Chapter Four:
The Calm Before The Storm
I will briefly summarise the aftermath of the fight at 221B Baker Street.
The unfortunate Mycroft came out the worse of the men involved. He was starting to lose a steady flow of blood by the time the ambulance crew arrived – who were soon summoned, thanks to Mrs Hudson and Billy the Page Boy returning quickly with a constable. When it became known to the doctors that Mycroft Holmes had important contacts in the government and the civil service, he was allocated a police guard and watched over in between his blood transfusions. In the meantime, he was rarely awake whilst he recovered from his ordeal.
Holmes had mild concussion, as well as receiving several cuts and bruises to his arms, as a result of the fight. I ordered him to stay at 221B to recover, under the watchful care of Mrs Hudson, whilst I would check on his recovery each day.
As per the request of the Holmes brothers, I had managed to quickly hide the body of the deceased female intruder, by dragging her body into my old bedroom – which Holmes was now using as a storage room for his chemical equipment and logbooks. I used gloves for the grisly task, fearing that some of the acid splashes on the body would get onto my clothes. But there was no such damage, which surprised me.
And when I returned to the sitting room, Holmes dismissed my fears – informing me that the 'acid' was actually water that he had arranged to be blessed by a local priest. In fact, when I had arrived at 221B, he had been melting down hollow bullets in order to inject some of the water into them. "In order to defend ourselves against vampires, my dear Watson," he told me with a wry smile at the circumstances we had found ourselves in.
It was only then, whilst we were waiting for both the police and further medical help to come, that I realised something important.
I was keeping pressure on Mycroft's wounds, as I barked my question to Holmes. "Where did Bryce's dog go?"
"Of course… You were downstairs at the time, so you did not see…," Holmes muttered, before turning and levelling his stormy grey eyes upon me. "The dog first dissolved into thick mist, then reshaped itself into the form of that wretched woman, Watson! At that moment, Bryce drew out his dagger – and they both attacked us."
"Holmes! That is impossible! You must have imagined it, given your concussion," I fired back.
"I would not say such a thing, if I had not observed it myself! You know me to be a paragon of logic and reason, Watson," he sniffed. "Now, tell me what happened to Mrs Hudson."
So I did.
He sighed with relief upon learning that she was unharmed.
It is no wonder, then, that the attack left me so shaken. Even though I was the least wounded. The sanctuary that Holmes and I shared together for several years had been brutally invaded in a manner that had been fatal for one woman, and nearly fatal to us. And this was days after the death of Mary – followed by the desecration of her grave. I wondered what other calamity fate had in store for us. I was also starting to wonder what was real anymore, given the strange nature of the sequence of events – beginning with Mary's killer vanishing, followed by the abduction of my wife's body from the cemetery, then my dream of her at our – no, my – bedroom window. Now this attempt to kill both of the Holmes brothers. Or had Sherlock Holmes been the sole intended target, and Mycroft was attacked also since he was in way?
At Holmes' insistence (and with his money, pressed upon me by him), I bought more garlic for 221B, the next day. This time, following his instructions, I made sure that there was enough to be present around both the front and rear doors, plus each window. I also purchased silver crucifix pendants for Holmes, his landlady, and Billy the Page boy – and a fourth for myself. "So that never again will we have a visitor who can hypnotise our poor Mrs Hudson so easily," Holmes explained. "The visible sight of the crucifix hanging over her clothes should protect our esteemed lady in future!"
With Holmes recovering, he was my instructor as I carefully melted down a few more hollow bullets for him. Before using a syringe to inject some of the holy water into the cases, which were then sealed. It was delicate, time-consuming work – but I seemed to perform to Holmes's satisfaction, when he looked over my efforts. Nevertheless, I was glad when I was told I had finished the task.
As for Gervais Bryce, he was arrested for attempted murder, and shut away in a cell at the nearest police station. Gregson was soon informed of events by Holmes and myself – minus anything relating to the dead Rachel Howells – when he visited us at the scene of the latest crime against the people in my life. It was late afternoon when he visited us.
