Chapter Eight: The Serpent's Tooth
The cab blazed through the darkened streets of London, the horses' hooves clattering on the road outside as I braced myself against the lurching of the cab's movement, the cabbie having laid the horses flat out on Holmes's exhortation that it was a matter of life and death that we reach Belgravia as soon as conceivably possible.
"I don't understand, Holmes," I exclaimed as the cab rocked wildly on cornering, leaving angry voices trailing behind us. "If Hant…or whoever he is…wanted to kill Arthur Thurlow, why hasn't he done so before now? He has had plenty of opportunity working for him all this time."
"Why?" Holmes repeated, his eyes grimly ahead of us. "I would imagine, firstly, because his grandfather instigated this and Hant needed to work within his rules so as not to be seen to overtly disobey him, as well as having to wait for his grandfather's arrival from India, and, secondly, remember his private aim…an eye for an eye…a tooth for a tooth…a daughter for a daughter…"
"Miss Thurlow," I exhaled, my stomach lurching at the thought that he was there at this moment with her. "Of course, he had to find her! Even his employer didn't know of her whereabouts, what with no contact between Arthur Thurlow and his first family, and no money being paid to Alice Thurlow and her daughter…there was no trail paper or otherwise for him to follow."
Holmes nodded in agreement. "Precisely. He would have had to have embarked on a search for her himself, as well as make enquiries, and considering he had to wait for his grandfather to initiate the challenge, to strike at Miss Thurlow before then would have left a trail right back to him that could have easily been discovered…and certainly would have alerted his main target. No, far easier to threaten her, and let Thurlow find her and bring her in. Two targets close together are a great deal easier for a viper to strike at. Kill one and the other is almost certainly removed from him, and he wanted both."
"And while everyone's attention is focused outwards to stop the attacker getting in," I concluded, "he, as the trusted aide, already has absolute access to both of them."
Holmes gave another snort of disgust. "I can't believe I overlooked the possibility of a child. Yet as soon as you said it, Maddesley's eyes, blue and piercing, flashed right through my mind."
"Blue and striking…just like Hant's," I agreed, before continuing with a more consoling tone, "Not surprising, old man. After all, when one thinks of the son of an Indian Princess, one does not tend to think of pale skin and blue eyes…he most definitely takes after his father."
"I did not think of a son at all, Watson, that is what bothers me," he growled with a shake of his head. "I have let myself become distracted by the more…domestic and emotional aspects of the Thurlows' situation. My attention has not been what it should be." His expression grew even darker. "However, I fear that we have given him precisely the opportunity he has been waiting for. Up to this point, he has had no real moment to strike at both of them simultaneously as he required. He was sent away on legal errands the night we brought Miss Thurlow here, and we have been with the family every moment since then…"
"Until now," I breathed, my stomach tightening even further.
Holmes nodded brusquely. "And with him knowing about the letter I have left for his grandfather, he knows now is the only time he has to strike before the Rajah reels him back in."
"Dear God, Holmes," I whispered, shaking my head in almost mute horror. "Miss Thurlow."
Holmes remained utterly silent as the carriage barrelled onwards towards Belgravia.
As we reached Number 12 Belgrave Square, all seemed silent -- the guard outside the door and the casually placed Irregulars that were in sight, all decidedly unperturbed, at least until they caught sight of our cab thundering towards the house and sliding to a halt.
Opening the door, Holmes and I made to run into the house when we were frozen by the sound of a woman's terrified scream, which was silenced all too abruptly.
"No!" I cried, reaching for my revolver as Holmes raced through the door hastily opened by the guard posted there, who followed us rapidly inside. Dashing in behind him, I was vastly relieved to see Miss Thurlow and her mother in the foyer, the drawing room doors flung open behind her, as people came running from every direction in the house, including Mr. Fagan, who raced down the stairs three at a time with two of his men behind him.
My relief, however, was immediately tempered by the realisation as to where Miss Thurlow was heading, as, with a head start on everyone, she made straight for the source of the scream, throwing open the door to her father's study.
