The faint smile played about Bromley’s lips again. “You said you knew something about diamonds, Mr. Holmes. Can you tell a real gem from an impostor?”
Holmes shrugged. “With my ocular glass I would have a pretty good idea, but I am not a jeweler, Mr. Bromley. If you want to be certain, you should see a professional.”
“Perhaps, but might you give me an opinion, on say, a smaller diamond, like this one?” He reached inside his frock coat, withdrew a small black box and opened it. The light from the window sparkled off a diamond ring.
Holmes sighed. “I suppose you insist?”
“If you would humor me…”
“Very well.” Holmes stood and went to his desk. He opened the second drawer, rummaged about and withdrew a small wooden box. He took out a square of glass and a black eyepiece about two inches long. He extended his arm toward Bromley, palm up. “If you please.” He took the ring and held it up to the window, peering closely at the stone. He went to the desk, picked up the glass square and pressed the stone against it. He shook his head. “A very feeble imitation. It cannot even scratch glass, which a good fake will do.” He gave the ring back to Bromley, whose melodic laugh rippled again.
“Very good, Mr. Holmes. Very good. Now let us try something a bit more formidable.”
He turned to the man who had stood motionless behind him during the long conversation. “Hodges.” The servant reached into his inner jacket pocket and removed a black velvet case about six inches square. Bromley’s big hands were lightly freckled with reddish hair below his knuckles. He opened the case. “Behold, Mr. Holmes—behold the Moonstone!” He held up the silver chain and let the diamond hang a few inches below his fist.
I drew in my breath. “Good Lord,” I murmured. The stone was enormous: it caught the sunlight and flashed yellow-white. I had never seen such a jewel in my life. It belonged in a museum under guard, and yet it was so remarkably beautiful you could see why someone would want to hold it up and dangle it before the light. The color and the intensity of the individual facets varied; some sparkled while others did not. The nearby bow window was open, and the gem swayed ever so slightly in the breeze, causing the facets to change in color and brilliance. It seemed to pulsate like a living thing, like the crystalline heart of some unimaginably beautiful being.
Holmes rose up ever so slightly on his toes, then sank back down. His eyes, like mine, were fixed on the diamond. He drew in a great breath, then the corners of his mouth rose slightly. “Nicely played, Mr. Bromley. A very dramatic entrance indeed.” He extended his hand. “May I?” He took the diamond, stepped nearer to the window and held it up before him in the light, peering intently at its interior. Finally he nodded once, then went again to his desk. With a quick flip of his wrist, he drew the diamond across the glass. Next he fitted the eyepiece into his right eye and peered again closely at the depths of the jewel. At last he withdrew the eyepiece and nodded again, even as he drew in his breath and held the diamond up.
“I saw the slight flaw. Normally I do not find gems particularly tempting. However, this one is the exception that proves the rule. A remarkable specimen, Mr. Bromley. You were right about its being priceless. It is genuine, is it not?”
Bromley was still smiling. “It had better be. It was examined recently by Mr. Harter of the renowned jewelers Harter and Benjamin. I have no doubt as to its authenticity.”
Holmes stared again into the stone. He gave his head a quick shake. “Pity. I must admit it seems a shame to shut it away in the darkness. All the same… How many men—and women—have peered into its depths and been ensnared by its beauty? And how many have died for this piece of hard carbon, of coal, somehow heated and fused into this object of perfection and beauty?” He shook his head a last time, then turned to hand it back to Bromley.
I had stood up without even realizing it. “Might I have a look?”
Holmes glanced at Bromley, who nodded, and then he handed me the diamond by its chain. I hesitated, then touched its top face. The smooth surface felt faintly cold, which surprised me given the warmth of its color. I turned it slightly, noting how the facets would catch the light and sparkle. I thought of the jewel hanging just below the hollow of Michelle’s slender white throat. It would be… a distraction. A woman’s naked beauty was different. In the end, it would clash with that of a jewel. This might appear more spectacular, but after all, a diamond was a cold, dead thing, not a living, breathing being capable of love, warmth and passion. Still, its beauty could not be denied.
