Truth or dare – Part 6

Harriet:

Next morning I woke up to an empty bed as Sherlock had already left but I had not finished my admittedly rather late breakfast when there was a knock on our front door and Jane walked into the house.

"Mr Holmes says, you are to come over to Baker Street, while I am to take care of the child, Madam." she curtsied with a wry smile on her face.

I looked at her in surprise. This seemed very much like my husband had made some progress in his case and I was curious as to what he had found. Finishing my toast I quickly got dressed and within ten minutes was on my way towards Baker Street where I found my husband pacing up and down the length of his living room, deep in thought.

Knowing better than to disturb him, I sat down in one of the armchairs in front of the fireplace, waiting patiently. It was not before long, that there was a ring on the doorbell and a moment later Tom, who must have come here with my husband brought in a young man of not more than five and twenty. He had an arrogant air, was dressed like a dandy and had a decided swagger about him.

"Mr Holmes." he tipped his immaculate top hat, before taking it off, disposing it on our dining table.

"Mr Fairchild, I greatly appreciate your coming here."

"I thought I had made it sufficiently clear yesterday, that I know nothing about the matter you seemed so concerned about for whatever reason."

"You did. But this does not mean I had to believe you." Sherlock replied calmly.

Fairchild looked down his nose in disdain as he glanced around the room in all its comfortable disarray, from my husbands cluttered desk to the table with his chemical experiments to the well-used armchairs of which I occupied one.

"And the lady?" our visitor enquired, his eyes glancing at last sceptically at me.

"The lady is just as much involved in the murder case of Miss Adams as I am."

The man just huffed before sitting down before having been asked to do so. There was an air of defiance about him I found quite unsavoury.

"So, how can I help you? As tragic as the death of Miss Adams might be, I have no information to give, as I have already told you. So why do you have to bother again me with this ridiculous inquest"

"You'll see in a moment. It was actually my wife who got me thinking of something. – Something that seemed at odds. And the more I thought about it, the more I got convinced of what must have happened."

"Perhaps you should come to the point. I have not got all day to listen to this nonsensical blubbering of yours." Fairchild remarked, though looking increasingly uncomfortable.

"All right, then I will make it short. - Two days ago, you saw Miss Adams leave Madame Clairemont's in a hurry and hastened after her, is that not so?"

With a dramatic sight, the young man admitted: "I did. She seemed clearly upset about something and when she left the salon without as much as putting on a coat, I found it necessary to follow her. I don't know about you, but isn't that, what a man is supposed to do in a situation like this. Safe a woman from her follies and the consequences thereof?"

"Consequences is a very apt word in this instance, Mr Fairchild." Sherlock smiled grimly, observing the man before him closely.

The look of confusion young Mr Fairchild gave us, was an insincere one.

"I have not the pleasure of understanding you, Mr Holmes," he replied.

"I never said it would be a pleasure to understand my meaning." my husband twisted his words purposely, handing me the diary as he spoke, pointing at a certain passage that was especially hard to read as the young woman must have at the time of writing cried heavily.

But reading the short paragraph I was rendered speechless. It was not that she had described his appearance very well, but the demeanour was undoubtedly accurately captured with her words. - Arrogant, cold, self-centred.

"Now, Mr Fairchild, as it is, I know you never knew your sister's friend before the day before yesterday, but you have met her before then. She recognised you, did she not?"

The young man turned pale and sprang up from his seat.

"Oh no, Mr Fairchild, you will not leave this room. Not before I have finished with you, at any rate. - Ah, that will be Hopkins at last!"

The doorbell had rung again and heavy footsteps on the stairs announced the arrival of at least two more men. A moment later the young inspector came in a uniformed constable in tow.

"I am sorry to be late." Hopkins panted, glancing back and forth between the three of us.

"But you are finally here. Hopkins, meet Mr Fairchild. The murderer of Miss Davina Adams."

"Murderer?!" the young dandy cried out. "I am no murderer."

"And how would you describe yourself? Rapist, killer, coward?"

"How dare you insult me!"

"I can hardly insult you with what is accurate, can I now?" Sherlock replied smoothly, lighting a cigarette and offering one to the other men as well.

