Chapter Five: The Pride of Princes

Claridges of London was, as we arrived later that evening, abuzz as usual with the cream of visiting wealth and society to London. In its tasteful but beautifully appointed lounges and dining rooms, self made cattle and lumber barons from the United States of America -- sons of emigrants -- mixed with European nobility from families that could trace their roots back over a thousand years to Charlemagne and beyond.

However, even with such wealth and rank on show, it was vastly unusual for any one man to take over an entire floor of such a prestigious and expensive establishment as this hotel for his entourage. Such an act spoke volumes about both the status at which a man like Rajah Annand Mahindra considered himself to hold, and the depths of his silk lined pockets.

No doubt there were some in the foyers and lobbies of this hotel who deemed it to be typically ostentatious and in bad taste to be so overt with one's wealth and so arrogant of one's position as to flaunt it in front of both them and London as a whole, but it was, as Holmes clearly pointed out to me on our drive there from the Thurlow's home in Belgravia, precisely the statement that Mahindra wished to make.

The Rajah's bold and brash announcement of his arrival did two things -- it reminded everyone of his wealth, position, and friendship with the Queen, placing him in public scrutiny -- his every move watched, the most perfect of alibis -- and it kept him firmly in the mind of his target, Arthur Thurlow. This made it nigh on impossible for Thurlow to make any accusations against the Rajah without risking his own reputation and bringing down the wrath of the Palace and both Home and Foreign Offices against him.

As we approached the reception desk of Claridges, I could not help but notice the obvious impact Mahindra's arrival had had even on an establishment so used to foreign dignitaries and royalty…as beside the doors of one of the sumptuous lifts the hotel had installed stood an Indian guard, complete with turban.

"Yes, sir?" asked the desk clerk, raising his head to Holmes as we stopped by the long sweep of carved and polished mahogany that separated us. "May I help you?"

"Yes," Holmes replied, his glance drifting back from our Indian friend and the decidedly familiar looking curved blade he wore tucked into the tangerine silk sash that was tied around his strikingly brocaded cream tunic. "My name is Holmes, and this is my colleague Dr. Watson. We were wondering whether it might be possible for you to contact the suite of His Highness the Rajah Annand Mahindra, and ask whether he would be so good as to meet with us this evening?"

"Holmes?" The man's eyes widened suddenly, and his voice rose considerably. "Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

Holmes nodded briskly, slightly irritated at the sudden announcement of his presence and the several glances from those seated and standing in the foyer that it garnered. "Yes," he said, leaning slightly forward, "and I would be obliged if you were slightly more discreet about it."

The desk clerk, who went by the name of Simmons according to his nameplate, nodded quickly. "Of course. I am sorry, Mr. Holmes," he apologized quickly. "I should have realized that you would not wish to be known. I have read a great deal about your exploits, and am the most tremendous admirer of your work. You are here on a case, yes?" he asked eagerly.

Holmes sighed, shooting a narrow eyed look at me, and I could virtually read his thoughts as he laid the blame squarely for the wide-eyed adulation he was receiving firmly at my writing's feet. My friend had quite the ego, and did enjoy its being stroked and quite considerably, but the timing of it was everything with him.

"I am here," he said firmly, turning his attention back to the young clerk, "to see His Highness…Rajah Annand Mahindra." His eyes moved to the wires of the telephone switchboard behind the hotel employee, and the look and smile he received in return were almost conspiratorial. I tried desperately to hide my own budding smile as the young dark haired Simmons actually reached up and tapped the side of his nose in classic covert hush-hush style, and nodded, leaving Holmes staring at him in bafflement.

"Of course, Mr. Holmes," he breathed. "I understand…one moment." With a nod, he turned and went to take a seat in front of the huge vertical board that made up the internal telephone lines of the hotel.

"Watson," Holmes said, addressing me without turning his eyes from Simmons as he put on the headset and moved the plug switches around to get a connection to the Rajah's suite. "I believe I shall be taking an even keener interest in your writings from this point onwards…if I had wished such fan like reactions on my arrival, I would have remained an actor." He sighed long-sufferingly. "Something will simply have to be done about the overtly heroic style in which you write about me and our exploits."

