The Moonstone's Curse

by Sam Siciliano

  He smiled at me from under the brim of his black top hat. “Morpheus beckons, eh, Henry?” I nodded. “Perhaps a stroll down to the bridge, with a visit to Vauxhall Park along the way, then I must stop at Scotland Yard to check with Lestrade. He told me he would be there later this afternoon.”

  He set off at a good pace, his stick striking the ground rhythmically, and I followed. The Sunday traffic along South Lambeth Road was much lighter than during the week, none of those heavily laden carts which rumbled along as the draft horses pulled them.

  “You surprised me back there,” I said. “It is difficult to believe someone would steal a diamond of such value and then, after all that effort, simply give it away. Why would they do such a thing?”

  “As I indicated—to return it to its rightful owner.”

  “Honorable thieves?”

  “Yes.”

  I shook my head. “I can understand none of this.”

  Holmes gave me a quick sideways glance. “No, you would not. These are dark waters this time, Henry. You and Michelle are far too honest and straightforward to comprehend the depths of iniquity which are involved.”

  “That sounds grave indeed. Yet, you said the thieves were honorable. How can they be honorable and darkly evil at the same time?”

  He inhaled through his nose in what was almost a laugh. “I was not thinking of the thieves, but of other persons involved in this business, persons who I fear are completely lacking in any moral scruples or inhibitions whatsoever. Human life means nothing to them. They are willing to kill anyone who gets in their way without the slightest hesitation.”

  I felt anxiety stirring low in my chest. “Willing to kill? Whom?”

  “Mr. Harter, for one.”

  “I thought you were not sure his death had anything to do with the Moonstone.”

  “That was before it was stolen. Now I am certain of the connection.”

  “But why kill him?”

  Holmes’s smile was totally without humor. “Because he was too good at his trade.”

  My head had begun to ache. “I cannot understand any of this. I don’t suppose you would like to explain yourself?”

  “Not yet, Henry. Also, I shall not at all be surprised if the servant girl Amy turns up in one of the police files for those unknown ‘floaters’ recovered from the Thames.”

  I looked up at the blue sky and the clouds and tried to control my fear. “I hope you are finished with this list of victims.”

  “No, unfortunately not.”

  “Who else has been killed?”

  “No one. Yet.”

  I groaned. “Who then? Another of the servants? Bromley? Or… Alice?” The fear had returned.

  “She was right about the curse, you know. A stone like that has an aura of death, or rather—it is as she said. The thing has been drowned in blood. Perhaps that childhood vision of hers was not merely an idle fantasy. Someone with preternatural senses might well see a cloud of blood around it.”

  “You have said you don’t believe in the supernatural, in ghosts or vampires or werewolves, and yet you speak of a cloud of blood! Is this your idea of a ghastly joke?”

  He stared more closely at me, then reached out and grasped my arm. “Easy, Henry. I did not mean to upset you. There is no literal cloud of blood. I was only musing out loud.”

  “But you think Alice may be in danger?”

  His bleak smile returned. “In this case, I trust my intuition absolutely. She is in very grave danger.”

  “But they have the diamond? Why bother to kill her? What would be the point?”

  “Remember those dark waters I mentioned? But calm yourself. All is not lost. I told her I would protect her, and I will.”

  “Who is it, then? Some blood cult of crazed Indians determined to kill her because she has profaned their sacred stone?”

  “No, no—that is still the stuff of melodrama. It is all much more simple than that.”

  “Not so simple I can fathom it.”

  “We are back where we started. You cannot fathom it because you are too honorable and decent. Do you hear that?”

  I frowned, then became aware of music blaring in the distance.

  “How agreeable, a Sunday afternoon concert in the park! Although ‘Rule Britannia’ is hardly very original. Let us stop and listen for a while.”

