The Scottish Ploy

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “No,” I admitted. “I am baffled.”

  “Then perhaps Holmes will be able to enlighten us when he returns,” Sutton said, sitting down once again. “Well, come on, Guthrie. We have work to do.”

  FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

  I don’t know how I managed to get supper on the table tonight, but it is done, and MH is still conferring with G and Sutton. I am still struggling with the courier’s death, which has affected me deeply. He reminded me so much of my nephew, who is in the Navy, that I have allowed myself to become attached to his case, and this is the result. Young Clive is a good lad, and eager to advance himself on behalf of his country, as this courier was. That so much promise would come to such an abrupt end. I have seen it many times before without undue distress, but now I am as distraught as I would have been, had that lad been my nephew.

  The Admiralty courier came and went at the usual hour, and for once I was able to offer the young officer a cup of tea for his trouble. I know I am trying to make amends to the lad who was killed, but I can think of nothing else to do.

  No word yet from the police regarding the various inquiries in progress, which may mean there has been no progress, or it may indicate that there have been obstacles in their investigations, or deliberate avoidance of responding. We have received a preliminary report from Scotland Yard on the shot fired at Sir Cameron; there is nothing of use in it ...

  MH is sending G home shortly, for he intends to get an early start in the morning, by calling upon Sir Cameron at his leased house, where Sir Cameron has taken up residence today. I can see how a man would have to recruit his strength for such an encounter ...

  Sutton will stay over in case Holmes has need of him tomorrow. He says he would rather be useful here than fretting in his rooms, waiting to hear if he has got the part for which he auditioned ...

  I do wish it would stop raining.

  THE HOUSE in Deanery Mews was a grand establishment three stories high, built roughly a century ago, and maintained in good order ever since. As we trod up the steps to the front door shortly before eight in the morning, I could see that Mycroft Holmes was not looking forward to our visit.

  A harried butler answered our knock, doing his best to mask his confusion with excessive dignity. “I am afraid Sir Cameron is not at home to visitors, gentlemen. I will see he is given your cards.”

  “Oh, we are not making a social call,” said Mycroft Holmes cordially. “We are here regarding the attempt that was made on his life. We need more information if we are to pursue the case vigorously. Ask him to come down for Mister Holmes of the Admiralty and Mister Guthrie. We do not mind him meeting us en dishabille, and you may tell him so.”

  Short of throwing us out the door there was nothing the butler could do but take our over-coats and gloves and reluctantly admit us to Sir Cameron’s hired house. “I will inform Sir Cameron you are here,” he said stiffly.

  “Much appreciated,” Holmes told him. He nodded toward three crates standing near the drawing room door. “I see Sir Cameron is providing some of his own furnishings.”

  “Yes. They arrived from Scotland last night,” said the butler, more forthcoming than I would have expected him to be.

  “I am sure Sir Cameron is pleased,” said Mycroft Holmes. “If you will tell us which room has a fire lit, Mister Guthrie and I will repair there to wait for Sir Cameron. Tell him we are entirely at his service.”

  Nonplused, the butler left us at the door of a small sitting room just off the main corridor. It was a charming room on the east side of the house, and, were it not raining from low-scudding clouds, the room would be filled with light. As it was, there was a small fire on the hearth to take off the worst of the chill, and one of the gas-lamps was lit for our convenience.

  “At least Sir Cameron should be sober at this hour,” I said, trying to find an amusing side to this most annoying chore.

  “Hung-over, most likely,” Mycroft Holmes said, taking his place on a Queen Anne settee. “He is apt to be in a devilish temper.”

  “And when is he not?” I asked. “Drunk or sober, the man is—”

  “—a boor. Yes, I know,” said Holmes. “As we both have good reason to know. Still, I do think for once that may work to our advantage.” He smiled in mild amusement. “I believe that there is much to be gained if only Sir Cameron can be nudged into digging his heels in on our account.”

