Sherlock Holmes and the Queen of Diamonds (6 page)

CHAPTER 7

En Garde!

T
he Earl of Montague’s armoury was housed at the rear of the mansion. It was a large, musty, high-ceilinged room with lead-paned windows, suits of armour, Montague pennants and weapons of all shapes and sizes mounted on the cold, grey stone walls. Four centuries of weaponry were collected here – and all of it had tasted blood on some near or distant battlefield.

Howard, who’d shown interest in the place as soon as Elaina had mentioned it, now studied a pair of overcoat pistols from the time of George III before moving on to a selection of long-barrelled sporting guns and even an old Brown Bess musket from his own country. And the blades – there were swords from Britain and France, sabres from Russia and Austria-Hungary, dirks, cutlasses, spadroons….

Howard whistled. ‘I reckon a feller could fight off a whole army with all this,’ he said, his voice echoing faintly off the cool, rough stone.

A few feet away Elaina watched him with a motherly smile, for he was like a child in a toyshop. ‘According to Rupert, that’s exactly what the Montagues
did
, on many
occasions,’ she replied. ‘Apparently there were Montagues at the battles of Hastings and Stamford Bridge, at Saratoga, Trafalgar, New Orleans … oh, just about everywhere, to hear the way Rupert told it – and of course, they
always
acquitted themselves with tremendous courage.’

‘Of
course
,’ he replied, and laughed.

Howard helped himself to a narrow-bladed fencing sabre, which had been hanging from hooks on the facing wall. He gave it a couple of practice swipes. They confirmed his initial
impression
– that it was the product of a remarkable craftsman.

‘What kind of man was your husband, Ellie? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you make him sound like a blowhard.’

‘He wasn’t,’ she replied after a moment’s thought. ‘Not really. Decent just about sums him up. Though he could certainly be a windbag at times, like most of this country’s ruling class. They all think God’s an Englishman, you know.’

‘Do they also all give left-handed compliments?’

She smiled. ‘No, that’s just Holmes being … well, Holmes. Don’t take it personally, Thomas.’

‘It’s a little too late for that.’

He looked at her suddenly, saw a hunger in her eyes that was the match of his own, and impulsively went to her. He wrapped his free arm around her shoulders, pulled her close and kissed her, full and hard on the mouth. She kissed him back with equal fervour until….

There was a discreet rapping at the door.

For reasons neither of them could have explained, they sprang apart like guilty lovers. Blaming it on the heated passion she felt, Elaina called out in a steady voice: ‘Come.’

The door opened to reveal Fordham. ‘I’m sorry to disturb 
you, my lady, but Mr Holmes has just returned and asks to see you.’

Howard swore under his breath, but before she could react, Holmes – who had ignored the request to wait in the library and instead had followed the butler through the house to the armoury – entered the room with Watson tagging along behind. Fordham discreetly withdrew, closing the door after him.

The moment was especially awkward for Watson. He could see that they had interrupted what appeared to be an intimate moment, and he looked as if he would rather be anywhere but here.

Not so Holmes. He looked from Elaina to Howard, a thin smile tilting his mouth. ‘Forgive the intrusion,’ he said, clearly not meaning a word of it. ‘But just as we were leaving Watson reminded me that we had not enquired after your, uh, brother, Mr Howard.’

‘My brother?’ Howard said blankly.

‘You remember,’ said Holmes sarcastically. ‘The missing one. It occurred to me that if you would sooner conduct your search for him by yourself, the very least I could do is suggest a few avenues that may make the job somewhat less arduous for you.’

Howard relaxed. ‘Don’t bother. I’ll find him in my own good time.’

‘As you wish,’ Holmes said. For the first time he appeared to notice the fencing sabre in Howard’s grip. ‘Do you favour the steel, Mr Howard?’

‘You mean, can I
use
one? Sure. After the War, I—’ He caught himself then, and said: ‘How about you?’

‘Like all men of education, I deplore violence.’

Howard’s jaw muscles flexed. ‘That a yes or a no?’

‘If you are suggesting a duel, Mr Howard – I would rather not.’

