I walked along the shelves, one eye on Goff who appeared to be oblivious to the sudden heat in the room, and my attempts to calm myself. Grateful he was not as observant as Moriarty, I picked up a journal and sat down at the desk again. When Goff begun to pick at his nails, I jotted down a few words on my already crowded note pad. From his position, he could not see that note pad’s surface and it was there I flattened out Mr Pleasant’s message. He had written only three words: I can help. I turned it around and wrote my answer on the back: Please advertise in The Times: Small golden wedding band found in the lavatory of London Medical School. To be picked up at Tottenham Court Road 11b, Miss Caitrin Mae.
I slipped the note back into my sleeve, scribbled a bit more, read a bit more, and then made another round through the aisles. Only a minute later, the note was safely hidden in the dog eared book.
As Goff and I left, I gave the librarian a single nod and another timid smile, hoping to convey the immense gratitude I felt.
I was relieved to have something to busy myself with. How else could I have kept my sanity that night? I was tormented by fears of being discovered, of having misunderstood the librarian’s message, or that he could be Moriarty’s. And the most silly fear of all, that Holmes would not understand the message. So I sat at the door, listening to the movements of men and mice. Slowly, my mind calmed itself.
Long after midnight, once Moriarty was done with the woman next door and Durham had bolted me in to leave for his well deserved sleep, I rose, lit a candle, and started writing two letters, careful not to leave ink on my fingers or the nightstand.
— day 53 —
It was difficult to focus. My hands tried to work with precision while my mind and heart raced. Thoughts about the librarian’s loyalty and Holmes’s swiftness buzzed in my head. I had to be careful not to jam the hot metal lancet into my fingers or straight into the bacterial colonies growing on the swine blood gelatin. Goff was busy preparing media, which gave me a little more freedom to think without the constant worry that he would sense my nervousness.
If Mr Pleasant had delivered the slip to The Times yesterday afternoon, it should have been printed early this morning. How long would Holmes need to prepare a disguise, given he had read the papers at breakfast? Was he in London at all?
I had to stifle a groan. All I could do was hope. There was no possibility of making sure all players were positioned where I wanted them to be. What would I do if disaster were already waiting for me? Moriarty holding my note in his hand and thanking the librarian for his services, was an image impossible to push from my mind. On top of it all, my plan had a gaping hole. I had nothing to bargain with, nothing that could save my father if all went wrong.
‘Mr Goff, I need to use the lavatory,’ I said. My assistant nodded. We disinfected our hands, took off our protective gear, and marched towards the hospital’s lavatories.
As usual, Goff positioned himself at a less than respectful distance — three steps from the entrance to the lady’s.
I pushed the door open and was greeted by the massive behind of a charwoman. She was scrubbing the floor and upon my greeting, rose and turned towards me.
The door fell into its frame. I slid the bolt into place, took two steps forward, and froze. I would always recognise his eyes. The light grey with the intense sparkle, forever mischievous.
My feet were about to step forward, my hand yearned to rest on his cheek. How have you been? I wanted to ask. Are you happy? Do you have someone you love? Someone who loves you in return?
Of course, I did no such thing. Wiping emotions off my face I said, ‘Thank you for coming. I don’t have much time. My gaoler is waiting just outside the door. Here,’ I held out one envelope, ‘this is my will. No! Don’t speak now. Read it and then deposit it at your lawyer’s. Do you know a man by the name of James Moriarty?’
I had barely finished speaking when Holmes stepped towards me, eyes scrutinising my clothes, face, hands, and shoes. ‘It would appear as though Moriarty is the most dangerous criminal in the whole of Europe.’
‘Moriarty was the head of the Club—’
‘I am aware of that,’ he interrupted. ‘I have been hot on his heels for months now. As a matter of fact, the man is at the very heart of a far-reaching criminal organisation. Did he abduct you?’
