Disclaimer: Holmes and Watson belong to ACD. Other characters, rather worryingly, are my own.
Yes, she's back, my femme fatale from 'The Olive Affair'. And is she angry, or what?
Chapter 7
Darkness.
Pain.
Watson opened his eyes, disoriented as though waking from a deep sleep. For a moment he was completely unable to account for where he was. Then the pain finally overcame him, and he cried out in shock. This in turn woke Holmes who likewise groaned loudly.
Watson opened his eyes. He was still in the cave, and many torches were burning to light the mighty cavern. He realised he was standing, but when he tried to move found he was tightly bound to one of the pillars arranged on the floor of the cave. He looked in the direction of Holmes' groan, and saw him likewise bound to the adjacent pillar. Their eyes met. Holmes winced, and gasped, "Are you alright, old man?"
Watson, likewise, was finding it hard to speak. He guessed from what he could see of Holmes, that he was bound in the same way, with thin wire. He nodded in affirmation, the pain in his chest causing him to almost retch. His eyes swam.
Mary Wilcox was still standing on the ledge above them. They were tied so that they were facing her, their backs to the cave entrance. The waves of the sea outside seemed very close. Then, to their right, Falconer's voice.
"Marvellous things, aren't they, Mr Holmes? Rubber bullets. Enough to briefly incapacitate a foe, long enough to capture him. Needham used them in India, you know, big game and all that. I did wonder whether you'd survive – first time I've used it on a man. Thought it better to do it in your chest. Bit of a risk, might have stopped your heart. Worth the risk, though," he laughed. He held up the gun. "Real bullets now, though, gentlemen. Have a care."
"So, now, Mr Holmes, Doctor Watson," continued Miss Wilcox, "where were we? Ah, yes, you were, I think, about to try to talk me out of my latest scheme – as if you had any inkling of what that might have been." She moved closer to the edge of the ledge, and they saw with horror the weapon she carried.
"After the little affair in Portsmouth, I have an aversion to guns," she explained. "So much damage for so little effort. I think the crossbow is far more interesting. I grew up around here, you know. Used to go hunting out on the moor. You know; foxes, deer, the odd badger or two. Good target practice. I like to think I am quite good. Half an inch from your ear, Mr Holmes."
In one deft move she snapped the weapon to her shoulder. There was the dull sound of the bow being sprung, a whoosh as the dart flew through the air, and the timber pillar next to Holmes' right ear splintered into fragments as the bolt pierced it, drawing blood from his head in the process. He cried out in shock. Watson shouted, "Holmes! For pity's sake...."
Holmes regained his composure. "I am well, Watson. Do not fret so. I was merely surprised that our host should need to prove how well she can handle this weapon."
"Oh, but nothing surprises you, does it, Mr Holmes?" replied Miss Wilcox, and the sneer in her voice was unmistakable. "Now this is how it is going to work. Listen carefully, I am in no mood to say this again. You are going to die – quickly, or slowly. The tide will fill this cave to a depth of some eleven feet today. You have a choice. Either you drown, or -" At this she lifted the crossbow, which she had now reloaded; "or you beg me to kill you quickly. It is, as you are so fond of saying, Mr Holmes, your choice. And before you start your platitudes, yes, I do have to do it, and no, you will not turn me from doing it; you cannot appeal to my better nature. I hate you, Mr Holmes. And you are going to pay."
Holmes met her gaze. "Well if it is going to come to that, let us spend our time together in a constructive fashion. I am afraid I am leagues above you, Miss Wilcox. Why don't you sit there and let me explain how we have got to this point?"
Miss Wilcox laughed heartily. "Ever the showman, eh, Mr Holmes? Always having to show how good you are? Better than the next man? What happened to you to make you thus? Now that would be an interesting tale."
"Perhaps, but not today, Miss Wilcox," Holmes replied levelly. "And you are right in one respect. I do show how good I am – because I am. Stop me if I get the tale wrong at any point, won't you?"
Miss Wilcox snorted. "Very well, Mr Holmes, have it your way. But just remember – I have beaten you today."
"Hmmm," replied Holmes. "Very well. You do seem singularly dedicated to my downfall, and I think that says more about you than my behaviour does of me, but, nonetheless, I hear the tide outside so I will start. Where to start, though?
"You have already confided that you were born here. I know that you moved to London to live with your aunt when you were ten years of age, after your parents were killed in an accident – an accident caused by, as you see it, Lord Falconer's error. Although he was away at sea, you have blamed him for their deaths since it was on his land that your parents were strolling one Sunday afternoon when the dam holding back the waters of one of his ornamental lakes collapsed. They were swept to their deaths amongst the rocks."
"It was an accident!" exclaimed Falconer. "And she knows that her parents should not have been on my land. Trespassing!"
"Silence!" screamed Miss Wilcox. "Or you will join them!" Falconer fell silent.
