Chapter Five:
The Den Of Vipers
Whilst I have had some private experiences with women whilst growing up and being abroad in the army, I still regard my visit to Cherry Tree House with…revulsion.
Holmes and I had agreed to pay our visit to that sandstone house the next Friday night.
Having been fitted up with a false beard that blended with my moustache, courtesy of Holmes, I regarded myself before the mirror in Holmes' sitting room, dressed as a city gent, with top hat and frock coat. I also had been provided with a canvas bag, which contained a fresh set of clothes for both myself and Holmes.
Apparently, from what information Charlotte Swales had passed to me via Shiner, Bryce had got into the habit of bringing clothes along – as he would sometimes make a mess of those that he wore during his visits to Cherry Tree House.
I made a practice before the mirror, making sure that my voice was somewhat different from my usual tone and delivery, as I introduced myself as Miles Kavanagh, JP. A friend of Gervais Bryce.
Soon, Holmes walked out of his bedroom, disguised as the captured MP. He smiled at me.
"I see that you are getting into the spirit of your new persona, Watson! Bravo!"
"Thank you, Holmes. And I must admit that you do look remarkably like Bryce. Should I bring my service revolver?"
"No, doctor. The weapons we will need – including our crucifixes - are at the base of that bag, within secret compartments. By your account, Mr Swales stated that we will be searched upon entry to this 'gentlemen's club' – and it will be to our advantage to make the people there think that we have nothing to hide. We must not tip our hand, until we have met up with this agent 'Jade', and discovered the truth of whatever is going on there." Holmes paused and gave me a pensive look.
"I appreciate your support tonight, Watson. But I must stress again, that I suspect that we are walking into grave danger…"
"You are not going to make me change my mind, Holmes," I retorted. "I must know what happened to Mary's body!"
He sighed and clapped my shoulder. "If I was you, no doubt I would do the same also. Very well! Let's head out and hail a carriage, Watson."
Within the hour, at the having given the password (which had been written on the sheet handed to me by Shiner), the doorman to Cherry Tree House nodded and admitted us in with a curled finger. He did not smile. And I observed that the front door was locked and bolted again behind us. The key was returned to its pocket on the brawny watchkeeper.
Although the doorman was dressed smartly in a black suit, he struck me as a thug. Maybe it was because I had already been given an impression of him from Mr Swales – but the Crew cut dark-grey hair and the tattoos, just visible underneath his white shirt cuffs, plus his stoney expression made me shudder. This then, was Grimes. A man who, until a few years before, had been part of Professor Moriarty's criminal association.
"Put your palms against this wall, whilst I check ya both out," he ordered.
We obeyed. I bristled at the way we were being treated – but I know this had to be done. Thankfully, it was soon over.
"What's with your bag?" Grimes scowled at me.
"It contains fresh clothes. In case of…our present clothes getting messy," I answered him. "Gervais here suggested it."
The man sniggered as he quickly examined it. To my relief, he did not detect the secret compartments deep within. Nor did he question the weight of it. "Bryce's learned by experience, then!" He turned to Holmes and nodded. "Mr Bryce. Welcome back. Who's the geezer with ya?"
"He's a friend of mine, Mr Grimes. I believe I told the Mistress here I would bring more of my associates. To see if they would like what the club has to offer," Holmes silkily replied in a voice that was similar to Bryce's.
Grimes directed his dark, unfriendly eyes back onto me. "Your name?" he spat.
"Oh! I am Miles Kavanagh. I am a JP. Gervais here hasn't told me much about this place. But he said that the women of this house are like none other in London," I replied, smiling, wishing that my heart was not pounding so much.
Grimes gave a bark of a laugh. "Ain't that the truth! Some of 'em, anyhow. The others are just the usual sluts – who haven't been in their jobs long enough to be…promoted…to being special. Now, let's be seeing payment for both of you. It'll be the same…services for you…as last time, Bryce?"
"Not exactly. My friend and I both wish to see Garnet tonight. So how much will that cost?"
A whistle of surprise came from the brute. "Two on one, eh? Except that one will be more than capable of handling both of you, I fancy." Grimes then told Holmes the fee. "An' don't forget to tip her well. Or she will have your guts for garters!"
Masking his feelings, Holmes reached into his wallet and made the requested payment, which Grimes then marked in a ledger behind the wooden reception desk. The money went into a money belt that was slung around his waist.
"Now then, wait here gentlemen. I need to pay in your dosh, pass the request onto Garnet, and tell Mistress Obsidian you're here. Her nibs has been wonderin' why you didn't report back earlier!"
