The Scottish Ploy (17 page)

“Have you discovered anything thus far, Guthrie?” Holmes inquired as he came back to the table to sit down.

“Not a great deal,” I had to say. “This stack contains information that would appear to have nothing to do with our current situation. This stack might have some bearing on current developments. And this stack has information dealing directly or indirectly with the Brotherhood. The second dispatch is the most telling of the four in the pile.”

“Good work, Guthrie,” said Mycroft Holmes. ‘This is what I have come to expect of you.”

I saw that he had reviewed nearly twice as much as I had, and I took the praise as being as much for my efforts as my results. “You have not been behind the times in your work.”

“Ah, but European dispatches are much more readily evaluated regarding the Brotherhood than are those from the East,” said Holmes. “I rely upon you, because of your recent activities, to comprehend the contexts of the dispatches better than I would be able to do without extensive cross-referencing.” He regarded his own work. “On the other hand, I see European dispatches almost daily.”

“But you are persuaded the two are connected?” I knew it was tempting to see activities of the Brotherhood everywhere, and to attribute all our difficulties to their nefarious intervention, but it was also oversimplifying a very complex world.

“Beyond doubt,” said Mycroft Holmes. “And I should think you would agree, seeing that you and Sutton discerned it.” He stretched and yawned. “And speaking of Sutton, as he is not here, I must soon ready myself to cross the street to the club.”

“In this storm?” I asked.

“In any weather,” said Holmes. “Besides, we English must honor our storms: as winter is the guardian of Russia, so storms are the guardians of England.” He cocked a brow at me. “I should think a Scot could agree on that point.”

“I’ll concede you have a point, sir,” I said with a hesitant smile.

“I’ll accept that,” said Holmes. “When I come back from the club, you and I will dine, and then we’ll see how much more there is to do.”

“How late do you think we will have to work?” I could imagine the work going on long into the night, but I didn’t want to say as much.

“It will depend on how quickly we find what we are looking for,” said Mycroft Holmes merrily. “If we do not come upon the information we seek, we’ll put a stop to this at ten, if that will suit you?”

“That is a good hour,” I said, not looking forward to the task of getting home. I realized some of my reluctance was linked to my mishap in the Green Park; I solaced myself with the realization that no assassin would want to be out on such as night as this one, and that the very tempest that distressed me also protected me.

“My dear Guthrie, I know I demand a great deal of you. You have dedication and loyalty that cannot be found everywhere; you have a first-rate mind and you can think for yourself, which is a rarer combination than you might suppose. If we were not in such a muddle, I would gladly send you home as soon as we have eaten, but we cannot do that, not with Braaten and Vickers prowling like wolves at our door.” Mycroft Holmes began to pace again, this time twiddling his watch-fob, a sign of his dismay. “We were very nearly trapped this time, and that concerns me. It also alerts me, for which I am grateful, for it means that we have a narrow opportunity in which to prepare to deal with whatever it is that the Brotherhood is planning: we may be certain that their return to England is but the first step in a much larger plan, and one which will be increasingly difficult to stop, like an avalanche in the Alps, that can bring down tons of snow once it begins to move. This is just another such avalanche, and we have a small snippet of time in which to halt its progress, or lessen its severity. It behooves us to do all in our power to end their intrigue before it is fully in motion. We must not flag now that we have the chance to stop the damage.” He picked up a few of the dispatches, frowning down at them. “I cannot help but wonder why they should link the crumbling Ottoman Empire with Britain, and how they seek to manipulate the two to their advantage. When I have found the answer to that, we will be on the way to ending this gambit.”

“Could that link be another attempt to mislead us?” I suggested.

“It is possible, but it seems unlikely, at least at this stage of our discoveries. I am concerned about Eastern Europe in all this. There are ancient animosities in that part of the world that might be used to topple governments or bring about endless, small wars that would leach the countries of resources as well as disrupt the commerce and industry of the entire region; any country so vitiated would be a prize for the Brotherhood to pluck.” He took a deep breath. “Remember that Lady MacMillian’s estates are in the eastern part of Germany, in the Czech region.”

“Yes, so they are. And they have had difficulties in that region, if my memory serves,” I said; I had not thought of that until Holmes mentioned it. Now it seemed as obvious as a guinea in a coal scuttle. “The Czechs have not had an easy time of it of late.”

