Art in the Blood

by Bonnie MacBird

  ‘Get dressed, Watson,’ came Holmes’s voice from this apparition. ‘We are summoned to Mycroft’s immediately.’

  CHAPTER 12

  Suspension Bridge

  have always held that life with Holmes is a bit like walking across a suspension bridge that hangs from ropes over a jungle chasm. The adrenalin may be invigorating, but one never knows what lies beneath, and one is constantly in danger of losing one’s footing.

  Any equilibrium I might have recovered from a night’s sleep in my own bed was quickly erased by a tumultuous dash across town in a hansom cab, heading to the Diogenes Club, that peculiar lair of his even more peculiar older brother Mycroft Holmes.

  Why? Why the rush? Why the disguise? Why did Mycroft summon us both? As Holmes removed the false teeth and wig, peeled rubber from his face and began to scrub the mahogany colouring and grime from his cheeks, he explained in part.

  ‘I visited the docks last night – well, early this morning – as an old sailor who cannot keep away from the action, bearing a small offering of friendship.’ He raised a battered flask concealed in his ragged clothes.

  ‘And what did you learn there?’ I asked. ‘You have missed a bit under your left ear.’

  Holmes scrubbed further. ‘Simply this. Three recent shipments arrived, any one of which could have been our missing statue. However, one in particular seemed to be more closely watched than the others, and I managed, with considerable trouble, to catch a glimpse of its contents. It is, I am quite sure, our Nike.’

  ‘Ah,’ I said, digesting this. I had not yet had my morning coffee. As our cab rattled through the streets, Holmes completed his transformation into his usual attire.

  ‘But what of Mlle La Victoire? I thought you were more interested in helping the lady than in this art theft.’

  ‘This morning’s task was merely a footnote which I have taken care of at the behest of my brother,’ said he, with a note of resentment. ‘I shall catch Vidocq up on the facts as it suits me.’

  ‘Oh, that should sit well,’ I said. There was evidently a strong sense of competition between the two. I suspected Holmes had actually leapt to his night-time exploration for the express purpose of besting his French counterpart.

  ‘My efforts are probably the reason Mycroft summons us here this morning.’

  ‘But how did he know you were successful?’

  Holmes did not bother to answer this.

  CHAPTER 13

  Mycroft

  e awaited Holmes’s older brother in the Stranger’s Room in Mycroft’s gentlemen’s club, the Diogenes. The room was richly panelled in antique walnut, carpeted against all noise with a plush Oriental rug of greens and golds, and featured a bowed window looking out over Pall Mall. This was bracketed by shelves containing books and an array of beautiful antique globes. Here, we were well away from all others, and would be allowed to speak freely. Members were bound by the bylaws of the peculiar club to remain silent in each other’s company while in the common rooms of the establishment.

  I ordered coffee from an attendant, made myself comfortable in a chair near the fire, and lit my morning cigarette, trying to relax. My companion paced continually in front of the tall window.

  ‘Do sit down, Holmes,’ I entreated. He ignored me and continued to pace.

  I became aware that an enormous man had arrived with the silence of a cat, and stood soundlessly at the door, eyeing us with disdain. Mycroft, taller and much heavier than his brother, and seven years his senior, glided into the room like a stately battleship. He was impeccably tailored, shoes polished to a mirror gleam, and exuded an unmistakable gravitas. He lowered himself slowly into an armchair by the fire, and sat unmoving. Intelligent eyes burned from his leonine countenance as he regarded his younger brother with a hint of what one might interpret as disapproval.

  ‘You have been successful,’ he said. It was a statement, not a question.

  ‘Yes, the Nike is in London,’ said Holmes casually.

  ‘Changed from Liverpool,’ said Mycroft. ‘Odd.’

  ‘It is, and inconvenient for them, if she is headed where we think. But they must have their reasons. She departs tomorrow. Well guarded, by the way.’

  ‘I thought as much,’ said Mycroft. ‘She has already cost the lives of four men. Sit down.’

  Holmes ignored him and continued to pace. ‘Don’t underestimate the men hired to protect her,’ he said. ‘Their Mafia connection has been confirmed by my American friends in New York.’