"I have been held up by…" Holmes started to explain – but Grimes had stridden off through an archway, leaving us in the reception room, which consisted of several plush seats. On one wall, opposite us were murals – one of which I recognised as the depiction of Adam and Eve in the Garden of Even, from the bible. Other murals were of Greek and Roman figures and cherubs – a mingling of mortals and gods and goddesses in scenes that suggested attraction and lust…
"Where are you, blackie? You need to watch the door, whilst I look for the Mistress!" Grimes called out, somewhere further along the ground floor corridor beyond the archway.
"On my way," a second voice responded.
"Obsidian?" I whispered to Holmes, grateful that we were alone for the moment.
He likewise briefly reverted to his natural voice, keeping his reply low.
"That Swales fellow referred to Garnet and Jade. Now we learn that the mistress of the house is termed Obsidian. Gemstones. Watson. Perhaps each female member of staff here is given such a code name, so that their true identity is cast aside in the pursuit of their work."
I looked at Holmes carefully. Then I realised, to my surprise, that he was trembling slightly.
"Holmes! What is making you so afraid?"
He clasped his hands together and looked down at the fine red carpet, avoiding my eye contact. "I have never been…intimate…with anyone, Watson. Yes, I kissed Milverton's maid as I pretended to woe her, whilst I ran a reconnaissance on that odious man's household. But I never took things too far with her. I am just hoping that I will not be forced into something…I am not comfortable with."
"Well, that makes two of us!" I hissed back.
Holmes' lips twitched in fleeting amusement as he forced himself to be calm. I used the opportunity to take a series of deep breaths to slow down my racing heartbeat.
Then we saw the second doorman take up his position behind the reception counter near to us. He was a large, black man, dressed in a grey suit and a salmon-coloured tie…
I glanced at Holmes, sat next to me. His eyes widened, as he – like me – recognised 'blackie', as Grimes had called him. Fortunately, the new arrival was now reading the ledger that he had just opened up – I could just see it from my seated angle. Then the door was rapped upon, and Steve Dixie – who had invaded our sitting room at 221B Baker Street at the start of the story I had called 'The Adventure of the Three Gables' - opened up the door and prompted the two men outside for their password, before admitting them. Dealing with them one by one, he patted them down for anything concealed.
This distraction gave me a chance to whisper to Holmes without being overheard. However, I deliberately refrained from using any names.
"My word. It is good that we are disguised…!"
"Indeed… Say no more, my friend. Also, I observed that both doormen were wearing crucifixes over their shirts. It cannot be for religious reasons in a place like this."
"Then why…?" I began to ask.
"Protection, of course. A safety measure – in case certain other workers here lose control." Holmes sniffed. "As for our familiar 'friend' being here, I wonder if this means that Mistress Obsidian is…"
And then the lady herself strode into the reception chamber and turned to us.
I had only met her once before, briefly – and her attention at the time had been focused on Holmes, with me being a bystander. Nevertheless, I still felt unnerved by the presence of the tall woman, who carried herself in her glittery black and gold dress and red cloak with the grace of a queen. The look she gave us with her Spanish eyes was like that of a bird of prey – a falcon or buzzard, perhaps. It was lessoned somewhat by her smile – but not by much. Her striking head of curly dark russet hair was in the same style as when I had last seen her, with Holmes – in the early months of 1891. Her pale face was compensated by her straight nose, the firm jawline, and a wonderful pair of ruby-red lips. Even at first glance, it was plain to tell that this was the Mistress of Cherry Tree House. Octavia Darlington as Mistress Obsidian.
But when Holmes and I had visited her West End house, in order to deal with her over the Three Gables case, she had been named Isadora Klein.
This information had not been passed to me from Charlotte Swales. Could it be that Gervais Bryce had not known of her true identity?
Indeed, was Isadora Klein really her actual name? I began to question myself…
"Mr Bryce. It is good to see you again. I have been waiting for your report after your mission," she announced to Holmes a little stiffy, her Hispanic accent still present – though she spoke excellent English.
Holmes rose to his feet, and I followed suit.
"My apologies, Mistress Obsidian," Holmes whispered – just low enough for me to hear. "The mission did not go according to plan. Holmes was too difficult to overcome. I managed to escape – but had to lie low. And Howells was…"
Klein held up her hand, silencing him.
"¡Bastante! We will discuss this in my office, Mr Bryce. But I see you have brought one of your friends here to experience our…gentlemen's club…for the first time."
"Yes, Miles Kavanagh. A judge," Holmes introduced me.
"Madam," I bowed my head. "A pleasure to meet you."
Smiling, Klein extended her black-gloved hand for me to kiss as she curtsied.
"It is good to have you…join us, Mr Kavanagh," she purred. "Now, you must join the others in the rear garden for drinks – whilst Mr Bryce answers my questions regarding the absence of…Howlite. The ladies will soon be joining you. And, in case your friend has failed to mention it. No smoking is allowed in this house."
