by David Marcum
I could only stare at him in shock. However, as I turned my eyes back to my patient, I realised he was right. The figure under those ragged-boy clothes could only belong to a woman.
As it turned out, she was a rather fortunate young lady. Once I had cleaned the blood, it appeared that the bullet had passed cleanly through her side without touching any vital organ, and there was nothing for me to do except clean up the wound and bandage it. She would be fine. Holmes heaved a sigh of relief when I informed him. He laid a set of spare clothes on the chair and we left the girl to rest. We would get her story when she awoke. I was quite exhausted myself, but curiosity gnawed at me.
“A foreign lady,” I said to Holmes.
He nodded. “Indeed, Watson. I was not able to deduce much, but it appears she is from our Indian colonies, belongs to a royal family - or at least a very affluent one, studies at the University of London, is a voracious reader, dabbles in art and the violin, seems to be good at horse-riding, fencing and shooting - and is presently caught in a web of international politics. She was abducted recently, but either escaped or was rescued soon.”
“How could you possibly know that?” I asked, amazed. “She asked if she could paint you, so I can understand her affinity for art, but how could you know the rest?”
Holmes gave me a small smile. “Look at her boots and jewellery, Watson - custom made, extremely expensive. Also, the soil is clearly from Gower Street. From the dents on her nose, she regularly uses eye glasses, even at this young age - clearly reads a lot. So, a young, studious and rich foreigner in Gower Street - could it be anyone other than a student at the University College London?”
I nodded, following his observations. “You mentioned she plays the violin, rides, fences and shoots.”
“Riding boots, calluses and gun-powder residue,” he replied. “And if I am not mistaken, that is an 1874 Chamelot-Delvigne in her pocket.”
“Abduction? Did you deduce that from the rope-burns on her wrists and ankles?”
“Bravo, Doctor.”
“But why on earth is she dressed as a man, Holmes?”
“I suspect it was to foil an assassination attempt,” he remarked. “I shall know more upon an investigation of the contents of her coat pocket and satchel.”
My face must have betrayed my thoughts, for Holmes laughed. “Do not worry, my good doctor, I assure you that I have our client’s permission.” He regarded me thoughtfully. “I suggest you rest while you can, Watson - I shall wake you if your patient has any need of you.”
I was too tired to argue, so I took his advice. As it turned out, our visitor did not wake until Mrs. Hudson was sent to help her out of bed. One look at the apparel Holmes had laid out for the young woman and our landlady was kind enough to bring up some of her own laundered clothes. Finally seeing the girl dressed in feminine attire, I realised what an utterly beautiful woman she would be in a few years. Even though the dress was plain and ill-fitting, I could easily believe Holmes’s conjecture that she was a princess.
“Good morning, your Highness,” Holmes greeted her, and almost simultaneously, I asked, “How do you feel?” when Mrs. Hudson and my patient appeared at the breakfast table. I noted absently that Holmes seemed to be observing the princess rather intensely.
“Much better, thank you, Doctor Watson, Mr. Holmes,” she replied softly. “You have all been very kind. And please, you must call me Ada - everyone does. I am afraid my Indian name is not conducive to the British tongue, but ‘Ada’ is quite close to the shortened version.”
I was surprised to note she spoke with an upper-class British accent. She smiled at my surprise.
“I have mostly been educated in Europe,” she said. “My father is uncharacteristically modern, and I have been rather fortunate for it.”
Mrs. Hudson had thoughtfully set up a third place for breakfast, and Holmes invited our client to join us. She took up the chair gratefully and we ate together in silence.
The Princess was the first to speak when we took up chairs near the fireplace.
“Did you have a chance to look through my papers, Mr. Holmes?” she asked quietly.
“Indeed,” Holmes replied.
“And what do you make of it?” she enquired.
“I prefer not to hypothesise until I have adequate facts, your Highness,” Holmes told her. “I must confess myself stupefied, though, at the absence of any symptoms of poisoning.”