  ‘Yes, yes, formidable, I know. And so is the collector who probably set this in motion,’ said Mycroft. ‘That is why I am placing you on the case, Sherlock. You and Dr Watson will leave for Lancashire by the noon train. You will be at Pellingham’s estate when the statue arrives, which may be as soon as late tomorrow, and – while he is ever so private about his secret collection – he has in this case already issued you a personal invitation to witness her installation with your own eyes.’

  Mycroft picked up a long thin letter on elegant stationery from the table next to him and extended it to Holmes. I could swear that he was smiling as he did so and yet there was no trace of charm.

  Holmes had stopped pacing and stood silently by the window, ignoring the letter. His back was to the light and I could not discern his expression, but his tone was icy. ‘I have done what you asked, Mycroft,’ he said. ‘Now what have you found about Emil?’

  ‘The boy is safe, for the moment. I have located the house in London where he is hidden – and by friendly hands, I might add. But the game plan has changed. I am sending Vidocq to recover Emil. I’ll give him the information shortly. You are being transferred to the Nike case.’

  ‘Mycroft! Tell me Emil’s location. It was our agreement.’

  ‘Aren’t you curious about this invitation? Of course you are.’ He waved the letter once again.

  Holmes held fast.

  Mycroft nodded. ‘But, all right, the carrot, then.’ He replaced the letter with a sigh. ‘Sit down.’

  If there was a carrot, then there most certainly was a stick. I did not like the tone of this discussion. At last Holmes sat down.

  ‘I fully understand that the art theft is not your interest, little brother,’ said Mycroft, soothingly. ‘The plight of missing or abused children appeals to your, er, all of our, sensitivities. But while you are in Lancashire doing this for me, you will also look into the murder of three children who disappeared from the Earl’s factories. All three were orphans, and I believe conscripted illegally. The factory in question lies in a remote area and has avoided intense scrutiny. Money has changed hands.’

  Holmes remained impassive. Mycroft sighed, studying his brother.

  ‘The Earl has been out of our reach, and this is what you must understand,’ continued Mycroft. ‘Once we have the Earl on an art theft of international magnitude – and its attendant murders – only then does the door open to a complete investigation of his affairs, including the fate of these three boys and his own missing child. Until then, he is shielded by friends in Parliament. If we recover little Emil publicly before that time …’

  Holmes was silent, his hands clenched.

  ‘Do you see?’ asked Mycroft.

  ‘Of course,’ said Holmes. ‘And Lady Pellingham? What information do you have about her?’

  ‘Her role, if any, is unknown. That is another of your tasks. We must understand the situation in Lancashire to ensure the boy’s safety. Vidocq and the lady will be here shortly,’ continued Mycroft. ‘I will provide them with the address where Emil is hidden, and protection for them during his recovery. It is possible, after the Earl’s arrest, that the lady will return with her son to France, and then their safety will be a matter for the Sûreté.’

  Holmes stared out the window as if he were not listening.

  ‘It will be left to you, brother, to discover why he was hidden and from whom,’ Mycroft pressed on. ‘Your clue about the weapon being specific to the tanning industry was key; thank you for that. Emi
l is, in fact, in Bermondsey, at the home of a Charles and Merielle Eagleton. Mr Eagleton is a tanner. Mrs Eagleton is the sister of the Earl’s valet Pomeroy, who has been the go-between with Emil’s French mother.’

  ‘Why not send the police right now?’ I blurted out. Both swivelled to face me. Mycroft looked at me with pity.

  ‘The chessboard, Dr Watson. First of all, the police would feel compelled to return Emil to his father. He might not be safe. Consider the possibility that he was removed by friends because he was endangered at home. And second, Vidocq must make the rescue. It is critical to decoy him briefly from the statue or he may attempt to claim it for France.’

  He turned back to Holmes. ‘Content yourself with this. As to Vidocq and this Mademoiselle La Victoire, my sources tell me they are in love.’

  ‘She distrusts him,’ said Holmes. ‘And your plan is dangerous to her and the boy. Vidocq cares less about the child than his reward.’

  Mycroft stared hard at Holmes. ‘Possibly. But there is another issue. You have developed feelings for the lady. A capital mistake, little brother.’

