“I simply took some good advice; I skimmed my mother’s novel days ago. When you proposed this expedition through Chelsea, I deduced that you knew the site of a local Celtic cross.”
“Why did you not tell me? Why did you not ask last night?”
He shrugged rather sheepishly. “I wanted you to have the fun of finding it.”
“Fun?!” I squealed in my own wracked voice, remembering the dark and the damp and digging.
Irene drew back. “But... I could have concealed the fact that I had it. Even Nell did not know. I could have fled London, as you are about to advise me, and have kept the Zone to myself. You would not have even so much as seen it.”
Godfrey smiled. “One does not miss losing what one has never had. That is why the King of Bohemia is so tenacious. He knows that he can never reclaim you; the photograph is more than a threat to him, it is the sole momento of what he has lost.”
Godfrey lifted the Zone like a tangle of dew in his hands and held it out to Irene. “This is a sorry memento of my father’s wrong-headed pursuit of pleasure instead of honor. Now that I have seen it, I do not need it. Nor, I think, do you, now that you have found it.”
Irene stared bemused at the diamonds girdling her hands. “I cannot believe that the dazzle of so fabulous an artifact can fade so quickly. I had wanted you to discover the Zone for yourself because I wanted to give you something that you felt entitled to. Now I find I have failed at that, that the Zone was never as important to you as it was to me. I have not given you something that you wanted at all.”
“Perhaps you can give me something other that I want even more,” Godfrey said.
Irene looked up from the Zone of Diamonds, puzzled.
‘I think, my dear Irene,” he said, “that first you should spare your voice.”
For once in our association, I saw it before she did.
I clasped my hands at my breast, bit my tongue, paused, and fled the room.
Neither of them appeared to observe, but I glimpsed the Zone of Diamonds clattering unnoticed to the thick Turkish carpet and Godfrey stepping to Irene as I drew the doors shut
I found and instructed Mrs. Seaton on no account to go into the sitting room and retired to my bedchamber, where I applied a cool cloth to my temples, in the accepted treatment for incipient hysteria.
Chapter Thirty-three
SMOKE SCREENS
I crept down to breakfast the following morning with a raging headache. It was only to intensify. My appetite was strangely delicate so I took only a cup of tea and wandered into the music room, where I found Irene staring fondly at the piano she had once refused to touch.
She looked up as I entered, a strange expression in her eyes.
“Poor Nell,” she said in greeting.
“To what indignity am I to be subjected next? Must I take a teaspoon and go tunneling through the Chelsea Physic Garden by moonlight?”
Irene smiled wanly and ran her palms over the shawl draping the grand piano. “I shall regret leaving this pretty instrument.”
I kept silent, knowing Irene would soon explain her odd comment, as indeed she did. First she shook herself, as though shaking off happy emotions that nevertheless saddened her.
“I am afraid, my dear friend, that another hasty flight is in order, this time to the Continent instead of from it. With the King here in London and Sherlock Holmes on my trail—and the Zone of Diamonds as well as the photograph now jeopardized—Godfrey and I have decided that there is nothing else for it.”
“‘Godfrey and I?’”
She paced the room slowly, with none of the fevered fury she’d shown in Bohemia.
“As you may imagine, dear Nell, Godfrey and I have reached an... understanding.” She stopped to stare out the window as if her thoughts were drawn elsewhere, a hand to her bemused face. She turned to me with sad concern. “We must be ready to leave London at a moment’s notice.”
“You and Godfrey,” I clarified.
“Yes.” Irene stepped toward me, then paused. “Oh, I am being ridiculous! After all you and I have shared, I should not be so tongue-tied.” She sat abruptly at the piano, taking courage from the smooth ivory keys beneath her absently caressing fingers.
“Nell... I have come to share your good opinion of Godfrey Norton. Indeed, I have exceeded it rather... excessively. Despite my initial distrust of him, of all men since the King of Bohemia, and despite my railings against the restrictions that matrimony imposes on women—I have completely lost my head and am about to enter that state myself. Godfrey and I have decided to marry as soon as possible so that we can escape at a moment’s notice with no social awkwardness troubling us.”
