Читать книгу The Devil’s Due - Bonnie Macbird - Страница 16

I settled in again by the fire and cracked open a nautical adventure book I had left behind. Holmes, pacing, checked his watch. ‘Do not get too comfortable, Watson. We must go out again shortly. Crime does not halt for inclement weather. The Goodwin brothers have not been forthcoming with the list they promised. Perhaps it is time to pay them a visit.’

‘It has been less than two hours, Holmes,’ I said. ‘Give them a chance.’

‘It is ridiculous that they did not have the names in their heads.’

‘They are very social. Perhaps between parties and Parliament there are many names to remember.’

‘Yes, yes, Watson,’ said Holmes impatiently.

I nodded and added a shot of brandy to my tea. Holmes waved away the offer of the same and took out his notebook in which the Goodwins had scribbled the names of the few Luminarians they could remember.

‘Oliver Flynn is the odd name on this list. He is the only artistic member. All the rest are industrialists or businessmen. He does not seem to fit. I wonder if something is hidden in the man’s past.’

‘What a talent he is!’ I smiled at the thought of Flynn’s play Mary and I had attended at the Haymarket only last week. It was a trifle, to be sure, but a delicious evening of entertainment. His latest was what critics referred to as a “comedy of manners”, and we had thoroughly enjoyed his skewering of the aristocratic class, although done with a modicum of sympathy. ‘Of course, he is certainly a character,’ I said, ‘Was there not some scandal brewing? Something about his unusual … romantic life.’

Holmes looked up from perusing the articles on the table. ‘Raise your view, Watson,’ he snapped.

I turned back to my book, irritated.

‘Sorry, dear fellow. I should not let slander-by-Zander get under my skin. Flynn engenders more gossip than I do! He hails from Dublin originally, was an orphan who pulled himself up by his own bootstraps. This fact is little known – indeed, he hides it – but he has almost single-handedly funded the orphanage in which he spent his early years.’

‘Fascinating, Holmes. His public persona is so different from that.’

‘Few of us reveal our true selves in public,’ said Holmes, cryptically.

Mrs Hudson appeared with what at less pressured times was the kind of announcement dearest to our hearts. ‘Mr Holmes, a client is here to consult you. A Lady Eleanor Gainsborough.’ Her expression conveyed that the visitor had impressed her, and that Holmes had better respond, and quickly.

‘I am quite busy,’ said he.

‘She was most insistent,’ said Mrs Hudson.

‘Holmes, have you time for this?’ I wondered. ‘You seem to have a rather full plate.’

‘I shall determine that, Watson,’ said he, peeved. ‘Send her up, Mrs Hudson. When it rains, it pours.’

And although indeed it was pouring outside at that moment, in walked a lady as if blown into the room by a summer breeze, so untouched was she by the weather.

She stood just inside the doorway, a graceful woman of about forty-five. Her wealth and breeding were evident by her poised manner and costly raiment. But she also gave the impression, so common among the very rich, that she was wearing some kind of cloak of ethereal matter, protecting her from rain, dirt, and all the minor inconveniences.

She smiled graciously at the two of us. ‘Mr Sherlock Holmes? And the friend – Doctor, er …?’

‘Watson, madam, at your service.’

She smiled faintly and turned to Holmes. ‘I am so pleased to find you here, and willing to receive me, Mr Holmes.’

She held out her hand, palm down, and Holmes crossed to her, kissing it in the manner of a true gallant. ‘Lady Gainsborough! Welcome.’

‘Lady Eleanor, please, Mr Holmes.’

‘As you wish,’ he said.

I nodded deferentially as Holmes guided her to the basket chair which was angled closest to the fire. She placed her reticule on the table, took in the room with its slightly sinister and decidedly chaotic clutter, and then sat, arranging her burgundy velvet skirts around her.

As she did so, I took in the full measure of a born aristocrat, or so I gathered from her gracefully erect posture, her porcelain skin with only the slightest natural blush, her bounteous yet impeccably arranged coiffure of dark brown curls, and the subtle touches of discreet antique jewellery.

Her dress was of the finest quality, with a deep chevron of black lace panels down the front which narrowed into a waist whose tiny size belied her years. She smiled, and it melted any trace of the late autumn chill that lingered in the air and subtracted ten years from my estimation of her age.

‘Mr Holmes, I am sure you can help me. I have read so much of you and your remarkable achievements, both by Doctor Watson here, as well as in the newspapers.’