"No, Miss Thurlow!" Holmes called, charging after her as she swept right into the undoubted heart of danger.
Racing in after Holmes, I skidded to a halt as the horror of the drama playing out before us sank in. Arthur Wendell Thurlow lay dead on his desk, the blood pooling around his head and slumped body, and his wife, Ellen dead on the floor in front of him.
"No!" the anguished voice of the man's daughter cried out. Heedless of any danger she dashed to her father's side, her mind not registering yet that all was hopeless.
Holmes made a grab for her but missed, and a hair's breath of a moment later, the open door was rammed into him, sending my colleague staggering back into me. A flash of grey and the man we had known as Harry Hant bolted across the room, grabbing Helen Thurlow just as she reached her father's side, and, taking hold of her and swinging around, secured her in front of him, the blood stained khukuri, with which he had done the merciless deeds, pressing into her throat.
"Back..." he hissed, his blue eyes, once warm and friendly, now icy as he eyed the queue of armed and ready men near the doorway. "Get back, or she'll join her father in whatever afterlife you believe in!"
Regaining my balance behind Holmes, I did my best to keep a clear head as my eyes fixed on the young woman now held hostage, who managed to bite back a cry of pain as the dagger bit into her neck. "How can you do this?" she gasped, her eyes fixed on her father's body.
Holmes, once recovered, moved not back but sideways, allowing those behind, myself included, egress to the room. Stepping to the far side, I in similar vein allowed Mr. Fagan access, and he slipped in along with one of his men, leaving another in the hallway with Mrs. Thurlow.
"Let her go, Your Highness..." Holmes replied in a calm voice. "You have taken your revenge and an innocent life to boot." He paused and gestured quickly to the body of Ellen Thurlow with a flick of his cane, though his eyes never left Hant's. "There is nothing more to be gained from further bloodshed."
"I said, get back!" he exclaimed, his eyes watching every movement carefully. Tightening his grip, his knife pressed harder against his hostage's throat, causing Holmes to cease all movement instantly.
"Kill her," my friend continued quietly, "and you will have not only subverted your grandfather and, no doubt, your father's intent...but you will have dishonoured your mother's memory." His gaze was careful but scrutinizing. "Do you think such a noble woman would have wanted the blood of innocents shed for her, Your Highness?"
I watched Miss Thurlow's eyes widen as the pieces fell into place in her mind, but she inhaled sharply as the knife bit her once more.
"You will not speak of my mother!" Hant growled, his hold on her tightening, causing her to wince in pain. "None of you are worthy."
"Why? None of us have the blood of a mother on their hands," Holmes countered, eliciting a stunned blink from Hant. "Upstairs," he continued as quietly as before, "there are two young boys now orphaned. You lost your mother...a devastating loss for any child even as one as young as you surely were when it happened, Your Highness. But, tonight...tonight, in your blind strike for vengeance rather than justice, you have not only taken their father, who, no matter what you thought of him, they loved dearly...but their mother too." His eyes bore intensely into the young man's; his tone direct. "You have orphaned them...done to them on the double what was done by half to you.
"Your grandfather sought redress. He sought balance. He wanted his daughter's honour restored in an honourable fashion in the only way he felt was open to him in the absence of a trial...a fair fight...something akin to justice at least. But you...you have merely perpetuated the cycle of violence, sir!" he accused. "What next, Your Highness? Do you kill their sister too? Do you try to go upstairs and slaughter them both as well?"
"What? No!" Hant cried defensively. "I would not hurt the boys! That was never my intent!"
"No..." Holmes shot back, "but that is what you have done all the same. Done to them what was done to you...even if, by some miracle, you escape this place and us, what then? Will you return to India and wait for them to grow up, become men...and in their hatred of you...seek you out, plot their revenge, and take it out on you and all those that you love? More blood! More death!"
"He deserved to die!" Hant roared defiantly.
"Maybe. But she?" my colleague pressed, indicating Ellen Thurlow's body ahead of him.
Hant's eyes flickered. "I had not intended for that to happen," he admitted. "She burst in as I was...as I..." His gaze shifted to the body of Arthur Thurlow before he then shook himself and continued, "She saw me…I had to do something!"