With a sigh, I gave it back to Bromley, who returned it to its case. He, in turn, gave the case to Hodges. We all sat again in our former places. “I trust you are wise enough to keep the jewel under lock and key at your home,” Holmes said.
“Certainly, Mr. Holmes. Better yet, I have a well-made safe by the Withy Grove company. Perhaps you can have a look at the safe. I would like you to verify that the jewel is secure.”
“If it is soon to reside in a bank vault…”
“In the meantime, if the safe were vulnerable, it would require only minutes to abscond with the diamond.”
“A point well taken. I am at your disposal to examine the safe.”
“Perhaps tomorrow, at say, ten in the morning? I’ll give you our address near Kensington. You can also meet Alice.”
“I shall want to speak with her about the diamond.”
“And so you shall, Mr. Holmes.”
“You said that you are having a final dinner party with the diamond on display. I think perhaps I should be there to ensure its safety.”
Bromley’s forehead scrunched up, his eyes troubled. “Do you think that is necessary, Mr. Holmes?”
“Better safe than sorry, as they say.”
Bromley ran his tongue across his lower lip, then gave a thoughtful nod. “I suppose that makes sense. Yes, certainly you may come. A week from Saturday. I’ll send you an invitation—and perhaps you as well, Dr. Vernier.”
“Oh really, that is not necessary,” I said.
“No, no, I insist. I am sure Mr. Holmes would like to have you there as well.” He glanced at Holmes, who nodded.
“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Bromley.” I frowned slightly. “You said your wife was troubled by the diamond’s alleged curse, and that her health had suffered as a result. Is she under a physician’s care?”
Bromley’s mouth straightened and stiffened briefly. “She is. Dr. David Cowen.”
“Ah, I know Dr. Cowen. He knows his business.”
“Do you think so?”
I stroked my chin. “You seem to have your doubts.”
“No, no, it is only that nervous disorders are difficult to treat—you will grant me that?”
I smiled sadly. “They certainly are. There are no magic tonics or elixirs, despite what the patent-medicine sellers would have you believe.”
“Cowen has been Alice’s doctor for many years—since she was a girl, and yet her condition has not improved in the least. It has worsened over time, especially the last few weeks.”
“Because of the diamond?” Holmes said.
“Yes—and its blasted curse.” He laughed once. “I cannot understand how she can succumb to such superstition. Still, I must be fair. It cannot be denied that her family is unlucky. Her grandparents, the Blakes, were killed in a railway accident, and both her parents’ deaths were untimely.”
“What happened to her mother?” Holmes asked.
“A tragic accident some two years before her husband died.”
Holmes’s nostrils flared. “What type of accident?”
“An overdose of laudanum.”
“But…” I began, then hesitated.
“Yes?” Two creases had appeared above Bromley’s nose.
Holmes gave me a knowing look, and I only shrugged. Laudanum was an easily available tincture of opium, generally taken as a certain number of drops added to water or wine. Men might prefer to put a bullet through their brains, but an overdose of laudanum was a common m
ethod of suicide for women. It was also one of the most convenient ways to murder someone.
“Mrs. Blake was highly strung, like her daughter. She, too, feared the diamond and, before her death, she could no longer be persuaded to wear the jewel. It was the source of terrible arguments between her and her husband. Yes, little wonder this supposed curse weighs heavily upon Alice. She says that it is almost tangible, that she can sense an aura of evil hovering about the diamond. She has lost weight, and her sleep is even more troubled than usual.”
“Has she tried vigorous exercise like long walks?” I asked. “Sometimes that helps.”
“Her constitution is too frail. She suffers from heart palpitations and dizziness.”
“Has she any hobbies or occupations to keep her busy?”
“Not really.”
I shook my head. “That is not good. Has Cowen prescribed anything?”
“Yes.” Bromley stared closely at me. “Laudanum.”
I drew in my breath slowly.
“You do not approve?”
I shrugged. “It is one of the few effective medicines we have, but it is problematic. Has she taken it for a long time?”