I held in another chuckle and nodded, my reply solemn. "Of course, Holmes. You know you are quite welcome to edit my work and tone it down howsoever you see fit. Though, of course, people will find much to admire in you no matter what way I write you." I flattered him, knowing full well, of course, that Holmes had no intention of modifying my work one whit. The purple prose he continuously accused me of had, despite my efforts to disguise us, spread his fame far and wide, and it was doubtful he would ever jeopardize that.

The look he gave me was both arch and highly amused as he saw right through my ploy. "Really, Watson, you are the most shameful manipulator in your way."

This time I did laugh, chortling heartily until he quite suddenly grasped my arm, his hawkish eyes focused on something over my shoulder. "Watson," he said in lowered tones, "turn smoothly and unobtrusively, and look at the guarded lift."

Leaning slightly on the desk, I did just that, turning in time to see the turbaned guard bow his head quickly on the approach and arrival of a tall, slim, iron-grey haired man with chiselled features and a strong jaw, dressed immaculately in evening clothes. The guard, without question or hesitation, immediately opened the door to the lift to allow the Western man egress. The serious, strikingly clear blue eyes of the man met ours briefly before the guard closed the door, and the lift moved upwards towards the floor the Rajah occupied.

"Excuse me, Mr. Holmes?" the whispered, clandestine tones of Mr. Simmons addressed him from behind us, causing us both to turn to face his quite apologetic face. "I'm sorry, sir, but his Highness's secretary says that while his Highness is most intrigued at the prospect of meeting such a prominent personage as yourself while in London, his itinerary is such that it will be quite impossible for the Rajah to meet anyone until after his dinner engagement tomorrow night. He respectfully suggests nine-thirty for drinks upon his return to his suite?"

"I see…" Holmes straightened, looking down at reception desk in thought.

"What shall we do, Holmes?" I asked quietly. "This is hardly something we can just leave hanging."

Holmes glanced over at the lift again. "It is not something we appear to have much of a choice about, Watson," he replied. "Given the nature of the security around him, we can hardly storm the place, and I doubt very much that I could bluff my way in in disguise." His long fingers thrummed on the desk lightly as he remained silent for a moment. "Very well, Mr. Simmons," he finally agreed with a nod. "Tell His Highness we shall return tomorrow night."

"Yes, sir!" Simmons replied enthusiastically, turning to go back to the switchboard.

"A moment, Mr. Simmons…" Holmes stopped him in his tracks, and the desk clerk turned back hurriedly. "The lift…" my friend added, indicating it with a minute nod of his head, "I presume that has been appropriated for the sole use of His Highness and his entourage?"

"Yes, Mr. Holmes," Simmons replied, nodding with a slightly aggravated look on his face. "It really is quite unprecedented, and, to be honest, highly discommoding for the other guests. But, because of the Rajah's connections with Her Majesty and the insistence of the Diplomatic Corps of the Foreign Office, the management had to accede to his request. Even down to the turbaned Turk over there." He frowned with another flash of irritation. "It just isn't right to have an armed man in the lobby like that…there are ladies present, after all!"

Holmes nodded pensively before asking, "Tell me, Mr. Simmons, that tall, middle-aged, Western gentleman with the bearing of a soldier that entered unhindered into the lift a few moments ago, might you know who he is?"

"To be honest, sir," Simmons replied, glancing at the lift, "I didn't see the man you spoke of, but if you say he entered unhindered into the lift, then it was most probably Sir Richard Maddesley."

"Sir Richard Maddesley?" I queried him.

"Yes, Doctor," Simmons affirmed, flashing a smile at me that showed that I, too, was included in his circle of admiration, even if it were to a lesser degree than my colleague. "He is with the Foreign Office, located in India, I believe. He travelled over from India with His Highness especially. He has long time connections with the Rajah, and is the only white man allowed in or out of that lift without being thoroughly checked both by his nibs over there and his even more heavily armed counterparts at the other end of the lift."

"Is the Rajah expecting some kind of attack?" I asked with a frown, glancing at Holmes, as such behaviour was completely at odds with a friendly visit and very much in keeping with what was going on with the Thurlows. "Keeping all these armed guards seems a trifle mistrustful, especially for someone so well connected and well regarded by the crown."

