by Geri Schear
Back at Baker Street, Watson and Mrs Hudson, roused by the sound of our arrival, sprang into action at once. The boys were dried by aggressive parlour maids; soup was heated; clean, dry clothes found; and then the boys were bundled up to sleep in Mrs Hudson’s parlour.
I carried Beatrice into my bedroom and lay her upon my bed. Watson and Mrs Hudson tutted in there for some time while I, a mere husband, was forced to wait outside for news.
After several minutes, Mrs Hudson came out holding the relics of my wife’s tattered garments in her hands. “Only fit for burning,” she muttered and I am not sure if she meant the gown or me.
Still I was not allowed into the room. I paced the living room. Stevens said, “Let me pour you a brandy, Mr Holmes. Come now, you’ll do her no good like this.”
“No,” I said. “Thank you, but no... I need to call Mycroft.”
The hall was cold and I realised belatedly that I was still in my soaked coat. After an age, Mycroft’s landlady answered and a few minutes later my brother came to the phone.
“We found her,” I said. “That is, the boys did... She’s badly hurt, Mycroft...”
“And the papers? Does she have the papers.? Sherlock?”
“I didn’t think to look,” I admitted. “She didn’t have anything in her hands.” I closed my eyes, remembering. “No, nothing...”
“Damnation,” he said. “That is... unfortunate. All right, thank you for letting me know, Sherlock, though it could probably have waited for a more civilized hour. Never mind, I’ll stop by in the morning. Perhaps she managed to read some of the documents and maybe remember something of significance. Well, I’m going back to bed for a bit. Tell her... well, thank her for trying.”
As I set down the receiver I found myself shaking with fury at my brother’s indifference to Beatrice’s sufferings.
Back upstairs, Stevens put a brandy in my hand and, to appease him, I drank it. I felt it warm me and I said, “Thank you, Stevens. That has helped.”
“Let’s get you out of that wet coat, too, Mr Holmes.” He began to unbutton the soggy garment even as he spoke. He said brightly, “I’ve known Lady Beatrice all my life, sir, and I can tell you for a fact, there’s no one stronger. She fell off her horse when she was twelve and broke her arm. She never made a word of complaint, not for all the nasty treatments they put her through. She’ll recover from this too, and faster than you can imagine. Now, let’s change those wet shoes for some slippers. There, that’s better, isn’t it? Let me see if I can build this fire up a bit.”
He continued to prattle as he worked and I found myself soothed by the steady drone of his cheerful voice. A moment later my bedroom door opened and Mrs Hudson summoned me to my wife’s side.
I winced to see Beatrice lie so pale and so still upon the bed.
My friend closed up his bag. “Watson?” I whispered.
“Don’t keep her talking for long, she’s been through a horrendous ordeal.”
“She will be all right?”
He frowned and said, “Your wife has lost a great deal of blood. I’ve stitched up the shoulder wound and dressed it. She also has a fractured bone in her ankle; I’ve bound that up too. She’s in pain, and has been exposed to the elements. She needs a lot of rest, good food and a great deal of care. But yes, in time she should make a complete recovery. Be very gentle with her, Holmes. Her only fear is disappointing you.” It seemed like he would have said more but he did not. Instead he went to join Stevens in the living room and left me alone with my wife.
I sat at her bedside and said her name. At last her eyes opened.
“Well, husband,” she said. “I’ve made a bit of a mess of things. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry...” She bit her lip, but tears still spilled down her pale cheeks.
“Hush, now,” I said. “It’s not as bad as all that. I was a cad for asking you to take such a risk.”
“No,” she said. “You trusted me. You trusted me with something important... you cannot know what a compliment that is.”
“You did very well. It was a fearful thing to do, to enter the house of one of the most dangerous men in Europe. As to the papers, if you could not save them...”
“But I did,” she said. “They’re over there, on the dresser.”
“What? You saved them? But how.? You had nothing in your hands when I found you.”
