Sherlock Holmes Vs Irene Adler: A Duel of Wits (The Irene Adler Series Book 4)

by San Cassimally

  Whichever direction this incomprehensible trial takes, his ambition to run the country was being seriously eroded. Couldn’t everybody see that he was the leader the country needed? He was going to put the Great back in Great Britain. Good original slogan that. He saw clearly how to deal with Germany. Link up with the French and sweep across the Rhine from Strasbourg and capture Stuttgart and Munich. Then get the Russians to cross from Poland and capture Berlin, and at the same time, have the Royal Navy pulverise Hamburg and link up with the Tsar’s forces in Berlin. Couldn’t that halfwit to whom most things meant nothing see that?

  ‘Sir, I spit on this rigmarole,’ he suddenly heard himself say. He immediately regretted this.

  ‘Spitting in court is a serious crime, but we understand your position. Now let us begin proceedings,’ said Irene Adler. After the laughter had died, Bartola who was seated at a table near the judge stood up, and prepared to read the indictment.

  What a disgraceful way to dress! thought Harmiston. Sofia must never know that some shameless hussies dared to wear a skirt which barely covered their knees. Barely. Admittedly she was wearing stockings, but anybody can see her calves. Shapely and seductive they are too. Even in this dire situation he felt something stir down there. Was it his fault that his urges were stronger than in other men? Women are going to be raped in broad daylight if this propensity for nakedness in public catches on. She cleared her throat.

  ‘Sir Harrison Belvedere Harmiston is brought to you here, ladies and gentlemen, to answer to a case of unlawful expulsion of this gentleman hereby designated as Mr John Smith. The aforesaid was the tenant of a farm in Lower Beeding which he rented from Suckliffe Properties which belongs to the accused, where he had been struggling to make a living by growing winter corn for the last ten years. He had been looking forward to a better than average yield in December 1901, but before he was able to harvest his crop, the bailiffs came and evicted him. The charge against Sir Harrison is that this expulsion was unlawful.’ The judge then invited the prosecutor to proceed.

  The Bishop stood up and took two steps forward.

  ‘I call Mr Smith.’ The man that Harmiston had spotted earlier came forward. So it was the Lower Beeding affair. He remembered there was some issue, but not the details.

  ‘Sir,’ the Counsel began, ‘in this court, we do not need to swear any witness, trusting that no one is going to lie. Why would you? Mr Smith, do you remember what happened on the morning of the 8th of December 1901? Of course you do, we talked about it, silly of me to waste time, but please tell the court what happened.’

  The fellow Smith played with his tie, obviously unused to wearing one.

  ‘Albert, eh, Mr Hopskin turned up. Unexpectedly. Why Mr Hopskin sir, I said, I paid the rent last week, so what can I do for you now?’

  ‘How did Hopskin respond?’

  ‘Why sir, he began swearing at me. Asked if I wanted his children to starve.’

  ‘Were you?’

  ‘What sir?’ asked a surprised John Smith.

  ‘Planning to starve his children, Mr Smith?’

  ‘No sir. He was angry because he reckoned that I should be preparing to move out of the farm. If I was but half a day late, he told me, Sir Harrison would certainly give him the sack.’ The accused nodded to this. He prided himself on his rigorous application of the law. He was proud that he ran his business with the same cold efficiency with which he planned to run the country.

  ‘Sir Harrison,’ the Bishop asked the accused, ‘would you have sacked your manager if your tenant did not move out on the appointed day?’ To everybody’s surprise, he nodded.

  ‘Of course. The law is the law. Allow people the slightest leeway and chaos ensues. Discipline is of the essence in running one’s affairs. This is what’s been sadly lacking in the people who run this country.’ This answer will do nothing to ease my predicament, but I kowtow to nobody.

  ‘Please explain why it would have been necessary to sack your rent collector under the circumstances.’ asked the judge.

  ‘Oh for many reasons. First, I chose to give employment to the fellow, so it’s my absolute right to terminate it when I deem it fit, for reasons which I am entitled to keep to myself, or for none at all. Secondly, sacking staff when they least expect it, is the best way to keep them on their toes. Third-’

  ‘Yes, thank you, the court gets the picture. Proceed, Counsel.’

