Embassy Row

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “So there was,” said Andermatt before Holmes could speak. “I ordered my men to bring lanterns, the better to examine the scene in the hope that some vital clue might be discovered.”

  Holmes stepped in. “This is Andermatt, Inspector FitzGerald. He is the head of household here for the Swiss ambassador.”

  “And a bloody sight more, no doubt,” said Inspector FitzGerald, taking his measure of the man at once. “Well, so much the better, I reckon. It’s a delicate matter, after all. Chaps of your sort might as well be in at the first.” The Inspector held out his hand to Andermatt. “Inspector Marcus FitzGerald of Scotland Yard, at your service.

  Andermatt’s expression remained unchanged, but he extended his hand. “Under other circumstances it would be a pleasure, Inspector,” he said, and nodded down at the body.

  “Right you are, then,” said Inspector FitzGerald. He approached the body carefully, taking care not to tread in the blood that now caked the steps.

  “Stand aside, men,” said Andermatt to his guards. “Let the Inspector set about his duty. Render him any assistance he may need.” He then looked directly at Holmes. “I believe it would be prudent to inform Ambassador Tochigi of what has happened, now that the agreement has been ratified.”

  Inspector FitzGerald took his notebook from his inner jacket pocket, retrieved a pencil and began to sketch the murder scene.

  “Yes, I agree,” said Holmes, continuing with determination. “And Lady Brackenheath as well.”

  Andermatt flushed a little at his own lapse. “Yes. Of course. Lady Brackenheath must be told before anyone else learns of it.” He met Holmes’ eyes. “Will you tend to that? It would be better coming from you, an Englishman, than from another. It will be hard enough to bear without her having the news from . . . foreigners.”

  I did not know if this was true, but I could see that Andermatt did not relish informing the young woman that she was now a widow. I chided myself for the offer I was about to make, then shut such considerations aside. “Would you like me to accompany you, sir?”

  Holmes looked at me with sharp eyes. “Yes, Guthrie, I would. In case she is in need of more support than I have time to give. A pity we do not know who her friends are, for we could summon one to stay with her.” He gave a short sigh. “Well, there is nothing for it. As soon as the murder weapon is recovered, we will have to tell Lady Brackenheath. The sooner begun, the sooner finished, as my French grandmother used to say when I was laggard.”

  “You can turn the body over now, men,” said Inspector FitzGerald. “I have finished my sketches. Have a care. I want to see that knife as soon as I may.”

  None of the guards rushed to do the work. Handling the body was awkward, for rigor mortis had already set in; and no one wanted to get his feet in the blood, though most of it was dry and dark.

  “Good gracious!” exclaimed Inspector FitzGerald as he bent over the corpse. “What have we here?”

  In spite of our reluctance to approach the murdered man, Andermatt, Holmes, and I could not help but give our full attention to the remark. We turned as one and watched with undisguised interest as Inspector FitzGerald held up the weapon he had been handed.

  “I never saw anything quite like this. Nine-inch blade, a little curve to it, and a handle made, I think, from horn. A single wound, for all I can determine, unusual in a stabbing death,” he declared as he regarded the magnificent antique dagger. “You know anything about it?” he asked Holmes.

  “Yes,” said Holmes, his voice sounding distant. “It is Japanese. An aichuki of the seventeenth or eighteenth century. It is the kind of dagger used in seppuku—Japanese ritual suicide.”

  Inspector FitzGerald wrapped the dagger in his handkerchief “Lord Brackenheath never killed himself.”

  “No,” said Holmes quietly, and began to twiddle his watchfob. “But it may be the murderer—”

  “Is Japanese,” said Inspector FitzGerald at once, nodding. “That’s fairly obvious.”

  Holmes gave him an exasperated stare. I could sense the torrent of thought that possessed him now, though I doubted Inspector FitzGerald was aware of it. “I reckon it a trifle too obvious, Inspector. Given this setting, I would rather suppose someone intends to implicate the Japanese. Think, man. If you were going to kill someone at a function of this sort, would you select anything so blatant as that dagger unless you intended to throw suspicion on the Japanese?”