“I took a leaf from Liz Derby’s book and had a shift made for the very purpose of carrying the papers. I must say it worked well.”
“Very well. But you have been extraordinarily successful. Why do you say you failed?”
“Because if I hadn’t been so clumsy, so precipitous, you would have been able to arrest him. Instead, I suspect he managed to flee. Now he can continue his evil work.”
“Not so, not without these papers. And we shall track him, never fear. You really have done extraordinarily well. Sleep now, and dream only good things.”
“Good night, my dear,” she said. Then, “Holmes...”
“Yes?”
“Don’t let the queen know what I’ve been up to.”
I chuckled. “You have my word. Now, sleep. Good night, my good wife.” And I sat in the chair at her bedside and watched while she slept.
26
Beatrice slept. Once she cried out but I spoke to her and she fell asleep more restfully. Watson came in, urged me to rest, but I shooed him away.
While she slept I went through Porlock’s documents. There were letters, passports, lists, timetables, blueprints, and his diary.
There were names here, important names that would shake the very foundation of the empire when their owners were arrested. Police officials, too. Lestrade would have his work cut out for him, but the arrests would earn him great credit. No wonder Beatrice had hidden from the policeman in Billingsgate.
Three more assassinations are planned over the next six months. If successful, entire nations could topple. Indeed, the face of Europe could become unrecognisable.
Mycroft whistled as he read page after page. “No wonder he was so careful about keeping strangers out of his home. Your young wife has done this nation an extraordinary service, Sherlock. Some of these men hold positions of great power. This chap is a close friend of the Prime Minister’s.” His lips tightened and I could almost pity those men who would feel the full brunt of his anger.
“Take a look at Porlock’s diary entry for November 26th.”
He did so and smiled. “You have to admire a man who keeps his diary in Latin... Ah, so Summerville agreed to poison the queen’s food. Ah, mortifer albino mos operor officium: The deadly albino will do the job. Not very elegant Latin... So that’s his backup plan. He doesn’t seem very confident of Summerville, does he?”
“With good reason. Daisy telephoned Beatrice’s Wimpole Street house on the day before yesterday to say the Summervilles have all disappeared. Beatrice’s butler called Mrs Hudson but she forgot to mention it until this morning.”
“That was Thursday morning? So their flight had nothing to do with Porlock’s discovery?”
“Their flight was discovered on Thursday morning, but I suspect they left some time Wednesday night. No, there seems to be no connection to Porlock. Not directly, anyway. I think Wallace Summerville is fleeing him and the terrible agreement he made. The lot of them fled with no word for the staff, and no wages either.”
“Well, let them go. I hope for his sake he escapes Porlock’s clutches. That man has a well-developed sense of vengeance, I think... Something about this amuses you. What is it, Sherlock?”
“Just that they left without the butler, Reynolds. I’m sure that will put his nose out of joint. As for this organisation, I fear we have missed our opportunity in arresting them. No doubt Porlock will have sent word to his underlings and sent them scattering far and wide.”
“I
do not think so. I believe his only thought was for himself. Frobisher was in the office first thing this morning as usual and I see from these records that he is a key figure in this organisation. If he is unaware of his danger you may be sure the others are too. Well, these letters and the other documents will see them all hang. And I have no doubt that once they are arrested, most of them will be happy to talk about their leader’s activities. No, we shall have Mr Porlock in our grasp very soon. I shall deal with it, Sherlock. Have no fear. Every port is on heightened security.”
I rubbed my eyes with my knuckles. When did I last sleep a full night in a proper bed? I can’t remember. “Yes,” I said. Then, “You know, Mycroft, I keep thinking about Mortimer Granger.”
“Who?”
“The artist who was murdered with his wife in Notting Hill. He also had a side line in forgery. These passports Beatrice found in Porlock’s safe are undoubtedly his work.”
