The Stone of Destiny
Page 1
Front Matter
Title Page
Publisher Information
Dedication
Quote
Introduction
The Stone of Destiny
Chapter 1 – London, Jan. 23, 1901
Chapter 2 – London, Jan. 24 – Feb. 2
Chapter 3 – London, Feb. 2
Chapter 4 – London, Feb. 2
Chapter 5 – London, Feb. 2
Chapter 6 – London, Feb. 2
Chapter 7 – Liverpool, Feb. 2
Chapter 8 – London, Feb. 2–3
Chapter 9 – Southern Ireland, Feb. 3–4
Chapter 10 – London, Feb. 4
Chapter 11 – Killarney, Feb. 4–5
Chapter 12 – London, Feb. 4–5
Chapter 13 – London, Feb. 6
Chapter 14 – London, Feb. 6
Chapter 15 – Feb. 7
Chapter 16 – London, Feb. 8
Chapter 17 – London, Feb. 8–11
Chapter 18 – Clonakilty, Feb. 12–13
Chapter 19 – Cork, Feb. 11–14
Chapter 20 – Cork, Feb. 12–15
Chapter 21 – Clonakilty, Feb. 16
Chapter 22 – Shannonvale, Feb. 16–17
Chapter 23 – Clonakilty, Feb. 17
Chapter 24 – Shannonvale, Feb. 17
Chapter 25 – Killarney, Feb. 18
Chapter 26 – Shannonvale, Feb. 17–18
Chapter 27 – Killarney and Clonakilty, Feb. 19–20
Chapter 28 – Cork and Clonakilty, Feb. 19–20
Chapter 29 – Shannonvale, Feb. 21
Chapter 30 – Clonakilty, Feb. 21–22
Chapter 31 – Clonakilty, Feb. 22
Chapter 32 – Clonakilty, Feb. 22
Chapter 33 – Cork, Feb. 23
Chapter 34 – Clonakilty, Feb. 26
Chapter 35 – Killarney, Feb. 24–26
Chapter 36 – Killarney, Feb. 26
Chapter 37 – Killarney, Feb. 26–27
Chapter 38 – Killarney, Feb. 27
Chapter 39 – Killarney, Feb. 27
Chapter 40 – Clonakilty, Feb. 27–28
Chapter 41 – London, March 1
Epilogue
Back Matter
Author’s note
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Also Available
The Stone of Destiny:
A Sherlock Holmes Adventure
By
Richard T. Ryan
First published in 2017 by
MX Publishing
335 Princess Park Manor, Royal Drive
London, N11 3GX
www.mxpublishing.co.uk
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2016 Richard T Ryan
The right of Richard T Ryan to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.
Although every effort has been made to ensure the accuracy of the information contained in this book, as of the date of publication, nothing herein should be construed as giving advice. The opinions expressed herein are those of the author and not of MX Publishing.
Cover design by Brian Belanger.
Image of the Coronation Chair By Kjetil Bjørnsrud licensed via Wikimedia Commons underhttp://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.5
The image has been altered for the purposes of this book cover, but not in any way that suggests the licensor endorses the author, publisher or cover designer of this novel.
As always, this book is dedicated to my incredible wife, Grace, who not only does the impossible but puts up with it as well.
It is also dedicated to my daughter, Kaitlin; my son, Michael; and my son-in-law, Daniel.
Finally, this book is also dedicated to the memories of Jim Lamb and Jack Karnatski – two good men taken from us too soon.
The land’s sharp features seemed to be
The Century’s corpse outleant,
His crypt the cloudy canopy,
The wind his death-lament.
The ancient pulse of germ and birth
Was shrunken hard and dry,
And every spirit upon earth
Seemed fervourless as I.
The Darkling Thrush
Thomas Hardy
Introduction
Those of you who read “The Vatican Cameos” know that while on a golf holiday in Scotland with my brother not too long ago, I was unable to play the Old Course at St. Andrews when the weather refused to cooperate. As a result, I ended up attending an estate sale.
The afternoon concluded with the auctioneer placing a locked box on the block, and after a somewhat spirited bidding war, I won the auction and the box.
Upon returning to my brother’s house, I took the box to his garage where I was easily able to pry off the lock. When I opened that box, I discovered a second box – a tin dispatch box – inside. After cleaning off the dirt and grime, I saw the name John H. Watson stenciled on the lid.
An examination of the contents soon proved that it was indeed the famed dispatch box that had long resided in the vaults of Cox and Company. Moreover, it was filled with manuscripts written in longhand.
The first manuscript I read was the “The Vatican Cameos,” an untold tale which Dr. Watson had referenced at the beginning of “The Hound of the Baskervilles.”
