The Adventure of the King's Portrait

by Amelia Littlewood

  “I am given to understand,” Mr. Holmes said, “That you have in some way given the lady some token of yours that she can use to blackmail you.”

  “Yes, precisely, that is it,” the king said, nodding. “You are as accurate as my associates proclaimed, Mr. Holmes.”

  I had to admit, the king was a rather good-looking gentleman. I could understand why, five years earlier when he was more youthful, an opera singer would be eager to fall for such a man. He was not to my tastes, but he fit the tastes of many women I knew, including those of my youngest sisters.

  “But what was your indiscretion?” I asked, not out of morbid curiosity but out of a desire to understand.

  “What my associate means,” Mr. Holmes added, “Is that, was there a secret marriage of any kind between the two of you? Anything that might bind you to one another legally?”

  “Oh good heavens, no,” the king proclaimed. “It was not at all of that nature. I have done many a foolish thing in my time, Mr. Holmes, but my stupidity never went as far as that.”

  “Then why worry about her?” I asked. This was the reason for my questioning—if there was nothing to bind the two of them legally to one another then why should the king worry? His people would be more willing to believe a man in a high position than they would a woman who was an artist. The public went to the opera and loved it but at the end of the day, actors of all kinds were still seen as inherently base and scandalous in their inclinations.

  “There are—letters, that is…”

  “Those can easily be faked,” Mr. Holmes replied. “As can your royal seal. Even if it is on your private notepaper, such things can be stolen or imitated.”

  “It is not that.” The king looked almost ashamed, and I realized that he was embarrassed. His eyes flicked over to me for a moment. “There is a photograph… which I had sent to the lady, with my handwriting upon the back… which shows my figure in a most indelicate light.”

  I realized the reason for the king’s embarrassment and felt heat rise to my face. “I hope you will not take this as berating you,” I said, “For I would never seek to rise above my station is such a manner, but I hope your Majesty has realized the extent of foolishness that was.”

  “I am, unfortunately, painfully aware of my youthful idiocy. I remember when I sent it to her I urged her in the note upon the back to use it to think of me while she was away on tour.” The king sighed. “I thought then only of the pleasures of the moment. I was not yet risen to my current position of responsibility.”

  Personally, I thought it quite unfair for the man to send such a piece of damning evidence to a woman only to then blame her for having it five years later. “Are you certain that she does still have this photograph?” I asked, for five years was a long time. My sister Jane had, when she was but fifteen, a suitor that Mother was convinced would propose marriage. He didn’t, thank heavens, but he did leave with Jane some tokens of affection such as a letter and a ribbon. Jane held onto them for a short while, but then disposed of them, giving the ribbon to Charlotte and burning the letter.

  Only the most dire and passionate of loves, I was sure, could compel a woman to keep something of that nature for five years, especially when it would ruin her if discovered. Never mind that she had not asked for it, she was implicated by having it.

  “You are to be married, are you not?” Mr. Holmes interjected.

  I was not at all certain where he was going with this, but I trusted him enough to stay quiet.

  “Yes,” the king replied. “To a lady of a most delicate nature and from a very pious family. If I were marrying into certain other royal families I am sure that a youthful dalliance such as this would go unnoticed, but I would be treated with horror and disdain if my fiancée and her family were to learn of this.”

  I was aware that royal marriages were almost always political in nature. It was not love that guided the king’s fears but rather politics—he must need an alliance with the royal family of the woman he was marrying, and endangering that was akin to weakening his country and endangering his kingdom. I wondered briefly which had the most powerful hold, the ties of love, or the ties of a kingdom’s prosperity and safety?

  “And this Miss Adler has threatened to send the photograph to your intended and her family, or to otherwise make it public?”

  “She said that she would make it public the day that my engagement was made public, which is only three days from now. I arranged to come to London so that I could employ your services.”

  “But are you sure that she will go through with it?” I asked. “It could be that she only wants money or jewelry or something in order to compensate her, or that she is making a false attempt in order to draw you back to her.”

  “If it were any other woman, I should think so as well,” the king admitted. “But not so Miss Adler. She has a soul of steel. She has the face of the most beautiful of women, and the mind of the most resolute of men. If she has promised something, then it shall happen.”

  “In that case we have but three days.” Mr. Holmes nodded. “I shall trouble you with the fee when the case has been solved. Until then, if you will allow it, my associate and I shall set to work.”

  The king bowed. “Thank you. If you are able to obtain that photograph from her, I shall be most in your debt.”

  With that he bowed again as a farewell and left the room.

  Chapter Three:

  A Trip to the Opera

  “Well,” I said, and stopped, for I did not know what else to say.

  “I see that the presence of such an illustrious visitor has you on the rocks,” Mr. Holmes noted in a wry tone. “But I must commend you, Miss Bennet, for keeping your head as you usually do. I have known too many men and women who fawn over their supposed betters at the first opportunity.”

  “I have faced the likes of Lady Catherine de Bourgh,” I reminded him. “After that, it should take more than an irresponsible monarch to shake me.”