Mycroft studied the documents. “Forgeries, indeed. All for different countries, and all with different names. But I’m not sure I take your point.”
“Porlock kept all his passports in that safe, Mycroft. Getting out of the country without one will prove difficult. However...”
“...However, he doesn’t need a passport to go to Ireland. And from there, he can have one of his allies send him a replacement.”
“Which means...”
“...Which means we can focus our attention on ports used by Irish ferries. Excellent! I shall send out word at once.” He glanced at his pocket watch. “This shall keep me busy for quite some time, Sherlock. I’d better be off.”
“Do you need my assistance?”
“You have done enough, my dear brother, you look quite exhausted. Get some rest and take care of that wife of yours. She should be given the Royal Victorian Medal for her work. Your place is at her side.”
“We do not have that sort of marriage...” I began, then let it drop. Instead I said, “Beatrice does not want her involvement in this matter made known. The queen would undoubtedly disapprove her activities.”
He rose and smoothed his jacket over his enormous belly. “No? No, I suppose not. Very well, Sherlock, I shall keep the secret.” He smiled. “It’s what I do best, after all. Keep secrets.”
“What shall you do next? Arrest Frobisher?”
“Sending word to the docks is my first task, then, yes, Frobisher. The risk to the queen remains until the Albino is found. Possibly Frobisher may be willing to give us some idea where we may find him. I want to review these documents thoroughly before I start the arrests, and I want to make sure they are all coordinated so no one escapes. It probably won’t be until this evening that we are ready to act. I shall aim for six pm. You’re welcome to attend my questioning of the wretch, Sherlock.”
“Thank you, I should like to be there. And I think Watson has the right to attend also.”
“Well... yes, if you like. He’s a solid sort of chap. It would be no harm for Frobisher to see what a true, honest man looks like. I’ll send word if there are any changes, Sherlock, but if you don’t hear from me I shall see you at Whitehall at six. Thanks again to you and your wife.”
“And when you find Porlock...”
“I shall call you at once.”
“How are our guests, Mrs Hudson?” I asked.
She wrinkled her nose. “Nothing a bath wouldn’t cure, Mr Holmes,” she said. “But they’re good lads for all that.”
They all jumped to attention as soon as I came into the little parlour. Even Billy, though he was a mere shade of the boy he usually was.
“Well, boys,” I said. “I hope you’re all being well looked after?”
“Very well, Mr ’olmes,” Tommy said.
“Smashing grub Mrs ’udson makes, Mr ’olmes,” said Kevin.
“Well you have all done exceptionally well. Here are your wages.” I handed them a fistful of riches, with the lion’s share going to Billy.
“Cor,” Tommy said. “Thanks awfully, Mr ’olmes.”
“I shall ask Mrs Hudson to give you dinner before you leave, and then I have another job for you, if you are interested.”
Billy said, “Thanks, Mr ’olmes, but do you mind if Tommy and the others do it? Only I’ve not been ’ome in days and me old mum’ll be that worried.”
“You’ve done all I could ask, Billy. Of course you must go home, but get something to eat first. As for the rest of you boys...”
“Count us in, Mr ’olmes.”
“I need a man found. The Albino. You know who I mean? On no account approach him, just let me know if you find him. I shall be here until about half-five, then I shall be at Whitehall. Send word for me there if you spot the creature.”
I doubt they shall succeed, but it’s worth trying.
Beatrice woke a short while after Mycroft left and with help from Mrs Hudson was able to eat some food. Then she fell back asleep.
“Are you sure this is normal, Watson?” I asked later. “I know she did not sleep when she was fleeing Porlock, but she seems so weak.”
“She’s lost a considerable amount of blood, Holmes,” Watson said. “That has debilitated her. Besides which the amount of pain medication I gave her has made her very drowsy. Sleep is what she needs. It wouldn’t do you any harm either.”
“I’m perfectly sound,” I said.
