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All guest reviews will be removed. This is not my usual story or my style, but I decided to do something different. I hope if you read it, you like it. And if you're not a Sherlock Holmes fan, you may not recognize bits of the dialogue.
The Adventure of the Scandalous Soprano
"Sir Conan Doyle!" A young man in the audience raised his hand as he rose from his seat.
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, having been earlier introduced, now sat alone on the stage at Edinburgh University, his alma mater, looking more like a well-fed walrus than a world-renowned author. The audience, which had packed into the auditorium, knew him as the creator of Sherlock Holmes, not as the physician he had once been.
"Yes, young man. You have a question, I presume."
"Yes, sir, I do at that. As I am an avid reader of your work, oh, and I also want to thank you for resurrecting Holmes…" The audience burst into applause; the famed fictional detective Sherlock Holmes had been killed by his creator but had been recently revived by Conan Doyle to the delight of his fans. Waiting until the noise subsided, the young man continued; "I've often wondered why it is that Dr. Watson narrates the adventures and not Holmes himself." The young man sat back down to supportive clapping; many others were obviously wondering the same thing.
"Well," Conan Doyle said, glancing at the ceiling, thinking, and then spoke. "I have been a physician, received my education here at this very university, as many of you know, and the reason it is Watson who relates Holmes' adventures is because he is the audience to Holmes' brilliance and is the only one who could catalogue them. And as for Dr. Watson, well, I serve as the model for him."
The audience again applauded, and Conan Doyle couldn't help but be pleased. Looking out at the people, he acknowledged a middle-aged, well-dressed man who stood to ask another question.
"Sir, I have read that a professor of yours, Dr. Joseph Bell, was your inspiration for Sherlock Holmes. Is that to be believed?" The man sat back down, waiting along with the others in the attentive audience.
Conan Doyle smiled. "Yes, yes-he was a great inspiration in my creation of Holmes, being tall and slender and a most observant person; he made deductions based on subtle evidence, taught me to use a magnifying glass to see the miniscule differences between the edges of wounds caused by various instruments of death, to examine a person's hair for changes and to study exactly how a body decomposes-all the small things that are so very large when it comes to solving causes of death. Years ago, an old college friend wrote me, asking if it was Professor Bell about whom I actually wrote under the guise of Holmes.
"But to be truthful, although Professor Bell was a model for Sherlock Holmes, it was on my first trip to America as a young boy that I was introduced to the person who ignited my passion for observation, deduction and inference thirteen years before I first put pen to paper. I played Watson to his Holmes, and I also met the woman who inspired my creation of Irene Adler whom Holmes, as you know, always referred to as 'The Woman'." Low voices rumbled through the audience. "A Scandal in Bohemia" was arguably one of Doyle's most popular story and one they desired to hear about the most; Holmes enthusiasts hotly argued over whether or not the detective loved Irene Adler or merely admired her. Many a discussion ended in fisticuffs with both participants being tossed out of the pub and into the street where they continued arguing their opinions. "And over the years, I wrote many of this gentleman's ideas into Holmes' dialogue, altering them to give Holmes a haughtier British attitude – an edge of superiority."
The people in the auditorium chuckled. They, on the whole, were Scots and held low opinions of the British that went back for generations, time out of mind.
"Please, Sir," A woman said, rising from her chair and holding a book in her gloved hands, pressing it to her bosom as if it was of more value than any other possession—even the small, black leather handbag over her arm. "Would ye be so kind to give us an example?" Applause rose from the audience. She smiled again before sitting back down and Conan Doyle couldn't help but notice that she was attractive, well-rounded with rosy cheeks. A lovely woman always caught his attention.
"Well…let me think for a moment! Ah, yes. In quite a few books, Holmes says to Watson, 'You see but you do not observe; the distinction is clear.' I am sure my friend in America said something more casual and less of a reproof, something along the lines of, "You see but don't really look; they're two very different things.' I couldn't place such a simplistic, pithy expression in Holmes' mouth! Whatever would you think of him?" The audience laughed and Conan Doyle smiled.
A voice came from the back of the auditorium. "Would you be so kind as to share your experience in America? I was duly fascinated with 'A Study in Scarlet' that it makes me now wonder if the two stories are related in any way."