  Mr. Holmes chuckled, amused at my joke and well remembering the draconian attitude of the lady in question. “Indeed. Well, it seems to me, Miss Bennet, that you are to chaperone your sisters to a very different sort of event tonight.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. Had Mr. Holmes observed or overheard something that I had not in regards to London society? I knew that he regularly paid various servants and homeless persons around London in order to be informed about all manner of goings-on.

  “I mean only that you are to take them to the opera,” Mr. Holmes said. “For that is where Miss Adler will be tonight. It wouldn’t do for me to be seen there but it would be natural that a lady of your station should wish to educate her younger siblings on such culture.”

  It did in fact make a great deal of sense. “And what shall I learn from watching her from a box?” I asked.

  “I’m certain you can find a way to arrange an in-person meeting with her,” Mr. Holmes replied.

  I was never one to back down from a challenge. Whether this was a virtue or a fault depended upon who you were asking. My mother, and I am certain some people I knew such as Mr. Darcy, would be eager to name it a fault. But when it came to solving a crime, I tended to look upon it as a virtue. After all, if one is not determined, then how can one solve the mystery?

  To my surprise, Kitty and Lydia were open to the idea of attending the opera. “Many balls won’t start until it gets out anyhow,” Lydia said. “And there we can see others in their boxes and they shall see us!”

  Part of me despaired at the idea of my sisters using the time at the opera to look for eligible men rather than paying attention to the fine art on display, but as it would distract them from realizing what my true purpose was, I could not complain too much. Mr. Bingley elected to stay home, and Jane could not even think of going in case the baby needed her. I offered to Mary as well, but she expressed distaste at the idea of being trapped in a small box with Kitty and Lydia for so long a time. Lydia had become much be
tter in the time since her incident with Wickham, but her energy was still too much for Mary to handle.

  I invited Miss Georgiana to accompany us as well, upon Kitty and Lydia’s insistence, despite my misgiving that Mr. Darcy might come along. While we had agreed upon a kind of truce in our mutual antagonism, I feared that he would interfere with my sleuthing plans.

  Fortunately, Mr. Darcy did not wish to join his sister in accompanying us, and so I was to chaperone the three young ladies. Kitty was the most excited to meet the other theatregoers in the lobby and during the intermissions. Georgiana was happy to meet people but was not one to let her excitement show so readily or let it control her. Lydia was, as usual since her encounter with Mr. Wickham, nervous. I took care to be near her at all times so that she might have a feeling of safety as she met new people, especially men. While Georgiana had been tricked by Mr. Wickham, he had never touched her or attempted to take advantage of her physically as he had with Lydia, and so it was understandable that Georgiana was more easily able to recover and find joy in crowds of people again.

  I settled myself with the three girls in the box and we waited for the opera to begin. I had brought with me a pair of glasses so that I could easily observe the stage and the players.

  It was quickly apparent to me that this Miss Adler was a wonder. Firstly, I must admit that her former companion was not amiss when he said she had the face of the loveliest of women. I myself was astounded at her looks, and I could see when I trained my glasses upon the men in the boxes that they, too, were dumbstruck.

  Personally, however, it was her singing that held me. She was a highly talented singer and given that she was a true contralto it was obvious that the composers had been eager to showcase her specifically. She carried herself with grace and power, and I found myself a little under her spell the way any audience member is when being entertained by a true artist.

  Of course, I reminded myself, it could all be an act. She was a performer, after all. The bewitching creature on stage could turn out to be a selfish and uncaring person in her personal life. I was curious to see what Miss Adler would be like off stage when she was herself, and not playing a part.

  I was patient all throughout the opera. It was easy, seeing as it entertained me. It was a retelling of Greek myth, as many popular operas are, and the three younger girls were also thoroughly entertained by the tragic romance and the depictions of fights featuring both heroic demigods and dastardly villains.

  By the opera’s end it was easy for me to convince the girls I had to powder my nose while I left them in the care of some acquaintances. Several young men were in the group and I knew that my sisters, at least, would not notice any time passing until I returned. Miss Georgiana was a more observant girl, but I trusted her to not be suspicious of me or ask questions.

  I made my way quickly to the side door of the theatre, where I observed many of the chorus already departing. I stood to the side and listened carefully to their chatter. One of them seemed the kind of man to always have a new lady friend: I observed upon him both expensive cologne and a whiff of women’s perfume, and he had done himself up well except for the unbuttoning of some buttons at his collar, exposing a bit of his collarbones to help him straddle the line between being rakish and gentlemanly. Finally, in his coat buttonhole I saw pinned a small pink flower—undoubtedly put there by a lady of some kind.

  As he walked by me he took out his pocket watch and I quickly looked down to see engraved upon it, To Edward, with love, A.

  After the group had thinned out I quickly knocked on the door that led into the stage area. It was opened by a gruff looking gentleman, and I smiled and curtsied.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” I said, pitching my voice up and stuttering over my words, “But I’m looking for Edward, is he still about?”

  “Somewhere, I’m sure.” The man eyed me. “You must be the new friend of his.”

