“Not as such, no,” said Holmes. “But so many of the alternatives are getting us nowhere that I am forced to consider explanations that I find wholly unacceptable. But I am nonetheless compelled by reason to examine them.” He blew out another cloud and then regarded me. “I do not want to be proved right in this instance, but it may be that I am. If that is so, you are going to need all your wits about you. Be careful in what you do. If these men are as desperate as we fear they may be, you will be in danger.”
“I am in danger now,” I said, thinking of the unfortunate cat and the attack on the cab. “As are you.”
“Ah, but I elected to be here,” said Holmes with hard amusement lurking in his profound grey eyes. He pulled one of the chairs out and sank into it. “This is going to be a long night—I am certain of it.”
I could not cavil. “It will be time well-spent when the seals are fixed and the signatures are in place.”
“So I hope,” said Holmes, the remoteness returning to his features. “I wish,” he said, and blew out another wreath of smoke, “I knew rather more than I do about Lord Brackenheath. How is he fixed in the world. Who he entertains. What amusements he has.”
“Once this is over, I will make inquiries for you,” I said.
“I think perhaps I should put Tyers on it,” he decided aloud, and went to the writing table to take a sheet of paper from the center drawer. There was also an array of pens, and he selected one before taking the standish out. He wrote quickly, and folded the sheet twice before handing it to me. “Have the Admiralty messenger carry this to Tyers at once.”
“Certainly,” I said, slipping the missive into my inner waistcoat pocket before making my way to the door. The corridor was empty but for the footmen, and I was pleased, for I could take advantage of this privacy to test my ankle. I deliberately put part of my weight on my ankle, and was pleased by how well it held.
The Admiralty messenger, Charles Shotley, was waiting, along with a Japanese and half a dozen Europeans, in the dispatch room next to the porte cochere, opposite to the room where the servants of visitors to the embassy were put. He rose as he saw me coming, a warning look in his glance, as if to remind me to be circumspect in my speech. I drew him aside and gave him the folded sheet, along with Holmes’ instructions. “This is most urgent, and must be held in complete confidence, even from your fellows. Wait for an answer, if there is one. Be quick about the work.”
“That I will,” said the messenger in a soft Suffolk accent. “The man to receive it is Mister Tyers?”
“That’s the chap,” I said. “A man of middle years, hair going grey. Used to be a soldier. You can tell by the way he stands.” I gave him half a crown to speed him on his way. “Report to Mister Holmes when you return.”
Shotley offered me a sharp salute and hurried to the door.
Just as he went out, an elegant equipage drew up, a fine enclosed clarence, and the footmen of the embassy quickly went to help the occupant to alight and to direct the coachman to the stables.
The woman who emerged from the clarence was uncommonly lovely, with flawless skin, beautifully dressed deep-russet hair, and eyes pale, well-opened, and luminous as aquamarines, shining with intelligence and wit. She moved gracefully without a trace of self-consciousness. But her own beauty was complemented by the way she presented herself: She wore a lustrous satin gown the color of mulberries which showed off her sloping shoulders and deep bosom to admiration. The nipped waist complemented the moderate bustle, the whole making an impression of sleekness and smooth lines at the very vanguard of fashion. A dog-collar of baroque pearls was clasped around her throat and baroque pearls depended from her ears. There was but one ring on her fingers, two hundred years old, to judge by the design, of rubies and brilIiants. This radiant creature was no more than five- or six-and-twenty.
One of the English servants hurried up. “Lady Brackenheath!” he exclaimed, and bowed to her.
“Good evening, Thomas,” she replied in a voice that was warm with spice.
“Lord Brackenheath is—”
“Waiting impatiently, no doubt,” she said, and gathered up her wrap—a long ermine cloak. Her mouth was set in a firm line, the one unbecoming thing about her.
“If you will come this way?” Thomas was already through the door and on his way to the stairs. I stood aside as Lady Brackenheath swept by.