"But you weren't quick enough. She screamed before you could stop her, and now you are trapped," Holmes pointed out. "A life wasted for nothing."
"Aye..." Mr. Fagan murmured from behind me, "you'll swing for sure."
Hant laughed suddenly, a most disturbing sound in a room full of tension and death. "Swing?" he scoffed. "I won't swing. I won't even stand trial for this...just as he didn't for my mother's death. My grandfather and his connections will see to that. You see…" A smirk formed on his lips. "The same things that kept Arthur Thurlow safe from our prosecuting him when we found him, his wealth, connections, position, and the upheaval of a public trial both here and in India, will be the very same things that will keep me from ever seeing the inside of a court." He moved himself and Miss Thurlow slightly, taking care to keep her well in front of him. "Your courts will not be able to touch me for the scandal that would touch your Queen, whom my grandfather took tea with today! England herself cannot afford the humiliation of admitting that a much celebrated business power and increasing influence in the economic well being of the Empire is complicit in slave trading, rape, and the death of a princess…and cannot afford it becoming public that they did nothing for the repercussions it would have in India.
"As for my grandfather, he will be angry with me, certainly, for disobeying him, but I could not let the chance for vengeance slide by simply to satisfy some outmoded convention of honour that would only have protected the man we sought! Warn him, and Thurlow could have gone to ground for years! He will understand in the end, and I will be protected, not just by him, but by your own government!" he sneered.
"No matter what he thinks of my methods, I have done what was intended. The men responsible for my mother's death are dead. Balfour escaped me, but I used that to my advantage, used my language skills and connections to forge a background and credentials and become Harry Hant, and took up the position in the heart of my enemy's fortress. I became his trusted advisor, and then, after checking through his records, confirmed once and for all to my grandfather that he and my father were right…this was the man we sought," he voiced with a hint of pride.
"As you say," my colleague responded, nodding slowly. "But no matter what way you dress it up, you have slithered into the hearth of your target, rather than attempted to challenge him properly as you were instructed. Did your father and grandfather even know that you had done any of this? Do they know you usurped their plans, and acted like a snake rather than a warrior, merely to gain an unfair advantage?" Holmes jibed much to my worry, as I, fearing for Hant's hostage, hoped he would not drive him too far.
The young man's face darkened. "He deserved no advantage. He murdered my mother."
"No..." Holmes replied, "he may have been responsible for her death, but he shared that responsibility with the men who sold her into slavery, the men your grandfather was at war with. And war, no matter what may men may dress it, has never been an honourable thing." His voice gradually grew louder with every word. "It was she who took her own life...took it to stop any further degradation of her honour, any further loss of her pride both for herself and her family name, while you, her son, threw away his honour and pride by ignoring his family, threatening and actually murdering innocent women!" he fired at him, and it seemed Holmes's words shook Hant as the truth of that statement struck home.
However, Miss Thurlow's eyes again widened, and her expression became most anxious as she gazed behind me. Looking back over my shoulder, I was startled to find the young woman's mother wandering around from behind me into the room, singing softly but audibly, "Three blind mice. Three blind mice. See how they run. See how they run. They all ran after the farmer's wife, who cut off their tails with a carving knife...have you ever seen such a sight in your life, as three blind mice."
She paused for a moment as she emerged fully into the open, and saw the grizzly scene before us, her eyes lingering on the body of her former husband. "Nevermore," she whispered, before turning her eyes to where her daughter was being held by knifepoint. "Someone's been a very naughty boy," she admonished quietly.
Hant watched her carefully, already agitated by Holmes's badgering, her oddly serene babblings unnerved him even more. "Get her out of here," he murmured, his eyes on her.
Miss Thurlow's eyes met Holmes's, her gaze shifting between him and her mother as a signal to him to remove her. "Please," she gasped out to him.
Holmes took a step forward, but not towards Mrs. Thurlow. "What now, Your Highness? Will you take the next step and slaughter a child in front of her mother?"