Holmes shot me a sudden glance, indicating the table where the damning tabloid articles were still arrayed. I had forgotten about them. I got up to stack them discreetly before our visitor could catch a glimpse, although I could not imagine a lady of her class taking interest in The Illustrated Police Gazette.

‘This is, of course, despite recent slander,’ she continued, dashing this thought to pieces and eyeing me with amusement. ‘My maid brings the Gazette into the house from time to time, Doctor. They are hard to resist.’ I finished stacking and sat back down.

She leaned forward as if to impart a secret. ‘Likening you to the Devil, indeed! For shame! In my view, you are an angel of justice. Your capturing the Covent Garden Garrotter last summer – what a triumph, Mr Holmes! I have followed your adventures for some time. My late husband was an admirer as well.’

Holmes, more susceptible to flattery than he would care to admit, softened slightly, but turned the conversation to business. ‘Madam, I can see that you are troubled. How may we be of service to you? It must be a matter of great importance for you to have travelled though this weather, rather than for you to summon us to your school. I read that you have visited this worthy institution before coming here.’

She started at this. ‘You read me … like a book?’

‘It is a figure of speech, madam. Watson, Lady Eleanor is the co-founder and funder of the remarkable Gainsborough School for Young Ladies, a private, charitable enterprise which rescues destitute young women from a life on the streets.’

‘Well, my goodness, yes. You are remarkably well-informed. Of course, my girls are not only poor, but have been plucked from very specific life on the streets,’ said the lady. ‘One in which the sad young things have found nothing to sell but themselves.’

‘I see,’ I said.

‘I am surprised you know of us,’ said the lady to Holmes.

‘Your school is quite renowned, Lady Eleanor.’ He turned to me. ‘This laudable institution provides education and training which transforms these waifs into employable young ladies – suitable for work in service, is that not correct?’ He turned back to Lady Eleanor.

‘Indeed, it is, Mr Holmes,’ said the lady, pleased at the recognition. ‘But we are hidden away in an unfashionable part of town and have had little notice by the larger community. How do you know this?’

‘I make it my business to follow everything of importance in London, Lady Eleanor.’

‘You must not sleep, then. But returning to my question, how could you have read that I had just now been to visit the school?’ she asked. ‘The papers do sometimes follow me – as they do you – but not by the minute.’

‘It was written on your gloves.’

‘My gloves?’ She held an exquisite pair of pale lavender leather gloves in her left hand.

‘The ink stain on your glove, there,’ said Holmes.

Barely discernible was a small stain on one of the index fingers.

‘You are far too meticulous in your habillement to have left the house with a stained glove, therefore you did some writing elsewhere,’ said Holmes. ‘Normally, one removes gloves to write, but you left yours on, presumably because you were in an environment where you did not wish to sully your hands. I cannot imagine you engaging the type of barrister or accountant where you would feel the need, but paperwork at the school might have required your attention, and in that undoubtedly less pristine atmosphere you chose to leave them on.’

‘I could have done so while shopping. Written a cheque, perchance,’ said the lady, who seemed amused rather than offended by Holmes’s showy display.

‘I warrant you do not do your own shopping, save for very particular establishments, a dressmaker perhaps. And there not only would you have an account, but you would have removed your gloves.’

She laughed. It was a beautiful, silvery sound. ‘Well, you are entirely correct, Mr Holmes, and I am even more convinced that it is the right thing to consult you!’

Holmes smiled at the lady.

‘It is fascinating,’ she continued, ‘that Mr Zanders of the Gazette seems to attribute your powers, which he declares are waning, to nefarious means. I personally think your past results tell quite a different story. Is it jealousy, perhaps, or does the man hold something against you?’

Holmes’s smile faded.

‘That is an astute observation indeed, madam. I once took this journalist to task for a gross indiscretion. But please, let us turn to the reason for your visit. How can we help you?’

‘An incident occurred at my school and I require your advice, as well as your assistance.’

‘Please lay your problem before us.’

‘There has been an attack on one of my star pupils, a young woman named Judith. She was rescued from the streets three years ago and in that short time has proven herself highly intelligent, having quickly acquired remarkable fluency in reading, figures, and household organization. I did not know it at the time, but she speaks French, as her mother was French. Although it is French of the streets, she has sought to remedy that, and her colloquial English, with success.’

