A Biased Judgement Read online

  Watson led the girl inside. I whistled for Stevens and he brought the carriage up to the house.

  “Stevens, there’s no time to lose. I need you to go to my brother immediately. If he’s not at his apartment in Pall Mall try his office or the Diogenes Club - you know all the addresses? Good. Tell him Porlock has fled. He’ll know what to do. Once you have delivered the message, to Mycroft Holmes and no one else, mind, come back here with all speed.”

  Off he sped and I went into the house.

  They were in the opulent drawing room. Watson had found a decanter of brandy and poured a glass for the girl.

  “Now,” I said, joining them. “Tell us what happened this evening - start at the beginning and omit nothing.”

  “Well sir, my mistress and master had made plans to go to the theatre and dinner. It was their wedding anniversary. Mr Porlock, he tried to talk the mistress into changing their plans on account of it being such a dreadful night, but she’d have none of it. She’d already given cook the night off since they had planned to be out and there was no one to prepare a meal. So just after seven, the two of them headed out.

  “Miss Jones put the little girls to bed and told me to take it easy. She said she would look after anything that needed to be sorted. It was awfully good of her and I confess I was glad to let her. I went down to the kitchen and warmed up some leftover stew and then I fell asleep by the fire.

  “Next thing I knew the master and mistress were home. It looked like they’d quarrelled and they had left their meal early without bothering to go on to the theatre. I was helping Mrs Porlock get out of her wet things and the master wanted to know where everyone was. Well, I didn’t know, sir, and I said as much. He went running upstairs - I thought he was looking to the children, but then I heard him in his study and what a roar he let out. As far as I could gather, sir, someone had been in his study and stolen his private papers from the safe.”

  The girl took another eager gulp of brandy and continued.

  “Next I heard a crash and a scream - I think the burglar was trying to climb down the drainpipe and it gave way. Then I heard...”

  “Yes? What?”

  It was all I could do not to shake the wretched girl.

  “A loud crack, sir. Like a pistol being fired.”

  “And then? For the love of God, what happened then?”

  “The master told Mrs Porlock to get the children and leave at once. Then he went and got the dogs and ran out into the night. That was hours ago, sir. The mistress had me run out and find a carriage, and then I helped her pack up the children’s things. By ten o’clock, she was gone and I’ve seen and heard nothing since.”

  “And Miss Jones? Have you seen her or spoken to her since?”

  “No sir, not a word. I’m that frightened, sir. I‘m not used to being in the house on my own, truly I’m not. What if the old lady dies?”

  Watson looked after the maid and the old woman while I searched the house. There was nothing extraordinary to be found until I reached the study.

  A small Friedrich painting sat on the floor and the wall safe it had evidently been hiding was open and empty. It was a simple enough lock; any decent burglar could have broken into it. I could have managed the job myself in just a few minutes. I stopped and closed my eyes. My emotions were making me leap ahead of the facts and make suppositions. I needed to clear my mind and just focus on the evidence before me. Resolutely shutting out all my fears of my wife’s safety, I began again.

  An examination of the house revealed no evidence of a break in. All the doors and windows were carefully shuttered. The only exception was the window in the office. The window that overlooked the park. The window that was next to the now broken drainpipe.

  I lay down and examined the carpet. The signs were there: a woman’s footsteps from the door to the safe. Then... what next? Flight to the window. The window pulled open and then escape down the drainpipe. A woman in skirts climbing down the drainpipe? And in a downpour too. She would not have been prepared for a sudden departure; the Porlocks had been expected to stay at the theatre for the evening. Undoubtedly she thought she had ample time. But the master of the house had returned suddenly. Given the noise of the storm and Beatrice’s close attention to the tumblers in the safe, she would not have heard them till it was too late. Likely she was so close to victory that she continued with the task even after she knew the risk.

  Of course, I could not know that, but it fit with my knowledge of the woman.

  And what of the safe? Had she succeeded in opening it? Yes, she must. The papers were gone and the safe stood open. If she had failed and simply fled Porlock might well have let her go, had her arrested. Or had he taken the documents and his family and left the country? No. he fired a shot after her.