  We entered the park through an opening in the black wrought-iron fence. Along a grassy expanse, people stood in their Sunday best listening to the concert. Many men wore light linen suits of pale beige, brown or gray with straw boaters, while the women had colorful dresses of silk or muslin, their copious skirts ballooning out. The small orchestra was under a bandstand with its white-and-green-painted arches topped by an ornate roof. The players wore red-and-gold military-style jackets, and the light glinted off the bright brass and silver of the trombones, french horns, flutes, trumpets and clarinets. After “Rule Britannia” they played a few brisk marches. The audience clapped loudly after each piece. A small boy in a sailor suit listened attentively, while his smaller brother and sister sat and pulled up handfuls of grass.

  Everything was so pleasant, so normal, everyone so much at ease, and yet I felt sick at heart. For once I could understand Alice’s dislike of sunshine: given the dark influence of the Moonstone, all this yellowish brightness was deceptive, jarring. I had had more than enough of the Moonstone case and the jewel’s curse. I wanted to go home to Michelle and forget all about the miserable business. I tried to tell myself I was being unmanly and simply ridiculous—how could Alice possibly be in danger?—and yet I knew that Holmes’s judgment in these matters was unsurpassed. If he thought she was in danger, then she surely was. But he had said he would protect her, and he could be counted on—more than any other man alive, he could be counted on.

  The music reached a great brassy crescendo and ceased. The crowd applauded with enthusiasm. The conductor, who sported a pince-nez and a goatee, bowed, and then the players lowered their instruments and began to move about. Holmes turned to me. “I fear my observations have ruined what should have been an agreeable afternoon.”

  I smiled wanly. “Yes.”

  “I am sorry, Henry. Come, let us see what Inspector Lestrade has to say, and then you may return to Michelle and, I hope, set aside this business for a few days.”

  “Until the diamond comes to Tyabji?”

  “Exactly. And my best estimate of the day would be Wednesday. Time enough for things to calm a bit, for Lestrade to turn to other cases, for some semblance of normalcy to return.”

  We walked to the exit of the park and found several cabs waiting nearby. Soon we were crossing Vauxhall Bridge. A big barge stacked with barrels steamed by, making its way through a vast flotilla of small rowing-boats, most with a seated lady and a gentleman at the oars, couples enjoying an idyllic afternoon on the river. When we reached Scotland Yard, Holmes asked the driver to wait for us. As it was a Sunday afternoon, there were few people inside. We went upstairs and down the hall to Lestrade’s office, Holmes pausing along the way to give an appreciative nod to Sergeant Cuff’s unsmiling portrait. Once again, the huge cut-glass ashtray on the dark-stained desk had been filled with cigarette butts. Lestrade had his jacket off, and he rose to shake our hands.

  “Have you discovered anything of note?” Holmes asked.

  Lestrade shook his head, then picked up his cigarette case from the table. He was about to offer one to Holmes, then laughed and raised his hand. “I know,” he said, “you have your own.” Holmes also laughed, then removed the silver case from inside his frock coat. Lestrade lit his cigarette and then Holmes’s with a single match.

  Lestrade inhaled, then sat back as he let the smoke out. “Not a blasted thing! Dr. Cowen arrived not long after you left. He couldn’t manage to wait until noon, so I questioned him. He was adamant that the necklace was on the dresser last night when he left the bedroom, and Mrs. Bromley said the same thing. I went to see the Bartrams, the Alexanders and the Harrisons. All of them
had perfect alibis. One of my men, Wilkinson, talked to Tyabji and then tried to question Murthwaite, but he was in such a miserable state from all his drink the night before that he was incoherent. I shall have to seek out Murthwaite myself, but Wilkinson said he doubted a man so drunk could have been party to the crime.”

  Lestrade leaned back in his chair, extending his arm to flick off some cigarette ash. “The couples reacted as might be expected, except for Lady Bartram, the sister.” He shook his head. “What an insufferable shrew! The others were astonished when I told them about the theft, but she was outraged. She warned me that her husband’s family had connections with the highest authorities and threatened to have me removed from my position if I did not find the diamond within twenty-four hours. Poor Bartram was embarrassed by her outburst and took me aside as I was leaving to apologize. When I asked the lady if she knew who might have taken the diamond, she thought for a moment, then said it was probably Alice herself.”

