“Oh, just murder and murder and murder you. I doubt we’d even have ashes left.”
“Right. So, you made a number of damning—and I can only assume, binding—magical promises. Then what?”
“Then they kissed and the priest said they were married and they let me know that now was the time of the ceremony where the witness was supposed to leave and if I didn’t it would look very suspicious. So I thanked them for the warning and went.”
“And then?”
“I came right back here to report my success.”
“Success? Holmes! You have been outmaneuvered terribly! How can you not realize it? So it seems we cannot attempt to take the wedding trinkets from the happy couple, but what of the Moriarty Rune? What of Von Ormstein’s photograph? Did you make any promises regarding those?”
“Erm… no, I can’t say they came up.”
“Then there is still some ray of hope. We must find a way to reclaim them.”
“Are you sure, Watson? Sometimes the wisest thing a man can do is acknowledge when he’s bested.”
A self-piteous voice from my wardrobe mentioned, “I always know when I’m bested.”
“Shut up!”
“Oh! I am your guest, sir, and the dignity of my station requires—”
“Shut up, Your Majesty!”
“Well… all right.”
“The concern is academic, in any case,” said Holmes. “It seems the newlyweds are bound for America.”
“What?”
“Yes, they were off to gather their things, then meet for the overnight train to Liverpool, traveling first class, then on to the SS Britannic, for New York.”
“Did she tell you this?” I demanded. “If she did, we cannot trust it.”
“She did,” Holmes reflected. “But I’d also heard earlier from the groom who was to drive her to the station. They were all rather sorry she’d be going.”
“Damn! Damn, damn, damn!”
“We’re likely out of time already. Best to let them go, eh? But look on the bright side: there are so many dangerous artifacts and enemies leaving the country, we ought to throw a party!”
My mind reeled. St. John’s Wood was only a mile and a half away. I could easily get there, but what would I do when I arrived? My adversary’s true abilities were unknown to me. The lie of the land, unfamiliar. No time to plan. No time to prepare. And, yet, no time to spare. My thoughts rebounded from idea to idea, but nowhere saw much hope.
“Probably best to just give up,” Holmes suggested.
“No! I shall never surrender!” I howled and, in that moment, committed myself—body and soul—to the best strategy my two moments’ reflection had provided. “Get me Wiggles, two pints of red paint, two medical stretchers, a plumber’s smoke rocket and a sliced ham!”
* * *
I’ve always liked ham. Savory. Hardy. Reasonably priced. Really, just a solid all-round meat choice. Nevertheless, it has its time and place. My current position—face down in a paint-smeared pile of it in the middle of Serpentine Avenue—was not the ideal situation for optimal ham-enjoyment.
My plan had only three elements: the ham-lie, the smoke-lie and the twist. As I lay with the stink of paint mingling with the salty pong of pork, I began to reflect dolefully on the structure of my strategy. The ham-lie and smoke-lie were all but transparent. Only the twist had any real chance of bringing me victory. And yet, defeat could come at any step. Had I inadvertently stacked the deck against myself, before I even began? If only I’d had more time to plan… But no, that time was gone. Now was the moment for action. Time to stand by my gun.
Well, no… time to lie in my ham, I suppose. From beside me a muffled voice complained, “Ugh. It’s even worse with paint.”
“Hush, Holmes. Wiggles is on the move!”
And so he was. Though I dared not look up, I could hear his footsteps as he charged up the steps of Briony Lodge and began pounding on the door, shouting, “Halp! Halp! Oh, it’s ’orrible!”
A moment later I heard the door click open and a voice wonder, “Oh, dear! What has happened?”
I think my blood nearly froze in my veins. I’d expected a butler or servant. But no. There was no mistaking it: it was her.
“A terrible accident, marm!” Wiggles piped up. “Just ’orrible! Two men struck down in the street by a runaway carriage! Took their faces off, it did!”
“Their faces, you say?”
“Yep. Both faces, right off. So there’s no point tryin’ to identify ’em that way.”
“Oh I wouldn’t dream of it,” the Woman assured him. “Now, what must be done, unfamiliar street urchin?”