Howard had been suggesting no such thing, of course, but now that the idea had been proposed he quickly rose to the bait. ‘Why not? Afraid you’ll lose?’

‘On the contrary,’ said Holmes. ‘But as a guest of the countess …’

‘Don’t let that stop you.’

‘Very well,’ Holmes said. He crossed to the wall, took down a matching sabre and slashed the air with it a few times. He then turned back to Howard, who was already removing his coat and shoulder holsters.

‘I don’t think this is a good idea,’ Elaina said hastily.

‘Neither do I,’ said Watson. ‘As much as anything else it’s wildly irresponsible. No matter how careful you try to be, one or both of you is bound to sustain an injury.’

Holmes arched an eyebrow at Howard. ‘What do you say? Shall we call it off?’

‘Not a chance.’ Howard cut the air with his sabre. ‘I’m real curious to see how this pans out.’

‘My sentiments exactly,’ said Holmes. He quickly removed his jacket and passed it to Watson before bringing his blade up to salute his opponent.

‘
En garde
!’

He and Howard circled each other, sabres extended, steel gleaming like liquid mercury in the gaslights. Watson wet his lips and felt his fingers digging anxiously into the
material
of Holmes’s jacket. 

Then Howard lunged forward, thinking to end the matter quickly and decisively. Holmes back-stepped, parried deftly and with a ring of steel Howard’s blade slipped from his own. Howard himself stumbled forward, off balance, but caught himself quickly and leapt back to avoid a thrust from Holmes. He used his own blade to knock Holmes’s aside, then moved in fast with a series of thrusts and swipes. But he lacked the finesse that Holmes displayed so ably, and as his temper warmed he lost even that small degree of ability and became instead a charging bull.

Holmes parried and countered, matching his opponent move for move, almost as if he knew in advance what Howard intended to do next.

They danced back and forth across the armoury, never losing eye contact. Then Howard lunged forward again and Holmes executed a deceptively simple twisting movement with his blade. It slid along the length of Howard’s sabre and with another flick the American’s sword flew from his grasp to land with a clatter on the flagstone floor.

Elaina gasped. ‘There, it’s done,’ she said. ‘And I declare Holmes the w—’

Neither man paid her any attention. Holmes stood back and indicated that the Missourian should pick the blade up again. Howard did so, this time with murder in his eyes.

Again they faced each other. All of Holmes’s needling had finally brought about the desired effect; Howard’s temper, quick even at the best of times, had at last boiled over, while Holmes appeared to be as cool and collected as ever.

Howard leapt in. Steel clashed against steel. Howard lunged but Holmes sidestepped, eluding the other’s sword. 
Again and again Howard hacked at Holmes, and in the end Holmes was forced to retreat under such a determined advance.

Elaina quickly stepped forward before Watson could restrain her and yelled: ‘
That’s enough, do you hear me
?’

But her voice was drowned by the clashing ring of blade on blade. Holmes felt a wall at his back and knew he could retreat no further. Howard saw it as well, and heedless of the consequences brought his blade down in a sweeping
overhead
blow. Holmes dropped to a crouch before his opponent and the tip of Howard’s blade ripped down the stone wall, splashing sparks from its tip.

Then, abruptly, Howard froze.

The tip of Holmes’s sword was just touching the soft flesh beneath his chin. One thrust and it would be all over for the man from Missouri.

‘Do you concede?’ asked Holmes.

‘Never.’

‘Then must we continue the match until one or the other of us is injured or worse?’

Elaina rushed in close, Watson following. ‘My God, what’re you two fools trying to prove?’

Without taking his eyes off Holmes; Howard said through gritted teeth: ‘Respect has a price.’

‘So does lying,’ said Holmes.

Howard’s anger flared and he backed away from Holmes’s blade. ‘Damn you, mister, you’ve gone too far now! No one calls me a liar!’

‘Then what else does one call a man who was christened with one name and yet goes by another?’ 

‘Holmes…?’ questioned Watson.

As he straightened up, Sherlock Holmes said: ‘This man is not Thomas Howard. He goes by an altogether more
celebrated
name – that of the outlaw Jesse James!’

CHAPTER 8

Grecian Fire

T
ension continued to crackle between the two men.

