‘But the most important question is why,’ I answered.
‘I thought that was clear from the beginning?’
Slowly, I shook my head. ‘I believe the vaccine tests were either pretence or only part of their goal. I dare say the latter.’
‘What goal precisely?’ he asked, leaning forward.
‘You asked me how I had got Bowden to trust me.’
Holmes nodded and said: ‘You convinced him you had no scruples.’
‘Yes.’ I dropped my gaze onto the muddy tips of my shoes. Images of the dying women and my hand holding the ether soaked cloth invaded my mind.
‘I had this crazy idea,’ I said quietly, ‘about using deadly bacteria for warfare.’
Holmes sat erect like a stick, all tension and awareness.
‘Bowden’s eyes lit up. But not in surprise, Sherlock,’ I said warily.
‘He was already on it?’ His voice was tainted with shock.
‘I cannot tell. But the plan existed, I am certain.’
We stared at each other and after a while I added softly: ‘The crime is not solved.’
‘No,’ he said, leaning back again, and closing his eyes. Then his throat produced a deep growl: ‘Someone sits at the centre of this. We will find him in due course.’
I noticed the we. Some other day it would have possibly made me proud. ‘I will leave London,’ I answered quietly.
His eyes opened abruptly and he pulled himself up again. After some consideration he said: ‘Yes, it does make sense. It is obviously the only reasonable thing for you to do. Otherwise, you may be bait.’
I gazed out the window, feeling empty.
‘This is not the reason for you to leave?’ he asked doubtfully.
I shook my head.
‘You sent me a letter a day before you fell sick with cholera.’
I nodded.
‘You euthanized her?’
I nodded again.
‘I will not arrest you for that!’ he cried out, throwing his hands up, as if I had said something utterly ridiculous.
I gazed at him then and smiled bitterly. ‘It doesn’t matter. Jail or no jail, it doesn’t change what I feel. I killed the woman. I should at least have tried to help her.’
‘That is absurd, Anna! How could you have got her away from that place? And even if you could have, they’d found another one!’
‘Yes. And you know why?’ I asked just to answer my own question a short moment later: ‘Because of me. They delivered her to me and no one else.’
‘So you decide to run away from yourself,’ he declared.
‘Yes. And from a corrupt medical establishment that abandons an entire sex. I run away from the man at the centre of the Club, from the police, and…’ I forced my throat to unfold again, ‘…and from you.’
His grey eyes flickered. He looked hurt and I held on tight to my hands as not to grab his to comfort him.
Instead I explained myself: ‘I run away from you because I cannot live next to you while not living with you. Whenever I stoke your emotional side it hurts and weakens you and I am very sorry for that.’
‘You must understand that I have no tendencies to romanticism,’ he said and his voice sounded as if he had swallowed glue.
‘I know who you are,’ I whispered.
Now it was he who stared out the window. He seemed to argue with himself. I had cut his time short. After a while he asked: ‘How did you plan your escape?’
‘Well, quite simply, I will overpower you.’ I smirked and saw the corners of his mouth twitch a little.
‘Do you plan to hide in St Giles? I don’t think it is-’
‘No, you are right, it’s not safe. I have a place far away from London.’
‘Where?’
‘I will not tell you.’
He waved his hand impatiently. ‘You know my abilities!’
‘Don’t waste your time, Sherlock. You won’t find me.’
I had bought the cottage using a different name and had paid cash. Nothing would link my old identity to my new home.
‘That is ridiculous!’
‘No, it isn’t. As long as the greatest detective can not find me, no one will.’ I didn’t mention that if I did tell him where I lived, I would wait for him to walk through my cottage door. Every single day. My brain knew he wouldn’t but my heart disagreed.
Silence fell again and after a while I added: ‘Promise me that when this case blows over, you place an advertisement into the Times, asking for Caitrin Mae. I’ll find you then.’
I noticed his slight grin and added: ‘No, this is not the name I used to buy the place. I just made it up.’
His eyes turned dark again, and he gave me a single nod and then turned to observe the countryside. I could see that he was thinking hard. Suddenly, with quite a lot of energy that only a good plan can bring, he faced me again and stated merrily: ‘I think it is time for a little violence.’
‘What?’
‘It is not What it is Excuse me!’ he cried while rising from his seat. I could not place the playful look he had in his eyes.
‘Your escape has to appear authentic,’ he explained before grabbing both my shoulders, lifting me up, and slamming me against the cab’s window. I cried out in surprise.
‘My apologies,’ he whispered as he lunged to the door and bolted it. Then he threw himself against it and onto the floor, bellowing like a plumber on too much gin. Finally my brain clicked and I dropped down next to him, grinning and cursing. We rolled around, kicking and hitting the walls and seats, like two kids playing war. The hansom finally gave a lurch as the horses reared and changed their slow gait into a gallop.
‘Wha’ the ‘ell’s goin’ on?’ the cabby shouted while trying to get the horse back under his control. Holmes, who had tried to stand up, lost balance and fell onto his back with one arm pinned down awkwardly underneath him. I pounced and clamped him down with my knees on either side of his ribcage.
‘To hell with the police!’ I screamed at the top of my lungs while maintaining a firm grip on his wrist that stuck out from underneath his back. His eyes flared up in surprise.
‘Give up Mr Holmes!’ I bellowed.
‘Never!’ he barked and grabbed a fistful of my waistcoat. One button popped.
