“Two gentlemen to see Mr. Harter, if you please, sahib.” Holmes had resumed the high-pitched staccato accent.
The main room had a large counter space in the middle lit from above by a big skylight. The thick carpet underfoot had an intricate pattern of red and gold. The small windows all had bars on them. Mr. Harter obviously didn’t want his store to be robbed. The guard opened a side door and called out, “Company, sir.” He went back to a chair near the entrance and took up a newspaper.
A man came through the door, fumbling at his frock coat to fasten the buttons. His gray hair was mostly gone, his scalp faintly pink under the light from above, but his eyebrows were bushy and black, each mustache-like. Two sharp blue eyes stared out from under them. Eyeglasses with thick rectangular lenses sat perched low on his bulbous ruddy nose. His lips were thin, colorless, and clamped tightly together.
“Good morning, gentlemen. I am Mr. Harter, and who may you be?”
“I am Mr. Ahmad Patel, and this is my very good friend, Mr. Henry Albert.”
There was a round of polite nods. “Did you wish to purchase jewelry? If so, I must tell you I only see people by appointment.”
“Indeed, sahib?” Holmes said. “When is your next available appointment?”
Harter seized a small notebook on the counter and flipped through pages. He set it down, withdrew a gold watch from his waistcoat pocket and opened it. “I would have an opening in exactly three minutes at ten forty-five. Will that do, gentlemen?”
Holmes nodded gravely. “That would do nicely, Mr. Harter.”
Harter scribbled on the page. “Mr. Patel and Mr. Albert. In the meantime, exactly what interests you?”
“I am considering the prospect of marriage,” Holmes said, “and I am attempting to determine the precise expenses, so I certainly must know about the ring.”
“And do you have some idea how much you wish to spend? Rings in general begin as low as five pounds, diamonds at more like ten pounds, but I should warn you, those are of a very low quality, and I carry very little of such stock. However, the sky is, as they say, the limit as far as the upper range.”
“I was thinking of twenty-five pounds, sahib.”
Harter shrugged, his face showing his distaste for such miserliness. He took another look at his watch, then extended his hand. “Well, it is time. Stand just there, gentlemen.”
The counter was a huge slab of dark slate covered with thick glass. He stepped behind it, pulled open a drawer, withdrew one ring, set it before us, then another and another. “Time was when a diamond of any substantial weight for fifteen pounds would have been an impossibility, but since the mines in South Africa opened up in the seventies, the market has been flooded. However, the raw diamond is only the starting material. You can take the best grade in the world and botch the cutting, such that you end up with poor or mediocre results. This first one here is a commercial product, one carat set in silver. Not very impressive, but it only costs fifteen pounds. The second is also one carat, but notice the greater brilliance and the gold setting. I did this one myself. It is thirty-five pounds. This third one has a slight pinkish tinge that sets it apart and a more elaborate setting. It is fifty pounds.”
Holmes examined each of the diamonds carefully, one by one, then handed them on to me. He made several variations of “ooh” and “ah,” along with “exquisite,” “formidable” and the like. The pink one was quite stunning, the slight tint evident under the natural light coming from overhead. Holmes seemed to settle on the second diamond. “Is the price of thirty-five pounds absolutely fixed, sir, or is there some room for negotiation?”
Harter gave a weary sigh. “And would you wish to negotiate with your beloved on the terms of your engagement? Of course you wouldn’t! All the same… there is some flexibility. Limited flexibility.”
“Such as thirty pounds?”
Harter looked even more pained. “If you wished to purchase it today, I could let you have it for thirty pounds.”
“Indeed? Oh, I am almost forgetting, sir…” He turned to me. “Who is our gentleman friend who said we must mention his name?”
“Bromley,” I said. “Charles Bromley.”
Harter’s enormous eyebrows came together, and he looked briefly as if he had a pang of dyspepsia. “Charles Bromley?”
“Yes, sir. He said you offered a special bargain for his friends.”
