Embassy Row

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “I fear it may be,” I said grimly. In the forty minutes I had needed to track him down, a number of scenarios had suggested themselves to me, each more unpleasant than the last. Now I resisted the urge to impart them all to my employer, and settled only for the one that had proved to be the most nagging. “If it is reliable information.”

  “Why should it not be reliable?” asked Holmes with such an air of innocence that I was instantly on my guard.

  “There are a number of reasons why it might not be, not the least of which is the source. I cannot discern the motive for misleading us, except to protect her colleagues of the Golden Lodge. However, that’s as may be.” I did not want to recite all the things that had occurred to me; I stuck to the issues immediately to hand. “Assuming that Penelope Gatspy is telling the truth and this is not an act of deliberate deception to turn us away from—”

  Holmes waved my protestations away, his intellect engaged in exercise on this new idea. “A jealous lover kills the old roué of a husband to win the fair—and very rich—widow?” said Holmes, testing the hypothesis with every word. “The lover arranges for someone to kill the husband?” He shook his head. “No. Why would they do it? To what end? Either way, both Prince Jiro and Lady Brackenheath come to grief. Their liaison is discovered and they are separated in disgrace. No, I would think their best course would be in continuing secrecy.”

  “Then you are inclined to give Miss Gatspy’s tale some credence?” I said, surprised at the prospect. “I would think that the diplomatic connection she mentioned might be the more profitable vein to mine.”

  “Yes, I take your point. And regarding her information about the lovers, yes, yes, I am giving the story credence,” he said, musing. “And it troubles me that I cannot put my finger on why, but I know there is something I should . . .” He stared out at the traffic passing in the street, his manner abstracted. Suddenly he slapped his hand on the worn armrest. “I should have seen it!” he exclaimed. “I permitted myself to be diverted in my attention. I did not see what was directly under my nose. Or rather, hear it.” This was the greatest self-condemnation he could express.

  “Hear what was under your nose?” I tweaked, hoping to gain some information.

  “Under my ear, then, to correct the metaphor.” He regarded the horse ahead of us through narrowed eyes, as if he doubted its character. His watchfob was twirling around his index finger.

  “How?” I asked, unable to follow his thoughts. “What should you have seen?”

  “The very thing Miss Gatspy told you.” His abstraction was gone. “At the Swiss embassy, last night, when Prince Jiro came to offer his condolences,’ he gave her his handkerchief,” said Holmes.

  ”Yes. I remember,” I said, still not aware of what he had realized. “Surely there was nothing significant in the offer—she was weeping.”

  “Accurate as far as it goes. But think. When she took it, she called him Yukio. I should have known then. I should have noticed, but—” He sighed heavily. “Miss Gatspy is right. The scandal from this could destroy all we have worked for. Like Russia and Germany, Japan also failed to build an expanded, foreign empire while the Western nations were doing so. Now, they see the Pacific Islands and China as their last chance at achieving an empire of their own. Far more than Japan, Russia is now following a policy of expansion. With this agreement we will provide Japan the ability to meet the challenge of the Czar and curb it before the Russians become entrenched. Japan will be able to confidently control the Korean Peninsula. How aggravating it is, with much of our Empire at stake, to find all we have striven for endangered by the romantic entanglement of a single Dartmouth cadet with a married Englishwoman. I am not exaggerating when I say that a public scandal of this nature could cause the Japanese Empire to sever all relations with the West, out of chagrin. Or worse, they may feel obliged to vindicate the honor of Japan by proving themselves in aggression. They might conceivably attempt to match their expansion with our own. Then again, without the Japanese influence as counterbalance, Russia, provoked by Germany and the crisis in the Balkans, may become even more voracious. With a more militant Japan we would be confronted by two powers with direct access to India and the Pacific. We could be forced to defend vital colonies in the East, and the trade routes between them. To be compelled to wage war at such a distance would make the logistical difficulties of the Crimea seem like supplying a weekend fête. The cost in materiel and lives would be staggering, and our progress might well be set aside for a decade and more.”

