by Caleb Carr
‘And you, Holmes,’ I interrupted, unable to bear any more of this litany of foul abuses of power by a royal agent. ‘You are saying that you knew his nefarious nature from the moment we reached the palace?’
‘I am not saying that I knew its full extent, Watson – but I knew him to be the same man who had attacked us on the train.’
‘Who had nearly killed us with a bomb, you mean to say!’
‘Certainly not. That device was meant to frighten, not to kill. Such may not have been the intent of the man who originally assembled it, nor of he who delivered it, but it was someone’s. As we noted at the time, the charge had been constructed by a person with access to advanced ingredients, but without the knowledge to assemble them correctly – such is not a description of Lord Francis. Indeed, had the device detonated when he threw it, the resulting explosion would have been far more destructive than he anticipated, and would almost certainly have resulted in his death, as well as our own – witness the terrific explosion produced by the similar creation which his minions merely hurled in the direction of the railway line, with the object only of halting our engine. Our “gift”, however, had been tampered with before Lord Francis delivered it – the fuse was made long enough to allow us ample time to simply tear it out by the root, as we did.’
‘As you did, Holmes.’ The man rather decently waved off my correction. ‘Who, then,’ I continued, ‘was our angel of mercy?’
‘You have only to consider the origins of the device, Watson,’ Holmes replied. ‘To begin with, remember the gun-cotton: There is but one place where one might procure it in this city – the garrison armoury at the Castle – and, even at that, one could only do so if granted free access to all areas, without rousing suspicion. We know that Will Sadler does various jobs relating to the restoration and maintenance of all sorts of arms, within the Castle’s walls – but he is no modern artilleryman. Thus it is consistent that he viewed the gun-cotton as no more than harmless wadding, when he purloined it.’
I weighed this analysis, realising that it had been only my own concern about the possible complicity of British soldiers in Sadler’s scheme that had kept me from seeing as much on the previous night. ‘All right, then,’ said I. ‘Will Sadler built the bomb – but, certainly, he did not leave the fuse too long. Nor did the man who delivered it – which brings me to this business of matching hair samples. How did you manage that?’
‘As Mrs Hackett has said, it was necessary to remove Lord Francis to obtain such proofs – and I supposed that if Mycroft would employ a royal command, there would be no question of Hamilton’s refusal. My brother co-operated, unknowingly and swiftly – after which, Mrs Hackett and I had our choice of opportunities to go through the man’s rooms, which we did earlier this morning.’
‘He keeps a closet full of such things, Doctor,’ Mrs Hackett added. ‘One would think he was an actor on the stage!’
‘An actor, yes,’ said Holmes. ‘But I fear his “stage” is the whole of this city, where, in disguises far more effective and pleasing than that which he employed at the train, he has despoiled countless young women – and perhaps done far worse. At any rate, I soon found the accoutrements we had seen, and a reading glass in the library was aid enough to confirm the match.’
‘Whilst I, in the meantime, was utterly taken in by the man’s manner, and unable to provide any help at all,’ said I, taking my knife and fork back up rather contritely.
‘Nonsense, Watson – had we both been immediately aware of Lord Francis’s dual nature, one of us should doubtless have made a false step. Your genuine liking for the creature in his most pleasant guise kept his guard down – and contributed to the ease with which we were able to convince him to depart. Besides, you must not blame yourself too much, my dear fellow, for the fact of being taken in – after all, amateur or no, Lord Francis is among the best of this criminal type that we have encountered together. You will recall the man who called himself Stapleton, some years ago?’
‘Of course,’ I replied. ‘The Baskerville case.’
‘Indeed. A comparable example – although I suspect that Lord Francis is Stapleton’s superior in raw physical strength: Do not forget the manner in which he shattered our compartment window.’
‘I am unlikely to. And yet – his manner, Holmes, when we reached the palace! Surely his disguise on the train was more elaborate than a mere wig and whiskers – for he seemed such a smaller man when we met him in his true guise.’