  I felt a wave of nausea flow through me. Oh God, if he hit her... no, don’t think of that. Think about the events as they unfolded. What next? Think, man!

  He fired a shot. It was dark, wet, chances are the shot went wild. She would have relied upon that to help her. What next?

  If she had the documents she would have fled, knowing her life was not worth a moment’s purchase. She might have waved down a cab - no. Considering the difficulty Watson and I had in finding a hansom it was unlikely in the extreme that Beatrice would have been so lucky to find one at the exact right moment. No, she would have made for the park. There was plenty of cover there and she might hide easily enough. And Billy... Yes, Billy, good lad, would have seen the whole thing. He would have helped the lady to safety.

  But that was... almost three hours ago. Where were they now? Had Porlock chased after them? Yes, I had the maid’s word that that was exactly what he had done. And with the dogs too. No, don’t think of that. Had he found them? Billy is resourceful and with no one else to think of I have no doubt that he could look after himself. But Beatrice... a gentlewoman hardly used to running around the city... no, she was used to dressing as a boy and doing who knew what... She was resourceful and far better equipped to handle the situation than any other of her sex or station.

  So... another look outside. There was little enough to see: the rain had taken care of all the traces. The drainpipe listed at an alarming angle and I reasoned that a person climbing down would have fallen into the holly bushes. Her gown would be torn and she would have tears in her skin from those thorns. Out here in the cold in this endless downpour with a dangerous man, an armed dangerous man with those savage dogs, looking for her. And she without coat or money or any form of defence other than her wits and a boy.

  I released a breath I did not even realise I’d been holding. No, those were good odds. I’d stack Beatrice’s wits and Billy’s resourcefulness against a great many threats.

  By the time I finished, Watson had sent the maid to bed. “We’ll find her, old man,” he said. “Not to worry.”

  I shook my head, unable to find words. He squeezed my shoulder and though I cannot begin to say why, I found comfort in the gesture.

  Watson said, “Did you want to call Lestrade? Put them on the alert for Porlock?”

  “I sent Stevens to Mycroft. I need to start looking. She went into the park; I’m sure of it.”

  “All right, so we shall start there.”

  “No, Watson, I shall start on the park, I need you to wait here for Stevens.”

  “That’s an awfully big park for one man alone, Holmes. I can help.”

  “You are. You are helping, my dear friend. Stay here for Stevens. I doubt it shall be very long. He understands our need for haste. Then I need you to take the carriage and make a complete circuit of the park. I very much doubt she will be on any of the roads, but I cannot completely discount the possibility.

  “Once you’ve done that, go back to Baker Street and see if she has made her way there.”

  “You do not think she would she head for W
impole Street?” Watson asked.

  “She is being hunted by a dangerous and armed man. She has papers that I am most anxious to have. No, she will go to Baker Street. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

  “So what should I do if she’s not there?”

  “See if you can find any of the Irregulars - they should be sleeping down by McClancy’s - and send them here in the carriage. They can help me search the park. As to yourself,” I looked into his kind and worried face. “Get to bed. You look done in.”

  He frowned at me. “And leave you to search alone? You know that’s not going to happen, don’t you? I’ll get my service revolver and come straight back.”

  Good, solid, reliable Watson! “Your service revolver?” I asked.

  “You said there’s an armed and desperate man at loose. Not to mention those blasted hounds. Best we should be prepared.”

  “Well, Porlock is probably on his way to one of the ports. Still, best be prepared. Meet me at the park’s main gate at-” I checked my watch. “Three am.”

  He took off for Baker Street and I sprinted into the park and began my search.

  25

  I called out Beatrice’s name, Billy’s name as I made a circuit around the howling park. The wind and the rain seemed to be conspiring against me and I doubted anyone would have heard me even if they’d been only a few feet away. Still, I worked my way systematically along the periphery and slowly began to work in towards the middle.

  The rain continued to pour down and even with my sou’wester I was drenched. The thoughts of what Beatrice must be like in no more than a gown I did not care to think.