The men in the dispatch room were gazing after her with admiration and yearning, including the Japanese, and I wondered if Lady Brackenheath was aware of the impact she had on men, for surely this was not an isolated incident.
“They say she controls the purse-strings,” one of the English servants remarked. “Her old man traded his daughter for a leg up into the aristocracy, but kept his hands on the till. All the money she brought with her remains in her control.”
“That’s hardly fitting,” said one of the foreign servants.
“Married Woman’s Property Act,” said the first speaker knowingly. “Her Da set up a trust that’s tight as a Tyburn cravat.”
“Well, it had to be, didn’t it? With the tastes his Lordship has, he would run through a fortune as quick as you can say knife.”
Although I was at first offended by these remarks, I was also curious, and justified my curiosity by telling myself I was obtaining information of use to Mycroft Holmes. Servants gossiped all the time, and any man who put too much stock in it was a fool. But any man who ignored it was a greater fool. So I remained where I was in the hope I might hear something more that might be of use.
“Trouble is,” said another of the English servants, “his Lordship don’t take to having his amusements curtailed.”
“It was that or drown in the River Tick,” said the oldest of the servants in a knowing tone. “He was a right high-flyer just ten years back, gambling and whoring and all the rest of it. Had been for donkey’s years.”
“Old man Bell weren’t no lob-cock, to sign over his purse with his daughter,” another of the servants declared. “He knew what he was buying, sure as eggs. He kept his Lordship on a short leash, and let him howl for it.”
“And his daughter does the same, they say, little as her lord may like dancing to Dame Fortune’s fiddle.” The laughter was not quite cruel but certainly unkind.
“What man does? And that to a tune played by a chit younger than his daughter?” asked another.
“Too bad the old man doesn’t have children, of her or his first wife,” said the oldest servant knowingly.
“No children?” asked one of the other.
“Not acknowledged, any road, though they do say he has a passel from the wrong side of the blanket,” said his senior with great certainty. “He didn’t take to marriage the first time, either—felt it held him back, as it were. Trouble was, his first wife died young. Took a bad fall on a hunt, so they say. Were some claimed then the fall were more of a push. Anyway, it crippled her up something dreadful. Died the year after from it. His Lordship weren’t in no hurry to get fixed again. Lord Brackenheath had her money and his freedom to enjoy for many a long year.”
Their easy laughter gave way to speculations that had no place in my work, and I left them to it. I made my way back to the Terrace Suite and allowed the footmen to admit me. “Shotley is off to Pall Mall,” I said as I came into my employer’s company
“Thank you, Guthrie,” said Holmes, who was occupying himself by making notes to himself in his pocket notebook. “But what is it that has you so preoccupied?”
I had not been aware until that moment that I was still mulling the servants’ conversation as I made my way here. I shrugged. “Lady Brackenheath arrived as Shotley went off,” I said carefully. “She was not what I expected.”
Holmes glanced at me. “Did you meet her? I understand she is somewhat younger than her husband.”
I was a bit taken aback. “Good gracious, Holmes. You haven’t met her?”
“I do not go much into society, as I need not tell you, and I have never aspired to be
part of Lord Brackenheath’s set with their fondness for riotous living. So, no, Guthrie, I have not met her. Though from what you tell me, it is a pleasure I will anticipate.” He closed his notebook and waited for me to go on. When I said nothing, he prompted me. “I have been told her father was an ambitious man with manufactories all over the Midlands. Name of Bell, as I recall: Herbert Bell.”
I nodded. “The servants were saying something of the sort. They all seemed to aware of the terms of the marriage contract.” I flushed to admit I had listened to their talk. “Not that I solicited—”
Holmes waved my protestations away. “Yes, yes, I know. You did not set yourself to eavesdrop on the servants. I am aware of that. Go on.”