It was Gregson's opinion that Bryce should be hypnotised. "He looks to me to be out of his mind, Mr Holmes. He's been yelling in his cell like a madman. Whatever trouble the man has got himself into, it's like it's led to him being possessed. Such a shame. He had seemed to be an honourable man," the flaxen-haired Inspector said to us.
"Alas, he would be far from being the first member of the house to fall from grace – and I dare say there would be many more," Holmes muttered as he lay on the couch under a blanket whilst I sat in my usual chair. "But you are right, Gregson. Bryce has been twisted – and according to Mycroft, there are several more members of parliament who are in the same sorry boat. Maybe even some of the members from the upper chamber, too."
"And you think this Cherry Tree House that Doctor Watson here has talked about is connected."
"Yes, I do. Have you confirmed what the house is, Gregson?"
The Inspector nodded. "It is indeed what the doctor's contacts have stated it to be. A gentlemen's club. An exclusive one – and I was able to find a business card for the place in Bryce's wallet. The house was owned by one Anthony Darlington – who hasn't been seen recently. And I understand that his sister, Octavia Darlington, runs the…business. But I have no further information on her. Not even a picture."
Gregson paused to gather his thoughts, before continuing.
"But I do not see that we yet have enough reason to search the premises, Mr Holmes. I want to know all about the MPs who your brother believes to have been 'influenced' by whoever is behind this – and all the evidence to believe that they have been acting in a way that indicates corruption. Then if enough of them are found to be also connected to this Cherry Tree House, I'll be able to secure a warrant to search the place with a squad."
"You work from that angle, Gregson. See what evidence you can find and gather on these men," Holmes replied, handling over a list from his dressing gown pocket to the Inspector. "Here is Mycroft's list of those members of parliament, and their important connections, who have been reported to him. In the meantime, do not approach that house. It is not yet safe to show our hand to…whoever is responsible for this business."
"Are there enemy spies in that place, working through the ladies that…work…there?" Gregson ventured. "Blackmail, then coercion – and hypnotism – of the London elites?"
"I suspect it is something along those lines, Inspector," Holmes answered, holding his hands together in his usual steepled fashion. "But I fear it is perhaps something worse… A slow plague, that Professor Moriarty may have had a hand in – before I sent him to his watery grave…"
"We are not going to see that man back from the dead, are we?" I asked, my blood freezing at the thought.
Holmes chuckled. "Oh no, Watson. I am quite sure that he no longer has any involvement in our misfortunes. I did receive a report of his discovered body, from a reputable source in Switzerland. But maybe…"
"Maybe what?" Gregson and I asked together.
"…maybe somebody else from our past is tied in with this," Holmes mused aloud, as he stared up at the ceiling. "After all, Mrs Hudson wasn't even harmed during the attack here, this time. No. This time, Mycroft and I were the targets. Because of 'our interference'. Somebody fears that we know too much… And yet, I cannot tell how deep these waters are."
"I should also tell you that Sir Reginald Musgrave is being released," Gregson added, smiling.
"Excellent, Gregson. But make sure he goes back to his home, and that he tightens his security."
"Is that necessary, Holmes?" I asked, thinking of the deceased Rachel Howells, whose body was just hidden in the next room.
"Just a precaution. He is a known friend of mine, thanks to your writings, Watson. And whoever sent Bryce against us might target Musgrave also…"
I saw Gregson pause, before he spoke again. "There is something else, Mr Holmes…"
"Yes?"
"The bone dagger from the scene of Mrs Watson's murder… It has vanished from the stored evidence!"
Holmes straightened up. "Interesting… Kindly give me the facts."