  They would not have stayed here, in the park, at least not for long. They would have made their way back up the road and towards Baker Street. Given it had been several hours, it was almost three o’clock, they would surely be long gone by now.

  I headed back up to the gate and arrived just in time to see Watson alight from the carriage with three of the Irregulars.

  “Well, boys,” I said. “I am sorry to wake you so early, but I assure you I will see you all well paid for your trouble.”

  “Usual rate, Mr ’olmes?” Tommy asked.

  “Double the usual rate,” I said. “Given the hour and the weather. And a guinea bonus to the boy who finds the lady.”

  They exchanged excited looks and were eager to start looking.

  “Now, Tommy, I’m putting you in charge until Billy can be found. Start here in the park, but they may have left and started back towards Baker Street. Given they were being hunted by a dangerous man, I think they may have sought shelter somewhere along the way. Somewhere to wait out the storm.”

  “I know a couple of places they might have gone, Mr ’olmes,” Tommy said. “I’ll send Albert. He’s quick and he’s well known in all those haunts.”

  “Excellent. I shall try the side streets starting on Adolphus Road. We shall meet at... six a.m. where Camden Road meets York Road. You all have your whistles? Excellent. The usual drill if you find anything.”

  For the next hour and a half Stevens drove Watson and me through the wretched streets of Islington with no success. Just after five the rain finally stopped falling but left a sodden, dispirited world behind. We searched side streets, back alleys and every inch of the neighbourhood. But the Seven Sisters Road is almost five miles from Baker Street as the crow flies. The truth was, she could be anywhere.

  At six we all rendezvoused as arranged but there was no news, nothing to work with. Albert returned and had nothing to report.

  I would have continued regardless but I could see Watson was on his last legs. Stevens aided where he could, but he, too, was exhausted.

  “Very well,” I said. “Let us return to Baker Street, Watson. We shall get some sleep and start again later. Tommy, you and the boys keep looking. Get the rest of the Irregulars to help.”

  “Still double rate, Mr ’olmes?”

  “Yes, yes. Send the lads to all the hiding places, even places you would not expect a lady to go. Off with you!”

  I felt a cad for keeping Watson out the whole wretched night. Stevens went to stable the horse, and then returned to take his usual spot on the sofa.

  “I hope I did all right, Mr Holmes,” he said when he returned. “But I saw a cabby I know from the stables and I asked him to pass the word on to the others in his trade to keep an eye out for her ladyship. Mrs Holmes, I should say.”

  “Excellent,” I said. “That was a first-rate notion, Stevens, well done.”

  He beamed.

  “Let us all try to get some sleep,” I said. “We shall start again at... let us say two o’clock.”

  “That doesn’t allow much time for sleep, Holmes,” Watson said trying not to sound too miserable.

  Reluctantly I said, “Yes, all right. Make it four.”

  Watson went to bed. I bathed and sat sleepless in my bedroom. The newspapers were worthless. Not that I’d been expecting anything, but part of me had hoped.

  December 5th, 1897

  I wrote my journal and then dozed for a short while. At last, troubled by grotesque nightmares, I rose, dressed and went out.

  Lestrade knows me well enough not to ask any unfortunate questions. “We’ll find the lady, never fear,” he said. “It’s an awfully large area, but every man is on the alert. We’ll take proper care of the lady when we find her.” He put his hand consolingly on my shoulder. “We will find her, Mr Holmes. It’s only a matter of time.”

  Another man who thinks I need comforting.

  I took a cab back to Islington and found a couple of Irregulars searching the more unseemly parts of the area. They had nothing to report but as I was about to return to the search, young Albert came and found me.

  “Mr ’olmes, sir,” he said, panting. “I was about to send to Baker Street to find you.”

  “What is it?” I asked. “Have you news?”

  “We left Kevin in the park, Mr ’olmes. Searched every square inch of it, ’e did. Found this in the bandstand.” He handed me a torn piece of black cloth obviously ripped from the gown such as a governess would wear. It was sodden but still sticky with blood.

