The Moonstone's Curse

by Sam Siciliano

  “I started at Cambridge, but lasted only a term. I left for India with a pittance in my pockets, and when I first saw the Indian coast off Surat from the ship, I somehow felt as if I were coming home. The years since are something of a blur. A white man who speaks Hindi fluently will never lack for work in India, and within six months I had completely mastered the language. I learned several others as well. I had some respectable jobs working in the opium, silk and tea trades, but I could never bear to remain anywhere longer than a few months. The people of India, the diverse culture and the magnificent buildings and temples, all fascinated me, but I was especially captivated by the flora and fauna.

  “Later, I joined expeditions into lesser known and little inhabited parts of the continent. I soon realized what had long been obvious: for some unknown reason, I was not born with a man’s ordinary allotment of fear. I can take no credit for this or claim great bravery—I simply do not feel afraid as most men do, even in the most dire situations. My steady nerves and keen eyesight made me a formidable marksman with a rifle. Hearing of my prowess, the men of a village tormented by a man-eating tiger begged my assistance. I soon managed to bring down the beast, although it took a third bullet directly to the brain even as he charged me. I was knocked over, but by the time we hit the ground, he was dead.” He grinned, showing his white teeth. His fluent British English and his appearance were certainly at odds: with that red turban and dark, weathered skin, he appeared more the Indian than Tyabji.

  “After that, my reputation grew. I became a hunting guide, but this did not last long, because I could not bear to see leopards and tigers shot for mere trophies. It is different with confirmed man-killers, but such cats are rare!

  “As for the Moonstone, my father had told me all about it. He knew Rachel and Franklin Blake well and was an occasional guest at their Yorkshire home and their townhouse in London. Their son Neville and I were close in age and became friends. When I returned home every two or three years to visit my mother and father, I would also see Neville and Charlotte Blake. Even as a small child, Alice could not hear enough stories about tigers, leopards, cobras, mongooses and the like. Over the years I watched her grow up. It was I who suggested to Geoffrey that he try reasoning with Alice about the Moonstone. She has always struck me as a clever and intelligent young woman, though highly strung.”

  Tyabji nodded. “I am most grateful for your suggestion, Jack, even if it did not bear fruit.”

  Holmes had been listening intently. After a final draw, he handed the hookah hose back to Murthwaite. “I heard you offered her a thousand pounds.”

  “Yes, a maharajah is not necessarily as wealthy as you might assume. Frankly, too, he tends to regard the Blakes and Bromleys as simple thieves of the usual English variety, but my father persuaded him that a thousand pounds was a small price to pay for the Moonstone. I argued for slightly more, but it would have made no difference. Mr. Bromley will never yield up the stone.”

  Holmes stared at him closely. “And Alice Bromley?”

  “She was more sympathetic, capable of understanding our position. Her husband, not in the least.”

  Holmes had set his elbows on his knees and placed his fingertips together. “How exactly did you know who had the diamond?”

  Tyabji laughed. “Come, sir, a valuable object like the Moonstone never disappears! It gives off far too much light for that—soon enough it flashes out in the darkness, making its presence known. Father did compile his complete history beginning in the eleventh century when the diamond was still upon the forehead of a great bronze statue of Chandra in the temple at Somanatha. It was removed and hidden before the Muslims overran and destroyed the temple, but much later, in the early eighteenth century, at Benares, it was finally taken by Muslims. The jewel was set in the hilt of an elaborate dagger, and towards the end of the century, the dagger ended up at the siege of Srirangapatna. When the city fell in 1799 and Tipu Sultan was killed, an Englishman took it, Alice Bromley’s great-great-uncle. He murdered three priests, Brahmins who had been watching over the diamond even while it was in Muslim hands.”

  “But how did you learn of its whereabouts today?”

  Tyabji laughed again. “Come, Mr. Holmes, surely you have heard of private detectives! At the time of the siege, there was much talk amongst the officers and the native soldiers about the uncle, Lieutenant John Herncastle. He was known to have come from Yorkshire. Given his name and a description of the diamond, it was trivial to discover the rest. After all, the diamond has stayed in the family for almost a century, and when Alice Bromley first wore it in society, that was in the newspapers.”