I nodded and held up my hand to hush him. ‘We have but a few minutes! Holmes, I beg you to save my father. Moriarty is holding him captive, too. I believe he might even be here in London. He and I are allowed to write each other and it takes only four to six days to receive an answer.’
‘Who put the advertisement in The Times?’ He gazed down at my fine patent leather boots, atypically exclusive for my taste. ‘You’ve worn them for a while now; two or three months I should think… That long? Why did you not contact me earlier?’
I swallowed.
‘Where is he keeping you?’ His voice was metallic. I saw the effort it took him to remain calculating, take facts and fit them next to one another to form a picture.
‘In his house,’ I replied, emotions cutting my voice thin. ‘It was very hard to contact you at all. I cannot make mistakes and risk my father’s life.’ I gazed up into his face, saw the questions sizzling to be asked. He wiped them away, clearing his mind, nodding once.
‘The timing will be critical. Obviously, I cannot split myself in two.’ His hands balled up and all breath hissed through his nostrils. Behind his narrowed eyes, I could see his brain rattling.
I placed my hand on his arm. He looked at me, a little surprised, as though I had just appeared. ‘All I need is for my father to be safe. Here is a letter. Give it to him when… should you find him. And please do not worry about me. I am treated well. ’ I held out the second envelope, gulping down the possibility that my father might never hold this message in his hands, or that this could be the only thing he would ever see of his daughter again. ‘I wish I could cover your expenses.’
‘Why would you say such an absurd thing? You cannot believe I want to be paid!’ he said, clearly offended.
‘No! No, I don’t think that. But I don’t want you to do it because you feel sorry for me.’ The instant I heard myself say it, I noticed how stupid it sounded. Yet, it was precisely what I felt.
Perplexed, he answered, ‘Would a favour for a friend be more acceptable?’
Could he not see that any sympathy from him would only make my endeavour harder, almost impossible, even? No matter how much I wanted to take that last step forward and lay my cheek on his chest, it would not help me the least. All that would happen would be a weakening of my resolution. ‘We have no friendship,’ I said quietly. ‘We are lovers who never loved. Being together is almost unthinkable. In essence, we have nothing.’
His stern face never moved as he slipped both envelopes into his voluminous bosom, and said, ‘I have my own vested interest in seeing Moriarty and his entire criminal network brought to justice. That he has involved you and your father in this business complicates matters. Very unfortunate and rather impractical, I must confess. However, I will certainly get you both to safety soon enough. This business requires excellent planning. We will meet here again in two days’ time. You’d better leave now.’
I almost thanked him for that verbal slap. All of a sudden, I found my soft self rather annoying. ‘One more thing. Colonel Moran — can you tell me anything about him?’
His eyes darkened. ‘He is Moriarty’s right hand and the second most dangerous man you could come across.’
I nodded.
‘You met him,’ he noted wearily. ‘Of course. Moriarty wouldn’t send anyone less to capture his bacteriologist.’
‘The man has an obsession with guns,’ I volunteered.
‘He does indeed! He is thought to be the best heavy-game shot in the British Empire. I don’t need to tell you to be very careful around him. He is volatile and far from being a gentleman. I am convinced he has murdered two women, but I have never been able to prove it. He once used a
small child as tiger bait while he was stationed in India.’
Yes, I could easily imagine Moran doing this. He was free from scruples of any kind. My stomach revolted at the thought of going back to Moriarty’s house. I wondered whether I could convince my feet to walk away from Holmes.
‘Thank you,’ I whispered and watched as his eyebrows pulled apart and his shoulders sagged ever so slightly. Did he know I could read him like a book?
As I stepped out into the hallway and heard the door snap shut behind me, a feeling of overwhelming loneliness forced water into my eyes. Hastily, I blinked it away before Goff could see it.
— day 54 —
The night was perfect — moonless, overcast, and foggy as pea soup. I could barely see the ground beneath my window. The ice had melted the day before, leaving the ivy less brittle. The wind had settled. My scent wouldn’t be carried far.
