Sherlock Holmes--A Betrayal in Blood

by Mark A. Latham

  “You said there were two additional members of the Crew of Light—Aytown and Young?” I asked.

  “No, Watson. Mr Young was well acquainted with our principal players, but he was not among the cast of characters (forgive my theatrical metaphor). As it transpires, Mr Aytown now works occasionally as a set-painter for several theatres, for he has fallen on lean times of late, and no longer has dashing young earls and society women sitting for him, by all accounts. It was Young who introduced Aytown to Pike’s associate originally, and so you see how the theatre provides a link between our forgotten hunters. Mr Young intimated that Aytown fell afoul of a wayward business scheme, into which he had been cajoled by Arthur Holmwood and Quincey P. Morris.”

  “Why, if that’s the case, we start to see a strong motive forming,” said Bradstreet. “If only we could link this enterprise to Van Helsing.”

  “Oh, I am quite sure we shall,” said Holmes, taking a long draw on his cigarette.

  “So who is the second man?” I asked, rather impatiently.

  “A man named Singleton. He spends his time researching the supernatural, exposing fraudulent Spiritualist mediums, or endorsing them, should they pass his tests. Aytown called him in when Lucy’s ailments grew worse. Seward had openly speculated that her condition was beyond his skill to heal, and that a more… ‘metaphysical’ explanation might be needed. Of course, Van Helsing’s arrival rather made Singleton’s involvement redundant, and the professor saw to it that the man was thrown out on his ear.”

  “Why have neither of these men spoken out?” I asked.

  “I imagine for the same reason that Miss Reed and Dr Hennessey did not speak out, Watson: fear of reprisal. However, something has evidently happened recently to change their minds. I give you Exhibit A.” Holmes passed a letter to me. “I acquired this from Mr Young this morning. He has no wish to be dragged into the case any further than necessary, as he has some cause to expect retaliation, but he gave me this purely because of my reputation. Be so good as to read it out for Inspector Bradstreet’s benefit.”

  Letter, Francis Aytown to William Young, 27 February 1894

  Dear William,

  It has been too long, Will, and I only wish I could write to you under better circumstances. As it stands, I am to leave the country for a time, and am not sure when I can return. I had to tell someone, in case anything terrible should befall us, and there is no one else I can think of who might half understand, save you.

  Singleton and I have struck on something regarding this awful Dracula business. He thinks we have been deceived, and that Art might be deceived still by that old crank Van Helsing. Being a singular sort of chap, Singleton has done some investigating of his own, and says the only way we’ll find the truth is to strike out for Transylvania ourselves. I know it’s rash, but what can I do? That business with the railway practically ruined me—the inheritance is all but gone, and it appears I must now live the part of the poor artist, rather than simply romanticise about it. I dare not speak a word of what happened, for Van Helsing has taken an interest in Art’s financial affairs, and has warned me away from Ring for all time. I am persona non grata in the home of my dearest friend.

  So we go to Roumania, to visit this railway venture for ourselves, and then on to Castle Dracula to find whatever is left of the man who Van Helsing claims was a vampire. If anything should happen, or if we are not heard from again, then do with this letter as your conscience dictates, but do not let it fall into the hands of Van Helsing, or Harker especially. In such dire circumstance, it is like that we have met some ill fate at the hands of those mysterious thugs whom Van Helsing has set in opposition to us. Singleton will not be cowed. He has secured us tickets on a steamer, and we leave in the morning.

  Adieu, my dear boy, adieu.

  Your friend, Francis

  “There, you see,” Holmes said when I had finished reading the letter. “Singleton and Aytown did not have all the facts, but they must have had enough to piece together a little of the mystery that we have been investigating. Their researches have taken them back to the root of this story—to Transylvania. That in itself is rather telling.”

  “What’s all this about a railway?” I asked. “It must be some pretty venture to have ruined several men, and Lord Godalming amongst them. Didn’t Harker have a picture in his office of him and the others upon the site of a railway construction?”