“They said her father had tied up her money so that Lord Brackenheath could not gain control of it. She retains her fortune.” I made a gesture to show that this might or might not be true. “She is a very beautiful young woman, with considerable bearing and impeccable taste if her clothes for this evening are any indication. She has a most self-assured demeanor.” I recalled his earlier question. “I have not actually been introduced to her; I only witnessed her arrival.”
“Ah,” said Holmes. “Young and beautiful and not a widgeon. Another pan of the puzzle is provided. How galling it must have been to Lord Brackenheath to have to accept a clever and wealthy young bride, and from trade, at that. But he had to recoup his fortune. From what I know of the man’s past, he must have been desperate indeed to make such an obvious bargain. He might as well declare himself profligate beyond remedy and be done with it.” He chuckled once.
“It may have galled her as well, sir, to have such a husband foisted upon her,” I said, and added conscientiously, “I doubt she filled her youthful dreams with brusque men her father’s age.”
“Don’t poker up on me, Guthrie. I meant the lady no discredit. But my anxieties are not with her, they are with Lord Brackenheath.” He sighed once. “I will have to learn more of Lady Brackenheath, I suppose.”
I tried not to feel offended and shamed, but could not entirely hide either of these emotions. I lowered my head and held my tongue until I felt I could speak with proper respect. “I think that will not be necessary, sir. And if I have done anything to bring any scrutiny upon her that would prove the least—”
“Guthrie,” Holmes said at a drawl, “I am not going to pillory the woman, I merely want to know how things are disposed of between her and her husband. That was a matter for the parties involved to settle, not I. My concern in the matter is a question of vulnerability, for if Lord Brackenheath wants money, he might have contracted to get some without his wife’s knowledge. So if he has control of any of her money, that is significant as knowing he does not. It may also tell us something of her management, if she has any control over her father’s fortune.” He regarded me in a measuring way.
“There was some intimation from the servants concerning illegitimate children of Lord Brackenheath’s,” I said at once.
“Not surprising, given his reputation,” Holmes concurred. “How good you are to tell me, Guthrie. Yes, I imagine the former Miss Bell would not like to have her money in the hands of her husband’s by-blows.”
This crass expression caught me off-guard, and it struck me that my employer knew more of the Brackenheaths than he had intimated. “Nor would anyone wish to countenance such a thing.”
Holmes studied me for a full two minutes before speaking. “There must be something quite remarkable about her that you should spring so eagerly to her defense after one sight of her.”
To my horror, this time I blushed as deeply as a girl, which only made it worse. “She is very . . . she is most . . .” I could not find words that did not leave me feeling I was an idiot.
“Well, perhaps I will see this paragon for myself later this evening, if she comes with her husband when the seals are affixed to the agreement,” he said, and rubbed his chin. “We have less than an hour before all the world comes here, so it behooves us to make the most of this time. Nip across the hall, will you, and discover how the copying is coming. I want to be certain we are all ready for the final negotiations.”
“At once,” I said, and hastened to do as he bid.
I found Mister Hackett quite alone, two sheets of parchment in front of him. He was painstakingly comparing one—in Japanese—to the other—in English. I saw that he had a pen in his hand.
“Oh. For making note of any questions I might have,” he said almost apologetically. “Mister Minato has been most helpful, of course, but I must be certain that I am satisfied the best work possible has been done.”
“Where are the others?” I asked, indicating their absence.
“At supper,” he answered. “I did not feel I could spare the time to eat, not until this was completed.” He frowned at the Japanese page. “You do not know how difficult this is, trying to find the right word. There are formalities to be observed due to the nature of the occasion, and the language used must reflect that.”
“I can imagine,” I said, recalling some of the difficulties I had encountered translating English to German. With such a language as Japanese, the difficulty I reckoned increased tenfold.
“When I have completed this work, I will have my soup with the rest,” he said to me, his attention still on the page.
“Excellent. I will inform my employer of your progress, and your diligence in this matter.” I nodded to him and made my way across the hall, where I told Holmes what I had learned.