  “The Japanese are Orientals, sir, and they have strange ways,” said Inspector FitzGerald.

  Holmes directed his gaze to the night sky. “Give me patience.” Then he fixed Inspector FitzGerald with a hard stare. “The Japanese attending this gala are not foolish men. If they wanted to do away with Lord Brackenheath, they could easily avail themselves of pistols or other, less distinctive weapons. They have pistols at their disposal, as the rest of us do. It would have been an easy thing to shoot the man.” He was speaking quickly, his words crisp as new collars. “I, for one, would consider the aichuki dagger the reddest of red herrings.”

  “The dagger makes much less noise,” the Inspector pointed out.

  “My dear FitzGerald, there is a small orchestra playing dance music in the ballroom, and more than a hundred guests, all talking at once. I would think it would take cannon fire at least to gain their attention,” said Holmes with deliberate sarcasm. “A pistol held near the body would not be noticeable.”

  “That’s as may be, sir,” said Inspector FitzGerald, pugnacity ill-concealed behind his deferential manner. “I am only able to evaluate what I see, and I see a man with a Japanese dagger in his back at a function where there are Japanese. I cannot think it wholly coincidental.”

  “Exactly,” said Holmes. “It isn’t a coincidence, it is a deliberate attempt to mislead you. Certainly the weapon is Japanese, and certainly this gala honors the Japanese Ambassador and Prince Jiro. But I am saying that no Japanese would use an aichuki in this fashion. It would be more reprehensible than using the Coronation Orb to bash the P.M.’s head in.”

  Holmes’ observation had its intended result: In spite of himself, Inspector FitzGerald chuckled. “Not that there hasn’t been many a King who would not have wanted to do just that.” He carefully put the aichuki in his small portfolio, making a point of closing it. “This will have to be examined.”

  “Certainly,” said Holmes at once. “In fact, I hope you will be particularly careful with that dagger, for we want no claims of tampering to be made when the details of this most unfortunate event become generally known.” He tucked his watchfob back in its pocket. “I fear we must anticipate a furor in the press.”

  Inspector FitzGerald rolled his eyes upward. “Don’t mention the press.”

  “But I fear I must. We need to anticipate their response and be prepared for it.” Holmes nodded in Andermatt’s direction. “And you will have to decide how the embassy is to deal with the attention.”

  “We do not have to deal with them,” said Andermatt, watching his men carry Lord Brackenheath’s body toward the waiting stretcher.

  “It will be better for you if you prepare a statement to offer them. Appease them if you can.” Holmes swung around and looked across the terrace to the ballroom. “I fear everyone who attended this gala may be considered fair game by the press.”

  I found myself thinking of Penelope Gatspy and had the irrational thought that I should warn her, for her own protection. I realized that such an effort was impossible, and I suspected that my employer would not want any such information being provided to Miss Gatspy, given her association with the Golden Lodge.

  Andermatt was frowning, his attention on Mycroft Holmes. “I take it I am to refer no one to you, sir?”

  Holmes shook his head. “As I am not actually here, officially, it would be best if my name were kept out of it. I will do all that I can to assist you and the police in their inquiries, of course, but not as anything more than an unnamed source.” His smile was as fleeting as it was grim.

  “As you
wish, sir,” said Andermatt with a look of understanding that startled me.

  “All right, Guthrie,” said Holmes as he saw Lord Brackenheath’s body strapped to the stretcher and decently covered. “We’d best be about this wretched business.”

  I nodded. “Of course, sir.”

  “Andermatt, may we have the use of the White Salon? It is private enough for speaking with Lady Brackenheath, isn’t it?”

  “Of course,” said Andermatt, the greater part of his attention given to his guards and the stretcher they carried toward the small, north-side entrance to the embassy. “There is brandy and port on the sideboard.”

