The Fall: Illustrated Edition (An Anna Kronberg Thriller Book 2)

by Annelie Wendeberg

  Moriarty seemed a master of the human psyche, knowing where to push and where to pull to mould men and women to his liking. I felt his force, too. His weakness was obvious, though. He believed I would not be able to harm him physically and that his superior mind was impossible to deceive. I was, after all, but a woman.

  The solution seemed so simple. I would be, after all, but a woman.

  — day 59 —

  ‘Don’t you look beautiful!’ I hummed, just after the lavatory door had fallen into its frame and the bolt was slid into place. He was rather thick at the waist, with a roll of abundant bosom, hair dishevelled, and dark rimmed eyes overshadowed by sorrow and a hat.

  His cheeks reddened in spite of the powder covering them. ‘Thank you. I suppose both of us are at the height of our femininity.’

  ‘Progressing age has not dampened your wit.’ I quipped, punctuating with a curtsy. Although he looked like a fifty-year-old housekeeper, he couldn’t be more than ten years my senior. ‘By the way, you smell of mothballs, Holmes.’

  It felt good to see him smile and for a moment, no worries were weighing me down.

  ‘Anna.’ The grit in his voice wiped away all lightness. ‘I have been trying very hard to track down your father. For months now I have been on Moriarty’s heels and that circumstance turns against us now. He is aware of my presence. If I were to get too close to his house so long as you are in it, I fear he would see through my disguise and you may come to harm,’ he said, filled with an odd mix of thrill and frustration. ‘He has taken great precautions and sends out four to five messengers with every assignment or letter. All of his boys set off into opposite directions and they are good enough to evade my street urchins. I cannot show my face at Kensington Palace Gardens too often without risking your wellbeing, nor can I split myself into five to track down each one of his runner boys.’

  Leaning against the wall behind me, I tried to conceal the despair. ‘Are you giving up?’

  ‘Of course not! I will revise my tactic.’

  The sharpness in his reply relieved me somewhat. I felt the perfume bottle pressing against my thigh. Turning away from Holmes, I pulled up my skirt and reached into my stocking.

  ‘Much better to give this to you in person than to hide it in a public place,’ I said, holding the bottle out to him. ‘I need an identical flask filled with the ingredients described in my message.’ Hesitating, he picked it from my hand.

  ‘Ah, expensive; Madame Rachel’s,’ he muttered. ‘You want to poison him, but he will expect it. Besides, there should be no need for you to turn into a murderer.’

  ‘I am a murderer already. I killed a woman a year ago, as you well know,’ I whispered.

  ‘She was killed by many hands. How much guilt you lay upon yourself is your own decision.’ After a moment of silence, he added, ‘Anna, should you ever spot me in public, disguised or not, and I look directly at you, you must run. Under no circumstances are you to question or hesitate then, do you understand?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Should I come to knock down Moriarty’s front door, you will run in the opposite direction. We will meet at Baker Street or at your cottage, should London become too dangerous. If your cottage is too dangerous as well, you or I, whoever arrives there first, will smash a window as a sign for the other to hide elsewhere. I know the area only from maps, but I would think the forest behind your neighbour’s farm would be suitable.’

  ‘Yes. There is a large fox and badger den. You can easily find it at the southern end of the woods. Simply follow your nose. We could meet there.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  ‘Holmes, I have to give Moriarty something that shows him he can trust me, or he will never share information with me. I thought I should demonstrate the one weakness in his plan to keep me captive. Show how easily I could escape.’

  ‘No! Don’t do any such thing. Instead, give him what he desires the most.’

  Wide-eyed I gazed up at him. He couldn’t be serious? The mischievous tilt of his mouth told me that he was.

  The hastily exchanged words still rang in my ears half an hour later. I gave Holmes enough time to leave the premises without flying skirts. Then, I addressed my assistant. ‘Mr Goff, I am certain that, in case of an emergency, you have the means of contacting the Professor immediately?’ Goff’s throat blushed all the way to his ears. ‘Now is such an instance. I need to talk to him.’ He did not move. ‘I can accompany you, should you be worried about your assignments, Mr Goff.’