Then Howard – Jesse James, if Holmes was to be believed – reached a decision and tossed his sabre aside. ‘Reckon there’s no use in me denyin’ it,’ he said wearily.

‘Not a bit,’ Holmes replied.

Beside him, Elaina stared at Jesse in shock.

‘When did you peg me?’ Jesse asked Holmes. ‘Where’d I slip up?’

‘You didn’t, Mr James.’ Holmes set his own sabre aside. ‘But the London
Times
carried your picture some six weeks ago. I recognized you as soon as I saw you.’

‘How come you didn’t call me on it?’

‘I was curious to discover what had brought you to England. Your story of a missing younger brother was clearly a smokescreen. When I first questioned you on the matter, you were, to your credit, obviously reluctant to compound the initial lie with still more.’

‘So why
am
I here?’

‘I could make an educated guess, but I prefer not to indulge in speculation. I will leave it to you to explain.’ 

Before Jesse could reply, Elaina said in hushed disbelief: ‘If you really are Jesse James, what
are
you doing here?’

‘It’s a long, grim story, ma’am. But maybe some of your fine British sippin’ whisky’ll make it easier to swallow.’

They left the armoury and returned to the library. After Fordham had served the drinks and left them alone, the man from Missouri began his tale.

‘You know my name and you know my reputation. I ain’t denyin’ or makin’ excuses for either. I’ve killed and robbed and though I ain’t proud of it, I’ll more’n likely do it all over again before I meet my Maker.’

He turned to Holmes. ‘You were right when you said I had Welsh ancestry. My pa came from Wales. He was a Baptist minister … which I reckon makes what I’ve done all the worse. Still, we were raised decent, my brother Frank and me. It was the War taught us how to fight and kill and, after a fashion, how to live with the fightin’ and the killin’ afterward. We learned our lessons well. The Unionists called us
bushwhackers
. We saw ourselves as guerrillas, fightin’ stronger forces the only way we knew how, by hittin’ them hard and then runnin’ before they could mount a counter attack.

‘Eventually we fell in with a feller named Bloody Bill Anderson, a cold-blooded killer who helped us hone our skills, if I can use such a word. After that, Frank joined up with an outfit known as Quantrill’s Raiders, and later I joined him.’

‘William Clarke Quantrill,’ Holmes mused. ‘I’ve read about him. He was responsible for a particularly
bloodthirsty
raid on Lawrence, Kansas, was he not?’ 

Jesse nodded. ‘Yeah. But that was before I hooked up with him. You were right about somethin’ else, too, Holmes. I
was
shot in the chest – on two occasions – and your miserable English weather
does
make those wounds act up….’

He paused, his mind drifting back to his early days. ‘Anyways, after the war, times were hard in Missoura. Reconstruction robbed us of ’most all our rights. We couldn’t carry guns, own slaves, work in government, not even preach … nor lawfully prevent Yankee carpetbaggers from
commandeering
our livestock or land. Only choice left us was to take what we needed by force.’

‘Not everyone chose that road,’ Elaina reminded him softly. Ever since she’d learned his real identity, she’d been studying him intently, sizing him up with fresh interest.

‘True,’ he admitted. ‘And many folks would say me and Frank chose the wrong one. Maybe we did. Who’s to know? All I can say is I sent letter after letter to the
Kansas City Times
– letters they published, too, to their credit – sayin’ as how we were willin’ to go straight, but still the law branded us outlaws.

‘’Course, I did a fair bit to deserve the name. I was always part of one gang or another, and we robbed banks and
stage-coaches
– even a fair, once – from Iowa to West Virginia and just about every place in between. A couple years ago we took to robbin’ trains, as well.’

‘And you gave some of the money to the poor, from what I’ve heard,’ put in Elaina, ‘which is why the newspapers began comparing you with Robin Hood.’

‘It’d pleasure me to say that was true, Countess.’

‘Ellie.’ 

‘Ellie – but fact is, that whole ‘Robin Hood’ thing started ’cause one time there was some local families ’board a train we robbed and when Frank recognized them he gave ’em back their money. They spread the word and, well, the press picked it up and made us sound like heroes. We all had a good laugh about it. Truth be known, there wasn’t much profit in robbin’ the poor. They got nothing worth stealin’, anyway. So we concentrated on banks and the express safes, where the real money was.’

