Sherlock Holmes and the Queen of Diamonds (7 page)

‘Jesse, promise me somethin’.’

‘If you’re worried about women …’

‘Not women. Women I know you can handle. It’s your temper, Jesse. Sometimes it’s quicker’n a hair trigger. You get
into
trouble in England you won’t have nobody to back your play.’

‘Who says I’m gonna get
into
trouble?’

Frank’s face was grim in the hard sunshine. ‘You’re lookin’ 
to kill one, maybe two men, Jesse – I reckon that qualifies for starters.’

‘Trust me, Frank. I can
do
this.’

‘I know you can, little brother. But if you do get into a scrape—’

‘Frank, quit your worryin’. I’ll keep my temper and I’ll stay away from the ladies. OK? As for England,’ Jesse added, ‘it won’t throw a scare into me. It’s got saloons and banks, and the folks there speak English just like us, don’t they? How dangerous can it be?’

‘How dangerous indeed?’ echoed Holmes as Jesse finished his story. ‘So you’re here to find the man who maimed your mother and killed your stepbrother? A man you believed to have fled to Liverpool?’

‘He
did
flee to Liverpool. I docked there myself not two weeks back and started showing Liggett’s picture around, finally found a feller who claimed he talked to Cage an’ Jack both in one of the saloons – pubs, I guess you call ’em – at the docks. They told him they were headed for London. So I went to the railroad depot where I “persuaded” a ticket clerk to admit that he’d sold ’em tickets to a place hereabouts called Euston. I followed ’em there and after nosin’ around I found out they spent a few nights at some kind of charity mission or hostel. Feller who runs the place said they were talkin’ about goin’ into business in what you folks call the East End. But that’s where the trail went cold.’

‘Curious,’ noted Holmes. ‘I should have thought that two Americans would have been easy enough to locate in that area.’ 

‘They likely are,’ Jesse agreed. ‘But East Enders, they’re like the folks back in Kearney – they clam up tight around outsiders like me. Could be you might have better luck.’

Watson looked scandalized. ‘Surely you don’t expect Sherlock Holmes to help a known
outlaw
?’

‘Why not?’ asked Elaina. ‘
I
intend to help him.’

‘Then do so by keeping him off the streets,’ ordered Holmes. ‘
The Times
has a large circulation, and others will certainly have seen your picture. I also noticed a sketch artist here earlier from the
Illustrated London News
. Did he by any chance draw you, Mr James?’

‘Yeah. But I took the drawin’ away from him, plan to burn it later.’

‘Well, that’s good news.’

Jesse looked surprised. ‘That mean you’re throwin’ in with us?’

‘It means that I want you to stay undercover until I find this man Liggett and his brother. But I must also tell you this, Mr James. I am not entirely without compassion, and I will happily serve this man up to the authorities to pay for his crimes. But I will not serve him up to
you
.’

‘But I promised Ma—’

‘I do not care what you did or did not promise. I will not stand by and watch any man murdered in cold blood.’

Jesse glared at Holmes. ‘Then let me tell
you
somethin’: stay the hell out of my way, or you and me are gonna butt heads.’

‘You’re hardly in any position to make threats,’ Watson reminded him.

‘Then let’s just say I’m givin’ him fair warnin’,’ Jesse said. 
‘Same as I’d give anyone who tried to stop me from shootin’ Liggett.’

‘Well, I sincerely hope it does not come to that, Mr James,’ said Holmes. ‘For what it is worth, I do not believe all I read in the press. Now that I have met you and got your measure with my own eyes, I do not believe you are altogether the man you’ve been made out to be.’

‘He means that as a compliment,’ Elaina said as Jesse looked questioningly at Holmes. ‘But he’s quite right. You must stay here, out of sight, where I can hide you from all prying eyes.’

‘Like you done this afternoon?’ asked Jesse with a sour grin.

‘This
afternoon
, cowboy, you were only suspected of rustling. How was I to know that in a matter of hours you’d graduate all the way up to being Jesse James?’

CHAPTER 9

Mrs Violet Kidd

T
he offices of
The Era
were situated on the corner of Tavistock Street and Wellington Street. Holmes and Watson arrived shortly after opening time the following morning and were once again shown to the newspaper’s archive, a dusty, almost forgotten room at the rear of the premises, which smelled faintly of mildew. Left alone, they each worked their way through one bound volume after another until, around noon, Watson said: ‘Here – I think I’ve found it!’

Holmes was instantly beside him, peering over his shoulder at the small article headlined TRAGEDY STRIKES AERIALIST IN BRISTOL. Below the headline they read:

‘Well?’ asked Watson. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think you have more than earned your keep today, old friend,’ replied Holmes, noting the date of the story, which had happened some eight months earlier. ‘At the very least we should discover what became of Mrs Violet Kidd.’