Murmurs rose from the audience with raised voices asking, "Please!' and "Yes, do, tell us."
Conan Doyle raised his hands and the crowd became silent. The author smiled; he was in his milieu; there wasn't much he liked better than to tell a good story. He folded his hands and rested them on his thickened middle and settled in.
"Well, I was a boy of only 14 and one of my uncles took it upon himself to send me to an old admired acquaintance of his who lived in the southwestern United States; my family life was in a state of turmoil and it was agreed upon that the fresh air and wide-open skies would benefit me before I was sent away to boarding school. While there in that wild, alien country, I did travel through Utah and met some Mormons and heard many tales of polygamy and such; all of it served to stir my imagination and I often thought back on that trip when I finally sat down to write my first novel. But the strange terrain of Nevada, the fascinating people, the grandeur of Lake Tahoe that 'almost' equals that of Loch Lomond…it was beyond wonderful and definitely inspirational. As I stated, the patriarch of this family was an old acquaintance of my uncle's, a Benjamin Cartwright, who had grown sons. I much admired his eldest son, Adam, and as I stated, an incident in which I slightly participated, inspired me to write, "A Scandal in Bohemia" which is not in the same vein of mysteries later to sprout from my imagination."
"As I said, I was young, 14 years of age, when I boarded the ship for America, my knees knocking and madly waving to my weeping mother dabbing at her eyes and my stern, determined uncle…"
The Tale
The Ponderosa was hosting three guests. One had been there for a few weeks already, a young Scotsman by the name of Arthur Doyle, and arriving later, Colonel Robard Mead and wife. During the Meads first dinner as guests, Arthur politely sat and ate without interrupting the adults, but he observed. He desired to become a doctor and although he was an eager boy, he realized he had much to learn and found Adam Cartwright, the eldest of Ben Cartwright's sons, an apt teacher, mainly in relating to people and ferreting out the true motives of their actions. Adam stressed that observing people can help with a diagnosis.
Arthur had to learn to ride as in Scotland, his feet had been his main mode of transportation and the western saddles were to his mind, ungainly, compared to the small, elegant English saddles and he said such. So, before his first outing, Adam asked him to try to figure out why western saddles were designed as they were; there was a reason for everything. So, while Adam sat on a bale of hay, his legs crossed and an amused smile on his face, Arthur tried to figure it out. He was at a loss when it came to the saddle horn—it seemed to Arthur's mind, dangerous and prone to damage a man's most delicate parts. Adam had roared with laughter at that and then explained about roping and the horn's purpose.
But Adam had also taught him to truly look. "You can't just see, but observe," Adam had said when Arthur had found a skull under some brush while out riding. "For example, what type of animal was this." Adam held the skull. "Feline or canine?"
"Maybe it's that of a dog," Arthur offered.
"I hope not—look at the teeth. You want a dog with teeth like that?"
"No, I suppose not. Offer it a treat and it'd snap off you hand at the wrist!"
Adam laughed. "Look at it. Really look." He handed the skull to Arthur who studied it.
"Well…it has those large fangs. In a dog, those are called canines, correct?" Arthur asked.
"Correct, and in humans too. Also in cats as contrary as that may seem. But imagine the skull with skin and fur."
Arthur stared at the skull in his hand, observing it and imagining… "It's a cougar, isn't it? It's a cat-like skull."
"Why do you say that?" Adam waited.
"The snout is too short to be a wolf or coyote and the skull is shorter, rounded. A canine would have a lengthier snout and a flatter skull. Why do you think that is, Adam?"
"Maybe it has something to do with how they find prey. What do you think?" Adam waited. Arthur was bright, very bright. Adam thought the boy would be a fine doctor someday.
"Dog-like animals hunt by scent. Cat-like creatures hunt by sight so they need their eyes in a prominent position. Am I right?"
"Seems perfectly logical to me," Adam replied, grinning. "Now mount up. We still have the mine to check."
"Can I keep this?" Arthur asked, indicating the cougar skull.
"Of course. Now you know one of the uses for saddle bags."
