“Events have moved quickly. Rupert has already been arrested but has since been released.”
“Arrested?” Bell asked.
“Yes, a month ago a man came here to the theatre. He appeared at the stage door with flowers, as do many admirers of the actresses. After bribing one of the stagehands to gain admittance, he burst into my dressing room and tried to strangle me. If it weren’t for a stagehand, he would have killed me. As it was, I escaped his attack and the man was caught and held for the police. I heard he later confessed after interrogation, admitting he had been hired by my husband to murder me.”
“The beast!” Bell muttered in anger.
Holmes appeared less outwardly upset, but within, his emotions were raw with turmoil.
“Where do things stand now?” Bell asked finally.
“Of course Rupert denied it all, and his family came to his aid. They tried to buy me off with a rather paltry sum if I would drop all charges,” Diana said, looking from her brother to Holmes. “You see, we are still married. The laws in this state, while quite liberal, still do not allow a woman many more rights than mere chattel. And married women can be most tightly bound by law and custom. I cannot testify against my husband. I cannot divorce him. I had no choice but to drop the charges and hope he would leave me in peace.”
“This is very bad,” Bell growled.
“But that’s not the worst of it, I’m afraid, dear brother,” Diana said softly. “You see, fearing for my life, I was forced to leave Rupert, and took a room at a boardinghouse. It is run by a Mrs. Shay, who keeps a clean house for proper young ladies. Two weeks ago, Rupert came to Mrs. Shay’s and demanded I come home with him and be an obedient wife. I refused. He vowed then that if I did not come back to him he would rather see me dead. I’m afraid I have no one to turn to, no one to help me. The police view the problem as a private matter between a husband and his wife. They are loath to get involved until an actual crime has been committed.”
“But what of the assassin your husband sent against you?” Holmes asked.
Diana smiled. “I knew you would focus upon him, Sherlock. May I call you Sherlock? The man recanted his confession. It would have been a terrible scandal for the theater, so I was forced to drop all charges. He was released by the police and that is where matters now stand.”
“That is a ghastly injustice!” Holmes said.
“And now you know, Joseph, Sherlock. My life is in danger from my own husband and there is not one thing I can do to stop him. Until there is an actual crime committed, and an actual corpse—my own—the police will hear nothing of it. I do not want to wait until that fatal moment to be proven right.”
There wasn’t much to say after that. Bell and Holmes escorted Diana back to her room at Mrs. Shay’s and proceeded to their rooms at the Union Square Hotel.
“Well, Sherlock?” Bell asked. “What do you think? What can we do to help her?”
Holmes looked up. “I’m not quite sure.”
“Well, I for one am going to visit this husband of hers first thing tomorrow,” Bell stated. “Diana gave me the address of his hotel.”
Holmes nodded, “And what do you think about all that she has told us?”
“It’s ghastly, Sherlock, ghastly that my own sweet sister should fall into the hands of such a monster,” Bell said. “I take it you noticed the old bruises on her cheek and shoulder?”
Holmes nodded. “I thought it prudent not to mention them, since she did not.”
“Yes, I thought the same, though it galled me mightily,” Bell said in anger. “I noticed more as we embraced—I could feel what seemed to be welts upon her back. I tell you, Sherlock, my lovely sister has been ill-used by this brute and he shall be made to pay.”
After visiting Rupert Strickland the two men arrived at the theater and went their separate ways, Bell to talk with the staff and workers, Holmes to Diana’s dressing room.
He knocked lightly upon the closed door.
“Come in, Sherlock,” a soft, feminine voice called to him.
A thin smile played upon Holmes’s lips as he slowly opened the door and entered the dressing room to behold a vision of loveliness that fairly took his breath away.
“You expected me?” Holmes said incredulously.
“I am glad you are here without Joseph,” Diana said. “I wanted to speak to you, to see you again, alone.”
Holmes’s eyes roved over Diana Strickland’s face and form. She was seated at a dressing table before a large gilded mirror. She wore a white lace gown, her back toward him as she brushed her long red hair. She did it slowly and almost languidly, with long, sensual motions the young man found most alluring.