Simmons nodded in agreement. "You're right, Doctor, and it's caused no end of problems with the staff, who highly resent being subjected to being searched every time they go to deliver food or change the linens and clean…especially by…" He paused, and sighed. "Well, sir, there are those on the staff who object to being treated that way by…men such as them."

"Indians," I inferred clearly, not really surprised by such a reaction.

Simmons merely nodded again before replying, "They don't take kindly to being treated as thieves or potential murderers in their own city by people most of them regard as…well…savages, sir…and while I don't hold any such opinions myself, Doctor, Mr. Holmes, to be honest, all this security is actually only fostering ill feeling. And no one has ever explained to us why it must be so."

"I can imagine it must be quite disconcerting," Holmes said quietly. "Thank you, Mr. Simmons. You have been most helpful."

Simmons's face brightened considerably. "Really?" he enthused, before remembering himself and sliding back into conspirator mode. "Of course, Mr. Holmes. Glad to be of service, and if there is anything else you need, you need only ask…anything to further the course of justice and the law." With a quick, quiet nod, the young man turned and moved back to the switchboard to confirm our appointment with the Rajah for tomorrow night.

Unable to hide another smile, I turned and walked with Holmes back through the foyer. "Well," I commiserated with him, "at least you have garnered yourself another informant and in such grand surroundings."

"Watson, I have had two far less conspicuous and excitable informants on the staff of Claridges for several years now," he pointed out with a sigh. "I knew about the lift and the guards since yesterday after making some enquiries."

"You do…you did?" I asked, glancing at him in surprise before shaking my head. "What am I saying, of course you did…always two steps ahead of the game, eh Holmes?"

"Hardly, Watson," he replied, reaching for his cigarette case and opening it. "I am still flummoxed on several points. Most notably, why the Rajah has holed himself up as if he were the one fearful of attack as opposed to Thurlow…and my informants told me yesterday that no Indian, male or female, of his entourage has left the hotel by either front or back door, save for the Rajah himself on State visits and shopping trips. So I have yet to figure out how Mr. Thurlow's mysterious assailant could have delivered his exceptionally pointed message straight to his office unseen. There are some pieces of the puzzle as yet unrevealed to us, as is the nagging suspicion that I am missing something obvious, and it is starting to annoy me greatly," he griped.

I nodded slowly, taking this in as we walked outside into the dark and Holmes indicated for the porter to bring up a cab for us. "Well…at least we know for certain it must be one of his men," I said, as Holmes lit up his Woodbine, and the smoke curled into the night air. "Did you see the blade the guard carried?"

"Yes," Holmes agreed, as the cab pulled up in front of us. "Virtually identical to the one Thurlow found."

Swinging around to face me suddenly, Holmes laid one hand on my arm and ushered me towards the cab. "Take this cab and return to Belgravia, Watson…there's a good chap, will you? I'd rather there be at least one of us on the premises tonight."

"What?" I asked with surprise, opening the door before he pushed me toward the cab in his zeal to send me on my way. "Where are you going?"

"To Baker Street," he answered as he guided me up the step and into the cab. "I have some researching to do and information I wish to gather," he added, as he closed the door behind me.

Turning and sitting, I looked out the window at him. "On what, Holmes?" I queried in mild exasperation as I was bundled off.

"I'll tell you in the morning, Watson…keep our charges safe during the night, and have breakfast ready for me, will you?" he called before walking over and signalling the cabbie to take off, while giving the horse a light slap on its rump. "Some toast and a lightly boiled egg, I think." There was an obvious smirk on his face as I passed by when the cab moved off, and the glow of his cigarette was the last glimpse I got of him as I headed back to the Thurlows' home.


I awoke the next morning feeling distinctly more refreshed than I had since before the constant business of the past two days had begun, and, after dressing and completing my toilet, arrived at the dining room with quite the keen appetite.

However, when I arrived, I was most surprised to find our host alone. The two places that had been set for his sons were noticeable for the cleanliness of the plates and lack of twin red-heads sitting at them.

Taking a seat on the opposite side, I enquired, "Are the boys well this morning?"

