The Moonstone's Curse

by Sam Siciliano

  Saunders was about to pour from another bottle, this one with a clear liquid, but he paused to give me a withering stare. “Nothing vile about them, sir. They are a blessing to the sick and the infirm.”

  “I beg your pardon, sir. I meant no insult.” Under other circumstances I might have argued with him. As a physician, I knew that the vast majority of all these brews were, at best, harmless. Many were downright dangerous. Opium, cocaine and alcohol were the most common ingredients.

  Saunders’s long fingers were very dexterous. He took the beaker and carefully poured into the blue bottle, slowing the output at the end, and then twisting the beaker upward. He squatted slightly, getting himself down to eye level with the bottle. “Just to the exact top of the L in laudanum.” He stood, put the cork into the bottle and handed it to Holmes. “Will that do, sir?”

  Holmes raised the bottle and examined it. “Excellent, Mr. Saunders. Excellent! You are an artist at your trade. And should this potion all be drunk off at bedtime, what exactly would be its effects?”

  “The lady would lose consciousness very rapidly. You would be unable to revive her for at least four or five hours. The combination would probably then keep her fast asleep until well into the morning. A certain grogginess would last several hours more.”

  “Just what I would wish. Thank you, sir. What do I owe you?”

  Saunders smiled. “This one is on the house, Mr. Holmes. It is a privilege to assist you in any way. There is, however, one thing.”

  “And what might that be?”

  His blue eyes regarded Holmes. I had never seen a face with such pronounced cheekbones. “Let me know how it turns out. Stop by at your leisure.”

  “I shall do that, Mr. Saunders. Thank you again. This potion…” he raised the bottle, “…may well save a woman’s life.”

  “I hope so. May I wrap it up for you?”

  “No, thank you. I shall just put it in my pocket as is.” Holmes thrust the bottle into the right outside pocket of his frock coat. “Good day, sir.”

  “Good day, Mr. Holmes.” His enthusiasm waned when he turned to me. “And you, sir.”

  We stepped outside, and I shook my head. “I hope you know what you are doing.”

  He gave a sharp laugh. “I hope so, too.” He raised his stick. “Come, you must set aside all your questions and your doubts for now. It is early yet, and I don’t want to go to the Bromleys until this afternoon. Let us enjoy the fine weather. There is time for a walk in Hyde Park, a long lunch, and then our visit.”

  We went into the park and took a leisurely stroll along the lake, the Serpentine. A few puffy picturesque clouds were in the blue sky, the sunlight glistening on the water, and we saw ducks, swans and geese all gliding along. A pair of huge swans with their long, slender white necks, their black-and-orange beaks, were magnificent. Holmes glanced at them.

  “Swans are supposed to be monogamous creatures, Henry. Did you know that?”

  “No.”

  He smiled briefly and ironically. “On the whole, I’ll wager they are more faithful than their human counterparts.”

  “Must you be so cynical?”

  “Forgive me. On such a day one should not have such sour thoughts. They are splendid birds, are they not?” He raised his stick and pointed in the direction of the swans. “Mrs. Bromley has something of the same grace and elegance, and certainly a similarly long and slender neck.”

  We reached the bridge, then turned left to head south out of the park. Holmes knew of a small French restaurant nearby, and he treated me to an excellent lunch. He seemed in exceptionally good spirits, and he obviously did not want to discuss the Bromleys or the Moonstone. I felt preoccupied, and I could not forget the small blue bottle tucked away in his coat pocket.

  When we reached the Bromleys’ house, Susan opened the door, then gazed forlornly up at Holmes. “Thank goodness, you’ve come, sir. I’ll just fetch the master.”

  Bromley soon strode toward us, his forehead creased beneath his wildly curling mass of brown hair. “Ah, Mr. Holmes, I left word for you at Baker Street. Thank you for coming so promptly.”

  “I have not been back to Baker Street since early this morning, so I did not get your message. Has something happened?”

  He nodded. “Yes. Alice received this telegram this morning. She is most upset.” He raised a piece of paper.