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous, Mycroft,’ snapped Holmes. ‘You know me better.’

  ‘And yet Dr Watson would agree, wouldn’t you, Doctor?’ Mycroft swivelled to face me.

  ‘No, I would say no such thing,’ I stammered.

  Mycroft assessed me briefly. ‘And yet it is true,’ said he, turning back to his brother, daring him to look away. My friend held his gaze. Mycroft shrugged. ‘She is a remarkable artist, and intelligent,’ said Mycroft. ‘I understand your momentary weakness. But consider your rival. Vidocq, handsome, and a reputed ladies’ man, has probably won her heart. In the French manner, he is not so much duplicitous as … complex. If he is attracted to her as well, he may attempt to have his brioche and eat it, too,’ he added with a chuckle.

  Holmes turned abruptly away from his brother. ‘Have you a cigarette, Watson?’ he snapped. I fumbled to supply him one and struck a match to light it. For a moment I thought I saw his hand shaking. His back was to his brother.

  Mycroft eyed us coolly. A small smile floated on that impassive face. I wanted to throttle the man.

  Holmes took a long drag on his cigarette, and then resumed his languid demeanour. ‘I have no personal interest in the lady, other than that she has entrusted her safety to me. The Frenchman can be careless. With only Vidocq between Mademoiselle La Victoire and danger, the boy remains vulnerable,’ he drawled.

  ‘I will permit no danger to reach them,’ said Mycroft. ‘It is a promise.’

  There was a silence. Holmes smoked. Mycroft poured himself a small brandy and took a sip. It was nine in the morning. Where was my coffee?

  ‘Now to the specifics. My plan is a fait accompli, and plays on your greatest strengths,’ said Mycroft. ‘The Earl has been in correspondence with a certain Fritz Prendergast, of the British Museum, a leading expert on the Nike legend and all artwork pertaining to her. I have intercepted this correspondence and have been laying this trap for over two years – the long thin wedge; you know my methods.’ He took another sip of brandy.

  ‘The Earl has fallen into my snare by inviting this man to a very private viewing of something he cannot wait to share with the one and only person who will truly savour the coup.’ At this Mycroft tapped the envelope on the table beside him. ‘Even the most private and obsessive of men has need of an appreciative audience. Now that, you do understand, Sherlock,’ added Mycroft, smiling once more at me.

  Holmes grunted.

  ‘However, the Earl and Prendergast have never met, and you will be impersonating this man, dear brother, when you and Watson arrive at the estate tonight. There will be a grand dinner and tour of his rarely seen collection.’

  I started in alarm. ‘I can’t! I mean, I am not an actor!’

  ‘Certainly true, but set aside your fear, Doctor,’ said Mycroft. ‘Fritz Prendergast is confined to a wheelchair and accompanied at all times by his private physician. You have only to assume a new name. Your person remains the same.’

  Holmes exploded. ‘This is ludicrous! Even if I agreed to this, I can’t investigate from a wheelchair. Couldn’t you have concocted an able-bodied—?’

  ‘No. Fritz Prendergast is a very real person, and has corresponded for some time with the Earl, though they have never met face to face,’ said Mycroft. ‘Paralysed from the waist down due to an accident at age twenty. He is well within your range to impersonate. Look.’

  Mycroft pulled a photograph from a folder on the table and showed it to us. Staring from it was a slim, ascetic-looking man a few years older than Holmes, with long sideburns, small gold glasses and a keen expression.

  There was a resemblance. Clever!

  Holmes glanced at the photograph and set it down. ‘How did you arrange … where is the real Prendergast now?’ he asked.

  I am not sure, but I thought I saw a flash of discomfiture from Mycroft, gone in an instant.

  ‘He is currently incommunicado, in Vienna.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘He is in therapy with a private doctor there. Recovering, I believe, from a relapse of a cocaine addiction.’

  Holmes stiffened. He took a long, slow drag on his cigarette. I felt a prickle of alarm.

  ‘How convenient,’ he remarked.

  ‘Very,’ said Mycroft.

  ‘This relapse,’ said Holmes. ‘How did it happen?’