  “What should that have told you?” I persisted, going back to his first remark. “What should you have realized?”

  “Lady Brackenheath used Prince Jiro’s personal name when he offered his condolences. Even Ambassador Tochigi would not be permitted such a liberty. Therefore I should have realized that the two were on terms of great intimacy.” His heavy brows drew together in a glower. “I fault myself for failing to pay attention to what I took to be routine courtesy.”

  I considered this observation, recalled the incident and my own intention to report it, which, had I not been distracted, I would have done; I added, “Do you think it was significant that he gave her his chrysanthemum handkerchief? For it seems to me that Ambassador Tochigi was very much startled to see the handkerchief in her hand. At the time, I did not assign much importance to this, for I assumed the ambassador’s disputes with the Prince accounted for his umbrage.”

  Holmes considered his answer for a second or two. “I thought I noticed some response in him that was beyond the usual. But I supposed it was on account of the shocking nature of the crime committed. I do not think condolences are offered to a Japanese widow in the same manner as English ones.” He spun the watchfob again, letting the chain wind around his finger in the other direction.

  “Is that a factor, do you think?” I inquired.

  “The differences between the English and the Japanese? Of course it is. Only consider the number of times we have all of us made assumptions based on our national characters,” he said with a shake of his long head as he began to pull at his lower lip. “How can we help but become entangled in this?” He settled back to regard me. “And the information I had early on from Tschersky threw me off the scent, for I—” he broke off. “We English are concerned with results, with the profit or loss created by our actions, and the cost is not always reckoned in pounds and pence. In Japan, form is as important as the result it produces. In the Japanese court it is better to fail correctly than to succeed by a proscribed method. By extension, this means that the individual has less importance than the position he holds. In this particular instance, for example, it doesn’t matter if Prince Jiro loves the lady or not. He has failed to follow the correct path. It is that lapse that makes his liaison intolerable; for it will be perceived that the Prince has shamed himself, and because of this, the Emperor may suffer the loss of the faith of his people. In the Japanese mind, the Emperor is the nation in a way that hasn’t been the case in the West since before Caesar conquered Britain.”

  “But there must be some way to address the situation that would not have such severe repercussions. I cannot think it would be prudent to allow so great a misfortune to—” I said, only to be cut short.

  “I cannot think of one,” Holmes responded with a shake of his head, “for it is a matter of degree, don’t you know. We English value our reputations, but by comparison the Japanese make the highest stickler seem lax. The tales you have heard of young men who have failed in their appointed mission expiating their error by ritual suicide are correct. Their deaths are entirely voluntary. To lose life is far preferable to a Japanese than living without reputation, without face.” His expression changed. “Can you imagine MacMillian in such a society?” His chuckle was short-lived. “The Prince will be held to that standard. Compared to such a loss of face, anything, including our current agreement, is expendable in the Japanese mind.”

  “I take your meaning, sir,” I said at the end of this, much chas
tened.

  Holmes sighed. “We all suffer from the same assumptions—that everyone in the world is aware of how the game is played, and they choose not to play by our rules out of spite and perversity.” He regarded me thoughtfully. “You are not so blind as most, Guthrie, and for that I thank God, for you could not do the work I require if you were as limited as the vast majority of functionaries in the world.” For a short while he was silent, and then he said, “At least that writer Kipling understands a little of it. He knows that there are things in India that do not fit into cozy, British boxes. And he is willing to tell stories to prove it. For that he deserves respect beyond that given most tellers of tales.”

  “Permit me to say, sir, that I have never regarded his works in that light. I have considered him one of those who seeks to spin tales of high adventure for high adventure’s sake.” I could not think of any less condemning expression of my opinion of the man’s published writings.