  “I wish you had allowed me to bring my portfolio. I feel quite naked without it.” I chose a seat at a small writing desk next to the window. “More dreary weather,” I said, staring out at the rain.

  “At least it is likely to slow the efforts of those seeking to shoot Sir Cameron or any of us. With such pluvial excesses, taking aim at any distance is hardly possible.” He had surrendered his over-coat and gloves at the door, as had I, and now he rubbed his hands together to keep them from getting cold. “I hope Sir Cameron will order more wood for the fire. These old houses—like my flat in Pall Mall—have not converted to burning coal. I would prefer a wood-fire in any case. It is nicer to smell.”

  “I cannot argue,” I said. “But heating a house with wood is costly.”

  “Guthrie, you remind me you are a Scot.” He did his best to chuckle at his remark, but the sound was hollow and quickly died.

  For ten minutes or so we remained in silence, waiting for Sir Cameron to make his appearance. When he finally came into the sitting room, it was clear he had just risen and probably had not slept alone, for there was a red mark in the shape of lips at the top of his chest where his nightshirt was open and his dressing gown of heavy hunter-green velvet did not cover.

  “What in the name of the pox are you doing here at this ungodly hour, Holmes?” he demanded as he banged the door closed behind him.

  “I am doing my best to protect you, Sir Cameron,” Mycroft Holmes answered with the demeanor of conviction.

  “So you say!” He tramped across the flowered carpet as if to deprive the loomed buds of life. “I am not accustomed to being dragged from my bed at dawn by a civil servant who has failed to do any of the things he is supposed to do on my behalf.” He folded his arms and glared at Holmes; as usual, he paid no attention to me, and I was at liberty to scrutinize him: I noticed the puffiness around his eyes and the slightly sallow color of his skin, the sag beginning beneath his jaw, and the first touch of grey in his ginger hair.

  “I apologize for inconveniencing you, Sir Cameron,” Holmes soothed. “But we must ask you to consider again the matter of Lady MacMillian’s escort.”

  “Her uncles? You’re not here about that, are you?” He shook his head. “You have a bee in your bonnet about those uncles of hers.”

  “As you should,” Mycroft Holmes said. “You have forgot the Married Women’s Property Act, haven’t you? You know that Lady MacMillian is entitled to claim all your marriage settlements so long as she is in the British Isles. With her uncles to assist her, she may be able to demand the income of her spousal grants, and no court in the land would refuse her. If she is not accompanied by her uncles, any suit she would bring would have a significantly smaller chance for success.” He stood still, letting Sir Cameron think through the potential monetary loss any such claim would mean to him.

  “She wouldn’t,” Sir Cameron blustered.

  “Perhaps not,” Mycroft Holmes allowed. “But you may be sure her uncles would.”

  Sir Cameron’s scowl deepened. “You are telling me that my own wife wants to claim her marriage grants?” He took a turn about the room. “She has come into property of her own. What can she want with anything of mine?”

  “Exactly,” Holmes said. “You must see it is her uncles who are behind this scheme.” He paused as if trying to soften a blow. “You have put yourself in a difficult position, coming to meet her here in London where you have your title but not your position to bo
lster you.”

  “What are you saying?” Sir Cameron’s face was taking on a purple tinge as his temper mounted.

  “I am saying only that were you in Scotland, you would retain more of your authority than you do here in England. I think it was a clever move, coming to London. It makes her uncles more able to pursue you on her behalf.”

  I watched Sir Cameron weigh the matters in his mind, and I saw that his venality was uppermost in his considerations. “Why should it be any different here than in Scotland? I am a knight and a gentleman in either place.”

  “Of course,” said Mycroft Holmes with mendacious sympathy. “You are also an acknowledged hero; the public admire you. This admirable reputation makes you noticed in the world, and there are those who seek nothing more than to discredit those who have risen the highest in the esteem of the British people. It would be a most distressing development to see you made into the butt of vulgar jokes all because your wife’s uncles attempt to claim what is rightfully hers, here, in the full glare of the press and the music-hall jesters.” He paused. “I do not want to deprive you of anything to which you are entitled, but I fear that once Fleet Street gets wind of this, they will trumpet it about in a manner that will be more scandalous than accurate, and any efforts on your part to diminish the furor would probably lead to more uproar.”