  ‘So, Mr Smith, were you able to reassure him?’

  ‘I did sir. I gave him the undertaking that he will find that I will have left the premises before the church clock welcomed the new year at midnight.’

  ‘And did you?’ Smith pursed his lips, looked shifty and mumbled something.

  ‘Speak up, Mr Smith. Did you evacuate the farm before midnight on the thirty-first of December?’

  ‘How could I, your honour?’

  ‘Can you not answer a question by asking another? Right, tell the court why you could not,’ prompted the Bishop. Every member of the audience turned to their neighbour and started reminiscing about the terrible blizzards that hit the country in the second half of December.

  ‘Them blizzards, sir. For ten days and ten nights, they raged on. It was impossible to go anywhere, let alone in the fields. The snow had iced up, and more was piling down every day to add to the misery.’

  Addressing the accused, the Bishop asked, ‘Is that something you recognise, sir?’

  ‘Of course. The whole country from John o’ Groats to Lands End was immobilised. Only an idiot would be unaware of that.’

  ‘And I take it, you don’t consider yourself to be one?’ The man in the dock smiled and nodded.

  ‘So, Mr Smith, what did you do?’

  ‘I appealed to Mr Hopskin’s humanity sir.’

  ‘And how did he respond?’

  ‘He repeated what he had said earlier. Did I want his family to starve? I said, No, Mr Hopskin, I did not, but did he want my five kids to starve? Which we would sir, if I was not allowed to wait until the thaw to harvest my corn.’

  ‘And what did he say to that?’

  ‘He was very sympathetic sir. Said he understood, but it was the landowner who made the law. And he said, if I had to decide … I mean Mr Hopskin said if he had to decide which of our two families was going to starve, he’d have no hesitation in choosing mine. I said I understood that, sir, but was there no way in which neither would?’

  ‘What did he say to that?’

  ‘He became angry sir. Nothing to do with him, he said.’

  ‘So, what did you do?’ Smith looked at Harmiston, who threw a hostile look at him.

  ‘I made my way to Hanover Square sir. To put my case to the landowner.’

  ‘Do you see that man in court?’

  ‘Yes sir, he’s in the box.’

  ‘Of course you do. Silly of me to waste time. Please proceed.’

  ‘Well sir, I told him about the ice preventing the reaping.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Smith became very agitated and he answered in a cracked voice.

  ‘He called his stable boy. Bunkle, he said, if this man is not out of these premises in fifty seconds, you are to release the hounds. And he began counting, One – Two -’

  ‘Really? How did you react to this?’ Smith had tears in his eyes.

  ‘With your permission sir... if I may...’ The judge seemed unsure but said, ‘Go ahead, Mr Smith,’ whereupon the witness took a few steps forward, limping quite badly.

  ‘You mean-’ began the prosecutor.

  ‘Yes sir,’ he said pulling his trousers up to reveal his ankle, ‘I had a huge chunk bitten off just above my ankle.’ It wasn’t as if I sprang the hounds on the bastard without warning. I counted to sixty. I gave him an extra ten seconds.

  Everybody in the hall gasped. When the audience had regained its collective breath, Irene instructed the prosecutor to continue.

  ‘Am I right then, Mr Smith, to conclude that you were left with no alternative?’

  ‘Yes. Wit
h my bruised foot, it was well-nigh impossible sir, but my wife and our five all helped pack our belongings, loaded them on the cart and make our way to Horsham where her aged parents still bided. In one small room.’

  ‘But you were allowed to reap your corn afterwards?’ Smith gave an obscene laugh.

  ‘Are you serious sir? A whole year’s labour rotted away to God’s great anger. Why did he enrich the soil, water it with his rains if Man then let it go to waste? God said.’ At this point, Hugh Probert, Counsel for the defence made his first intervention. Springing to his feet he directed this angry salvo at the witness.

  ‘Can you tell me, in your own words, Mr Smith, how you became aware of God’s sentiments? You talk about his great anger. How did he communicate this intelligence to you?’ What a farce, thought! Harmiston. In what manner is his outburst helpful to my case? Obviously the witness had no real answer.

