A Biased Judgement Page 22

  “I ask your indulgence, ma’am,” I said. “But if Your Majesty is not irrevocably decided upon Mr Summerville I believe I can suggest a more appropriate candidate.”

  The queen glanced from me to her goddaughter and back. “More suitable than the grandson of one of dear Albert’s most beloved friends? I have already agreed to the union, Mr Holmes,” she said.

  Beatrice, deathly pale, said, “Please, Your Majesty...”

  The queen studied the young woman at my side with shrewd eyes. “So, you’ve been taking matters into your own hands, have you, my girl? I told Benjamin he should not give you so much liberty. Nothing good can come of it. Come, come, do not distress yourself...”

  The queen sighed and stretched her back. She was in pain, I thought, and I felt a surge of sympathy for her. She can be difficult at times. She can be dogmatic, and is often humourless and demanding, but I suppose that’s understandable. After all, she has reigned over this land for the past sixty years. Besides, I have found her to be capable of great kindness and generosity. She can be exceedingly gracious to the people she likes, and she likes me. Well, usually.

  I said, “I mean no disrespect to the Summervilles, Ma’am, and no one understands better than I how remarkable a woman Lady Beatrice is. It is a mark of Wallace Summerville’s good taste that he should have formed an attachment to her. She is a credit to her father and to everyone who has nurtured her.”

  There is no doubt that the queen knew I was buttering her up, but she seemed pleased nonetheless.

  Less fretfully she said, “Well, well, my only concern is to leave this world in full knowledge that I have secured for all my family and loved ones a position of trust and stability. Who is this more appropriate candidate you suggest?”

  “I suggest... myself.”

  Sir Arthur Bigge, standing at the Queen’s side, forgot himself enough to exclaim, “Good God!” In other circumstances I might have laughed.

  “I was not aware that you and my goddaughter were much acquainted, Mr Holmes,” the Queen said, ignoring Sir Arthur. “Do you mean to tell me an attachment has formed between you?”

  “Mr Holmes is the best man I know, your majesty,” Lady Beatrice said.

  The queen looked shrewdly at the two of us. After several moments she said to my intended fiancée, “Well, I have often said you should marry a man at least as clever as you are.”

  Smiling at me, relaxing now, Beatrice replied, “Indeed, ma’am. Though I seem to have overshot the mark.”

  “Quite. So you want to marry my goddaughter, Mr Holmes... Sir Arthur, tell cook we have two guests staying for dinner. No, no, we cannot arrange all these matters so swiftly, Mr Holmes. You and Beatrice will dine with me this evening and we will discuss the matter thoroughly as we ought.”

  Bigge left the room and, now alone, the queen said, “Well, this is sudden. It pleases me. I promised your dear papa I would take care of you, Beatrice. I think settling into the life of a married woman will satisfy you once you adjust to it. Your future husband is one of the finest men in this or any other kingdom. It will do him good to marry.

  “And you, Mr Holmes: you know, I suppose, that we hold our young goddaughter in the very highest esteem. God gave her more wits than a woman needs - you need not frown, Miss - and her father indulged her with considerably more education than any woman deserves. It has made her rather more choosy in her spouse than I would have wished but, then, if she has selected one of our finest subjects I am well pleased. Better a late marriage to the right man than an early one to the wrong, eh?”

  “Indeed, ma’am,” I said.

  The Queen took it upon herself to inform Summerville of the change in plans for her goddaughter; that is to say, she had Bigge telephone the wretch with the news. A lesser man would have shown his abhorrence of the task on his features, but the queen’s private secretary is above such things. Still, I could tell from his pallor and the dew on his upper lip when he completed the task, the news had not been well-received.

  Over an indifferent meal the Queen said, “I am seventy-eight years old, Mr Holmes. I want to see my goddaughter secured before I leave this world and join my beloved Albert. It will not be long now, I think. I wrote out the plans for my funeral a few months ago. There is nothing now but to wait for God’s will, and that could be any time.