He was entranced. He took a deep breath as Diana slowly turned to face him. She allowed a smile to escape her pouty red lips, and the young man could not help but grin like an overexcited schoolboy. Diana was everything he had ever dreamed of in a woman. The young man stood there in awe, forgetting the reason he had come to see her.
“You and Joseph talked to Rupert?” she asked softly.
“Yes, not an hour ago.”
“And I’m sure he told you all kinds of terrible lies about me, Sherlock.”
“Actually, I found him to be a very angry man with violent tendencies. You are right to be afraid of him,” Holmes said softly, marveling at Diana’s alabaster skin, the swell of her breasts as she breathed, the bright allure of her deep blue eyes. A man could become lost in those eyes.
“Come here, Sherlock,” she said, her voice light, her manner inviting. “Sit down, beside me, and tell me what Joseph thinks.”
Holmes was only too happy to comply with her request and shared her settee in front of the dressing table. He felt his heart beat faster as the closeness of their bodies produced a heat that seemed to grow between them.
“Your brother is most upset by this situation,” Holmes said, not knowing quite what to say, nor what was expected of him. “He fears for your safety . . . as do I.”
“Oh, Sherlock, you are so sweet,” she said. “So he believes my story?”
“Of course.”
Diana turned to look at Holmes, her eyes gazing longingly into his own. “And you, Sherlock, do you believe me?”
“Is it important to you that I do?”
“More than you can ever know,” she replied.
“Then yes, Diana, I believe you,” Holmes said, amazed at the deep blueness of her eyes, reveling in her closeness. Diana elicited feelings that both delighted and terrified him. He was shocked at how easy it would be for him to throw off all strictures of gentlemanly decorum and wallow in wild abandon.
As if reading his thoughts, Diana suddenly stood up and moved away from him. “That’s very nice to hear, Sherlock. But what do you and my brother intend to do about it all?”
Holmes’s amorous plan evaporated as he watched her move away from him.
“Do about it?” he asked.
“To protect me from that beast,” she said.
Holmes hadn’t really thought things through that far ahead yet, and he cursed himself for a fool. He had to do something to meld Diana to him and so considered the question now. Apparently Strickland wouldn’t try anything while he and Bell were here. However, once they left New York and went back to England, Diana would once again be in danger. So the solution was simple; Diana must go back to England with them. He told her this now.
Diana did not take it well. “I don’t think so, Sherlock,” she said adamantly. “I am not going back to England. Maybe some day, but not now.”
“Well, you cannot stay in New York, it is much too dangerous for you,” Holmes said. “And we cannot stay here and protect you indefinitely.”
Diana looked at him with a deep smile. “Dear Sherlock, you do care about me, don’t you?”
Holmes looked hurt. “Of course, Diana.”
Diana walked over to him and slowly wrapped her arms around his neck as she brought her face down to his lips. The moment was everything Sherlock h
ad ever dreamed it would be. They kissed long and passionately before she suddenly broke the connection.
“Oh, my,” she giggled, “I don’t know what made me do that. I’m so sorry . . .”
“I’m not . . .” Holmes replied quickly.
“Well, I just . . . oh, Sherlock, I do feel a bond between us. Don’t you feel it also? It is so strong, like a power over me. We should not deny these feelings.”
“Yes, Diana, I feel it too.”
Then she suddenly moved away from him again. “Perhaps we should not become . . . involved? It may only complicate the situation.”
“No, Diana, you said so yourself we should not deny our feelings,” Holmes heard himself say.
Diana smiled. “Joseph will be here soon and I don’t want him to see us like this. Come back later tonight, after my last show. Meet me in the alley by the stage door.”
Holmes looked up, unable to hide his disappointment.
“Cheer up, Sherlock, dear,” she said with a promising wink, “we shall have plenty of time together tonight. Remember, meet me at the stage door in the back alley, and bring flowers, Sherlock. A girl so does love to have a handsome beau bring her flowers. Now be gone, love.”