“No, they have not,” said Holmes. “Nor have the Slovaks, or the Poles, or Austro-Hungarians, particularly on their eastern and southern borders.” He came up to me. “It would take so little to ignite that region, from Greece to Latvia.”

“But the danger would not—” I stopped. “Oh,” I said. “The
treaties.”

“Exactly: the treaties,” said Mycroft Holmes grimly. “The Brotherhood could embroil all Europe in war if they could drag the larger powers into the regional fighting because of the treaties. So far the major powers have struggled to maintain the stability of all Europe. Even Nicholas wants stability for Russia—you will recall he sponsored those talks on arms limitation?—so that there may be real reforms in his vast country. But if Eastern Europe erupts, who shall be safe? Britain has been able to use her influence to keep the Continent fairly peaceful.”

“And should continue to be able to do so for a good many more years,” I said, knowing this was among Mycroft Holmes’ highest goals.

“Yes. So long as England is stable. But if the Brotherhood gets into the government, then who is to say how long that stability can survive? We might be pulled into any number of conflicts from which we would be unable to extricate ourselves, no matter how urgently we might wish to. This gambit with Lady MacMillian is just a rehearsal, and in miniature, at that, for how it might play out.” He came to a halt near the fireplace. “We must make them see that England will not be party to any such petty disputes as they may try to create.”

“A pity that Sir Cameron is being played for a fool,” I said, not without irony.

“That it is, Guthrie,” said Mycroft Holmes with a sigh. “But what are we to do? I do not think he would heed any warning we offered him.”

“Is there someone he might listen to?” I asked, unable to think of anyone myself.

“I doubt it,” said Holmes. “He is not inclined to listen to any counsel but his own.”

I took this in, and then said, “Do you think Lady MacMillian is part of this? Is she acting for the Brotherhood knowingly?”

“I have no notion,” said Holmes. “And that worries me, I must tell you.” He stared down into the fire. “If she is only a tool, then we need not worry about what she says to Sir Cameron. But if she is part of their association, then she becomes much more dangerous and problematic.”

“Do you plan to speak with her yourself?” I did not think he would wish to make such a direct approach, but he had used such disarming methods in the past.

“Not unless all else fails,” said Mycroft Holmes.

“Why would it? We have discovered their ruse and they do not know it,” I said, with more confidence than I felt. “Does not that give us the advantage?”

“Briefly, perhaps,” Holmes allowed. “But they will have more than one means of achieving their goals, or I am mistaken in my understanding of the Brotherhood.” He touched the place on his wrist where there was a darkened scar—the same place Brotherhood initiates had their tattoos. I wondered again how he came to have it.

“If the answers lie in the pages, we shall find them. And if we should be fined for working on the Sabbath, I’ll pay my portion gladly.” I meant every syllable, though I knew my good, religious mother would be shocked to hear me utter such sentiments.

“I don’t imagine we will have reason to worry,” said Mycroft Holmes. “Who is to report us: Tyers?”

I dutifully laughed at his remark, but I thought again of the men who opposed us, and what they would do if ever they managed to remove Mycroft Holmes from his post. They were not inclined to honor the Sabbath and keep it holy; in fact, they held all such exercises in contempt. They would be stopped by nothing short of arrest or death, and death was surer than imprisoning such dire men. I realized I was more than prepared to kill them in cold blood, and that caused me a pang of anguish. What was I becoming? Standing against them was shaping me to their demands as surely as if I had joined their numbers. Flustered, I picked up the dispatches before me and forced myself to read.

“Guthrie,” said Holmes, his voice a quiet rumble, “I do realize how much you do for me. I have complete confidence in you.”

“You are good to say
so,
sir,” I managed to reply.

“Actually, I am not,” he countered drily. “It causes me to impose upon you most shamefully. I do want you to know that I am aware of what I do.”

“You needn’t apologize,” I said, feeling color mounting in my face.

“I am not apologizing,” said Holmes, a bit more briskly. “I am preparing you for yet more work.”

Relieved, I chuckled, and put the dispatches aside to listen.