Mr. Thurlow looked up from his cooked breakfast and raised an eyebrow. "Good morning, Doctor...and yes, they are quite well. Quite well enough to pester me for ten minutes to eat breakfast with their sister..." he answered with a smile before returning his eyes to his plate. "It seems she made quite an impression on them last night. So after asking Helen whether they might be too upsetting for Alice, the boys are now currently ensconced with both ladies in the drawing room."

He gestured at the long sideboard full of silver bowls containing porridge and the like and the warmers containing the cooked food. "Help yourself, Doctor…help yourself."

"Thank you," I replied with gratitude, and, taking my plate with me, went over to dish some eggs, kippers, and bacon onto it.

He nodded in reply and returned to his breakfast. "I trust you slept well?"

"Quite well, thank you," I agreed, and headed back to my seat, proceeding to tuck into my food as quickly as decorum would allow.

"Will Mr. Holmes be joining us?" he asked, eying my food consumption for a moment before returning to his more measured intake. Feeling a hint of embarrassment, I slowed my pace, and nodded.

"Yes," I replied, as soon as my mouth was emptied. "He is doing some research at the moment, but should be joining us this morning."

"Good..." he intoned with a nod, looking up at me as he reached for the tea. "Harry should be back also, and hopefully with the documents I sent him out with yesterday notarised. I was hoping the four of us might sit down and talk. I would like to put some theories of my own in front of Mr. Holmes and yourself and..."

He was interrupted by the opening of the door and the sweep of crinoline over the floor as Ellen Thurlow entered the well appointed dining room. Her chin in the air, she swept her eyes over both her husband and me with equal disregard.

"Where are the boys?" she demanded.

Thurlow returned his eyes and his attention to his eating. "Having their breakfast," he answered, truthfully enough.

"Where?" she pressed, taking a step forward. "In their room?"

I turned my head to my plate as well, having no wish to get involved with more of the family politics...especially with that unpleasant woman.

"No..." her husband replied as he dissected the rasher on his plate, "in the drawing room."

"What?" Her voice went as hard and flat as flint itself.

Putting his knife and fork down carefully before taking his napkin from his lap and laying it over his plate, our client looked up at her. "The boys asked me for permission to breakfast with their sister...and I allowed them to."

"You what?" Her tone cut like a knife as she took a step forward, her hands grasping the back of one of the dining chairs. "You let my sons breakfast with that woman and her daughter?"

Thurlow rose to his feet slowly. "Her daughter," he said very deliberately, "happens to be mine also, Madam, and the boys' sister...and you would do well to remember that."

"Yours?" his wife scoffed. "Don't you play the proud Papa for me, Arthur. Her father...since when? You put her aside at the drop of a hat when I told you to!"

Thurlow's eyes narrowed instantly. "As you ask...since last night, when she and I had a long talk, and she agreed to allow me a second chance as her father." He barely paused as he drew himself up. "And while we're on the subject, I offered her and Alice everything they should always have had -- ten thousand a year, the house in St. Albans, proper medical care for Alice, and...access to her brothers."

If Arthur's eyes were narrow, his wife's stood out on stalks by the time he was done, her face alternately ashen, then flushing red with rage. "You did what?"

"You heard me, Ellen," he replied curtly and moved away from the table, heading towards the door. "That is my decision in the matter. What I settle upon them has nothing to do with you."

"Maybe not!" she spat at him. "But what my sons are exposed to has everything to do with me!" With a turn of her heel, she spun out the door before he could leave, her walk fiercely determined, and with a frown her husband followed after her.

Sensing that there would be some unpleasantness, I rose from my chair and hurried after them, hoping to be able to help with the situation should our client have need of it.

Ellen Thurlow marched to the sliding doors of the drawing room, and before her husband could reach her, flung them apart, her eyes blazing as they came to rest on her sons. "Matthew, Andrew! Out of there this instant!"

I watched in mortification as both of their normally smiling, happy expressions shifted rapidly into ones of resignation and a touch of fear, both of them wincing as one. However, in almost the time it took for a heart to beat once, Miss Thurlow rose to her feet and crossed the room. Grasping her stepmother's arm and forcibly pulling her from the room, she shut the door softly behind them.