Holmes walked out of Diana’s dressing room in a delirious fog. Love and lust jousted within, and Diana was the prize. Forgotten was the fact that she was a married woman, and that she was his friend and mentor’s sister. Forgotten also were the questions he had wanted to put to her.
Holmes looked for Bell but was told he had since left the theater, so the young man walked back to his hotel alone, his mind a whirlwind of emotions he’d never experienced before. Emotions he knew even less how to deal with. All he could do was count the hours until the end of Diana’s show tonight, when he would see her again.
Bell wasn’t in his room at the hotel when Holmes returned. The doctor came back a few hours later and the two men went out to Delmonico’s for dinner and to compare notes.
The show later on was as delightful as Holmes had expected, and Diana was indeed a goddess onstage. After the final curtain Holmes and Bell said good-bye, and Holmes quickly exited the theater and walked into the side alley. At the end a stage door stood open, the light from inside illuminating the area.
Here he found a small group of well-dressed men, each, like himself, holding a bundle of flowers. Holmes watched as they greeted the young actresses who emerged, talking excitedly and dressed for a lively evening on the town. A moment later Holmes found himself alone.
“Hey, Johnny. Who you waiting ‘round for?”
Holmes thought he had been alone, but now saw a skinny boy sitting on a crate, the stage-door boy, no doubt.
“What did you call me?” Holmes asked sharply, knowing very well he had been the butt of some unsavory American slang.
“I called you a Johnny,” the youth replied boldly, with a derisive laugh. “Just another stage-door Johnny come to see the gals. They’re all gone by now and I reckon you’re plum outta luck. Well, who you waiting for?”
“Diana Strickland.”
“Oh, the princess herself!” the boy laughed knowingly. “You’ll not win the likes of her with just flowers . . .”
“Impertinent wretch!”
The youth only laughed, “She’s long gone, mister, off with her professor friend.”
Holmes looked at the boy. “She’s . . . not here?”
“Gone a good ten minutes ago, saw her myself.”
“I was to meet her here, we had an appointment after the show,” Holmes said softly, more to himself than to the boy. Suddenly his face flushed and he felt like a fool. The red roses he held so proudly in his arms had now become a flag to that foolishness.
Before the boy could utter a word the bundle of flowers was thrust upon him and Holmes was gone.
That night Sherlock Holmes walked the streets of New York alone. His thoughts made for ill company indeed. His passion had been stoked and his feelings were hurt. Why had she done this to him? Arranged a meeting and then gone off with another man! The analytical part of his mind was truly amazed at the amount of pain this caused him. He wished he could talk to Mycroft about it. Surely his more worldly older brother knew how to deal with such things.
“Where were you last night?” Bell asked when they met for breakfast the next morning. He knew his young assistant had been out almost all night. “You had me worried. This city can be quite dangerous after dark.”
“I was out walking,” Holmes replied guardedly.
“All night?”
“I was thinking,” Holmes replied, and Bell could feel the pain in his young companion’s voice and so did not press him.
“I also was doing some thinking, Sherlock,” Bell admitted, changing the subject now. “In fact, I did quite a bit more. I went around to my sister’s room at Mrs. Shay’s early this morning to speak to her. You’ll never guess what I saw there.”
“The professor?” Holmes blurted.
“The professor? No, no professor, it was Strickland.”
“Really?” Holmes said, surprised now in spite of his dark mood.
“For a couple whose relationship has been complicated by accusations of attempted murder, they seemed to be quite fond of each other. I watched as Diana kissed Rupert good-bye. I heard her tell him she loved him dearly.”
A dark cloud covered the young man’s face. He could not respond.
Bell noted his companion’s dark look. “My feelings exactly,” he stated. “Something is not right here.”
Holmes nodded. “I think we need to speak to Strickland and get the truth out of him.”
Bell was about to reply when there was a loud knock upon the door. He answered to find a hotel bellboy framed in the doorway and behind him another boy in working clothes. Holmes recognized the second boy at once as being from the Criterion.