The bespectacled editor of
The Era
was more than willing to help. He confirmed that Castello’s Circus was still in
business
and after some searching through a box folder stuffed with various itineraries and schedules, announced that it was presently playing in Southsea, Portsmouth. Holmes thanked him and he and Watson headed for the nearest post office, where they sent a telegram to the owners, requesting the present whereabouts of Mrs Violet Kidd.

They returned to Baker Street and, while waiting for a reply, Holmes slipped into his long maroon dressing-gown and busied himself at his workbench.

He found relaxation in many varied hobbies, among them 
the study of Buddhism and the Cornish language and art, but perhaps his greatest passion was the study of
honey-bees
. It was no secret that Holmes was fascinated by the social order, behaviour and selfless work ethic of
Apis mellifera
. In fact, he often expressed his intention of one day retiring to the South Downs in order to keep them.

Now, as he studied the contents of one test tube or another and then scribbled notes, Watson asked him what he was doing.

‘I am attempting to create a new allotropic form,’ was Holmes’s reply.

Watson pondered that momentarily, then said: ‘Would you care to elucidate?’

‘Certainly. As you know, every time a beehive is opened, cool sulphur smoke is used to cover the guards and induce a calming effect upon the workers, who are then encouraged by some arcane survival instinct to gorge upon honey. However, it has been my experience that the smoke can
occasionally
be noxious to the bees, and so I am trying to create a new, gentler allotropic form that is somewhat kinder to them.’

‘I’m sure,’ said Watson, returning to the newspaper, ‘that all the little “bumbles” will appreciate your efforts.’

Shortly after three o’clock the doorbell rang and soon thereafter they heard Mrs Hudson’s tread upon the stairs. Holmes opened the door before she could knock and snatched the telegram from her outstretched hand. ‘Thank you, Mrs Hudson,’ he said, and promptly closed the door in her face. He tore open the envelope, unfolded the telegram inside and read it quickly. 

‘Excellent!’ he said. ‘According to the rather obliging Mr Andrew Castello, the last known address of Mrs Violet Kidd is here, in London – number Twenty-Seven Canal Road, Deptford. Watson, will you…?’

‘I know,’ sighed Watson, rising from his fireside chair and limping towards the coatrack. ‘Go downstairs and summon a hansom.’

The journey took just over half an hour. They crossed the Thames by way of Westminster Bridge and then the cab wound through the thin, mean streets of south London – Lambeth, the Elephant & Castle, Southwark and Bermondsey. The sun slowly began dipping westward, bathing the streets of tiny homes and dark, dusty shops in grey shadow. Eventually the cab slowed and the trapdoor in the roof behind them opened. The driver called down that they had arrived, adding: ‘That’ll be four an’ a tanner, sir.’

Holmes gave him two half-crowns, then he and Watson climbed out to inspect their surroundings. In the fading light Canal Street looked derelict and isolated. The cobbled street was narrow, with a line of grimy terraced houses facing a peeling line of wooden palings and a murky canal beyond. Watson took one look at the houses, most of which appeared to have been boarded up, and said: ‘I think we’re too late. It looks as if the street has been condemned and everyone moved on.’

‘Not quite everyone,’ said Holmes, and pointed toward the lamp-lit parlour window of a house right at the far end.

They walked toward it. Away to their right, scavenging rats squeaked and scurried between piles of refuse. Watson 
grimaced. He had been right about the other properties. They were all silent, and in darkness. Clearly Canal Street had been condemned, save for this one house – number twenty-seven.

Holmes rapped on the door, which badly needed repainting. After a few moments it opened and a small woman of about twenty-five peered warily around it. By the poor light they saw she had a pale face with tired blue eyes, a small, pointed nose and a thin, sad mouth. Her hair was a watery blond and pulled back in a bun, with an untidy spill of ringlets hanging as bangs. She wore a blouse buttoned to the throat and a full black skirt.

‘Mrs Kidd?’ asked Holmes.

She hesitated momentarily before saying: ‘Y-Yes … Can I help you?’

‘I believe you can, Mrs Kidd. I would like to question you about the events of two nights ago.’

She recoiled from him, her eyelids fluttered and she swayed dangerously. Watson recognized all the signs and pushed past Holmes so that he could catch her before she collapsed. She slumped into his arms, and he was shocked by how thin and frail she was.

‘Subtlety is not always your strong point, Holmes,’ he grumbled.

At the sound of his voice the woman recovered enough to ask: ‘Are you the police?’

‘No,’ said Holmes. ‘And I should tell you at the outset that if you are honest with me, then the police will play no part in this.’

Mrs Kidd frowned at him. ‘If blackmail’s your game, you’re 
wasting your time. We barely have enough for food and lodging.’

‘We are not here to make your life any more difficult, madam. Quite the reverse –
if
you co-operate.’

She considered that for a moment, then nodded. ‘I will,’ she said. ‘And if truth be told, it will be a relief to do so. Please, gentlemen, come in.’