“Well, we can’t just leave ’em lyin’ in the street, can we? Maybe we’d better carry ’em in?”
“Just you and I? How would we manage it?”
“Oh, I’ve got ’em on stretchers already,” said Wiggles, brightly. “And there’s a few of the local grooms standin’ round to help.”
“How resourceful of you,” the murderess remarked. “Wherever did you find the stretchers?”
“Er… over by that house, I guess.”
“Very lucky. Bring them in, lads! Just into the sitting room, I should think. You may place them on the couches.”
“Right you are, marm,” said one of the grooms. A moment later, my stretcher was hoisted up and I felt myself being carried up the steps to Briony Lodge. Stage one: the ham-lie was complete and successful. Well… sort of. In that we had gained admittance to the house, it had fulfilled its only function. Perhaps if I’d had more time I would have dreamed up a way to gain entrance undetected. There was a bump as I was placed down upon a couch.
“There, what should we do now?” Irene asked Wiggles, as the grooms filed out.
“Well… wouldn’t you like to leave them unattended and go find ’elp?”
“Oh, I don’t think I’ll require any help to deal with these two. But how about you? Do you have more to do, in the plan?”
I could hear Wiggles shift his feet uncomfortably. “I’m not supposed to say, marm.”
“No, of course not. Well, I won’t pry. Off you pop and perhaps we’ll meet again soon.”
I heard Wiggles shuffle out, but try as I might, I could not hear Irene’s tread upon the carpet. What was she doing?
There was a sudden shift in the couch as she sat down beside me, her hip pressed against my own. With a playful little snort, she began toying with the shreds of ham that made up my damaged “face”. She wiggled one right into my ear, but I held my ground and did not cry out. Finally, she selected a little scrap and pulled it free. I could feel gentle pressure on my shoulder as she wiped one side and then the other clean, against the fabric of my jacket. Then came the sound of dainty chewing.
“Mmm, you have a delicious face, Dr. Watson.”
So, it was to be a direct confrontation, eh? I sprang up to a sitting position and glared at her.
“Oh, look! It’s grown back!” she said. “A pity that moustache regenerated as well.”
From the other couch came a muffled laugh.
“And hello again, Mr. Holmes. I didn’t expect to see you so soon. I rather thought you might warn your friend off, as well.”
“You have a delicious face, Dr. Watson.”
“I tried to, Miss Adler. I did try,” said Holmes, sitting up and shaking slices of painty ham from his brow.
“It’s Mrs. Norton, now,” I said, glumly.
“No, no. Miss Adler will do. I haven’t had time to put on proper blacks, but due to the brevity of my wedlock, I intend to revert to my maiden name.”
Holmes and I were both aghast. “You killed him already?”
She gave me an arch look. “He had quite the same in mind for me, I assure you. As a contract lawyer, it could not have escaped his notice that the legal ownership of both tokens must revert to the surviving spouse, in the event of the other’s death. Nor could he have failed to recognize that—with control of our artifacts dually held—I could not call
upon my token’s powers to protect myself from him. He must have thought me quite helpless. Poor little fool… His mistake was in thinking there would be no opportunity for foul play before we reached the train. Did you know he’d rented out an entire car for us? I’m sure by this time tomorrow I’d be spread out all over it in chunks, if he’d had his way.”
“So, if I were to examine the vestry in the Church of St. Monica…” I began.
“You might want to make sure you didn’t trip over anything,” Miss Adler confirmed.
Holmes was scandalized. “He was your husband!”
“Briefly. But he was so much more, you know. He was an alluring little lothario who’d devoted his life to the study of torture—of getting women to do what he wanted, through the application of pain. Do you suppose for a moment I’d allow myself to fall into his power? Please. I’d never let him near me.”
“Yet another murder,” I growled.
She shrugged. “I believe this is only the second that you know of, for certain. Neither man shall cost the world much by their absence. And from what I hear of you, Dr. Watson, you’ve racked up about the same score yourself. Oh, and that one? Over there?” Here she paused to indicate Holmes. “Oh tut, sir, tut! A little discretion, don’t you think? If not, I fear we’ll reach the triple-digits in no time.”
