‘“You, Countess,” I responded, “seem as fresh as a daisy after your late-night stroll through the palace corridors. But,” I said, holding out my hands for the papers she had under her arm, “do let me see what you’ve been doing? Perhaps I can continue your work with my pupils after you have gone.”
‘“Oh,” said the Countess, “this is mere genealogy. I was telling them something of their heredity – important of course, but by no means academic. These are just old papers. I will leave the more orthodox part of the Princesses’ education to those qualified, and paid, to undertake it.” And with that she swept off in her silk dress, leaving me in my wool and spectacles to deal with my two, now sulky, little charges. The morning was discouraging. The thin black cat sat on the mat in front of the schoolroom fire as ever. Sullenness at the departure of their aunt changed into something nastier as the two girls became restless and excitable. Their voices rose higher. Their concentration was negligible. They fidgeted, bit the ends of their plaits, scratched themselves and, in short, behaved like bad-tempered animals under restraint. I was not happy myself. Apart from anything else, I was trying to get them to identify the countries of the world from an ancient atlas where the continent of Africa was nine-tenths marked “Terra Incognita” and attempting to teach the rudiments of European history from a book of Kravonian history which scarcely mentioned anywhere or anything else in the world. They needed to be sent to a British girls’ school without delay, I considered. Finally I took the line of least resistance and set them to writing, leaving them scratching and spluttering away while I left the schoolroom on an errand. I didn’t imagine they would continue with their work long after I had left the room.
‘I had to start breaking the Countess’s tyranny somewhere, so I went to the kitchen to fetch food for that half-starved cat. This gave me a good chance to walk through the palace of Norvius at leisure, across courtyards full of soldiers and horses. I made a detour into the library, a vast, dusty hall full of cobwebs and apparently discarded furniture (as I opened the heavy door to go in a rat scuttled away). Here I found, in this room seemingly unentered for years, footmarks on the dusty floor leading amid books, chests of old papers and rolls of parchment to a place where some documents had evidently been removed. (A thousand years of unbroken rule, all documents intact except what will have been eaten by rats and mice – what a field for a scholar, I thought!) I saw traces of another person’s entry also, and I was not surprised to note, from the sweeping of her skirt on the floor, in what direction the Countess’s interests lay. The male footmarks, I observed, though, had led to a heavily carved bookshelf laden with unsorted maps, charts and plans, and that I cannot at present explain. I earmarked a few plans and maps for myself and put them near the door for later collection. But can you help me work out who the other researcher in this abandoned library could be? There may, of course, be a straightforward reason for the hunt for maps and plans but in that high, dusty, dark room, smelling of hundreds of years of stored documents, I suspect something strange.
‘However, back to the more cheering atmosphere in the palace kitchens where I went next. Here order and hygiene prevail. I was fortunate to bump immediately into the Comptroller of the Royal Household, a German, Herr Heinrich Krull, as he made his daily inspection. Krull, a tall, ruddy, cheerful man, kindly supplied my wants in the direction of food for the cat. In fact he sent a scullion running to the tower with a tray containing snacks for all there, Princesses and cat alike. Krull could hardly conceal his sympathy for me when he heard I was the young Princesses’ present governess and kindly offered me a cup of coffee in his office, which lay down a corridor, some distance from the kitchens. As we went there he said, “I don’t think you need to have too bad a conscience about leaving your little charges alone. They have seen off governess after governess and it would take a team of professors, now, to rescue them from ignorance.”
‘His office was comfortable and well organised. As we spoke we were interrupted by the comings and goings of staff asking for orders and information. He dealt most competently with all this, yet I had the feeling he was a man with a troubled mind. Then he told me that after two years as Comptroller of the palace, he was leaving shortly.
‘“You are homesick for Germany?” I enquired tactfully.
‘He gave me a steady, serious look and asked, “Your first impressions of me, I suppose, Miss Holmes, will not have given you the sense of a timorous, over-imaginative man?”
‘“Certainly not,” I assured him.
