The Memoirs of Irene Adler: The Irene Adler Trilogy

by San Cassimally

  ‘Mrs Bowles, you do not ignore that our navy, merchant or otherwise, has acquired the highest possible reputation for heroism, dedication and honesty in the world. Surely you wouldn’t do anything to tarnish that image?’

  I understood what had happened. I had of course lived at number 221B Baker Street and witnessed the interaction between the brothers. They adopted a flippant attitude towards each other. Mycroft assumed a position of authority vis a vis his younger brother, but his unspoken admiration for him was quite obvious. Of course he’d rather be seen dead than caught paying a compliment to “the runt”, as Mycroft usually called Sherlock. The latter always treated the arrival of the government trouble shooter as irksome but if he did not show his face for more than a week, he’d prick up his ears every time the doorbell rang and could ill disguise his disappointment when the visitor turned out to be someone other than his “honoured wiser brother.” He always appeared to resent any suggestion made by his senior sibling, but I have never seen him act contrary to his wishes. I have no doubt that when Sherlock mentioned the purport of Mrs Bowles’ visit, his brother forbade him to have anything to do with the sad affair. I also knew how Holmes would subsequently resolve the dilemma.

  ‘In what way did Mr Holmes change his tune?’

  ‘He said that it was wrong to doubt the word of Captain Bromwich, a true English salt.’

  ‘I know,’ Mrs Bowles had said to him, ‘but I’ve heard stories of shipwrecked sailors eating the youngest when faced by starvation.’

  ‘Yes,’ Holmes had said. ‘Foreign sailors maybe, but I cannot begin to imagine that with our traditions as a seafaring nation, a man like Captain Bromwich would sanction such practices.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘Remember, Mrs Bowles, the matter was looked into by the Chief of Police in Falmouth. He did not find a single shred of evidence supporting your suspicion. I decry your great loss, naturally, but you will gain nothing but sleepless nights if you persist in this obsession.’

  ‘Mr Holmes, if after you have looked into the matter you tell me the same thing, I promise that I will do as you say and pray the Lord to help me chase these evil thoughts from my mind.’ The man from Baker Street said nothing for a while. Finally he nodded and said that as Mrs Bowles quite rightly demanded a full explanation of her son’s death, he would take himself to Falmouth and talk to the people involved. He was sure to discover the whole truth so Mrs Bowles may gain the peace of mind she deserved.

  I knew how his démarches would end. He had to prove to himself that he was not Mycroft’s creature. He would defy him and embark on a symbolic investigation, but he would remain a prisoner of his preconceived ideas.

  ‘So,’ I asked, ‘in what manner can I be of help now?’

  ‘Mr Holmes came back and assured me that after talking with the Chief of Police and Sergeant Laverty, they had both confirmed the official version of the events.’

  ‘You mean you have found nothing to make you change your mind?’ the poor mother had asked. No, indeed he had not. Mrs Bowles indicated that although Mr Holmes must have spent his own money travelling to the West Country, paying for a stay in an inn, he would not accept any money from her.

  ‘You see, Mr Lernière, I had put aside three pounds and eleven shillings, and can pay you for your work.’ Mrs Bowles explained to me that the very least she expected of me would be to interview the survivors, promising that she would follow Mr Holmes’ advice if my findings were the same.

  ‘I wouldn’t expect you to go to Hamburg to talk to Captain Simonsohn of the Moctezuma, naturally,’ she said with magnanimity and understanding.

  ‘How reasonable of you,’ I said, unsure if I had been able to prevent just a hint of sarcasm to seep through my straight face. The only reason I accepted the case was because I had been cynical about the persistent, if ludicrous, belief held almost unanimously in this country that the behaviour of the English in trade or war was always superior to that of other nations. The Customs of the Sea did not apply to us. (I am half-Austrian and half-Scottish.) It has long been my view that the English can be as admirable as any other nation and also just as vile, cowardly or treacherous. In my opinion no nation has a monopoly on any trait good or bad.

  I arranged to meet Mr Holmes for afternoon tea Chez Raymond in Edgware Road. Raymond is a retired actor who once specialised in bedroom farces at the Adelphi, and no one, except Armande, makes better tartes. He had acquired the most authentic-sounding French accent, which is of course a big asset when you make a living as a purveyor of French patisserie, although in my opinion our English creations often surpass those of Vienna, Brussels or Paris.