  I shook my head. “There’s certainly bad blood between those two. We told you about the port last night.”

  “Ah, yes.” Lestrade smiled wickedly. “How I wish I’d seen that! I also had my men interview every household up and down the street on both sides of the back alleyway. No one saw or heard anything unusual last night. You would think if a ladder long enough to reach that window were used, someone would have noticed it passing by. The thieves would have had to use a cart of some kind. Two men carrying a ladder down the street would have been far too obvious. I must admit, I’m partial to the idea of a rope, although, as you pointed out, there were no marks on the ledge.”

  Holmes shrugged. “I would not necessarily assume anyone used the window with the hole in it to enter the house.”

  Lestrade stared at him, then shrugged. “No, perhaps not. All the same, no reason to needlessly complicate things. It all looks rather straightforward to me.”

  The corners of Holmes’s mouth rose in a bittersweet smile.

  “Of course, you do not agree. Things need not always be more complicated than they appear, Mr. Holmes. I’ll wager it was the former servant, Amy, in league with professional thieves. She knew the layout of the house and all the routines. She may have still been in contact with another of the servants. She heard about the upcoming dinner party with the final display of the diamond, so it was now or never. They hoped they might have their opportunity, and they did. Perhaps they used a simple signal like having someone pass by a certain window. Maybe two servants were in on it, possibly Matilda and Susan. Or Amy could have advised her friend Susan to apply for the job, so they would have someone else on the inside.”

  Holmes was still smiling. “It sounds almost plausible.”

  Lestrade frowned. “Almost, but not quite, eh? Well, we certainly haven’t much to go on. Blast it, much as I hate to admit it, I doubt anyone will ever see the Moonstone again. Odds are that they’ll simply chisel it into smaller stones and sell them off that way. Far safer than trying to sell a diamond of that size and notoriety. The pieces would still be worth a fortune.”

  “Henry and I have just come from Mr. Tyabji. I told him that if anyone delivered a small package that he should contact me immediately. I said that I, in turn, would contact you, and we would come at once. Such a package will most likely contain the Moonstone.”

  This time Lestrade’s scowl was truly grotesque. “What? Do you think Tyabji is somehow behind the theft?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Then why would someone send him the diamond? Is it another band of Indians who have stolen the jewel?”

  “That, too, is unlikely.”

  “Who, then?” Holmes only shrugged. Lestrade shook his head. “You are keeping something from me.”

  “You must allow me my little secrets, Inspector. All the same, I am not hiding any facts which are not obvious.”

  “Oh, Lord.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “Well, be sure you do notify me if you hear from Tyabji. You had better not go there on your own. No fait accomplis this time, no sending for me with the case all neatly wrapped up, all right?”

  “I have said I will contact you, and so I shall.” Holmes took a last draw on his cigarette, then squashed the butt into the ashtray, even as he stood up. “Oh, and if your men do discover a body in the files that might be that of Amy, let me know at once.”

  Lestrade regarded him curiously. “She gave someone all the information they needed, and then they got rid of her. I suppose that might make sense. One less person to worry about, one less person to share the loot.”

  “Good afternoon, Inspector.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes.”

  Holmes had the cab driver drop me off at my home near Paddington Station, while he went on to Baker Street. I had almost dozed on the last solitary lap of the journey. Before I trudged up the stairs to our sitting room, I pulled my watch from my waistcoat pocket. It was almost four thirty. Michelle was sitting in the purple velvet armchair reading with our large black-and-white cat, the irreverently named Victoria, upon her lap.

  “There you are at last!” She set down her book, put down Victoria, then stepped forward, gave me a quick embrace and drew back to look at me. “You do look weary. And very much out of spirits, too.”

  I smiled. “You know me well enough.”

  “I suppose no one has found the diamond. It is likely lost forever.”

  “Sherlock thinks someone will send it to Tyabji.”