  “Now that your attempt at persuading her to give it up has failed…” Holmes’s lips flickered briefly upward at the corners. “… will you hire a band of devoted Hindus to steal back the diamond?”

  Tyabji had been smiling, but his smile vanished. “I presume—I hope—you are joking, Mr. Holmes?”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Good. We would do no such a thing. Unlike the English, we are not thieves.”

  Murthwaite coughed once, spluttered out tobacco smoke, then laughed in earnest. “Well put, Geoffrey—well put! We English with our precious moral superiority are always stealing from the Indians, aren’t we now? Even the queen herself does it! We appropriated the Koh-i-Noor diamond when we took Punjab in 1849, and Prince Albert had it re-cut for her. Now the butchered stone is part of the royal treasury. It certainly doesn’t make me proud to be an Englishman! The Moonstone belongs in India.”

  “Do you know of anyone else besides yourself who is interested in the diamond?” Holmes asked Tyabji.

  “No. But that means nothing. An object like the Moonstone will always be coveted by many.”

  “This complete history of the Moonstone—would it be possible for me to have a look at it?”

  Tyabji nodded. “Certainly, Mr. Holmes. I can lend you my copy of the manuscript.”

  “Excellent! And does the history discuss the idea of a curse?”

  “Yes. It goes back to the earliest days. Those who would dare to pluck it from the head of the statue would be followed by misfortune and death. A dying Brahmin is also said to have warned Herncastle that the Moonstone would have its vengeance on him and his descendants.”

  Holmes stroked his chin thoughtfully. “You are obviously a well-educated and well-traveled young man, Mr. Tyabji. What do you think of this idea of a curse?”

  The corners of Tyabji’s mouth rose briefly, even as his dark eyebrows came together. “I believe in it absolutely.”

  I frowned. “But surely it is only superstition, nothing more!”

  “I did not say the curse was supernatural, but any object of great value and great beauty like the Moonstone will always leave behind a trail of death and misfortune. Who knows how old it really is, or how many men have died because of it? Hindus, Muslims and Christians have all killed for it. So much for religion. Given all the blood spilled, how could the Moonstone not be cursed? I would like to see it returned to a statue in the temple, but I would never in a million years wish to keep it for myself! It would be like pinning one of those archery targets with the red bull’s-eye upon your chest.”

  “You are wise, sir. Did you try to tell Mrs. Bromley that?”

  “No. Jack had told me that she has a nervous disposition. I did not wish to take an unfair advantage by trying to frighten her.”

  Holmes clapped his hands lightly together. “Bravo, Mr. Tyabji! You are more the English gentleman than the vast majority of English gentlemen I have known.”

  Murthwaite laughed. “I’d remarked on that too. I am glad he didn’t try to scare poor Alice. That would be like shooting fish in a barrel.”

  “What line of argument did you use?” Holmes asked.

  “I appealed to the English sense of fair play, the idea that they possessed stolen goods which should be returned to the rightful owner. In doing so, I discovered that Mrs. Bromley has a well-developed moral sense while Mr. Bromley ha
s none. He was quite charming, but told me returning the jewel was absolutely out of the question. Mrs. Bromley said nothing, but she seemed unhappy.”

  “Did they tell you they could not give up the jewel, even if they wanted to?” Holmes asked.

  Tyabji let the hookah hose drop from his fingers. “What?”

  “They could not give you the diamond because Alice Bromley has only a life-interest. Her father’s will specifies that it is to be passed down to her children or to her sister and her children. She can neither sell it nor give it away.”

  Tyabji frowned sternly and turned to Murthwaite. “Jack, did you know this?”

  His friend exhaled smoke. “I did not.”

  “Is this possible, Mr. Holmes? Does English law allow such a stipulation?”

  “It is unusual, but it is possible. Neville Blake probably had only a life-interest in the diamond as well, and he wanted to ensure that it would remain in the family.”

  Murthwaite made a grotesque face, one side only rising up, which created many creases out of the corner of his eye. “Along with the damned curse. Poor Alice—stuck with the diamond and with that idiot of a husband.”