  Over a pot of Assam and a chou à la crème, I questioned my friend and mentor. I was not surprised by his illogical patriotic assertions to Mrs Bowles. In spite of his great analytical mind, he had an endearing naiveté. He was good enough to explain to me that when he went to Falmouth he had talked to Sergeant Laverty as well as to Chief Constable Trelawney. They had assured him that their questioning of the three survivors as well as Captain Simonsohn had been as thorough as he would have wished. Besides the chief constable, who had struck him as an astute and honest man, had assured him of his conviction that everything had happened exactly as he had told the press.

  ‘So you are convinced that I shall be wasting my time?’ I asked. Holmes opened his mouth for a prompt positive response, but lingered for half a second.

  ‘Mr Holmes, please tell me. You seemed to hesitate, as if there is something you are unsure about.’ He did not answer immediately. Instead he mutely asked me if he could light up his pipe. He took an inordinately long time to achieve this. He pursed his lips, stared at me with his steely eyes and nodded to himself.

  ‘Yes, Miss Adler, all the time Laverty was expressing his agreement with what his chief was saying, I had a faint, I repeat, faint, impression that he had been warned to watch what he said to me. It may have been no more than my suspicious mind.’ That was all I needed to know. I was not even listening to him anymore. I was already working out my strategy.

  ‘In the event that I manage to establish that cannibalism had taken place would the three men—’ I began, but he interrupted.

  ‘Mycroft believes that the Home Secretary is quite sympathetic to the three men. He heard him opine that no one knows how he would react when starvation reared its ugly head. Ultimately the final decision rests with him.’ I was relieved to hear that. Having put aside my initial disgust towards those cannibals, I was unable to convince myself that under the same circumstances I would have acted differently. The shipwrecked men should not be condemned outright. So, when I set out from Paddington on The Cornishman at 10.11 the next morning dressed as my alter-ego Mr Dai Lernière, I was buoyed up by my hope of finding true answers. At the same time I prayed that I would find nothing to confirm to Mrs Bowles that her son had been murdered and eaten.

  I chose the Long John Silver Inn on Cliff Road on the seafront. Mr Stevenson’s Treasure Island had given me much pleasure when I read it in my youth. It was very a pleasant inn, even if the side street that ran alongside it seemed to house a number of brothels, judging by the number of gaudily dressed women pacing up and down the street the moment the sun had set. I was much amused when a particularly daring one approached me and brazenly asked if I wanted a good time. When I smiled at her and gave her half a crown instead, she looked at me aggressively. ‘Sir, I ain’t no beggar me, I was looking for honest work.’ I apologised, but she had a sudden change of heart. ‘Well sir, I see I ’ave ’urt your feelings, give it us, then.’

  Anyway, it was a comfortable place run very efficiently by a Mrs Trebilcock, (‘Call me Elowen’), who received me with great courtesy. She pressed a cup of tea and a scone on me and came to sit down to keep me company, something I found endearing. She asked me what my business in Falmouth was, whether I had a wife or a fiancée and readily embarked on the history of the shipwreck and its aftermath. I responded by telling her plausible lies.

&nb
sp; ‘You know, Mr Lernière, they’re saying that German newspapers have been writing stories about how Captain Bromwich ate the poor boy. We English don’t do no such things, I’ll have you know.’ I nodded.

  ‘Did you say you wanted to meet Cadan Laverty? Ach, every time I see him I wish I was twenty years younger, I’ll have you know,’ she said cackling merrily. ‘Of course he is a widower now, but I am still fifteen years older than him.’ She appeared to know everybody. The Chief Constable? Pasco Trelawney? Why, they went to school together. He was married to Elowen’s second cousin Nessa.

  ‘You’ll laugh, Mr Lernière, but as they say it’s a small world. Pasco has taken his family on holiday to Blackpool. Guess who is looking after his dogs?’ I hadn’t the faintest idea. ‘Why, Cadan himself, sir.’