"It was in March that you and a couple of other young men walked through a park and happened upon a young lady. A very pretty lady, but in drab and unassuming clothing as she had come from a charity bazaar. The group of you had your way with her – she described you well, I have to say. With her not being out in society and you attending University you never chanced upon one another, so you could not know who she was. It was only when you saw her again at Madame Clairemont's, that you realised she was a woman of society, a débutante, just like your sister. No, moreover, that she was your sisters trusted friend. She recognised you and ran – after what had been done to her, not surprising, really. It was not out of concern for her that you followed her, it was out of concern for yourself. I contacted Mr Clairemont as to when you and your sister left the salon – and guess what I heard? Your sister needed to wait for you for a few minutes before you turned up, claiming what you had told us – that you have been smoking outside. Coincidentally Andrew Clairemont remembered also around what time it was – a quarter past five. Which leaves a window of about half an hour you are not accounted for. A very long smoke in this kind of weather, Mr Fairchild, even had there been a porch to stand under, which I happen to know there was not. This half-hour was more than sufficient time to follow Miss Fairchild, catching up on her by the bridge, exchange a couple of words, kill her and walk back. I see your shoes are quite suitable for this kind of weather. You could have easily overtaken her in her slippers and return to Clairemont's in less than ten minutes in which you just escaped discovery. Had you been only a few minutes later, you would have chanced upon the people finding her. Now, how does that sound?"

"Absolutely ridiculous."

"I think it sounds quite accurate," I interjected, still holding the notebook in my hands. "She also told you, that she carried your child."

"She was clearly not expecting, Miss."

"Doctor Holmes is the name, Sir. And she was. The child lives. Congratulations, you have a daughter." I told him sarcastically

At that revelation, he gaped at me open-mouthed.

"Surely not! It cannot be. The child cannot live. It is impossible!" he, at last, cried, losing some of his composure.

"And why would it be impossible, Sir?" I dug deeper.

He did not reply to this but buried his face in his hands. Expectantly we waited, knowing he was at breaking point.

"It was all such a stupid mistake." Lattimer Fairchild at last began. "It was a game turned vile. I cannot even remember how it happened exactly. - But I still see her face beneath me, her fearful eyes and her lovely mouth."

"A game, Mr Fairchild? Raping a woman is hardly a game." Hopkins interjected in a disgusted tone of voice.

"No, of course, it isn't. But who said it was a rape? Perhaps I should start at the beginning. I had met with some friends at my club. We drank and smoked and began to make bets which ultimately ended up in the childish game of truth or dare."

Now it was on us to be rendered speechless.

"I had revealed upon my turn and having chosen truth, that I had never been with… - you know – a woman. It was one of our group who challenged me to a dare and I agreed. He dared me to take the next woman who would cross our paths. Laughing I agreed. I did not think we would actually meet a woman, but there she was, walking through the park all on her own. When she saw us, she smiled and we approached her – I swear, she wanted it."

"That I doubt."

"No, she did smile – at first. When we approached her, she looked rather concerned, but she did nothing to stop us. Is that not invitation enough?"

I was so furious words failed me. There was this young girl, intimidated out of her wits and faced with a situation she was completely unprepared for and he dared assume she wanted to be taken with violence? From the corner of my eyes, I could see Sherlock clench his hands into fists, trying to master his own anger as best as he could.

"So you took her." my husband at last growled.

"Two of my group grabbed her from behind as she had passed us and I did it. - I think this is no place for a lady to listen to this kind of thing." again he was looking at me.

"Oh, don't worry, my wife will not faint, and again I trust it is more your discomfort than any consideration for Mrs Holmes that wants you to see her leave. Or are you intimidated by her?"

The blush spreading across the young man's face and the uncomfortable expression bore testimony to the accuracy of Sherlock's assessment.

"So, you raped her. You were not the only one, were you?"

"No. George – he was the one who had challenged me said it appears he needs to show me how it is done properly. It was horrible what he did to her. He was so savage, so unruly and then he spilt himself all over her face at which she threw up. Afterwards, he laughed and said that as tight as she was she surely must have been a virgin and that he understood how I could not last long. It was quite mortifying."