That was a surprise to me, considering that this was a club of sorts. But I saw Holmes nod, as if the information meant something to him. Something that eluded me.
And so, before long, I was part of a small crowd in the delightful back garden, with its gushing fountain, and colourful flower beds, sipping at wine that was being served by both maids and manservants in uniforms. To speak of the crowd itself, the menfolk were all clearly – going on their smart attire, top hats, and general bearing - well-to-do. I recognised a few from photographs of members of parliament in a file that Mycroft Holmes had left behind at 221B during his last visit. A few others I could tell, listening to their conversations, were of high rank in the police, or senior figures in the shipping and banking trades. One, I knew to be a senior manager at St Bart's Hospital. For my part, whilst Holmes and his bag was parted from me, I made the effort to listen to the other men, who were generally laughing and jovial. Once or twice, one of the other men tried to engage me in conversation – but apart from giving my alias and profession, I said little.
Our gathering was lit up by the lanterns that were set around the gardens. Above us, the cloudy evening sky was darkening. We had knocked on the front door at least half an hour after sunset, as per the instructions Karl Swales had passed to me from 'Jade'.
Apart from building up a mental list of the men's identities and their professions, I did not seem to be learning anything useful. I did note that none of the men were breaking the 'no smoking' rule.
Then the ladies emerged from the doorway to the house, roughly a dozen in number – equal to the gathering of rich men who were visiting. They were all dressed in evening gowns and long, elegant gloves. Though I noticed that half of them were also attired in red cloaks, like Klein. One of them, with red hair, cut short in the manner of a man, aged perhaps between thirty and forty, seemed to the overseer of the group, judging by her occasional, watchful glances towards each of the other ladies. Though she had a ready smile for the men she spoke with, she seemed to have cold eyes. And she made me shiver as she briefly turned her gaze upon me, before moving her attention onwards.
Those women were all strikingly beautiful and were very composed, their motions languid, yet fluid. Their tinkering laughter, as they conversed with the men, somehow like the clinking of their wine glasses as they met in some toast – each man now with one woman. By contrast, the ladies without the red cloaks were still pretty, still capable of laughter and giving their allocated men smouldering looks. But a couple of the latter group of women seemed younger, and less confident. As if they were new to their trade…
"Mr Kavanagh, I presume?" a measured, rather-sultry voice spoken to me, the now solitary man without a lady partner. I turned to see an Asian woman of average height, appearing to be aged in her thirties, walking languidly over to me. She spoke with an accent that I recognised as Indian. Her evening dress was of a rich burgundy colour – and it complimented her dark hair, which was cut strikingly short all over, as if she was a man. Her watchful eyes, likewise, matched the colour of her hair. She, like some of the other women, wore a scarlet cloak.
A scarlet woman…, a voice in my head silently whispered.
"That is correct. Are you…Garnet?" I ventured.
She gave a slow smile, just showing a glimpse of her pearly white teeth, and nodded. "At your service, Mr Kavanagh. I understand that both you and Mr Bryce have requested…a shared session with me."
"Y-yes," I stammered. There was something about this woman that make me feel uneasy. She struck me as very self-assured. Grimes' words about her made me wonder just how much of a temper she had, if she did not receive an adequate tip.
"A bold move for him and you. Especially since this is your first visit here, sir," she stated. "He must want you coming here as frequently as he does." Garnet turned to take a couple of wine glasses from the nearest waiter, and she handed me one – whilst she sipped at the other.
During the next few minutes, whilst I sipped at my glass, Garnet asked me about how I preferred to make love to her. I nearly spluttered at her forwardness. But I could now hear some of the other men and women present starting to talk about their sexual fantasies. I am too embarrassed to write of the details here. All that the reader of this account needs to know is that Garnet, through her lingering looks, her sultry words, and the touches of her gloved hand upon my own hand and my face, was trying to arouse me.
It was to my great relief that Holmes – still in his disguise as Gervais Bryce – soon came to my rescue. Though as Garnet directed her slow, delicate touching upon his face, I saw Holmes stiffen, and he seized her gloved hand. A surprised look of annoyance flashed across Garnet's face.
"Not here. In your room," he muttered.
Indeed, some of the men – paired with their ladies for the night, as if they were attending a ball – were already walking back into the house.
Garnet gave a hungry-looking smile. "My… You are inpatient tonight, sahib," she purred. She finished off her wine glass and placed it on the stone ledge that bordered part of the flower beds. My own half-drunk glass soon joined it. "Very well, boys. Which of you will escort me in?"
Holmes nodded to me. I will keep hold of this," he told me tapping the bag with his long index finger.
"Did you satisfy…Madam Obsidian's questions?" I asked him.
"Apparently so, since she allowed me to leave. Now, let's focus on the issue currently at hand," Holmes advised me. "This lady is waiting to be escorted."