"It was there during the weekend. But by Monday evening, it was found to be missing. Just the dagger. The attendant could not remember if anyone had called in upon him, when I questioned him. His mind seemed…foggy." Gregson squirmed in his seat. "I have never heard of the like before, in all of my years at the Yard. We have made a search for it, of course. But it remains missing!"
"Where there any inspectors in the building during Monday?" Holmes questioned Gregson.
"I was out on a case that day… So too was Athelney Jones. But Lestrade was in, yes. But no one on the force would surely have taken it!"
"Perhaps they did. And perhaps they did not… Thank you, Gregson." Holmes tapped the tips of his fingers together, closing his eyes in thought as he muttered. "Obviously, that unusual weapon is important to someone. I wonder who…? And why?"
Minutes later, when Gregson had left, I checked on Holmes' wounds before applying new bandages. Thankfully, he was making a good recovery.
"What is the plan now, Holmes?" I asked him. "We have had to put our actions on hold for a few days, whilst you recover."
"Quite so, Watson. Hopefully, that couple who you met whilst checking in on Sir Reginald have now had time to carry out their own actions. They gave you no means to contact them – so you must wait to hear from Mr and Mrs Swales. I would like to meet them. In fact, I am interested to hear what your impressions of them are."
"Well…," I huffed, shifting in my seat when I had sat down again. "I had asked Gregson about them earlier. He knew nothing about them – and yet the Swales told me that they tracked down Musgrave via the information given to them by Lestrade. Surely, Lestrade would have told Gregson about these investigators? Also, I found them inscrutable – like you at times, Holmes! They were very self-contained people, who seemed to be able to communicate with each other with a look, when they needed to. I personally found Mrs Charlotte Swales to be quite lovely, if a little distant. And her ability to find Mary's pearls, and read them – her psychometry, as she called it… I would not have believed her talents if I had not seen the results for myself!"
Holmes nodded. "Do you trust them, Watson?"
I pondered this for a few moments. "They seem to be on our side, Holmes," I ventured. "But I am sure there are things that they have not told me yet. They seemed to have a vested interest in tracking down the people who were behind the attack on Mrs Hudson and Mary. But I do not understand why."
"I believe your reasoning of them is sound, Watson. There is much in your account of them that interests me." I saw a glint in his eyes as he chuckled. "When they contact you, Watson, ask them if they would like to join us for a meal. At a time of their choosing…"
"I do not see the joke you are trying to make, Holmes," I chided him.
"Well, perhaps I am wrong in my suspicions. And I can tell that you are not ready to hear them…" He yawned and closed his eyes. "You must excuse me. I need to rest for a while…"
The room fell quiet over the next few minutes, whilst Holmes dozed – with only the ticking of the mantlepiece clock in the background. It was a pleasant enough morning, and so the fire was not burning. Just as well, considering that the poker was still lodged firmly in the body of Rachel Howells, in the adjoining room.
I considered leaving whilst Holmes had his eyes closed – but it struck me as impolite, and I did not want to smoke in the presence of a sleeping man. Having already read the newspaper, I got up and went into my old bedroom, where Rachel Howells' body lay underneath the bedframe. I had already noted to Holmes that her body had not yet experiencing the normal signs of rigor mortis – and checking on it again, to my bafflement that was still the case. There was definitely no heartbeat or any signs of lie – but there was absolutely no change in the condition of her body. No decay, no breakdown in her muscles or tissues, and no smell. It was as if her body had turned rigid and become frozen in a moment of time, resisting scientific laws.
Pausing to put on a pair of gloves from the box of supplies in the bedroom, I pulled back Howells' stiff gums, revealing her teeth. The canines were still in the form of fangs. I had already examined them before – and I was satisfied that they were real.
I shook my head. This had to be the result of some kind of infection. But of what nature was utterly beyond my medical knowledge.
And despite my conviction that Holmes had splashed Howells with acid - given how her skin had reacted to the liquid - I remembered my friend telling me that it had been holy water. Inspecting the body again, I could see that there was no damage from the splash to the woman's clothing. Only to her skin.