The bellboy moved out of the way and the other boy spoke up, “Begging your pardon, sir, but are you Doctor Bell?”
“Yes, I am Bell,” the doctor said impatiently.
“I was sent by Mr. Jacobs of the Criterion. He said to fetch you at once. There has been a killing.”
Bell looked at Holmes frantically. Each feared to utter what was uppermost in his thoughts. “Do you know who it was?”
“No, sir,” the boy replied nervously.
“Was it a woman?” Holmes asked sharply.
“Don’t know, sir, I wasn’t there. Mr. Jacobs told me to run and fetch you. All I know is that it happened in Mrs. Strickland’s dressing room.”
Bell let out a muffled curse. “My God, he’s finally done it, Sherlock!”
Holmes said not one word, but his soul was drowning in a sea of desperation.
Bell and Holmes rushed to the Criterion, where they were met by Jacobs, the director, who quickly led them to Diana’s dressing room.
They gasped in surprise when they saw Rupert Strickland lying on the floor, a bullet hole in his chest. He was obviously dead. Diana was crying at her dressing table, two detectives standing over her, their hands thrust in their pockets, the cigars in their mouths unlit, their faces noncommittal.
“What happened here?” Bell ran to his sister and they embraced. She was still sobbing when they parted. Then she saw Holmes and quickly embraced him as well. “Oh, Sherlock!”
“What happened, Diana?” Holmes asked.
“Oh, it was terrible,” she cried.
One of the detectives said that he was satisfied with Diana’s explanation of the events, and since the witnesses all backed up her story she was free to go.
“Thank you,” Diana stammered as the police left the room.
“Tell me what happened here,” Bell insisted.
Diana nodded and took a deep breath. “Rupert contacted me through a friend of his, a visiting professor, who convinced him that he should attempt to reconcile. It was the professor who came to see me last night and escorted me to Rupert. Sherlock, I know you were disappointed, but I had to take this last chance to save my marri
age. The professor brought me to see Rupert and we met at a neutral location—Delmonico’s.”
Holmes felt a twinge somewhere deep inside him.
“You met Rupert alone? Was that wise?” Bell asked.
“Maybe not, but we talked and after a while it was like all the trouble between us had been set aside and ended. Finally, Joseph, things looked bright after so much darkness. Rupert came with me to my room. Mrs. Shay would never have allowed it had she known, but we were discreet. We are married, after all . . . and he stayed the night with me. It was like a . . . second honeymoon.”
Bell nodded. Holmes remained quiet, outwardly stoic, but the knowledge was tearing him apart inside.
“I really thought all was finally well between us. I sent him off this morning with nothing but love in my heart,” Diana added.
Bell turned to Holmes and caught his eye. Any suspicions he had were gone now that he understood what he had seen early in the morning outside Mrs. Shay’s.
Diana began speaking again. “But Rupert’s anger and violence could not be contained. He came here demanding I leave the theater again. I told him we could talk about it later, but he would hear nothing of it. We argued . . . he hit me.”
Bell noticed new bruises on his sister’s arms and neck.
“He hurt me, Joseph.” The pain in her face was mirrored in the faces of Bell and Holmes. “Then he took out a gun and pointed it at me. He told me he’d rather see me dead than have to share me with other men when I was on the stage. Some of the stagehands rushed in, attracted by the shouting, no doubt. They pushed Rupert from behind, and he dropped the gun. It slid over to me and I picked it up and pointed it at him. I told him to stay away, pleaded with him to leave me alone, but he just kept walking toward me with that bestial look in his eyes. His arms reached out for my neck. He was going to kill me, strangle me right there, I was sure of it. I don’t think he believed I could pull the trigger, neither did I, but when I looked into the cold blackness of his eyes I knew I had no choice. It all happened so quickly. I pulled the trigger and sent the bullet that killed him into his heart.”
They were all quiet for a moment.
Sherlock Holmes: The American Years Page 11