And I so offered my hand to Garnet. Arm in arm, we headed inside with some of the other couples – whilst Holmes followed close behind with the bag. Soon, with Garnet directing me upstairs, all three of us had entered Room 1.01. Breaking off from me, Garnet saw to the gas lamp, provided us all with light to see the room and its contents.
I still shudder at the memory of it. Some of the apparatus that was present next to the large, plush bed, eluded me as to their function – but the handcuffs, chains, and whip told me that Garnet was a woman who took delight in the strange perversions of her paying clients…
Holmes took in the contents of the room, then he turned his attention to the empty fireplace. "It is a little cold in here," he spoke. "Perhaps a fire is in order?"
Garnet closed the door and turned to him with a look of surprise. "You will soon feel warm, I assure you," she replied. "When we are making love…"
"But I see that this fireplace is very clean. It clearly hasn't been used in a long time. Not even during the winter, I fancy," Holmes continued, as if the lady had not spoken. "There aren't even any coals."
"Surely you noticed that the same was true of Howlite's room?" Garnet narrowed her eyes at him. "I understand that she was your regular consort."
"Ah yes. My apologies, Miss Garnet. I am somewhat distracted." Holmes smiled as he dropped the bag he was carrying, then he removed his hat and coat and placed them on the hatstand in the room. I followed suit, observing as I did so that the closed metal door had a locking mechanism on it, as if it was a door to a safe. Though there was a grill next to it that connected the air flow to the corridor outside of the room.
The small window that was set into the room was barred.
We were locked in, with Garnet being the only one to know the code…
The Indian lady draped herself elegantly across the queen-sized bed and began to unbutton the top to her evening dress, revealing the upper portions of her breasts. "So… Which of you is my first course? Or should I make love to one of you on this bed, whilst the one stands at the end and offers me their intimate parts for me to play with, with my mouth…"
I gasped at the picture she was putting into my mind.
Holmes shook his head and stepped closer to me, so that he was in between the scarlet woman and myself. Then whispering in my ear, he told me: "Slip this underneath your clothes now! Then do what you can to keep her attention on you, dear chap."
He passed me a small crucifix which he had just retrieved from the bag. I nodded and quickly hid it underneath my shirt.
Swallowing hard, I stepped around Holmes and spoke to Garnet. "I will go first, dear lady."
She gave a predatory smile and beckoned me forward with her curled fingers, whilst she lay back on the plush pillows and kicked off her slip-on shoes. As she stripped herself down to her underwear, I began to remove my tie, slowly, wondering when the agent of the Swales, Jade, would be able to reach us. And how would she – given the door bolts? I wondered.
I do not wish to describe much of what happened when I reached the bed. I will just state that when I was within her reach, I found Garnet to be…energic. She soon had me on the bed, face up, and she was removing my clothes as she straddled me. The Asian beauty stopped in surprise when she found my little silver crucifix under my shirt. She turned to Holmes, to see him brandishing a hand-sized crucifix in her direction.
Garnet laughed mockingly, making Holmes frown.
"Those toys of yours will not work on me, Gervais Bryce! I was not brought up as a Christian…"
"Of course…," Holmes muttered, annoyed with himself for his evident error. "Perhaps the symbol of Om, on a card, would have made you retreat?"
Garnet's expression suddenly turned sour. She peered at me carefully. And then, she suddenly ripped away my false beard, making me cry out at the pain. Eyes widening, she whipped her face back towards Holmes.
"What is your game, Bryce? Why won't you let me…taste…your companion?"
"Because he is not to become your love slave, dear lady," Holmes retorted as he reached into the secret compartments of the carrier bag again – this time pulling a clove of garlic.
The reaction from Garnet was immediate and astonishing. Her nose twitched and she jolted back from me, retreating to the end of the bed. Her lips pulled back, hissing as she did so, revealing her white teeth. The four canines were longer than normal, and sharp-looking…
Fangs. They were fangs. Just as with the body of Rachel Howells.
Howells… Howlite… Were all of the women associated with this house, who bore a mineral name…? Were they all…fanged?
Garnet's eyes glared at Holmes with hatred. Before my astonished eyes, her fingernails seemed to lengthen slightly into claws.
"How did you get…those disgusting herbs into this house? How did you break free of our control?" she growled. The woman rose to her feet slowly. I could see her shaking – possibly with fear, as well as anger.
Then she braced herself and rushed at Holmes – ready to swipe her nails at his face.
"No!" I cried, getting up from the bed as fast as I could, with just my socks covering my feet. I ran over to assist Holmes as he dodged Garnet's first swipe.