Dressed in my darkest walking clothes, I opened the window, placed my foot on the sill, and pushed myself up. With my shoes left behind in the room, my toes began to freeze as soon as I held them out into the cold and humid night air. Soon enough, the chill crawled in between my garments, seeking out all the small cracks and fissures. I had to move quickly now.
The first thick vine was far to the right. I held onto the window frame and leaned far out. The fingertips of my right hand barely reached it. The heat of my own blood licked at my skin, prickling me all over as I hauled myself out to catch the vine. Both my feet lost their support and I reeled down and to the side until I found another ivy branch to catch. I hugged it hard, not daring to breathe and not daring to weigh a single ounce more. The vines had started to come off the wall just above my head. The slamming of my heart and the hiss of blood rushing through my head was deafening.
I pressed my brow into the cold evergreen leaves, calmed myself, and listened intently. The noise I had made while colliding with the wall must have appeared much louder to me that it had really been. The night grew dead quiet again. Nothing stirred below me or in the house.
Puffs of frosted breath clouded my view as I climbed further. Only two more yards to go. The vines underneath the other window were thicker, and I reached the sill soon enough. The ivy that had grown into the reveal was painted yellow by the flickering firelight. My hand prickled as I slipped it into the brightness and slowly pushed up to peek through the window.
I don’t know what I had been expecting, but it was certainly not what revealed itself to me: a large room with heavy carpets, expensive furniture, and a lit fireplace that threw light onto my hand and part of my face. There was a bed, which looked much like mine, and that fact made my stomach clench. A woman with a stunning red mane sat in front of the vanity and brushed her hair with a silver brush. My head jerked back. She could possibly see me through the reflection in the looking glass.
Something was wrong, but what precisely? I closed my eyes and scrutinised the picture in my head, but could not find what it was that had disturbed me. Ever so carefully, I peeked through the window again. She was still brushing her hair. Still the same movement, over and over again. Her face in the glass was strangely unmoving, her eyes without depth. It appeared as though she saw neither herself nor her surroundings. She kept brushing the same strand of copper hair, lightly and without interest.
I began to wonder why I had risked two lives with this excursion. Learning what Moriarty was doing to this woman had seemed important to me. Finding that there was nothing to see, that she had not been bound and tortured, made me doubt my decision. One last look through the room and I turned away. Or rather, I meant to. I heard a shriek and saw her face turned towards me. There was terror in her eyes and mine probably reflected it.
As fast as I could, but without throwing myself off the wall, I climbed back towards my window. The thick vine that had seemed close enough the last time I clung to it, now seemed too far off. It was loose. If it came off the wall, my excursion would be revealed. I had no other choice but to climb all the way to the ground, trying to tread only on the few solid ice patches.
Then I heard the dogs barking. Panic stricken, I ran the few yards to the next vine that would lead me back up to my room. I scaled it, repeatedly stepping on the hem of my stupid skirt. The dogs were very close now and their baying would soon wake the entire household. Desperately, I flung myself through my window, tore one stocking off, rolled it into a ball and threw it as far as I could. The dogs saw the thing flying and ran after it, tearing it to pieces as soon as it hit the ground. Now I knew how well trained they were.
Quickly, I yanked off my clothes, threw them into a far corner and pulled my nightgown over my head.
The bang on my door did not come as a surprise. Neither did the low growl as he entered the room without permission. Moriarty froze in the door frame. I saw the tension in his shoulders. It pushed me two steps backwards. He stepped out of the light and snapped the door shut. Both of us in the darkness, he snatched my right hand. It was ice cold.
‘You attempted an escape. I’d have never expected such mindlessness from you,’ he shot at me, together with a few flecks of saliva. ‘Let us hope your father will not contract tetanus after his hand has been hacked off.’
‘Why would you want to break our agreement?’ I cried.
‘You cannot fool me.’