So, Arthur took to observing everyone and everything, and as he studied Colonel Mead and his wife, what he saw across the table from him was an anxious man and a disapproving wife. The colonel was a handsome man in his mid-50's, tall and with almost regal bearing, but he seemed uneasy, unable to keep his mind on the conversation but then, as with most dinner conversations, nothing of much import was discussed.
"This has been a wonderful meal, but I've eaten far too much!" Colonel Mead sat back; he seemed to keep his military posture even while reclining. He had enjoyed the roast beef with carrots, peas and small new potatoes accompanied by many glasses of Beaujolais.
"My dear," Mrs. Mead reprimanded, "don't be vulgar! I'm sure Mr. Cartwright and his sons don't need to know about your self-imposed discomfort."
"Now, now," Ben said, "please, call me Ben, Mrs. Mead. And the best way to flatter our cook is to overeat. Hoss here makes Hop Sing the happiest cook alive every day of the week."
"That's right, ma'am," Hoss responded as he wiped his plate clean with the last roll, removing all traces of the gravy. "And once you fear you're gonna pop, ask for dessert."
Early on, young Arthur had made the common mistake of immediately judging Hoss Cartwright an imbecile due to his enormous size, grammatical errors, ribald sense of humor and loud laugh. But Hoss' warmth drew the boy to him. Their conversations were of the common kind—animal husbandry and how to repair ranching implements as one of Hoss' favorite tasks was repairing items to make them last. But taking to heart what Adam had told him about observing, Arthur concluded that Hoss was an intelligent man, as intelligent as his older brother but in a different way; Adam relied on calculations and emotionally removed himself from decisions while Hoss relied on his heart. While Arthur knew that doing so could end in pain and suffering as had befallen his mother, it was an admirable trait akin to sacrificing oneself every time a problem arose. But neither brother was impulsive unlike the youngest, Joseph, who appeared easy-going and was genuinely likeable, often coming to dinner with his lovely bride, but Arthur sensed, as Hoss would were he not related, that Joseph was a matchhead, just waiting to flame, and that the youngest brother would turn on a man if he felt an injury was done.
Ben smiled at his guests. "Can I serve you more coffee? Although we were all banished from the kitchen all day, I'm sure I smell Hop Sing's famous 5 spice cake."
Mrs. Mead smiled at Ben but glanced at her husband. "I really can't eat anything more at the moment. Perhaps later, but I will have another cup of coffee. Would it be all right if we retire to the…" She suddenly stopped and looked about; this wasn't a dining room as it just flowed into the main living area. But Ben, sensing her confusion, offered his arm and asked Hoss to bring the coffee and such on a tray into the main room. There, Mrs. Mead who insisted on being called Mildred, sat and adjusted her voluminous skirts. She had once been a handsome woman but during the war and upon her husband's return, food had become more important to her and of late, her dressmaker's patterns needed to allow for her expanding bosom, waist and hips. But her dark hair still kept its glossiness although iron-gray strands were multiplying, and with the help of rouge and kohl, she was still an attractive woman who would be admired as she stood beside her husband when he became the next governor of Nevada.
"Well," Colonel Mead said, clearing his throat before continuing. "Adam, why don't we go on the porch and enjoy a good cigar and exchange war stories? Mildred can't bear cigars or when I relive my military days." He pulled a silver cigar case from his pocket and upon seeing it, Mildred corroborated her distaste for cigars, their foul odor and the putrid breath that resulted from smoking them; she couldn't bear kissing a mouth that had been so tainted. The Colonel's color rose in his cheeks as all the Cartwright men seemed uncomfortable with her remark; did the same apply to the Colonel's connubial intimacies? Adam quickly agreed that a cigar on the front porch would be pleasant and good for the digestion. But before he left, Adam glanced at young Arthur who had politely been seen and not heard during dinner. The young man remained silent.
Once the adults were settled and ready for their coffee, Arthur asked if he could be excused; he had promised his mother he'd write her every week and had been remiss.
"Of course," Ben said, "but won't you have some cake first?"
"Thank you, sir, but no. I suffer from dyspepsia as does my mother." Arthur didn't want to add that it struck them during the terrible time in their lives before his wealthy uncles stepped in to save the Doyle family.