“Encouraging, I suppose,” said Mycroft Holmes darkly. “I want you to check on Mister Hackett again in twenty minutes.”
This indicated a greater concern than I was accustomed to experience in Holmes, so I said, “Is there something you anticipate in this regard?”
“Not specifically, no,” said Holmes, a trifle too quickly.
“But you have some reason to fear,” I persisted. “What is it?”
“If I knew, I would not be so troubled.” He steepled his fingers and regarded me over their tops. “No doubt I am jumping at shadows, but I fear that given the events we have sustained of late, I cannot keep from it. I would rather prove to have been too cautious than not cautious enough.”
I wanted to learn more, but the footmen in the corridor flung open the doors, announcing, “His Highness, Prince Jiro.”
Immediately behind them, the young man came, his face slightly flushed, his dress uniform of a Dartmouth cadet precise to a pin. His face was set in uncompromising lines. “Mister Holmes. I demand an explanation!”
FROM THE JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS
Two of the watchers observed Sutton make his way across the street to his club tonight. I know that he is aware of one of them, but the other has taken up a place in a window three houses along Pall Mall from this one. I cannot like this, for it suggests to me that there are others I have not yet discovered who are watching this flat and Sutton, whom they suppose to be M H.
I have taken to keeping notes regarding these watchers, where they are, at what hours, and what associations, if any, I can discern with others on the street. I am troubled that I have had no success in identifying any of these men, or to discern their purpose beyond surveillance of this place.
My pistol is ready, and I am prepared to use it if it should become necessary, although I trust it will not, for the watchers would seem to prize secrecy, which they cannot sustain once shots have been fired. I have hope that we may yet make our way through this coil unscathed.
Shotley has come from the Swiss embassy with a message from M H, and I have sent back a note saying that I will attend to the inquiries he requires at once. There are references here that will start me on my way, and once Sutton returns, I will have his help as well. By the time M H returns, I will be able to present a fair summary of Lord Brackenheath’s life and background. Then M H may tell me what he next requires of me.
MYCROFT HOLMES ROSE and bowed. “Your Highness.”
“Never mind all that,” said the Prince
abruptly, signaling the footmen to close the door, then pacing the room. “What right have you to order anyone to follow me?”
Holmes achieved a look of mild interest. “Even supposing that you are being followed, what makes you suppose that I have ordered it?”
“Because I know it is being done. I have seen someone watching me, and I know why you would want me watched,” the Prince fumed. “And I warn you now that it must stop at once. I will not have myself compromised by spies. I will not tolerate this intrusion into my privacy.” He tossed his head. “I will not permit the woman you have been trying to identify for so many weeks to be the object of your scrutiny.”
“Your Highness, I give you my word as a gentleman, I have not ordered men to follow you.”
His single laugh lacked merriment. “Well, someone has been following me, and she is not Japanese.” He stopped, his hands clenched and his breath coming too fast.
“She?” said Holmes, one of his heavy brows rising speculatively.
“A young woman, very fair, very English. I was able to approach her yesterday, after setting a trap for her. She was wise enough not to deny her mission. When I tried to detain her, she said I should make my inquiries of you, and then fled.” His outrage was feeding on itself now, and it was apparent that he might well permit himself to say things he did not generally mean while caught up in his emotions.
I did the unthinkable—I interrupted. “Was she about middle height, slight, fashionably dressed, with light, rosy hair?”
“Then she is one of yours!” Prince Jiro pounced on the description. “That is the very woman! Who is—”
I recalled my encounter with Penelope Gatspy at this very embassy, an encounter that now seemed fraught with more significance than I had assumed at the time. “No, she is not one of . . . us,” I answered carefully. “Though she is a professional, make no doubt about that. She is part of an organization calling itself the Golden Lodge. She . . . she works all over Europe for this group. She is familiar with some of the tasks Mister Holmes performs for England, and she is not above using this information.”
Embassy Row Page 14