‘Good. This attack, Lady Eleanor? What happened?’

‘Judith was attacked in her bed last night as she slept.’

‘Attacked!’ I cried.

Holmes frowned. ‘Details, if you please?’

‘Judith, as one of our senior and most accomplished students, has earned a room to herself. It was about two in the morning … early this morning … when an intruder entered this room, pulled back the covers, grasped her hand, and attempted to sever one of her fingers with a knife.’

‘My God!’ I exclaimed.

‘Which finger?’ asked Holmes.

‘Er … I am not sure. The middle? The ring?’

‘It matters. And madam, you are sure? Which hand and which finger?’

‘The left, I think. Ring finger. But those are not the salient points.’

‘I will determine that. What else?’

‘The assailant was masked, hooded. She did not see the man.’

‘Is she sure it was a man?’

‘Yes. She struck him and he cried out.’

‘I see. You said “attempted”. I trust he was not successful?’ asked Holmes, leaning forward in his chair with that keen expression of a hound on a scent.

‘She screamed. Her attacker fled, dropping the knife as he ran.’

‘The wound. Deep? Superficial?’

‘Just a shallow cut. Almost a scratch. But very upsetting.’

‘May I see the knife?’ Holmes held out his hand.

She started again. ‘How did you know I brought it to you?’

‘Lady Eleanor, please. No games. I can see the outline of it in your silk reticule. You are clearly not used to subterfuge, nor violence. Is it bloody, have you wrapped it? If so, you will have removed evidence.’

She paused, and her eyes filled with tears. ‘Oh, Mr Holmes,’ said she. ‘This is a most trying experience.’ She then withdrew the knife, holding it with distaste with only one finger and her thumb. It was wrapped in a cloth napkin.

‘Ah,’ said Holmes, examining it. ‘It has been wiped clean. That is unfortunate.’

It was an ordinary kitchen knife. Not distinguishable in any way except for small bloodstains on the blade. Holmes held it to a light on the table next to him, picked up a lens and examined the plain, flat handle and then the blade. He ran his finger along the edge.

‘Dull. No fingerprints are left. This tells us nothing,’ said Holmes. ‘Might it have come from the kitchen at the school?’

‘I do not know,’ said the lady. ‘I am not familiar with their utensils.’

Holmes continued to examine the knife, then he tossed it on a side table.

‘I presume you want me to trace this assailant?’

‘What I would like, Mr Holmes, is protection for dear Judith. She is my prize pupil. This has upset her greatly, and this catastrophe will delay my placing her until her wound heals. Most of my girls can only aspire to be parlour-maids or maids of all work. But Judith will be my first to graduate to a position of governess.’

‘Impressive,’ I said, imagining this tale of rags to respectability.

‘I thought it was merely a scratch,’ said Holmes. ‘Her wound?’

‘Perhaps I have not described it correctly. It is a small cut. But it is bandaged against infection.’

‘Good,’ said I, thinking that few people took such things seriously enough. Holmes shifted in impatience.

The lady continued. ‘I would very much like you to come to the school and to lie in wait for this assailant, Mr Holmes. I feel certain he will try again.’

‘Dr Watson perhaps could assist. Is there an empty room nearby where he could wait?’

I was surprised at this but said nothing.

‘No, it must be in her room. And you, sir. Alone. There is not enough space for you both in the room with Judith.’

‘Why do you not remove the girl to a place of safety?’ Holmes asked. ‘Perhaps lodge her in your own home until this villain is apprehended?’

‘Oh, no! I – I could not do that. My staff would be – oh no! But the assailant would not likely return, then, would he? I ask you again, sir. Please come and wait in her room with her.’

I had a sudden thought of our escapade back in ’83, protecting the gentle Helen Stoner, a young woman who nearly met the same gruesome end as her sister Julia – death in her own bed by the improbable means of a trained snake, engineered by her evil stepfather. We had awaited this terrifying event by secreting ourselves, with difficulty, in the lady’s bedroom. However, the young person herself had not been present. What Lady Eleanor was proposing was quite unacceptable.

‘I am sorry, Lady Eleanor. I am otherwise occupied,’ said Holmes. ‘But I have in mind the perfect solution.’

‘But, sir—’

‘No,’ said Holmes, firmly.

Lady Eleanor was taken aback. As pleasant and reasonable as she seemed, she was also clearly not used to hearing the word ‘no’.