‘For your own sake!’ I screamed, slamming my other hand next to his face. I saw that he was quite amused. He probably thought I did indeed try to overpower him. Well, maybe I did.
‘You villain shall not escape justice!’ he roared and shook me by the collar.
‘I like you that way,’ I said quietly and bent down.
He went limp, his fist on my chest showing no resistance. His pupils widened in shock and I held his gaze as my lips touched the corner of his mouth, asking for permission. He gave me a feeble shove as his eyes lost focus, then tilted his head a little, and his warm breath flooded my face. Like the wings of a bird, his eyelids folded together and only then did I kiss him. His lips felt like silk.
And all of a sudden, my silly heart left my chest to live in his from this day forward. Did he notice the additional weight? I wondered.
Two metallic clicks pulled my mouth away from his, and I spotted the guard’s revolver in his hand. Aghast, I gazed into Sherlock’s face. His eyes were on fire, but I didn’t retreat. I bent down again and touched his lips a last time as he raised his left hand and fired four shots through the cab’s roof.
The horses bolted, the cabby shouted, and we were joggled about like chocolate candy in a box. After a few moments, the vehicle came to a halt and the driver jumped off and ran away screaming for help.
Sherlock unfolded his protective embrace, pushed me up onto the seat, and rose to his feet in one fluid move.
‘Out,’ he ordered, holding the door open.
‘I drive,’ I noted, climbed onto the driver’s seat and cracked the whip as he slammed the door shut.
I couldn’t help but smile, although the aftertaste of our kiss was bitter. How formidable the
spectrum of emotions that can unfold in one single moment! Utter bliss to tearful downpour upon the gain and loss of someone precious.
I rubbed my eyes and gave the two horses a good flick each. I needed wind in my face.
After we had gone far out of the cabby’s eye-shot, Sherlock climbed up and sat down next to me wearing a gruff expression.
‘Where did you learn to drive a horse carriage?’ he demanded.
‘We had two horses at home. Besides, it’s not that complicated, really,’ I answered with a thin voice, not at all eager to engage in distractive small talk.
‘That was far from appropriate for a woman of your social standing,’ he noted dryly.
‘Beg your pardon? You are the last person I would expect to care for social standards. Besides, I never pretended to be a woman of the higher classes and you seem to ignore the fact that as a woman I have no social standing whatsoever. By kissing you, all I may have rattled is your composure. But you already seem to get yourself back together without much effort. In one day you are your old self, Mr Holmes!’
‘Needless to say,’ he muttered to himself.
‘If you’d wanted an ordinary woman, you’d be married since years.’
It was a useless conversation and we both knew it. For about twenty minutes we sat silently until I had steered the cab into Tottenham Court Road. I stopped and climbed down. The moment my feet touched the cobblestone street, he flicked the whip across the horses’ hindquarters and drove away without a glance back.
I stood on the pavement, wondering how the deuce I could have let him take my heart away. Why could this deceitfully small organ not be held captive? Not even my own?
~~~
Then, neither of us knew that we had just punched a considerable hole into Professor Moriarty’s criminal spider web.
End of Book One
Preview of Book Two
The Fall -Chapter One
A cold something pushed my head a little deeper into the hard straw mattress, the stalks’ crackling sounded like small explosions. The click-click of the cock told me the object was a revolver. Due to the angle at which the gun was held and the entry point, I could expect the bullet to go straight through my brain into the mattress, producing a spray of blood and nerve tissue. If the revolver would be tipped just a little, the bullet would be circling the inside of my skull, leaving a track in the bones, ripping my brain into pieces until the projectile would slow to a stop, and only a thin red sliver would creep from the bullet’s entry wound. But no such thing happened during these first two seconds of unpleasant awakening.
‘Dr Kronberg,’ a cold voice echoed in my dark bedroom. ‘Get up slowly, if you please.’
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Acknowledgements
I am so grateful for my husband’s deep love and his belief in my writing (besides other obsessions). He and our friend Martha Schattenhofer had to endure the awful first drafts and luckily slapped them over my head repeatedly. I survived, as you may have noticed.
Many thanks go to Ronald Kötteritzsch, who loved to read even the early versions of The Devil’s Grin.
I am deeply indebted to my faithful reviewers at www.thenextbigwriter.com. Especially T.M. Hobbs, who let me torture her all the way through and Phyl Manning who took me aside and told me to stop babbling (SHOW us, don’t tell us, baby!).
J.E. Nissley and Nancy DeMarco, two of the most talented writers I have ever had the pleasure to come across and the honour to review their work and be reviewed by them. The humbling number of authors at TNBW giving me advice and helping me to become a better writer (uh, I did say writer now, did I?) shall be given names here: Q.X.T. Rhazmeulen, Bonnie Milani, dagnee, David Reynolds, Janet Taylor-Perry, CE Jones, Debbie Lampi, and John DeBoehr.
Another brilliant author, who was an invaluable help and whose advice and mere interest in my writing still makes me giddy is Paul Negri.
I’m quite relieved that I and my novel survived the scrutinising read of Alistair Duncan from the Sherlock Holmes Society London.
The last was the first: Ruben Zorilla, who accidentally received a full length draft and fell in love with the story. Thank you Ruben, for your praise and support. You were my first ever reader!
To all of you, I do the full prostration (picture me touching my knees with my nose).
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