“Yes, indeed, if Bromley sent you…” He pulled open another drawer and took out a fourth ring. “I can let you have this ring for thirty pounds, but there are to be no further negotiations.” His voice was stern. “A fine diamond, not so ostentatious perhaps, but notice the two smaller stones.”
Even to my eyes, the ring looked inferior to the other. The main stone was smaller and less brilliant in the light, the shine of the silver flatter, and the two minor stones seemed out of place. Holmes nodded appreciatively. “Most impress, sahib. And you cannot adjust the price of the other ring for a friend of Mr. Bromley’s?”
“I cannot, but this is the better ring and a genuine bargain.”
“I see. Well, unfortunately, the lady’s inclinations are still unclear to me. She waxes hot and cold. One day she is all sweetness and admiration, the other she is stern and preoccupied. I must have a clearer understanding before I accost her, as they say. I will take your offerings under consideration, sahib. They are truly fabulous gems, worthy of the woman of a sultan or a rajah.”
This last seemed a bit overdone to my taste, but Harter seemed to be taken in by the portrayal. He nodded politely. “As you wish.” He took up the rings and began putting them back in the drawers.
“If you have a few minutes more,” I said, “I wondered if you might show me something in a necklace with matching earrings for my wife.”
“Certainly, sir. Did you have anything in mind? Diamonds, like your friend?”
“No, I was thinking of emeralds. My wife is a redhead, and I thought the emeralds would suit her fair complexion and hair.”
“Indeed they would. I can show you some necklaces, and we could find or make matching earrings. And how much, sir, did you wish to spend?”
“Oh, perhaps one hundred pounds.”
“A tidy sum, sir. One can get something of worth for a hundred pounds, especially in the wrongly called ‘lesser stones.’ Nothing lesser about emeralds in my opinion.” He pulled open a drawer lower down and withdrew two necklaces. The first was a sort of emerald pendant with smaller emeralds in the silver chain; the other was a series of larger emeralds surrounded by smaller diamonds set in silver. The green and white of the gems was brilliant.
I took up the second one. “This is lovely. Are these real diamonds?”
“They are not, sir. They are what is broadly called ‘paste,’ but paste is not, despite what you may have heard, synonymous with trash. Paste well done by an expert is virtually indistinguishable from the real thing. I always say there is no shame in buying paste if you simply cannot afford a real diamond. No one will ever know the difference. This necklace is a high-quality item.”
“It’s certainly beautiful. How much is it?”
“Ninety pounds, sir. Another five for the earrings. However, might I say… It is true that emeralds suit a redhead very well, but almost too well—it verges on triteness. For something more unique you might consider sapphires. The contrast between red and blue is even more striking. Have a look at this.”
The necklace had five blue sapphires set in silver, with a larger sapphire hanging below the others. Only the last was set with small white stones of what must be paste. The light caught the blue stones in a way that emphasized their color and slight differences in tone. Their blue color might be more muted than the green of the emeralds, but they had more brilliance. I drew in my breath slowly, closing my eyes. I saw Michelle on our bed, her red hair aswirl on the pillow, her palms with their faint orange flush up; she wore the sapphire necklace and nothing more. The image was so vivid I felt my face heat.
I shook my
head. “This is lovely.”
“It is one of my creations.”
“What is the price?”
“One hundred and twenty-five pounds, sir, and for that, I would include the earrings. A trifle more than your one hundred, but well worth the extra expense.”
I looked longingly at the necklace, then at Holmes. “It is difficult to decide. I must think about it.”
Another long weary sigh from Harter. “Very well, sir.” He took the necklaces from the counter top.
Holmes put his hands together and gave a slight bow. “We are most grateful for your time, sahib. By the way, I believe Mr. Bromley’s wife has a celebrated diamond, does she not? The famous Moonstone.”
Harter nodded. “Yes, indeed.”
“And have you seen the famous stone, sir?”
“Oh yes. I have verified its authenticity on more than one occasion. Bromley was just in recently.”