The struggle between us was swift and fierce. Holmes was sent flying into a wall by the aggressive prostitute, and he collapsed on the carpet, moaning with pain. Then she turned and pushed me with force – causing me to collapse upon the bed once more. As I groaned from the bruising to my back, Garnet positioned herself above me on the bed – her knees crushing against my thighs.
"Stay there, mortal!" she whispered with a wide smile. The Asian fiend began to drool, and she licked her lips. Her sharp teeth were still bared as she slowly began to lower her head towards the side of my neck. "You might as well surrender to the pleasure of my bite. Then you will tell me what game you pair are playing at…"
Try as I did, I could not fight back. She now had a tight grip around both of my wrists. "Re-release me!" I spluttered.
Garnet shook her head. "No. You're mine… Your heart is pounding nicely with fear – and your hot blood will fill my vei-"
And then she gasped loudly, as someone swiftly encircled their arm around her neck and rammed a weapon into her back, piercing the flesh. Garnet stiffened, shocked eyes impossibly wide. And then she was pushed off the bed by her attacker, landing with a 'thud'. But now I was free.
Only I was now held rigid by the sight of my rescuer.
We had not properly met before. But I could not forget her, whilst I was acting covertly on Holmes' behalf at the time, during one of our adventures in Briory Lodge, London.
Using her handkerchief to wipe the blood on her hands was Irene Adler. Or as we last knew her to be, Irene Norton.
Her green eyes focused on me. "Get dressed quickly, Dr Watson," she instructed me in a calm manner. "Now that I've been forced to kill Garnet, in order to rescue you pair, the madam of this house will instinctively know what we've done!"
Holmes straightened himself, using the posts on the bed. He stared at Irene with an inscrutable expression. He picked up the garlic and held it close to the woman. Her only reaction was an unladylike snort.
"I am NOT one of them, Mr Holmes. You can put the garlic away. For now. And your disguises no longer fool me, either." She smiled.
"Agent Jade… Of course, your eyes. The people here renamed you after your eyes – not after a gemstone like Garnet, Howlite, and Madam Obsidian." Holmes murmured. He quickly removed his fake beard and placed both of the pieces into his bag. He winced and rubbed his cranium.
Irene smiled at him. "Must I tend to your head wound again, Mr Holmes? Like that other time?"
He gave a wry smile in return as he rubbed his sore head. "That will not be necessary. I agree that we must act swiftly, Mrs Norton. I will recover soon enough."
The woman looked down for a moment, with regret evident in her eyes. "I am Irene Adler once more. My marriage did not work out that well – and so Geoffrey and I divorced. That is why I am back in England once again…"
"You… You killed that woman," I rasped, feeling somewhat dizzy. I kept my eyes focused on Adler's fine ginger hair, and how it was pinned into a knot behind her head. By keeping my eyes still and by breathing slowly, I was able to gradually recover my composure.
Seeing my plight, Holmes stepped over to pat me on my shoulder in his show of support. "I know, Watson. Some of this is a shock to me, also," he announced. "But Garnet was not…exactly human. Miss Adler here has saved us from a ghastly fate."
"Holmes…?" I suddenly gagged. "What is that terrible smell? It's not the garlic."
Holmes turned and pointed at where Garnet had fallen upon the floor. I looked down from where I was on the bed – and gasped.
The body of the Asian prostitute, the bone dagger still lodged in her back, was rapidly aging, before our eyes. I had placed her somewhere in her late thirties. But her formerly flawless face was now visibly developing winkles. Her jawline was beginning to sag, and her dark hair was turning grey. When the unnerving change was over, Garnet now appeared to be a woman aged nearly sixty.
Then her body collapsed in upon itself. It was as if her very bones were crumbling, underneath the skin.
There was a whisp of smoke issuing from the fatal knife wound. When it dispersed, Irene strode over to the corpse and removed the bone dagger. "It's safe now to pull this out," she declared matter-of-factly, holding onto her weapon. "Looks like she had been turned around twenty years ago. When they die, the spell of being suspended in time is broken. Their true age is soon revealed, as you have just seen."
"Then Garnet really was… She was a va…," I rasped, feeling the room start to spin round.
Holmes nodded. "Yes, Watson. Garnet really was a vampire. We are in a viper's nest, that is seeking to grow its control over the government, one important man at a time! And Miles Kavanagh, JP, was to be this wretched woman's latest slave, once she had bitten and beguiled him." He paused. "But we have not yet seen the worst of it, I wager."
Adler nodded her agreement.
I took another series of deep breaths to steady my nerves – and the room stopped spinning. In that time, I observed that Irene Adler was wearing a maid's outfit – and it occurred to me she must have been present in the gardens, during the drinks gathering. More pertinent was the fact that part of one wall in the room was now revealed to be a secret door opened up. Adler, therefore, had emerged from the dimly lit corridor beyond.
