Mycroft Holmes and the Edinburgh Affair

by Janina Woods

  “Very few people beside myself, if any, are ever going to see this, if I have my way.”

  “You’ll give it to Leonard to look over before you go further?”

  “If he wants to look at it, that is.”

  Fillmore nodded in acknowledgement, then fixed me with one of his stares, which hoped to penetrate my very soul. It was, in a way, like Sherlock usually looked at me, only less intense. I was sure that many people faltered under the doctor’s gaze, but I was used to worse.

  “Then I bid you farewell, Mycroft. And please try to come in once this... mess is sorted, will you? I have a feeling we may need to talk.”

  I pursed my lips. “If you think that necessary.”

  “I very much do.”

  I inclined my head in a gesture of farewell and turned to leave. But after only few steps I stopped. There was something nagging me... and before I went to face Hawkins again, I had to clarify it.

  “Doctor?” I asked as I turned back.

  “Yes?” he replied, and from his posture I could see that he hadn’t yet returned to his writing, as if he were waiting for me to ask him yet another question. I didn’t like when people could predict my actions, but I supposed in his line of work such observations were a necessity, just as they were in mine.

  “There’s just one thing I don’t understand. If I may ask you... ?”

  “If it’s within my ability and my rights to explain, I will.”

  “In all the reports, in every recount of the incident... and in everything that came after, even when I didn’t seek out any contact with Hawkins, he never blamed me for what happened. Not even once. Not to my face and not in your conversations.”

  Fillmore showed me one of his rare smiles, the one which made him look more like an amiable grandfather than a stern practitioner of the medical profession.

  “Because you aren’t to blame. Believe me when I say I know more about what happened back then, than you ever will. There is much that isn’t even in these reports. You haven’t sat with Leonard while he talked through it all. You haven’t sat with him while he was punishing himself over his arm not healing fast enough, when he despaired over his own weakness. So when I tell you that the blame isn’t yours, I hope you will believe me. Because it isn’t.”

  “I don’t understand,” I mumbled. “It was my mission. He was-”

  “Mycroft, you’re not his parent. You’re not responsible for everything the people in your vicinity do. Sure, you have a certain responsibility when planning a mission, and you have to take precautions. And even though your methods are often unorthodox and your finger is a little too loose on the trigger, you do your best to be prepared and in the know about the dangers to come.”

  “Well, yes, but-”

  “Let me finish,” Doctor Fillmore interjected. “You work with individuals, who are agents too. They are qualified. Maybe not as much as you are, because believe me, as much as it pains me to admit it, even I think you’re the best at what you do. But they can hold their own, and you aren’t responsible for their mishaps. It was an accident. Plain and simple. Still, you found him. You got Leonard out in time. Was it close? Yes. But you did it. And that’s what counts. And Leonard knows that. Just because he isn’t as smart as you, doesn’t mean he’s stupid.”

  I already regretted asking the question.

  “I think that’s quite enough for now.”

  “Yes, I think so too. It’s something I’ve been wanting to tell you for a very long time, and I’m sorry it had to be this way, in this circumstance.”

  “No, it’s... fine. I simply don’t know how to respond.” It was a curious thing. I felt so full of emotions, but yet there were no words to express them.

  “You don’t need to. Just don’t discard my words. That’s all I’m asking. And maybe try to keep your appointments in the future.”

  I nodded at Fillmore and turned again to walk from his office. It was like I moved through a veil of fog, even more than before. The details of the incident had become clearer, but everything else had become much hazier. I almost dreaded to face Hawkins again in my state, but if I was good at something, it was to shove my feelings somewhere they didn’t influence my actions. So I pushed the uneasiness and the conflict deep down, until only the confidence that came with finding the new clues was present on my face.

  The almost imperceptible tremor in my hand stopped and I straightened not only my posture, but also my clothes. Thus prepared, I opened the door and found Hawkins in conversation with Fillmore’s secretary. They were sitting on two chairs near the window and had apparently just shared a joke, because both seemed to be joyfully laughing.

  “That was faster than I anticipated. Anything useful, at least?” Hawkins asked after we had exited the premises together.

  “Enough to question a certain man about the whole issue.”

  “Wait. You already know who to go to?” Hawkins’ eyes widened in surprise. “Why didn’t you say so?”

  “I had my suspicions, but without a solid base to work with, I find that a sensitive inquiry is often hard to push into the direction I want. I can improvise, sure, but people tend to realise when you’re treading water,” I explained. “And now I have the required details to tighten the noose. Also I don’t think I will be able to meet with the man more than once.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He’s still imprisoned, and the Service monitors the prison. Luckily for us, he’s in London, locked away for over ten years already, and it’s going to be at least another ten before he’ll walk again, if ever.”

  Hawkins took a step back.

  “Are you telling me Clarke is in a prison in London? He had been all this time?”

  “He’s put away securely. You don’t have to fear anything.”

  “I don’t fear him. Not anymore. But it would’ve been nice to know.”

  I sighed. “I didn’t want to make you feel uneasy.”

  “Mycroft, I’m not a child. You don’t have to mother me all the time, you know?”