Having read several of the others, which will probably see the light of day in due time, I came across a folder at the very bottom of the box. It had once been secured by several rubber bands, all of which had long ago dried out and turned to dust, staining the folder, but not the manuscript.
There was no name on the folder nor on the title page, as there had been on most of the others.
Intrigued, I began to read and I can say now I know why this particular case never saw the light of the day. It was rife with political ramifications, not only for England, but for the entire British Empire at the time.
I have no idea what Dr. Watson might have titled this adventure, but I have chosen to call it, “The Stone of Destiny: A Sherlock Holmes Adventure.”
Once again, my ardent hope is that you derive as much pleasure from reading this story as I did.
Richard T. Ryan
Chapter 1 – London, Jan. 23, 1901
History had turned a page.
The year 1901, the start of the new millennium, arrived with glorious celebrations around the world.
However, Holmes and I initially found our day-to-day existence little changed. Now and then Holmes would be summoned to the scene of a crime by a member of Scotland Yard. Occasionally, someone would call upon him at Baker Street. In his leisure time, he remained fond of the agony columns, his pipe and his Stradivarius.
I continued to practice medicine, covering occasionally for colleagues, and helping my friend whenever he requested my assistance.
A mere three weeks later, however, the world in which we had come of age was stilled, and the fabric ripped asunder with the passing of Queen Victoria.
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br /> She had ascended to the throne on the 20th of June 1837 and reigned as Queen of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Ireland until her death.
In 1876, she had taken the additional title of Empress of India. During her lengthy monarchy, it was often observed that the sun never set on the British Empire.
I can assure you that on that Tuesday evening when word first began to spread of her passing, many people wondered, if indeed, the sun would have the temerity to rise the next morning.
As I walked to see a patient early the next day, it was obvious that London was a city in mourning. The news of the death of Queen Victoria had touched all of her subjects in some way, and their enormous grief could be seen writ large on the faces of Londoners of all stripes.
Hardened tradesmen and young flower girls wept openly. With no formal proclamation about the funeral, the city, it seemed, had decided to honor its Queen by adorning itself in black, to reflect the color favored by the monarch for the latter part of her lengthy reign.
When I returned home later that day, the mood in our rooms was equally somber. Over the years, Holmes and I had undertaken a number of tasks on behalf of the Crown, and we had met the Queen on more than one occasion – albeit secretly.
If for no other reason than the large V.R., which my friend had shot into the wall above the fireplace – much to Mrs. Hudson’s consternation – to honor Her Majesty, I knew that Holmes had been quite fond of the Queen.
Although an air of gravity overshadowed everything, the city somehow managed to continue about its business despite the frigid January weather.
On the evening of the 24th, Holmes and I were in the sitting room smoking, neither of us saying a word, when I heard the bell ring.
Although I could discern a rather muffled conversation between Mrs. Hudson and the caller, I was unable to ascertain any of the particulars. A minute later, there was a knock on the door.
“Come in, Mrs. Hudson,” said Holmes.
“I am so sorry to disturb you, Mr. Holmes,” she said as she entered, “but you have just received this letter by messenger.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Hudson,” said Holmes, rising and taking an envelope from her.
“What have we here?” he said aloud as he put his pipe aside and opened the envelope. After reading it, he turned to me and said, “It is a message from my brother, Mycroft. He would like us to join him at the Diogenes Club as soon as possible. He says it is a matter of some importance.”
Looking at me, he continued, “Have you plans,
Watson?”
“No,” I replied.
“Then may I impose upon you? After all, the message does stipulate ‘you and Dr. Watson’.”
As we bundled up against the chill, I wondered what Mycroft’s unexpected summons might portend.
Older than Holmes, Mycroft worked in the government, and on more than one occasion, Holmes had confided in me that Mycroft, in fact, “was the government.”
Had the weather been better, Holmes and I might have walked to the Diogenes Club, but the freezing temperatures and gusty wind forced us to hail a cab.
On the ride over we said little. I knew that Holmes abhorred speculation, so I decided I would simply have to possess my soul in patience. After paying the driver, Holmes and I entered the club and were shown into the Stranger’s Room.
Easily the most unusual club in London, perhaps the world for that matter, the Diogenes Club, as Holmes had once informed me, was a club “for the most unsociable and unclubbable men” in London.
Members were not permitted to take notice of one another, and talking was absolutely forbidden, save in the Stranger’s Room, where we sat waiting for Mycroft, who joined us a few minutes later.
As he settled his rather large frame into a comfortablelooking wing chair that groaned slightly under his weight, he remarked, “So good of you to come. Would you care for tea, or perhaps something a bit stronger? Or shall I get right to the point?”
