Contents
Cover
Available Now from Titan Books
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Author’s Preface
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
About the Author
AVAILABLE NOW FROM TITAN BOOKS THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES SERIES:
THE COUNTERFEIT DETECTIVE
Stuart Douglas
THE ALBINO’S TREASURE
Stuart Douglas
MURDER AT SORROW’S CROWN
Steven Savile & Robert Greenberger
THE RIPPER LEGACY
David Stuart Davies
THE DEVIL’S PROMISE
David Stuart Davies
THE VEILED DETECTIVE
David Stuart Davies
THE SCROLL OF THE DEAD
David Stuart Davies
THE WHITE WORM
Sam Siciliano
THE ANGEL OF THE OPERA
Sam Siciliano
THE WEB WEAVER
Sam Siciliano
THE GRIMSWELL CURSE
Sam Siciliano
THE ECTOPLASMIC MAN
Daniel Stashower
THE WAR OF THE WORLDS
Manly Wade Wellman & Wade Wellman
THE SEVENTH BULLET
Daniel D. Victor
DR JEKYLL AND MR HOLMES
Loren D. Estleman
THE PEERLESS PEER
Philip José Farmer
THE TITANIC TRAGEDY
William Seil
THE STAR OF INDIA
Carole Buggé
THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF SHERLOCK HOLMES: THE MOONSTONE’S CURSE
PRINT EDITION ISBN: 9781785652523
E-BOOK EDITION ISBN: 9781785652530
Published by Titan Books
A division of Titan Publishing Group Ltd
144 Southwark Street, London SE1 0UP
First edition: February 2017
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Names, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead (except for satirical purposes), is entirely coincidental.
© 2017 Sam Siciliano
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To Jeremy Brett,
for his unforgettable Sherlock Holmes
Author’s Preface
My last book was loosely inspired by Bram Stoker’s Lair of the White Worm, a novel whose main interest today is as a bizarre curiosity piece. This time around, however, I can heartily recommend Wilkie Collins’s The Moonstone. Published in 1868, it is generally acknowledged as the first mystery novel, and its detective, Sergeant Cuff of Scotland Yard, would have a prodigious number of twentieth-century descendants. The novel’s ingenious plot has a clever twist worthy of Dorothy L. Sayers or Agatha Christie.
Collins’s other early novels, No Name and Armadale, are also interesting, although something of a slog because of their length. Still, they are striking for their powerful and complicated female characters. Magdalen Vanstone and Lydia Gwilt are no shrinking Victorian violets! The two characters are like yin and yang, a flawed heroine and a sympathetic monster.
My novel is a sort of sequel to The Moonstone. Much of Collins’s tale of the spectacular diamond and its vicissitudes provides a backstory set some fifty years in the past. Sherlock Holmes becomes involved with the jewel, and unlike Sergeant Cuff, he gets it right the first time. Like Holmes in my novel, I too must acknowledge an illustrious predecessor—two of them, in fact. All we modern mystery writers labor on under Wilkie Collins’s and Conan Doyle’s long shadows. I owe Collins a special debt for Murthwaite’s final lengthy missive from India.
One
Mrs. Hudson had gone in to announce my arrival, but it was Holmes himself who opened the door on a Wednesday afternoon in July. That thin face with its predatory nose and intense gray eyes smiled at me. “Ah, Henry, excellent—excellent! Do come in. You were the only thing missing. Now this case must be promising indeed.”
I followed him through the door. Mrs. Hudson curtsied and departed. A tall, slender man in his twenties with bushy brown hair and an equally prodigal mustache stood near the bow window. Like Holmes, he wore that ubiquitous uniform of an English gentleman: well-cut black frock coat, waistcoat with the gold Albert chain forming two loops between the pockets, and black-and-gray-striped trousers. Standing quietly nearby was a man, no doubt a servant, who seemed big because he was wide rather than tall. He wore a dark-gray suit, his arms extended, his large hands clutching a bowler hat.
“Mr. Charles Bromley,” Holmes said, “may I present my cousin and my good friend, Dr. Henry Vernier.”
Bromley had a relaxed, easy smile which wavered as his brow knotted. “Not Dr. W—?”
“No,” Holmes and I exclaimed in unison. Holmes glanced at me, a brief smile pulling at his lips.
I drew in my breath wearily. “No. It is Vernier.”
Bromley’s smile returned, and he extended his hand. “A pleasure, Dr. Vernier.” His grip was firm but not fierce. He half turned toward the person in the dark suit. “This is Hodges, my man.” Hodges nodded, his broad, rugged face remaining completely expressionless. The skin over his cheekbones was faintly pocked.
“Please take a seat.” Holmes gestured. Bromley took one end of the settee, I the other, while Holmes took his battered favorite armchair. “Henry has been good luck to me, Mr. Bromley. His presence has always marked the beginning of some of my most interesting cases. It augurs well for your visit. You were about to tell me about your wife’s diamond, sir. I take it this is no common gem.”