“Ah. A marriage of convenience, like the King of Bohemia’s,” I put in with some acerbity.
Irene blushed for the first and only time in our association. As blushes went it was a royal one, a becoming rosy tide that swept her cheeks and forehead.
“No, Nell, I fear there is nothing convenient about it. Godfrey’s devotion to me since our return has been obvious; what has not been obvious—even to myself—was how deeply I returned his regard. He is worth six kings of Bohemia!” Her eyes shone. “I cannot now even regret that miserable episode, for it has shown me by contrast how a man of true worth may behave.”
“Godfrey is uniquely sympathetic to a woman’s position,” I murmured. “I have always found him most considerate. I do not see why you are so apologetic, Irene; after all, I have thought highly of him even longer than you have.”
“Perhaps that is why I am chagrined. I—the worldly and self-sufficient actress snared by the most predictable of emotions. Then, I cannot ask you to share my danger again, Nell, yet am desolate to leave you behind. We shall... worry about you.”
“I can typewrite,” I said a trifle sharply. “You must not fear for me. I enjoy a certain entree at the Temple, you know, thanks to you and Godfrey.”
“Of course you shall survive without me—us. But shall we survive without you? It is a great change in my life I contemplate. In a way it frightens me.”
“You? Frightened? Come, Irene, you have faced vast anonymous audiences and armed bullies and an imperious king. Marriage and Godfrey cannot be so frightening.” A squawk from the dining room punctuated my assertion. “No, what is truly dreadful is the prospect of my being left alone to the tender vocal mercies of Casanova.”
“You—and Casanova, of course—could join us abroad once we are settled,” Irene suggested with a trial glance from under her brows.
I considered it. “Yes, I suppose we could. For a holiday, at least After all, you and Godfrey will be respectably married—”
Irene’s rich arpeggio of laughter interrupted me. “I cannot guarantee respectability even if married. Be warned! Godfrey and I intend to be very scandalous spouses, I assure you. Our first business abroad will be to sell the Zone of Diamonds.”
“Sell it! But you have hardly had it in your possession.”
“We will need a source of funds, although I can give the occasional concert as I do here. As for Godfrey ...” A frown edged into her features, vanishing as the knocker rapped briskly.
The maid had opened the door and Godfrey was rushing in, hat and gloves already in hand. He threw them down upon the hall console, nodded a greeting to me and took Irene’s hands to draw her into the sitting room. I followed with a cat’s shameless but soft-footed curiosity.
“It is as we suspected,” Godfrey announced, pacing the carpet. “I have made inquiries in Baker Street of the usual loungers: a handsome brougham and pair was observed drawing up to 221-B last night even as we left the Wilde residence. The man who stepped out was described as ‘a bloomin’ giant’ with knee-high boots, enough ‘furrin fur on his coat to ’ide a ’orse’ and wearing ‘a sweet little ’alf-mask, like a ’ouse-breaker.’”
“The King, and no doubt! Then there is virtually no time!” Irene exclaimed.
“I have made arrangements at the Church of St. Monica. We must wed by no
on if it is to be legal.”
“Noon? By noon?” Irene looked as she seldom did, dazed and indecisive.
“It is the law.” Godfrey’s frantic pacing stopped. “I thought we had settled matters last night.”
“Yes, but—such a sudden series of changes: finding the Zone, the King, Sherlock Holmes, marriage ...”
“Irene. You are not a woman of hesitation.”
“Not ordinarily, but Godfrey, I can sing anywhere. What of the law? You cannot practice in Europe—”
He scissored his arms in front of him like a conductor commanding silence. “The law is everywhere, as are the English. I will find some occupation.”
“But to give up all you have attained at such personal cost here in London—the Bar, the Temple, everything!”
“You mean that I shall be giving up my respectability.”
“I suppose that I do.”
“Then away with it! I have earned my entree to the bar. Now I can master some other challenge. Did you not abandon all you had in Bohemia—opera, illusions, even your clothing? Can I do less?”