"Well, of course," Ben said, and Arthur took his leave. Once in his room, Arthur opened the window to allow the cool, evening air to comfort him with the scent of pine. He sat at the small desk and raised the lamp's wick to write his mother. Arthur pulled out some stationery, picked up the pen but paused, listening. He could hear voices from below float into his room along with the odor of cigar smoke.
~ 0 ~
Colonel Mead asked Adam if they could move to the side of the house; he didn't want to take a chance of being heard through the open downstairs windows. Adam complied and took a puff on the cigar as they stood under the large oak.
"Don't think you and your wife aren't welcome, Colonel, but I am wondering why you've come here when the convention is in Carson City," Adam said, looking at the cigar as he twirled it a bit. The visit from his former commanding colonel surprised Adam. It had been a good eight years since the end of the war and Adam had done his best to forget. Then a wire arrived two days earlier informing Adam that Colonel Mead and his wife would be in the area and would like to visit. Of course, once they arrived, Ben Cartwright insisted they stay the night; it seemed the Colonel had been hoping for the invitation and readily accepted. Would it be an imposition, the Colonel asked, if he and his wife also spent the time with them before the convention? Traveling was so uncomfortable for Mildred, and she tended to vapors; he would be willing to reimburse Ben for the expenses incurred. Of course, Ben and Adam both declined his offer, leaving no doubt it was their pleasure to entertain the couple.
"Well, as I said, since I'm formally announcing my candidacy, I thought I'd visit. Carson City isn't that far from here. I have to say, this ranch, the Ponderosa, is magnificent and peaceful. I envy you this land and your pastoral lifestyle."
"With all respect, Colonel, it's hardly pastoral. We don't herd cattle like sheep and there are no barefoot milkmaids to dally with. It hard, hot miserable work."
Colonel Mead chuckled. "I'd say my idealization just shows how much I long for the end of the campaign and traveling about the state." He sighed. "Adam, you were a fine captain, and I've always thought highly of you. You were not only an officer but a gentleman as well." He took a pull on his cigar.
"Thank you," Adam said. The cigars were of high quality—mellow and with a slight sweetness. He wished he'd also brought along a snifter of brandy. They would have complimented and enhanced each other's qualities.
"Please." Mead said, "the war is over. We can be on friendlier terms. If I may call you Adam, please call me Robard."
Adam smiled but said, "I don't think I can. Military training isn't easily overcome but feel free to call me Adam. If I may speak openly…"
"Yes, Adam." Colonel Mead walked a few steps away, his back to Adam. It would be easier if he didn't have to see the army captain's probable disdain. "You want to know why I asked to come out here. I need your help. Desperately. It will, I'm sure, come as a disappointment to know the much-honored Colonel Mead has feet of clay."
"As all men do," Adam said. "But go on. How can I help?"
Mead turned; his breathing heightened. "First, I ask you not to judge me, at least not until this whole matter is resolved." Mead took a deep breath to settle himself before proceeding. "I don't know if you're aware that the renowned Miss Irene Adell will be performing tomorrow night at Piper's Opera House. It's of her I care to speak This is all very embarrassing."
"Perhaps it would be better if you didn't tell me then. There are…" But Mead cut him off; Mead was indeed a desperate man.
"I need your help…I'll pay for your services. You see, I need someone to find something of mine that is in her possession. I need someone, hopefully you, to do a little detective work."
"What? I'm no detective, just a rancher and that's all I am." Adam was confounded. True, early in the war, he had been impressed to work in the Subsistence Depot to uncover why rations were not reaching the troops and when they did, the rations were exceptionally tardy or infested with weevils and there never was the amount of coffee delivered that had been requested. His appointment there would, of course, be in his military record along with the fact he had accomplished the task in a mere two months, found the two miscreants who were stealing and reselling Army rations, especially tins of condensed milk. The two men confessed, were court martialed and sent to military prison.
"I've been a fool, Adam, a damn fool and Irene Adell is why. She can ruin me, Adam, ruin all my chances for becoming governor."
Adam considered. "I'm assuming you had an affair with her."
