A Biased Judgement Page 27

  “Indeed? Serious?”

  “Extremely.”

  “Well, that is... surprising. How are your, ah, preparations going?”

  “Very well,” I replied. “That matter we discussed... You are still willing?”

  “Of course.”

  She glanced at the woman who sat near the window, apparently engrossed in her needlework, and said softly, “The queen has invited some guests to dine with her on Thursday the ninth. It is an informal gathering of close friends and relatives. My aunt’s husband and his brother are expected to attend.”

  Her eyes met mine and held. I said, “Well, at least now I have a time-frame. Thank you, Beatrice.”

  “The queen has been very generous with her time,” she said. “Indeed, I am hardly out of her company.” The enthusiasm of her words belied the irritation in her eyes.

  I laughed and said, “Make the most of it. After all, this,” I waved a hand to indicate her opulent quarters, “must end on Tuesday.”

  “Thank heaven,” she whispered.

  “Tell me, have you seen anything of Sir Arthur Bigge?”

  “Yes, quite a lot. He is devoted to Her Majesty.” Softly: “I have tried to persuade him to let me tell the queen about the plot against her but he will not change his mind.”

  “He is an excellent if stubborn man,” I replied. “I should like to see him before I leave.”

  “Let us see if we can find him.”

  We rose and left the room with the queen’s lady following at a discreet, yet still irksome, distance. Ironic, really, since Beatrice and I are the last two people on earth to need the presence of a chaperone. Still, we must maintain the fiction, I suppose.

  Bigge greeted me warmly. “It’s very pleasant to see you, Mr Holmes. Come sit by the fire. It’s a wretched day, I’m afraid.”

  “It is indeed.”

  To our chaperone Bigge said, “It’s all right, Lady Alice. I’ll take over from here.”

  Once the three of us were left alone I prepared to chastise Bigge for his refusal to speak to the queen about Porlock and Summerville. He raised a hand before I could say a word, however, and said, “I know what you’re going to say, Mr Holmes. I’ve already heard it at length from your brother and from Lady Beatrice. Believe me, I am not unmindful of your concerns, but I have a larger issue: My first concern must be for the queen.

  “Will telling her of this plot aid her in any way? No. You say you want her to increase her vigilance: do you really think that is possible? She is already closely watched by people who will protect her no matter what the cost to themselves.

  “No, Mr Holmes, alerting her will only cause her distress and anxiety. She is much advanced in years and her health is not good. This time of year weighs heavily upon her because of the loss of her beloved consort, Prince Albert.

  “You must trust me to do my job, Mr Holmes. As I am trusting you to do yours.”

  The day was well advanced by the time I returned to the city. I went to Finsbury Park and found Tommy. “Not much going on today, Mr ’olmes,” he said. “The lady of the ’ouse sounded cross. She kept shouting at the children. I could ’ear ’er from across the street. No sign of anyone applying for the job yet, but I suppose it’s too soon.”

  “That, and the fact that it’s a Sunday. They’ll start arriving tomorrow, I’ve no doubt. And you know what to do? I cannot risk the wrong person being employed.”

  “Yes, we’ve talked about it. Billy worked up a story about the last governess being carried out on a stretcher and sort of suggesting who knows what ’appens in that ’ouse... Well, it’s got the advantage of being true. Mostly.”

  I laughed. “No sign of the family?”

  “Naw, just church this morning. They always go to church, the lot of ’em. Suppose they’ve got a lot to pray for.”

  November 29th, 1897

  Despite my plaintive objections, I was forced to endure all sorts of rituals in preparation for tomorrow. There was a suit to adjust, a sauna to take, gifts for the bride and the bridal party as well as the queen. I do not know why men endure such trials. Watson would not be gainsaid, however, and he had no sympathy whatever for my sufferings.

  “It’s your own fault, Holmes,” he said. “Leaving everything to the last minute. Ah, Mrs Hudson, have you fixed those cuffs? Excellent! Now, here are the gifts for the bridal party... what do you mean, you don’t want to see them? Oh very well... Here’s the gift for the queen. Well, she likes jewellery so she will be pleased with it. Of course you must give something to your bride. It would look pretty odd if you did not...”

  And on and on until I was quite demented.

  Around ten o’clock this evening Stevens arrived. He whistled when he saw me. “Don’t you look dapper, Mr Holmes? Quite the gent and no mistake.”

  At last I was able to sink into my armchair with a pipe and listen to his report.

  “Not much in the way of facts, I’m afraid, Mr Holmes. Daisy says there’s been a lot of slamming doors and tears. Sir Christopher keeps saying they’re ruined and Mr Summerville has threatened suicide.”

  “That might be the best solution for everyone,” I said.

  “Holmes!” Watson remonstrated.

  I said, “Come, think of the alternative, Watson. What else can he do? Has Daisy heard any more of their plans to leave the country?”

  “She says there are crates and trunks being packed, mostly with valuables. Lady Summerville’s not even able to take most of her clothes with her.”

  This was as much as I was allowed to ask then I was bundled off to bed like a child.