‘“Then you will take me seriously when I tell you that nostalgia about my native land is not my first reason for leaving here, that I have come to dread this place, that I am leaving because of that dread and that I advise you to do the same if you can.” He continued, “If I may say so you do not look like a woman who has no opportunities – and if you have only one, I suggest you take advantage of it and leave Norvius as soon as you can.”
‘Encouraged by his bluntness I asked, “What’s wrong here?”
‘He said, “Brigands, calling themselves republicans, have control over the west of Kravonia, that wild area they call Ersting. It’s always been famous for witchcraft, and poverty – now it’s famous for being run by brigands. The law has no power there. Any law administered is the law of the Kravonian People’s League. They won’t admit it here in Norvius but Ersting is like Sicily, or certain parts of America – the bandits are in charge. One used to be able to live happily in other parts of the country, but not any longer – these evil men are getting closer. Only yesterday, as I expect you know, a bomb went off in the centre of this very city, destroying the Town Hall. Yesterday the Town Hall – tomorrow the palace, eh?”
‘“I suppose that’s possible,” I said.
‘“But at least you know where you are with guns and bombs,” continued Krull. “Worse are the mysteries and strange currents here. The Holsteins left in a hurry taking their daughter with them. It was said she met a monster in the attics – as Comptroller of this household I must feel insulted. That anyone would suppose I control the palace in such a way that monsters would be left in attics without my knowledge!”
‘“But if that is a fiction, what is there to fear?”
‘“Nasty thuds and bangs, not from the attics, but the cellars. Dungeons, rather.”
‘“The dungeons lie below the palace?”
‘“It’s not so very long since they kept prisoners there. Now I don’t know what’s going on. My staff say it’s the monster.” He paused, then evidently decided to speak. “I fear Ristorin is using the cellars for the people he arrests.”
‘“Arrests? He is the Chancellor.”
‘“He is also the head of the Secret Police. He has many spies.”
‘I was startled, and rather chilled by this, but I merely responded, I hope coolly, “He seems to be having very little success when it comes to the Kravonian League. If, as you say, having made a base in the south-western areas of the country, they are now encroaching into Norvius.”
‘Krull nodded. “As you say,” he agreed. “But unfortunately inefficiency and brutality often go hand in hand.”
‘“You have not conducted a search of the cellar?”
‘“No,” said Krull determinedly. “I do not want to find out what is happening.” He looked at me earnestly and spoke rapidly. “Miss Holmes – there is too much confusion in this place in too many ways. What I see I don’t like and what I sense I like even less. It is not the bombs, it is not what may or may not be in the cellars – it is everything. I say, with your Hamlet, ‘There’s something rotten in the state of Denmark.’ Therefore, I’m leaving and advise you strongly to do the same.”
‘There was little time. I had to return to the schoolroom soon. More than that, the answers I did not get from Krull today I would not get tomorrow, for he would be gone. I told him I was no governess. Bluntly, I asked, “Do you know why Ursula of Holstein would not marry Prince Rudolph? And do you know how Prince Oscar died – or if
he is dead? What of the Countess Seraphine – does she practise the black arts?”
‘He laughed. “Plenty to chew on there. Are all the women in your country so blunt? To answer your last question first – of course the Countess practises black magic. All the women of her family for generations have done so. Whether – I am a rational man – they have any success with their spells I can’t say.”
‘“Did the late Queen, her sister, also …?”
‘“I imagine so,” he said. “But she was a pleasant lady and it did no harm. As to the royal wedding’s failure, I can’t help you. Nor as to Prince Oscar’s death. It’s said he died hunting.”
‘“And I can find John Land in Ersting?”
‘In great alarm, he said, “Do not to go Ersting, I beg you.”
‘But I answered, “Perhaps I must, to solve this riddle, or part of it.” He again pleaded with me not to go, but I would give him no promises.
‘In the schoolroom my pupils were up to their tricks and when I put a stop to them they whispered and giggled and I heard them hissing, “We’ll make the Bad Thing get her.”