FROM THE PERSONAL JOURNAL OF PHILIP TYERS

The storm continues unabated. I am sorry for anyone abroad on such an afternoon as this, for it is nearly dark, although it is only four-ten, and the wind is furious. There will be damage from it throughout the City; I would not be shocked to learn that trees are down and windows broken. In half an hour it will be full dark, and the streets will be treacherous for anyone seeking to travel I hope, for G’s sake, that the worst will have passed by the time he leaves for Curzon Street.

I have provided the Golden Lodge guards with mugs of tea laced with rum, but it is hardly enough to keep out the cold and wet. This is most troubling to me, that they should keep at their posts in such vicious weather. If they are taken ill, I will be inclined to feel partially responsible, although they are acting at the behest of their masters in this duty. I may suggest that they keep watch in carriages rather than on horseback, if for no other reason than that a lone rider in such weather is conspicuous where a closed carriage—a Clarence or a milord—is hardly noticed by anyone ...

Little as I want to admit it, I am bound to say that the flat seems emptier without Sutton here, rehearsing his parts and working on the clothes he provides for disguises. Even four years ago he seemed an intruder, and now he is all but part of the household. If he is cast as Mosca, he will have the advantage of knowing most of the play already. Still, it will be pleasant to have the entertainment of his rehearsing again. I am heartily tired of MacBeth and would enjoy a comedy ...

I have a joint of beef to dress for this evening’s supper, and some turnips to butter. That, pea soup, and a wedge of Stilton will be the fore. Tomorrow the butcher will bring the pork and veal for our dinners that I have already ordered. That, and a trip to the baker and the greengrocer should put all to rights until Wednesday. I suppose I must soon put in my order for a Christmas goose ...

IT WAS
after ten when I finally took my leave of Mycroft Holmes and braced myself to go out into the storm. My hope of hailing a cab was not great, and as I looked at the empty, blowing length of Pall Mall, I supposed I had to resign myself to walking, and arriving at Missus Coopersmith’s house soaked to the skin; my shoes were past praying for. I began to trudge toward Saint James Street, feeling my legs grow wet and my trousers sodden as I went. I had almost reached the corner when a very stylish covered sylphide came round the corner from King Street; the horse between the shafts was buckled into one of those patented Albermarle coats, which gave him some protection from the rain. I watched the dashing equipage with more than a trace of envy until it came along beside me, and Miss Gatspy called out, “Guthrie. Get in.”

I stopped still in surprise, and then I hesitated. “What do you want of me?”

“To take you home.” She gestured impatiently. “Come on. I’m getting wet holding the screen open.” When I did not hasten to join her, she added, “I would have to follow you in any case, so why should you have to suffer unnecessarily.”

I had no ready answer for this, and the prospect of a dry journey was too much to resist. I set my foot on the step and swung up into the carriage, pulling the screen closed behind me. “Thank you,” I said, aware of the closeness of the interior. “I’m afraid I’ll dampen your clothes.”

“No doubt of it,” she rejoined almost merrily. “But you would not be any drier in a block or two.” She gave her horse the office and we went off at a jog-trot through the blustery night.

“I’m sorry to be of trouble,” I said as we moved along.

“No trouble that I had not planned for,” said Miss Gatspy, taking the turn onto Piccadilly with the ease of long practice.

“You’re a first rate sawyer,” I remarked, knowing that such a turn in a wind was not easily executed.

“I’m a crack shot, too,” she said, letting her horse set the pace toward our next turn. “Are you and Mister Holmes making progress?”

“I should think so,” I said, not wanting to give too much away.

“If there is anything I, or the Golden Lodge, may contribute to your efforts, you have only to ask.” She was all but invisible in the dark interior of the sylphide, but I was keenly aware of her in spite of that. “I have offered before, I know, but I want you to know that it was not an idle gesture. The Golden Lodge is most concerned about the most recent activities of the Brotherhood.”

I knew she was attempting to draw me out, and at another time I might have resented it, but after such a long, demanding day of research and speculation, I could not help but ask, “Does the Golden Lodge think it possible that Vickers and Braaten may already be in England?”

She turned to me, and although I could not see her features, I knew she was startled. “Vickers and Braaten in England?” she repeated, as if trying to learn a phrase in a foreign language. “Why would you think that?”

“There are some indications that suggest that—” I began.

