Embassy Row

by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro

  “You seem to have accomplished the task,” said Prince Jiro, a bit of irony tinging his remark.

  “Ah, but I am not hampered as he is with the need to investigate a crime, at least not the crime of murder. I am doing my poor best to guard the terms of a necessary international agreement in the face of the determined activities of traitors. If it were necessary for Lord Brackenheath’s murder to go unsolved in order to preserve the agreement, I would be willing to leave his death in that undesirable condition.” Holmes was wearing his mild expression. He was never so dangerous as when he did that.

  Now Prince Jiro stared at him. “And what of the English love of justice?” he asked, more fascinated than offended.

  Holmes had taken his watchfob from his pocket and was now spinning it so that it wound around his index finger first one way and then the other. I could see that he had anticipated this question and that its resolution had not been easily reached. “Oh, I am not so cold-blooded that I could tolerate seeing an innocent man wrongly convicted. Not only does that countermand my principles, it would compromise the agreement in a most inadvisable way, which would do nothing to preserve it. Agreements purchased with treason and similar exigencies are never enduring, and I would not let this one come to grief. But short of such an impasse, I would rather leave Lord Brackenheath without his personal . . . vindication, than have the agreement abjured, and permit the traitors to prevail.”

  “Mister Holmes,” said Prince Jiro with a slight, nervous smile, “you are more like Ambassador Tochigi than you think. He shares your convictions, though he would not express them in the same language.” He bowed slightly, then took on a sterner mien. “So. What do you plan in regard to Lady Brackenheath?”

  “If you mean do I intend to confront her in regard to your liaison, yes, unfortunately I must. But you have my word I will discuss the whole with her in confidence so that she will not have to worry that any information in this regard shall . . . get out.” He put his watchfob back in his waistcoat pocket. “Tell me, your Highness. Who else knows about your affaire with Lady Brackenheath?”

  “No one,” he said promptly, then added when he encountered Holmes’ skeptical gaze, “Though I assume Haggard, her butler, is aware that she has a lover.”

  “Why is that?” Holmes asked, sitting more forward in his chair.

  “She was protected, in regard to her husband, and Haggard has been with her for longer than her husband. I have met him twice, and I have thought I detected something in his manner that is something more than the usual English curiosity and reserve where we Japanese are concerned.” The Prince frowned. “I do not mean to say that he ever overstepped the bounds, for that is not the case. He has shown me every regard he would extend to a countryman, and I suspect he holds Lady Brackenheath in the highest esteem it is appropriate for him to hold her.”

  If only my head had not been aching so furiously, I would have paid more attention to what Haggard had told me the previous night. Now I did my best to recall the whole of the matter to mind; I missed part of Holmes’ next question as a result of these cogitations.

  “—last time you were private together?”

  Prince Jiro hesitated before answering. “Four days ago. It seems forever now. Who would have thought it would . . .” He looked away. “She went to visit an elderly cousin living in the south; she had been doing it since she first married, so there was nothing remarkable in such an expedition. Lord Brackenheath was always pleased to have her gone from their town house, for then he could indulge himself with his cronies. The cousin’s place is about an hour’s ride from Dartmouth, and I met her there, as I often have before.”

  “And the cousin was aware of this?” Holmes made no attempt to hide his interest in the matter.

  “I don’t know. I never met the woman, who is an invalid of advanced years.” His expression grew distant and sad. “There is a folly on the grounds, a supposed ruin of a Gothic abbey, built forty years ago. We would go there. Not even the gardeners disturbed us there.”

  “For how long did you meet this way?” Holmes asked.

  “For just over seven months.” His laughter was more painful than bitter. “The first few times I thought we would freeze.” He was about to say something more, then changed his mind.

  Holmes did not pursue the matter. He leaned back. “And in London? Did you ever meet in London?”

  “Only twice. It was so dangerous. Too many people might notice us together.” As he indicated his face with a gesture. “I am not inconspicuous, not in England.”