  “They may be read that way, of course,” said Holmes, dismissing my criticism out of hand. “But there is more to him than you perceive, if that is all you see in him.” He settled back in thought, his demeanor forbidding. I did what I could to review the events of the night before, trying to order my accounts in my mind so that I would be able to assist the police in their inquiries. Holmes’ abrupt remark interrupted my thoughts. “If Scotland Yard does not know of the . . . dealings between Lady Brackenheath and Prince Jiro, let us not do anything to put them on the trail until we can learn for ourselves the full significance of their involvement.”

  “Very well,” I said, a little surprised at this instruction. “I will strive to make it plain we do not know anything in that regard.”

  “Gracious, no, I hope not,” said Holmes with a rich, sardonic chuckle. “Then we should be properly in the soup. Give the matter no more or less consideration than you would give any other speculation. The police might not entertain the notion themselves for very long, as I am certain few of them believe that any Englishwoman would wish to become the lover of a Japanese, even the Emperor’s second son.”

  “I’ll contrive to follow your instructions,” I said, sounding stiff to my own ears and earning a bark of laughter from Holmes.

  Andermatt again admitted us to the Swiss embassy by the side door, saying as he closed the door behind us, “We will continue this irregular arrangement as long as it suits you, of course, but it would be more convenient to have you come to the front, Mister Holmes, and more appropriate to your position with the government.”

  “My position with the government,” said Holmes drily as I came after them, “is unofficial, as you know. And as a minister without portfolio, it would be indiscreet of me to be seen here. It would also obviate the need for my double to continue my habitual patterns at my flat and my club.” He shrugged. “I do not need the ceremony and the pomp to accomplish my work. In fact, I manage far better without them.”

  “As you wish, Mister Holmes, though it is lamentable that those less deserving of recognition are reaping the rewards of your efforts. I do not offend you with such a liberty, for it reflects more than my own opinions,” said Andermatt as he pointed the way to the library, opposite the White Salon. “Deputy Ambassador Chavornay remarked upon his return from the meeting with you and Lord Salisbury that you are the only one who appears to have a realistic grasp of the difficulties of this ease. He would be honored if you would join him for a luncheon.”

  “Deputy Ambassador Chavornay gives me a great compliment, and upon two points,” said Holmes without any appearance of boastfulness or egregious modesty. “I regret that until this investigation is concluded, my time is not my own. Please convey my respectful regrets to the deputy ambassador, and assure him that when this is resolved I will be delighted to accept his invitation.” With that he bowed to Andermatt and opened the door to the library. I came after him and closed the door with dispatch.

  The room was as I remembered it, minus Miss Gatspy—dark wood and heavy draperies, with deep, overstuffed chairs near the hearth, a few trestle tables with benches and stools placed next to them, with lamps opposite to provide better illumination than the windows did. Beyond them, ten ranks of shelves running from floor to ceiling, filled to overflowing with publications in German, French, and Italian, with a few in English, Spanish, Dutch, and Czech among them.

  “I will need a lamp,” said Holmes as he sank into one of the three chairs set before the hearth. “And an occasional table so that I may make notes.” He looked at me for a moment. “I do not mean to inconvenience you, dear boy, but would you procure the table for me? Our friend Andermatt will surely be able to arrange it.”

  I had a fleeting question—why had Holmes not asked for it himself? But then I recalled he had not been in this room before and did not know he would require something not already here. I saluted using the handle of my cane for the gesture and hastened into the corridor once again.

  Finding Andermatt took longer than I expected. I at last ran him to earth at the entrance to the servants’ dining hall, where luncheon had just concluded. With all dispatch I explained my employer’s needs, and received assurance that Enzo would attend to it within the half hour. With that I made my way back to the library, noticing as I went that Inspector FitzGerald had arrived with two men to assist him, I mentioned this to Holmes as I entered the library.

