by Hayes, Steve
At last Verne sat back, breathless with activity and laughter. The year-old toddler, who was named after Michel, quickly crawled to his grandfather and stared up at him, eyes alive with merriment.
‘Enough!’ Verne pleaded. ‘I am an old man now … far too old to keep up with a young sprout like you!’
But the boy would hear none of it. He tugged on Verne’s sleeve and giggled, anxious to continue the game.
‘Well … at least let me … get my breath back … first,’ managed Verne.
At one of the tables, Honorine chatted with her pregnant daughter-in-law, Jeanne. She was eager to get to know the attractive girl, whom everyone called ‘Maja’, and Maja in turn was eager to know her. At nineteen the former Jeanne Raboul was much younger than her husband, but deeply devoted to him. One could see that in the loving way she gazed at him, as he stood nearby enjoying the sight of his father bonding with his grandchild.
At another table Watson watched the Verne family finally getting along and beamed at Holmes beside him. ‘Isn’t it wonderful to see them so happy?’ he remarked.
‘It is indeed.’
‘And just think, we were at least partly responsible for it.’
‘Modesty, thy name is John Watson,’ Holmes said. But he was joking. And raising his lemonade glass to Watson, he added: ‘May I propose a toast, old friend?’
‘Please do.’
‘To the memory of Lydie Denier.’
Immediately Watson felt his throat tighten. ‘I hope you mean that,’ he said, touching glasses.
‘My dear man, when have you ever heard me speak of death in jest?’
Watson smiled, satisfied. ‘Thank you, Holmes. That means a great deal to me.’
They both drank.
‘Regardless of her motives,’ Holmes continued, ‘she decided to help us bring about the destruction of the Knaves, and albeit indirectly, she did exactly that by communicating to us the importance of the contents of Absalon’s safe.’
That was, of course, an understatement. Once Henri Gillet and the Ministère de la Justice had had the opportunity to examine the contents of the safe, it became clear that they had more than enough evidence to bring about a series of arrests at just about every level of society. All across France, businessmen, politicians, judges – even Edouard Orand, the director of the Sanatorium de Russy, and the man named Prideaux, who had killed Gabriel Bessette in his Amiens jail cell – had been arrested and were awaiting trial.
The files and folders had contained the names, addresses and aliases of its many members, details of the banks in which the Knaves’ funds were held, a detailed list of payments – bribes – as well as the names of the recipients. It was enough to keep Gillet busy for a long time, and to make him a very happy man in the process.
‘To Lydie,’ murmured Watson, sadly.
‘And to you, old friend,’ said Holmes, smiling. ‘Remember, it was your concern for my welfare that brought us to France, and your decision to enlist Henri’s help. Let us make no bones about it – without your initiative and his intervention, we would have been finished. That, I believe, makes it twice you have saved my life in the past few weeks.’
‘I wouldn’t go as far as to say that,’ Watson said self-consciously.
‘Please, no false modesty,’ Holmes chided. ‘It rankles me as much as bragging.’
‘Very well,’ Watson said, secretly pleased. ‘I shall accept my role in this escapade with as much dignity and aplomb as I can muster.’
Holmes wasn’t listening. ‘Though in the end,’ he admitted, ‘despite the fact that your idea of a rest cure brought with it no shortage of mortal danger, I have to tell you that I have seldom felt as invigorated as I do today.’
‘Careful, Holmes. That sounds awfully like a compliment.’
‘It was meant to be. You are a very wise man, Watson … for I cannot remember when I last enjoyed a holiday quite so much!’
‘Tell that to your bees,’ Watson joked. ‘I’m sure it would relieve the monotony of their hum-drum lives.’
‘Never knock monotony,’ Holmes said with a rare smile. ‘For from monotony comes the pure, sweet honey you so enjoy.’
Authors’ Note
It hardly needs saying that Sherlock Holmes and the Knave of Hearts is a work of fiction. But it is fiction based – at least in part – upon fact.
As reported in all the major newspapers of the time, Gaston Verne did indeed make an attempt upon his uncle’s life on 9 March 1886. Gaston was known to be mentally unstable, and records indicate that in the months leading up to the shooting he had been under medical observation for his strange behaviour and acute paranoia. Many historians believe this ‘observation’ took place in an asylum in Blois, where he had been committed by his father, Paul Verne. However, it is highly unlikely that the true facts of the matter will ever be known.
Immediately after the shooting, the Vernes embarked upon a campaign of what, today, we would call ‘damage limitation’. They offered any number of spurious ‘motives’ for Gaston’s actions, none of them even coming close to the truth, and many of them frankly ludicrous. The Vernes gave no interviews and pressed no charges. And Gaston himself was packed off to a psychiatric clinic in Luxembourg, where he died sometime around 1916, at the age of 56.
However, it is beyond dispute that Gaston travelled by train to Amiens on that fateful day in the March of ’86, and the subsequent shooting did happen very much as it is presented here. Gaston’s first shot missed. The second smashed into Jules Verne’s left shin. A botched operation made the removal of the bullet impossible, and Verne limped for the rest of his life.
Gaston offered no resistance during his arrest. Nor did he ever explain why he shot his favourite uncle, except to blame ‘family affairs of such sensitivity that I am unable to divulge them’.
Some sources speculate that Gaston was not actually Verne’s nephew at all, but rather his son; the illegitimate progeny of a liaison with Paul Verne’s wife Berthe. But many more rumours abound that he had been Verne’s lover, and decided to shoot him after discovering that his uncle had found himself a new beau. The one word Gaston uttered during the murder attempt, ‘Salaud!’ or ‘Bastard!’, offers no real clues.
Still, the possibility that Jules and Gaston Verne indulged in a homosexual affair isn’t as far-fetched as it might at first appear. The truth of Verne’s sexuality has long been the source of great debate. He did indeed enjoy the company of younger men. In particular, his long and intimate friendship with Aristide Briand, who was some thirty years his junior, helped to inspire our story. Briand served no less than eleven terms as prime minister of France between 1909 and 1929.
BY THE SAME AUTHORS
Feral
Dead End
Tomorrow, Utopia
Killer Smile
Fanatics
Under the Knife
Cast a Deadly Shadow
Three Rode Together
Sherlock Holmes and the Queen of Diamonds
Copyright
© Steve Hayes and David Whitehead 2013
First published in Great Britain 2013
This edition 2013
ISBN 978 0 7198 1107 4 (epub)
ISBN 978 0 7198 1108 1 (mobi)
ISBN 978 0 7198 1109 8 (pdf)
ISBN 978 0 7198 0794 7 (print)
Robert Hale Limited
Clerkenwell House
Clerkenwell Green
London EC1R 0HT
www.halebooks.com
The right of Steve Hayes and David Whitehead to be identified as authors of this work has been asserted by them in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988
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