  The redness spread to his cheeks. ‘That won’t be necessary, Dr Kronberg. I am certain that whatever it is you have to tell the Professor can wait until he finds the time to see you on his own account.’ With that, the anger had been ejected and he took up his usual position of hands clasped behind his back, face observant, mind at ease.

  ‘Well, it is your health you gamble with,’ I noted and turned back to the diseased rodents in front of me to puncture their brains with a metal hook. Eighty percent of the mice we had fed glanders germs contracted the disease within ten days. The infection rate of anthrax was even higher.

  I took supper in my room, wondering whether Moriarty would let me wait to show that I was not in a position to demand a meeting with him. Durham had wiggled his nose and sniffed when I asked to see his master. He led me upstairs, bolted the door, and left.

  Standing at the window, I watched the breeze ruffle the fog. Footfall, a rap on the door, and a bolt being snapped back announced Moriarty’s arrival.

  ‘You wished to see me,’ he said, framed in the doorway, his contour sharpened by the light from the corridor.

  ‘We may want to take this down to your study,’ I replied. He hesitated for a second before stepping aside.

  While we walked downstairs, his gait appeared relaxed and I could sense no trace of his mad self. The door to his study closed, and I turned to face him. ‘I had the most extraordinary visitor today.’

  His expression hardened.

  ‘Sherlock Holmes,’ I continued and his body gave a slight forward jerk, as though he meant to wrap his hands around my throat, but he recalled soon enough that I was offering this information freely.

  ‘Details, please,’ he commanded.

  ‘I went into the ladies’ lavatory this morning,’ I began, ‘and found a thickset woman staring at me. It was Mr Holmes in disguise… how interesting, Professor. You seem greatly surprised. I had thought you installed such a blind man as my assistant to obscure my view of other, more observant men you positioned behind him. Have they not noticed Holmes entering the hospital grounds twice in the past week?’

  Inside his trouser pockets, Moriarty’s hands compressed into fists. Holmes had told me about two men keeping me under surveillance. One of them had even entered the lady’s disguised as a charwoman. This had surprised me greatly, for I had not noticed a trace of either.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I continued. ‘Whomever you entertain with keeping an eye on me, the only one I noticed was Goff. But Mr Goff’s dullness leads me to suspect you have someone else.’

  ‘You have met Mr Holmes three times now?’ His voice was restrained and despite an initial reflex to calm him quickly, I waited and watched the various shades of rage flitting across his face.

  ‘No, I only met him today. He told me he had been watching me and had visited the medical school twice before. He meant to install a hiding place for messages somewhere under the tiles of the ladies’.’

  Slowly, his face regained its normal colouring. ‘Interesting development,’ he rasped. I rubbed the goosebumps off my arms and saw him catching the gesture.

  ‘I have seen this reaction on several occasions,’ he commented. ‘Why do you do this?’

  ‘Sometimes, your voice gets under my skin,’ I answered, avoiding his eyes, intending to appear a bit more vulnerable just to shake it off with anger a moment later. ‘What does it matter?’

  He narrowed his eyes and slowly turned away. I caught the fast pulse tapping away in his throat.
What a twisted endeavour — to remain sharp and provocative while revealing more and more of my softer side, as though presenting him with an exclusive gift. Walking the knife’s edge left a feeling of exhilaration in every fibre. But I had to be careful not to sever myself.

  He strode to the cupboard where the brandy was kept, poured two glasses and carried them to the coffee table. The liquid did not quiver in the glasses. He was calm. I could not decide whether his being so was good or dangerous.

  ‘Sit,’ he said, extracting two cigarettes from the silver case. His gaze was scrutinising, but also seemed new, as though we were nearing eye level for the first time. This, I could not place either. Did he believe me to be as cunning as himself, or did he actually believe my charade?

