and government. And now, of course, myself and Mr Sherlock Holmes.
The great vaulted hall of New Burlington House fair fizzed with life and light. Sage, white-haired scientists mixed with titled dilettantes, powerful financiers, members of Parliament and even royalty. Twice I almost walked into a guest as I fumbled my way through the crowd in pursuit of Holmes, and twice I was stunned upon looking up: the first time to recognise the Queen’s personal physician, and the second time a princess. Holmes himself had no trouble gliding through the assemblage as though born to such functions.
When I caught up with him, Holmes was engaged in conversation with the baronet Sir Maugham Jarsdel and his wife, who I recognised as former clients from the strange case of the Elgar rosette. It could be said that their continued influence in society was in part due to Holmes’s success in resolving that rather scandalous affair, and the pair greeted me warmly as I approached.
“Ah, Dr Watson, so good to see you well. Mr Holmes was just saying that you were looking for an introduction to Professor Van Helsing. Well, look no further—we have had the pleasure of making his acquaintance, and would be
only too pleased to introduce you.”
“You are too kind, Sir Maugham,” I said.
“Then do follow us, Doctor,” said Lady Jarsdel, “and we shall see what we can do.”
The couple led us through the hall, pausing at intervals to greet other acquaintances, before entering a great chamber off to the side of the main gathering. The room was decked out ready for a dinner address, with a dozen or so large round tables set out before a stage, complete with an almost ecclesiastical pulpit beneath a Gothic arched ceiling. The room was less crowded than the hall, but a fair number of people—mostly older gentlemen—were gathered. These, I guessed, were fellows of the Royal Society, and at the sight of a few familiar faces from the scientific community I felt singularly out of my depth.
“Don’t worry, Watson,” whispered Holmes. “Let me do the talking.”
I had planned to do nothing else, although I confess to feeling some trepidation as a small press of guests parted before Sir Maugham and Lady Jarsdel to reveal our first glimpse of Professor Abraham Van Helsing.
He was unmistakeable both from the physical description we had read in the Dracula Papers, and the barking, heavily accented tone of his voice that cut through the air as we drew near. He was not a tall man, but a formidable-looking one, broad of shoulder and square of jaw, with tufty, reddish hair flecked with silver-grey, and bushy brows over intense blue eyes. As he held court over the small group, he puffed on a cigar, marking his frequent gesticulations with trails of smoke.
“And this, gentlemen,” Van Helsing was saying, “is how we are knowing the fundamental truths, that so-maligned metaphysical influences may exert dominion not only over the flesh, but over the very soul. The nature of the human being is a thing fragile, no? If we to the left or to the right stray from the path of righteousness, we risk more than just the health. Mein Gott, we risk all, as my friends most dear risked all.”
The men standing about the professor nodded in agreement, though it was hard to tell what they made of Van Helsing’s strange beliefs. As we came into their company, Van Helsing’s dark blue eyes fixed first upon me, and then upon Holmes. If he knew who we were, he showed no sign whatsoever.
Sherlock Holmes--A Betrayal in Blood Page 5