  “So, I would prefer not to delay. We shall have you wed here at Windsor. Yes, I believe that is just the thing. Mr Bigge will make the arrangements. I think next Tuesday will suffice.”

  “Next Tuesday!” Beatrice glanced at me in alarm. “A quiet wedding at Windsor would be perfect, Ma’am, though there is no need for such haste, surely? Would not a year’s engagement be more seemly?”

  “Short engagements are best. They do not allow young people time to overthink things, nor to see each other’s faults.

  “I want the matter settled before I leave for Osborne House,” the queen said. “That does not give us much time. Next Tuesday suits my schedule. You won’t want a big fuss, will you, Beatrice?”

  “Uh, no, ma’am,” my fiancée replied.

  “Next week will be excellent,” I agreed, since there seemed no alternative. “However, your majesty, there is one point of which I must make you aware.”

  The two women looked at me expectantly, my future bride with sudden panic. I hoped my demeanour calmed her nerves.

  “I have for some months been followed by members of an extremely dangerous organisation. I have thus far managed to avoid serious injury at their hands, but I am concerned that were these men to become aware of my attachment to Lady Beatrice they might harm her to avenge themselves upon me.”

  “That is most alarming, Mr Holmes,” Her Majesty said. “Do you have enough assistance? Can I lend you any support?”

  “Your majesty is most kind,” I said. “But I believe I can manage as I have done. My only concern is for my fiancée.”

  “What is it you suggest, Mr Holmes?”

  “I wonder if your majesty would mind if we kept the marriage as quiet as possible; that is to say, it should not be go beyond the immediate family circle?”

  “Your scruple does you much credit, Mr Holmes. I wonder if approving your marriage is wise after all...”

  “I assure Your Majesty I will allow no harm to befall Lady Beatrice. My only wish is to protect her.”

  “Quite right too,” the queen said.

  “I should prefer a life of peril with Mr Holmes than a safe one with anyone else, Ma’am,” my fiancée said.

  “The heart will not be denied. You are very much in love, I see.”

  Neither the Lady nor I could bring ourselves to look at each other.

  19

  Later this evening when we returned from our visit to the Queen, Beatrice and I stopped at Simpsons to supplement the paltry meal we had partaken in the royal presence. Since we are now formally engaged and shall be married in a few days I thought we could stretch propriety enough to dine in public together.

  With the shadow of the hateful Summervilles eradicated, my fiancée was more relaxed and at ease than she had been since I had first met her. I did not have the heart to point out Summerville is unlikely to allow the small matter of our engagement to derail his plans. Indeed, I suspect the risk to both of us has greatly increased. At least I can take comfort in the knowledge that she will soon be completely beyond that creature’s grasp.

  Determined not to trouble the lady with my gloomy thoughts, I committed myself to keeping the mood light and cheerful.

  After an hour of merry conversation and good food Beatrice’s demeanour suddenly became sombre.

  “You are very good to do this for me, Mr Holmes,” she said. “I am sorry her majesty insists on such a speedy marriage.”

  “I rather suspected that might be the case,” I said. “But it is no matter. It’s not
as if I had other plans for my bachelorhood.”

  “What you said being followed: have there been other attempts you have not told me about?”

  “No. In fact, my watchers departed quite suddenly a few days ago. That has made me more on my alert than ever. At least when they were openly watching me I was able to watch them in turn, whereas now... But you must not concern yourself. I assure you, I am quite capable of protecting myself.”

  She seemed not appeased and I added, “I admit it is annoying to have to take extra precautions, but I am an observant man and other than the occasion when we met, have managed to avoid any injury. In any case, I am confident I shall live long enough to stand beside you at the altar, if that is any comfort.”

  “Holmes!” she cried, forgetting the honorific for the first time. “That is unworthy of you. I do not deserve it.”

  “Forgive me,” I said, truly chagrined. “No matter how many times you have proven otherwise, I still sometimes think of you only as a woman.”

  “I hardly know how to take that,” she said. She picked at her venison and we fell silent. For the first time I doubted the wisdom of my reckless action.