"Get back!" Hant shouted, his eyes drawn back to my friend as he moved slightly closer. "Do as she says...get her out of here!" He glanced back at the altogether unpredictable Mrs. Thurlow.
"Or what, your Highness?" Holmes asked. "You know as well as I do that this woman also suffered at the hands of Arthur Thurlow, as did the one you are threatening right now. Will you kill her daughter and compound both their suffering to an even greater degree?"
I watched the older woman wander closer to the pair on the far side of the room. "Helen...who's the nice boy?" she asked, her voice vague and dreamy. "Has he come for tea? It's not nice to play pirates without your brothers, you know."
"Get back!" Hant yelled again but this time at Mrs. Thurlow. "Get back! I'm warning you, I'll hurt her!"
She paused mid step and gazed at him, her amber eyes staring into his. "Now that is not the way a nice young man talks to a lady," she admonished. "If you can not play nicely, perhaps you should play by yourself for a while, young man."
As Hant tightened his grip on her daughter, the hand with which he held the knife moved towards Alice in a warning gesture. It was a tiny move, minute, but it was enough to take the knife away from the throat of his captive, and in that moment, Holmes inched forward just enough for his cane to move into range. Raising it, he brought it down hard on the young man's hand, knocking it further away from his victim before he dived in and grabbed the knife arm with one hand, shoving Helen Thurlow savagely away from her assailant as hard as he could with the other as he started to wrestle with Hant.
My gun arm was raised in a moment, but between Miss Thurlow's staggering form and Holmes tangling with Hant, there was no clean shot to be had. Mr. Fagan beside me, however, took a far more direct avenue of attack, charging across the blood stained floor to help Holmes. As it happened though, Holmes slammed Hant's hand hard into the painting that hung on the wall...the cottage in Somerset...the glass shattered, cutting the young man and causing him to drop the knife. A moment later, Holmes's other hand closed into a fist and cut across the young man's jaw in what was the best right hook I ever saw him throw.
It was Hant's turn to stagger and, a moment later, Mr. Fagan and his man were on top of him, grabbing either arm and restraining him as he continued to struggle wildly.
Seeing him secured, I turned to the women to find Mrs. Thurlow helping her daughter to her feet, her arms wrapped securely around the younger woman, while glancing over to the struggle as if to make sure the danger had passed. It was now I noticed with a faint sense of amazement that the vague, hazy look had almost disappeared from her gaze, though there was the hint of a dreamy undertone still in her amber eyes. Miss Thurlow, however, was trembling noticeably, though valiantly attempting to stay strong.
Noting they were safe, I hurried over to my colleague's side, my revolver at the ready.
Holmes turned from the struggling young man, who was being strongly admonished by the two men restraining him for not behaving himself, and warning him that if they were not in the presence of ladies rougher justice would have been handed out, and, looking at his fist, flexed it rather gingerly with a frown. "I believe I may have rather badly bruised this," he commented quietly.
I shifted my attention from my evaluation of the struggle to check on Holmes's hand, and, handing him my revolver so as to free up my own, I took his injured one in both of mine and gave it a quick examination. "I think you are most certainly right, old man. This will need ice and a bandage as soon as possible," I told him bluntly, noting the knuckles were already beginning to swell, before taking my revolver back.
"As soon as possible, after we decide what we are to do with our prisoner," he agreed, glancing back and then moving to Alice and Helen Thurlow. "Miss Thurlow, you are well?" he enquired, to which she nodded briskly back in reply with a handkerchief pressed under the curve of her right jawbone where her attacker had managed to break the skin.
"Then I suggest you and your mother depart this scene at once," he said gently, as I noted both of the women were taking great pains not to look at the bodies near them. "I think you have both been through enough trauma this evening." He paused as he turned to regard Mrs. Thurlow. "Though I thank you greatly for your help, Mrs. Thurlow. You were an invaluable aid in a most troubling situation." He inclined his head respectfully, and, to my increasing awe, the older woman returned the gesture before starting to lead her daughter, who was also rather stunned at the transformation, from the room.