  I smiled as if to say that I was guilty as charged. The man sighed and opened the door further to let me in. “Don’t dally, and tell him to hurry up and get out.”

  “Oh, of course, I’m quite sorry,” I replied, stammering and looking quite nervous.

  Now that I was backstage, I had to find Miss Adler before anyone else saw me and realized that I didn’t belong there. I hurried through the darkened backstage area, being careful not to trip over lights and blocks of wood and set pieces and costumes, great piles of detritus that seemed to be haphazardly arranged every which-way. I should have thought that dealing with Mr. Holmes’s scattered apartment would do something for my ability to handle mess, but this was something else entirely.

  Once I picked my way across the back of the stage I was able to find the dressing rooms. It seemed that all the female chorus members shared one room, while all the male chorus members shared another. Then came a few individual dressing rooms for the stars. Conveniently, each room had the person’s name on it—and thank goodness for that, because I certainly didn’t want to draw attention to myself by just knocking on doors.

  I disheveled myself a little, rumpling up my dress and letting loose a few curls of my hair, and then banged into Miss Adler’s room.

  “Oh my goodness!” I said, quickly closing the door behind me. “Oh—oh please, is it all right if I stay with you for a moment?”

  Miss Adler was sitting on a chair in front of a table, clearly having been in the process of taking off her makeup. She was even more beautiful without it, for makeup on an operatic stage was meant to exaggerate one’s features so that the actor could be seen even from far away. She had dark auburn hair and green eyes, a rare combination. “Are you all right?” she asked.

  I could understand why the king had fallen for her. I made a quick sweep of the room—but of course she would not have the photograph here. Why keep it in a place that was so messy, where people could so easily go through your things? “I’m terribly sorry. I’m just trying to… well, it’s awfully embarrassing.”

  “My specialty,” Miss Adler replied. She indicated a small couch. “Sit, you look a fright.”

  “Oh, I know, I look awful,” I moaned, patting my hair. “You must understand, I never do this, but my mother pressures me so and… well, when someone of such high status asks you can’t really say no…”

  Miss Adler raised an eyebrow, a shrewd look upon her face. “I take it your gentleman companion intended to use his opera box for things other than watching the opera?”

  This was something I had learned from Mr. Holmes, which was that people would happily fill in the blanks if you simply started the sentence for them. They would supply you with the information that you needed—all you had to do was start out with the generalities, and their mind would leap to what, to them, was the most logical conclusion. Then you could just go along with whatever they said without having to make anything up yourself.

  “Yes,” I said, nodding. “Oh, dear, I don’t know what to do, really I don’t. I shall have to find another carriage home. And what if he’s angry with me? Only—I know he won’t propose and I could never—”

  “Breathe,” Miss Adler told me. She was looking at me kindly, with a kind of sad look in her eyes. “Trust me, you’re in good company here. I well understand how men work. You give them a little courtesy and a little thoughtfulness and suddenly they think they can take whatever they please from you.”

  I nodded, and thought of the saddest thing I could: when Jane had been in labor and we had feared her dying.

  It worked, causing tears to spring to my eyes, and I began to weep. Miss Adler sprung up at once, fetching a handkerchief and passing it to me. “I just don’t know what to do,” I cried.

  “There, there, it will be all right,” Miss Adler replied. She patted my shoulder comfortingly. “Why, I was in a similar situation to yourself. I was exchanging letters with a man… I attempted to dissuade him, but I could not risk offending him.”

  “What did you do about it?” I asked.

  Mi
ss Adler smiled at me. It wasn’t a cold smile, but it was a sharp one. “I managed to suggest to him that a photograph of him for me would not go amiss.”

  “What could a photograph possibly do?” I asked. “You could have gotten a portrait of him any number of places.”

  “This was a photograph of a certain nature,” Miss Adler replied.

  I let my jaw drop a little and my eyes widen, feigning shock. “And did he give it to you?”

  Miss Adler nodded. “I now had power over him. If he did something that could harm me, I could use it against him.”

  “That is very clever,” I said, and I wasn’t pretending at all when I said that. I could not help but sympathize with Miss Adler’s position. It seemed to me that she had not genuinely cared for the king as he had for her and had attempted to dissuade him from pursuing her. In a way it was fair that she should have some kind of insurance over him.

  However, her announcing to him that she would share the photograph the day that he made his engagement public prevented me from being completely on her side. What reason would she have to cause a national scandal?

  I couldn’t ask her about that, unfortunately, because that would mean divulging that I knew of her plan, which as far as she knew, only the king was aware of. I said nothing, and instead resolved to tell Mr. Holmes of what I had learned.

  “Thank you for the idea,” I said, smiling at her. “I should get back, before anyone notices… and I shall have to find a carriage home. You’re really too kind.”

  “Not at all,” Miss Adler replied. “We women must stick together. What is your name?”

  “Miss Elizabeth Bennet,” I said, for I saw no reason to lie. Perhaps it might prove useful for us to know one another. I could arrange for a social visit that way.