  Next day I made my way to the Falmouth Harbour Police and asked to see Sergeant Laverty. I was struck by his peerless blue eyes, his aquiline nose, his peachy cheeks and his luxuriant blond crop of hair. Here was a truly handsome Cornishman, with the build of a Greek god. I understood what Elowen Trebilcock meant. He received me with courtesy but he was clearly a reserved sort of man. When I told him I was Mrs Bowles’ legal representative, he blushed and said that he was afraid I had made such a long journey for nothing. He had nothing new to add to what he had written in his report. Or said to Mr Holmes. I asked him if he would humour me by telling me as much as he could recall of what happened on the day the Moctezuma sailed into Falmouth harbour, so I could assure Mrs Bowles that I had heard it from his own mouth. He shrugged and acquiesced. He sat me opposite him and I took down notes as he gave me an account of the official line. His delivery was so clear and precise that it struck me as something he might have rehearsed at some length. I pretended that I had not quite caught his last sentence and prayed that he should repeat it so I could complete the notes which I had been taking.

  ‘Captain Simonsohn ... eh ... his name is spelled with an h, he said that when Emil Richter shouted that there was a small craft against the sun everybody laughed because Emil was known for seeing things when he had had a drop too many.’ This was a word-for-word and a pause-for-pause rendering of what I had pretended to have missed. This is fishy, I thought. I pretended to accept his story, although I had noticed some discrepancies. I asked him if I might write a full account of our interview, show it to him to for approval, make him sign it so I could take it back to my client for her peace of mind.

  ‘I’ll be at the station until four o’clock in the afternoon,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘but even working all night long my statement wouldn’t be ready before seven. Could I bring it home to you?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said grudgingly, ‘except that at the moment I am not living at home, but looking after Chief Constable Trelawney’s house in Boscawen Fields. He’s away on holiday, you see.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, making a great pretence of not being privy to that information.

  ‘I expect you wouldn’t want to receive a visitor there. Don’t worry, I’ll have to stay another day then. I was hoping to settle the business here by tonight and catch the 8.20 in the morning. Mother had a stroke only last week and we don’t like leaving her alone.’

  Cadan was a nice helpful fellow. Without any hesitation, he offered to let me come to Boscawen Fields with the statement that evening. There was a reason why I had said, ‘We don’t like leaving mother alone’. A plan had already been formed in my head, and I had come prepared for all eventualities.

  I painted my cheeks and lips rather extravagantly, chose my low-cut olive-green velvet number with the white frilly collar, and put some kohl around my eyes, just on the wrong side of discreet. I slipped out of the house unseen by Elowen, and took a hansom to my destination. I had planned to arrive after Cadan had had his dinner. He appeared stunned when he opened the door.

  ‘Dai... Mr Lernière had some urgent business to attend to and asked me to bring you the document instead.’ Cadan opened his mouth but was unable to speak.

  ‘Oh,’ I said with a little laugh, fluttering my eyelashes discreetly. ‘I see that you are still puzzled. Let me present myself: Adelaide Lernière. Dai and I are twins you see. People call me Ida, for short.’ Another flutter.

  ‘I see,’ said the poor fellow. ‘Pardon my manners Mrs Ler... I mean Miss Lernière. Do come in and ... let me g-g-get you a cheat... eh sorry... a chair... it came out as cheat because I probably was deciding between chair and seat.’ He gave an apologetic laugh.

  ‘Don’t worry. People are often struck by how alike we look.’ I took the chair and he sat opposite me. I could see that he was quite taken by my person. When I spoke he seemed not to be listening. If I had any doubt about my appearance, Cadan’s reaction to me would have dispelled it entirely. He blushed when I caught him ogling me in the oval chevalet swivel mirror opposite and I smiled magnanimously at his indiscretion.

  ‘I am sorry. I seem to be staring at you ... I always do that when faced with a pretty face.’ I was glad he was being forward. He was playing into my hands.

  ‘Oh, come off it, sir,’ I said, becoming the soubrette in one of my farces at the Vaudeville, fluttering my eyelashes brazenly. ‘I am bound you say that to all ladies, I can detect a seducer when I see one, I can, sir.’ He burst out laughing.

  ‘The Maid from ’Ackney! I know that play by heart. I saw the show during my first visit to London. I never laughed so much.’

  ‘Isn’t it funny? It’s one of my favourites too.’ This was too good to be true. If to begin with he had seemed overawed by my poise (and beauty), he was now quite relaxed.

  ‘But you are very ... eh ... alluring. I hope you don’t think I am being forward.’

  ‘I think you are being forward, but I don’t mind.’