  ‘Well sir, we starved sir, the wife and the four kids.’

  ‘I submit to the court that this is made up,’ said Probert. ‘First he said five kids and now it’s four. Can we give credence to a man who doesn’t know the number of children he has fathered?’ Good question that, although in all fairness, I would not be able to answer that question about myself. Mr Smith’s whole countenance changed. He’s been found out, thought the landowner politician.

  ‘Well sir, it was five kids in December, but four in January. The youngest caught a chill the night we was thrown out of our own house, on the way to Horsham, and died two days later.’

  The ensuing silence could be heard for miles around. The two advocates indicated that they had nothing further to add, whereupon Irene asked Harmiston if he had anything to add. He began by shrugging and only grudgingly mumbled something.

  ‘Will the accused speak more distinctly,’ ordered the judge. What’s the use?

  ‘At what point did I break the law? Just ask yourselves that question. Were they legally tenants at midnight on the thirty-first of December?’

  ‘But you made zem lose zer crops, you killed zer baby, you ’ave demolissed all a family.’ shouted Armande. ‘You broke God’s law! You are a murderer.’

  ‘Silence in court!’ This was not promptly achieved, for the audience felt obliged to exchange indignant comments to their neighbours, but when calm was restored, Irene spoke.

  ‘Members of the jury... you’re all entitled to a vote … you have heard the case, and no doubt you have already arrived at a decision. I will give you five minutes, when by a show of hands you will indicate whether you think the accused is guilty or not.

  When the time came, Irene tapped on her desk with a hammer and asked the people who thought Harmiston was guilty to put up their hands, and only one person did not join in the otherwise unanimous verdict. Harmiston.

  ‘Will those of you who concluded that the accused was not guilty please put up your hand.’ All eyes immediately pointed at the man in the dock. He looked at the audience with an air of disgust. And shrugged. He had no intention of participating in this rigmarole.

  ‘Unanimous verdict of guilty as charged, bar one abstention,’ said Irene. Wonder what the sentence is going to be.

  ‘Since the accused has more charges to answer for, there will be a single sentence at the end, based on the verdicts of the forthcoming hearings. We will reconvene after lunch.’

  ______

  The next case started promptly after lunch. Harmiston did not notice any new faces in the audience. That ludicrous woman with the shapely calves who read out the indictment in the first case was now seated with the audience. The charge was that he had coerced a parlour maid into sexual congress. What were parlour maids for? Who, among his peers had not? Not that he ever coerced anybody. He made propositions, and they chaffered. At the Board, he owed his success to his ability to negotiate. You share my bed (after a good scrub first of course) and you remained in my employ. Am I not entitled to offer work to whomsoever I please? Why did we fight and win so many wars, against treacherous enemies, if we are to capitulate to the lower classes? Sofia allowed these hussies to wear her discarded fineries. Myrtle will look very seductive in my blue frilly knickers, you will find her irresistible. What a brick! He was a good employer. He paid his staff no less than any of his peers. His tenants knew where they stood with him. He told them the terms and if they did not like them they did not have to accept them. No sir, he never coerced anybody. He was no longer paying conscious attention to this farce.

  ‘How do you plead?’ he heard the judge say. He shrugged.

  ‘We take it that the accused pleads not guilty,’ Irene said. He really does sound like a woman. He hated inverts with all his heart, but he probably wouldn’t say no to a session with that young fellow. His friends at the Club keep telling him that he is missing out on something good because of his unwillingness to try new things.

  ‘I call on Mrs Mary Smith to come forward.’ It seemed that the ludicrous Scotsman and the nondescript defence counsel had swapped roles. He saw an elderly hag with practically no flesh on her ugly face come forward. Did I really take that thing to bed? Must have been blind drunk.

  ‘Mrs Smith,’ Probert said, ‘tell us what happened on the morning of...’ whatever. He was not listening.

  ‘My daughter Yolanda came home from work in tears... ’

  ‘Your daughter?’ enquired the Bishop, ‘is it about her? Why isn’t she here?’

