And so it was that Mr. Holmes and I stood witness to the marriage of Irene Adler to Godfrey Norton—an event that I confess I did not even conceive as a possibility. I suppose that I must have seen it coming, for when a man calls upon a woman as frequently as Mr. Norton called upon Miss Adler, there was something afoot. But to my shame, I only considered her his mistress, and not the woman he was lawfully marrying. In doing so I had assumed much ill of both Mr. Norton and Miss Adler, and silently asked that my standing witness to their union be my form of penance for that.
After the vows were said and it was all done in the matter of an instant, I heard the church bells ringing to announce noon. Miss Adler and Mr. Norton both breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
“It should not have been legal had we not got it in before then,” Mr. Norton confessed.
Miss Adler—but then, she was Mrs. Norton now—smiled at me and gave me a hug. “Thank you, dear creature!” She cried out, and I felt guilt settle in upon my stomach again. “You have helped to make me the happiest woman in the world.”
Mr. Holmes, still in character, wandered out of the church on his own, but I was obliged to properly meet and greet Mr. Norton, and inquire after his health, and learned that he met his now-wife when she needed representation renegotiating her contract with the opera house.
“They were using her most shamefully,” Mr. Norton said, and I noted the protectiveness and admiration in his voice as he looked upon his wife. “I know she is not a soprano, they generally get all the praise, but such a rare voice and such a fine one! They knew they needed her and yet they thought she was not aware of it and would let them bully her. I soon set that to rights.”
“We are departing for the continent,” Mrs. Norton told me. “But when I return, if I am still welcome to your heart, Miss Bennet, I should gladly like to continue our acquaintance and see if we cannot make an attempt at a real friendship.”
I told her that nothing would please me more, and saw them off in a carriage. Upon their leaving, Mr. Holmes sidled up to me.
“What on earth was that?” I cried out, gesturing at the disappearing carriage. “They are leaving even now for the continent!”
“She cannot take the picture with her,” Mr. Holmes replied. “If her husband should find it, it would turn their marriage into a shamble. Even a man such as that would not be entirely understanding.”
“I should think not, for you are not so forgiving yourself, and you have no interest in her,” I replied, a little piqued on Mrs. Norton’s behalf.
“Then the photograph will still be in her apartment,” Mr. Holmes said. “We must hurry!”
We did not at first go to the apartment, as I had thought—instead, Mr. Holmes went with me and we called upon the rooms which the king had told us he had rented out, and where we could leave notice for him. Mr. Holmes instructed a letter to be sent, and after a short while, during which time I got myself some lunch, for I had not eaten properly that day, our client greeted us.
He was wearing plain clothing that I thought he might have taken from a servant, and wore a hat which he kept low over his eyes. A few little touches changed his appearance, such as added sideburns and a mustache. I wanted to laugh, for I thought it comical that he try and alter his appearance, for I could still recognize him—but I thought it would be rude of me to say so.
“You have it, then?” he asked, and the hope in his eyes was so great that for a moment I was sorry to contradict him.
“Not yet,” Mr. Holmes said, “But we know where it is. Come, we must make haste.”
We hurried to Mrs. Norton’s apartment, where Mr. Holmes was easily able to charm the maidservant into letting us in. I had found that when it is required to gain information for a case, Mr. Holmes could be quite persuasive.
We entered the sitting room, only to find that something lay in wait for us there: a picture of Mrs. Norton, and a letter, addressed to Mr. Holmes… and Miss Bennet.
My breath caught in my throat. So my association with Mr. Holmes had become discovered. I looked at Mr. Holmes in surprise and dismay, wondering what the letter contained.
“What is this?” the king asked, equally as astonished as I was.
Mr. Holmes caught up the letter. “I believe that if we read this, we shall find out.”