"Holmes… Three years ago, you told me that Isadora Klein was due to marry the Duke of Lomond. So why she is here?"
"The marriage did not go ahead, Watson. Langdale Pike informed me. The Duke was killed in a shooting accident." Holmes paused. "…therefore, Klein did not get to inherit any of his wealth."
"So she is still running her own business," Irene spoke up. "Perhaps she intended her second-in-command – Ruby - to run it, if Klein had actually married."
Holmes gave her measured look. "How long has this place been in business?"
"My understanding is that this…business…has been operating for several years," she replied. "A brothel run by vampires. Drawing important, mortal men into their web for more than long enough."
I slowly got up and tested my legs. Deciding that I had recovered enough, I redressed, whilst Holmes threw my coat and hat over to me before donning his own. The garlic was placed back into his bag.
"I am sorry for your marital misfortunate, Miss Adler," Holmes spoke, keeping his voice soft and low. "I had no idea that you were back in London – let alone that you were our contact for tonight. So, where do we go from here?"
"We came to find my wife's body…," I reminded my friend.
Adler narrowed her gaze. Then she nodded. "I will take you both to her. I have been busy these last few days. Not only did I find out about this secret passage by observing the actions of the red robes, but I also believe I know where two of the prisoners are being kept. I suspect that Doctor Watson will find what he's looking for, there." With that, she snatched Garnet's red cloak from where it had been tossed aside, and she slipped it on. "This might help, if we are sighted on the way out," she explained. "I can pretend to be one of the red robes."
"You were an actress, after all, years ago," Holmes remarked drily. He quickly rolled the now-shrivelled body of Garnet underneath the queen-sized bed. Then, making sure that we had gathered all that we had brought with us, the three of us rushed over to the secret passage. Just as we were swinging the hidden door back to its closed position, there was a loud knock on the door. "Open up! Open this door - now!"
It was the voice of Madam Obsidian – Isadora Klein. And judging by the thumping on the nearby staircase, she had company with her.
"She's not asking for Garnet," I muttered.
"That is because she knows Garnet is dead – hence her presence here!" Adler hissed. "As I understand it, there is a subtle mental link between sire and childe…"
"What…?" I began.
"Wait!" Holmes held up his hand, making me and the lady fall silent. Then we saw what he had observed – a thick mist started to seep into the room through the grill that was set between the chamber and the first-floor corridor. As we watched, the mist began to gather itself, somehow taking form. The vague form of a woman in a black dress, who was turning to take in the room…
Holmes swiftly pulled the secret door firmly shut. "Lead the way, Miss Adler! Will that secret door keep them out?" he asked, as we all started to walk swiftly along the hidden passage.
"I suspect not, Mr Holmes. She and the red robes must have ways of accessing this secret passageway, via each hidden doorway – and Klein will unlock the door combination to that room from her side, now that she has misted her way in!"
"Of course… That's how she got out of the shed at the graveyard, through the window. Either her – or another who can perform the same trick," Holmes mused.
I did not have time to fully process Holmes' words. I was in the rear of our little group, as we hurried along the corridor that was lit by a solitary gaslight halfway along. However, I did notice that on one side – at occasional intervals – there appeared to be other doors, which I assumed were connected to other chambers such as the one where Garnet had hoped to…ravish…Holmes and myself.
"What is this corridor for?" I asked Adler, keeping my voice low as the others had.
She glanced back at me, even as she continued to hurry on. "I believe it is designed to grant the vampires of this house easy access to the furnace and the stables, doctor. So that they can dispose of any dead bodies – by burning them, or by taking them far away…"
"…to be dumped in the rivers, if need be." Holmes nodded.
"My word," I whispered. I paused and shuddered with revulsion, then forced myself to press on and keep up.
At the end of the hidden corridor, there was a tight, spiral brick staircase. At the bottom of it, one floor below, Adler carefully opened another door via the release of a catch. Holmes took out the garlic from the bag and hung it around the frame of the door and the handle. Then, as if for added measure, he pulled out something from the hidden compartments of his bag, and crumbled it into pieces, scattering them along the secret corridor.
"This will slow down Klein, and others like her," he remarked.
"What is that stuff, Holmes?" I asked him.
Holmes gave a tight smile. "A holy wafer that the priest I saw was kind enough to give me – along with that holy water I used against Rachel Howells."
We all stepped out into a short dark corridor. A faint light came from the other sides of the doors either side of us.
"The stables are this way," Adler stated, waving her hand to our left so that we could see it. "However, I believe that we need to go to the opposite room…"
"Wait, Holmes!" said I. "Why did you not warn me of what you knew, before we came here?"
"Of what I suspected; you mean. You know what little patience I have for superstition, Watson. And you didn't believe me, days ago, when I spoke of vampires. So, it is painful for me to tell you what I suspect really happened to your wife."