“And is the stone as magical as they say?”
Harter gave a slight shrug. “After so many years in the business, my sense of magic has greatly diminished, but the Moonstone is exceptional. When I gaze at it through my lens, an old sense of the shivers returns.” His thin lips rose in a slight smile. “Not quite magical, but it is truly unique and beautiful. It has one really slight flaw, an interior sort of fleck that is visible in a certain light. That imperfection is what truly makes it perfect.”
“And what of the curse of the Moonstone, sahib? Do you ever feel any fear before the diamond?”
Harter gave a sharp laugh. “Balderdash—sheer balderdash. One needn’t fear gems—it’s men you have to watch out for. Or rather… Most jewels go to women, after all, and that is where the curse generally lies.”
I laughed. “You surely do not think women are a curse?”
“Not all of them, but enough to make many a man’s life miserable. I should not say so, but much of my business consists of men buying jewelry they cannot afford for women who do not deserve it. The women run them into the ground and drive them to the poorhouse. However, it’s different with the Moonstone. It has a history of its own, as do all famous gems. I’ve seen only a few of these stellar examples in my career, and it is the most illustrious of them all. They understand the true beauty of gems in the Orient. There, the jewels rise above the mundane. There, diamonds decorate statues of goddesses and gods in the temples rather than being flaunted by the empty-headed beauties of high society. And truly, nothing is more appalling than a beautiful gem necklace worn by some old hag with a wrinkled neck.”
“You are a philosopher, sir,” Holmes said.
“And an unmarried one, I suspect,” I added.
“My work has always been my mistress, Mr. Albert. However, mark me well—I’m not saying anything against Alice Bromley. She’s not one of the harridans. She is a beautiful woman, and the Moonstone suits her.”
“But it might look better on the statue of Chandra at Somanatha under torchlight?” Holmes asked.
“Exactly, and especially since she is like a little child in her beliefs about the curse.”
“But sometimes with great beauty comes great evil. Men have murdered for the Moonstone, sir, again and again. In my country the Muslim and the Hindu took turns trying to steal the diamond from each other. And an Englishman killed to steal the diamond and bring it back here. If that is not a curse, I do not know what is.”
Harter shrugged. “I cannot argue with that, Mr. Patel. The Moonstone is truly a great beauty, one I have been privileged to see on several occasions.” He stepped out from behind the counter and extended his hand, grasped each of ours in turn. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, gentlemen. I hope to see you again shortly. You, Mr. Patel, after you have better gauged the lady’s intentions”—this to Holmes, and to me—“and you, Mr. Albert, after having pondered between the sapphire and the emerald.”
The guard rose from his chair, slid back an enormous bolt and opened the door for us. While its exterior was wood, the inside was a thick layer of steel. It closed behind us with a slight rumbling sound.
“Not an easy place to burgle, I think.”
“No. The windows were all barred, as was the skylight. The place is a miniature fortress, and Mr. Harter lives in some upper rooms further back from the storefront, I believe. Let us walk for a while, Henry. The weather is still very fine.”
“As you wish. Sahib.”
He laughed. “Perhaps I overdid that. It is easy to fall into.”
We passed the fried fish cart. The vendor was handing a customer a greasy brown paper bag and gave us a curious look, faintly hostile.
“What was that business with Bromley’s name and the second ring he showed you?”
“What did you notice about that second ring he produced for the same price of thirty pounds?”
“It seemed inferior.”
“So it was—because for that one he was taking into account Mr. Bromley’s commission. We threw him off by asking for a price on the others before we had mentioned Bromley. If we had, the first ring I selected would have cost more. I suspect Bromley gets at least ten percent, perhaps more.”
“A commission? Is that kind of thing of done?”
“Of course it is. Bromley directs wealthy society clients to Harter, who gives him a percentage in return.”
I shrugged. “It was obvious, now that you mention it. That doesn’t seem exactly… above board.”