‘The pure effect of posture and voice, Watson. The deliberate slouch of the shoulders, the effeminacy of the handshake, the coyness of the voice and obsequiousness of manner – all were designed to make us see him as a smaller, weaker specimen. And yet, recall more exactly: Was he not capable of looking me quite directly in the eye when I mentioned the effect of bloodshed on the palace?’
‘Why – indeed he was! In fact, I remarked to myself upon it at the time: He seemed for a moment truly indignant, and to be capable of rising quite to your own appreciable height. Was that your reason for such a rude introductory remark?’
‘Of course. However clever, any fellow who has become arrogant enough to rely on such rudimentary methods of disguise will surely allow himself to be drawn out by a ploy only slightly more complex. Once I had gauged his actual height and strength – the matter began to clear up quickly. He is a third son, after all; and the Hamiltons – while, as Mrs Hackett says, an ancient clan, rich in their position – are nonetheless poor in their purse. There is little he can hope for from his rather humiliating post as caretaker of a royal lodging house – but of that little, I confess, Francis Hamilton has made the very most. Indeed, the only thing he lacked, when he concocted this scheme, was an effective lieutenant.’
As Mrs Hackett took my tray away, I lit a cigarette of my own and picked up a final cup of strong tea, protesting: ‘Ah! You mean lieutenants, do you not, Holmes?’
My friend looked somewhat hesitant for a moment; then, turning to the housekeeper, he seemed to silently enquire as to whether or not she wished to answer the question; and in doing so, he brought something back into my mind. ‘Wait just a moment – Mrs Hackett? You said before that, had Lord Francis been allowed his way, your niece would have suffered violent dishonour – but that he was warned off, by one whose warning he would respect. And you, Holmes: You have yet to say who would have had reason to deliberately leave the bomb fuse long enough for us to be able to rip it out prior to the explosion. It seems that you are each trying to intimate some same fact – am I not correct?’
Holmes simply glanced at the housekeeper. ‘Mrs Hackett?’
The woman gave a small curtsey, turned, and, holding the tray with one arm, opened the bedroom door—
And there, standing in the hallway, was Robert Sadler, his height and strength never so apparent.
‘Holmes!’ I cried, lunging towards the bed and securing the Palm-protector that lay under one of the pillows; but Holmes only placed himself squarely in my line of fire. ‘Damn it, man!’ I urged. ‘Move, I’ve no clear shot at him!’
‘That’s precisely why I am standing here, Watson,’ Holmes answered. ‘I know your skill, even with unorthodox firearms.’
And then I noticed that, as Mrs Hackett passed out of the door and into the hall to set the tray on a side table, she laid an affectionate hand on Robert Sadler’s upper arm, and then guided him into my bedroom. The man took one or two steps inside, eyes ever on the peculiar little gun, and stopped.
I stood up straight, allowing the pistol to drift to my side. ‘What the devil is going on?’ I bellowed. Looking for some further way to express my irritation at this rather indirect revelation of the truth, I was able to produce only the rather absurd question: ‘And is it entirely necessary that, whatever it is, it all goes on in my bedroom?’
‘Neither necessary nor desirable,’ replied Holmes. ‘Yours is the room most dangerously positioned. So, if you will withdraw to the dressing-room adjacent and finish preparing yourself for
the day, both Mr Sadler and I will explain the rest of what has transpired this morning, that we may transfer our operations to the courtyard side of the palace.’
I huffed rather theatrically as I followed the order, and once in the small dressing-room, called, ‘I suppose you will tell me that this young man is innocent of all wrong-doing in this affair!’
‘Not all wrong-doing,’ Holmes replied. ‘He was indeed a part of the original fraud.’