Having heard of my earlier observations from me, Holmes wanted to conduct tests on the body himself, when he was feeling better. Skin and tissue samples. He had spoken of wishing to extract the canine teeth as well.
Another of his instructions to me, was to not tell the Swales about this body. Something that was in line with Mycroft's desperate order, whilst he was badly bleeding.
Putting the body back in its hiding place, I was rising to my feet and peeling off the gloves, when I noticed the shelf of photo albums. Remembering that, on our wedding day, Mary and I had included Holmes in one of our photos, I opened up the album. The pictures within were arranged in chronological order, and I soon found the photo – with Mary's writing on the back, thanking Holmes for bringing us together and for his wedding present to us of quality writing pens and stationery. Also, for his kindness in accepting our invitation to the wedding.
Holmes, I knew, had an aversion to women. He had never been forthcoming – but Mary speculated that something had happened to my friend in his early years, that had set his opinions just so. Possibly an unhappy incident somewhere in his family.
I began to look through the photo album. There were some faces of unidentified men and women who I did not know. A couple of Mrs Hudson, smiling for the camera in years past. And also some of the Baker Street Irregulars, Holmes' hired street urchin scouts – with a photo taken every few years. Those pictures demonstrated the changing nature of the gang, as Wiggins and those he had recruited grew up and eventually moved on, with a few new faces taking their places. It had, after all, been thirteen years since I had first come to know of them.
I looked at the photo labelled 1888 – the year when I had first met Mary. In this picture, I saw Arnold Wiggins, three boys called Beaver, Shiner, and Sparrow. And a pair of girls known as Queenie and Rosie.
I suddenly stiffened and looked at one of the smiling faces in particular.
"My word…," I breathed.
The young driver of the private coach that belonged to the Swales… His even younger persona was grinning back in the picture before me…
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
Holmes did not wake up in the following few minutes – and so, needing to see to my own order of business, I left him a note, explaining my little discovery.
That evening, after dinner, Karl Swales knocked on my house door. Kaitlyn admitted him. She seemed quite taken with him – and I had to dismiss her, before she broke off her stare at the pale young man. With a lingering smile, she gave a curtsey and left us – returning to the kitchen, in order to see to the washing of the plates and cutlery.
Facing me, Swales seemed to turn stiff, before speaking. He smiled – but it was not an easy smile, I noticed. He leaned on his cane.
"Doctor Watson. It is good to see you again."
I nodded. "And you, also. And your wife? She is well?" I asked, leading him to the sitting room.
"Yes, thank you, doctor. Charlotte is on the case, as you would say. We have our agent established in Cherry Tree House – and my wife is in contact with her."
"Her?" I stopped and faced my visitor. "The place is a – pardon my saying so – it is a brothel. And you sent a lady into it?"
"I understand your concern. But our agent is not to be underestimated, Doctor Watson. She is more than capable of looking after herself. Besides, she has been employed as a maid. At least for now. The owner may devise…other uses for her, if she is there long enough."
"I see… Then perhaps we should make our plans, and resolve the mystery of this place, before long," I answered carefully. "Then your agent can leave the employ of Cherry Tree House."
"Indeed." Swales dipped his head, faintly smiling.
Again, he refused any refreshment. Nor did he smoke. He wanted to get straight to business.
Once in the sitting room, he listened to me as I filled him in as to what had happened during my time with Holmes since I had last seen the Swales. His face paled further, and he tensed again, upon hearing the attack upon the brothers Holmes and myself.
"My god…!" he breathed. "And the woman – who your landlady identified as Rachel Howells… She got away?"
"Yes," I replied. "She bolted back downstairs and out of the building when the fight went against her colleague. Just like the first time – the night my wife was killed." I paused. Remembering my friend's other advice, I added, "Holmes would like to meet both you and your wife. He suggested that we all meet for dinner. At a time convenient with yourselves."