“Nothing for me,” Holmes said, and then looking at me, inquired, “Watson?”
“Nothing for me either,” I said.
“To the matter at hand then,” said Mycroft. “Arrangements are being made for Queen Victoria’s funeral. In fact, years ago, Victoria herself laid out in great detail exactly how the services are to be handled. She stipulated that hers is to be a military funeral, as befits the daughter of a soldier and the head of the army. She also made it quite clear that she is to be buried in a white dress, instead of the black that she has favored these many years.
“Two days hence, her sons, Edward VII and Prince Arthur, Duke of Connaught, along with her eldest grandson, the Emperor Wilhelm II of Germany, will place her body in the coffin. Her funeral will take place on Saturday, February 2, in St. George’s Chapel, Windsor Castle. After two days of lyingin-state, she is to be interred beside Prince Albert in Frogmore Mausoleum at Windsor Great Park.”
“And what has this to do with me?” asked Holmes.
“It has come to the attention of Downing Street that certain separatist groups in both Ireland and Scotland may attempt to turn this sad occasion to their advantage. As you know, there has been an increased cry for independence from both lands, though louder by far from Ireland. What better time to press your case than at the state funeral of a monarch?
“We have good reason to believe that the threats are real; unfortunately, what is not so clear, is the shape they may take,” continued Mycroft.
“And am I now to be a bodyguard to the King?” asked Holmes with just the slightest hint of impatience.
“Of course not,” said Mycroft amiably. “We would simply like you to be present at Queen Victoria’s funeral and in the days and hours before. If you should see something or someone suspicious, you and Dr. Watson can either handle it as you see fit, or you may turn it over to Scotland Yard. We would also like you to precede the funeral to Frogmore and examine that as you would any crime scene before the cortege arrives.”
“As you wish,” said Holmes. “In a very real sense, Victoria will always be my Queen, and to see that she is laid to rest without disruption is the least I can do.”
“Splendid,” said Mycroft. “I shall tell the Home Office as well as Scotland Yard that you are to be given carte blanche.”
“Thank you,” said Holmes.
Mycroft then handed Holmes a letter that he had quite obviously penned in advance. “Just present this and you will have immediate entrée to any area of the palace or the castle that you might wish to inspect.”
“Am I that predictable?” asked Holmes.
“Not at all,” replied Mycroft. “But I am well aware of how fond you were of Her Highness, and I know you wouldn’t want anything to mar the arrangements.”
As we rode back to Baker Street in the cab, I was thinking that this was certainly an assignment far beneath my friend’s talents. Rest assured, I had no idea at the time how badly I was mistaken.
Chapter 2 – London, Jan. 24 – Feb. 2
The next morning I awoke and dressed, and when I entered the sitting room, I found Holmes reading a newspaper.
“It appears that crime itself has come to a halt out of respect for the Queen. There is nothing in any of the papers that would warrant our attention, so I suppose Mycroft’s request will serve as a diversion of sorts, if nothing else. Now, let us enjoy some breakfast and then make our way to Buckingham Palace.”
As we ate, Holmes informed me, “The Queen’s body will arrive from the Isle of Wight on the royal yacht, Alberta, this morning, and it will then be transported to London via train. After the last-minute details have been attended to at the palace, she is to be taken to Windsor on Saturday on a carriage pulled by eight white horses.”
After finishing, we took a carriage to the palace, where Mycroft proved as good as his word. After presenting
the letter, Holmes and I practically had the run of the place. Holmes carefully examined the room where the final preparations before the journey to Windsor were to occur. After considering sight-lines from the windows and ascertaining the heightened security that would be on hand, Holmes pronounced everything safe and secure.
As we left the palace and hailed a cab for the long ride to Windsor, Holmes confided to me, “I do think this is a fool’s errand. There will be untold thousands of people lining the entire parade route, and the cortege will include brigades of military men, both infantry and cavalry. I should think that would be protection enough.”
He paused before continuing, “Still, I have promised Mycroft, and so we will carry out our due diligence.”
St George’s Chapel, where the funeral was to take place, is approximately 21 miles from Buckingham Palace in London. Holmes told the driver the route he wanted him to follow, and before long, we were heading out of the city on High Street.
The arrangements called for Queen Victoria to lie in state for two days, and then she was to be interred next to her beloved Albert at the Frogmore Mausoleum at Windsor Great Park. I found it odd that the Queen had eschewed burial at Westminster Abbey, but thought little of it at the time.
After nearly three hours, we arrived at Windsor Castle. Again, all doors were opened to us as soon as Holmes presented Mycroft’s letter. We examined the chapel first, then we walked the grounds and finally we visited the mausoleum.