"I would not have you make a scene and upset my mother, Madam," she said, her calm tone at odds with the flash of anger I saw for a moment in her eyes.

"How dare you!" the raven haired woman hissed at her. "How dare you lay hands on me in my own home!"

I glanced over to the main door, as it was opened and closed by Fagan's man on the outside, to see Holmes striding into the foyer. I then turned my attention back to the scene in front of me.

The younger woman merely crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow. "I believe that the drawing room was lent to us for our 'private' use?" she returned. "How dare you, Madam, barge in and upset a woman in such fragile health?"

"This, Miss Thurlow, is my home...and you are here only under my sufferance! Lent or not, it remains mine, and I will come and go in my own home as and when I see fit, and most especially when it comes to any point regarding my sons!" Mrs. Thurlow countered. "You and no other force on the face of this planet, let alone in my own home, will stop me from going to where they are!"

Helen Thurlow, to her credit, showed no sign of being perturbed. In fact, she remained as calm and clear as she normally presented herself. 'A real lady,' as Mrs. Hudson had put it.

"Of course," she replied. "I would be happy to send them out to you, but just as you are free to roam about your own home, I am free to see to my mother's needs...which your husband has assured me will be considered at all times and met."

Thurlow's wife spun around at that, her furious dark eyes landing on her husband. "Arthur," she demanded with a sneer, "you will enlighten your...daughter…just who is the mistress of this house and mother to your heirs, and what that means!"

Our client remained quiet for a moment, and then nodded at his wife before turning to his daughter. "Ellen is indeed the mother of my heirs and the mistress of this house with the free and complete run of it, especially when it comes to the consideration of her children," he told her gravely.

His eyes then shifted back to his wife. "Unless, I...as the Master of this house and their father...determine otherwise," he continued brusquely. "And at which point, her desires become subject to mine. I have given Helen and Alice that room as their private sanctuary, Ellen. It is off limits except by their invitation. You agreed to this last night, and Helen is perfectly correct…you should not have disturbed them. Kindly remember it was I who gave the boys permission to be in there with their sister...they were not kidnapped, nor are they in any peril. I said they could be there, and that is an end to it!" By the time he had finished, his voice had descended into a low, rumbling growl that many a sane man would have had great anxiety about crossing its bearer.

If Ellen Thurlow was angry before, she was nearly apoplectic with barely suppressed rage now. "End, Arthur? End?" she hissed once more like an angry serpent. "No, husband, this is not the end...merely the beginning...I promise you." The unmistakable threat in her words was evident as she marched over to him and glared at him in a fashion Medusa herself would have been proud of. "I would speak with you in private...now!" she barked and swept up the stairs, brushing past Helen disdainfully. Her departure was watched in silence by everyone below until she had turned the wide landing and disappeared.

"Well now..." Holmes said from his vantage point, his tone amused and sardonic, "I see there is barely a moment to draw breath in the Thurlow household. Is it always this bracing at breakfast time?"

Despite the threats levelled at him, Arthur Thurlow gave out a low chuckle. "Mr. Holmes...you do not know the half of it."

Miss Thurlow turned to her father with a most contrite expression on her face. "I do apologise, Father. It was not my intention to cross swords with your wife." She sighed softly. "And I do not wish to appear ungrateful for your generosity."

Walking over to her, her father placed his hands on her upper arms and shook his head. "Nor do you," he assured her, "for it is poor enough generosity considering. And it was, I'm afraid, Ellen and not you who went to battle first." He paused with a swift glance up the stairs. "We shall see if it shall escalate into a war," he mused to himself, before looking back at her. "Was...your mother...upset?" he asked hesitantly.

The young woman shook her head in reply. "No...I do not think she noticed, and I managed to get Mrs. Thurlow out quickly before any harm could be done. Though I do think your sons could use some reassurance from their father that all is well. They seemed to be the ones most affected."

He nodded and gazed intently at the doors, and there seemed there such a desire to pass beyond them to what lay on the other side that it forced him to look away. "You're right, of course. If you will send them out to me?"