  “Yes,” said Holmes, looking down at his notebook, frowning. “That is one of the reasons I am not eager to advertise our presence, since it is well known that I am to be found every afternoon in my flat.” He put down his pencil and steepled his fingers, resting the tips of his middle fingers against his chin. “Tell me, did you happen to notice if Ambassador Tochigi has arrived yet?”

  “No,” I said. “There was no mention of it.” I was puzzled by his question and did not want to make it appear I had been lax in my duties. “I will ask, if you wish.”

  “It’s not so urgent,” he said. “They will be here in good time. And you are to talk to—”

  “Messers. Banadaichi and Minato, yes, sir, I am aware of it.” I had, in fact, had little else to distract my thoughts from the possible association of Lady Brackenheath and Prince Jiro.

  “It will be necessary to make a few, very circumspect inquiries,” Holmes reminded me. “If either of those men had any suspicions in regard to Prince Jiro’s paramour, we must know about it, preferably before Scotland Yard stumbles upon it.” He had that dreamy look about him which I had learned hid strenuous intellectual activity. “It is essential that we preserve as much privacy in this regard as we are able, for the sake of the agreement.”

  “I am aware of that, sir,” I said, realizing that he was more apprehensive about the investigation of the murder than he was willing to say. “I will respect the privacy of all those involved to the very limit of the law.”

  “Excellent, Guthrie. I would not ask more of you.” He glanced up as there was a rap on the door. “Yes?”

  “Your occasional table, sir,” said one of the staff with a German accent.

  “Bring it in,” he ordered, and motioned me out of the way.

  Once Holmes had the table arranged to his satisfaction, he asked me to move one of the lamps from the trestle table for his use. I chose one with a green hood, similar to the ones found at the Diogenes Club. “Very good, Guthrie. I am satisfied. Now you might as well go in search of Andermatt to discover where you are to interview your two Japanese secretaries.”

  I was familiar enough with Mycroft Holmes’ manner of dismissal that I could find no reason to remain. I half-bowed and took myself off, finding Andermatt this time with Inspector FitzGerald at the entrance to the Terrace Suite. Sunlight gave the room a splendid glow, though no one paid any heed to its beauty.

  “Mister Guthrie,” said FitzGerald, his face still shiny from being recently shaved. “How good to see you. Just the man I was looking for.”

  “Good morning, Inspector,” I said, and attempting to make my request known to Andermatt, “
I am to discuss certain matters regarding last night with—”

  “Before you do that,” FitzGerald interrupted, holding up his hand as if to halt a wagon in the street, “I need you to come out and show me how you happened upon the body. Why were you outside? What made you look for Lord Brackenheath in the first place?” He had a look about him, dogged and emphatic, which I knew would be folly to resist.

  “I am supposed to interview the Japanese secretaries—” I began again, only to be cut off this time by Andermatt.

  “They have not yet arrived, Mister Guthrie. I am expecting them directly, with Ambassador Tochigi. You may assist Inspector FitzGerald without apprehension. I will inform you when the Japanese party arrives.” With that, he bowed and left us in the open doorway.

  “Wonderful fellow, isn’t he?” said FitzGerald said. “Now, as I recall, you were out on the terrace. Why was that, Mister Guthrie?”

  I moved through the door into the Terrace Suite and resigned myself to answering his questions. “I had been sent to find Lord Brackenheath, whose presence was wanted for the official signing of the agreement. He was supposed to represent the old landed families of England, so that the Lords would be satisfied their rights had not been usurped. It also provided a broader political spectrum for the inevitable questions that would arise in Parliament, which the Prime Minister declared he wanted to forestall, and so he brought a diverse assortment of negotiators to the process. For those who cling to the vision of England at the apex of the white man’s world and the envy of all other races, Lord Brackenheath was a quintessential spokesman.” As I said this, the events seemed to me to be in the distant past, not unlike recalling an examination at school. “He had left this suite some time earlier; after the Prime Minister arrived, it was hoped he would present himself But, of course, he did not.”