He chuckled, adding: ‘Had a mighty good run of it, too. But finally the law got their fill of us, and one of the express companies hired the Pinks to run us to ground.’

‘You’re referring to the Pinkerton National Detective Agency, I take it?’ said Holmes.

Jesse nodded. ‘Their agents were everywhere. Got so bad, you couldn’t cross the street in Kearney without bumpin’ into a Pinkerton man.’

‘Yet you were never caught,’ Elaina said.

‘No, ma’am. Kearney folk take care of their own, see. Wasn’t no one ever gonna tell the Pinks where we was holed up. That was one of the things that got Cage Liggett so riled – he knew we were operatin’ right under his nose but he couldn’t get folks to turn us in.’

‘Cage Liggett?’ echoed Watson.

Jesse suddenly scowled, the mention of Liggett causing his temper to flare again. Gulping the remainder of his drink, he said: ‘He was the man Allan Pinkerton chose to lead the hunt for me, the man I’m really here to find.’ His eyes hooded dangerously. ‘The man I’m here to
kill
,’ he finished in a rasp. 

Silence filled the room for long moments before Jesse found it within himself to continue. ‘Cage Liggett’s a hard, vain man, Mr Holmes, ambitious as hell an’ cruel as winter. He promised Pinkerton that he’d have us in irons within two weeks of takin’ the job, but Frank and me, we chose not to oblige him. ’Fact, we did all we could to lead him a merry chase and make him look the fool – and that was
our
mistake, I guess, for we should have stomped him the way you’d stomp any snake. But we didn’t, and in the end he swore that if he couldn’t catch us then he’d find some way to fetch us out into the open.

‘Well, that Liggett eventually got so desperate, he started chasing rumours. And when one of his spies told him that me’n Frank planned on visitin’ Ma and our stepdaddy, Dr Reuben Samuel, at the tail end of January just past, that was all Liggett needed to hear. He and a bunch of his men surrounded the house one night without being seen. They hid among the trees for a spell, tryin’ to figure out what to do to flush me’n Frank out. Finally, accordin’ to Liggett, he yelled for us to come out. Ma swears she never heard nothin’ an’ Ma’s no liar. Anyway, when no one answered, Liggett threw a pot flare into the house….’

Holmes, seeing Elaina’s puzzled frown, explained: ‘Officially, it’s known as Grecian fire. It resembles a lantern, except that it has a hemispherical cast-iron base and a brass top from which project two wicks. The idea is that the weight of the base makes sure the device always lands right side up, and its turpentine contents, which feed the wicks, act as a flare.’

‘Well, that wasn’t its purpose that night,’ Jesse said 
grimly. ‘Liggett used it as a bomb, hopin’ to force us out into the open so him and his men could gun us down. ’Least, that’s what his excuse was. Truth is, we heard that the Pinks got word at the last minute that Frank and me were fifty miles south, in Laurinsport.’

Watson swallowed hard. ‘Are you saying this man Liggett
deliberately
firebombed your family home?’

‘Damn right I am. I told you, he’s a man of cruel temper, is Cage Liggett. We’d made him look the fool once too often, so he decided to pay us back by bombing Ma’s house….’

He broke off, choked with emotion. Elaina wanted to go to him but wasn’t sure how he would react.

Holmes said clinically: ‘I wouldn’t have thought a pot flare would have caused that much damage.’

‘Maybe not,’ Jesse said, ‘under normal circumstances. But the bomb rolled into the fire and exploded, blowin’ off Ma’s right arm from the elbow down and killin’ my eight-year-old stepbrother, Archie.’

Again emotion choked off his words as he thought back to that night and imagined how it must have been in the long hours afterward; Ma sitting up all through the night, a cord tied clumsily around the stump of her arm to limit the bleeding; her weeping for her dying boy Archie; and two days – two whole days – before a doctor came and fixed her up as best he could.