  “Where did you meet, then?” Holmes looked merely curious.

  “I obtained a suite of rooms not far from Covent Garden, where many men take their opera dancers and other . . . companions, paramours and ganymedes. In Japan, we have the world of wind and willow for these . . . attachments, though Lady Brackenheath is nothing like a geisha. So I had to make do with what was available. I did not like the place, but as a foreigner, my choices are obviously limited. The second time we were there we narrowly escaped an encounter with a man well-known to Lord Brackenheath. We agreed then to confine our assignations to the country.” His nervousness was returning.

  “Guthrie,” said Holmes without turning to me, “please pour a cognac for Prince Jiro.”

  I rose at once to do this, and as I did, I recalled something that Haggard had said to me, as dearly as if he had spoken in my ear: for she may now follow the dictates of her heart. And the one who has . . . Nothing can come of it, more’s the pity. As I splashed the cognac into the balloon glass, I said, “The Prince is right. Haggard does know.”

  Holmes stared at me. “Are you certain?”

  “As certain as I may be without an actual confession from the man. And I doubt he would vouchsafe me one in any case.” I handed the glass to Prince Jiro and prepared a second for Holmes. “I will have to send Haggard a note.”

  “Not to confirm this, surely?” Prince Jiro demanded.

  “No,” I said. “Last night, or early this morning, if you prefer, I indicated that I would be back this afternoon to aid the household during the police inquiries. I will not be able to do that, and I should so inform them, so that they will not suppose I forgot them.” I said this as much for Holmes’ benefit as for Prince Jiro’s. “Unless you wish me to call there, sir?”

  Holmes made a sign of impatience. “No. I need you here. You’d best have one of the embassy messengers carry a note for you. Andermatt will arrange it, I’ve no doubt. When we have finished our conversation you may attend to it.” He accepted the cognac, and shifted his line of inquiry. “All right, your Highness. I will ask you nothing more in direct regard to Lady Brackenheath. But I must solicit information in regard to those Japanese who accompany Ambassador Tochigi.”

  “But you know them,” said Prince Jiro, surprised by the question.

  “Not as you do,” Holmes observed. “You are their Prince and their countryman. You know more of their character than ever I can, and I depend upon you to impart your impressions to me as candidly as possible.” He took a sip of his cognac. “It would help me most if you will let me know something of the family backgrounds of all three men.”

  “I should not,” said Prince Jiro, his manner becoming stiff.

  Holmes did not seem perturbed by this refusal. “Your Highness, I am aware that under ordinary circumstances such remarks would be most inappropriate, and I would not have to put you in this position. But these are not ordinary circumstances, and the potential for catastrophe—and pray do not assume that I do overstate the risk—is very great if there is a single misstep.”

  Prince Jiro nodded thoughtfully. “I will do what I can,” he said at last. “And not because I fear your using your knowledge of my private dealings against me, but because, like you, I view the failure of the agreement as potentially catastrophic.” He tasted his cognac. “The Swiss have the pick of so many good things.”

  “That they do,” Holmes seconded, and it was clear that they had established a
n understanding. “Now, in regard to Mister Banadaichi, what can you tell me about him?”

  “I know nothing to his discredit,” said Prince Jiro at once. “His family is samurai, very old and much-honored. He himself has dedicated himself to the service of the Emperor, and has vowed to guard the reign of my brother.”

  “Is there any reason he might want to destroy this agreement? Is his family, perhaps, unwilling to extend Japanese protection to ships not their own?” Holmes made his tone flat to minimize the insult he would give Prince Jiro through the question itself

  “Not that I know of,” said Prince Jiro. “But I concede it is possible. Not that anything is declared, of course. But one hears rumors, even in the Emperor’s family, about the old nobles wanting to keep Japan out of the larger world. Not that they would be foolish enough to say this openly, for they would then have to defend themselves to the Emperor, and would face grave penalties for attempting to countermand the wishes of the Emperor.”