“No, but that type of arrangement is common enough.”
“I did think those necklaces were very fine.”
“Harter is a skilled craftsman, and he has been in the jeweler’s trade for over fifty years. His prices are not out of line. You could probably bargain him down at least ten percent. Tell him you don’t really know Mr. Bromley, that I was the one who was acquainted with him.”
“I hate haggling—and I am terrible at it.”
“Have a look at some other jewelers as well.”
“And I also hate shopping. I’m terrible at that, too.”
Holmes laughed. “But is not Michelle worth it?”
I remembered my vision of her on the bed in the sapphire necklace. “I will do it for her.”
Five
After our visit to Harter’s, Holmes and I parted, but he told me to come by Baker Street later that afternoon. We were going to visit someone, of whom he would only say she was “la crème de la crème of society.”
I returned home and had lunch with Michelle. At one point my brow creased as I stared at her and tried to imagine the sapphire necklace round her neck. “Why are you looking at me that way?” she asked. I lowered my gaze and made some feeble excuse.
Later I was in my consulting room reading a journal when there came a knock. When I opened the door, Charles Bromley stood before me, black top hat held in one gloved hand, his stick in the other. His dark chestnut hair was naturally curly, his grand mustache neatly trimmed just in line with his upper lip. If his wife was the archetypal languid blond female, he was the embodiment of male health and vigor. “Good afternoon, Dr. Vernier. Would you be free for a few moments?”
“Certainly. Have a seat.”
I sat down behind my mahogany desk, and Bromley took the comfortable armchair. He unbuttoned his black frock coat and opened it up, then crossed his legs and tugged at the material over his upper knee. The red-brown leather of his stylish boot shone. Obviously Hodges kept his master’s clothes and footgear in impeccable condition. Bromley had pulled off his gloves and held them loosely in his left hand.
“I wondered if you had talked with Dr. Doudet Vernier about her visit to Alice.”
“I have.”
“Did she have any thoughts about her condition, which you might share with me? I do worry so about Alice, Dr. Vernier.” He gave a great sigh. “She is very precious to me. Her health has always been so precarious. Moreover, she has never, I think, been truly happy. I had hoped that our marriage might bring her round, and I think it has helped—and continues to help—but she is still a prey to s
o many dark thoughts.”
“Michelle did examine her, and the results were ambivalent. It is hard to say if there is much physically wrong with her.”
He stared at me. “You surprise me, sir. She seems so fragile. I had always assumed…”
“She enjoyed her walk with Michelle. If anything is wrong with her, I doubt it is serious. Her heart and lungs sounded all right, which is a good sign.”
“Indeed? Dr. Cowen has always stressed she must rest and try to avoid too much excitement.”
This last reminded me of what Michelle had said about their “relations.” “I doubt she is as fragile as you and the doctor seem to think.”
“No?”
“Things are improving nowadays, but during Victoria’s long reign, there has been a certain cult of the valetudinarian, men and women morbidly obsessed with their health and convinced they suffer from a multitude of ailments. Often this leads to a self-fulfilling prophecy. Inactivity and worry make them sick. I cannot say for sure that Mrs. Bromley is one of those people, but it is certainly possible.”
He nodded. “I see.” He gave a deep sigh. “My greatest fear is… is…” His eyes would not meet mine.
“Yes? Tell me.”
“Is for her sanity, Dr. Vernier! I worry that she may—that she may end up in a madhouse.”
I shook my head. “I think that very unlikely.”
“Do you really?”
“The madhouse is often a dumping ground for people who have no one to care for them. You are obviously willing to look after your wife, and you have some money. The only other real reason would be if you thought she might harm herself.”
Bromley opened his mouth, but seemed briefly unable to speak. He let his gloves drop onto his leg, then ran his hand across his brow. “Exactly—exactly.”
I stared at him. “You think she might try to hurt herself?”
A shiver seemed to work its way up to his shoulders. “Like her mother—like her mother.”
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