‘Aye, sir,’ added Robert Sadler, in quiet contrition. ‘I will ask no forgiveness, so far as the tours of the west tower are concerned – in fact, they were my idea, at the start of it all. And believe me, there was no harm in any of it then. What Mr Holmes says of the Hamiltons is true: They are hard masters, and the wages here would be the true crime, were it no’ for occasional and generous gifts from Her Majesty. But – well, we’d had so many curious parties come to us, so many wealthy types as had heard the tales of the ghost of the Italian gentleman – and there is scarce anyone here, ’most all the year …’
I emerged from the dressing-room, adjusting my collar and tie. ‘These are hardly justifications, Sadler.’
‘No, sir, true enough,’ he answered, quite whole-heartedly. ‘And I make none. But it’s simply that – well, when Mr Holmes surprised me this morning in the tower, while I was setting out the blood—’
‘Ah! When you were renewing “the blood that never dries”, I take it.’
‘Precisely, Watson,’ Holmes answered. ‘I fear my own night was passed beneath Queen Mary’s old bed, in the chamber above that in which we found Miss Mackenzie. A cursory examination of the floorboards revealed a peculiar wood – I do not believe that I have encountered it before. But its grain was such that the “blood that never dries” would only need to be renewed ten to twelve hours before each visit, in order for the correct effect to be achieved. In addition, while it was indeed possible that Robert, here, was an enthusiastic partner in the recent violence, his manner last night, along with Miss Mackenzie’s protestations, revealed something else entirely. He displayed all the mannerisms of a man who, as the Chinese say, has leapt upon a tiger’s back, and finds it difficult to dismount. But I admit to having been prejudiced, by the time we visited the Fife and Drum – by something Miss Mackenzie confirmed when we encountered her.’
I quickly recalled one of the comments that had struck me as obscure, at that time – and, in an instant, I was able to combine it with one of the first and most peculiar sights that had marked our stay. ‘The bird,’ I said, referring to one of Holmes’s queries to the young girl; and then I turned round: ‘Mrs Hackett, if I may – is it your husband’s common practice to wear the patch that we saw upon his eye last night, rather than that rather ill-fitting glass eye that he struggled with so while taking my bags?’
‘Indeed, Doctor.’ A new voice had entered our chorus: Hackett’s, and as he entered the room I noted that the man was – as if to demonstrate the current point of the explication – wearing the patch. ‘I do sincerely beg your pardon for that display, sir. It was yet another attempt to signal to you gentlemen, in the hopes that you would not take matters in the palace at their surface value.’
‘Then you did lose your eye to Will Sadler’s – what sort of a bird is it?’ I moved closer to the man, and saw that, even with his patch in place, the cluster of scars reached out over it. ‘No falcon, that much is certain. A goshawk, perhaps?’
‘Well done, Watson, well done!’ Holmes said, as Hackett offered me an affirmative inclination of his head. ‘You see, now, why I mentioned the markings as being quite distinctive, and occupying an important place in the pattern of details we have assembled about Will Sadler. He is evidently preoccupied with all things medieval, and my certainty about Hackett’s shielded sentiments made me curious – perhaps even suspicious – about the wound from the start. For it is not a terribly old injury, is it?’
Examining the man’s face again, I said, ‘I should not think so. Not more than a year, certainly.’
‘Aye, sir,’ Hackett said. ‘It was when I first discovered what was happening in the west tower. Without thinking of what it would mean for all the palace staff, I declared that I would go to Lord Francis’s father: This’ – he indicated the patch, with scarcely contained rage – ‘was the young nobleman’s response, or, rather, his order to Likely Will, although Lord Francis took much delight in watching Will torment the bird into committing the act. Blood and cruelty, Doctor – they are that “gentleman’s” food and drink. I should no’ have cared, for m’self, but he said he would do far worse to little Allie, however his henchmen might try to protect her – and I believed him …’
Glancing at Robert Sadler, I saw real and deep remorse in his expression. ‘It was then that I began to look for ways to end the business,’ Sadler said. ‘But we were already so deep in the mire … With the right sort of audience, hundreds of pounds, even guineas, could change hands in a single night – the sort of money men will kill for, much less commit …’ He looked to the floor in even deeper shame. ‘But I could protect Allie – that much I could do.’