  “You call him the Emperor and not your father,” Holmes remarked. “Why is that?”

  “Because he is the Emperor before he is anything else. The same will be true of my brother one day. He will be more than my elder brother, and I will be his subject more than his younger brother.” He took another sip of cognac. “I know that matters are somewhat different in England.”

  “That they are,” said Holmes, a quick look of affectionate amusement creasing the lines around his dark-grey eyes. “Those rumors you mentioned: What do they imply?”

  Prince Jiro sat a bit straighter—no easy feat given the posture he had maintained from his entering the room. “You have some knowledge of Japan, and some experience in my country as well.”

  “That is true,” said Holmes as a matter of form.

  “You then have some understanding of the traditions our heritage imparts.” He noted Holmes’ single nod and continued. “There are those who put the traditions before all else, and they, it is said, seek to prohibit the intervention of the West into our affairs. It is whispered that there are companies of dedicated nobles who have sworn to destroy all things that diminish the purity of Japan and the Japanese people. It has been suggested that murder and war are not beyond their scope, if either would secure Japanese preservation.”

  “Do you think these rumors have any basis in fact?” Holmes inquired. He did not appear to be paying much attention, which indicated his concentration was at its height.

  “Yes, but to what degree, I cannot say. I am not so naive that I do not suppose that there are powers in the world which would seek to exploit such men to their own purposes. Russia, for example, I know does not wish Japan to build any alliances with England. There may well be others, such as Germany, or Austro-Hungary, for the balance of power would be upset and not to their advantage; I have heard a few suggest that the Chinese are not eager to have this agreement ratified. This does not surprise me, nor should it anyone else. The Chinese have long used their ports to control much of the Pacific and cannot welcome having that power pass to us. I do not think the Chinese will be pleased when our dreadnoughts arrive. I hope it will not necessitate a test of arms, but if it should come to that, we are prepared.” Prince Jiro glanced around uneasily. “I would not be astonished to learn that they had found a way to spy on what you are doing. I know that Ambassador Tochigi is afraid that his family may be in danger for his work here.”

  For the first time, Holmes looked startled. “Are you certain of that? He has made no mention of it to me.”

  Prince Jiro ducked his head. “You will forgive me for telling you that Ambassador Tochigi would not confide this information to you.”

  “Why is that?” Holmes asked, though I could see he had already surmised the answer.

  His answer came quickly. “Because it is known that there are agents in England who support the efforts of the nobles in Japan, and not all of them are Japanese.”

  FROM THE JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

  It is nearly time for Edmund Sutton to make his appearance at M H’s club across the street. He is finishing his preparations now, while I clear up the last of our tea. Sutton is always nervous before he goes to the club, for he says he never feels more exposed than when he is in that building with all those astute men. “If they did not regale themselves with port, brandy, and cigars, I would not attempt it at all” said he. “Nor if they permitted speech, for though I can imitate M H well enough for those who do not know him well, anyone who is his longtime associate would notice at once that the timbre of our voices is not the same, no matter how accurate the accent or the idiosyncrasies; voices are often more personal than faces.”

  He may find fault with his impersonation of our employer, but I cannot.

  Mister Coldene has come to take my message to M H at the Swiss embassy, and has said he will wait half an hour for an answer; if there is one. He informed me that there is much pressure being brought to bear on the P. M. to fix the responsibility for Lord Brackenheath’s murder on the Japanese, in order to spare the Swiss any scandal and to point the finger away from England.

  I will occupy the time compiling the information we have garnered, so that upon his return M H may peruse it. It is a fortunate thing that M H has the authority to command the release of such confidential records, else it would be the work of months to uncover all we will learn in a matter of hours. The deposit of ten thousand pounds to Lord Brackenheath’s personal account is the most perplexing evidence, for all our efforts have failed to disclose who made the payment and for what reason. The bank has said that it must be the result of gambling, as most of his reverses in fortune came from that activity. But the amount is so great, and so precise, that both Sutton and I are convinced that there is some more specific purpose in its presence.