  After several moments I said, carefully, “It occurs to me that you, too, should take precautions. We cannot tell how Summerville will respond to his plans being thwarted.”

  She said, “I am already taking as much precaution as possible. I have not gone out on my own since that day when we met in the Opera House.”

  “That is as well. Is there someone you might stay with until the wedding? I am sure the Queen would be happy to have you stay at Windsor if there is nowhere else.”

  “I shall not be driven out of my home,” she replied.

  We had become awkward with each other and I felt a sudden and almost irresistible urge to flee. As I struggled to find something mild to say, Beatrice said, “Would you mind if we left? I’m suddenly feeling very weary. I’m afraid I’ve not been sleeping very well.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  A few minutes later as we stepped outside the restaurant, I spotted young Billy running up the Strand towards me.

  I handed Beatrice into her carriage and said, “Would you forgive me if I let you return home unescorted? I’m sure Stevens will see to your safety.”

  She observed Billy and merely nodded. I said, “Look after the lady, if you would, Stevens,” I said. “Keep her safe.”

  He assured me he would do so and they sped away.

  As soon as the carriage left, I turned to the boy. “Something has happened,” I said. “What is it? Porlock?”

  He nodded his head, still gasping, and said, “That’s it, Mr ’olmes. Three visitors ’e’s ’ad this evening. A toff arrived first, about seven o’clock it was, and ’e were there a good while, nigh on an hour. Then before ’e left two other chaps came. I knew them, Mr ’olmes, and you do too: ’acker and Smiley. The toff left and the other pair a short while later.”

  “This ‘toff’, was he a small man with a thin, rodent-like face and an unfortunate reddish moustache?”

  “That’s the chap. Do you know ’im, Mr ’olmes? Young Kevin said ’e ’eard Mr Porlock call ’im ‘Winters’.”

  “Yes, he’s the man I’ve been looking for. Ah, if only I had not been so waylaid today... Seven o’clock, you said? Why did it take you so long to find me?”

  “Been all over the city looking for you, Mr ’olmes. Then young ’arry said ’e’d seen you on the Strand, so I came ’ere. Guessed you might be at Simpsons. And I were right.” He grinned, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

  “You did exceedingly well, but I see you’ve brought company.”

  “Company?”

  “Don’t look around, keep your eyes on me. Across the street outside the Vaudeville Theatre: Harold Smiley.”

  “I’m sorry, Mr ’olmes,” Billy said. “I only just got’ere though, so ’ow could ’e ’ave followed me?”

  That was a reasonable observation. “You’re right,” I said. “He may have been following me. He could not have picked up my scent until I got back into the city though; I’d have spotted him in Windsor.”

  I thought for a moment and gave Billy careful instructions. He’s a bright lad and I seldom have to explain or repeat myself to him. He listened intently, grinned and said, “Ah, I gotcha, Mr ’olmes.”

  “Now, here’s sixpence. Act like you’ve been paid for your work and off you go, as casual as you please.”

  My whole day wasted on domestic trifles and I missed my opportunity to grab the very man I’d been looking for. And a chance to see Winters and Porlock together. It was infuriating. Well, it could not be helped now. I turned my attention to the brute across the street, though I pretended not to notice him. He held back in the throng of people leaving the Vaudeville theatre, waiting.

  How curious that after lying low for six months, Smiley should choose this moment to appear.

  Mr Isaiah Collins, Simpsons’ head waiter, came out and said, “Is everything all right, Mr Holmes?”

  I said, “Be so good as to keep your patrons indoors for a few minutes, Mr Collins. Or if they must leave, have them do so by the rear entrance. I hope we will be able to avoid trouble, but it’s best to be safe.”

  “Thank you, Mr Holmes. I shall see to it at once.”

  Across the street I saw two policemen advance on Smiley. Good work, Billy!

  Just at the last moment, Smiley realised his danger and ran across the street, risking terrible injury under the passing horses and carriages.