  ‘It has been explained to me that she is unable to attend,’ explained the judge.

  Yolanda? Yes, that name rings a bell. Little black-eyed Gyppo ball of fire. The moment he had caught sight of her she was leaving. He had called Rusk the steward to ask about her. After playing the field ever since he was an adolescent, he could see beyond the filth and the rags. That thing was a masterpiece.

  ‘She ’ad the guts to come ask habout the job sir. I told ’er to ’op it. We don’t want er sort haround.’

  ‘We don’t? Why is that?’

  ‘She’s a filthy thievin’ Gyppo sir.’ He had tut tutted.

  ‘No, Rusk, call her. Give the wretched thing the job. She looks perfect to me.’

  Sofia had approved. He always knew his wife to have sapphic tendencies, whatever she might say about that young puppy Caxton.

  He had bided his time, and when one morning the young hussy came into his study to pick the waste paper basket, he had grabbed her by the hand and pulled her towards him. She acted as if she was stunned, but in his experience women were rather good at counterfeiting shock. What were maids for, if not to satisfy the desires of their masters? Not for free, obviously, he was a believer in trade, even his enemies conceded that he had been an excellent President of the Board of Trade: you have a commodity and I want it, we transact. She was spoken for, she’d have me know. It was the lack of deference that had raised his hackles, and at the same time sharpened his desire for her. Tell him about that lucky swain, he had urged. She had looked at him defiantly, as if to imply that it was her personal business, but when wisdom prevailed she had lowered her eyes.

  ‘What’s he called then?’

  ‘Oyston. Oyston sir.’ Was he a Gyppo like her?

  ‘A Romany sir.’

  ‘Is he a horse-thief?’ He saw her make an effort not to raise her head to look at him.

  ‘No sir, ’e’s a blacksmith sir... ’e ain’t no ’orse-thief.’ Then, unexpectedly, she did raise her head. ‘I do not know no ’orse-thieves, sir.’

  ‘How would you like to earn half a crown, Yolanda? Strange, but she looked as if she was going to burst into tears any moment now. First time he had come across an offer of money causing that reaction.

  ‘Don’t tell me you don’t like money?’ She looked at her feet and a single tear drop fell on her shoe. As he was expected at the Board, he let her go, promising himself that he would deal with her at the next available opportunity.

  Next day she did not turn up. Silly girl! If she starved, it would only be because she was a silly headstrong filly. Rusk will easily find a replac
ement.

  He had forgotten about her, when a few days later, he caught sight of the hussy scrubbing the floor. He called Rusk and he told of her mother coming in the next day begging for the job back. Yolanda had not turned up these last few days as she had a violent stomach ache, the old hag had lied. He did not say that he submitted the mother to his wicked ways.

  ‘I knew your worship ’ad a weakness for the flapper, sir, so oi hexcused ’er and told the old ’ag Yolanda could ’ave ’er job back hif she swore that she’d never ’ave no more stomach hache. That’s the tall and the short hof hit sir.’

  It was his belief that he had let off the girl far too lightly last time. It was not in his nature to allow crocodile tears to put him off his intent. The fact that he had not pressed on must surely have given out the wrong signals. How was he to confront his political foes if he could not deal with Gyppo filth? He had power, influence, wealth, he should have been more than a match for the little guttersnipe. He would deal with her, but first he needed to ask Sofia for her opinion. She could find a plausible justification for any action, supported by quotes from respected sources. Thank God women aren’t allowed to vote or enter parliament.

  ‘Darling Harrison,’ she had said, ‘for order to prevail in our times, people must never forget who they are. It is in the nature of every system to have hierarchies. Even God’s angels were graded. You had the archangels at the top, Raphael, Gabriel … then came the seraphim and the cherubims, the everyday angel, and finally the malakhims.’ He knew that she married him for his wealth, but how he admired her erudition. She was the only person he knew who had actually read the complete Paradise Lost. She could quote you – and in French too – passages from Les Liaisons Dangereuses. And God knows what inspiration she got from that oeuvre. In other words she was telling him that he ought to show his mettle.