Chapter Seven:
A Pity
Mr. Holmes read the letter silently to himself, and then out loud. I was glad to hear it, for at the moment my hands were trembling so much that I could not have picked it up to read it myself. I felt great shame, and also the fool, for I had not once suspected that Miss Adler in her kind demeanor knew of my deceit.
The letter read as follows:
My dear Mr. Holmes and Miss Bennet,
You really did it very well. You took me in completely. Until the alarm of a fire, I had not a single suspicion. You might consider a career upon the stage, the both of you, especially in regards to disguises, Mr. Holmes.
But then, after I had revealed myself, I knew at once that I had been betrayed in some manner. The nature of Miss Bennet’s assistance I confess I did not at once guess, but I had been warned of you, Mr. Holmes, some months ago by the same person who paid me to threaten the king with the publication of his portrait.
I know that it ate at you so, wondering why I should threaten him with it—especially, as I’m sure Miss Bennet could tell you, I did not love him and never have. Why, in that case, should I threaten him with such dishonor?
I am not sure how this gentleman came to know of the existence of the portrait. He suggested to me that he knew of it through the letters that I had sent to the king, which were still in the king’s possession and this gentleman somehow got a hold of and read. I was paid a good sum, and asked only that I threaten the king with this exposure. But I was warned that the king might employ you, Mr. Holmes, and that I should be on the lookout against you. Your address at Baker Street had even been given to me.
And yet, even armed with this, you still caused me to reveal what you wanted to know. The psychology of the mind is such a fascinating thing, is it not? In that moment, with the cry of fire, all I could think of was that I must save my one protection against a powerful man who could destroy me if he so chose. That is what powerful men do to loose ends, after all, and only that portrait saves me.
For a moment, I did not want to believe that it was you. I hated to think evil of such a kind clergyman, one who had been attacked for helping such a dear lady as Miss Bennet. But it must be you, and if so, then you must have employed Miss Bennet as well. It came to me that it was too great of a coincidence that Miss Bennet should appear in my dressing room with a story so like mine, and then be so eager to make a friendship with me. I hope, Miss Bennet, that not all of your cheer was faked, and I am in earnest when I say that I wish our friendship to be renewed someday. But more on that later.
I have been trained as an actress myself, Mr. Holmes, as you are well aware. While I hated to suspect it, I knew that I must know for certain. The moment I left the room I sent my coachman, a loyal man who has been with me some time, to watch you, while I dashed upstairs to change into some walking-clothes that I have kept about me. I have played a man before, as Miss Bennet may tell you, for dressing women up in the disguise of men is a common plot device in the opera, especially with my lower voice.
I came down just as you departed and followed you—and there I saw you reuniting with Miss Bennet. I followed you to your home on Baker Street, and there, foolish as it was, I could not resist calling out to you
The young man who had wished us goodnight! I realized that was why he had sounded so familiar to us—we had both at that point heard Miss Adler speak on numerous occasions. But she had disguised her voice so cleverly, as only one who spends every day training and manipulating their voice can, that although it struck us as familiar we could not place it as her. I could not even place it as a woman—I had truly thought a young man had spoken.
I coul
d see by his face that Mr. Holmes was thinking along the same lines that I was. After a moment, he shook himself, and returned to finishing the letter.
After wishing you a good afternoon so impudently, I hurried to see the man that I now call my husband. I doubt that either of you will understand what it means to trust someone so completely, but I had long ago told him of my misfortunes with your royal client. I relayed to him what had happened that day, and he was in support of the idea that flight was the best option.
I will have told Miss Bennet that we are going to the continent, but that is not true. We are setting sail for the Americas, where I am contracted to do a tour of concerts around the country, and a few operas in New York City. Miss Bennet will have to forgive the deception—I thought that if it were known where we were truly going, there might be agents at the ports to stop us.
And then the wedding! I admit that was great fun on my part. I knew, Mr. Holmes, that you should follow me and see when best to take the portrait from me, so I led you to the chapel. Miss Bennet as well, for I do truly desire her company and we were in need of a second witness. The look of complete surprise upon your face in that moment, Miss Bennet, when you saw us up on the altar, is something I shall treasure for some time. It is not easy to fool such formidable opponents as you two. You must allow me to congratulate myself, just a little.