Before they could reach the door, however, there was something of a commotion outside in the foyer, and, in the next moment, the remaining members of Mr. Fagan's crew and some of the Irregulars, who had entered the foyer to see what was going on, were surrounded by a bizarre mixture of Indian native guards and police officers in tandem.
By the time the two women reached the doorway, they were blocked by a tall man standing in it, a man Holmes and I immediately recognised as Sir Richard Maddesley.
"Father!" Hant called out, commencing to struggle once more, but when he went to speak again, Maddesley silently stepped aside, and this time, the women were faced with the imposing figure of Rajah Annand Mahindra, a man of eighty plus years, but six feet tall and healthily robust. He filled the doorway as he took in the carnage in front of him before turning his gaze to his grandson.
"Release him!" he ordered Fagan and his man in the tones of a man not used to being disobeyed, his long white beard brushing against the cream and gold embroidered Indian coat he wore.
Fagan, however, stood firm. "And who might you be?" he quizzed.
"He..." answered a third voice coolly from behind the Rajah, who moved into the room, revealing a man I recognised as Lord Lucas Fairfax, private secretary to the Prime Minister, "is His Highness the Rajah Mahindra...and you, sir, will do as you're told."
Mr. Fagan, to his credit, merely looked at Holmes, who gave a nod of confirmation, and a moment later Hant was released.
Lord Fairfax glanced behind him. "Inspector," he called, "clear everyone but the family, Mr. Holmes, and his colleague from the residence at once."
A couple of minutes later, Fagan, his men, and the Irregulars were taken from the house to be corralled outside by the police beyond the environs of Belgrave Square.
Though Hant had been momentarily exultant, his smugness faded somewhat under the gaze of his father and grandfather. "Grandfather," he started, stepping forward.
"What have you done, Vikram?" The Rajah cut him off, staring at the body of Ellen Thurlow.
After a moment's hesitation, his grandson pointed at the body of our late client. "I have avenged my mother, your daughter," he announced, before looking over at his father. "Your wife!"
The Rajah's dark brown gaze rose up from the dead woman to the body of the man he had sought to challenge, and he walked forward slowly, watching as Arthur Thurlow's blood seeped across his desk and onto the floor.
Miss Thurlow's face grew even paler as her own gaze was compelled in the same direction, her poise beginning to fail at the sight of her father's blood dripping onto the carpet. Her mother's arm, already wrapped tightly around her, gave her a reassuring squeeze as her dreamy gaze took on a very clear and sorrowful aspect.
The elderly monarch looked up at his grandson, his voice a harsh whisper. "This was not how it was supposed to be, Vikram. This was to be a private matter! It was agreed by all at the very highest levels. We could not try him in court and cause havoc in the Empire with the repercussions, so we were to seek justice our way. Justice!" he boomed, before his fist hammered on the desk. "Not slaughter!"
"It was all the same, Grandfather!" the young man replied. "It is hypocrisy to pretend otherwise. He was a dead man. They…" he paused as he nodded towards Fairfax and the police who stood behind him, "would never have let you be killed by him. Therefore, they signed his death warrant as well as any court! All this talk of honour was futile! All that would have happened is that he would have been even harder to get at...longer to kill...I would not...could not wait anymore. I wanted vengeance..."
"You wanted..." the Rajah growled, as he straightened. "You wanted...you wanted his death and her death too!" He pointed a long bejewelled finger at Miss Thurlow. "What had she to do with it, except what you deemed she had? You...this was never about you, Vikram. Never about what you lost or what was taken from you. This was about your mother...always about your mother!" He stopped as his anger grew more palpable with every word, and turned to gaze at everyone in the room. "You will leave us. I would talk to my grandson and son-in-law alone."
Lord Fairfax looked at the women in front of him and stepped aside. "Ladies?" he said perfunctionally, before showing them the way out.
The crowd soon filed out after them, leaving only the police, the Rajah's guards, myself, Holmes, and the two ladies in the foyer, before being joined by Lord Fairfax, who sighed, looked at his pocket watch, and then took a seat in the hall looking rather bored.