"I wonder what it was you found so mortifying. Your lack of performance or the fact that you had just raped and ruined an innocent young woman." I spat with disgust.

Fairchild did not reply to this and so the inspector carried on: "And when you met her at Madame Clairemont's?"

"You are right. She saw me, I saw her and we recognised one another. She ran and I went after her. At first, I was concerned for her. She looked so very lost, so terrified. I caught up with her at the bridge, how she had managed to run so fast I do not know, but she did. But there she stood, holding her stomach as if in severe pain and I, at last, got there. All I wanted to do was talk, ask for forgiveness. But she would not forgive me, she was so full of hatred, so full of scorn and bitterness."

"Excuse me, but what did you expect?"

"I don't know myself. Then she said she would go to the police, now that she knew who I was and that I should never have access to my child. I was confused. I did not know I was a father. Then it dawned on me that if my actions became known I would never get the position I wanted. With the home office, an impeccable reputation is indispensable. I tried to persuade her not to make it public and promised her to take care of her and our child, even offered to marry her. She had none of it. Before I knew it, my hands had closed on her neck and I did not let go of her before she fell to the ground, lifeless. She was dead. I dropped her into the pool and ran back to the salon, claiming I had just gone outside for a smoke."

For a moment he sat there, sobbing pathetically, whether in self-pity or real regret neither of us could tell.

"And now?" he asked when he had calmed himself.

"Is that not obvious?" Hopkins remarked, looking thoroughly disgusted. "Oh, and you still have to give us the names of the other men."

"And if I don't?"

"Telling us the names might save you from the gallows."

"George Balford, James Mitchell, Richard Haynes and Stephen Radford."

"Sir Christopher Balsford's son?" I enquired, taken aback, having heard of the father as he was one of our patrons.

"Yes."

xxx

Sherlock:

"How did you know it was him? I know it seemed likely and I had thought about it, but how?" my wife inquired as we leaned back into the seats of a Hansom cab that would bring us back to Chiswick.

"Well, after you went back to sleep, I couldn't sleep anymore. Something was nagging at the back of my mind. So I got up and took Clara with me downstairs to think the matter over and to give you a nights rest – you have been horribly grumpy, my dear. I thought about what you had said and it then remembered the path we had taken from the Fairchild's house to his club – we crossed the park, as it was the shortest route and then I remembered, that Miss Fairchild had been accompanied to the dressmakers by her brother as her mother was too busy preparing for a Christmas party to do so, it seems. And the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced, that it was him. He was unaccounted for at the shop, he fit her description and with suddenly everything fell into place." I answered, pulling her closer as the wind was fairly chilly and even if it had not been, I just loved to hold her no matter the weather.

"To think that all of this happened because of a stupid game of truth or dare," she exclaimed sadly, shaking her head. With her fur cap and reddened cheeks, a few locks escaping her otherwise neat bun, she looked adorable in her incredulity.

"Yes, it is one of the most pathetic reasons I have ever heard of. But let us put aside this dreadful business. Let us think about more pleasant things. Now, what are we going to do, when we are home?"

"Look after Clara? You could practise a bit more."

"Oh, I think I am in as much practice as any man needs to be. After all, I have fed her several times last night and changed her. - You would be proud of me, my dear, I am getting quite practised. Aside, I think Jacob Adams might pick her up tonight."

"So, you think so?" she smiled. "When did the telegram arrive?"

"Around seven, just when I was about to leave for Baker Street. I think he cannot bear to not have his granddaughter close after what happened to her mother."

An expression of sadness stole across her face before she smiled again: "So, unless somebody else needs our help again, we have an evening all to ourselves?"

"It looks like it. So what do you suggest we do?"

"I have no idea. Perhaps read a book, or play some music, or..."

Pulling her even closer I kissed her fiercely.

"… or perhaps none of that." I finished her sentence when it became necessary to breathe. "Remember, I promised to warm you up."

"Which is just as well, because I am cold again." Harriet grinned, kissing me back. "And if I remember it correctly, my husband had promised me to warm me up."

"Right you are. And I tend to keep my promises."