by Amy Thomas
The styles had changed slightly since I’d lived in London. This dress, unlike the ones I had worn before, had a glorious simplicity about it. The waist was dropped to where mine naturally cinched in, which would accent my figure, and the skirt did not exaggerate the lower half as much as its predecessors had. It was a cream coloured, heavy satin, covered about with small gold stars, and accented with golden lace. I knew, as soon as I saw it, that I would look well in it.
“I haven’t seen anything so beautiful since I was in Japan at the court of the emperor!” said Mrs Hudson, in thrilled awe.
“Its equal does not exist,” said the Frenchman in a humorously businesslike way. “It was a creation of my own mind, not requested by anyone. I was saving it for a special lady, and I have made a few alterations to it to suit this one. It is most kind of Madam not to have changed in her measurements,” he said, smiling at me as if my figure were a surpassing moral virtue.
“Mrs Hudson, will you help me put it on?” I asked. I hoped that she would not be offended by the request, but she looked pleased and took me into her bedroom. It was furnished neatly and frugally like the rest of her flat and smelled faintly of lemon verbena, which I liked.
“It’s been a good many years since I wore anything like this,” she said, but her tone was not wistful. She assisted me in putting together the underthings, which Francois had been kind enough to bring along but too delicate to mention, and then slipped the beautiful fabric around my body. Like the most diligent of maids, she fastened me in and went around to arrange the train of the skirt. Finally, she stepped back and breathed in sharply. I had my back to the mirror, but I could not help smiling at her response. Slowly, I turned and faced the small glass that hung on the wall, and I nearly gasped myself. I had not worn something so fine for many years, and I had forgotten how I looked in such a dress.
I had also forgotten how wearing such a thing naturally affects one’s carriage. I left the room with a special confidence I had not felt in some time, my head high and my gait sure. Even with my hair done sensibly for the day and plain shoes, I felt like a queen.
Francois did not react right away. He stood, with his hand under his chin, and surveyed me like a scientist observing a specimen. Finally, he clapped twice and nodded. “Yes,” he said. “That is precisely what was intended.”
He went to Mrs Hudson’s table and opened two other boxes. One contained a delicate pair of lace gloves and a hat. “Seeing that Madam was pressed for time, I thought I might secure these items to accompany the ensemble.”
“Thank you,” I said. I hated to mar the atmosphere with the mercenary, but for all of his art, Francois needed to eat. I did not know his terms, but I gave him what such a dress would have cost during my previous tenure in London, then doubled it for his time and effort and the natural increase in cost that comes with time. For the smaller items, I also gave their previous worth, doubled.
The Frenchman nodded once, then pocketed the notes without comment, as if it pained him to have to accept them. He took my hand and bowed over it. “Bon courage,” he said, and Mrs Hudson showed him out.
***
By the time evening came, my anticipation was at a fevered pitch. The day had given me a new appreciation for the inevitable periods of inactivity Holmes had to endure during his cases. A few hours of waiting to find out a friend’s fate were intolerable. Wiggins had certainly had the hardest time of it. I doubt he’d had to sit still for so long in his entire life. I’d finally taken pity on him after our noon meal and engaged him in a game of Ecarte. He’d never heard of it but had proven to be a quick study, winning two tricks in our first match and besting me with three in our second.
Initially, I had wondered at Holmes’s willingness to trust Keating, but I knew from experience that he was adept at spotting a lie. The man had nothing to gain by dissembling, and his actions had shown that he was not stupid enough to think Holmes wouldn’t figure out the truth eventually to his detriment. In addition, he’d had noopportunity to contact Calhoun or his friends, and I knew from my correspondence that Lady Colesworth was giving a party, just as he’d told us. The question now was her stepdaughter, Lady Helen.
I was pleased that Holmes had designated me the one who was to exert my influence to pull her to our side. She was young, and I hoped that, as Keating had asserted, she had acted as emissary only and not as accessory to murder. I tried to let her extreme youth increase my compassion for her. Many a young woman has done very silly things for love, as I knew very well; however, there is a difference between loving imprudently and turning a blind eye to murder. Calhoun must be an extraordinarily compelling man, I thought.
To ready myself for the party, I once again put on Francois’s exquisite creation, but this time I also dressed my hair and put on jewellery - Mrs Hudson’s, a black jade and diamond set that was old fashioned but looked very striking against the creamy lightness of the gown.
“You look nothing like I did when I wore that,” she said. “I was never a beauty, though Frederick thought I looked well enough. He bought that set in Japan, to mark our first year of marriage.”
For a moment, standing in Mrs Hudson’s bedroom, I let myself imagine her as a young woman. If she had not been a classic beauty, she had certainly been possessed of her own charm. Even now, her face had an extraordinary sweetness and life about it. I turned and kissed her on the cheek. “If we are successful tonight, the victory will be yours as much as any of ours.”
“Hush,” she said. “You look very well, and you know it, and I have no doubt you will put it to very good use.” With that, she shooed me out of her flat, and I prepared to meet Holmes, Watson, and Wiggins.