“In other words, you aren’t going to tell me why Mister Holmes has such suspicious, only that he does have them.” She sighed in exasperation. “All right. I’ll make inquiries, but I don’t know if I can promise any results before Tuesday.”

“That you are willing to help is most ... most generous of you,” I said, trying to find words to express my gratitude without saying anything my employer would not approve. “We have been unable to evaluate the conflicting reports we have, and—”

“You needn’t bother, Guthrie,” she said, not unkindly. “You have an obligation to Mister Holmes to keep his confidences. I understand that, for I find myself in the same quandary.” She peered out at the street. “The turn for Clarges and Half Moon Streets should be along here.”

“Take either one,” I said, feeling I should contribute something to her efforts.

“I rather like Half Moon Street,” she said, and held the reins more tightly. “Sit back, Guthrie. You will be home in a few minutes.”

“Much sooner than if I had walked,” I told her. “And much drier.”

She shook her head. “You have a very odd idea of gallantry,” she remarked, and turned the horse into Half Moon Street.

“I had not intended to be gallant,” I protested.

“Yes,” she replied, “I know.”

We went the rest of the way in uneasy silence. As we reached Missus Coopersmith’s house in Curzon Street and Miss Gatspy drew the sylphide up to the kerb, I tried to think of an appropriate way to thank her for providing me with his safe journey. “It was most accommodating of you to provide me this ride tonight, Miss Gatspy.”

“It was, wasn’t it?” she agreed archly as she lifted the screen so I could step down. “Guthrie,” she said when I was out of her vehicle, “be careful. You may have had a lucky escape, but you cannot continue to do so.”

“I will endeavor to keep that in mind, Miss Gatspy,” I said; she pulled away from me before I was half-done, and swung her carriage about, then set off back toward Half Moon Street. I watched her go until I could not see the sylphide any more, then I slowly trod up the steps to Missus Coopersmith’s front door.

“Mister Guthrie,” said my landlady as I let myself in; she was seated in the withdrawing room just off the entrance hall. “It was good of you to send that note that you would not be dining with the house.”

“I am sorry I could not join you,” I said, shaking the rain from my shoulders and hanging my coat on the peg near the door.

“One would think you were a military man, the hours and duties that are set for you,” she said, not quite complaining. She was a comfortable woman of middle years who was regarded as a widow although her husband was still very much alive and living up-country in India with a native wife and any number of half-caste children of his own; he had provided handsomely for my landlady, deeding this house to her before abandoning her, and his country, for his life on a tea plantation. “The government ask a great deal of their staff.” She smiled as Rigby jumped into her lap and began industriously to knead her thigh through the folds of her skirt.

“So they do, Missus Coopersmith,” I said in agreement; I wondered what her purpose was in this impromptu inquisition.

“I would not have stayed up, but there was a letter brought here by a man in uniform, to be given to you as soon as you returned.” She lifted her brows in an expression of critical curiosity. “I pledged to put it into your hands myself.” Saying that, she set Rigby aside, rose and came toward me, an envelope in her hand. “Now I have discharged my promise, I will seek my bed. I suppose you will break your fast with your employer in the morning?”

“Yes, Ma’am, I will,” I said, taking the envelope and looking at it, noticing that it was entirely plain but for my name on the front. The flap had been double-sealed with a device I did not recognize.

“Well, thank you for your care, Missus Coopersmith,” I said, as I noticed her tendency to linger. “I apologize for any inconvenience this may have caused you.”

Reluctantly she went past me toward the corridor that led to her portion of the house; I was reasonably sure she would try to discover in future days what the enveloped contained. I resolved to think of an answer that would satisfy her without necessarily giving away any secret that could put me at a disadvantage. With this thought to accompany me, I climbed the stairs and went to my rooms; she had two other lodgers, all of us occupying the first floor: I supposed I was the last one in on this night.

My rooms were much as I had left them, which I found reassuring after such a day as I had had; after conducting a cursory search of the two rooms I occupied, I returned to my sitting room and turned up the gaslight in order to read the letter in the envelope. Using my pen-knife, I cut the end of the envelope so that the seals would remain intact, in case I should want to know more about them. A single sheet of cream-laid paper slid out into my hand, properly folded. I put the envelope down and opened the letter.

To Mister Paterson Erskine Guthrie,

the letter began in a sloping, Continental hand.