  24

  November 30th, 1897

  The vows have been said, the ring placed on the finger and the toasts all drunk.

  I am married.

  How odd a thing that is to acknowledge. It is something I never thought to hear myself say.

  I had expected Beatrice - my wife - to arrive at the chapel in high solemnity in light of the occasion. Nothing could be further from the truth. She was in a giddy, even foolhardy mood and she teased the Prince of Wales (who, I may say, enjoyed it rather more than he ought) and even kissed the queen’s cheek. Her majesty was less taken with this liberty than the prince but I do not think she was really upset. She said with good humour, “Since this is such a special day, child, I will allow you this liberty. Once.”

  Watson stood witness for me; Mycroft wasn’t sure he’d get away from affairs of state in order to attend, though he managed it in the final moments just as my bride was walking up the aisle. But I was happy to have Watson stand at my side as he has at every perilous moment of my life. Surely there could be no occasion more perilous than this.

  My bride looked very well. Not beautiful, necessarily, though she is handsome enough I suppose. She has exquisite eyes and lustrous hair, and her features are perfectly regular. But I mean she looked confident and completely at ease.

  I found her sense of the ridiculous quite contagious, and we exchanged vows in a riot of laughter. Then when the business was done and I was invited to ‘kiss the bride’ she merely held out her hand and shook mine like a comrade in arms.

  All in all it was a delicious occasion; far more than I would ever have expected.

  Vows said, celebratory meal enjoyed - well, eaten - we left the palace and returned to Beatrice’s home on Wimpole Street.

  It was necessary to greet the servants and I did so briefly but, I think, in good humour. I gave each of them a guinea to remember the occasion and they all drank a toast to their mistress and nominal new master. Then, at my request, the lady played some Mozart for me upon the piano.

  Really, it was a splendid day.

  Tomorrow the real work begins.

  December 1st, 1897

  As the hansom drew close to the park, I said, “You have the letter from
the agency and the references I gave you? Excellent. Everything has been arranged so even if the Porlocks decide to contact the families you have listed here, the story will hold firm.”

  “And that agency? You can trust them to maintain the fiction, too?” she asked.

  “You need not concern yourself on that account. Mrs Pennyfeather owes me a favour and she was very happy to send you for this job. You are over-qualified, of course, but Porlock will like to think he is getting a bargain. You remember what to say if he asks about your circumstances?”

  “I should imply my former employer has been taking liberties and I am anxious to leave his employ in a hurry.”

  “Yes, he’s a puritan of the first order, is our friend Porlock. Murder and treason are his pastimes, but impropriety is abhorrent to him. Such is the fickleness of the human nature.

  “Watson has been well prepared to answer if there is a phone call, as I rather suspect there might. The doctor is rather good at this sort of thing. I think they appeal to him. I hope he will not stay out too late this evening. But there, he knows what’s at stake and I trust him as much as myself.”

  We went over her story one more time and at last, satisfied that she was completely prepared, I alighted from the carriage and let her continue on alone to the house. Young Kevin at my nod let her proceed unmolested.

  By the time I walked to the park and found my seat, Beatrice had already been admitted to the house. I could see nothing through the lace curtains but I did not have very long to wait. Less than an hour later, she left and made her way down the hill to find a hansom to take her to the train station. I kept close watch but she was not followed and we met again in Leicester Square as arranged. She was excited to tell me everything that had happened.

  “It is a very curious house,” she said. “And I mean that in every sense of the word. The questions they asked! Every detail of my life from my childhood - do not worry, I was very well prepared and told my story exactly as you directed me. I let my behaviour suggest an improper advance from my former employer.”

  “And have you secured the situation?”

  “Yes, I think so. They wish to check my references. From the detailed questions Mrs Porlock asked I suspect the check will be thorough. It will stand up, won’t it? I should hate all this hard work to have been in vain.”

  “Have no fear. It will all be well. You are ready to go into the lodgings we arranged? There cannot now be any direct contact between us. I suspect your job there will run for several days. It will take some time before you learn the position of the safe. Given that Summerville is not expected to see the queen until the 9th, that gives us a little more than a week.

  “I do not wish to attract attention, but I shall keep close watch on the house as much as I can. I will have the Irregulars help, too. There will always be someone nearby if you need to get a message to me. And you can write to me as your aunt Lavinia too.”

  As Beatrice turned to leave me at the train station I felt a qualm. “You can still back out if you wish,” I said. “I will think no less of you. It is a dangerous job - really, too dangerous-”

  “Please do not finish that sentence, Holmes,” she said. “Or we shall quarrel. I am well prepared and I am not, I think, foolhardy. I shall take no unnecessary risks and shall update you as often as possible. Now, stop worrying.”

  December 2nd, 1897

  I received a phone call. “Please tell Aunt Lavinia I am employed by the Porlock family and will let her know when I am situated.”

  My plans were all laid out then and there was little more for me to do but wait. This I did. I am a patient man when needs must (granted, Watson is unlikely to agree with this self-appraisal). And so I went to Finsbury Park and prepared myself for a long wait.