I opened the door with, I admit, a rather dramatic flourish, and stepped into the gentlemen’s abode. All three pairs of eyes immediately locked on me, and Dr Watson’s mouth fell open, which was certainly gratifying to my vanity.
“You’re not an old lady at all!” Wiggins blurted out sincerely.
“Not quite, young man,” I said facetiously.
“I must say - I am not surprised,” said Dr Watson gently, “but it is always nice to see a lady in her most ornamented form.”
“You are most kind,” I said.
Holmes said nothing until both of the others had spoken. “That will certainly do,” was all he finally uttered, but he smiled.
“I have hired a carriage,” he said, growing serious. “We will proceed to Pall Mall in half an hour, where we will be joined by Sergeant Keating for our journey to Colesworth Hall. Upon arriving, Miss Adler will begin her task of isolating Helen and putting the case to her. That will require subtle machinations of which she is certainly capable. Meanwhile, I will study the remainder of the guests to see if any of them appear to have possible ties to the Klan.”
“Your presence,” he said, addressing me, “especially in your present attire, should create enough of a diversion that the guests will be less diverted by my presence than they otherwise would be. I do not wish the party to be overly focused on Sherlock Holmes, detective, lest unforeseen complications develop. Watson’s task is to keep an eye on Keating, to ascertain that he does not attempt to use the party as a means of escape. We will need him if all goes well.”
“How?” I asked.
“If Helen agrees to help us, we will find out from her how to contact Calhoun, and then I intend to use her and Keating as decoys.”
“Have I a job?” asked Wiggins, looking a bit desperate by this time.
“Not yet,” said Holmes, “but the wait will not be much longer. You must remain with Mrs Hudson one night more, but tomorrow morning, you will call the Irregulars together and bring them here, for I wish to speak to them all together.” Wiggins’s face had fallen at the prospect of no work for yet another night, but the idea of a meeting with his entire horde of subordinates appeared to please him considerably.
***
The ride to Colesworth Hall was a strange and silent one, for Sergeant Keating, who had been outfitted with appropriate evening attire by Mycroft Holmes, looked sullen and said nothing, while my own eagerness made my heart race and head spin. Holmes looked totally composed, as was his way, but Dr Watson seemed as tense as I was.
Thankfully, the ride was soon over, and we found ourselves at the mansion, which was white and imposing, with columns and a host of windows that placed it as dating from the eighteenth century. I almost laughed at the irony of Jane Filcher residing in such a house.
We were admitted by a crisply uniformed servant and shown into the parlour, where Miss Filcher - now Lady Colesworth - came forward to greet us. She looked older than when I had last seen her, as did I, but instead of the plain grey dress of former days, she was arrayed in a violet gown with exquisite lace at its collar. She fairly oozed money, though the smile that lit up her face displayed the same generous spirit she had always shown.
“Ir - Miss Adler!” she said, “You are exactly the same.”
“That is very kind,” I said, “but hardly true. I am very glad to see you and eager to meet your daughter.”
“Oh, Helen is about somewhere,” she said, smiling. “I’m sure she’ll be pleased to see you.” She turned to Holmes and Watson, who greeted her in a blandly gentlemanlike manner and to Keating, who barely nodded. We were spared from further conversation by the arrival of a middle-aged man and woman in exceedingly expensive clothing with exceedingly unpleasant expressions, to whom she was forced to turn her attention.
Scanning the parlour, my eyes immediately alighted on Sir Lloyd Allen, who was in conversation with a young man of very animated disposition. His eye caught mine at the same moment, and he smiled. For the next few moments, I was amused to watch his attempts to disengage from his conversational partner, but he finally did so successfully and made his way over to me.
“My goodness, how well you look,” he said. “You were an ornament to the prison, but this is quite, well, superlative.”
“You do the evening justice yourself,” I answered in kind.
“No more than Holmes,” he said frankly, “but ladies’ eyes do not tend to be as brash as gentlemen’s. I see that your beauty is escaping the notice of none of them.”
“Oh, hush,” I said, lowering my voice. “I am not here only to be appreciated.”
“I supposed as much when I saw who accompanied you,” he said, slightly crestfallen. “May I help?”
“I must speak to Lady Helen alone,” I answered in a near whisper.
“She is not yet down,” said the solicitor, “much, I gather, to her stepmother’s consternation. I have never known her to miss a dinner, though. After the meal, the lady of the house is given to singing. You may slip out during that time.”
“Thank you,” I said, beginning to calculate how I might approach Helen beforehand to arrange the assignation. After that, I was like a butterfly, flitting here and there, never alighting on anything for long, but keeping my attention on the open parlour door, through which I could see the family’s massive formal staircase and intercept the daughter of the house when she should appear upon it. Subtly, with glances of my eyes and barely a touch of my gloved fingers, I made my presence known to as many guests as I could, giving the impression that each had captured my fancy. Judging by the lack of a crowd around Holmes, I thought that his attendance had not created the stir he was hoping to avoid.