‘You expect what you fear,’ I quoted him and the smirk was wiped off in an instant. ‘The dogs were chasing after something and I watched them.’ I forced my voice into monotony. ‘The fog was thick and they seemed to be having problems finding it. My window was open for at least half an hour while I leaned out, trying to break off some of the vine and throw it at the dogs to distract them. It did not work. Then, I saw them cornering a hare not far from my window. I rolled up one of the stockings I wore today and cast it into the bushes. The dogs went after it and tore it apart. You can go and look, the shreds should still be there. You can also look for footprints, but you will find none.’
We stared at each other. His jaws were working. He straightened up and said, ‘As you wish,’ and pushed past me towards the window. My heart was hammering. Each thud seemed to crack my ribcage. He leaned out, inspecting the vines below the sill, then picked at the leaves and whistled. The dogs approached, yapping excitedly. ‘Fetch,’ he commanded. I did not dare move while the dogs’ yapping and the tapping of their paws moved further away, then returned.
‘It appears to be a wool stocking,’ I heard Durham call from outside. My breathing stopped as I heard Moriarty laugh softly. He turned away from the window and walked back to the door. Cold wind pressed against my back as he opened it.
‘Have a good night,’ he said.
‘If you do my father any harm, I will kill you and I know it will be the last thing I’ll do.’
‘Not tonight,’ he answered and shut my door.
Rooted to the spot, I desperately hoped the woman next door would not mention this odd appearance of a female head in her window past midnight.
— day 55 —
Hair hung into her face — white wisps on pale and wrinkled skin. Her back was bent, her hands were… slender? She winked at me and I smiled back at him.
I bolted the lavatory door, painfully aware of Goff only inches away on the other side of the wall.
‘I did not recognise you at first,’ I said, a little ashamed. The corners of his mouth twitched. Something seemed to make him hesitate.
‘You said you have been on Moriarty’s heels for months now,’ I began. He shook his head, about to open his mouth to protest. I held up my hand and said, ‘It is our best option under these circumstances. If you freed my father now and I made my escape, your efforts in catching Moriarty’s men would be in vain.’
‘You are not made for such a feat.’ A simple statement. And it split me in two. One part longed to kick his shin for underestimating me, and the other part wished to agree, fall into his arms to be taken away from misery. At that moment, only the thought of my imprisoned father held me where I was.
> ‘Let that be my concern. If I stay longer I might even gain Moriarty’s trust and gather information that might help you find and arrest him and his men.’
From what I had seen of his mistress, I knew this was the best course. She had not been tied to the bed and she looked unharmed.
His voice was cold as he said, ‘I will find your father and only then will we decide how to proceed.’
I nodded, hoping desperately he would find him in good health.
‘I’m aware that I represent an obstacle for you and your plan of arresting Moriarty’s gang. I am also aware that, despite the small chance of being an asset to your endeavour, I could just as well cause its downfall. But I am here and you will have to accept that fact.’
Holmes gave me a measuring stare. ‘You are aware of the danger,’ he said. Did I see a mix of relief and concern in his face? Or was it hope that I would soon abandon the idea?
‘Of course I am,’ I replied. ‘Find my father, but then we wait. When the danger for him is too great, or when you have everything you need to press charges on Moriarty and his men, you rescue my father. I know how to make my escape.’
‘As I already said, we will decide once I find him.’ Holmes’ hand curled around the sink’s edge, his knuckles whitened. ‘We need to communicate on a regular basis. I have searched this room for nooks to hide messages in and found that certain corners were unusually clean.’
‘This room has been searched?’
He nodded. ‘Regularly.’
‘Actually, I was thinking of something else. It is rather disgusting and only a one-way communication route, but it will be safe. Moriarty has water closets installed in his house—’
‘Brilliant!’ he interrupted. ‘Place your notes in a small glass vial, then seal it with red wax. It will float and strike the eye. We need to agree on a specific time. What would be most suitable for you?’
The Fall: Illustrated Edition (An Anna Kronberg Thriller Book 2) Page 8