  Sir Cameron cleared his throat. “What about that shot fired at me? Could that have anything to do with—?”

  “With your wife’s uncles? I cannot say for sure that they did or they did not, but it might be most prudent to return to Scotland, at least until we can determine what role, if any, those gentlemen had in your recent fortunate escape. It should not take too long. That way, you will have the authority in the meeting, not the uncles. You will not be at the beck and call of Baron von Schattenberg, either.” Mycroft Holmes made his face into a mask of commiseration. “I know that retreat is repugnant to you, but if you are willing to leave London for a fortnight, then the Admiralty could determine what part, if any, Lady MacMillian’s uncles played in that unhappy event.”

  This was more than Sir Cameron was willing to accept. “I am not going to be driven out of this house when my goods have only just arrived.”

  “No, certainly not,” said Holmes hastily. “But if you go for a fortnight, your staff can have all in readiness for when your wife finally arrives, without her uncles to bedevil you.”

  Sir Cameron prowled the room like a caged animal. “I don’t like it,” he said at last. “I am not a fool to be hounded by ambitious men. No, I don’t like it.”

  “What don’t you like, Sir Cameron?” Holmes inquired, the very model of solicitude.

  “I don’t like having my hand forced by a pack of greedy Germans who ought to know better than to trespass on my good nature,” he said roundly. “But I do see the wisdom of what you say, Holmes. I am not one to take risks foolishly.”

  I recalled the petulance and cowardice I had seen Sir Cameron display, and I agreed heartily and ironically with him.

  “You have a keen grasp of these matters,” Holmes agreed. “No doubt you will want to think over what we have discussed, so I will not keep you much longer.” He went up to Sir Cameron, the very image of concern. “It is imperative that you wire your orders to Holland, and inform your wife, who is there with her uncles, that you will be unable to meet with her for two weeks. You may claim press of business, if you like, or any other reason that will not put her uncles on the alert. If you offer to pay for her accommodations in Amsterdam, I am certain she will consent to remaining there until you are ready to receive her.”

  “Sans uncles,” said Sir Cameron.

  “Naturally,” said Mycroft Holmes. “You will have to make arrangements in that regard, but I doubt those men want to cool their heels for two weeks. If you are in London, they may come, regardless. But if you are in Scotland, they will not.”

  ‘They have no stomach for the lion’s den,” said Sir Cameron smugly. “Who could blame them?”

  “Precisely,” said Mycroft Holmes, turning the word to outrageous flattery.

  “I could mention the weather, and advise them not to attempt the crossing while the storm is raging. In this weather, no one is going to cross the Channel unless it is absolutely necessary, in any event,” said Sir Cameron, as if the weather was his personal ally.

  “Very likely, Sir Cameron,” said Mycroft Holmes, admirably concealing his growing exasperation. “But it would be wisest to inform Lady MacMillian that you will be away in Scotland for—”

  “A fortnight. Indeed. I shall use the time to consult my solicitor. If Lady MacMillian has come into her inheritance—and she has—it is most unseemly of her to want to claim her marriage portion from me. This is what comes of giving women property rights. Their natural greed is allowed free reign and all of us who are married men suffer because of it.” He tugged at the sash of his dressing gown. “It may be as you say, and her uncles are promoting her desire for possessions, but I know her, and she is a worldly German woman, and I would not put it past her to want to gain control of as much of my fortune and lands as she can.”

  This display of pettiness astonished me, even in one such as Sir Cameron. I had not thought he could cherish such small-minded resentments as he currently displayed. I was tempted to ask him if he were sure of himself, but I supposed he must be, and would be offended by any doubts I expressed; I exchanged a knowing glance with my employer and continued to watch their exchange.