Swales looked at me with a curious expression. He seemed on edge – and he closed his eyes for a few moments and trembled, as if fighting an internal battle – before he opened his eyes again as he calmed himself down.
"That is kind of him, doctor. But Charlotte and I have reconsidered our approach to the business at hand – and there is no time for a social meeting beforehand. Given that you have this Gervais Bryce locked away, surely our plan of attack once Mr Holmes has recovered… It would be best for him to disguise himself as Bryce and walk into Cherry Tree House."
"The two men are about the same size and age," I admitted. "Holmes has already considered this plan of approach."
"Wonderful!" Karl Swales' bright eyes seemed to gleam for a moment. "Charlotte can go to the police station where he is being held and hypnotise this Mr Bryce. It would be good to extract information from him before your Mr Holmes disguises himself as our captive member of parliament. I will speak to my wife and see if we can make the arrangement tonight!"
"If the police have no objections, that may be a good move," I nodded, considering the situation. "Someone must be missing Rachel Howells by now – and wonder why she or Bryce did not report back. If indeed they do answer to a superior. I must admit I fail to see why Howells would want to kill Holmes and Mycroft. There seems to be a hidden conspiracy – yes. But Holmes had never met Howells before."
"And Holmes thinks that someone he has crossed swords with, in the past, is the most likely explanation for these attacks against first Mrs Hudson – then against his brother and himself." Swales nodded to himself. "That seems sound reasoning. But until Cherry Tree House is accessed, I suspect we may not find out."
"And should Holmes succeed in getting in…?" I prompted my visitor.
"Once he has been gained admittance, he should ask for 'Garnet', one of the ladies of the house…"
"Is she your agent?"
"No – our agent has already been given her new name by the owner of the…business…in the house. She is now called 'Jade'. You do not need to know her real name, doctor. Jade has advised us that she can access Garnet's favourite room. Once she manages to meet with Holmes, she can guide him to where your wife's body is likely being kept. Then she will lead him to an exit from the house. After that, Charlotte and I will be on hand to assist you all."
"Why don't you enter the house yourself?" I put to him, with a frown.
"I cannot, doctor. It would be…unwise for either Charlotte or I to go in at this stage. Please do not press me on this."
"Very well." I changed tack. "Does your…agent…know why my wife's body was stolen, Mr Swales?"
He gave me a look that seemed to penetrate my very being. I shivered.
"No," he answered. "Had Mr Holmes and his brother formed any theories, before they were attacked?"
"They seem to think that vampires are somehow connected! They had even arranged for garlic to be put up in 221B" I scoffed. "Now I readily admit that there are many factors of the case that do not make sense – but I cannot accept that anything to do with the supernatural is the answer to this! If any vampires are involved, it must be a group of mortal men who are medically affected." I paused again, before speaking once more. "So, given that we have not arranged to meet together as a group – how will you know when Holmes will be ready to go to Cherry Tree House?"
Swales smiled. "A good point, doctor. I apologise for the problems it causes, but for our safely, Charlotte and I must remain 'without trace', so to speak. I need to think about this, so…"
"Perhaps you can get Beaver to have one of his friends as a messenger between us, if you do not wish for me and Holmes to know where you live," I suggested with a sniff.
Karl Swales turned still for a long moment. There was tension between us. Then he chuckled. "So… You have recognised our young coachman. Yes, my wife and I have read your published accounts, Doctor Watson. We decided that it would be prudent to track down some of your 'Baker Street Irregulars'. Those who were now grown up into adulthood, and so would no longer be working for Mr Holmes as his eyes and ears on the streets of London. We can send one of Beaver's friends to this house each evening at a given time, if you like. He will return to us, once he knows when Holmes is physically recovered and ready to do his work. I will add one thing…"
"Yes?" I shifted in my seat.