“I believe so. I have suggested that she try another doctor, but she will not hear of it. She is generally very accommodating to my wishes, but Cowen is a subject upon which her opinion is absolutely fixed.”
“I know Cowen quite well, Mr. Bromley. I worked with him in a hospital during my training. He is a good doctor and is as well reputed as anyone on Harley Street. Still, if your wife’s condition has not improved, I would tend to agree with you. Medicine is as much an art as a science, and sometimes success is a question of personalities.”
Bromley smiled. “Would you be willing to see her?”
“I was going to suggest she consult with my wife.”
“Your wife?” Bromley laughed sharply.
“My wife is a physician, a very good one, and frequently women patients do better with a doctor of the same sex.”
“You are not jesting, I see. I have heard of lady doctors. One of Alice’s friends, Lady Jane Alexander, sees a Doctor Dudet something.”
“Doudet Vernier. That would be my wife, Michelle Doudet Vernier.”
“You surprise me, sir. Perhaps you could accompany Mr. Holmes tomorrow and meet Alice. If you could tactfully suggest…”
“Let me meet with her and appraise the situation before I act.”
“As you wish. By the way, you must bring your wife to the dinner party as well.” He smiled at Holmes. “This visit has been a means of killing two birds with the proverbial one stone, it seems.”
“I am glad you have found it helpful, sir. Before you leave, however, I have one or two other things to discuss.”
Bromley smiled rather stiffly. “Your fee, I suppose. I fear that the Moonstone may have misled you. Alice has some income from her father, as do I from my family. We did also inherit her father’s townhouse. However, we have no wealth commensurate with such an incredible jewel. The situation is ironic, since we cannot sell it or take advantage of its great worth in any way.”
Holmes shrugged. “We can work something out. I am not unreasonable, and besides, your case interests me. We can discuss the fee later.” Bromley looked relieved. “Oh. You have spoken about your wife a great deal, Mr. Bromley. Tell me something about yourself.”
“Myself? There is little to tell, I fear.”
“Come now, you needn’t be so modest. I know you are a gentleman, most likely the younger son of a peer. Your tailor is among the top rank on Savile Row, probably Davies. Your cordwainer is equally preeminent, the Italian Scarpelli, I’d wager given the simple elegance of those boots and their slight reddish tint. I also know you have a large dog, most likely a black one, which you take for frequent walks. However, despite Watson’s evocation of my quasi-magical powers, your occupation, if you have one, remains a mystery to me. Granted, one may distinguish certain coarser trades by the hands, but the hands of a banker, a bureaucrat and a teacher are much the same.”
Bromley stared at him, then laughed. “Very good, Mr. Holmes! Davies it is, and Scarpelli. But the dog? How did you know about Sally, my black Labrador?”
“Your stick, sir. Even the brass ferrule has been chewed. The teeth marks are broadly spaced and go quite high up. And black because I see no signs of hair on your trousers; it blends in.”
He laughed again. “Very good! I have to replace my stick every few months. It is a game between the two of us. Your first surmise was also correct. My father, Lord Bromley, is a baron, and I am his second son. I was educated at Eton and Cambridge. As for my occupation…” He hesitated. “I have no regular occupation.”
“An irregular one, then?”
Bromley shrugged. “Occasionally I am involved in certain business matters. On an informal basis.” Holmes was watching him closely, but he did not elaborate.
“One last thing.” Holmes stroked his chin with his fingertips. “Does your wife have light hair or dark?”
Bromley frowned slightly. “Light hair. She is blond.”
Holmes nodded thoughtfully, even as his brow furrowed. “Very well, Mr. Bromley.” His eye shifted toward Hodges, who had remained mute and still during the interview. “Perhaps also…” He shook his head. “No matter, sir. As I said, your case intrigues me, as does the jewel. Henry and I shall see you tomorrow at ten. You were going to give me your address.”
“Oh yes. It’s simple enough. Let me give you my card.” As he stood, he reached inside his jacket pocket.