‘“What Bad Thing?” I asked sharply, but they would not reply. The newly fed cat, however, licked his paws and stretched out to sleep on his mat like a normal creature.’
Charlotte’s letter concluded, ‘Sherlock – I must within a few days embark on some dangerous activities. I long for your comments about all this. I need them. Will you write or telegraph as soon as possible? I’m becoming alarmed by your silence and hope there is nothing amiss. Please, Sherlock – I do so need your help.’
Dr Watson concluded the reading of this letter and then gazed at his wife in some horror. Mary was the first to speak, though: ‘How dreadful. Do you think she set off for this awful place, Ersting?’
‘I do wonder’, John Watson said, ‘if Mycroft has done anything other than transcribe these letters. He is a brilliant man, but not a man of action. Telegrams must be sent, the nearest British Embassy informed – there must be a consulate, at least, at Norvius.’
‘Do read the last letter, John,’ asked his wife. ‘It is unbearable to think of Charlotte writing all this, without knowing Sherlock would never reply and was in no position to help.’
‘Hush, then, my dear,’ said her husband, ‘and let up hope this letter contains better news.’
Then Dr Watson began to read the last letter from Charlotte to Sherlock.
‘My dear, dear, Sherlock,’ Charlotte wrote, apparently in some desperation, ‘I am so anxious about you. Why do you not write? I know you would never leave me with this silence unless there were something wrong. Or perhaps you are away? I begin to feel very strange and isolated in this place, where all is so sinister and complicated. Reason tells me that to solve the mystery of the marriage which did not take place I have to solve the mystery of the palace cellars, where I hope not to meet the Bad Thing (and do not suppose I will!). I shall also have to go and find John Land in Ersting. My hypothesis is that Land and the secret of the cellars are connected, and that finding out about those two things will go far to answering the question of the marriage. On reflection I do not think the Countess Seraphine is too deeply involved in all this. But I am desperate now for your ideas and conclusions. I am about to act and do not want to make mistakes based on faulty reasoning. Sherlock, if you can, write or telegraph as soon as possible. Your loving sister, Charlotte.’
Here, the third, final and shortest letter from Charlotte ended. John and Mary Watson looked at each other wordlessly. John muttered, This is very serious. Very grave. If I were Mycroft I would be on the train to Norvius, I think.’
‘I will go myself, if need be,’ Mary said doughtily.
‘You will not,’ her husband told her. ‘But, if necessary, I shall.’
‘By now she will have been into the cellars. She may even have gone to that fearful region full of bandits. But why should she be trying to meet this anarchist leader?’ Her eyes widened. ‘He may have kidnapped her and be holding her for ransom.’
‘We must try to keep calm and take an optimistic view,’ John said. He turned and put more coal on the fire, perhaps to hide the anxiety on his face. Mary was not deceived. ‘What shall we do?’ she asked. Then she cried, ‘Oh – heavens!’ Someone had knocked at the door, and in that silent room it sounded, to Mary, like the sudden banging of a huge drum. ‘Go to the door, John,’ she said. ‘But be careful. It may be Mycroft’s messenger again.’
John Watson left the room, leaving Mary in her chair. Then she heard the sound of voices in the hall. ‘No time to waste, John,’ said Mycroft. ‘Extremely glad to see you, Mycroft,’ said John.
Mycroft Holmes, a round figure bundled in a thick coat and scarf, entered the room, followed by John. He bowed slightly to Mary and said, ‘I apologise for calling so late.’
‘I am most relieved to see you,’ Mary said. ‘Will you sit down?’
‘Thank you, no,’ Mycroft said. ‘In fact you and I may be going on a visit. I expect a telegram at any moment. I have been to see Sherlock at the Balham sanatorium. He appears recovered, I’m pleased to say, and was naturally very upset when he read the copies of Charlotte’s letters. We talked them over and both came to the same conclusions.’
‘But what are we to do?’ cried Mary. ‘Poor Charlotte may be in danger.’