  He ran diagonally, towards the Savoy, no doubt hoping he could either cut through the lobby or go down Carting Lane and escape along the Embankment. It might succeed too, given the Friday night crowds that still spilled out from the theatres and the restaurants onto the Strand.

  I fled after him, and saw that Collins had joined the chase. The two of us, as well as the policemen and Billy, tore up the busy thoroughfare as our prey made his terrified way towards the Embankment.

  Sergeant Mulligan anticipated the wretch and ran ahead to block the steps leading down to Carting Lane. In almost the same instant, Collins, leaping like the gymnast he had once been, soared through the last several feet and landed on top of Smiley, bringing the wretch to the ground.

  Smiley struggled but soon realised he was considerably outmanned.

  “Thank you, Mr Collins,” I said. “You’ve lost none of your speed nor your athleticism, I see.”

  “Glad to help a good customer, Mr Holmes,” he replied with a laugh.

  “A fine beauty, these, Mr Holmes,” said Mulligan, in his thick Cork accent. “Wouldn’t it be a grand thing now if all the rest of these brutes fell into our hands so easily?”

  “It would indeed, Sergeant Mulligan,” I said.

  “’Ere,” said the permanently-grinning Smiley. “Wot you fink you’re doing? I ain’t ’armin’ no one, am I?”

  “Harold Smiley,” I said. “You did the Notting Hill job. You remember, Sergeant? The artist and his wife who were stabbed to death back in May.”

  “Oy, you can’t ’ang that on me!” Smiley said, his face still set in a grotesque grin.

  “I found your tooth marks in the apple you left behind, Smiley,” I said. “Your bloody footprints were on the floor. Inspector Hill has been combing the city looking for you and your friend Herbert Hacker. How kind of you to make it so easy for us.”

  The words had hardly left my lips when I thought, Yes, it is too easy.

  Billy cried, “Look out!” and pushed me to the ground as a carriage hurtled by. A hand appeared through the window and a pistol-shot rang out.

  Blood gushed like a fountain, drenching me and the policemen. At our feet, Isaiah Collins lay still. A woman screamed and there were cries of, “Help, police!”

  I bent down to see if there w
as anything I could do for the unfortunate waiter, but he was beyond all aid. I closed his eyes. It was the only service I could do for him.

  Sergeant Mulligan blew his whistle and his colleague ran up the Strand after the carriage. There was too much traffic, too many people and the policeman re-joined us within minutes, shaking his head.

  “Well, Harold,” I said to the gibbering villain. “What nice people you associate with. This is what happens when you play with the big boys.”

  “That bullet was meant for you, Mr ’olmes,” Smiley said. “Shame ’e missed.”

  “A shame for you,” I replied, glancing back at Collins’s body. “That man was a husband, a father of four children. He was a friend...”

  I could hardly speak for anger. My words came spitting out of my mouth as I said, “You were nothing more than a decoy, meant to keep watch so the gunman would know where to find me. And yet, as you see, I’m still here.”

  “Steady there now, Mr Holmes,” the Sergeant said. “This is a nasty business, and no mistake. Now you,” he added to Smiley. “You’ll go a long way to helping yourself if you tell us who hired you and what the plan was.”

  “I don’t know nuffin’,” Smiley said.

  “It doesn’t matter, anyway,” I said. “I know who hired this creature. Did Porlock pay you, Harold, or hold the Notting Hill murder over you? Then again, perhaps he paid you to do the Notting Hill slaughter too?”

  “Here, that weren’t me what done the Notting Hill job, Mr Holmes,” he said, stuttering in terror. “As God is my witness. I was there, right enough, and I kept watch for ’erb while ’e did ’is business. But the killing of the man and ’is old lady, that weren’t me. ’e said if I stood ’ere just to lure you over, ’e’d ’elp us leave the country for a bit. Been awful ’ard layin’ low and ’erb gets mean if ’e can’t use ’is blade.”

  “Who is it who hired you?”

  He hesitated for only a moment before spitting out, “A gentleman in Finsbury, by the name of Porlock.”