‘Lee may have thought’, answered Sherlock, ‘that he had little chance as a Chinese of getting justice in a British court, against a peer of the realm. If Thursby lied, an English jury might well take his word. So Lee killed him, for revenge, and treated the corpse in a grotesque way to indicate to anyone else who might feel like cheating John Lee that he was a clever, cunning, unmerciful man, not a man to cross. It was easy for him to bring the body up-river, thus the wet footprint cleverly noticed by Charlotte. He knew the piece of opium in Thursby’s pocket would be found. That was his way of indicating the reason for which Thursby had been killed. But he knew also I was on to him and feared being tried for murder. When he seized little Alexander I honestly did not know what to do. Even my silence might not have saved the boy’s life. How could I trust John Lee to release my nephew on my word that I would say nothing about him? He would not believe that, once Alexander was back, I would not go to the police. An appalling dilemma.’
‘You had ceased to see Alexander as a political problem and begun to see him as a little boy,’ remarked Charlotte.
‘And John,’ said Mary, rolling up her sewing and putting it in a little bag, ‘I am very weary and must go home.’
‘Of course, my dear,’ said John.
After they had gone Sherlock yawned. ‘I too must leave.’
Once the farewells had been made he turned in the doorway and said to Rudolph and Charlotte, ‘I should like you to know that however ungraceful I have been in this matter I am now pleased, indeed honoured, to be a brother-in-law and an uncle. I hope you’ll accept my apologies for anything I might have done or said to indicate the contrary.’
‘My dear fellow,’ said Prince Rudolph, ‘that is generous of you.’
‘Even so,’ mused Sherlock Holmes, ‘imagine Mary Watson shooting a man.’
‘Imagine,’ murmured Charlotte.
But Sherlock continued to speak. ‘I am astonished by what has happened today. I am without doubt the foremost amateur detective in the world, but I believe there is something I shall never understand.’
‘And what is that, Sherlock?’ asked Charlotte, smiling.
‘Women,’ said the great detective – and was gone.
A Note on the Author
HILARY BAILEY was born in 1936 and was educated at thirteen schools before attending Newnham College, Cambridge. Married with children, she entered the strange, uneasy world of ’60s science fiction, writing some twenty tales of imagination which were published in Britain, the USA, France and Germany. She has edited the magazine New Worlds and has regularly reviewed modern fiction for the Guardian. Her first novel was published in 1975 and she has since written twelve novels and a short biography. She lives in Ladbroke Grove, London.
Discover books by Hilary Bailey published by Bloomsbury Reader at
www.bloomsbury.com/HilaryBailey
After the Cabaret
All the Days of My Life
As Time Goes By
A Stranger to Herself
Cassandra
Connections
Elizabeth and Lily
Fifty-First State
Hannie Richards
In Search of Love, Money and Revenge
Mrs Rochester
Polly Put the Kettle On
Mrs Mulvaney
The Cry from Street to Street
Miles and Flora
The Strange Adventures of Charlotte Holmes
This electronic edition published in 2012 by Bloomsbury Reader
Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square,
London WC1B 3DP
First published in Great Britain 1994 by Constable and Company Ltd
Copyright © 1994 Hilary Bailey
All rights reserved
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make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means
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The moral right of the author is asserted.
ISBN: 9781448209507
eISBN: 9781448209514
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The Strange Adventures of Charlotte Holmes Page 27