  ‘I do not find this easy, so please bear with me while I try to explain myself,’ I said before filtering air through the cigarette, pulling it into my lungs and letting it take the edge off me. ‘You are on the one side. You who abducted my father and threatens his life. Then here am I, who would have willingly worked for you without the blackmailing and imprisoning. Naturally, I hate you quite ferociously.’

  He smiled and inclined his head.

  ‘Then there is Holmes, who rejected the love I offered him. For that, I condemn him. But surely not enough to sell his life to you. I don’t think I could ever hate a man so much as to sell his life to another. With one exception, of course: you.’

  I held his gaze. He appeared rigid. ‘Pray, proceed,’ he demanded.

  ‘I can see only one solution: I must sell Holmes’s life to save my father’s.’

  With a disdainful snort he replied, ‘You have nothing to offer, my dear. I can have Holmes’s life whenever I decide to take it.’

  ‘I see. The first four attempts were merely exercises; the fifth time will be a true effort?’

  Unfortunately, Holmes hadn’t had the patience nor time to give me details of the attempted assassinations.

  Moriarty’s hands contracted; he looked as though he wanted to leap from his armchair. Then he settled back again, feigning indifference. The whole change of appearance had taken less than a second.

  ‘Simply explain how you plan to wrap me around your finger, if you please.’

  ‘The foreign secretary Mr Richard Seymour-Townsend, his wife, and their two children should take a long vacation soon. Preferably in America where her parents live. I assume his mistresses won’t need to go into hiding when Holmes reveals the exchange of considerable amounts of money and sensitive information between Mr Seymour-Townsend and you.’

  Moriarty’s eyes stared into the empty space between us as he reached for his brandy.

  ‘It appears, Mr Holmes enjoys solving crimes with me. He cannot imagine that a woman’s pride might be hurt by first rejecting her advances only to ask her for help a year later. My offer to you is as follows: I share every bit of information Holmes shares with me. That allows you to save your men. Or at least the ones you choose to save. But before I begin playing this game, you let my father go and abstain from controlling my every move. Christmas is in four days and I wish to spend it with him before he travels back to Germany.’

  He turned his glass in his hand, observing the movement of the brandy within. ‘I cannot trust you,’ he finally said.

  I shot up from my chair and took three quick strides towards him. ‘I am serving you Holmes on a silver platter and I have stayed in your house by my own will for almost two months now!’

  He threw his head back and barked a laugh. Drops of spilled brandy soaked into his trousers. ‘My apologies, but that is preposterous!’

  ‘You believe I cannot escape from here?’

  ‘I don’t believe. I know.’

  ‘All I’ll need is half an hour,’ I replied. ‘Will you let my father return home if I can pass your dogs unscathed?

  ‘Accepted.’

  I dashed past him and up the stairs to my room, pulled the bell rope and waited for the maid. She arrived two minutes later.

  ‘Cecile, I need to wash. Make haste and don’t bother to warm the water. The essential part is that I need your soap. Please hurry.’

  She curtsied and left. I kicked off my boots, pulled off the stockings, unbuttoned my dress and was stark naked when she returned. She froze at my approach and jumped as I snatched the water jug and soap from her hands.

  Quickly, I scrubbed my body, washed my hair, and dressed in the male clothing Moriarty had arranged for me, but which I had never worn before. Then I ran back down into the study.

  ‘Well?’ He said, slightly amused.

  ‘Eight minutes left, ‘ I noted with a glance to the clock on the mantelpiece. ‘Will you accompany me to the door or do you prefer to watch from the window?’

  He smiled and walked me through the entrance hall.

  ‘Do you want me to go up to the gate and climb over it, or is it enough to survive your dogs?’

  ‘Try to reach the gate.’

  ‘Very well.’ I took two steps forward. ‘My apologies’ I said, running both my hands through his hair before he could take a step back. Not waiting for his surprise to subside and his rage to regain control, I strode through the front door.