I wondered if my friend witnessed the skill with which I navigated the room. Had he been a woman, I thought, he could hardly have done a better job of it himself. Holmes was an exacting critic, but I did not think he could find anything to reproach in my actions. Dr Watson, too, performed his role with ease, being quietly friendly to everyone, but never getting too far away from the sullen policeman, who sat by himself and spoke to no one at all.
Finally, when I thought dinner must be imminent, I heard the creak of a banister and saw a tall, angular young woman on the staircase. Lady Helen was neither comely nor unattractive. She was what I would have called interesting, with a face that might have repelled and enthralled an equal number of admirers. I quickly made my way to the edge of the room, positioning myself near Lady Colesworth so that I could speak to her as soon as she had greeted her stepmother.
“Roy Calhoun,” I whispered as soon as she came past me. Her face paled, and I was sorry for the cruelty of the suddenness, but I knew of no other way to make my point so distinctly.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“To speak to you privately after dinner,” I answered.
“Upstairs, follow me when Mother starts to sing,” she said, and I nodded.
Just then, we were called into dinner by our hostess, and I went on the arm of the solicitor. Once more, I was forced to wait for an inevitable event that seemed to take ages to arrive. Dinner was relatively uneventful, but I felt Helen’s eyes on me the whole evening and wanted nothing more than for it to be over.
Finally, when we had dispersed to the drawing room, Lady Jane began to sing. She had been renowned in lower circles before her marriage, and the voice that had led rousing drinking songs was equally suited to more refined compositions. With admirable quickness, Helen made her escape during the first song, and I followed suit. She led me to a blue, carpeted sitting room.
Once we were both inside with the door closed, we eyed each other, she wary, I with studied patience.
“What do you know?” she asked.
“I know that you’re mixed up in something ugly and that you’ve possibly been an accessory to murder.” I was almost certain she hadn’t been, but I wanted to see what sort of reaction my words would produce. She did something then that I have seen many times in others and certainly done myself - made a valiant effort to mask instant terror with strident bravado. “Roy hasn’t murdered anyone!”
“That’s an interesting statement, considering that I haven’t mentioned his name in connection with killing,” I said mildly. “I know for a fact that he’s responsible for the murders of two people and possibly another, whom he is known to have kidnapped. As for your involvement, you were seen interacting with the kidnapped man just before he went missing, and there is a man who will confirm that you were with Calhoun. When it comes to the murders, circumstances won’t have trouble implicating you, and Scotland Yard will surely find a piece of stray evidence. If I were you, I wouldn’t be overly confident in my chances.” I pushed again, hoping for some sign that she might be coming around.
“If all hope is gone, why are you telling me this?” she asked, sitting on the edge of her bed and clutching her skirts tightly.
“I may be able to help you if you tell me everything,” I answered.
“How can you help?” she asked. I did not find her question unreasonable. For the evening, I was an elaborately dressed friend of her stepmother’s, and I certainly did not appear to have any sort of legal power.
“One of the men I am with tonight is Sherlock Holmes.” I hoped she would show a flicker of recognition at this in order to save me an explanation, and she did so, her eyes registering surprise.
“The detective,” she supplied.
“Yes,” I answered. “He’s the one Calhoun has been trying to injure with all of this.”
“What?” she asked, seeming genuinely shocked, which in turn surprised me.
“You don’t know? Perhaps we should begin somewhere else. What was your role in the kidnapping? Remember, I already have a witness who will say he saw you with the missing man, so you have no incentive to lie. Did Calhoun coerce you in any way?”
“No,” she answered, with a determined shake of her head. “He said he was in England to bring someone to justice - the man who was responsible for driving his uncle away. His uncle had been a father to him until someone accused him falsely and made
it so that he could never return home.”
“I know that attraction does strange things to the intellect,” I said, “but I wonder if you ever delved deeper into the facts of the case.” Perhaps I was harsh, but I had a hard time summoning pity for her.
“He seemed so righteous,” she said, starting to really falter for the first time.
“And what excuse did this righteous man give you for kidnapping an innocent hotel porter?”
“He - he said Billy worked for a very bad man whom the police had failed to bring to justice. Roy said we were just going to talk to him, but when we got to the hotel, he convinced me that if we kidnapped the porter, he could lead us to his master.”
“I think you didn’t want to do that,” I supplied.
“I was frightened,” she admitted quietly, “but Roy said that it was the last thing, the last link in the chain that would finish the work he’d come to England to do. He said that when it was all done, he would marry me.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, meaning it. During this speech, my feelings towards her had softened. As much as I wished to censure her gullibility, I could not forget that I had once been younger, and a passionate man had succeeded in deceiving me as well.
“Tell me about the murders,” I said, hoping to keep my bluff going for at least a while longer.
“I wasn’t there!” she said, her voice high and excited. I put my finger over my lips, afraid that even the noise of singing and the increasingly loud compliments of the guests would not mask her volume.
“Roy came to call on me yesterday, and he was nearly in a frenzy. His face was cut, and he said that he had been in a fight. I pressed him, and he admitted that the other man had ended up dead. He said that he had acted only in his own self-defence, but that he was terrified he would be found out. That’s when he convinced me to go to the Savoy with him. I had intended to never return home, you see, but after we took Billy, it all went wrong.”