  Holmes took it, and I turned and leaned sideways so I could also read. Accursed woman, because of you the Moonstone is lost forever. You must pay the price for such sacrilege with your own blood. Prepare to meet your doom!

  Holmes shook his head. “Ah, we have returned to our earlier lurid and fantastical Indian melodrama.”

  “I hardly find this amusing, Mr. Holmes!” Bromley exclaimed. “Alice’s Indian at the window was not imaginary, after all. There must be a band of Hindu fanatics after the jewel. Somehow they have learned of its loss, and they blame poor Alice.”

  “So it would seem. Where is Mrs. Bromley now?”

  “Resting in her room.”

  “Could you have her come down? Tell her I would like to briefly walk with her and discuss the matter.”

  “I hardly know if she is up to walking.”

  “Oh, I think she will manage it. Also, I must ask that you remain behind.”

  He shook his head. “Why don’t you trust me, Mr. Holmes? Why all this secrecy?”

  “Sometimes women are more forthright when they are alone. Don’t worry, Mr. Bromley. We shall have a long chat when we return. I have a few things to tell you.”

  Bromley frowned, nodded, then left. A few minutes later, Alice came down the hall toward us. Her lips rose in a smile as she saw us. Her hair was bound up loosely, and her face seemed even paler than usual. She wore another of her fashionable blue silks, one that emphasized her slender waist, and her long white fingers grasped the wide brim of a blue hat. Holmes’s earlier comparison seemed apt: she had the beauty and elegance of a swan.

  “Good day, Mr. Holmes, Dr. Vernier. I am so glad to see you both.”

  “The pleasure is ours, madam,” Holmes said. “Do you feel well enough to walk with us for a while?”

  “Oh yes. I feel the need for some fresh air.”

  “Excellent. Let us proceed, then.”

  She put on the hat, stuffing some straying strands up into its crown. An abundance of plumes, most likely ostrich feathers dyed blue, swept back from the front. She pulled on a pair of white gloves. “I am ready.”

  Once we had reached the street, she said, “You saw the telegram?”

  “We did.”

  She laughed softly. “More to fear. I thought I was finally rid of the diamond, that I was past all that.”

  “All the same,” I said, “you seem somewhat calmer than I expected.”

  She laughed again. “Perhaps it is because it proves I was not imagining anything, after all. The thought that I might be seeing things that did not exist was very disturbing to me. At least I am not mad.”

  I shook my head. “There was never any question of that.”

  “And the diamond is still gone—out of my house. I do not have to look at it anymore. I told you how when I once stared into its depths, it seemed to go all red, to be drenched with blood.” Despite the warm day, her shoulders rose in a brief shudder. “I no longer have to bear its evil presence near me, no longer have to allow it to touch my skin. That is something for which I am thankful.”

  Holmes nodded. “I see a certain progress in your thinking, madam. As for that telegram, it is, as you noted, quite tangible, and I shall do my utmost to find those who sent it. All the same, I have something else I wish to discuss with you. Shall we go into the park? Henry and I have already spent some time there this morning, but on such a day one cannot have too much of its spectacular greenery.” We were quiet for a few moments as we made our way across the busy Kensington Road and reached the shade of the trees.

  Some color had come back into Alice’s cheeks. “What did you wish to talk about, Mr.
Holmes? I hope—I hope it is not some new misery.”

  “Not exactly. It concerns the theft of the Moonstone. I think I have worked out the puzzle of who took it.”

  She came to an abrupt stop, even as her eyes opened very wide. I could see a ripple along her throat as she swallowed. “You have? Who?”

  “Dr. Cowen.”

  “Dr. Cowen!” She stared at him, then shook her head fiercely. “How can you say that?”

  “It is the only possibility which makes sense. The problem has always been the short interval during which the thief could have broken in and taken the diamond. How would the person have ever known the exact moment? It makes more sense that the doctor simply put it in his bag and left with the jewel.”

  “But… but I was in bed, and I saw him leave.”

  “He waited outside the door until you were asleep, then came back in and took it.”

  “But the hole—the hole in the window.”

  “He had a glass cutter in his bag and used it. He also tore the chain off the necklace and dropped it out the window.”