“This is my battle.”
“Exactly. What you battle, I do as well. And it is mutual. Do you suppose I am ready to let you slip away to Europe with the sole proceeds of the Zone of Diamonds? I have a certain familial claim.”
He did not mean it, of course, but his argument of self-interest helped soothe Irene’s contrary conscience. She glanced quickly at me. “I’ve told Nell what must happen in the next day or two.”
Godfrey drew his gold pocket watch. “We have scant time. I will meet you at the Church of St. Monica’s in twenty minutes. First I have an errand in Regent Street.”
“Godfrey—twenty minutes! You will need wings.”
“I already have them, my angel!” He caught Irene in a hasty embrace, then dashed into the hall. We heard the front door bang shut, then Godfrey’s muffled instructions to his waiting cabman. “Drive like the Devil! First to Gross and Hankey’s in Regent Street, then St. Monica’s in the Edgware Road. Half a guinea if you can make it in twenty minutes!”
The cab’s wheels rumbled as its horse’s hooves beat out an increasingly swift pace. Inside the house, Irene and I stared at one another, then rushed for the stairs as one.
“It is like Paris again,” she said, laughing, when we had reached her bedchamber. “The event of a lifetime and not a thing to wear!”
“Well, you are certainly not dressed as grandly as in your portrait as Cinderella,” I admitted, though she wore a charming house dress of striped wool chamois trimmed on bodice, sleeves and skirt with stripes and bows of bright green velvet ribbon. “No diamond corsage,” I added slyly.
Irene began bundling up her draped overskirt complete with demi-pannier while I wondered what she had tucked away in her amazing petticoat pockets now.
“Quickly, Nell, help me.”
I played lady’s maid and lifted her outer skirts as she swiftly buckled the Zone of Diamonds around her waist. It sparkled and clicked like silver rain against the flounces of her taffeta petticoats.
“No one will see it,” I complained as I settled her dress over the petticoats again.
“I will know it. A bride should wear something old and this certainly qualifies. Now for the proper bonnet.”
While she puzzled over her headgear I slipped into my room and found my father’s Book of Common Prayer, into which I thrust a blue velvet ribbon as a marker.
I returned to Irene’s room to find her donning a green velvet toque surmounted by a poll of iridescent black cockfeathers. She looked splendid.
I placed the prayer book in her hand and picked up her reticule. “Something borrowed and something blue. Now you must hasten.”
At the front door she paused. “Penelope, your bonnet!”
“I am not going, though I would wish to. I can better serve by packing your things here. You shall not leave all behind you again if I can help it. Now—go!”
She embraced me, then ran through the door, pulling on her gloves, her husky voice calling to the coachman, who had brought the landau around. “The Church of St. Monica, John, and half a sovereign if you make it in twenty minutes!”
I smiled to myself and then ran to consult the mantel clock. Twenty-five minutes to twelve. The horse would require wings, too. I breathed a quick prayer and retreated upstairs to begin sorting Irene’s things into packable piles.
An hour had passed before I had separated the shirtwaists from the corsets. I heard the faint clop of returning horse’s hooves and flew down to the door, arriving with our maid. Irene was coming up the walk alone.
“Godfrey?” I said.
“The Temple.” Irene paused by the hall mirror to remove her hat and gloves.
“Let me see it!” My eye had caught a new glitter on her left hand.
We slipped into the sitting room, where she fanned her fingers for my inspection. The ring was a lengthways lozenge of pierced gold that covered one knuckle, containing a center-set emerald flanked by two opals.
“It is... most striking,” said I.
“Most modern, you mean. Godfrey did well in five minutes’ choosing. He said we will save diamonds for Paris.”
“Speaking of which, does he know the nature of your girdle?”
“Penelope,” she rebuked, “a woman must have some secrets from her husband.”
“If he is that, why is he not here?”
“He will return, at his usual hour. For now we are discreet—and we were almost not married.”
“Not! What happened?”
Irene loosened the Zone and let it slither down her petticoats to the floor. She retrieved and coiled it into the secret compartment like a diamond serpent. Then she perched on the chaise and patted the cushion beside her.