  ‘These things work in mysterious ways,’ said Mycroft. He stared at his brother with intention. I did not understand what passed between them, but before I could ponder it, Holmes rose to his feet so fast he knocked a side table to the floor. He was shaking in a level of fury I had never seen. ‘Damn you, Mycroft! Come, Watson.’

  I stood, surprised at the vehemence of this reaction.

  ‘Dr Watson,’ said Mycroft. ‘A word before you go.’

  I paused, trapped between them. Holmes rang impatiently for our coats.

  ‘Doctor,’ said Mycroft. ‘My brother is aware, but you may not be, of the considerable effort I have gone to recently in order to keep him out of gaol.’

  ‘Gaol!’ I exclaimed in spite of myself. ‘The Ripper case? Weren’t those charges proved false, and dropped?’

  Holmes snorted. ‘The charges were falsified. You know this perfectly well but let me languish for a week!’

  Mycroft sighed. ‘Politics have never been your forte, Sherlock. You are fortunate to be free as we speak,’ he added. ‘That is only because the highly placed person whom you offended has need of your services on this case. It is a chance for you to regain his good graces; a chance which you must not miss.’

  ‘Who is this person?’ asked Holmes in a shrill voice.

  ‘Probably you have already deduced, and I will not speak his name. But among the highest in the land,’ said Mycroft. ‘What you do not know is that he holds a particular personal grudge against Pellingham. And yet the Earl has remained out of reach because of his own high connections.’

  ‘And why should I trust you?’ asked Holmes.

  ‘Because, dear brother, you have no choice,’ said Mycroft. He turned to me, his face a mask of concern. ‘Doctor, I presume you continue to look after the wellbeing of my brother? He appears to be suffering from some fatigue. And evidence of recent cocaine use, hmm?’

  I stood frozen, unwilling to reveal my friend’s condition. But like his brother, Mycroft read me with ease.

  ‘Ah, I see I am correct. Doctor, if the unnamed party were to hear of my brother’s refusal, I have no doubt that some reason would be found to put him back into gaol – for an extended period of hard labour – from which it might be impossible, even for me, to retrieve him.’

  Holmes did not move. I felt sick. Mycroft turned to smile gently at me. ‘How do you think my brother might fare?’

  The sun had moved behind more snow clouds and the darkened sky mirrored my friend’s spirits as we left the Diogenes. Under my arm was the thick portfolio and letter from Mycroft, now wrapp
ed in waxed fabric against the threatening sleet. It would be a long train ride and much work to absorb the information we’d need from within this tome.

  I had never seen Holmes in a blacker mood.

  Eyes on the pavement, his mind churning, Holmes was the picture of repressed fury. As we left Waterloo Place and reached Pall Mall, he absentmindedly walked straight out into the bustling traffic – just as the wheels of a fast-moving carriage bore down.

  ‘Holmes!’ I shouted and seized his arm, pulling him back on to the pavement. The carriage thundered by, the driver shouting a curse at us as he passed.

  Holmes recovered and we proceeded without a word. There was much more to the story between the brothers, but I knew better than to ask. As a single man, without close family except for Mary, I had often wished for more relations. After today, I thought perhaps I should count my blessings. Mycroft’s stick had turned into something more like a bludgeon.

  As we continued down Pall Mall, we encountered Vidocq and Mlle La Victoire on their way towards the Diogenes. Flamboyantly dressed in an expensive coat and colourful cravat, the cocky Frenchman swaggered towards us, the lady clinging to his arm. She was elegant in deep burgundy wool, trimmed with fur cuffs and black soutache, her face hidden behind a veil.

  On seeing us, Vidocq frowned, but Mlle La Victoire paused, and lifting her veil in a graceful gesture she smiled expectantly at Holmes.

  ‘Monsieur Holmes, I understand we are to see your brother who knows where is Emil. But will you not join us?’

  I glanced up at Holmes to discover all traces of his mood were erased. A consummate actor, Holmes appeared to have total control of his expressions. He smiled at Mlle La Victoire, expressing a sad regret, and gallantly kissed her hand. ‘Alas, it is not possible. But my brother has good news. You will be reunited with Emil quite soon. I must apologize to you,’ he said. ‘I have promised you that I would personally find Emil but am called away.’