  “Idiot?” I said.

  “I’m sorry—that’s the wrong word. He’s not stupid. He was smart enough to marry Alice, but he seems more in love with the diamond than with her.”

  “That is rather cruel,” I said. “I thought him genuinely concerned about her well-being.” I glanced at Holmes, but he appeared resolutely neutral.

  Holmes turned to Murthwaite. “So you saw Alice through the years as she grew up? When exactly have you seen her in, say, the last five years?”

  “Well, I saw her at the party where she first wore the Moonstone after her mother’s death. That was about three years ago. Neville had always struck me as a little batty about the diamond, and that quirk was on full display. He was also one of those men who gets mean when they drink, and he drank far too much that night. Alice was obviously nervous and uncomfortable. Bromley was there staring continually at Alice’s bosom and the diamond. I’m not sure which appealed to him most. I left for India shortly afterwards, and a couple of months later I heard about Neville’s death. I didn’t return until this spring, and I went to see Alice and her new—for me—husband. She greeted me warmly, and Bromley was friendly in his stuffed-shirt way. She and I talked a long while, mostly about old times. We didn’t discuss the Moonstone.”

  “Did she tell either of you that she had seen an Indian man with a turban at her library window?”

  Both Murthwaite and Tyabji stared incredulously at Holmes. Murthwaite snorted slightly, laughed once, then in earnest.

  “What is the matter?” Tyabji asked sharply.

  “It wasn’t me, I promise you—it wasn’t me!” His own quip set Murthwaite laughing again.

  Holmes smiled. “I think you were probably out of the country the first time. Besides, it was a white turban, not a red one.”

  Tyabji shook his head angrily. “This is nonsense, Mr. Holmes—just sheer nonsense! What possible sense does it make? I think only a Hindu would seek out the Moonstone in this way, because it belonged to their moon god—and Hindus do not usually wear turbans. And what possible advantage could there be in looking through her window?”

  “The very same points that had occurred to me, sir. The answer, I think, is obvious.”

  Murthwaite had stopped laughing. “Someone wants to scare Alice.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Bloody bastards,” Murthwaite muttered. He looked up at Holmes. “I forgot to tell you I’ll be at that dinner next week, the last one before they lock the jewel away. No one will recognize me—I’ll be wearing the requisite wretched and uncomfortable evening dress.”

  “Henry and I will be there as well,” Holmes said, “in our own wretched and uncomfortable evening dress. You seem fond of Mrs. Bromley, Mr. Murthwaite.”

  “So I am. I have no daughters of my own.”

  “You have sons?” I asked politely.

  He nodded enthusiastically. “I do indeed! Two young ones near Gondal, and two others on the other side of the continent near Benares.”

  Holmes and I exchanged a puzzled look. “Explain yourself, sir,” he said.

  “Oh, it’s simple enough. I have two wives.”

  I stared at him. “Is that legal?”

  “It is in India. Not very common, though, for Englishmen. Many an English soldier takes an Indian woman for his wife, but they usually limit themselves to one. As you can imagine, my situation has given me something of a reputation as an odd duck among my compatriots. Most of them stay away from me. That’s what drew me to Amelia and Ahmad Tyabji. There aren’t many Englishwomen with Indian husbands. That is also unusual and much frowned upon by Mrs. Grundy.” He glanced at Tyabji. “She’s a remarkable woman, your mother, remarkable. As a general rule I don’t much care for Englishwomen—hence, my two Indian wives.”

  “And do you support them both?” I asked.

  “Oh yes. I’ve made enough money at my various trades, and it costs very little to keep up a household in India, if one lives out amongst the people and not in a separate English enclave. I see each family for a few weeks out of every year. A little domesticity goes a long way with me.”

  Holmes nodded. “Well, this has all been very interesting, gentlemen. I would enjoy whiling away the afternoon smoking with you, but I have other business.”

  Murthwaite sat upright. “A shame, Mr. Holmes! Are you sure you wouldn’t like to stay? For our next smoke we are going to sample my own special blend of hashish, opium and tobacco. The proportions must be exactly right! And I have the finest ingredients, all of Indian origin.”