“No you’re not. Your nerves are all afire and you’re worn out from the past few days. Why do you not take my bed for a few hours? I might stretch out on the sofa for a spell myself.”
“That makes no sense,” I protested. “Why should you be uncomfortable? Besides, what is Stevens to do?”
“I sent Stevens to meet Daisy and Miss Simms at the station and take them to Wimpole Street. They shall stay there for the moment. Your wife can make other arrangements if she wishes when she recovers, but this is the best solution for the moment. As for the sofa, well, you are much taller than I am. You really need to sleep in a bed.”
“Yes, it is good to send Stevens back to Beatrice’s house. As soon as she is well enough, she will undoubtedly want to return home... As for my sleep: I’ll not leave Beatrice’s side in any case,” I said. “It is the least I can do. I can doze here in the armchair while she sleeps. I would not want her to waken and need something... go get some rest, Watson. I promise to call if I need you.”
“This isn’t your fault, Holmes. It’s unfortunate, but there is no lasting harm done. You must not blame yourself. I am quite sure she will not.”
“Regardless, I am responsible. She would not have been in that position were it not for me. In any case, she is lucky that shot did not find a more vulnerable target than her shoulder.” I stopped, afraid to say more. There were and are deep feelings there I neither recognise nor trust.
Watson frowned, then said, “Very well, I shall go lie down for a spell. I do not like it, but I can see there is no arguing with you. Do please call me if the lady needs any medical attention. I shall see you later, Holmes.”
“Sleep well, Watson.”
It was just a little after noon. Our erratic activity over the past few days had worn us out. I sat back in the armchair and in the space of a few minutes fell asleep.
Still yawning, Watson and I arrived at Mycroft’s office at five minutes to six. The door to the building was locked but Gillespie admitted us and then locked it again.
“Mr Holmes’s orders, sir,” he said.
He nodded at two burly security men. They took their position in front of the locked door. They and Gillespie himself were all armed.
I glanced at Watson and had a glimpse of the soldier he had once been: John Bull personified. Of all the strange, horrifying and deadly crimes we have handled, nothing stung his heart as deeply as treason.
Gillespie led us, not to Mycroft’s office, but to a large m
eeting room at the back of the building. Its tall, barred windows were shuttered. The gas was lit and threw sickly green light onto all our pale faces. Four burly men stood at attention and two others sat at a long table. The seated men were my brother and the Prime Minister.
“Have a seat, gentlemen,” Mycroft said. “I believe you know everyone, Sherlock?”
“I do. We are ready to proceed?”
“We are. Lestrade, Gregson, Bradstreet and all the other best of Scotland Yard are acting...” The clock chimed six and he said, “Now. Mr Gillespie, if you will be so good as to ask Mr Frobisher to join me here for a conference. Tell him I apologise for the lateness of the hour but a matter of extreme importance needs to be addressed. Do not let him see that you are armed. But if he resists...”
“He won’t resist, Mr Holmes. Thinks me a doddering old fool. Young pup.”
Gillespie left and we sat in silence. Waiting.
A few moments later we heard footsteps coming down the hallway and the low, easy tones of Gillespie’s voice. Frobisher laughed. The door opened.
“Come in, Frobisher,” Mycroft said.
The man turned a ghastly colour, like candle wax. He turned and would have fled, but Gillespie had his pistol drawn and pointed at his temple.
“Sit,” Mycroft said. “Gillespie, will you see no one enters this room?”
Gillespie nodded and left, shutting the door softly behind him.
Frobisher swallowed and forced himself to walk the three paces to the table. Once he was seated the four large men stood behind him.
“Best to make a clean breast of it,” Mycroft said.
“I don’t know-”
“No, no. Lying will accomplish nothing. We already know, you see.” Mycroft indicated the documents that spread out before him like a ruinous poker hand. “Letters in your own handwriting; diary entries by your friend Porlock: it’s all here. You have nothing to say? No explanation? Vindication?”
“Lies... I never...”