  “That may be the case; if it is, it would be wise to prepare yourself for that eventuality.” Holmes hesitated, as if uncertain whether to continue or let well enough alone.

  “Yes.” He laid his thick hand on Mycroft Holmes’ shoulder. “You have been a good friend to me this day, Holmes. You need not fear that I will forget your timely warning, or your efforts on my behalf.”

  “Thank you, Sir Cameron,” said Holmes with a humility I knew to be foreign to him.

  “You are a good man,” Sir Cameron added, and turned away. “I will wait until this afternoon, and then I will inform my staff that I have had word from the north and must return at once to Scotland. I will leave my staff here to ready the place for my return, and I will take the train north tomorrow. That should be soon enough for our purposes, don’t you think?”

  “If you make sure to send word to Lady MacMillian, yes, I should think so,” said Holmes. “If you like, I shall call on Baron von Schattenberg and inform him of these developments, so you will be spared one more chore.”

  “A fine notion, Holmes,” said Sir Cameron. “You have a fairly sharp mind when you decide to use it.”

  I could see that Mycroft Holmes was both amused and aggravated by this supercilious praise. “I am pleased you notice.”

  Sir Cameron swung around. “I am not one of those dolts who thinks of nothing but himself, and cannot appreciate virtue in anyone but himself.”

  “You are good to say so,” Mycroft Holmes responded, his grey eyes snapping; I thought he was about to laugh aloud.

  “Yes,” said Sir Cameron in fine self-approval. With bluff courtesy he cocked his head toward the door. “Well, I will not keep you. No doubt you have other duties than looking after me. You have been diligent on my behalf, and I will not forget it.”

  “You are good to say so, Sir Cameron,” Holmes repeated.

  “Credit where credit is due,” said the man whose knighthood came as a result of Mycroft Holmes’ determination and bravery, which Sir Cameron had managed to represent as his own.

  “A fine policy,” said Holmes, motioning to me to come with him to the door. “Guthrie and I have other errands yet this morning. We will leave you to your plans.” He halted at the door. “If I were you, I should not venture out today. That assassin may still be searching for you, for the police have not yet made an arrest in that matter.”

  “What
else do you expect of the police? Laggards, all of them, even that popinjay Pryce.” He stifled a yawn. “Beech will show you out.”

  “Thank you for your time, Sir Cameron,” said Mycroft Holmes as he opened the door and all but shoved me through it ahead of him.

  “Think nothing of it,” was Sir Cameron’s magnanimous reply just before the door closed.

  “Not one word, Guthrie, until we’re outside,” Holmes whispered ferociously, then nodded to the approaching butler. “We’re leaving now.”

  “I will show you out, sir, if you don’t mind,” the butler said as if he suspected Mycroft Holmes might try to purloin the silver.

  “Of course,” said Holmes, meekly following the butler—Beech, as Sir Cameron called him—to the door. “I am sorry to have disturbed your morning,” he said as we went out of the house.

  Sid Hastings was waiting at the end of Deanery Mews; he gave Lance the office and came to pick us up, cheerful in spite of the rain. “Hardly anyone came into the Mews while you were inside. There was a tradesman, but he went around back.”

  There was nothing remarkable in this, and I wondered aloud why Hastings had seen fit to mention it.

  “Well, Mister Guthrie, I noticed he was carrying a couple of large packages, one long and thin, one squat. I couldn’t for the life of me decide what they must contain,” said Hastings.

  Something in this description alerted Holmes, who said, “What do you mean, long and thin?”

  “Oh, perhaps thirty inches long and ten inches wide. The other case was about eighteen inches on a side,” Hastings said with the idle curiosity of a man who spends a great deal of time observing the world.

  At that, Holmes pulled the steps to and sat forward on the seat. “Take us round to the back, Hastings, at once. And be careful.”

  Hastings put Lance in motion, and headed for the alleyway between houses. “Is something amiss, sir?” he asked as he maneuvered the reins.