And so when you arrive at my house after the wedding, you will find it empty. The birds have flown the nest. As for the photograph, your client can rest in peace. I love and am loved by a better man than he. The king may do what he will without hindrance from one he has so cruelly wronged. I keep it only to safeguard myself, and to preserve a weapon which will always secure me from any steps which he might take in the future.
I leave a photograph which he might care to possess. My dear Miss Bennet, I remain your friend, and hope you shall accept the gifts from the Americas I am sure to send you.
As for my dear Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I remain, very truly yours,
Mrs. Irene Norton, nee Adler.
I stared in shock as Mr. Holmes finished reading the letter. She had figured us out so thoroughly! She had known exactly what we were doing and what we should do! I felt completely played for a fool—and a bit so by Mr. Norton as well, in only that I had underestimated his generosity of spirit in understanding his wife’s history.
Mr. Holmes seemed to be in a similar state of surprise and stared down at the letter for some time. I had never known Mr. Holmes to be bested before, and so I think it rather hit him harder than it hit me. I had been bested by Mr. Holmes, for one, and had been shown on several occasions that I could overestimate myself and miscalculate others.
The king, meanwhile, was in a sort of surprise as well, but a much more pleased on. I should have thought he would be greatly upset but instead he was laughing. I felt like he would start applauding at any moment.
“What a woman!” he cried. “Oh, what a woman!” He gestured me and Mr. Holmes, then at the letter. “Did I not tell you how quick-witted she was? How resolute her temperament?” He sighed, and his eyes took on a far-off look, as if he were daydreaming. “Would she not have made an admirable queen? It is a pity she is not on my level?”
I had quite a few remarks that I could say to that, none of them flattering and quite a few enough to land me in a pot of trouble, but Mr. Holmes spoke before my temper could.
“From what I have seen of the lady she seems indeed to be on a very different level to your Majesty,” Mr. Holmes said, and his tone was as cold and condescending as I have ever heard it. “I am sorry that I have not been able to bring your Majesty’s business to a more successful conclusion.”
The king waved away Mr. Holmes’s concerns. “On the contrary, my dear sir, nothing could be more successful! Did I not tell you earlier that her word is her bond? That was why I was so afraid when she said she would publish, for I knew that she would. But now she speaks that she will not use it, and her word is inviolate. It is as safe now as if it were in a fire.”
“I am glad to hear your Majesty say so,” Mr. Holmes replied, still rather stiff. It was clear to me that in his behavior, and Miss Adler’s own cleverness, Mr. Holmes had come to agree with me about Miss Adler being the injured party here.
I nursed just the slightest bit of pride at knowing that Mr. Holmes had come over to my side of thinking in that matter.
“I am immensely indebted to you,” the king informed us. “Pray tell me in what way I can reward you.” He paused, and then his eyes lit up. “Perhaps this ring,” he said, beginning to draw off his finger a very fine ring, one done in the shape of a snake with emeralds for the pattern along its back.
Mr. Holmes held up a hand to stop him. “Your Majesty has something which I should value even more highly.”
I could only wonder what that could be. I had no use for anything. I lived comfortably under the financial support of Mr. Bingley. I could not ask the king, of all people, to arrange marriages for my three sisters. And he could not reverse time and make my father younger. There was nothing that he could give me.
Mr. Holmes valued material possessions and wealth even less than I did. What did the king have that he could want?
“The first,” Mr. Holmes said, “Is that you be honest with me when I ask you if you have heard of a man known as Moriarty. I suspect he is the man that paid Miss Adler to threaten you with the photograph, both to unsettle you and to get you to London for some reason, or to bring me into the matter, or both.”