  “I... Yes, I know that. My apologies.”

  Hawkins raised an eyebrow.

  “It doesn’t matter now. We have more important things to look into. We need to find out how Clarke is connected to the woman at the party. Before she chased me out, I found some records of transactions between Chapman and a company in Edinburgh. It wouldn’t surprise me if Clarke somehow had his fingers in all of this still. If we manage to make the right connections, we should be able to track the mystery woman down and end all of this.”

  “Our most promising lead yet. I’m glad I could be of service.”

  “I’m sorry it had to be this way.”

  “Stop apologising. You’re making me nervous.”

  My colleague had stepped forward to hail a cab in the meantime, but I was hesitant to board it. Challenger had said he wanted to know of all developments. He had been quite adamant about it. But if I returned to headquarters now, he could actually detain me prematurely. On the other hand, his wrath would only grow if I didn’t tell him of my plans. The Diogenes Club wasn’t far from our location, so maybe I could leave a message. No, the information shouldn’t be out in the open, and that included servants, no matter how much they were sworn to secrecy.

  “Would you do me a favour?” I asked. “Challenger needs to know about this. About where I’m going. But-”

  “Let me guess. You don’t want to tell him yourself, so I’m to be your messenger.”

  “If you would be so kind.”

  Hawkins looked up and down the street, as if he were searching for something... or someone. The road was crowded, as always, even though it was still snowing and colder than it had any right to be. We were passed by countless citizens wrapped up in thick coats and scarfs, as well as a large assortment of vehicles. I knew he was looking
for some kind of threat, but with the continued motion around us and the snowfall concealing the ends of the street, it was hard to make out something definite.

  “I don’t like leaving you alone like this. Sherlock has asked me to stay at your side in his absence. I promised him I’d look out for you.”

  “He’s just meddling again. There’s no need for you to worry. You know I’m experienced in working alone, and I have my own back.”

  “I’d really rather stay with you, but if you’re sure...”

  “Of course I am,” I replied with a steady voice. “We will have to meet up again to compare our findings, anyway. I suggest we do so at Baker Street tonight. Let’s say at seven?”

  It didn’t matter that I knew I hadn’t been safe since we had walked into Doctor Fillmore’s practice. With every predictable location that I visited, the chance of someone observing that place and subsequently spotting me was rising. In fact, I was pretty sure that someone had seen me already. And if they were connected to Clarke, there was no doubt they would be monitoring the prison as well. And Baker Street, of course. But now I knew to look out.

  “And take these to Challenger, please,” I added and handed Hawkins the two murder weapons, which I had carried all this way.

  “Alright. But if you don’t show up tonight, don’t expect me to say something nice at your funeral,” my colleague joked, but I could only see a forced smile on his lips that didn’t reach his eyes at all.

  “I never expected anyone to show up to my funeral. I figured that Sherlock would get himself killed long before me, with his reckless behaviour, and that my colleagues would be all too happy to see me go and not waste another second of their life on me.”

  “And what about your friends?” Hawkins asked.

  “What friends?”

  “I believe you should reconsider your solitary work attitude, because there might be more people willing to support you than you think.”

  “I highly doubt that.”

  “Believe what you will. I, for one, would gladly come to your funeral,” Hawkins stated. “Even though I think I should’ve phrased that differently.”

  Despite everything, I had to genuinely laugh at his silly comment. We parted ways in somewhat high spirits, even though I had expected Hawkins to be in a much worse mood. He hadn’t even asked me about any details I might have seen. In his place, I would’ve been so very nervous to know what the other person had found out about me. I had always liked to keep my cards close to my chest.

  As my hansom left for the prison, I looked back at the figure of Leonard Hawkins disappearing in the snowfall. Was it wise to have him go alone? Probably not. But I just had to trust he would be alright. And besides, we had only very little contact during those last ten years, so if anyone had looked into my life to find the people that meant the most to me, he probably wouldn’t be on that list.

  I sighed. He hadn’t even been on my list.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The cab slowly rattled along the streets, ever eastwards towards Newgate Prison. Feeling a tad paranoid, I had asked the driver to deliver me to St. Paul’s instead, from where I could walk to the prison. I buried myself in the seat as deeply as I could and took care not to show my face at the small window too much. The cabin was as cold as the winter air outside, with a persistent draft, which snaked its way through the interior, where the wall parts had been haphazardly stuck together. Luckily there was a blanket, which I threw over my legs, even though it looked like it hadn’t been washed in years. I felt the rattling of the vehicle in my left arm, which still pulsated with a dull ache.

  It wasn’t usual for criminals from outside London to be imprisoned in Newgate for such a long time, because they were either released after trial, or subsequently hanged. But little about the Secret Service was ever usual. While Jonathan Clarke had originally been from London, he had done his foul deeds up north, in Scotland. That was also why Hawkins had probably suspected the man to have been left in an Edinburgh prison for his crimes. But the Service liked to keep certain individuals close. The ones with intellect and influence were better placed in a facility, where you could keep a closer eye on them, and Newgate cooperated with us in these matters.