"My condolences, ladies, on your loss," he said to the two women after looking around and then focusing on the silent quartet in front of him. "Although as I understand it, you may be rather pleased by the outcome of tonight's events. The man was, after all, no gentleman." He sighed lightly almost in relief. "A fact I'm grateful for, as to have to organise this and take out a man of breeding would have distressed us far more."
I watched as the pale, trembling form of Helen Thurlow seemed to harden instantly as she turned to face the peer and high level civil servant. "Sir, how dare you say such a thing! That man was my father, and no matter what my feelings are towards him or his wife, no one...no one...deserves to be murdered!" she retorted forcefully. "I loved my father, despite his sins, and need I mention that he and his wife have two boys upstairs that have just lost their mother and father in one fell swoop. I would be very obliged if you watched what you said in this house."
It seemed the stubborn and defiant spirit of Arthur Thurlow would indeed live on in his daughter as she attempted to put one of the foremost men in London in his place, while still retaining her civility and clarity.
Lord Fairfax, though somewhat taken aback, still showed appalling manners and breeding by merely nodding, eschewing any kind of apology whatsoever.
"I presume, Lord Fairfax," Holmes voiced coldly from where he stood near Mrs. Thurlow, "that what the Prince Vikram said is accurate. We will not see justice done for tonight's crimes."
The older woman, who had been gazing around the room as if she had just noticed it for the first time, turned her own intense amber gaze to the secretary to the Prime Minister.
"Crimes, Mr. Holmes?" Fairfax responded with a faintly puzzled air. "There were no crimes performed tonight...only justice was carried out."
"Justice," Holmes spat. "Is that what it is called? And what of Ellen Thurlow? What of her murder."
Fairfax exhaled heavily, but only shrugged. "An unfortunate accident...most unfortunate."
Miss Thurlow's face darkened with each word. "Justice? Accident? How can you be so cavalier with your words, sir! That," she stressed, pointing her finger to the door, "is not justice. A court and trial by his peers is justice. Having your throat cut after being hunted down and being terrorized along with your family is most certainly not! Even the Rajah seems to know that!"
"Perhaps..." Fairfax replied, rising to his feet, "but he will deal with his grandson in his own way. Your father's death and that of his wife will be in the paper tomorrow...a tragic but terrible carriage accident...something the State mortician will back up with his death certification." He brushed down his jacket with an unconcerned air. "As was agreed upon."
I could not tell in that moment if she was livid or stunned into silence. Though I sympathised with her completely, I had had the suspicion that this was what would occur since we found that our man was the grandson of the Rajah and connected so closely to the Royal family.
His eyes moved over us all before turning back to the bereaved daughter. "There was more at stake here than just one family or even two, Miss Thurlow. Your father had achieved what he had set out to. He was a renowned figure, a great man...prominent in business and increasingly influential in government circles. We could not afford the scandal and division a trial with such tasteless and scandalous details would have brought about. It would have caused upheaval and unrest both here and in India. It is but thirty years since the great Indian Mutiny, and India is enough of a tinderbox as it is. So rather than risk that, we acceded to His Highness's request that this be dealt with...privately. You, of course, were not meant to be included in the agreed upon terms...nor was Mrs. Thurlow, the late Mrs. Thurlow, I mean. We shall have to see about recompensing your brothers somewhat," he added with an annoyed sigh.
The young woman's expression rapidly shifted from anger to being completely appalled. "My brothers..." she whispered, turning to me and my friend, her voice filled with concern. "What is to become of them?"
Holmes glanced at me before approaching her. "After you left afternoon tea earlier today, Miss Thurlow," he began quietly, "your father took us into his confidence. It appears that he drew up and had notarised all that he had promised you and your mother would have by right -- the money, extra for medical needs and whatever else came up, and the house in St. Albans...but...he also told us that he had changed his will. He informed us that, should anything happen to him, it was his decision that you and his wife would share custody of the boys equally." Holmes gave her a small if wry smile. "He felt you could provide warmth that she could not."