  I tried to keep my face neutral as my eyes shifted to Holmes. He smiled. “A very tempting offer indeed. Perhaps another time.”

  Murthwaite grinned at me. “Terrible vices, all three, Dr. Vernier! Although opium is indispensable for the Englishman in India. Dysentery would reduce you to skin and bones or kill you outright, otherwise. I could have never survived without it.”

  We all rose to our feet. Tyabji nodded graciously. “You would be most welcome anytime, Mr. Holmes. It was an honor to meet you.” He gave me a slight bow. “And you, Dr. Vernier.”

  Holmes’s fingers tapped briefly at his thigh. “I have one word of advice for you, Mr. Tyabji, and I hope you will take it in the right spirit. For the next week or so, until the diamond is locked away, do not go anywhere unaccompanied—not because of danger, but because you may need an alibi. Given your recent conversation with the Bromleys, if anything does happen to the Moonstone, the police will immediately come knocking at your door.”

  Tyabji opened his mouth angrily, then closed it. He drew in his breath slowly and nodded. “Wise counsel. Thank you, Mr. Holmes.”

  After another round of hand-shaking, Holmes and I put our shoes back on. Tyabji gave Holmes the manuscript on the diamond in a brown leather carrying case, then accompanied us to the door.

  Outside, it was still raining, and the street was black and glossy. We hailed a cab, and Holmes gave the driver the address near Harley Street where Dr. Cowen lived. Holmes had arranged to meet him that same afternoon. He settled back in his seat and gazed out the window. The soft gray light illuminated his face, the aquiline nose, the prominent cheekbone and angular jaw.

  “What an odd pair!” I exclaimed. “Especially Murthwaite. It’s a lucky thing I came along. Otherwise I believe you might have stayed to sample his ghastly concoction.”

  Holmes smiled. “I fear I might have. I have not tried that particular mixture before.”

  I shook my head. “I don’t suppose tobacco ever will be forbidden, but someday I think opium in the form of laudanum will no longer be easily available to the masses at the local chemist. Then, too, opium is the main ingredient, although not listed, in scores of patent medicines and tonics. I shudder to think how many people in London are addicted.”

  “You told Bromley yourself that it was one of the
few effective medicines we have. And Murthwaite rightly said the Englishman in India would be crippled by dysentery without it.”

  “Yes, yes.” I sighed softly. “It only goes to show how primitive medicine remains. And you—you must realize how dangerously addictive opium in all its myriad forms can be?”

  He shrugged slightly. “I do. Oh, I have partaken occasionally, especially after a long and stimulating case. My mind, once truly active, races on, even when I am exhausted and there is no longer a need for urgency. A few puffs on the pipe brings welcome relief, a pleasantly relaxed and dreamy state. Still, I am hardly so blasé about drugs as Watson portrayed me. My analytical facilities—my mind, is my greatest power, and I would not dull it permanently with poppy smoke or drops.”

  “I hope not. At least you seem to understand the risk.”

  “I do, and yet sometimes…” He shrugged again. “It dulls the pain both physical and psychological. It is perhaps the only genuine remedy.”

  “I know so many doctors who have started up with ether, or morphine, or cocaine, or laudanum or… It ruins them. It destroys them. For God’s sake, be careful.”

  “So I shall, Henry.” He clasped his hands together, and his look told me the subject was finished. “I wonder if Dr. Cowen will be able to tell us much. I still think perhaps it might be better for you to see him alone first, to test the waters.”

  “Oh, it should be all right. He’s a reasonable man, although his reply to my note was rather terse.”

  The cab wound its way through the late afternoon traffic, making its way across London in the rain. We passed Baker Street and Holmes’s flat, then turned right onto Harley Street, then right again onto Queen Anne Street. Cowen’s office was in his elegant home of red brick with white painted trim. The upstairs windows and the door had a half-circle of arced glass windows, and planters with pink geraniums were in front of the ground-floor windows. The rain poured down, but it hardly had time to touch us before we made it to the door. Just at eye-level was a bronze plate with Dr. David Cowen, Physician & Surgeon inscribed.