  December 4th, 1897

  Only two days and yet this wait feels interminable. The weather turned inclement on Thursday night and it has rained steadily since. It is difficult to lounge in a park during a rainstorm and unproductive too. My wife and the children who are her charges did not leave the house and there were no letters or any other form of communication from within.

  The Irregulars are disconsolate and I paid them double their usual rate. Though I am loath to admit it, I feel uneasy. I remind myself that there was no cause for concern. Beatrice knows her part and she will not be foolhardy. All the same, the endless silence from within that wretched house wears unpleasantly upon my nerves.

  “Why don’t you go home, Mr ’olmes,” Billy said. “Me and the lads will take turns watchin’. Anyway, won’t nothing much ’appen now. It’s too late for folks to go out and who’d leave the ’ouse in this weather ’less they ’ad to?”

  I could not argue the point and so returned to Baker Street. It was seven o’clock but the black storm clouds turned the city into midnight. I stood at the window looking out at the downpour flooding Baker Street and tried unsuccessfully to shake off the sense of disquiet that engulfed me.

  “What is it you fear, Holmes?” Watson asked. “The girl is safely tucked up in a bourgeois house and is probably suffering no worse than boredom. Besides, Billy and the lads will keep watch and send word if there are any problems.”

  All of this was sound enough and yet, and yet...

  By half-past-ten I could stand it no more. “I’m going out, Watson,” I said.

  “At this hour? In this weather? What do you expect to find?”

  “I do not know. I just know I cannot stay here. I must go back. I cannot explain it, Watson, but all my instincts tell me she is in difficulty.”

  He let out a long sigh and rose from his comfortable armchair.

  “All right,” he said, putting on his coat.

  “You do not need to come with me, Watson. It is, as you say, a filthy night.”

  “You may need me. But perhaps you would prefer to go alone?”

  “By no means!” I cried. “I should be very glad of your company, Watson. Come, I think we must hurry.”

  It was not so easy a matter as all that. The weather had driven all men of sense indoors and there wasn’t a cab to be seen the entire length of Baker Street. The strong winds made a mockery of our umbrellas. Watson said, “We’re not thinking straight, Holmes. Why don’t we go back indoors and call Stevens? It might be a good idea to have the carriage handy anyway.”

  Though I fretted at the delay I had to recognise the wisdom of his words. If we needed to make a swift departure from Finsbury Park, we would be glad of a carriage.

  Twenty agonising minutes later Stevens arrived and we climbed aboard. I sank into a morose silence as the unfortunate horse clomped its way through the filthy London streets.

  “You’re really worried,” Watson said. “What is it you fear?”

  “I do not know. Something weighs on my heart, Watson. It is not rational but I cannot shake it.”

  “Perhaps it is merely the circumstance - knowing your wife is in the house of this Porlock fellow, and the restrictions imposed by the weather. But you and I know there is no more resourceful woman in all of England than Mrs Holmes.”

  Despite my mood I smiled. “Good old Watson!” I said. “You can always be relied upon to find sunshine - even on a day such as this.”

  It took a long time to reach the Seven Sisters Road and the weather showed no signs of improving. It was approaching midnight, and the night was as black as any coal mine. I told Stevens to wait for us a few hundred yards away from the house and Watson and I walked up the road along the side of the park.

  To my alarm Billy was nowhere to be seen.

  “What can have happened, Watson?” I said. The house was as we had left it, with a light burning in every window. The three-story detached house looked, at first glance, unchanged. But closer inspection showed the drainpipe was damaged and the water from the gutter ran like a waterfall down the side of the house. On t
he steps were bits of broken shingles and part of the metal that should have anchored the drainpipe to the house lay upon the verge.

  “There is something very wrong here, Watson. Look at this - this required violence.” I scoured the small, uninspired lawn and the path. There was nothing to be seen. Whatever signs there had been were silenced by the rain.

  “Come, Watson,” I said. “Let us see what we can find out here.”

  I knocked on the door which, after an interminable wait, was eventually opened by a frightened looking young maid, the same who had admitted the glazier just a few short weeks earlier.

  “Good evening,” I said in my most charming manner. “Is your master at home?”

  “No sir,” she said. “There’s no one here but me and the sick old lady upstairs.”

  “Good gracious, I was expecting to speak to Mr Porlock. I’m quite sure he was expecting me. Where can he have gone in this weather?”

  “I don’t know, sir.” And at this she burst into tears.

  “Perhaps we should come in and wait,” Watson said.

  “Lord bless you, sir, the master would have my life if I let any gentleman in.”

  “Then where is Mrs Porlock?”

  “I do not know, sir,” she wailed. “She packed up the children not twenty minutes ago and left by cab.”

  “They left in a hurry, then?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And I suppose the governess went with them?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Miss Jones, the governess, is not anywhere to be found.”

  “Perhaps you should tell us from the beginning, child,” Watson said in the gentlest possible manner. “Come now, you are quite distressed. We are old friends of your master and he would not want us to stand on the door step like tradesmen. Come, we will go in - hush, you can say we gave you no choice - and you shall tell us all from the beginning.”