"As we know you fell in with a bad lot in London, and when we met eighteen months ago you were already known to the police for your criminal activities. Now, I have to use my imagination here, but – we shall see. As I said, correct me if I am wrong. After you were shot on the Olive, you were taken to the Military Hospital at Haslar in Gosport. You were not as badly injured as you first appeared, and when your chance came you exchanged papers with a woman in the adjacent bed who had been caught up in an accident at Priddy's Hard, the ordnance depot. She died the next day and was buried as Miss Mary Wilcox. You then made your way down here – to your home. I believe the farm is three miles distant, out on the Moor road?"
"Very good Mr Holmes. It was fortunate Ethel had been so badly injured. She couldn't talk you know. Got burned when some of the fireworks for the Dreadnought's launch exploded. Quite a simple girl, my age, height, build. Lucky. I don't think she knew what I did, exchanging our papers. The Ward was so busy, no-one noticed. The records will show that Ethel Lawton discharged herself and no-one knows anything more. Although three bullet wounds are hardly insignificant, I will have you know. I still limp, and I still to this day carry a bullet in my neck. But, all being equal, yes; I was not so badly injured that I was incapacitated or incapable of rational thought."
"How...?" asked Watson.
"Do I know this?"replied Holmes, turning towards him with difficulty. "Various means. Talking to the local Postmaster is always a revelation. And my brother of course, is a mine of information not usually available to general enquirers." He turned back to face Miss Wilcox. "I think," he continued, "that for a brief time you truly meant to put your past behind you. Many people would, having had such a brush with death. But of course, coming back here brought you back to a place of memory – your parents, especially. Death. And then one day, out on the cliffs, you saw Benjamin Falconer. You recognised him immediately, of course; but I think for a brief while, your heart was warmed. His certainly was. Do you not recall, Watson, Elizabeth Needham's words – he told her on Monday evening that his heart belonged to another?"
"Yes, I remember clearly," replied Watson. Despite their desperate situation, he was enthralled at how Holmes had pieced the story together.
"But you were reclusive, were you not, Miss Wilcox? Few knew your face in the village. And then, not long ago, his studies turned up something unexpected."
"Yes, Mr Holmes. He found the treasure. He thought that it would solve all his family's financial woes – but I expect you can see how I could use that to return to a life of crime and conspiracy. To plot another catastrophe. Involving you, my nemesis."
"Treasure?" exclaimed Watson. "Isn't this all about King Arthur?"
"Yes, Watson, it is. Let me explain. The year is 1778. The war of independence between America and England is not going well. Parties loyal to England are losing ground. They need support. So, in order to buy allegiance from those who are wavering in their loyalty, a ship is loaded with bullion. Gold bars, coins, ingots. To buy their support. To turn the tide of the war. The ship sails from Bristol on her secret mission, known only to the Admiralty. But only half a day out, a massive storm hits the Bristol Channel, and the ship is lost. This much my brother Mycroft told me yesterday whilst you were buying our railway tickets." He looked around the cave. "And now we know what happened to it. Watson, we are tied to the storm-driven remains of HMS King Arthur, lost with all hands on November 23rd 1778. This cave is the tomb of that great warship. She was driven into the bay, and on into the cave, and there she remained for a hundred years – until young Benjamin Falconer, through his studies and exploration, found her."
"The glittering in the sand ..."
"Are some of the spilled gold coins from the wreck, yes. So, we need to put ourselves in Miss Wilcox's mind. You see, this is an opportunity. Untold wealth, and the chance to right some old wrongs – as she sees it. So quickly she hatches a plan. But young Benjamin has started to see something disquieting in her behaviour towards him."
"Yes, I think he guessed what I was planning," said Miss Wilcox.
"He left his notebook behind, for example, for security, and tried to take Ashley Needham into his confidence. But at the last he cannot bring himself to do it. He does not meet up as promised with Needham, but instead stays in the grounds until it is dark, thinking about what he can do, pondering over and over. Should be break off the relationship? Is it a figment of his imagination that his love is acting so strangely towards him? He does not know. He sits there in the darkening evening, drinking from the bottle he took with him for refreshment during his explorations. Until, finally deciding to make his way back into the house late in the evening, she intercepts the young man so in love with her on the drive of Trethewan Court. She makes to play the lover, and perhaps he decides all his worries were of his own imagining – until she pulls a knife on him. There is a struggle, the bottle is dropped and broken, but she injures him, and then forces him to go with her on pain of further injury."
"Hence the broken bottle and the blood that the police found," said Watson.
"Indeed. So young Benjamin is kidnapped ..."
"But the two strangers, Holmes?"
"No! Watson, please do not interrupt, it is very annoying. There never were any strangers. Who has seen them? Only Miss Wilcox herself, who made the report to the police on Wednesday, and Lord Falconer, who is part of the scheme. Unintentionally I have to add. For of course, with Benjamin kidnapped, he is now in Miss Wilcox's power. No doubt she told you how she held you responsible for her parents' deaths?"