"What do you me-?"
I was interrupted by a cry on the other side of the door to our right.
"Children…!" Adler exclaimed. "And they are crying out for help."
"They must have heard us," Holmes remarked. He turned his attention to Irene Adler, who had already tried the door and found it to be locked. Soon, she was working at it with a key she had hidden upon her person. Then, with a look of triumph, she managed to unlock it.
"A skeleton key… Bravo, Miss Adler," Holmes complimented her, as the three of us then entered the chamber beyond.
What we saw sickened us all.
To one side of the damp, squalid, bricked room, were a boy, and a girl – who looked to be aged about thirteen and sixteen respectively. Their clothing and general bearing reminded me of the street Arabs who formed the Baker Street Irregulars. Their faces were sweaty and grimy, and they looked at us with wide eyes.
There was one other exit to the room – on the far side. That door was shut. Possibly locked. After all, this was clearly a chamber that was being used as a cell.
"She's a red robe!" The girl groaned, seeing Adler's garb. "An' those men… They must be clients…"
"Please! Don't hurt Olive! My sis's has been bleedin'," the boy spoke up.
"Don't tell 'em that, Olly! She'll only want to take advantage of me…!"
I stepped forward to view the children better. They were bound to the wall by shackles – both tethered by one hand and one foot each - and the prisoners were set just far apart from each other so that they could not touch. I saw the trails of blood on the girl's leg. They had oozed down her bare skin from underneath her skirt but looked to have recently dried. However, I could not see any sign of injury to her clothing, or to her face…
I stopped and put my hands on my face, horrified by the implications. "My god…," I whispered. "How long have you been held prisoner here?"
"Lost count o' time, guv. We don't get to see the sun! Must be a couple of days." Olly whimpered as he now retreated away from me. As far as his shackles would allow him to, at least. "Please don't hurt me. That last man hurt me real bad! I'm still sore!"
"We not 'ad food or water for three hours. I need a nurse to clear my bloodstains!" Olive looked to us with a desperate, pleading expression.
I turned away in disgust, as my mind began to comprehend what had been done to the child prisoners. Holmes' expression was thunderous – and he nodded in silent agreement, confirming my suspicions. Adler looked down at the grimy floor, her lip trembling, her hands balled into fists that were shaking with outrage.
"I… I did not realise it was this bad…," she managed to rasp.
"Don't let the lady hurt me!" Olive added. "She's trying not to hurt me – but she's weak and thirsty…"
I turned round, suddenly glimpsing the last remaining occupant of the prison cell. A woman with lank, blonde hair, dressed in a dirty light-blue evening gown. She was lying, face-down on the cold floor, shackled in the same manner as the brother and sister – but her chains were longer, evidently long enough for her to reach out and touch the ankles of the children, I estimated.
She sniffed the air and twitched. She then moaned.
"Careful, Watson!" Holmes called out, as I hurried over to the last prisoner and crouched down, my doctor's instincts kicking in.
"Madam? What have they done to you…?" I trailed off and fell upon my backside with sheer astonishment as the lady raised her startled face and revealed her blue eyes.
"John…," she croaked. Her pale face was grimy. Her lips were almost white. With an effort, she formed a smile at me and Holmes. "You came for me, at last!"
"It… It can't be!" I spluttered; my hands now splayed out behind me as I prised my upper back off the ground. "Mary!?"
My wife nodded sadly. She took a deep breath in.
"It's really me," she whispered. "I've missed you so much, John. They told me they would protect me here… Forced me to adopt the moniker of Turquoise… But now I'm a prisoner too!"
"B-but I saw your dead body in the ho-hospital…," I stuttered. "I don't understand… Wait. Your shackles… How do we free you, Mary?"
"The doormen will have the keys. But…you shouldn't release me…," Mary wheezed, her face drooping momentarily. "…dangerous…"
"We came to find you. We're not leaving without you – or without those abused children!" I retorted. I squeezed her free hand, then recoiled, feeling how cold she was. Mary did not seem to have the strength to grasp my fingers. She gave me the ghost of a smile. I felt that, somehow, she was feeling sorry for me.
Then she tensed and whipped her face up to stare at Holmes and Irene. Or rather, beyond them...
As one, I, Holmes, and Irene, all snapped our heads round – but it was too late. In the doorway that we had used, bearing a pistol now aimed at Holmes' head, was the doorman, Dominic Grimes.
The two children had fallen silent, and they were now rigid. Terror etched on their faces. I realised that I could suddenly smell the boy's urine flowing…
"Found ya'!" Grimes snarled. "I wondered if anyone was lookin' for the scamps. So I came round from the outside."