  With a racing heart, I stepped outside into the ice cold wind and ran about twenty yards away from the house. Then I turned. Moriarty stood in the doorway, a revolver in his hand. He probably kept one in his study, having got it so swiftly. The question was whether he would use it to shoot the dogs and save his bacteriologist, or to shoot me and save his face.

  The dogs must have heard me and came running. I gasped, suddenly doubting my sanity, but forced myself to stay put, breathe slowly and uncurl my fists. Feeling the wind gushing around the house, hitting me from behind, I noticed the animals’ confusion. They could probably smell a trace of what they were trained to kill, and intermingled with this scent was that of their master, which I wore on my palms. They came to a halt a yard away from me. Only the largest of them dared to get closer. It showed me its teeth. With its tail down, ears folded, hackles raised, and throat growling, the dog showed its anger and insecurity.

  I took a step forward and growled back. Moriarty made no noise and I wondered whether he was shocked by the flaw in his security. The animal sensed my slight distraction and jumped forward. I shouted at the top of my lungs and aimed a kick at its chest. With a yelp and tail hugging its belly, the dog retreated.

  With all my instincts revolting, I turned my gaze and body away from the pack and waited. Moriarty stood on top of the marble stairs. The electric light behind him made it impossible for me to see his expression, but the tension in his shoulders was obvious. Then, one wet muzzle pressed against my knuckles, and a little later, the other three. I ran my hand along the sides of their heads and talked softly, turned away to stroll to the gate and back again, all the while trying not to agitate the animals with hasty movements.

  When I passed Moriarty, I knew I had won.

  — day 62 —

  The morning came on tiptoe. Clouds, fog, drizzle, and wet ground melted into one, drifting from the dark grey of the night into a lighter grey of the day. My heart ached — soon, my father would be free. Or so I hoped.

  Just before lunch time, the brougham stopped at the stairs to the house. My father stepped out, slightly hunched, eyes squinting, hands gripping the door of the carriage as though his legs could barely support him. His hair was greyer now and his once broad shoulders appeared bony. The old carpenter had aged and was but a shadow of himself. It broke my heart.

  Rushing towards him, I feared he would be sick beyond cure, concerned he would hate me for what I was doing, and afraid that my plan for getting him safely back to Germany would fail.

  He smiled at me, and I could see that it took him some effort. He saw right through me. He always had.

  Moriarty received us in the hall, his arms folded across his chest, upper lip curled slightly. This was probably a tad too much drama for him.

  ‘I want to talk to my daughter,�
�� shot out of my father’s mouth right into Moriarty’s face. I was about to translate when he answered in broken German, ‘Certainly. After lunch.’

  I was shocked. Moriarty was giving away a secret he could have used against me, and he did so lightly.

  Lunch was served and my father ate as though he hadn’t eaten for days. I felt the urge to shield him from Moriarty, who observed the two of us like a cat watching the birds. None of us spoke. But what could be said between the abductor and his victims? No apologies or explanations could change what either of us was feeling.

  As soon as we were finished, I took my father up to my room so that he might rest a little. He lay down on my bed, huffed, and closed his eyes while I placed my hand on his sallow cheeks.

  ‘Thank God,’ I whispered.

  He snorted in reply. I had never thanked God before.

  ‘Do you know where they kept you?’ I asked.

  He shook his head and coughed. ‘One night, a man came into my house, ordering me to drink what he held in his hand, saying you and I would both be shot if I did not obey his order.’

  ‘What did he look like?’

  ‘Blond, cold blue eyes, hard face. Soldier-like and a murderer, I am certain. The distance and lack of anything warm or emotional, the calculation in his eyes, the flickering behind them. As though he floated above mankind. His accent… I think he came from Berlin.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘I drank, lost consciousness, and woke up in a cellar.’

  ‘I am so sorry, I never…’ My throat closed and I leaned my face into the crook of his neck. The aroma of fresh wood shavings was missing.