  “Tyabji? But why?”

  “He is being mysterious.” I drew in my breath, then slowly eased it out.

  Michelle touched my face lightly with her fingertips. “What is it? What is wrong?”

  “Sherlock also thinks someone may want to harm Alice Bromley.”

  “Alice? But why?”

  “More mysteries.”

  She shook her head brusquely. “He must be wrong.”

  “You know better than that.”

  “Oh, poor Alice. You saw her, did you not? How was she?”

  “She felt terrible, as you might imagine after all she had to drink. She apologized for being rude to you.” I hesitated, then raised my hand and set it alongside Michelle’s face. Her blue eyes stared at me from under her thick red-brown eyebrows. Her hair was up, but done more loosely than usual, a soft wave off to one side. Her mouth was a wide one, her lips very full. “You are so beautiful.”

  “Am I?”

  I leaned forward to kiss her, then drew her closer. She felt so full and solid in my arms. “Oh Henry, I love you.”

  “And I love you.”

  “Why can’t people just love one another? It is not so very hard, after all, is it?”

  “It’s not hard loving you. It is easy.”

  “Yes,” she said. I kissed her again, longer this time. “I suppose…” she began. “You must be tired. I tried to wait up for you last night, but you know how good I am at that.”

  I laughed softly. “You must have lasted five or ten minutes.”

  “You could have woken me.”

  “It was after two, and I was truly exhausted.”

  “And now? Are you truly exhausted?”

  “No. Only half exhausted.” I kissed her again.

  “Let’s go upstairs, and I shall try to distract you for a while.”

  And so she did. Afterwards, I slept for a while, and when I woke I was aware of Michelle’s long, smooth body alongside my own.

  “Feeling better, sleepy-head?”

  “Yes. I’m starving, though.”

  “Me, too. Why don’t we go out for dinner? A light dinner. After that meal last night, I thought I would never want to eat again. They serve a ridiculous amount of food at those formal dinners, and I always feel it is my duty to eat it all.”

  “You did an impressive job, especially compared to Alice.”

  “She is a beautiful woman, isn’t she?”

  “I prefer sturdy redheads, myself.”

  She laughed, then kissed my shoulder. “All the same, why would her husba
nd…? How could you live with someone and never touch them, never go to bed together?”

  I sighed softly. “I don’t know. This is the best part of my life.”

  She raised herself up and kissed me lightly on the mouth. “And mine. Somehow it is the part that matters the most. This is how I can show you how much I love you.”

  “Yes,” I murmured.

  We were quiet for a while. Only a single sheet covered us, but the room was warm because we had closed the windows, not wanting passers-by to notice strange cries coming from the upper floor. Our housekeeper and cook, Harriet, had Sunday afternoons off.

  “At least Alice isn’t like Violet,” Michelle said at last. “Her husband is not a brute, and she seemed to have found the experience pleasurable.”

  I laughed. “Pleasurable would seem something of an understatement in your case. Sometimes I fear for my life.”

  “Henry, if I am ever too rough, too fierce, you must tell me—promise you will tell me.”

  I laughed again. “That is the last thing you need worry about. You cannot be too ferocious for me. It makes me feel the same way.”

  “Good. Sometimes… I do feel I could eat you all up like the bad wolf in the fairy tale.”

  We lay on our backs, our hands clasped together. “And you,” I said, “do you find Charles Bromley handsome?”

  “Oh yes, certainly, but all the same… I would never want to be married to someone like him.”

  “Why not? In many ways, he seems the ideal husband.”

  “He is too amiable, too eager, too charming. Alice told me he is never angry or impatient. How can you trust a man who is never angry or impatient with you? It is too good to be true.”

  “We rarely quarrel with one another.”

  “Yes, but we are occasionally ill-tempered or impatient. I cannot help but wonder… He listens so attentively, as if your every word were important to him, but can he truly be listening all the time? How would that even be possible? Surely all of us get distracted or find certain strands of conversation less interesting than others, and yet he always has the same eager expression.”