  “Watson, your memory is improving with every case. As soon as I first heard of this railway business, I thought the very same thing. If it is more than mere coincidence—and I fancy it is—then Harker must have been involved in this venture somehow, too.”

  “What does all this mean, Mr Holmes?” Bradstreet said, rubbing his head confusedly.

  “I have not yet formed a complete picture, but Mr Young confided some details to me. All of our principal players, with the exception of Van Helsing, are linked at least tenuously by a foreign railway venture, which Mr Young said his firm worked on at the behest of Lord Godalming. That is, the elder Lord Godalming, not Arthur Holmwood. Part of Jonathan Harker’s trip abroad had something to do with the scheme, although Young knows little of the details, for it was all done in the strictest confidence, and the case was given to Harker rather than himself.

  “We now know that Quincey Morris and Arthur Holmwood invested heavily in the building of this railway—we can assume it runs through Transylvania, given the involvement of Count Dracula in our tale. Van Helsing appears to have taken a marked interest in the venture for reasons unknown—enough to use his men to warn off Aytown, at any rate. Perhaps financial gain was a motive for Morris’s death, but Van Helsing already had motive enough. None of this makes complete sense—why would such an intricate plot be concocted to cover a railway investment in faraway lands? Why would Van Helsing dirty his hands to such an extent on behalf of Lord Godalming? Why would Lucy Westenra have to be killed for it? And Renfield? Jonathan Harker appears to have been dragged into the scheme later, judging by the photograph… it doesn’t yet make complete sense to me. I feel we are missing several pieces of a very intricate puzzle.”

  “Maybe the railway was particularly lucrative,” Bradstreet offered. “Maybe they killed Morris for his share, and then brought Harker in later.”

  “To what end? You don’t kill a friend for his money only to give that money to a stranger. Harker has a law practice, a house in Whitby, the Hillingham estate… he has profited well from this whole scheme without resorting to business deals and assassination. No, I maintain that the stakes were higher still. How the other pieces of this puzzle fit together remains to be seen. But we will find them.”

  “What do we do now, Mr Holmes? I mean, I still need to take a statement regarding the altercation in the park, and the dead German. I can smooth things over for now, I’m sure. But then what? Singleton and Aytown are in Transylvania, our suspects are spread across England… I confess, this is a deal too thick for me.”

  “Which is precisely why you should remain here and ensure the police leave me to my work, insofar as possible. Besides, Inspector, if you stir up a hornet’s nest, you might find yourself like Cotford.”

  “I wouldn’t want that. Mind you, there are a fair few of the men here who would not hinder your business, sir, regardless of orders. You’ve garnered too much goodwill from the force over the years, and put too many villains behind bars.”

  Holmes smiled gratefully, but changed the subject at once. “Speaking of Cotford, he is on side now?”

  “Yes, Mr Holmes. He fancies himself some sort of enquiry agent. The investigation has put new life in his old bones. He’s talking about taking it up professional, once his ‘Dutch devil’ is brought to justice. Last I saw him he’d eased off on the drink, too. Perhaps he’ll give you a run for your money in the future.”

  “Good. I want you to tell him everything I told you today: the German thugs, Seward’s blackmail, Renfield’s trip to Transylvania, William Young, Aytown, Singleton… everything. Leave out no
detail.”

  “To what end?”

  “Why, so he can make a deuced nuisance of himself of course! If Frank Cotford is anything, it’s belligerent and tenacious. He’ll not let go of a lead, no matter what confronts him. He might stumble upon something we have yet to think of. More likely, however, he’ll provide a distraction.”

  “A distraction for…?”

  “I’m afraid I cannot tell you, Inspector,” Holmes said, his second cigarette stub hissing as he flicked it into his cold tea. “If you wish to remain on the side of the angels, you will ask no questions about my next move in this great game.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  RETURN TO CARFAX

  Our cab drew up on a quiet, tree-lined avenue, a short distance from Carfax. Holmes instructed the cabbie to drive slowly about in a circuit until we returned, and paid him a handsome retainer. As the cab drove away, we walked briskly along the darkening street, the last light of a blood-red dusk throwing portentous shadows across our path. I sighed as it started to rain.