"How many children are there here?" Holmes sniffed the air, narrowing his gaze at Olive and Olly, not doubt picking up on what I just had. "And how many have you personally abused, Mr Grimes?"
The thug snorted. "How many…? Why! That's a trade secret, Mr Suddenly-Beardless! And whilst Olly here is a favourite o' mine, Obsidian ordered that he be put here, to teach Turquoise here a valuable lesson about her new status. Still, I have others to play with – like Turquoise herself – so I mustn't grumble."
"You…played…with my wife?" I stiffened, feeling a fire suddenly burn somewhere deep inside of me. A fire that was smouldering with barely contained fury.
"Your…wife?" Grimes's puzzlement gave way to a knowing look and a calculating grin. "So you are really Doctor Watson, eh? Well, you've got good taste in women. And I've had a good taste o' her, whilst she's been shackled up…"
I saw Mary avert her eyes away from my gaze. But I spied the disgust and anger in them.
"You really molested her…" I growled. "You devil…!"
"Grimes is playing for time!" Irene hissed at Holmes. "The others…"
"…will soon be here. Quite so," Holmes agreed. "Still, I've learned enough so if you'll assist me…"
Irene gave a grim smile. In an instance, she had produced the bone dagger from a pocket and brandished it in the air.
Immediately, Grimes turned to face her. "Lord Dolingen's dagger!" he snarled. "How the hell did you get hold of…?"
In a flash, Holmes twisted his body round. Grabbing hold of the pistol with one hand, his other locked onto Grimes' free hand. "Bring him down! Both of you!" Holmes shouted to me and Adler.
The struggle that followed was furious. Grimes was strong and fierce – like a bear. Adler was soon sent crashing into the wall close to Mary, and the bone dagger clattered upon the dirty floor. Holmes had taken a kick to his stomach and was downed also. By now, I had lost my reason, and my hands were locked around the thug's neck – even as his own tightened around mine. Trapped in our deadly, mutual embrace, Grimes and I rolled over each other, until he managed to pin me underneath him with his knee.
"John!" Mary screamed. "Sherlock – I have the dagger! But I am weak. His crucifix…"
"I know…," Holmes moaned painfully. "Let me assist you…"
"Wha!?" Grimes grunted.
I looked up at him. Holmes had his hand at the back of the doorman's neck and was pulling on the chain of his crucifix. Then I spied my friend snatch the bone dagger from Mary, before using it to cut the chain. The image of Christ dropped upon my chest.
In the next instance, Grimes let go of me and rolled himself away from my bruised, aching body. He was now on his knees, grabbling with Holmes as they once again were locked hand-to-hand, wrestling in a deadly tug-o-war for control of the dagger in Holmes hand. Slowly, Grimes was forcing my friend's arm to bend lower – and the point was gradually closer to Holmes' neck.
Gasping for breath as I rubbed my sore throat, I saw the dropped keys to the shackles.
Mary saw them too – and she nodded at me.
Snatching them up, I got to my feet and – trembling – managed to unlock my wife from her restraints.
Mary stared at the men fighting. And then she hissed, stretching her mouth wide.
"Mary!?" I gasped and collapsed upon my knees as I saw the four canine fangs in her mouth.
"I'm sorry, John…," she managed to mutter – before throwing herself into the deadly struggle between Holmes and Grimes. Then, no doubt spurred on with a burst of desperation and adrenaline, she pulled on Grimes' wiry hair, in order to tilt his head back and expose his throat – which she wasted no time in stabbing her sharp-looking teeth into.
"Aaagghhh! NO!" the man screamed as he let go of Holmes. He reached out for his fallen crucifix. But even as weak as she was, Mary had him now pinned in place, one of her hands clamped like a vice around his other arm, as he desperately tried to fight her off – and she was gulping down the blood that was flowing from the puncture marks she had made on him.
Mary had instinctively gone for his jugular; I realised in my shock.
Forcing my eyes away, I saw Irene Adler now crouched besides Olive and Olly, holding them, as all three closed their eyes to the slow death unfolding before them. Then, my gaze drifted to Holmes – who was silently watching the scene, grimly.
Eventually, it was over. Grimes flopped upon the dirty floor, as he was finally released, one hand still stretching out for his crucifix, his eyes and mouth open. A mixture of agony and terror stamped indelibly on his dead, pale face.
And Mary was on her knees, gulping down the thug's lifeblood. Then she turned her face to me – presenting her red-smeared mouth, which she then slowly licked clean. As if she was a cat cleaning her forepaw.
Her lips, which had been deadly pale beforehand, were now red – as if the cells had absorbed the remainder of the blood that had just been wiped clean from them.
I realised at last what Holmes had suspected, but what he could not bring to tell me, as I whispered in horror to my much-missed wife.
"Vampire… You're a vampire, Mary!"