"Holmes should arm himself as he sees fit, before entering the den of vipers that I believe Cherry Tree House to be. But I understand that the men who are clients are patted down for any weapons before they can go further. The doorman is called Dominic Grimes. According to our spy, Jade, he is a brute of a man – an ex-boxer, and formerly an enforcer for Professor Moriarty's network of crime. Holmes will need to be…clever…as to how he will get his tools into the building. And we have learned from our spy that the house will be open for business half an hour after sunset. Do not knock on the door before then."
"I see. No doubt Holmes will find a way," I replied. "And in my opinion, Holmes has a strong constitution. He will be eager for this challenge. I will speak with Holmes again tomorrow – so I dare say we will have a night in mind to pass onto…whoever your messenger will be, tomorrow evening. They can call here, at seven o'clock."
Karl Swales smiled as he stood. I had noticed that his smiles were all tightly lipped – and he did so again this time. He shook my hand with his gloved hand, as I too got to my feet.
"Excellent, Doctor Watson. Between Holmes and our spy, I am sure that we can resolve the mystery of Mary Watson's whereabouts. Then, we will know the full truth about Cherry Tree House. And we will do…what we need to. In the meantime, I would advise you to rest and prepare yourself for your excursion to…that house. This period of planning will be the calm before the storm."
In the next minute, Karl Swales had picked up his hat and left my home. Once he had gone, I peered through the gap as I pulled my curtains to one side – observing him walking along the street with a brisk confidence. Nevertheless, he looked around as he moved, watchful and alert. I sensed that he knew I was observing him.
As I pulled out the silver crucifix pendant that had been in my pocket, I thought of the life that was said to exist beyond the one I knew, as taught to us as children by the church and our parents. I reflected upon the situation which now lay before us. As much as the thought made me shudder with distaste, I had already made a decision.
Holmes would not be going into Cherry Tree House by himself. I would be there to aid him, with an alias of my own. Maybe even wearing one of Holmes' disguises.
The need for me to find Mary's body was in my thoughts each day and each night, making me lose sleep. It was constantly in the back of my mind – becoming a fixation.
I owned it to Mary to return her remains to her proper resting place. And I was determined not to fail her.
I just hoped that her soul would forgive me for entering a den of wanton vice, in order to find her body…
*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*o*
Evidently, Charlotte Swales succeeded with her skills at hypnotism in extracting some valuable details from the captured Gervais Bryce - as the ex-Irregular named Shiner turned up at my door the next evening at seven, with a list of the particulars for me to pass onto Holmes. Likewise, by that stage, I was happy that Holmes was indeed nearly recovered from his injuries, when I had visited him earlier that day. Holmes was looking forward to visiting the mysterious sandstone building the next evening – and I told Shiner so, as I told the offered sheet of paper from him. I offered him a tip.
He doffed his cloth cap to me, revealing his scruffy mop of brown hair. "Thanks, Doctor Watson. Good to see you again!"
"The same with you, Shiner." I smiled back, thinking of the last time I had last seen him. It would have been four, or five, years ago.
The young man was now as tall as myself, but still rather thin and gangly. He was about to dash off, when I put my hand on his shoulder.
"One moment, Shiner. You are now…living with the Swales…whilst they are staying in London? Beaver too?"
His expression became worried. "Sorry gov'. Can't say. Me and Beaver 'ave an…arrangement with Master and Mistress Swales. All's well, though."
"They…are good people?" I put to him.
Shiner paused, before nodding. "We trust 'em. Better them, than those they are on the lookout for, so I gather…"
"The people at Cherry Tree House? What do you know about them?"
"I 'eard about some of those missing kids, doctor. An' I saw one of those bodies that 'ad been dumped in the rivers, when the police fished it ashore… What those fiends in that place are doing…" Shiners looked uncomfortable, and he gave an awkward smile. "Gotta go, Doctor Watson. See ya!" And with that, he broke away from my grasp and scuttled off, leaving me frustrated that once again, most of the answers I was searching for were being snatched away from me…