Holmes stared guiltily down and fiddled with a bit of ham.
“Besides,” she said, “Godfrey was no innocent lamb, but a willing player in our game. He knew the stakes.”
I grunted out a little laugh. “However did you get him to take the risk, I wonder?”
“Well…” Her hand went to the silver heart pendant that hung around her neck. “Love makes us all do foolish things. But I’m allowing myself to wander from the topic. Here you are, successfully infiltrated. I’m assuming there’s more to your plan, no?”
“Er… well… yes?” Holmes admitted.
“What comes next?” Irene asked, leaning forward with kindly interest.
“Watson thought we’d be brought in by a butler,” said Holmes.
“I’m about to vacate the premises. I’m afraid the staff have all been dismissed. But why was the butler important?”
“When he went to get you, we hoped I’d have time to make my way into your house unobserved,” Holmes admitted.
Irene was scandalized. “You certainly wouldn’t have had time to accomplish much!” She turned a harsh glance on me and said, “I’ll confess I’m rather disappointed. Imagine my curiosity when your little urchin knocked. It’s not every day a girl gets the chance to match herself against one of the foremost minds in criminal investigation.”
“Thank you, madam,” said Holmes.
Adler shot him a look of annoyance and pity.
“Purely out of curiosity, why don’t we continue?” she suggested. “Let’s pretend you’ve fooled me entirely. Mr. Holmes, feel free to sneak out and rifle my home. Oh, and do let me know if there’s anything you can’t find.”
With a sheepish glance, Holmes rose and shuffled through the sitting-room door. And there I was. With her. Alone.
Not feeling great about the situation, if I’m honest.
“I trust there’s more to come,” she said. Her green eyes twinkled with strange merriment—almost as if she were glad of my company. Then again, it was also the sort of look a tiger might give a calf. (“So glad you’ve come over—I’m rather hungry and I didn’t want to go to the bother of chasing any worthwhile prey, so…”)
And of course, there was more to come. I’d made only one of my moves. The smoke-lie and twist still remained. I knew the second move to be the weakest, the third my only hope.
All this time I had been surveying my surroundings: a lovely little sitting room, done all in white. White curtains flanked white-framed windows set in white walls. The white couches were impeccable (not withstanding a few smears of ham paint). The only item of color in the room was a portrait of Irene, depicted mid-recital, that hung above the mantel. The quality was staggering. If he’d still been alive, I’d have said she’d got Rembrandt to do it. And yet, despite the magnificence of it, it was hard to focus my attention on the portrait. Not when its subject sat so very close to me.
My opponent: she sat just two feet from me on the other side of the couch, dressed in a light, airy sundress as white as the curtains. Her real hair—for this was the first time I’d seen it—was dark, the color of good chocolate. It was cut shorter than most women’s, but why not? When one reflected on how often it must be concealed beneath a wig, did this not make sense? One piece of good news: there was no way she’d secreted a weapon on her person. That dress would not have concealed it. Yet, did she need one? The look in her eye was utterly confident.
By God, she looked incredible. That strong jaw, that soft skin, the slope of her neck… Despite Holmes’s repeated warnings, I had not allowed myself to realize just how fascinated I’d become with her. Now, with her sitting so close, I began to realize how much I’d yearned for this moment. Even that slightest look of amusement—the hint she was glad I was with her—was enough to fill me with exhilaration. Those green eyes of hers were locked right on mine, which was exactly what I’d always wanted. I had to remind myself—forcibly—the context of the moment. She was my enemy. The stakes of our game were high— perhaps our lives. I decided to feign strength.
“I’m not sure I need any more,” I said, with a shrug. “You say the servants are gone. And I have heard no sound of another person in this house, so far. It would seem you are alone with Holmes and me.”
“Only you, at the moment,” she said, then laid one hand to her chest in faux-shock and added, “Oh dear! Did you just threaten me? Are you armed?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Basic propriety? Good manners? Consideration? Really, Doctor, I’ve stared down that pistol of yours before. Did I seem much affrighted?”