  We did not enter the property via the main drive as before, but instead clambered over an ivy-covered wall on the western boundary, and trekked through the overgrown grounds. We crossed a small natural stream that ran alongside a crumbling chapel, long abandoned. Groves of oak and beech trees provided ample cover for our approach, though the going was heavy as night fell upon us, and Holmes would not allow the lighting of lanterns until we could be certain that there was no one at the house who might observe us.

  When finally we emerged from the dark grove, the rain had grown heavier, and our boots were caked in mud. The house lay before us. We had previously seen it from a more pleasant aspect nearer the road, but how different it appeared now. It was a straggling manor, clearly extended many times over the centuries. We were presented with a castellated, medieval tower, with thick stone walls and barred windows. Beside that, a half-timbered gallery joined the ancient part of the house to the smooth stone of the Georgian remodelling, its once-pristine face pockmarked from exposure to the elements, or else covered with ivy.

  The house was entirely dark.

  Holmes led the way, carrying with him his small bag in which he had packed a cracksman’s kit. It was to the gallery that we strode, to the tradesman’s entrance, which Holmes presumed would be easier to crack and more secluded than the grand front door.

  “This is a fine thing,” I whispered, as Holmes worked the lock with a set of tools acquired through less-than-honest channels. “Is this not what the Crew of Light did when hounding Dracula?”

  “Stop clucking, Watson,” Holmes chided. “The Crew of Light were hounding an innocent man. We are hounding an entirely guilty one. Almost there…”

  The lock clicked, altogether too loudly for my liking, and the door swung open into a dark passageway. Holmes ducked inside, stopped to listen intently and, apparently satisfied, struck a match to light his dark-lantern. He left it cowled, shining its light in a tight beam like an expert burglar. He crept along the corridor, his feet making not a sound, and beckoned me to stay close as he entered a large kitchen. I considered, not for the first time, just what an excellent criminal Sherlock Holmes would make were he of a mind for it.

  We crept through the great house, room by room, only now realising its extent. It was a warren of corridors and chambers all in various states of decoration. Furniture lay under dustsheets; the smell of paint hung in the air. Some rooms had not been finished, but rather were stripped back to bare brick, leaving exposed winding creepers of newly installed electrical cables—Van Helsing was transforming Carfax into a modern estate that would surely be the envy of London society.

  Holmes had instructed me before we entered to be on the lookout for a study, library or office. We were most interested in Van Helsing’s business affairs—anything that might link his activities to the railway venture Aytown had written of.

  On the first floor we began to see those signs of life that one would expect from someone’s home, suggesting that Van Helsing had indeed begun to live at Carfax, at least occasionally. We discovered a series of rooms that had been converted into a sumptuous living apartment, with lounge, dining room, games room and, finally, a library.

  Though each chamber that we found was smaller than its counterpart downstairs, and had probably been sleeping apartments until recently, the library was the clear exception. It was the largest room on the first floor, and looked to have served the same purpose for some considerable time. Every inch of wall was lined with bookcases, and every inch of shelf filled with books. On the far side was a large desk, which I made for at once, stopping only when I realised that Holmes was not following, and thus I had no light. I turned to see my friend shining the lantern along the rows of books, moving rapidly, before coming to a stop.

  “What is it, Holmes?” I whispered.

  “I’m searching for Van Helsing’s books, Watson,” he said. “Most of those here were doubtless acquired with the property, as library collections often are. They represent myriad subjects that I doubt the professor would care for, and the poor state of them is not befitting of an academic. These ones, on the other hand, are like new.”

  Holmes ran his fingers along the spines of several leather-bound tomes, before appearing to find what he was looking for. He began to chuckle, and the chuckle grew into a laugh.

  “Shush, Holmes,” I hissed.