Bromley laughed softly. “Good heavens, no! Hardly common. Have you heard of the fabled Moonstone?”
“Yes, certainly. The name comes from the diamond’s appearance, does it not? And also because it was once part of a statue of an Indian moon deity.”
“Very good, Mr. Holmes. It has been in the family for over ninety years. My wife’s great-great-uncle John Herncastle took it at the storming of Srirangapatna, India, in 1799.”
Holmes’s eyes glowed. “And are there not stories about a curse?”
Bromley’s melodious laugh repeated. “Exactly so, Mr. Holmes. Your reputation is well deserved, I see. I hope, however, that you do not give any credence to curses and maledictions?”
Holmes shook his head. “No, in general I do not.” He extended his fingers and placed their tips together. “All the same, objects of great value have a way of leaving a bloody trail of crime and misery behind them. The cause is not supernatural force or demonic power, but human greed and iniquity. For example, I am certain the Indian inhabitants of the besieged Srirangapatna did not willingly hand over the diamond to their occupiers.”
; “No, indeed, and in fact, that was a source of some familial discord. One of Herncastle’s cousins and a fellow officer claimed he had murdered the men guarding the diamond in cold blood, and Herncastle, as a result, was a rather despised outcast for his entire life. He died around 1840, leaving the diamond to his niece, Miss Rachel Verinder. There were some difficulties, but eventually…”
“Difficulties?” Holmes let his hands drop onto his knees. “Explain yourself, sir.”
“Well, I’m not certain myself of all the details. The diamond disappeared, causing a great clamor, then reappeared, then disappeared again. Miss Verinder and her soon-to-be-husband, Mr. Franklin Blake, were called into question—unjustly I am sure. Another relation had actually stolen the diamond, I gather, and some Indians also became involved at one point. Regardless, the diamond was eventually restored to its rightful owners. A certain Sergeant Cuff of Scotland Yard was involved.”
Holmes gave an appreciative nod. “My illustrious predecessor. Cuff was a giant amongst his kind, far beyond any of those mediocrities at Scotland Yard today. They are pygmies by comparison.”
“Soon after, Miss Verinder became Mrs. Blake, and she left the diamond to her son Neville, my wife’s late father, who left it in turn to Alice. ‘Left’ is perhaps an overstatement. Neville’s will is complicated. My wife does not truly own the diamond. She has a life-interest, but it cannot be sold. It is to be passed on to our eldest child and remain in the family.”
“Interesting. I have heard of similar arrangements before. And do you have any children, Mr. Bromley?”
Bromley’s smile faded. “Not yet. Alice and I have only been married a little over two years.”
“I see. And should your wife die childless, what then?”
“It would go to her younger sister, Lady Norah Bartram, who does have an infant son, James.”
“I see. And the diamond… It must be worth a fortune.”
“Its value is incalculable—incalculable.” His eyes widened, emphasizing the clear blue circles of the irises. “Do you know much about diamonds, Mr. Holmes?”
“A fair amount. It is useful knowledge in my business.”
“The diamond is a large one, but its clarity and color are without equal. It is curious. The story has it that the diamond’s brightness waxes and wanes with the phases of the moon. On the surface of it, that would seem absurd, but if you study the diamond over time as I have, you cannot so simply dismiss the idea. I wonder if some curious tidal influence… And the diamond’s color changes depending on the light. By day it is a clear yellow-white, while at night it gleams with a faint bluish tint. It also has one tiny flaw, an icy glint you can see only by turning it a certain way. The stone seems almost alive, taking on different hues according to its mood or fancy.” He laughed. “I suppose that must sound incredible to one unfamiliar with the jewel.”
Yes it does, I thought to myself, my smile forced.
“No,” said Holmes. “That is a characteristic of remarkable gems: each seems to have a personality of its own.”
“Exactly, Mr. Holmes, exactly. You do understand. I have come to the right man indeed!”
Holmes smiled politely. “And why have you come to me, Mr. Bromley?”
Bromley’s smile faded, and he drew in his breath, releasing it in a great sigh. “A jewel of such splendor should be a source of joy. Unfortunately, that has never been the case for my Alice. She has always been obsessed with the stories about the curse, and over time, her fears have grown more and more morbid and obsessive. She has even…” He bit his lower lip, even as his right hand made a fist.
After a few seconds, Holmes said, “‘She has…?’”
Bromley drew in his breath again. “This may sound extreme—it may sound almost as if I am—as if I am questioning my wife’s sanity—but that is not the case! I assure you it is not. She is perfectly sane, but she is… Her health has always been fragile. Hers is a highly sensitive and overwrought nature. She worries too much, and her brooding gives these fears a sort of life, an actual embodiment. She claims, on more than one occasion, to have seen an Indian face at the window, a dark leering face with a white turban. We do have an Indian beggar in our neighborhood, and he may have even been at the window once, but I do not think there can really be anyone lurking about the house. No one else has seen anything at all. Surely skulking Indians seeking lost jewels are the stuff of some lurid melodrama, nothing more!”