This is to warn you that you are in grave danger. You have been duped and that may lead to your disgrace and ruin. Your close association with Mycroft Holmes cannot be to your advantage, for Mister Holmes is shortly to be revealed as an enemy of the state. There can be no question but that this will happen, and sooner rather than later. You, and those who work with him, will be indicted with him if you do not immediately sever all connections with this most dangerous man.

You may not wish to believe this, for you have been misled by his protestations of love of country, but it is all part of a subtle deception that has for years been the source of dissension and strife throughout the Empire. It is his purpose to destroy the very institutions he purports to defend. So successful has he been that only in the last few days has the full sum of the damage he has done been known, and it will not redound to your credit if you continue to support him in his fell purpose. You have already had some indication of his true allegiance. You have seen the mark on his wrist that is in the same place as Brotherhood initiates have theirs. You cannot think this is an accident, no matter how adroitly he may have accounted for its existence. Surely you must have wondered before now what the meaning of it may be, and surely you know the answer.

His mask of patriotism hides secrets of such perfidy that they cannot be mentioned here. Suffice it to tell you that this treason is beyond question, which you may discover for yourself if you will but search out the Admiralty intelligence officer Angus McDonald and see what his efforts have uncovered. You will be given irrefutable proof that your self-proclaimed devoted civil servant is more dangerous than any number of spies. The activities of Mycroft Holmes are beyond question the result of deliberate treachery, and you will know this for the truth when you evaluate the material McDonald had gathered in this regard.

The loyalty you have reposed in this man has been misplaced. You have been the tool of a cynical, ruthless enemy, and because of him, you will be forced to share his ignominy unless you turn against him at once and demonstrate your character as a true subject of Her Majesty by revealing all you know of this man s activities to the officer who shall call upon you Monday evening at eight in the evening.

If you confide any of this to Mycroft Holmes, you will be known as his accomplice and nothing you do or say will spare you from sharing his fate, if he does not decide to be rid of you himself.

Believe me

One who is your friend

I must have read the letter three or four times, and yet it still made no sense to me. I thought of all Mycroft Holmes and I had discussed earlier that evening, and suddenly our recognitions became more sinister. Not that I doubted him—far from it—l was struck by the desperation of this attempt to subvert my dedication to my employer and all his work. “What a farrago of lies,” I expostulated at last. Even as I spoke, I began to ask myself if the writer intended I should believe, or if it was supposed to be an obvious trap, for the accusations were so overstated, surely it could not be expected by anyone that I would be convinced of their veracity? I began to mull the possibilities: the culprit actually planned that I would accept this passel of prevarications—that did not seem likely. Then was it assumed I would tell Holmes about this denunciation? That might be part of the plan, a way to draw him into a tangle of deception and peril that would surely hamper his ability to deal with the current list of obstacles in his path. If I decided not to tell him, to act on my own, what then? Might I not become mired in the same bog as it was hoped Mycroft Holmes would fall into? If I met with this Angus McDonald, what would I learn? Or was there an Angus McDonald at all? Might he not be a fiction created to lure an unsuspecting Scot into a trap that would end in ruining his employer’s career? The more I wrestled with the possibilities, the more confused I became. This I attributed to fatigue, and ordered myself to wash and go to bed, in the hope that a night’s sleep would restore the tone of my mind and sharpen my wits, so with these many unappealing hypotheses for company, I bathed, drew on my nightshirt, and got into bed, where I lay, fretting, for three hours and more, until exhaustion finally bludgeoned me into restless slumber.

I wakened no wiser than when I had closed my eyes. The one encouraging note of the morning was that the wind had abated, although it was still raining. I rose and shaved, doing my best not to think of the letter that had so disrupted my sleep. While I dressed, I finally resolved to show the letter to Mycroft Holmes first thing this morning, and to follow his advice regarding it. My decision did not do much to shore up my state of mind, but it did ease my apprehension to have come to a decision—any decision. I left the house promptly when it was lacking fifteen minutes of seven, my umbrella and portfolio in hand, and I was relieved to find Sid Hastings pulled up to the kerb to take me to Pall Mall. It was still raining, but in a steady, misty way; the wind had died down, and most of the street-lamps were still alight, and would be for another half hour.