His eyes sprang open and he rose to his feet. ‘Mrs McLaren. It is good to see you looking so seasonal! And I note that you have a business engagement here in London. I have no doubt that it will go well for you.’
She rose. ‘But how did you—never mind. It is true. Alistair and I are being courted by both Dewar and Buchanan. They both wish us to manage one or more distilleries in the Highlands and it is up to us to choose. Our talents, apparently, fit well with their needs.’
‘That is excellent news,’ I exclaimed, happy that Isla and Alistair McLaren, at least, had survived the debacle of Braedern.
Holmes abruptly turned to the door. He had heard something that Mrs McLaren and I had not.
‘Ah, another old friend arrives, Watson! It is an embarrassment of riches,’ he said with that sardonic humour of old.
‘Then I shall leave you, sir,’ said the lady. She began to gather her things.
At that moment Mrs Hudson knocked and entered. ‘Monsieur Jean Vidocq to see you, Mr Holmes. Shall I send him—’
‘No need, Mrs Hudson,’ said Holmes. ‘He already arrives.’
Behind our landlady, a tall, top-hatted figure was just visible bounding up the stairs. ‘Bonjour mes amis!’ boomed the handsome Frenchman, appearing over Mrs Hudson’s shoulder.
The good woman cocked an eyebrow at his presumption but let him pass.
He strode into the room, took in Isla McLaren with a frankly admiring glance, walked right up to her, and reached for her hand. She extended it coolly and he kissed it with the flourish of the born courtier.
‘Enchanté, Madame,’ said he. ‘You are Scottish, I perceive.’
‘Ça, c’est bien évident.’ she replied in perfect French. That is perfectly clear. Even I understood her jibe. ‘Excuse me.’
She withdrew her hand and with a small wave and an amused smile to Holmes and me, took her leave. A faint whiff of perfume lingered in the air behind her.
‘Ah, the Scottish heather,’ said Jean Vidocq, savouring it. ‘And a touch of lavender. Mmmm. Douce. Très douce.’
‘What do you want, Vidocq?’ said Holmes.
Vidocq took in the room, the refreshments, the decorations, and Holmes’s perfect grooming. ‘I see you are at last developing the taste for the finer things in life,’ said he, with a pointed glance at the doorway through which Mrs McLaren had just passed.
‘Unlike yourself, I do not consider the conquest of married ladies to be an appropriate use of my skills,’ said Holmes.
‘Alors, it is a skill which it is doubtful you possess, cher ami!’ smiled Vidocq. ‘Will you offer me a libation? I have travelled far. And I bear news for you.’
Holmes sat down in the large basket chair and steepled his hands. He yawned. ‘Enlighten me on this one point, Vidocq. How is it that you are not in prison?’
This question intrigued me as well, and I was eager to hear the response. I went to the sideboard and offered him a whisky.
‘A good French brandy for me, please,’ said Vidocq. ‘If you have any. But none of your vile English pastries.’
I poured him one, and a whisky each for Holmes and me. I happily took a piece of one of Mrs Hudson’s delicious fruitcakes. What do the French know of cake?
‘The news, Vidocq, the news,’ prompted Holmes. ‘Oh, and by the way, my brother Mycroft expressed a certain satisfaction with my uncovering of Charles McLaren’s involvement, and your, shall we say, help with the little matter of the bomb at Dr Janvier’s laboratory. Although I understand a Monsieur Reynaud of the French government was less than pleased with your adventurous ways.’
‘Ah, it is nothing. Thanks to you I have had some little problem in extricating myself from this small bombing incident – you know perfectly well I would not harm a soul – but at last, it was done,’ said the Frenchman. He took a sip from his drink and savoured it. ‘And very good, oui, because yet another misfortune was directed to Dr Janvier which I was able to prevent.’
‘Another commission, or a real threat, this time?’ asked Holmes.
‘Oh, very real! A consortium of Germans and Belgians. But easily handled,’ he waived away an imaginary swarm of flies. ‘I am well paid for this. A medal will be forthcoming, next month, I believe.’
Holmes barked out a laugh. ‘You should consider a career as a bareback rider in the circus, Vidocq,’ he said. ‘Charles McLaren is facing a stiff penalty, if not gaol, for his part in the planning. Although “intention” is all that can be proved. And his father, although ruined, retains enough assets to buy his freedom.’
‘It is ever so. A rather weak link, that blustering idiot Charles,’ said Vidocq. ‘A beautiful wife, however.’
‘Women will be your undoing, Vidocq.’
‘Yes, it is probably true. But not yours, Holmes. Have you never reconsidered your position in that respect? Think of all that you are missing.’
‘Oh, I have most definitely given the matter all the attention it deserves,’ said Holmes. I glanced at him but he refused to meet my gaze, instead staring intently into his whisky glass.
I believe it was on that very day, and perhaps at that very moment that Sherlock Holmes truly did put his ghosts to rest, for I never heard mention of Charlotte or the troubles at Camford again. Perhaps he vanquished these memories to some locked and remote place in what he called his brain-attic where they would never again see the light of day.