  “Excellent,” said Holmes, and very nearly sounded as if he meant it. “Come, Guthrie. We have work to do.” And with that he strode off in the direction of the Terrace Suite.

  I followed after, my pace slowed by more than my crutches.

  FROM THE JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

  Sutton has taken up a seat in the study, and immersed himself in The Duchess of Malfi once more. He has lit a cigar as M H inevitably does; and has read and smoked away most of the evening. This has left me the opportunity to watch the service alley, for I am more convinced than ever that the watchers are at their posts; I am determined to identify them all.

  Sid Hastings has sent word that he has returned home, for the flurry of activity at the Swiss embassy has brought a dozen policemen to keep guard on the street, and he does not want to be the object of their attention, since he would have to reveal the commission of M H. He says he will return when the police have departed, and has arranged to be informed by the jarveys working that area of the town as soon as that occurs. It may be inconvenient for M H to have to wait for Hastings, but it is preferable to having his presence noted.

  I have set a joint of beef to roast, for I know when M H and G return they will not have dined and will be famished after so hectic a night. A late supper will give them the opportunity to review the events of the evening in unhurried peace, and will assure them of a good night’s sleep. Fortunately I have fresh bread purchased this afternoon to serve them, and I can prepare a side dish of asparagus dressed with butter and mushrooms. It is not much, but it will serve, with port and Stilton to finish.

  Sutton has decided to remain the night and will rise at M H’s accustomed hour so that our employer may sleep late and restore himself to face the difficulties that are sure to confront him. I am once again impressed by the good sense Sutton displays. Who would have thought an actor would have so canny a grasp on the world?

  “WHAT HAS MY husband done now?” Lady Brackenheath asked with ill-concealed annoyance as Enzo the footman left her in our charge in the White Salon. Her response to the interruption of her evening had thus far been one of mild vexation, and she had not accepted Holmes’ offer of a chair upon completion of their introduction. As she moved about the room, her magnificent jewelry and clothing shone and glistened. In the shine of the gaslights the room was now more the color of tallow than the pristine white of daytime, though it brushed a golden glow onto Lady Brackenheath’s cheeks. “I was afraid he would disrupt this occasion with some folly. You had best tell me what it is. I am prepared for the worst.”

  Mycroft Holmes shrugged his big shoulders and regarded her with concern. “I doubt that, if you will forgive me, Lady Brackenheath.”

  Her expression remained self-possessed. “He has been saying all week that he intends to compromise this agreement. I confess I was astonished at the announcement it had been ratified.” She shook her head. “Don’t tell me he was detained?”

  “No, that is not what has happened,” said Holmes with surprising gentleness. “I do think you had much better sit down.”

  She tossed her head, but apparently she was impressed with his demeanor, for this time she did as he suggested and took a place on a white-satin chair. “Very well, Mister Holmes. What has my infuriating husband done now?”

  Holmes hesitated a moment, “There is no easy way to say this. I regret to inform you, Lady Brackenheath, that he has been killed.”

  There was silence in the room for several seconds. Then Lady Brackenheath shook her head. “I’m sorry. I’m afraid I did not hear you correctly. I thought you said that Lord Brackenheath . . . has been . . . has been . . .”

  “Has been killed,” said Holmes as kindly as he could. “Yes, Lady Brackenheath, you heard me correctly.”

  She stared at Holmes, shock making her face pale and blank. “But . . . how? Killed? You did say killed?”

  Again Holmes measured his words carefully. “I fear this will cause you pain, Lady Brackenheath.” He signaled to me to pour some brandy for her. I was grateful to have something to do, and hastened to select a small snifter and the oldest brandy. “He was discovered not quite an hour ago near the foot of the terrace stairs to the garden. He had been stabbed.”

  That last struck her as surely as a blow. She put her hands to her cheeks. “How?”

  Holmes held out his hand for the brandy snifter. I gave it to him at once, and then chose a second snifter, and a third. “Here, Lady Brackenheath. This will help to restore you,” said Holmes as he gave her the snifter.