‘Here is my solution, madam. I will send over one of my deputies. A young woman who will fit right into your school, a minnow in a school of minnows.’

‘A deputy?’

‘I have employed her before, and more than once. Her name is Hephzibah O’Malley.’

‘That is an … unusual name,’ said the lady.

Holmes noted this and glanced at me. ‘Heffie, as she is known, is an East End orphan, half Jewish and half Irish, and you can well imagine she has felt the brunt of prejudice. She has learned to defend herself masterfully. She is an accomplished street-fighter. But that is the smallest of her skills. Heffie is intelligent, subtle, and observant – an easily underestimated young person.’

Lady Eleanor looked doubtful, but Holmes pressed on.

‘The assailant, judging from his lack of success and his willingness to be frightened off so readily, is not a professional. Heffie will be able to handle him, should he return.’

I wondered that I had not heard of her before.

‘How old is this Heffie?’ asked the lady.

‘Sixteen.’

‘You would send a child to defend my Judith?’

Holmes sighed. ‘Heffie is no ordinary young lady. Her late father was a boxer and wrestler and I have seen her hold her own against several men. Heffie will also fit in perfectly as one of your rescues. There could be no one better suited to watch over Judith. Your assailant, if he is connected with the school, will not even realize that Judith has acquired a bodyguard. Even Scotland Yard has made use of her services. Do you see? Heffie is precisely what you need.’

‘I need you, Mr Holmes.’

‘Madam, I am not free at present. And consider this. I would stand out in that environment like a giraffe in a pen of kittens.’

‘I beg you to refrain from referring to my girls as minnows or kittens,’ said the lady with dignity. I will admit that I, too, was taken slightly aback by Holmes’s colourful analogies. ‘But if it is not to be, it is not to be.’ She rose, her disappointment obvious.

She glanced once more around the room, revisiting the considerable clutter, including the grotesqueries on the chemistry table. She drew herself up, then ran a hand along the fireplace mantel. A finger came away dirty. She tapped some books, lying askew on a nearby bookcase.

‘Mr Holmes. You could benefit from more meticulous housekeeping. Order reflects competence! One of my girls would do wonders with this unhealthy room. She would clean thoroughly, organize all. Will you consider hiring one? I am always looking to place a girl. One of my best is available starting immediately. Anna would—’

‘Much as I enjoy appearing competent, no thank you, Lady Eleanor,’ said Holmes with a small smile. ‘Now if you will excuse us, please.’

‘It is hard to take no for an answer, Mr Holmes. You say Heffie can do the job I require and have insisted, past my reservations. Yet you will not take my advice. Why not consider Anna? She would tidy up this mess in a day.’

‘Thank you, madam,’ said Holmes more firmly, ‘but this room is exactly how I like it.’

‘But it is very kind of you to suggest,’ I offered.

She paused. ‘I will expect your … Heffie, then. When exactly?’

‘I will have her there by morning. In the meantime, place Judith temporarily in a new room with other girls. Please have an extra bed made ready in Judith’s room for tomorrow.’

She nodded and departed without another word.

‘What an extraordinary woman,’ I exclaimed.

‘In what way, Watson?’

‘So elegant, so self-contained. And quite lovely for her age.’

‘She is only a few years older than you. And she, or her girl, is lying, at least about a few things.’

‘What? Seriously, Holmes?

‘The knife is suspect. It is too dull to have made a small wound. And when Lady Eleanor withdrew the knife, I also spotted a receipt dated today from Verrey’s Restaurant.’

‘What does that matter?’

‘Odd to dine socially while on an errand such as this. Perhaps it is nothing. But you know me, Watson. I do not find most women all that trustworthy.’

‘Well, I disagree. I think Lady Eleanor was simply upset. Anyone would be.’

‘Let us drop the subject, Watson. We have more substantial work to do. It is now past five and already dark. I am going to fetch Heffie and set her on the job.’

‘I shall go with you,’ I said, curious about this girl whose description had frankly intrigued me.

‘I have another task for you, Watson. As the Goodwins have not sent over the list of Luminarians which they promised, I would like for you to go to Mayfair and retrieve it from them. That should, at least, prove entertaining. Meanwhile, I shall be back for supper by eight, and will see you then.’

‘Shall we dine at Simpson’s, Holmes? You could do with a fine roast beef and Yorkshire pudding!’

‘You persist, Watson! Yes, then. Eight o’clock? I look forward to it.’