I on the other hand, have not those powers of will. To this day, I wonder about the pale figure I saw not once but twice in the hallway of the East Tower. And the strange knife which fulfilled its promise of protection. I would not go so far to say I believe in the supernatural, but I might, after this singular adventure, be somewhat less eager to ridicule those who do.
‘Watson!’ Holmes interrupted my ruminations. A smile spread slowly across his face, and he raised his glass. ‘It has been a remarkable journey! Let us toast to whatever spirits continue to move us to our higher selves,’ said he, eyes shining.
I raised my glass to join him in a toast to that fine sentiment, and so did Jean Vidocq. ‘To whatever spirits!’ I said.
For annotations with interesting
facts about the people, places,
and things in this novel, visit
www.macbird.com/unquiet-spirits/notes
Acknowledgements
First a salute to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who is my first and best writing teacher and favourite writer among many. I fell in love with Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson at age ten and have remained in love ever since.
Greatest thanks go to my husband Alan Kay for his unflagging generosity, enthusiasm and good humour throughout this long process. It would not be possible without you, bear.
I had a great deal of help along the way, but none more surprising and welcome than the eleventh hour incisive editorial comments of the esteemed Nicholas Meyer, who is not only my personal hero for his brilliant Holmes trilogy starting with The Seven Percent Solution, but also one of my favorite movie directors. Nick’s generous notes made me laugh, cringe, and polish like crazy. Thank you, Nick.
Tough love offered by my writer’s group colleagues ‘The Oxnardians’, Harley, Patty, Matt, Jamie, JB, Linda, Bob, Craig and John improved this tale, as did key criticism from the insightful Lynn Hightower, with nuanced editorial comments and cheerleading from Dennis Palumbo, Chris Simpson, Ramona Long, and Nancy Seid.
A special salute to the remarkable Sherlockian, Leah Cummins Guinn for her skilled research and commentary. I knew if I made you laugh, we were good. Thank you as well as to renowned Holmesian expert Catherine Cooke, good friend and curator of the Sherlock Holmes collection in London, for an early read and comments. Ailsa Campbell, from her desk in the Scottish Highlands, gently guided me to ‘mair’ accurate dialect (and other things) at a key juncture.
Dana Cameron and Carla Kaessinger Coupe’s contribution spawned a certain intriguing character in this novel; ladies you know who I mean, and I thank you for this vote of confidence/challenge!
O
f course there was a certain ‘please don’t throw me in the briar patch’ element to researching the whisky business and my partner in crime here was the generous, delightful, world-renowned whisky expert Charles MacLean, who sports a Doyle-worthy moustache and knows everything and everyone in that world. Charlie also accompanied me on a fascinating visit to the deliciously gothic Fettes, which is not only Holmes’s alma mater, but also James Bond’s and the model for Hogwarts. I didn’t know that when I selected it.
A helpful stay in Islay at Loch Gorm House was facilitated by Fiona Doyle (possibly a distant relative of Sir Arthur) and input from Adam Hannett of Bruichladdich and Jim McEwan ‘The Cask Whisperer’, as well as Audrey McPherson at Royal Lochnagar in the Highlands lent more than a bit of flavour. Scottish Holmesian Barry Young kindly provided research materials.
Thanks to Les Klinger for his unfailing Sherlockian cheer and moral support. Thanks to my wonderful agent Linda Langton, whose enthusiasm has meant so much. And to David Roth for early encouragement, and mystery legend Otto Penzler whose enthusiasm for my first novel gave me wings.
Appreciation to Dottie, Jane, Sara and Megan for extending the reach on the first book, and a special thank you also to Dr David Reuben, Rose, and Helen, you know why. A late visit to curator Emilia Kingham at the University College London Pathology Collections was gruesomely informative and also fun. A conversation about ghosts with medium Ann Treherne of the Conan Doyle Center in Edinburgh was an eye opener.
A salute to the wise and brilliant Lee Shasky, who sadly passed during the writing of this book, and whom I forgot to mention in my acknowledgments last time. Her wise words and generous spirit live on.
Finally, thanks to friends and extended family who graciously excused my absence and preoccupation for the many, many months this took, and especially to the wonderful staff at HarperCollins including Georgie Cauthery and David Brawn, who have made the journey possible … and also a pleasure.
I raise a glass of good single malt to you all.
Holmes and Watson return in DEVIL’S DUE
About the Author
Bonnie MacBird has spent three decades in Hollywood as a film studio development executive, screenwriter (TRON), playwright, Emmy winning producer, actor and writing teacher. A member of the Baker Street Irregulars and several other Holmes groups, Bonnie has loved the Great Detective since devouring the canon at age ten. She divides her time between Los Angeles and London where she is hard at work on a sequel to Art in the Blood and Unquiet Spirits titled The Devil’s Due.
About the Publisher
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United Kingdom
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United States
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Unquiet Spirits: Whisky, Ghosts, Murder Page 36