  When Sutton returns, we will resume our efforts.

  AFTER I HANDED my note for Haggard to the embassy’s messenger, I returned to the library. I found Mycroft Holmes hunched over his notebook, jotting cryptic memos to himself and scowling, his heavy brows making his dissatisfaction emphatic.

  “The Prince was very helpful. His level of comprehension impressed me. I wonder if he knew how much?” I said, breaking into his fearsome concentration. “I noticed that you did your best to discover his degree of concern for Lady Brackenheath. However, I was a bit puzzled why you made no mention of Mister Minato’s double purpose here.”

  “I must hope that what he told me of his concern for the agreement was as genuine as his deep affection for Lady Brackenheath; if it is not, telling him of Mister Minato’s spying would only serve to put him on the alert,” said Holmes, his attitude one of exasperation.

  “Do you think it was not?” I asked. His reservations took me aback, for Prince Jiro’s manner had the ring of truth to it.

  “No, I am satisfied he is sincere,” Holmes responded unhappily. “Which means the rot is deeper than I supposed. And inclines me to believe that the Prince himself may be in considerable danger.”

  “What danger? From whom?” Now I was truly alarmed. “How do you mean? What makes you think so?” There was a desolation of spirit I could sense in him that filled me with foreboding.

  “I had hoped that this was the act of a few desperate men who had taken it upon themselves to seize the moment to show their dissatisfaction with the agreement”—his face now bore the hewn look of exhaustion, and his voice was a rougher growl than usual— “which of necessity meant that the man committing the crime must be English or Japanese, though I doubted the latter, as using such a dagger to murder would be an impious act for a Japanese who honors their traditions.” He had finished his cigar and used his pen to illustrate his point in the air. “As it is, I am left with the unhappy notion that this was not an opportunistic killing, but part of a well-conceived scheme to undermine more than a single agreement, no matter how sweeping it might be.”

  “And why do you think this is the case?” I prompted him, fascinated to discover where his acumen had led him.

  “The
facts, lamentably, speak for themselves. I cannot convince myself that this was an impulsive act, not given what we have learned thus far,” he admitted. “And I am beginning to suspect that your Miss Gatspy might have pointed the way when she brought the Grodno Hussar to your attention.”

  It was useless, I realized, to protest the possessive pronoun. I chose an indirect answer. “She was right about Prince Jiro and Lady Brackenheath.”

  “Yes,” said Holmes distantly. “I know. That’s what troubles me.” He picked up his balloon glass and swirled the cognac around in it, his eyes fixed about twenty feet beyond the library wall. After a few minutes of silence, he addressed me with energy. “Guthrie, do you know where you can find Miss Gatspy at this hour?”

  At least he had not called her my Miss Gatspy this time. “I’m not privy to her current direction, but I suppose I can locate her if I try.” Though as I said it, I hadn’t the remotest notion how. “I am willing to attempt to locate her.”

  “Do so, will you? And shortly. I want to know more about this Grodno Hussar she told you was not Russian.” He rubbed his chin with his free hand. “Lack of sleep must be dulling my wits. I should have realized that there was more to this than meets the eye.”

  “But you have said that from the first, sir,” I protested.

  “Ah, but I have been looking from the wrong end of the telescope, or so I fear. I should not have assumed . . .” He had a sip of the cognac and went back to swirling the amber liquid in the balloon glass. “Your Miss Gatspy should be able to put me to rights.”

  There it was. I held my tongue with an effort. “I will be about it at once.”

  My departure was delayed, however, by Andermatt, who came into the library with a sealed packet. I recognized Tyers’ fist on the flap as Andermatt handed it to Mycroft Holmes. “A Mister Coldene delivered this not five minutes since.” He was able to maintain his attitude of correctness and at the same time showed a trace of curiosity.