  The topmost floor was reserved for the use of the Service only, with all cells housing the worst of the criminals we had managed to lay our hands on. Our own prisoners had different wardens and entirely different schedules from the common scum on the lower levels. It made it easier to monitor them. There were so many people coming and going in Newgate at all times of day, that it was easy for anyone to go in unnoticed - which was exactly what I was about to do.

  I sat in silence, staring at the city from my concealed vantage point, observing the houses go by. Curiously, the driver turned to drive towards the Parliament buildings, instead of taking the shorter route directly eastwards. Maybe there was an obstacle in the road that I wasn’t aware of. In any case, the detour wouldn’t take long, so I leaned back and enjoyed the view in peace. It had been a while since I had the chance to properly enjoy the city just for the sake of it.

  It was always just a bit strange for me to observe London like this, because somewhere, in the back of my head, I felt responsible for the safety of every citizen I passed. Not literally, of course. I wouldn’t pursue a common thief in the streets, but I was here to safeguard the people from the larger threats. And now I had brought a new one upon them by my negligence. Two people dead. A graveyard defiled. My brother attacked, Watson injured.

  Clarke better had some answers.

  The cab driver led his horses towards Westminster Bridge, and just as I was admiring the Parliament to my right, I noticed that he didn’t turn north... but drove onto the bridge! Something was definitely off. The correct road seemed free, but he had not even attempted to take it. For a second, I wanted to knock on the roof to ask the man what he was doing, but then I caught myself. If he were taking this way intentionally, I would reach my goal even without confronting him. But if he planned to take me somewhere else entirely, it would do me no good to alert him. On the contrary. It would only warn my would-be kidnapper.

  I looked about through the tiny windows of the cab. The bridge was crowded with many vehicles and people on foot. The river below was frozen, though not as stable as the stretch farther to the east. I noticed that my own hansom kept to the right of the bridge, as if he wanted to turn south at the end. That was the last confirmation I needed of this not being a regular drive.

  Carefully, so as to not make any suspicious sound, I turned the handle of the door on my right, then grabbed the blanket from my legs and bunched it up. I couldn’t see the driver, who was sitting pretty much above me, but I had to act before we left the bridge, if I wanted to disappear in the crowd. I waited until we were closer to the side and kicked open the door with a flourish. Then I threw the blanket over the railing, down onto the river ice.

  My diversion had the intended effect. The driver had turned on the sound and the only thing he had seen was a shadow, vaulting itself into the river through the heavy snowfall. The cab stopped at once, the poor horse crying in protest. As the man jumped from his seat, I opened the door on the other side, timed with his impact on the bridge. I didn’t stick around to see him investigate my pretend escape, but dashed out into the traffic.

  Through a miracle, I made my way to the other side of Westminster Bridge unscathed. Hugging the railing, I ran towards the eastern end of the bridge, ready to put as much distance between me and the cab as possible. It was then that a shot rang out, loud and clear over the everyday noise and the responding, collective gasp was the start of the chaos that ensued. I looked over my shoulder and spotted a trio of three very determined looking people, who advanced quickly into my direction. The cab driver had been followed by several accomplices. Brilliant.

  All around me, people blocked my path, so I knew I had to find a
way off the bridge to get away quickly. In my head, I plotted several routes, but any safe house would be too far, and any street too crowded. I could try to hide, but right now I was still out in the open, my flight easily observed. Then I glanced at the river to my left and made a decision.

  I ran down the stone stairs at the end of the bridge, towards the ice. It wouldn’t be thick enough to carry me all the way to the other side, but at the shore, I judged it to be sufficient. Halfway down, the steps were blocked off by a gate that was too high to scale. I looked back. The trio had seen me - of course - and were almost close enough to get a clear shot. One of them was short, slender and I could see long, blonde hair swaying behind her, where it had come loose under a hat.

  It was the woman who had ambushed me at Chapman’s party!

  I looked at the piled up snow below. It had snowed continually during the last days, so the small mountain would at least be partially able to cushion my fall. Weary of any objects below, I jumped and turned in the air, so that my left arm would be able to take the worst of the impact. It was impaired already, and the resulting pain would be temporary. I couldn’t risk injuring my dominant hand. I had thrown my cane ahead of me, further down the river.

  For a moment I was suspended in air as I heard the woman shout my name with all the wrath she could muster, and then I disappeared into the white ice. The impact briefly took my breath away, but I knew I couldn’t devote even a second to regain it, because now I was a stationary target. I rolled towards the river, snow crumbling around me, all but burying my body. I admit to a moment of panic as the ice covered my face and made it impossible to breathe in anything but frozen water. Then I was free.

  My clothes were curiously dry still, but the snow had found its way underneath them in the worst of places, so I cursed as the ice wormed itself into my skin. I struggled to my feet as I heard another shot.

  “Don’t kill him!” The woman hissed above me. “I still need him alive!”

  I didn’t look up. There was no point. With my balance regained, I reached for my cane, which had safely landed in another snowbank and made haste. Behind me, I heard the others jump into the snow as I had, cursing as they did.