  “Oh, Watson, what a fool I’ve been. Several times during this case I have made errors, but none so fundamental as this.”

  “What is it?”

  “These books—a goodly number are by Arminius Vambery. This one here, On the Origin of the Magyars… interesting.”

  Holmes pulled the book from the shelf and flicked through the first few pages, noting a handwritten dedication on the flyleaf.

  “‘To Abraham, my friend, with devotion’,” Holmes read. He squinted thoughtfully, and then took up his search along the shelf. “I knew I had seen it,” he said, as he withdrew a hefty volume from its nook. It was entitled A Treatise on the Customs and Beliefs of the Magyars, and those Peoples Indigenous to the Lands around the Austro-Hungarian Empire.

  “Long-winded title,” I said.

  “Look, Watson. The authors’ names.”

  I looked. “Arminius Vambery and Abraham Van Helsing. So our man wrote a book about Transylvania—we already knew he was an authority on the matter. What’s the significance?”

  Holmes sighed impatiently. “There’s no time to explain now; let us find what we came for and leave.”

  Frustrated as ever by Holmes’s enigmatic methods, I followed as he began to rifle through the papers on the desk. He found nothing that interested him, and so set about picking the locks on the desk drawers. He went through each one systematically, finally pulling out a bundle of letters. Holmes shuffled through them like playing cards, setting aside four on the desk, before replacing the rest of the pile.

  “What is it, Holmes?”

  “I had not expected to find any truly incriminating documents here, for the professor has been using this house only on a temporary basis. But he has written correspondence at this very desk. Most of the letters are not pertinent to our case. These four, however, are coming with us. Three of them are indeed mine, taken from the mantelpiece at Baker Street—you can still see the knife-marks in the pages. I had not yet opened them, and it vexes me beyond words that confidential missives from potential clients reached the eyes of Van Helsing before mine. There were seven letters in that pile—the other four must have been of little or no interest to the professor, and have been discarded. These, on the other hand… I cannot see how they relate to the case, so I can only assume that they contain information that would allow Van Helsing to discredit or blackmail me, or the senders. I shall have to see to this once Van Helsing is brought to justice.”

  “And the other?”

  “It is a note from Mina Harker.”

  Professor,

  I have done all I can at Whitby, and am therefore
joining Jonathan at Hillingham. I trust the preparations are made for your trip. If you require anything from us in your absence, be sure to send word.

  You might find it interesting that our man at the asylum overheard Hennessey discussing delicate matters with W. We shall have to remind him that such actions have consequences. Trust me to take care of it, as always. However, you must speak with Jack upon your return—his behaviour becomes ever more erratic. I believe the pressure of this affair is too much for him.

  Your obd. servant, &c.,

  Mina

  “Good Lord, Holmes,” I said. “We need to find her and get the truth out of her!”

  “I think you’re right, Watson, for other lives now depend on our swift action.”

  “How rude!”

  The room was dragged abruptly into bright light, and I squinted against the suddenness of it. There, by the door, stood the Harkers.

  “We honour Lucy’s memory by taking up residence,” Mina Harker said. “We shall fill Hillingham with light, and laughter, and perhaps even children. We certainly shall not leave it unattended, like Carfax, so that any Tom, Dick or Harry can enter of his own free will.”

  “You shall, I trust, leave behind you some of the happiness you brought tonight.” Jonathan Harker echoed the alleged words of Dracula, from his own account, and smirked at his own joke.

  My eyes adjusted finally to the stark electric chandelier. Both of the Harkers wore jackets, and were damp from the rain—they could not have been here long. I saw now that Harker held the kukri knife in his hand—this was, I presumed, his preferred murder weapon.

  “What brings the two of you to Carfax?” Holmes asked, his voice betraying not a hint of unease.

  “Oh, a fine thing,” said Mrs Harker, “to be asked that by a couple of thieves. The professor requested that we look in on the house while he is away. We came by to make sure that no disreputables had broken in and… well, here we all are.”