  Obediently she took the snifter and bent her head to inhale the fumes before drinking it. She coughed once, then looked at Holmes. “There is no mistake, is there? Are you quite sure?”

  “That he is dead? Yes, Madame, I am sorry to tell you I am.” Holmes watched her with deepening concern. “I am also certain of his identity. There can be no question that it is Lord Brackenheath who is . . . My secretary, Mister Guthrie, found him and made sure it was he before he informed me of this tragedy.”

  I discovered that my hands were shaking. The events of the last hour were finally catching up with me. I had been aware that the calm I had felt until then was false, but I had not thought I was as upset as it now appeared I was. I took a long sip of brandy, and let its warmth filter into my veins.

  Lady Brackenheath stared at me as if I had grown a second head or all my clothes had suddenly caught fire. “What were you doing? When you found my husband?” She was still too shaken to make this an accusation, but an edge had come into her voice.

  “I had been sent to find him, Lady Brackenheath. He was wanted as a witness for the ratification of the agreement.” I felt as if I were a schoolboy once again, called upon to recite a piece I did not correctly know.

  “I asked Guthrie to find him,” said Holmes, as if offering mitigating evidence on my behalf. “Your husband had left the room in a state of perturbation some while before, and the Prime Minister had arrived, so that he was wanted to witness the signing.”

  “He had intended . . . to . . . refuse to witness the signing, and to make it known to the guests that he would not, and why he would not. He believes that to cause the Japanese humiliation would be sufficient to have them refuse any further dealings with England, and would save the country from itself,” said Lady Brackenheath softly. “He told me yesterday evening that it was his intention to force Lord Salisbury to rescind the agreement.” She drank another bit of brandy. Two spots of color appeared in her cheeks, as if she had a fever.

  “Do you know why he wanted to do such a thing?” asked Holmes, as if this were an ordinary conversation and we were merely discussing the eccentricities of neighbors instead of the intentions of a murdered man.

  “He hates . . . hated the Orientals, all of them. Chinese, Indians, Japanese, Indo-Chinese, Burmese, Koreans. He even included the Russians as Orientals, and his abhorrence extended to them. He was convinced that any dealings with Orientals must end in disgrace and ruin for England, indeed, the ruin of the West. Let Europe make its bargains with the East, he declared he would not allow England to fall into the same trap. He had no intention of helping England to expose her throat to the wolves of the East. He said that no Oriental could be trusted as white men could.” She wiped her cheek. Until then I had not noticed her tears, nor, I suspect, had she. She reached into her reticule and pulled out the small handker
chief she carried there.

  “I have heard Lord Brackenheath animadvert on the dangers he perceived in Oriental peoples,” said Holmes in the same distanced voice. “And given the circumstances of his death, it is necessary to inquire further.”

  “He has often said that we must not make any alliances with them for fear of ruin.” She finished her brandy and held out the snifter.

  Holmes gestured me to refill it. “I am truly sorry to have to pursue this matter with you at such a terrible time, Lady Brackenheath, but I fear I must,” Holmes said, taking a seat opposite her. “For it is possible that Lord Brackenheath’s opinions may have been a factor in his death.”

  “What convinces you of that?” asked Lady Brackenheath, doing her best to regain her composure, for try as she would, she could not keep her tears from flowing.

  “What convinces me,” said Holmes with a look of concern, “is that he made it known he did not approve of what we were doing here. And now you inform me that it was his stated intention to disrupt it, and bring it to an end.”

  “So he told me,” she said, answering with care now that she began to appreciate the nature of the situation.

  “And if he told you what form that disruption would take, I ask you to tell me what it might be. We are at a standstill. Lord Salisbury may still face unwonted pressure if the nature of your husband’s intentions is left . . . to be guessed at, and the current agreement may still be compromised if Lord Brackenheath has allies who are on the same course as he in regard to our dealings with the Japanese.” Holmes leaned forward. I doubted that Edmund Sutton could have been any more inspiring of confidence than Holmes was at that moment.