"Of course, Father," she replied, giving his arm a gentle squeeze before quietly opening the door and slipping back inside. A moment later, she reappeared with a boy's hand in each of her own, and I could not help but notice how nervous their expressions and postures were, as if they feared they were about to be punished.

Their father took a deep breath and beckoned them to him.

"Boys, I should like to apologise for the interruption in your breakfast with Helen and her mother. Your mother was labouring under a misapprehension about your whereabouts. She should not have called you out, and I have spoken with her," he told them, noting their worried faces, and smiled encouragingly at them. "Cheer up, lads. You have done nothing wrong."

Andrew seemed to brighten a little at his father's reassurance, but glanced around nervously as though he was afraid his mother would re-form out of the shadows.

The door opened again at the hand of one of Mr. Fagan's men stationed outside, and Thurlow's handsome young assistant, Harry, arrived and nodded at his employer, raising the briefcase he held. Returning the nod, the businessman returned his gaze to his sons. "I have a lot of work to do today, and must speak to your mother, but to make this up to you...if Helen and her mother are willing, how would it be if you spent the rest of the morning and afternoon with them…until afternoon tea at least?"

Both sets of brown eyes widened, and though Matthew reigned in his excitement, Andrew appeared to be nearly bouncing on his toes with it. "Oh, can we?" he exclaimed.

"You must ask your sister politely," he instructed them. "It is not my decision to make. She may already be tired of you scallywags."

Matthew nodded and turned to his sister. "If you please, Helen, we would be very grateful if you might let us spend the day with you? We promise we shall both be on our best behaviour." He nudged his brother at the end, and I put a hand over my mouth to hide the smile as Andrew nodded his head so enthusiastically I thought for sure it would fly off!

Miss Thurlow, though, gazed at each boy penetratingly in turn, but one could see the definite twinkle in her eyes, and after a moment she smiled widely. "I do not see why not. My mother seems to take kindly to your presence, and I for one could use a good game of cards."

I glanced over at Holmes to gauge his reaction as the livelier of the pair appeared to barely keep from exploding in excitement. My colleague, for his part, was scrutinising Miss Thurlow and her handling of the boys closely, the top of his cane tapping lightly against his chin.

Matthew smiled broadly. "Thank you, Helen," he replied, before turning back to his father. "Thank you, Papa...will you join us when you are done working?" he asked him hopefully. "We could play four handed whist!"

Mr. Thurlow's smile faded a little at his son's request, and he looked from his daughter to the closed doors beyond them all again, clearly thinking on the woman who sat inside, before he looked back to his son. "No, Matthew...it's best if it's just you and Andrew," he said quietly. "I will see you all for afternoon tea." Patting his son on his shoulder and mussing the other's hair fondly, he gazed at Helen, unable to avoid glancing at the doors once more before he turned to walk upstairs after the woman who was now his wife.

Miss Thurlow's keen grey eyes followed her father as he climbed the stairs before turning to me and Holmes once more. "Would you both care to join us?" she asked with a small smile.

"Yes," Holmes replied quite briskly, surprising me at his willingness to be immersed in such a family scene. "I believe we shall. Especially if you are in possession of some tea?" he asked her. "I have not yet breakfasted..."

She gave him a quick nod of her auburn head. "The tea may no longer be very hot, but I can ring Goodwin for a fresh pot. And we have more than enough to eat," she assured him.

"Excellent!" he exclaimed, tapping his cane on the floor. "Then lead on, Miss Thurlow. Watson?" he summoned that enquiring manner of his, as he walked forward and past me towards the door.

Glancing over at me with a bemused glint in her eyes, the young woman opened the door and ushered the boys, Holmes, and me inside.


Authors' Note: Thank you all again for such kind reviews! And Hermione Holmes...I just want to say it made our day to be called 'exquisite!' And again to BaskervilleBeauty...thank you for such close reading! It really thrills us to no end that we are hitting the mark just right, and I hope we do not disappoint. Again, thank you to all that have read and/or reviewed...it means a great deal. -- Aeryn (or aerynfire)

Addendum -- January 6th, 2006: Thank you so much to our beta reader, D'arcy (aka Savageland), for her editing of this chapter. We are very grateful.