First-hand memories came thick and fast, then, and what he visualized was so vivid and real he could feel the Missouri sun hot on his face; smell the ryegrass and hear the creaking of Ma’s wagon as the mules pulled it up the slope from the foothills to the west. 

‘You were saying, Mr James?’

Holmes’s voice brought him back to reality. Collecting himself, he explained that the day before he left Missouri, he and Frank had gotten word to their mother through a
neighbour
, telling her to meet them at the usual place around noon.

From the cover of some trees, they scanned Ma’s back-trail with a pair of field glasses to see if she’d been followed. When they were sure she hadn’t, they rode out of the wood and dismounted beside the wagon.

‘Sorry we couldn’t come to the house, Ma,’ Frank said. He and Jesse shared a passing resemblance, but Frank’s features were larger, his hair darker, his expression and demeanour more sober. ‘But we heard the Pinks are still watchin’ it day and night.’

‘They are,’ Zerelda Samuel confirmed. ‘Fools don’t think I see ’em, but they’re easier to spot than a blind ’coon in the pantry. That’s how come I know that cowardly pig-scum Liggett ain’t with ’em.’

‘He’s gone, Ma,’ said Jesse. ‘Ol’ Man Harris heard some Pinks talking in Blaine’s feed store. Said when Liggett found out what happened to you and Archie, he took off.’

It was true. After word of the cowardly bombing had spread, Cage Liggett’s name, along with that of Allan Pinkerton, the agency owner, became mud in most people’s eyes. And as time passed, dark rumours started circulating that Liggett had better leave the country, and fast, because Jesse and Frank James were out to kill him.

‘Reckon we’ll never settle up with him now,’ Zerelda said bitterly. 

‘Don’t be so sure, Ma. Word is he’s sailed for England.’

‘England?’

Frank said: ‘He’s got a kid brother name of Jack who lives in a place called Liverpool. Gone to hole up with him.’

Zerelda frowned, her wrinkled, dried-up face bereft and toothless. ‘Reckon we can forget about gettin’ even, then.’

‘England ain’t as far as it sounds,’ Jesse said. ‘Not these days. An’ it ain’t
nowhere
near far enough to stop me from goin’ after him.’

Zerelda’s jaw firmed up. ‘I still say you’ll have more luck findin’ sunshine in a blizzard.’

‘It’s already been decided, Ma. I got Liggett’s picture, clipped it right out of the
Liberty Advance
. And I got plenty of money for passage and hotels. And when I get to this Liverpool place, I’ll track him down. Count on it. And when I do …’

There was no need to finish the sentence.

Zerelda fixed him with eyes harder than granite. Then, with her remaining hand, she picked up the Bible from her lap and held it up to Jesse. ‘Swear it to me, son,’ she said. ‘Swear, no matter what, you’ll kill that gutless murderer.’

Without hesitation Jesse pressed his palm on the book. ‘I swear.’

Satisfied, Zerelda returned the Bible to her lap, the
movement
making her wince.

‘Arm still botherin’ you, Ma?’ asked Frank.

‘Some,’ she admitted, looking at the sleeve-covered stump. ‘But I’m learnin’ to do without it.’ She reached down and gave each of them a fond, rough hug, then said: ‘You’re always in my prayers.’ She then nodded to their black 
servant, Ishmael, and he clucked the horses back into motion.

Jesse and Frank watched the wagon as it descended the slope and disappeared into the trees. It was a sombre, silent moment. Then Frank took something from his saddlebag and handed it to Jesse. It was a pair of hand-tooled leather shoulder holsters.

‘What’re these for?’ asked Jesse.

‘Cole Younger reckons it’s against the law for folks to go packin’ iron in England, and I didn’t want you goin’ unarmed.’

Jesse grinned. ‘Why, you miserable old sour-belly, damned if you ain’t got feelin’s after all.’

‘If you’re gonna get all mushy,’ his brother growled, ‘I’ll take ’em back.’

But he was grinning as he said it, and Jesse was grinning too, and for a beat the brothers just stood there, neither wanting to say their goodbyes and go their separate ways. At last they hugged, briefly and self-consciously, and stepped back. Jesse hung the shoulder holsters over his saddle horn and mounted up. Frank grabbed the bridle and looked up at him.