  And right through the middle was a bullet hole.

  “’ere, you best sit down, Mr ’olmes. You look proper green.”

  I was really getting irked by so much solicitation.

  “Where is Kevin now?” I demanded.

  “Still in the park, sir. He’s very thorough, Mr ’olmes. If there’s ought to be found, Kevin’s the one to find it.”

  I left the boy abruptly and ran back up the road to the park, pushing my way past startled gentlemen taking their morning walks, and governesses tending to their charges. Governesses... no, I had to focus.

  I found Kevin just a few hundred feet from the bandstand.

  “Where did you find this, lad?” I said. “Show me.”

  I examined the corner of the bandstand the boy indicated. There really wasn’t much to be seen, except under the wooden seat that curved around the perimeter of the structure there was evidence of blood. I knelt down and examined the ground beneath the seat where the rain had not washed away the signs. There was blood here. Yes. A fair amount I thought. I followed the very faint traces of footsteps. Two sets: a woman and a boy. Yes, just as I had thought. The woman’s footsteps were weak and uneven: the boy was supporting her, then. So she was hurt sufficiently to need to lean on him. Dear God...

  No! Stop! That will avail nothing. Think, man!

  Right... At least she was walking. Unsteadily, it is true. She had been shot; she had lost quite a bit of blood, but she was still able to walk. Good. Hold on to that.

  But where was she? With the storm and the darkness, they could have hidden in the park for some time undetected. Of course, for every moment they stayed there she lost yet
more blood. What did Billy do? He might have left her and run to get help... but where? None of the usual safe houses reported seeing him. Besides, he wouldn’t have left her there alone and bleeding. No, he’d have stayed with her. Good lad, Billy. Solid. Dependable.

  Right then, he would have stayed with her. They found shelter of sorts in the bandstand but it was too open and exposed. They knew it was not safe. Probably they could hear the dogs barking. The rain may have obscured enough of her scent.

  They stayed long enough for Billy to check the wound and give whatever first aid he could... in the night, in a storm, with no instruments. No, they tore the garment. It was Beatrice who did that. She would have exposed the wound so Billy could treat it, and she had left the fabric for me, to let me know she was still alive.

  Probably they had used some of the torn fabric to make a tourniquet and sling? It wouldn’t do much beyond slow the bleeding and perhaps ease the pain a little.

  O God, was she in much pain?

  Stop that. Think!

  I worked in a circumference around the bandstand but there was nothing to see. The rain had obliterated all traces.

  Kevin was watching me with a distressed look on his face. “I’m really sorry, Mr ’olmes.”

  I forced a smile. “You’ve done excellent work, Kevin. This is the first evidence we have that she and Billy were here. Here’s some money. Go get something to eat. Take the other boys with you. We’ll start again in an hour.”

  “Cor, thanks, Mr ’olmes!”

  The boy scuttled away, and I sat in the bandstand thinking. What did Billy do? What would I have done? Cut through the park and tried to get as far away from Seven Sisters as possible. All right, yes. But they were gone - I checked my watch - fifteen hours.

  I walked back along the side streets and the back roads around Islington. I do not even know what I was looking for. Not even I could see traces the deluge had washed away. No, there must be reason. If only I could think.

  The only possible solution was they had either taken shelter somewhere, an empty house perhaps, or had managed to get a ride on a cart. Yes, that was likely. There weren’t too many cabs about last night, but there would still have been the odd cart making deliveries or conducting the business of trade. So supposing they did that... the driver might not even know he’d picked up a couple of passengers. And Beatrice and Billy wouldn’t have cared where they were heading as long as it took them away from the danger area. Yes. That was very likely. Good. Now the only problem was to figure out where they had ended up. And that was when my pretty theory hit a brick wall. There was no way of knowing. There were far too many variables for me to anticipate. The only comforting thing about the theory was it explained, at least in part, why we had not yet found any traces of them. There was, of course, a far more sinister explanation, but I refused to acknowledge it. After all, if Porlock had found them all was lost and there was nothing I could do save avenge their deaths.