‘On balance,’ Mycroft replied calmly, ‘we think she is not – though she may have been earlier. She will have waited in vain for Sherlock’s letter, which did not come. Next day she will have searched the palace cellars and found what there is to find – weapons, most probably, we think. Then I imagine the next day she will have gone to Ersting to meet the revolutionary, Land. That would have been Tuesday, and now – ’ he glanced at his watch, ‘and now – ’ His words were interrupted by a knock at the door. He smiled with satisfaction. ‘That will be the telegram,’ he said. ‘I hope you do not mind? I asked Betsey to send it here.’ He left the room and when he came back he held the yellow slip in his hand. ‘Just as Sherlock and I concluded,’ he said. ‘Charlotte is expected back at any moment.’
‘In Chelsea?’ exclaimed Mary. ‘Heavens be praised.’
‘Just so,’ agreed Mycroft. ‘Well then – I’ve retained my cab, so if you and John would care to put on your coats we’ll go there. Charlotte might be tired, but she’ll be delighted to see us. And we must hear her story. Sherlock is very annoyed with her for endangering herself in the way she has. I almost hope he doesn’t come. He said he might be detained in Baker Street.’
‘Sherlock!’ John exclaimed. ‘At Baker Street? Is he recovered?’
‘Well,’ said Mycroft in a guarded way, ‘he was improving and this little teaser restored him. After solving this Kravonian affair, from letters alone, he turned to me and said, “Well, Mycroft – this is what I was made for.” I expect he’s on his way to Chelsea now. How could he resist confirming his conclusions at the earliest possible moment. Shall we go?’
‘You could not stop us,’ John Watson said. The couple got quickly into their coats and soon the party was on its way to Chelsea.
As they clopped over Chelsea Bridge the clocks struck one in the morning.
‘What did you mean, Mycroft, about the weapons in the cellar?’ asked Mary.
‘We shall see,’ said Mycroft mysteriously.
‘I can hardly wait to see my old friend Sherlock, restored to health again,’ declared John.
Within minutes they were at Charlotte’s house and descending from their cab. The door was opened by Betsey, in a wrapper and curlers, before they had even knocked. ‘Miss Charlotte’s back – and in such a fur!’ she cried excitedly and there in the doorway, suddenly, was Charlotte Holmes, who had plainly returned only that minute, wearing a fur hat and a long, grey, sable coat. She held out her hands and rushed towards them. ‘Welcome. Welcome. What a wonderful reception committee! John – I am so pleased to see you. Mary – let me embrace you. Oh, how good it is to see the faces of home. I hear Sherlock has been … unw
ell again. He is at present detained at Baker Street, waiting for a sea captain, but he hopes to be here shortly.’
‘Ah, my old friend,’ sighed John Watson. ‘Recovered, and no doubt embarked on another case.’ His wife’s face darkened at this, but she said nothing.
In the sitting-room they sat down, Charlotte flinging the sable coat over the piano stool. Betsey appeared, without her curlers, and asked if there was anything they wanted. ‘A good cup of tea,’ said Charlotte. ‘It’s a long time since I had such a thing. And I’m sure Mary will join me. Mycroft, will you pour out some whisky for yourself and John?’
‘Gladly,’ Mycroft said. ‘And let me say how happy I am to see you back in one piece.’
‘Oh, yes,’ added the beaming Mary.
‘Nevertheless,’ Mycroft continued, his back to the group by the fire as he put whisky in the glasses, ‘it was foolish to endanger yourself as you did. I know Sherlock feels even more strongly about it than I do.’
Charlotte, teacup in hand, laughed and said, ‘Yes, yes, Mycroft. But do you want to hear my story?’
‘I do indeed,’ he said, sitting down.
‘Very well,’ she said, and went on, ‘You will have seen from my last letter the quandary I was in. Sherlock had not answered any of my appeals for help, I had to ask myself, should I proceed on the basis of my own hypotheses or wait for Sherlock’s valued second opinion?’
The Strange Adventures of Charlotte Holmes Page 6