  She had stopped walking and was staring at Holmes. Her cheeks were growing even pinker. “No, no—impossible—not him. Not him.”

  “I fear it is so, madam. Again, it is the only explanation which makes sense.”

  “Have you—have you told the police this?”

  “Not yet.”

  “But what will they do to him?”

  “There will be a trial, and most likely he will go to prison.”

  A sort of moan slipped from her. “No, no—it is not right. Why ever would he take it?”

  “Perhaps out of concern for you, madam.”

  “For me.” She looked away. “For me.” She covered her mouth with her white hand.

  I touched her shoulder lightly. “Are you all right? Perhaps we should sit for a moment.”

  She began shaking her head, again and again. “No, no. No, no. It is not right. You cannot—promise me you will not tell the police—please.” She reached out to grasp Holmes’s arm.

  “I cannot withhold evidence from the police.”

  “But in the stories—you do it all the time—you did it with the blue carbuncle! Surely Dr. Cowen is as worthy as that other sniveling thief.”

  Holmes laughed softly. “That was only a story, a fiction.”

  “You cannot tell them—you must not.”

  “I fear I must, madam.”

  She drew herself up, along with a great lungful of air. “You cannot accuse him. It was I, Mr. Holmes—I took the Moonstone.”

  Holmes laughed again. “Come now, madam. This is desperation speaking. You could not have taken the Moonstone. You were unconscious.”

  “I… I had an accomplice. I signaled to them from the window. I waved a candle. I was awake enough to do that, then I went back to bed and fell asleep. How happy I was to know that when I woke up, the diamond would be gone forever!”

  Holmes stared gravely at her. “Do you realize what you are saying and the consequences?”

  She gave a quick nod. “I do. Surely—surely they wouldn’t send me to prison for stealing my own diamond? You must know why I did it, Mr. Holmes! Lord, how I hated the Moonstone! I sent it to Mr. Tyabji. It belonged to the Indians, not to me. My great-great-uncle stole it. Why should I keep the damned thing?”

  “And who were your accomplices, madam?”

  “I…” She looked out across an expanse of lawn. “My accomplices. I shall not say. I cannot say.”

  “Come now, it will probably go easier with you if you give me their names.”

  “No, they must remain nameless. No one need suffer but me. Must you tell the police? The diamond is gone, Mr. Holmes. The thieves will have certainly cut it to pieces by now. It was never truly my family’s—we, after all, were the real and original thieves.” She smiled fiercely.

  “You put me in a difficult position, madam. I shall have to think this over. Say nothing of it to anyone—especially not to your husband.”

  Her smile was fierce. “Why would I talk to him? It would only distress him, or… he might actually show anger. Finally.”

  “I shall give you a day’s respite and decide by tomorrow. I may well resolve to speak with Inspector Lestrade.”

  The animation that had briefly stirred her was receding. “I hope you will not. Nothing ever works out the way I intend. Maybe I truly am…” She laughed softly. “…cursed.” We had turned and started back through the park toward the street of her house. “Cursed… curses… Such a terrible idea—that we cannot control our own destiny, that some outside force larger than ourselves controls everything, a sort of dark counterpoint to God.”

  “That is only an idea, after all,” I said. “It is a fantasy, a trick of the mind. There may or may not be a benevolent God, but surely there is no dark force controlling our existence.”

  “No?” she murmured.

  “Henry is right, madam.”

  “Is he? Then what is the point of all this useless suffering? Something seems to be mocking me, playing with me.”

  “You mustn’t think that way,” I said.

  “Listen to him,” Holmes said. “Such thoughts are not helpful. “They are only a means of self-torment. You should not indulge in them.”

  She stared at the carts and carriages traversing Kensington under the bright afternoon sun. Her face seemed so thin and pale under the wide-brimmed blue hat with its enormous plumes. “If only it were that easy.” She clenched her teeth tightly, then said, “I should like to be there when they cut the stone. I should like to see the chisel driven into it. I never thought it was beautiful. I am not like other women, I know. I found it ugly, vulgar and ostentatious.”