Ada laughed. “Oh, you are right, Mr. Holmes, I have been poisoned. However, in my family, we are inured to most varieties of venom, and for anything more potent, we have a vaidya - I suppose you could say doctor - at hand. I have not been seriously harmed.”
Holmes nodded, but did not look very convinced. “It might be best for you to give us the facts first,” he said instead.
Ada smiled ruefully. “Of course, Mr. Holmes, I shall do as you say. I suppose I was hoping to see your skills of deduction first-hand. Victor was always rather verbose about your talents. And when your...” She paused and glanced at me. “Well, M suggested that I consult you at the earliest.”
Holmes frowned and the Princess smiled again. She really did have a rather fetching smile. The M she had spoken of, I learnt several years later, was none other than Mycroft Holmes.
“I apologise, Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson - my brains are still rather addled. Let me narrate the events that have led me here in chronological order.” She paused again. “I am afraid it is a rather long tale, but I shall endeavour to make it as brief as possible.”
“My father is the King of Terai, a small Indian territory. Incidentally, Mr. Holmes, your friend Victor has lived in our kingdom for several years now, and I have been friends with him since I was a child. It was he who first spoke of you.” She smiled fondly. “But I digress. My father is a great believer in education, gentlemen, and at his insistence, all his children - there are six of us - have been thoroughly educated in various parts of the world. This has also helped us further our international relations. Consequently, our little kingdom has prospered even more. Lately, however, my father has not been keeping very well and desires to see all his children married. My brothers and sisters are significantly older, and therefore, already well-settled. While I would prefer to complete my graduation before I wed, my father’s plight does not allow for such delay. As it is, I am sixteen, which makes for a rather old bride in traditional families. It was initially believed that there would be a dearth of suitors for my hand... now, however, it appears that the problem is quite the reverse.” She paused and smiled sardonically. “I do have a rather significant dowry to my name.”
“Currently, I have four perfectly fine men willing to take me for a wife. One has been chosen by my father and our mutual acquaintance M, and the rest by my siblings. The first, Sir Norbert, is a British nobleman of impeccable heredity, tragically impoverished. The second, Rajkumar Vikramaditya, is an Indian prince from a neighbouring eastern state. The third, Prince Pierre, is the heir to the throne of an African kingdom. The fourth, Dokter Diederik, is also a European gentleman of Dutch origin, not titled, but immensely rich. I have met each one, Mr. Holmes, and they are all wonderful gentlemen... and I am unable to choose. Ordinarily, I would blindly follow my father’s advice, Mr. Holmes - he is the wisest man I have ever known, but recent events have made me wary. The warning letters in my bag started pouring in a fortnight ago. There have been three assaults on my person and two break-ins at my London residence in the last week. I am reluctant to bother my father with this, so I have consulted with M, who has been akin to a guardian to me since I arrived in this country. I intended to visit you at a decent hour last evening, but I was cornered in my apartment by a gang of ruffians. My guards fought them off bravely, allowing me to escape in disguise, while my maid dressed herself in my clothes and fled in another direction as a decoy. The man who followed and shot me on Baker Street must have
taken me for a messenger sent to seek your assistance.”
“You were abducted two days ago,” Holmes said.
She nodded.
“Did you know your captor? How did you escape?” I asked.
“Faithless man,” she said quietly. “It was one of my friends from the university. Fortunately, my men caught up with the carriage I was in.”
“Where was he supposed to take you?” Holmes asked.
“I do not know, Mr. Holmes. He killed himself before we could take him to the police.”
“Are you quite certain you do not have any lingering effects of poisoning? Watson may be able to help.”
“Thank you. That is very kind of you.”
“May I enquire if any your suitors or their assistants bear the initials K.O.?” Holmes asked.
The Princess stared at him in shock. “None,” she said eventually.
“But you are - or were - close to someone with those initials,” Holmes said, watching her keenly.
“Yes. Kaarle Olivier is my best friend,” she replied defiantly.
“Why did you not go to the police?” Holmes asked.