Holmes smiled faintly. “I would tend to agree with that.”
“And yet she is so fearful! It isn’t just this supposed Indian. As long as I have known her, the diamond has made her nervous and uneasy.”
“And how long would that be, Mr. Bromley?”
“As I said, we have been married two years, and the lightning struck, so to speak, almost exactly three years ago. That date is easy to remember: we share the same birthday, and by coincidence, it was on that very day. A lucky thing for me, that, since I’m dreadful with dates and numbers!”
“The same birthday, you say. Do you mean you were born the same year as well?”
“No. I am two years older than she.”
“And what day did you meet, Mr. Bromley?”
“She had been a slight social acquaintance for some years, but I first realized I must marry her on the second of July, three years ago. It was shortly before her father’s sudden and tragic death. Alice was wearing the diamond for the first time. She wore a gown of pale-blue silk, which matched her eyes—they are the delicate blue of cornflowers. She was tall and slender and beautiful, with the diamond resting on her lustrous white skin. I thought I had never seen so lovely a vision. I know it is ridiculous, but I think I fell in love with her at that very moment. She was awkward and uncomfortable: I could see that. I took her arm and tried to calm her. We danced the first dance together, and I stayed as close to her as I could that evening. Her eyes often seemed to seek out mine, and I tried to reassure her with my gaze that I would take care of her. Oh, this must sound like romantic nonsense, but it’s true, you know.”
Holmes’s forehead had creased, and fingers began to drum at his knee. “How exactly did her father die?”
“Apoplexy, a sort of fit one evening. He was a hot-tempered man, and his doctor had warned him that he must better master his temper. Unfortunately, he did not take that advice to heart. Alice had tried to explain her fears about the diamond, but that would inevitably enrage him. He had forced her to wear it to that grand soiree where I first fell in love with her, and it was shortly after that… Poor Alice feels she is to blame, but I have told her that is nonsense.”
Holmes nodded. “This is interesting, but so far it sounds like you have more need of a physician or an alienist than a consulting detective.”
Bromley stared intently at him, then slowly rose to his feet. “I’ll not have my wife insulted—I’ll not have her sanity called into question!”
“Come, come, Mr. Bromley. I meant no offense. Do sit down. Tell me what you want me to do.”
Bromley gave him another hard look, then sank into the chair. “Forgive me, Mr. Holmes. Things have been difficult lately. I love my wife, and I cannot bear to see her suffer. I do so worry about her. There is another thing I must relate. About two months ago, we had a visit from a Mr. Tyabji, the son of an Indian who married an Englishwoman. Tyabji attended Oxford, lives in London and speaks English as well as you or I. He told us that the diamond is still missed in his part of the country and that it did not belong to us. He asked if we might do the right thing and give it back. The maharajah could not pay its true worth, but he would give us a thousand pounds for its return. I was polite, but I could not believe what I was hearing! I told him the diamond had been in the family for nearly a century and that returning it was out of the question. ‘Regrettable,’ was all he said, and he left shortly thereafter.”
“And did you find this visit disquieting? Was he threatening?”
“In truth, Mr. Holmes, he was not. I quickly put it out of my mind,
but a few days later Alice asked me if we might take up Tyabji’s offer. I was even more dumbfounded than I had been when Tyabji made his request. I did not dwell on the folly and imprudence of such a course of action, I simply pointed out that legally the diamond is not ours to give away. Again, she has only a life-interest. She can neither sell nor give it away. Her father’s will is very clear on that point.”
“I see.”
“She acknowledged this at last, but she became more and more upset, and again about a month ago, she claimed to see a face at the window. Oh, I do not really believe there is anything to this, but I would like you to look into the matter, Mr. Holmes. Mr. Tyabji does not appear to be a scoundrel, but perhaps you could make certain he is not behind some attempt to frighten my wife. I must tell you, too, that I have resolved, if not to give away the jewel, to lock it up for good in a bank vault where it can no longer worry my Alice. There will be one last dinner party a week from Saturday, and then on the following Monday, it will be put away.”
“There is a surer way, at least as legend has it, to break the curse on a large diamond.”
“Yes—by having it cut up into smaller stones. That, however, is specifically forbidden in her father’s will. It is to be kept intact. I must admit, too…” He shook his head. “It would seem a desecration to break apart such a beautiful thing.”
Holmes shrugged. “Well then, hiding it away in a bank vault is wise. I have always thought that valuable jewelry is not worth all the trouble it entails.”
Bromley smiled, something faintly ironic in the curve of his lips. “You will not feel that way once you see the diamond, Mr. Holmes.”
Holmes’s fingers began to drum at his knee again. “Jewels are only safe when they are secured out of harm’s way. All too often… I recall a case where I warned a gentleman his wife’s diamonds might have been replaced with fakes. He laughed at the notion, but the next day he came to see me in a frenzy of despair. He had discovered that the diamonds were fakes, and he had no idea when they might have been switched and stolen. A servant, a trusted housekeeper, was behind the theft.”
The Moonstone's Curse Page 1