  Holmes shook his head. “As you said, madam. It is gone. It is out of your life.”

  She laughed harshly. “Thank God.”

  We crossed the street. The bright sun had begun to give me a headache, even though the brim of my top hat cast its shadow over my eyes. I felt a subtle anxiousness constrict my chest, no doubt a reaction to Alice’s fears. I had been so certain that Cowen had taken the diamond, and yet Alice’s confession also made sense. If he loved her, he would do anything to shield her. My temples began to throb.

  Twelve

  When we returned to the sitting room, Alice smiled weakly at her husband. He gave her a wary look, then frowned at Holmes.

  “Perhaps we might speak with you in the library,” Holmes said. “First, however, I need to look briefly in Mrs. Bromley’s bedroom. I need to examine the window again.”

  “You know the way, I believe,” Alice said.

  “Sabine can accompany you.” Bromley turned toward the maid who was seated at the sofa working on some embroidery. “Sabine.”

  She set down the hoop, then stood. Her dark eyes were cautiously neutral, her full lips clamped tightly together in a straight line. She walked past us, and we turned to follow her.

  Holmes paused at the stairway, letting her proceed. He leaned toward me and said softly. “I shall keep her occupied. You must switch the bottles.” His hand bumped against mine.

  “What?”

  “You heard me. Be careful she doesn’t see you. Put it in your pocket.” With a shake of my head, I took the blue bottle and slipped it into my pocket.

  Holmes spoke much louder. “It is as I said. There may be some subtle marks on the window ledge which Lestrade’s men missed.” To Sabine, he said, “We are coming.” He took the steps quickly to catch up with her.

  We soon reached the door to Alice’s room, and Sabine turned the door handle. “Thank you, mademoiselle,” Holmes said. We stepped into the room. The big bed was neatly made, the chenille bedspread with its decorative pattern pulled taut. On the nearby mahogany dresser sat the small blue bottle. Sabine stood near the bed, her eyes still surveying us cautiously. She obviously intended to remain in the room as long as we were there.

  “Do you attend your mistress before bedtime?” Holmes asked her.

  “Not gener
ally.”

  “So she usually mixes up her own drops?”

  “I believe so. Sometimes Meester Bromley does it, I think, when she is weary.”

  “I see. I shall only be a minute, Henry. You can remain where you are.” He crossed the bedroom and went to the window. The glazier had obviously stopped by, since the glass no longer had the hole in it.

  Sabine had folded her arms across her bosom as she watched Holmes, ignoring me. Her hair was so black, the shadows were lost in it. Her ear was small and delicate, her jaw curving down into her rounded chin and full throat. So near to her, I was very much aware of her physical presence and a certain slumbering sexuality. Little wonder Hodges was attracted to her.

  Holmes had opened the window and stared down at the wooden sash. Finally he turned to us. “Mademoiselle, could you tell me something about the stables next door? If you would just have a look.”

  As she walked forward, her back to me, I quickly snatched up the blue bottle and put it in my left jacket pocket, then set the bottle from my right pocket on the dresser. Drawing in my breath, I walked forward and tried not to weigh the implications of what I had done. My cousin was eccentric and mysterious at times, but in the end, I did trust him. If Alice were suicidal, this could save her life.

  “Yes,” Holmes said, “the neighbor’s stables there to our right. Do you know if the second floor is occupied? Do the grooms and the coachman sleep there?”

  “Yes, I believe so.”

  “Very good. Thank you. I am finished.”

  We left the bedroom, and Sabine followed us back down to the library. She nodded, then closed the door behind us. Bromley had stood up and come round the big dark rectangular table. “Did you find out anything, Mr. Holmes?”

  “No. I fear not.”

  Bromley shook his head, then pulled out another chair and sank down onto it. “Oh, this whole affair is hopeless, hopeless! We shall never see the diamond again, and now, even though it is gone we have received mysterious threats. Will poor Alice ever be left in peace?” I had not seen him so discouraged before. Holmes said nothing, but only smiled faintly. “Do you find this amusing, Mr. Holmes?” Bromley was indignant.