  He offered me tea and, begging my pardon, disappeared for ten minutes before re-emerging with a tray with a pewter teapot, Wedgewood teacups, and to my surprise some lovely golden scones. He said he got them from the best bakery in the West Country. This, he served with potted cream and greengage jam in the Chief Constable’s best porcelain. I seized every single opportunity which presented itself to touch his hands accidentally on purpose whenever he passed a plate over to me. I was aware that I had created turmoil in the poor fellow’s breast. He could not help being attracted to me, but he was too much the country boy to know how to advance, so I had to help proceedings. At one point, as I was reaching for sugar for my tea, I left my hand on his and let it linger there. He was obviously enjoying it, and I cast a meaningful glance at him. He blushed and made a half-hearted attempt at pulling his hand away. I pressed it harder. He closed his eyes and smiled. He had become proverbial clay in the hands of an expert potter.

  It is not my purpose here to titillate, so do not expect a lubricious account of how we spent the next two hours. I confess that, although my main aim at seducing the man was to further my case, I was quite smitten by the handsome and desirable young Cornishman—he was about five years younger than me, I daresay. Mixing business with pleasure can be very profitable. I made him talk about his work. He was more than happy to give me a full account of his life as officer overseeing law and order in the harbour. He struck me as a very conscientious but weak man. He admitted that he was not too happy to go along with Chief Constable Trelawney who clearly thought that as the young Bowles could not be brought back to life, it would be impolitic to cast doubt on the official version and make waves.

  ‘I think my brother Dai would dearly love to interview the three survivors,’ I said.

  ‘Chief Trelawney will not like that.’

  ‘But Cadan, he’s away and you are in charge. Show your mettle. Don’t you want to be your own man? What’s to stop you getting the men in so my brother can question them?’

  The poor fellow could not have thought out the consequences, he was too dazzled by me. He nodded. ‘Yes, I will do that. It’s a promise, I’ll arrange it and inform you.’ I could see that he was already regretting this. The next day I turned up at
the Harbour Section of Falmouth Police. I admit to my heart missing a beat when I saw this handsome man in his immaculate uniform, but I just nodded curtly to him. He indicated that he was expecting both of us, and I told him that we felt that in view of mother’s condition, Ida had to go back to London post haste. She had caught the midnight train last night. He looked forlorn and disappointed and seemed to hesitate about letting me see the three chaps.

  ‘Adelaide tells me that she fell in love with Falmouth and has promised to come back. She talks of spending some holiday here by herself. She’s very independent, you know.’ He hesitated, but he was clearly aware of the bait dangling over his head.

  ‘She told me how kind you were to her, says she hated to leave without saying good-bye. Tell him I’m sure to return to this paradise, was what she said.’ I am sure I felt a tug to the line I was holding.

  ‘What could I tell the men? The Chief Constable had told them that the case was closed,’ he said.

  ‘Tell them a little white lie ... that owing to stories from the press, the Home Office wanted the case reopened.’

  ‘Does it?’

  ‘It might come to that. Why don’t you tell them that I am their best bet. I am well-disposed towards them. It’s true, you know. When I go to London, I will put the best possible light on the matter. If they send someone else, he might take a different position.’ He nodded.

  ‘Imply that the decision to refer the matter to the public prosecutor rests partly with you and partly with Mrs Bowles, who will be guided by me. Tell them that you and I are on their side.’ He nodded his assent, promised to start proceedings right away. He would send word to me with an update at the Long John Silver. With an idea in mind, I went to the harbour.

  I had finished lunch when a junior constable arrived to tell me that Laverty and the three men were at the station, and I rushed there. He had asked them to come along voluntarily, and had rashly promised that they would all be back home for tea.

  I found the men looking tense. I shook hands with Captain Bromwich and nodded to Hawkins and Waters. Cadan introduced me as a legal officer, leaving my status vague. I wasted no time, and sat myself opposite the three men, with Laverty by my side. I began by asking them if they had clear recall of the events following the shipwreck. They all bent over backwards to assure me that they did indeed remember very clearly everything, from the moment the Chouette went down to when the Moctezuma picked them up. I asked them in turn to tell me everything they could remember up to the moment they found themselves in the dinghy. They gave identical accounts, including the order in which they jumped, the exact same description of how only half the water in the bucket made it, the rest being spilled in the chaos during the sinking. I could not fault anything anyone said, but noticed that they looked at each other in a mutually congratulatory manner.