“M advised against it.”
“Does he have any ideas?”
She looked away. Holmes frowned, but before he could question the princess further, Mrs. Hudson appeared with the newspapers. It was unusual for her to bring them up herself; obviously she desired to check up on Ada, whom she now considered to be under her wing.
Holmes pounced upon the papers. The front page declared, “Defenestration in London!” Holmes quickly passed the paper to me and I read out loud:
Late last night, a young woman was thrown out of her third-floor apartment window at Gower Street. The girl, who was killed upon impact, has been identified as Her Royal Highness, Princess Advyaitavadini, youngest daughter of the Indian King Abhayananda of Terai. Her entire entourage, consisting of six trained guards, three male servants and three female servants, has also been found to be killed in a violent fight while defending the princess. The deceased, known to her friends as Ada, was well-liked amongst her fellow students at the University. Her friends have confessed that the princess had been threatened and attacked previously as well, but had refused police assistance. This brutal massacre of thirteen people, however, is being investigated by Scotland Yard, under the able leadership of Inspector G. Lestrade, whom the public may remember from the Jefferson Hope case.
Ada had lost all colour and tears poured down her cheeks. Her hands shook, portraying her distress, and I was reminded that she was still barely more than a child.
“I must go to the university at once, Mr. Holmes,” she cried, pushing herself off the chair with some effort. “This news must not travel to my father at any cost.”
She staggered towards the door but faltered halfway. Fortunately, Mrs. Hudson caught her.
“Now you listen here, young lady,” Mrs. Hudson scolded. “You are to stay here and rest. Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson will take care of your troubles.”
“But...”
“No buts. Look at the state of you, all pale and trembling! What you need is a cup of good, strong tea,” our landlady said firmly, and proceeded to press a cup into the girl’s hands.
Holmes took a seat next to the traumatised girl and said gently, “I shall attempt to contain the news, barring which, I shall ensure that news of your survival accompanies any notification from the university. However, you must stay hidden here until I return. Watson and Mrs. Hudson will look after you. Do you understand?”
She nodded tearfully.
Holmes turned to me. “Watson, no one must see her. If we have any visitors not accompanied by myself, escort her to my room. I expect Lestrade shall come by at some point. Be ready.”
“Certainly, Holmes,” I promised, understanding his warning to be armed and prepared.
“Mr. Holmes,” Ada called softly. “My people... they have to be cremated, and their ashes sent home to be scattered in the holy river. I do not know who the thirteenth person is, but if she is Christian, she ought to be buried here. If you require me to identify my people, I shall accompany you.”
Holmes’s grey eyes glittered like diamonds as he turned back to the girl.
“Who knew the specific number of people in your entourage?” he asked.
She frowned. “I am not sure. It was not exactly a secret.”
“Do you have any idea who the unknown woman might be?”
“It could be the milkmaid, the charwoman or the laundry girl - they were friendly with my staff and often visited socially. In fact, Jane - the laundry girl, and Satyanand - one of my guards, were hoping to marry when we returned to Terai.” Ada pursed her lips, eyes bright with unshed tears. “You will find out who did this, won’t you, Mr. Holmes?”
“I shall certainly endeavour to do so,” Holmes replied.
Ada nodded, visibly assured. “Please spare no expense. No price is too dear to me to avenge the murder of my people!”
Holmes nodded his assent. “How many of your suitors are presently in London?”
“All of them.”
“One last question, before I leave,” Holmes said quietly. “Could you describe Sir Norbert and Dokter Diederik?”
Ada smiled. “I can do better. I can give you their pictures.” She fetched a small album from her dress pocket and handed it to Holmes, pointing out each of her suitors.
Holmes appeared pleased. “Thank you,” he said. “I shall be back soon.”