"Oh yes, she did, in no uncertain terms," Falconer replied. "I had to play my part, or he would be harmed. The notebook was never stolen, you see." He reached into his breast pocket and pulled it out, before replacing it with a sad smile.
"So Lord Falconer has to now play along in his part of the scheme. That scheme being – and I must admit I am quite grateful of the trouble to which you have gone – to revenge herself upon me, for the perceived injury I caused her in Portsmouth. He visits us with a story how his son has been kidnapped – one that he himself has reported to the police and whipped up the interest of the local newspaper reporters – that really was an unnecessarily theatrical undertaking, to disguise yourself in the Rose and Crown to spread stories of King Arthur. Quite beneath you, sir."
"It was all I could think of," replied Falconer. "I had to get the stories in the papers quickly, and to get a lot of interest from the journalists. Otherwise you would not believed me, nor would you have been tempted to take the case – which was the fundamental part of her plan, and the key to the safety of my son."
"No matter. But then things started to go wrong. Miss Wilcox pays you a visit late yesterday evening. Maybe it was a higher ransom for Benjamin, maybe something else she wanted you to do, but in any event you were overheard – by Trevose."
Falconer's voice broke. "He came in and she was there talking to me. It was so quick – she knifed him, and told me to dispose of the body. Unfortunately you found it rather too quickly, otherwise that would not have complicated the issue."
"A man has died, and you call it a complication!" exploded Holmes. He turned to Miss Wilcox. "When justice catches up with you, I sincerely trust that you will recall in your last moments that human life is sacrosanct. You cannot toy lightly with others' destiny."
"Oh, do stop preaching, Mr Holmes," she replied. "You tire me. You really should spend your last minutes on earth in a more constructive manner."
"Miss Wilcox," asked Lord Falconer, "I have heard all there is now to tell of our relations, and your using my son. You have said he is safe. Please, may I see him?"
"He is safe. I told you. Trust me."
Holmes turned his head to Falconer. "Do you really think she is so trustworthy, Falconer?" he asked. "You have heard what she is like. How she uses people to her own ends. Even your own son – just to, if I may use the unfortunate phrase, 'kill two birds with one stone'? To settle her score with me and at the same time paying you back for the death of her parents. I think she is most unreliable."
Falconer stood. "Show me my son!" he exclaimed.
"Later," replied Miss Wilcox. "Oooh, look! How exciting!"
The rocks at the cave entrance must have held back the tide slightly. The water had now reached a point where it overtopped the rocks, and it now started to pour into the cave.
"This bit is quite quick," she said calmly. "I have watched this a few times as I imagined this moment. The sea is about two feet higher outside than inside. Over the next ten minutes the water will rise quite rapidly. Then, it will creep up, minute by minute. I will watch you die, Mr Holmes."
The stream of water grew until suddenly there was a rush of water across the floor of the cave. The water swirled around the sandy floor, rising quickly.
"Falconer!" shouted Holmes. "Don't you think you ought to look at the treasure you're going to share with this .. lady?"
"No, don't!" she shouted. "Wait till the tide has gone back out."
Falconer seemed undecided as he weighed her words against those of Holmes. Then he slowly left his lofty vantage point and lowered himself down into the shallow water.
"No, not one more step, Falconer!" screamed Miss Wilcox.
He reached the chest, the water already half way up its side.
"I'm warning you!" she screamed again. "Last chance!"
He started to prise open the lid, but screamed in agony as a crossbow bolt impaled his hand to the lid of the chest. Lightning fast, Miss Wilcox reloaded the weapon.
"I will not warn you again."
In a single move he pulled his hand free and opened the lid of the box. He fell to his knees with a cry as another bolt hit him in the left shoulder, but his distress would doubtless have taken him to his knees in any event.
"My... son..." he groaned. "My Benjamin...."
"What do I care? Yes, I killed him. He cried like a stuck pig as the knife went in."
A look of absolute madness came into his eyes. He stood, fixing Miss Wilcox with a gaze that spoke of absolute and utter hatred. He pulled his gun and loosed one ... two shots at her before falling dead into the water, a third bolt through his heart.
"Enough!" she spat. One of the bullets had caught her a blow on her arm, and blood was running down the sleeve of her blouse. "I tire of this. I must say, Mr Holmes, Doctor, the sport has been very good. I don't know how you do it, but you have managed to piece it all together."
"The last telegram I sent answered the key points," replied Holmes. "It is always useful to know who the local recluses are."
The water was now waist high. Falconer's body floated past them as the current carried it into the cave. Miss Wilcox sat down on her high vantage point, gasping slightly in pain.
"Let me know which one of you wants to be shot first. I will only use one bolt. The other can drown. I can make your death quite quick. Let's have a game. I will count to ten – and then I'll put one of you out of your misery. How does that sound?"
"You evil, heartless woman!" exploded Watson.
"Oh, it is to be you, then, Doctor? Well volunteered."
She started a slow count.