“Would I even need it?” I countered. “You are easily within my reach.”
Strange, the way she rose to that challenge. How the twinkle in her eyes redoubled in fierceness as well as joy. She laughed out loud. “Are you going to lay hands on me, John? Ha! In such a moment, I fancy you wouldn’t even know what you were trying to accomplish. I, on the other hand… oh, I’d know just what to do, don’t you think? Here, shall we even the odds a bit? Here…”
She closed her eyes. She stretched up her chin and craned that perfect neck. I don’t know if I was thinking more like a doctor or like a predator, but there were the jugulars and the carotids, utterly undefended. Her mortality and my victory were placed—no, flaunted—just before me, in easy reach. She hovered still for a moment, then leaned in towards me until her cheek was almost against my own. “Here…” she said again and I could feel her breath against my ear. Her perfume was intoxicating. I froze.
And the moment was gone. She leaned back, opened her eyes and regarded me with playful curiosity. “Well,” she said, “I don’t know if it was discretion or cowardice that stayed your hand. But in either case, you have acquitted yourself as a gentleman. You always do, you know. Are there any other weapons I should fear?”
“There’s Holmes.”
“Ah, the real weapon,” she agreed. “But whose? Certainly not his own. Would he come to your aid, if you asked it?”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
“Why, indeed? He does love you, John. Do you know that? I’ve watched you for quite some time. And Holmes, longer. Did you know I grew up in Moriarty’s empire? As a child, I watched that man take us apart, piece by piece, until at last he took our master. I admired him for it. But, for all his strength, Warlock Holmes has his weaknesses, too. Did he tell you about his day? Did he tell you all the promises he made me? If you and I were to come to blows, Holmes would certainly rush in here and destroy one of us. If it seems I’ve been overplaying a losing hand, it is perhaps because I know who.”
Damn.
My position was crumbling. What did I have left? I grasped at a straw. “
Nevertheless, madam, you have led me closer to my goal. Your willingness to let Holmes search the rest of the house indicates either that the items I want have been moved already, or that they are hidden within this very room!”
“Oh? And what is it you want, Dr. Watson?”
“The Moriarty Rune and Von Ormstein’s portrait.”
Without warning, her façade cracked. For the first time, I got a glimpse of the real Irene Adler—not the face she was presenting, not the game she was playing—her true heart. She leapt up off the couch, clapped her hands and cried, “Yes! Yes! I knew it was that squiddy little blighter that put you on to me! I knew it! Oh, I’ve been so smart! Wait until you see! Oh, Irene, you clever, clever girl!”
I was stunned. This sudden outpouring of joy took me completely by surprise. “Wait until I see what?” I asked.
“Patience, John. It won’t be long. Gods, but it’s masterly, though! Oh, if only I could see your face…”
As I stared up at her, wonderstruck, it occurred to me that I had no idea what she wanted. I knew why I was here. But why had she agreed to play this little game with me? Why had she let the ham-lie fool her? Rather than attempt a stratagem, I simply asked her.
“Miss Adler, what is it you want?”
“Well, to start with, I want you to call me Irene. And I shall call you John.”
“Yes,” I complained. “I noticed you keep doing that, as if we were—”
“As if we were what? Familiar?” she chided. “It is now within the scope of your knowledge, John, that I have been married to someone I wasn’t as familiar with as you. And why do you suppose I invited you in here, if not to know each other better? We ought to be friends, you and I.”
“Friends!” I howled. “Friends?”
“Why not?”
“Because you lie and seduce and cheat and steal!”
She harrumphed. “If you knew how badly the deck was stacked against me from the moment of my birth, I think you could not begrudge me the cards I play.”
“And you just keep murdering people!”
“You’ve killed demons, haven’t you? Monsters? Well, the men I’ve slain are no better! How dare you take that tone with me? If you were anything other than what you are, you’d find it hard. I bet you grew up in a nice house, didn’t you? Had a mother and father? Had enough money to get you that fancy education and no doors were closed to you! The world was yours to enjoy and nothing was out of your reach but that which you would not allow yourself!”
Warlock Holmes--My Grave Ritual Page 29