We all shook hands, and then the two men left. Holmes closed the door, then rubbed his long, thin hands together and smiled at me. “You are luck for me, Henry! This is a most promising case. Why don’t we have a quick look at Debrett’s?”
He walked to the bookcase, hunted about with a fingertip, then withdrew a thick volume in a red jacket with gold lettering. “Let’s see.” He set it onto the cluttered desktop, then flipped the pages. “Here we are. Lord Bromley, Robert was born 1839. Here’s a son, Ronald, and another, Charles, born… Hmm. That makes Charles twenty-seven years old, so his wife is twenty-five. Amor vincit omnia—‘love conquers all.’” He laughed softly. “Not a very original family motto, that.”
He turned away from the book, put his left hand in his trouser pocket and stepped nearer the bow window. A gold chain hanging from a waistcoat button to its pocket, caught the light; light also showed on the broad expanse of his forehead beneath the shiny black hair. “What do you think of the Honorable Charles Bromley?”
“He certainly seems concerned about his wife, and he is rather charming.”
“And charmed as well—did you notice how he regarded the diamond?”
“It is hard to resist.”
“I wish there were some chronicle like Debrett’s or Burke’s which might trace the Moonstone’s true history. There must be story after story wherein the diamond is lost and then gained, a grand series of thefts interspersed with murders, most likely between Hindus and Muslims. Enough to employ an army of consulting detectives.”
“Do you really think someone is after the diamond? I’m afraid it sounds to me like another case of a neurasthenic young woman with a vivid imagination.”
He shook his head. “No, no—it is much more than that. There are many interesting details that do not quite add up; there is little that can be taken at face value. I have high hopes, high hopes!”
I frowned. “What points?”
“His servant, for example.”
“His servant? Hodges, you mean? But he didn’t say a word.”
“He didn’t need to. His appearance told me everything. Why should the Honorable Mr. Bromley have hired a disgraced former soldier or policeman as his valet?”
“How on earth…?”
“Come, Henry, think it through! It should be obvious, even to you.”
I frowned. “That kind of thing always gives me a headache—just tell me.”
“His bearing—his beari
ng. He stood at absolute attention the entire time, his back ramrod straight! What valet has such posture? No, he was once either a policeman or a soldier, probably the army or marines, and why would an experienced soldier take a job as a valet? It would be quite a step down in life. It only makes sense if he was forced out of his earlier profession.”
I was frowning. “Yes, that seems logical.”
“Then, too, there was a large, distinctively angular lump in his right jacket pocket which caused the coat to sag on that side. Undoubtedly a revolver.”
“A revolver?”
“Hardly extraordinary, given what he was carrying in his inside pocket. That would argue for the army—a service revolver, probably a short-barreled Webley. Yes, this case seems most promising. Oh, I would take it on just because of the diamond. I do not covet it as Bromley does, but it has a certain romantic allure, all the same.”
I shook my head. “I have never seen such a stone. It makes me…”
“Yes?”
I stared past Holmes out the window. The breeze stirred the lace curtain. “Michelle has hardly any jewelry. I wish I could give her something worthy of her.”
Now Holmes frowned. “She does not seem the sort of woman to be interested in such idle frivolities as jewelry. She has something far more valuable. She has you.”
I saw that he was serious. “Thank you. That she does. For what it’s worth.”
“Come, Henry—you are worth a great deal to many people, including me.”
“Thank you, Sherlock.”
“Do you want to meet me at Bromley’s tomorrow, or will you come here first?”
“I’ll come here, and we can walk over together. I have nothing better to do. As usual, my practice is fitful to non-existent. It looks to be another fine day.” I started for the door.
“One moment, Henry.” Holmes had raised his long arm. “Would Michelle actually want some jewelry?”
I shrugged. “I think she might. I gave her some diamond earrings she cherishes. Rings, of course, are wasted on her given that her hands are bloodied up or in carbolic acid all through the day. Some sort of necklace would be nice for formal dinners or the opera, but it hardly matters, since I cannot begin to afford anything.”
The Moonstone's Curse Page 2