Holmes was away for several hours. I changed the dressing on Ada’s wound, and then looked through the papers Holmes had spent the night poring over. There were fifteen envelopes, several of which bore stamps from exotic cities. Each contained an insult, scrawled on a torn piece of foolscap in an untidy hand with scarlet ink:
Vile worm, thou wast o’erlook’d even in thy birth. (London)
You are not worth another word, else I’d call you knave. (London)
I wonder that you will still be talking. Nobody marks you. (Madrid)
Here, thou incestuous, murderous, damned Dane, Drink off this potion! (Helsinki)
Dissembling harlot, thou art false in all! (London)
I shall laugh myself to death at this puppy-headed monster! (London)
Thou unfit for any place but hell. (London)
Away! Thou’rt poison to my blood. (Calcutta)
More of your conversation would infect my brain. (Cairo)
Away, you mouldy rogue, away! I am meat for your master. (Havana)
O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch! Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice? (Milan)
Take her away; for she hath lived too long, To fill the world with vicious qualities. (Hamburg)
I shall cut out your tongue. ‘Tis no matter, I shall speak as much wit as thou afterwards. (London)
O you beast! I’ll so maul you and your toasting-iron, That you shall think the devil is come from hell. (Krakow)
Heaven truly knows that thou art false as hell. (Odessa)
I stared at the scraps in disbelief. When I looked up at Ada, she was smiling sadly.
“Shakespeare. I thought the first few were a joke,” she said, her voice quiet.
There was also a small diary filled with neat, feminine handwriting, meticulously noting down the date and time of receipt of each letter, and the Shakespearean play each message was taken from - The Merry Wives of Windsor, All’s Well that Ends Well, Much Ado about Nothing, Hamlet, The Comedy of Errors, The Tempest, Richard III, Cymbeline, Coriolanus, Henry IV, Measure for Measure, Henry VI, Troilus and Cressida, King John, and Othello. Ada had also noted down the bold and capitalised words separately.
The capitalised words read: “worm word Nobody Drink potion false death poison infect meat faithless man Take her away speak afterwards
beast devil art false” and the bold words read “call place Away with I”. Even I could see the barely concealed warning in the papers and the missive to call India. I wondered what else Holmes had deduced from these. How was it even possible to deliver these letters so regularly from such different locations?
Ada had also made a list of her staff members, including the local hires and their contact details. Similarly, she had also listed the London addresses of her suitors.
I recognised the English nobleman immediately. He was at least thirty years older than our young princess! When I made a remark, Ada simply smiled and said, “They all are; at forty seven, your bachelor Englishman is in the younger half. The Indian is the youngest at thirty five - and I am to be his fifth wife. The African is fifty two, and I shall be the second wife; the first died recently. The Dutch is seventy, a famed misogynist until now.”
“Would you not prefer to wed someone close to your own age?” I enquired, curious.
She smiled sadly, her bright eyes dimmed. “I have a duty to my kingdom, Dr. Watson; I do not have the luxury of love.”
I had a sudden thought. Could it be that the warning disguised as threats were the work of a rejected admirer from a failed love-affair? I did not realise I had spoken out loud until I saw the stricken expression on her face.
“M thinks so, too - in fact, I made the notes under his instructions,” she said unhappily. “But I know Kaarle would never do so!”
“I am glad you think so, ma mie,” came a soft voice from the door.
Ada jumped out of her seat with a cry of “Kaarle!”
Monsieur Olivier strode in and engulfed her in his arms. She sobbed quietly on his shoulder.
I took a moment to regard the rather striking blue-eyed, dark-haired young man before Holmes, who had followed the young man in, cleared his throat delicately.
The young pair sprang apart immediately.
“Je suis désolée, mon trésor,» Ada said quietly. She turned to Holmes. “How did you find him, Mr. Holmes?”
“From the letters,” Holmes replied. “You had, rather helpfully, written down the Shakespearean references. All foreign places started with the same letter as the play’s title, and the bold words were followed by such letters of the alphabet. ‘Call MH. Place CCH. Away for MH. I KO.’ I paid a visit to the Charing Cross Hospital and found him in the morgue, looking for you. Child’s play.”