She stared at him in complete shock, her mind valiantly trying to reconcile another surprise, before she stammered, "He...the boys...they're mine?"
"With the death of their mother too...yes, I imagine they are," he confirmed with a quick nod of his head.
Her eyes widened to the size of saucers, and a hand flew to her mouth. She appeared to me, to be almost about to collapse, but her mother again appeared at her side and slid a steadying arm around her. Once again, I found Mrs. Thurlow's transformation to be increasingly remarkable, and I hoped, for her daughter's sake, that it was permanent and not just the result of being startled out of her depression by adrenaline and shock. After a moment, the young woman managed to collect herself enough to ask my companion in a voice that was almost a whisper, "Will there be no justice for him and Ellen?"
Holmes glanced at Fairfax, who looked away with blatant disinterest, and, on turning his penetrating gaze back to her, his manner was stiff and uncomfortably apologetic. "Not in this world, Miss Thurlow," he replied before taking in both women. "I am sorry."
She swallowed and glanced at her mother, who had a slight frown on her face. "I see...then I shall have to trust in Heaven's judgement," she replied, her voice soft but regaining strength as I saw her glance toward the stairs. "I must...I must speak with my brothers. They will have heard the commotion, no doubt, and will be concerned."
Just then the door to the study flew open, and the Rajah exited into the hallway and stopped to look at Fairfax as he moved to him. "Our business here is done," he said forcefully. "My grandson and I shall return home, where he shall be properly admonished for his behaviour."
Turning around, he focused his attention on the two women. "I am sorry for the threat you have lived under for this past while and for the death of the mother of his other children. My grandson has dishonoured us, and I will see to it that recompense is made...something towards their education, perhaps," he offered stiffly.
Sir Richard Maddesley, his son by his side, stepped out after the Rajah and frowned slightly at his father-in-law's words. "Your Highness..." he said quietly, "perhaps it would be best if we departed."
Mrs. Thurlow stared at the Rajah with her wide far-away looking eyes, while her daughter seemed to stiffen a little, obviously biting back what she truly wanted to say in an attempt to keep her decorum in the face of a royal personage. She glanced over at both Holmes and myself for guidance.
"Your Highness..." Homes cut in, taking a step forward, "up to this point, I have been an admirer of your strong sense of honour and adherence to tradition. However, blood money has long since ceased to be an acceptable way of dealing with one's mistakes. I fear you only insult the ladies with such recompense. No amount of money will, in their view, recompense Miss Thurlow for the loss of her father and the boys for the loss of their parents."
The Rajah frowned and glanced towards Sir Richard, who nodded gently to affirm Holmes's words. "I see," the white haired old man responded. "I apologise for the insult. I sought only to appease for the damage done. It is as Richardji says...we shall leave, and you will see us no more." He glanced at his grandson. "Come, Vikram."
The elderly monarch, the man we had known as Harry Hant, and the Indian guards around us left quickly...leaving only Sir Richard behind. His hands clasped behind his back, he approached the women and inclined his head slowly. "I wish you well in the future, ladies. I am sorry for what you have been forced through; that was never our intent...we sought only justice for my late wife." He paused and gazed intently at Miss Thurlow. "Perhaps you will tell your brothers, should tonight's deeds inflame in them to a similar reaction as my son's in the future...what kind of outcomes can manifest themselves in doing so." With another nod of his head, he walked grimly from the room.
Miss Thurlow watched him leave, a pensiveness to her eyes though they were vibrant in their anger and sorrow, while her mother turned her head to the stairs. "Little ears," she said softly, when she caught me gazing at her.
Lord Fairfax watched after the departing dignitaries, and then turned to the Inspector at the door. "Inspector, take four men and remove the bodies to the morgue, please," he ordered, waving a hand towards the study. "Then return to the Yard, and file your report on the accident." The Inspector sent two men out immediately for stretchers as Fairfax walked to the women.
