Disclaimer: original characters belong to ACD

Chapter 14

January 22, 1920

Moran sat calmly on the wooden bench which filled the length of one side of the cell. Facing him on the other bench sat Sherlock Holmes. The awkward silence was at last broken by Moran.

"Thank you for visiting me."

"It was the least I could do, Moran."

"So, what happens next?"

"Well, O'Connor now spends a dangerous couple of months in the company of Mr Clay and his companions, working to bring down the Clay Street Fellowship."

"And, of course, there is the matter of the Duchess." Moran's voice trembled as he spoke her name.

"Yes, it is absolutely clear that she is the mastermind to whom Clay now reports. How it must pain him, not being in control!"

"I do not think he enjoys seeing her running the show. And of course, that means he will make mistakes."

Holmes smiled knowingly. "But of course. And when those mistakes are made, O'Connor will be there to make the final strike, and then he and Mr Wilson can retire."

"What about the Duchess?"

"My first target is Clay. It has to be. The Duchess is the guiding brain, but try proving it in a court of law. Whereas we have no doubt that Clay is guilty of many misdemeanours. He will be the easier to pin down and remove from civilised society. On the other hand, once the Fellowship is compromised I think she may decide to take a different path."

Moran laughed. "You make it sound as though it is as easy as servicing a malfunctioning machine."

"In many ways it is. Clay is predictable. All these years and still events have conspired so as to not disabuse him of his notion that he is a long-lost prince. And with such a high view of himself, it will be straightforward for O'Connor to manipulate events in order to spring the trap."

"You're sure he will not recognise you?"

"I have some skill," replied Holmes modestly.

"It is good to know that justice will be done at last. I know Bingelow was a brute, but Clay seemed to take a perverse enjoyment in killing him. He's got away – literally – with murder for too long. "

"As have you, Moran."

"Yes, I know that I deserve anything that they throw at me. Twenty-two men are dead at my hand, although not all that I have been accused of. I did not kill Mr Wiggins, Holmes, you know that, don't you? So - what do you think will happen?"

Holmes met his eyes steadily. "My honest opinion?"

"Please, Holmes."

"You asked me, many months ago, to kill you at the end of this case. To release you from the interminable torture of the nightmare that haunts you, night and day. And I said I would not kill you. I don't do that sort of thing, you know, Moran."

"I was foolish to ask. I should have known better."

"Yes, you should. But there is something you don't know. Which is that, in some small way, I know what you're going through."

Moran laughed coldly. "Oh, come now, you're just toying with me now."

"No, I mean it. I have a recurring dream. Have had it for years, although it only came to a head during your stay with us in August."

"I remember it well. You all but raised the household."

"And I know now that Professor Moriarty killed my parents. It's a memory, just like yours – albeit yours are far more serious and deserved. But I thought that once the fact of the Professor's role was revealed that they would somehow cure themselves – as though the dreams were leading up to the denouement."

"But...?"

"I had the dream again, last night. Except it wasn't Moriarty's face that was revealed, but yours."

Moran seemed taken aback. "Well, they say the mind plays all sorts of strange tricks, don't they? I didn't kill your parents, Holmes."

"Oh, I know. For one thing, you were not in the country at the time of their deaths. No, have no fear that I'm going to start blaming you for their deaths. It's all too late, anyway. I'm just ... disappointed that they're back. I really thought they were banished." He took a breath. "And so, you see, I do have an inkling – however small – of what you experience every waking and sleeping moment."

"Thank you."

"And so, for my honest opinion. They will put you on trial for Watson's murder, they will find you guilty, and you will be executed. There is no doubt as to the verdict. Lestrade arrived just at the right time; Clay's bloodstained blade was still in your hand, Watson collapsing to the floor after you had run him through with the sword. Clay of course escaped, but that was to be expected in the mayhem. Oh, no, Moran, there is not doubt. The usual method of execution is by hanging – a quick drop, broken neck, instantaneous. And so, in a way, I am doing what you asked me to do – to kill you. Only it will not be my hand on the handle, I am happy to say."

Moran sat with closed eyes, concentrating on Holmes' words. "And at last I will have release. Oh, glory!"

Holmes shot him a glance. "Yes, you shall."

"And you promise to make it right with her?"

"Of course. My word is my bond, Moran."

"Thank you, Holmes, I knew I could trust you."

"'Trust' is an oft misused word."

"But in your case, wholly justified, I think. I just want you to make it right with her."

"And you're still certain she is not to know?"

"But of course. How can she know what her father has done?" Moran's head sank into his hands. "What have I done? So much innocent blood!"

"There are some things I need to know, Moran."

"Ask away." Moran composed himself.

"Tell me more about the Duchess. So I am prepared when I meet her."

Moran thought for a moment. "Oh, what a woman, Holmes! You can only imagine. Absolutely stunning! Still is, even now, in her fifties. When I met her the first time she caught my heart. She had been widowed only recently. The Duke had died on their honeymoon in Egypt – can you imagine that? No sooner married than widowed. He was shot during a riot in Cairo. She too still carries scars where she was hit herself, on her arm, neck ...

"It broke me to arrange the burglary, but, believe me, Holmes, I was in fear of my life. I had never seen the Professor so angry. So I went through with it. I hoped she might not be hurt too deeply, but my hope was in vain. In shame, she lost everything. It broke her. But – she being the sort of woman she was – after a year or two, started again from the bottom and rebuilt her life. I think it started with a win on the horses, then some clever investments, and by the time our paths crossed again – just before we met, Mr Holmes – she was a society woman again.

"There was still the spark between us. But of course, the Professor's influence was over me even after he had gone to his grave. When I resolved to tell her the truth, I could see it broke her relationship with me for ever. And when I heard she had died, well a bit of my world died with her. I hoped for death then but they sent me to Bescott instead. Perhaps this time ..." He sighed again. "And then of course, to find she was alive – and then to find out about the child. Well it all made sense, didn't it? Her 'death', nine months or so after we met again in Park Lane – well, I should have seen it, shouldn't I? That's what they always used to do, wasn't it? - to 'go away to the country'? So although by her crimes the Duchess has forfeited her right to a civilised life, not so her – our – daughter."

"I will make sure she receives her inheritance, Moran. She would I think, on those grounds, be proud of her father."

"Perhaps; but only on those grounds. No other. In everything else, I am of no credit to her. She must not know, Holmes. You promised. Just give her the goods I stole from the Duchess – they are hers now. Her inheritance."

"Have no fear. She will not know. Not from me. But she may try to find out – to trace the history of what she will receive. What happens then?"

Moran pondered this for a moment. "If she wants to spend time searching, then that is fine. At least she will have taken the trouble to find out. But I am not volunteering the information, Holmes."

"I didn't expect you to. It's just that if I were her, I would search, so the truth will out one way or the other, Moran."

"But she isn't you, Holmes. You can't know what she will do."

Holmes let the matter rest. "Moran, I doubt whether we shall meet again.. So I will say this – make your peace with her before it is too late."

"Who? The Duchess, or our daughter? No, Holmes, I will go to my grave alone. Thank you for your help in getting me to this point. Have no regrets." He stood up. "I think you should leave now."

"Very well. Goodbye, Moran."

Sherlock Holmes left the prison and stood in the rain outside. Time for Holmes to disappear for a few months, he thought, and for O'Connor to do his work.