“It was the most amazing comedy of errors, Nell. Poor Godfrey was white with worry. I need never wonder if he truly wished to wed me; the man moved heaven and earth to accomplish it. The ‘heaven’ was our clergyman, who demanded a witness since our license was so fresh and no banns had been announced. Not a witness was to be found. People usually devote their noon hour to food for the flesh instead of the soul.”
“Indeed, so my father often lamented.”
“It was five minutes to twelve before Godfrey spotted some threadbare lounger in a side aisle, who represents the ‘earth’ in our equation. He pounced upon this unlettered unfortunate like Little Jack Homer on a plum pudding.
“‘Come, man!’ he whispered loudly enough to wake the dead. ‘Only three minutes. You’ll do.’
“ ‘Do what? asked the honored worshiper, looking as if he has been invited to witness a hanging instead of a holy matrimony.
“Godfrey dragged the fellow before the clergyman, hands him the ring and tells him to do as he’s told. Such blinking and stuttering, but the man performed adequately, with the result that Godfrey and I were maritally linked just as the church bell began to bellow twelve o’clock.”
“I cannot believe it, Irene. Can you not even marry in a conventional fashion? And now you come home husband-less.”
“Godfrey had matters to attend to at the Temple, and no Nell there to help him decamp.”
I put my hands to my cheeks. “Goodness, he will make an utter mess of the papers if he tries to deal with them himself.”
“He is assigning the lot to a fellow barrister. Let the new man deal with it.”
“And what do you do now?”
“Rest. Pack. Drive out at five and dine at seven as is my custom. If I am being hunted it is best to cleave to my usual routine so as not to alert the hounds that the fox is digging an escape tunnel.”
“You are a marvel, Irene. Your life is turning upside down, yet you remain cucumber-cool.”
“What am I to do?” She spread her hands helplessly, the new ring winking. “The next move is up to our opponents.”
So the excitement of the forenoon became the routine of a quiet afternoon at home. John brought the landau around at five p.m. w
hen Irene, more finely dressed by then than she had been for her impromptu wedding, went out for her drive in Regent’s Park. I suspected that Godfrey would take a cab to meet her there, as he no doubt had been doing for some time. It was my affair even less now than before.
At seven I was established in the middle of Irene’s bedchamber floor, arranging gloves, trimmings and handkerchiefs into piles by color. I was nothing if not thorough.
I heard our front door bang and a bustle below and rounded the stair to see our door agape. John and a stranger were carting an unconscious man into the front hall. A murmur of voices from the street beyond gave a sense of confusion and hubbub.
“Here,” Irene was directing the men with their burden, “the sitting room.” She spied me on the stair. “Oh, Nell, this poor kind-hearted clergyman has been grievously struck down, and in my defense.”
I clattered downstairs in time to see the man laid upon the chaise longue. He looked so much like my own late father that I quite froze in the threshold ... a dear frail old fellow with snowy hair, baggy black coat—and a horrid red gash upon his venerable forehead.
“Irene, what has happened?”
She was busy laying the clergyman’s broad-brimmed hat upon the table and loosening the white tie at his throat.
“Serpentine Avenue has attracted a convention tonight. Not only guardsman courting nursemaids and young idlers but a pair of rude characters who thought to earn a copper by opening my carriage door; instead they fought each other for the privilege and little else.
“They had trapped me between the landau and their own windmilling arms, despite John’s best efforts to reach me. Had this passing clergyman not undertaken to defend me, I should have been pinned like a butterfly to velvet. One of the ruffians struck the old fellow senseless—hence he is here. Ah, thank you,” she said as Mrs. Seaton imported a wet cloth from below-stairs.
I watched Irene daub the wound. The fallen man groaned as his eyes fluttered open behind the thick spectacles that perched askew on his aquiline nose. He struggled half upright, then fanned one hand weakly before his face.
Good Night, Mr. Holmes (A Novel of Suspense featuring Irene Adler and Sherlock Holmes) Page 33