"Miss Thurlow, Mrs. Thurlow...your cooperation in this matter is appreciated by Her Majesty's Government," he said cordially, and looked around with such smugness that I longed to strike him. "Your silence will save lives, I assure you. After all, isn't the defence and safe keeping of the Empire in all our hands?" he continued, drawing himself up. "One man...one woman...for the lives and financial well being of so many others...a fair sacrifice."
Miss Thurlow said nothing to him, but Mrs. Thurlow's eyes met his, an anger and perceptiveness in them that almost dispersed the remnants of the fog that still resided within that amber gaze. "The truth will out...the truth will out..." she sing-songed.
Her daughter glanced at her and sighed, shaking her head. "There is no fairness in any of this, sir, and I'm afraid you will never convince me otherwise. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to explain to two little boys why their Papa will never read to them again, nor their mother kiss them goodnight."
With a slight shrug, Lord Fairfax gave another nod and wandered away. "Gentleman, I shall be in touch," he said, giving both Holmes and myself cursory glances as he departed, while the Inspector and his men moved into the study to take charge of their grisly haul.
About five minutes later, Ellen Thurlow's body, covered in a sheet, was carried out and taken via the back to the servant's entrance and the waiting police carriage.
Unwilling to wait and see her father removed, the young woman turned to Holmes and me. "I bid you both goodnight, Mr. Holmes...Dr. Watson. I...I must go speak with my brothers." Her eyes flitted to the study door nervously. "Will I see you both at the funeral?"
Holmes nodded in silence, as did I, and, with a quick nod of her own, she turned briskly to climb the stairs. Her mother waited a moment behind and held out her hand to my friend silently. As he gently accepted it, she took as step closer to him and whispered something I could not hear in his ear, before releasing his hand and making her way to her daughter's side, her arm finding its way around her daughter's waist in comfort.
A minute later, the larger body of Arthur Thurlow, the man who had sought greatness all his life, and whose increasing greatness had ultimately ensured his death at the hands of the State he lived in, followed out into the foyer. His hand slipped down off the stretcher as they walked; the imposing figure of a man too large for that which bore him away.
On the landing despite her flight, Miss Thurlow turned as soon as his body passed through the hall, watching the white sheet disappear around the corner, it too on its way to the back doorway, her eyes full of heartache and loss, while beside her her mother looked away, unable to watch.
Holmes also watched quietly as they carried out our now former client. "Ultimately, it all seems rather futile, Watson...what you strive for, hope for, live for...in the end, it seems no matter what, you end up alone."
I turned my gaze from the young woman, who was still staring into the now vacant hallway, and back to my friend. "It does not have to be so, old man," I told him, making a solemn inner vow that it would not be so for me.
He shook his head. "It does if you wish to be remembered, it seems," he inhaled quietly. "Let us leave, Watson. I would like to get home."
I nodded quietly and walked in measured steps to the door, turning at the open entryway when I noticed that my friend was no longer at my side.
Remaining behind for a moment, Holmes glanced up the staircase at the two women there and inclined his head to each in turn, his eyes finding the younger of the two and holding them. She for her part gazed back, and I got the vague feeling there was a meeting of the minds taking place before he turned on his heel and swept out the door, a most grim expression on his face. After giving each of the ladies a nod of my own, I followed him into the muggy, late summer night.
Authors' Notes: Thank you all again for all the wonderful reviews and hope you find this chapter and the epilogue (which I shall post at the same time) a satisfying end to our mystery. Indeed, we have both tremendously enjoyed it!
Just one quick note for JA Lowell - may we first say that we adore (really and truely) that you love the story and your seriously indepth reviews! In fact, we appeciate how you were so early on able to conclude who the killer was before Holmes! Now moving on to The Raven...nope...this wasn't a hammer hit over the head about our killer...heh. Actually, the fact you mentioned that gave us a chuckle indeed. Actually, it is my favorite poem and details the decent into a madness caused by grief...parallel Alice Thurlow here. So purely face level there... However, her comments to Holmes about 'nevermore'...not so straight forward...we know what they mean...but read what you will...and no...it's nothing to do with the killer or mystery. Heh...
Till later, and again, thank you, everyone for reading and/or reviewing! -- Aeryn (of aerynfire)