As they stepped into a narrow passage, a weak, wheezy voice called out from the lamp-lit parlour. ‘Vi? Is everything …’ The words were cut off by a prolonged fit of coughing. ‘Is everything all right?’

She whispered: ‘My husband, Emmanuel. He’s ill, and sleeps downstairs in the parlour, where it is warmer.’ Then, louder: ‘Yes, Manny, it’s all right.’

They followed her down the dark hallway, past a flight of stairs, until they reached a squalid little kitchen. She walked with a severe limp in her left leg, in just the manner Holmes had described in the grounds of Witton Abbey.

At last she gestured for them to sit at the wooden table. ‘You’re certain you’re not from the police?’ she said quietly.

‘No,’ Holmes said. Introducing himself and Watson, he added: ‘We have been investigating a recent spate of jewel thefts, and I have come to the conclusion that you were responsible for their execution.’

She smiled bitterly. ‘I can see it will do me no good to deny it.’

‘No. But it may do you
considerable
good to tell me
everything
you know.’

‘I will, sir. Honest. And as I just told you, I’ll be happy to 
do it. I am not of larcenous character, gentlemen, and what I have done – what circumstances have forced me to do – has brought me great unhappiness.’

She fell silent for a while, as if bringing order to her thoughts. Then:

‘You are right, Mr Holmes. I was born with a suppleness and balance that cannot be taught. My father spotted the ability in me when I was no more than five or six, and often took me into the city or to various racecourses, where I would walk a hastily erected tightrope or hang upside down from temporary railings for an audience who would, if the mood was upon them, give a penny or two in
appreciation
. I was a born performer, sir, it was all I ever wanted to do, so it was no hardship for me. But an unhappy
home-life
, caused mainly by my father’s fondness for the bottle, eventually persuaded me that when I was old enough I would do as I had read in stories, and run away to the circus.

‘This I did when I was fourteen. I found work with Castello’s Circus, and began my real apprenticeship as part of an act called the Tumbling Tornadoes.

‘Thereafter my life became one of constant travel. We played the provinces in all weathers, performing every day, all day. Throughout the racing season we could always be found at Epsom or Moulsey, Egham or Ascot. We even went abroad. And if we were lucky, we found work in pantomime at Christmas, which helped see us through the winter. It was a hard life, and one that put little money in one’s pocket, but I loved it. I had wonderful friends, and more important, I had Manny.’ 

‘Did he work for the circus?’ Holmes asked.

Mrs Kidd nodded. ‘He was as fine a juggler and
plate-spinner
as you have ever seen. He was also a dear, kind, gentle man. Despite the big difference in our ages, we were attracted to each other from the start. Manny was always considerate and loving, and when eventually he asked me to marry him I eagerly accepted. For two years we could not have been happier. Then he developed a bad, persistent cough and began to lose weight….’

Watson, who’d been listening intently, now murmured: ‘Symptoms of consumption.’

‘Aye,’ Mrs Kidd said. ‘Consumption it was. We had no money to treat him, but our employer was a good man. He paid for a doctor to examine Manny and gave us the use of a spare wagon. This meant Manny could still travel with us even though he could no longer perform, and I was able to nurse him when I wasn’t on stage. But now that I was the sole breadwinner, I tried to make extra money by taking a more active part in the act. We incorporated a new element, a trick known as the “Flying Leap for Life”. It involved jumping from one trapeze to another, performing one or more somersaults in mid-air and then being caught by a partner, who was hanging from the second trapeze. We rehearsed the trick a number of times without mishap, but for safety’s sake, we retained a net to catch me in case I fell.

‘The first time we performed the trick before an audience it went perfectly. But during a later performance that same day, disaster struck. As I leapt from my pedestal-board on to the trapeze, I felt the gearing shake and knew that for some 
reason the ropes to which it was fastened had come loose. I heard the crowd gasp with horror. Then one side of the trapeze dropped and I lost my grip. I landed on the edge of the safety net and was flung sideways, to the sawdust ring below. I broke my hip and ankle, and my career as an
aerialist
was over.’

Holmes arched a questioning eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

‘I was devastated,’ Mrs Kidd continued. ‘For now I had no means of earning the money that Manny and I needed to survive. And what else was I good for? The performer’s life was the only one I had ever known. You can imagine my delight when, though the fall left me with a limp, I
discovered
that I still retained most of my abilities.

‘Unfortunately, Mr Castello was of the opinion that
audiences
did not want to see a performer shuffling to and from the ring. It would remind them of the very real consequences when things go wrong, and the circus was there to provide an escape from such realities. I understood his reasoning perfectly, and could not argue against it.

‘He gave me a small gift of money with which I managed to secure this property, and we have lived here, from hand to mouth, ever since. It has not been easy on me, Mr Holmes. But it has been far harder on poor Manny. He needs treatment, badly. But I could never afford to pay for it.’

‘Until fate intervened,’ said Holmes.