‘And it meant a great deal, son,’ said Hackett. ‘Ne’er think otherwise.’
Robert tried to smile at the older man in response; and although the attempt was not strong, he clearly felt some measure of relief at Hackett’s attitude.
‘I shall continue to do so, Mr Hackett,’ the young man replied quietly. ‘For as long as she will allow me to …’
Was this, at last, the true reason for Robert Sadler’s presence among all these people, that morning? Was he, had he been – despite all his fraudulent activities, and despite the terrible manner in which his own brother had misused and despoiled the girl – in love with Miss Mackenzie? A mere look at his face as he went back to staring at the floor told all – or seemed to.
‘Does this mean that you have now abandoned your brother?’ asked I. ‘And intend to work with us to bring both him and Lord Francis to justice?’
Sadler’s answer was eager: ‘I know I have much to answer for, Doctor – but I beg you to believe that I could no’ have played a part in those murders. What I said last night to you, I meant – both as a way of appealing to yourself and Mr Holmes, and as a warning to Will – I can follow him no longer, if such methods are to be his way of protecting his wealth.’
I nodded, harbouring no real desire to be stern, but feeling that the statement – noble as it might have sounded – must not be allowed to go unquestioned.
‘You have proved a master of chicanery, Mr Sadler,’ said I. ‘And it might look to an outsider as though this is another elaborate trick. Even false affection for Miss Mackenzie would be an extraordinarily pleasant price to pay, to gain our support in your appeal to the authorities.’
‘I know, sir,’ he replied. ‘And I expect no mercy. I will take the punishment I am due – all I ask is that I take no other, and that the men responsible for those greater crimes be revealed, so that Allie will be safe – always.’
‘Well said, Sadler,’ Holmes announced. ‘Even Watson – who sees far deeper into matters of the heart than can I – must surely be satisfied with such an assertion.’
I studied Robert Sadler carefully for a few more seconds before announcing: ‘Yes, Holmes. I believe I am.’
‘Good. And so – here we are! Or are we? We lack two of our company—’
‘Allie and Andrew,’ said Mrs Hackett. ‘They’re preparing the master’s and Mr Mycroft’s rooms. You said that all should appear regular when they arrive, sir.’
‘Indeed I did, Mrs Hackett,’ replied Holmes. ‘And indeed it must – well done. Although I now worry that it may avail us little: I had intended to reveal all to my brother in a coded wire, before he commenced his return, so that we might catch these fellows tonight, in flagrante; now that he has left before I could dispatch that communication, I confess to being anxious that he may grow too talkative on the train, before he realises Lord Francis’s true character. Our only advantage is tha
t Mycroft himself knows comparatively little of the truth. But even that little – our dismissal of most of the household staffs, here and at Balmoral, as suspects, for example, or our ruminations over McKay’s corpse – may be enough to alert so clever and ruthless a villain as Hamilton and inspire him to violence. Or even more probably, he will attempt to abduct Mycroft, and to bargain with us for his own freedom.’
‘But, Holmes,’ I replied, ‘you say your suspicions were confirmed before your brother departed with Lord Francis – why did you not tell him all, then?’
‘It seemed a fair risk to take,’ said Holmes. ‘After all, I had only some of the answer, virtually no proof, and an urgent need to be rid of Lord Francis. I could not be certain that, had Mycroft known of his companion’s treachery, he would not have revealed as much during their travels, or appealed to the Queen directly, before our case was ready to be made.’
I gave my friend a stern eye. ‘You could fairly be accused of having acted in a most careless manner where your brother’s safety, rather than your own, was concerned.’
‘It was necessary!’ Holmes protested. ‘Mycroft is capable of far more self-defence than you suspect, Watson.’ It sounded, for an instant, as though the man was attempting to convince himself, rather than me, of this last fact – particularly in light of the dangers that he had himself only just enumerated.