The king sobered at once. “It is true, I have heard of this man. He has previously made himself known to me when he managed to obtain some important state papers, I know not how, from my private chamber. He has cropped up here and there across Europe, but recently his name has been spoken of with more frequency. We are at a loss on how to handle him.”
“It seems that he blackmails in exchange for favors of some kind,” Mr. Holmes put forth.
“Yes, although the nature of these is often confusing to me.”
“I’m sure that they are,” Mr. Holmes replied, and I had to stifle a snort of derision. I hoped that the king would not notice the insult to his intelligence, and fortunately for all of our sakes it seemed that he had not. “Thank you for your input, your Majesty. It’s greatly appreciated. As for the second thing…”
“Whatever it is, you may name it.”
I considered asking for an earldom, if only to see what the king would say in response to that.
“I hope that you won’t think me too forward,” Mr. Holmes said, with an uncharacteristic attention to manners, “But I should like the photograph.”
He indicated the photograph of Irene Adler that had been left behind with her letter. It was a lovely portrait, and in no way scandalous as the king’s to Adler’s had been. It showed the lady sitting on a lovely sofa, wearing what appeared to be a stately costume from one of her operas.
“Irene’s photograph?” The king was puzzled, as was I. I suppose that the king perhaps thought Mr. Holmes had feelings for Miss Adler. But I, knowing this was not Mr. Holmes’s way, was completely lost. “Certainly, if you wish it.”
He passed the photograph to Mr. Holmes, who carefully pocketed it without even stopping to examine it more closely. My confusion continued.
“I hope,” I said, “that you will honor the lady’s wishes and not seek her out or bother her with undue attention.”
“Certainly not,” the king replied. “I have learned the error of my ways in dealing with a woman as clever as that. She shall have no fear of reprisal from me.”
I noted that this was not a promise that he should not stray, but I said nothing. My personal judgment I was free to think on in my own mind, but to speak them aloud to the king I had no doubt would only cause problems for us.
“I thank your Majesty,” Mr. Holmes said. He bowed, and I curtsied. It amazed me a little, for just a few days before I had fallen to my knees in confusion and in my eagerness to not giv
e offense. Now, in the presence of this same member of royalty, I was calm and collected. What a difference just a little bit of exposure could make!
“Well then,” Mr. Holmes said. He looked at me. “Then there is no more to be done in the matter. I have the honor of wishing you a good afternoon.”
Mr. Holmes turned away—even as the king stretched out his hand to with which he intended, I’ve no doubt, to shake Mr. Holmes’s hand. I bit hard on the inside of my cheek to stifle a gasp of surprise, and then a laugh, for when Mr. Holmes decided he did not respect someone, there was little he cared to do to hide it.
I followed him out the door. It was fairly obvious to me that the king wasn’t about to accept shaking my hand. He hadn’t even looked at me properly or spoken to me, unless I spoke first, throughout the entire exchange. I might have been Mr. Holmes’s associate and that was enough to get most people to address me with respect but I suppose that for some people, high enough up in the world, the opinion of someone—even someone as intelligent as Mr. Holmes—was not enough to dissuade them when they wanted to look down on someone.
Yes, I thought, as I hurried to catch up with Mr. Holmes. A pity that some people just aren’t on the same level as others.
Chapter Eight:
The Last Surprise
“Well,” I said, when I had caught up with him. “I must say that if someone were to ask me whoever could possibly be the match to the great Mr. Holmes, I should have said no one. If pressed, I would then say that perhaps, if this Moriarty proves himself, he may prove Mr. Holmes’s equal, in time. But of all people to prove herself the better of you…”
For a moment my friend was silent and I feared that I had genuinely hurt his feelings and pressed too hard on the matter. But then Mr. Holmes graced the stones in front of him with one of his small smiles, and I knew that he saw the amusing side of it as I did.
“I have indeed been outsmarted for the first time,” he said. “And by a woman.”
The Adventure of the King's Portrait Page 5