"More than an affair, at least on my part. Oh, I adored her! She is the most exquisite creature I've ever seen. Her skin is silken and her face is that of the Madonna. I made a fool of myself over her. A goddamn fool. I considered leaving my wife for Irene. I begged for her love but when I finally confessed I was married, she ended it, refused to see me! I would go to her apartment in town and bang on her door, beg her to open it. Twice the police dragged me away and then, the third time, I was arrested, but once I revealed my identity, they released me. So, I wrote her a letter begging Irene for her love. I swore my eternal devotion and adoration. She wouldn't reply so I wrote more letters and became more desperate, went to cities where she performed, telling my wife some far-fetched excuse which she pretended to accept. After Irene's performances, I would wait to see her along with all the other men, but she would just sail by me just as she did them, bolting herself in her dressing room. She would have nothing to do with any of us."
"Are you hoping to renew your…friendship with her?"
Mead chuckled. "If I could, I probably would, but all hope in that regard was lost over a year ago. She has nothing but disdain for me now. No. I want the letters back."
"What makes you think she still has them? If she wants nothing to do…"
Mead turned on Adam. "Because she's blackmailing me! She said that on the night I announce my candidacy, she will appear and read one of my letters aloud. She said the people deserve to know that I am…an adulterer and, this is even worse. In one letter, the one I'm certain she intends to read as it is the most damning, I proposed embezzling money from my construction business so we could escape together, perhaps to Italy. Adam, I was mad—out of my mind over her. I have considered withdrawing my name from the gubernatorial race but my campaign manager, Mr. Roque, is certain I'll win. Mildred doesn't know anything about this sordid business and I want to keep it that way. Please, won't you help me?"
"I don't see how I can help. And if you considered embezzling, maybe you should withdraw from the race. I wish, Colonel, you hadn't told me." Adam knocked the ash from his cigar. He disliked hearing such personal matters.
Mead pulled out his handkerchief, mopping his brow. "I've wanted to be governor for so long and I would make a good governor, an excellent one. It was just that one time I gave in to my baser desires." Mead seemed to be back with Irene Adell for a few seconds, back in her embrace before he returned to the present. "Won't you try to get the letters, Adam. Please."
Having his colonel beg him embarrassed Adam for the man. "As I said, you don't really know she has them. Maybe it's a bluff. Maybe she just wants to torment you because she can. Most women wouldn't keep letters from someone they no longer value."
"Irene is not most women, and I'm assured she has them. She mailed one to me, one of the less scandalous in which I compared her, well, her nether lips to an opening rosebud. I recalled the metaphor from some vulgar poem I once read."
"You can't possibly remember every letter you wrote to her. Perhaps the ones she has, or claims to have, are forgeries."
"No, no. The letter she sent me was genuine." Mead dropped his head in his hands. "Oh, in some letters and in the most passionate of terms, I wrote about caressing and kissing her beautiful breasts, the beauty of her mound of Venus, the ecstasy of…. I'm filled with humiliation at just the thought others might hear what I wrote and my wife, she would surely leave me. But I was a man in love. No, a man enthralled by Irene Adell. She is a witch, I swear, and cast a spell over me."
Adam stared at Mead. He had sympathy for the man, but it seemed Mead was a victim of his own weakness. Mead had been a fool. "Have you offered her money?"
"Yes. I started at $100.00 for the letters and then more, but she has refused all amounts. And I'm sure she has at least one here since she wrote she will present 'it' at the gala."
"So, she has at least one letter to read. Of course, that would be all she needs if her threat is real. If she has other letters, they may be elsewhere, in a bank or a personal vault or with a lawyer. Maybe even burned." Adam added.
"I've searched."
"What do you mean?"
"My campaign manager, he hired Pinkertons to try to find them. They've searched her home, turned it upside down, searched her bank records and even vandalized her lawyer's office trying to find the letters. Not a one has been found. During her tour, her baggage has been secretly searched. I am sure she has at least the one letter with her, but where it is..."
Adam mused. "Approximately, how many letters in total are we talking about?"
Mead, looking ashamed, confessed to about 5 letters, perhaps 6. "I was in a fevered state when I wrote them, Adam, endlessly long letters. I've exhausted all other alternatives to get them back. Please, won't you help? I need you to find those letters or at least the one she plans to read."
Adam paused and considered. "I was planning on seeing Miss Adell's opening night performance and treating Arthur. He needs some diversion and culture never stunted anyone's growth. He may even be of some help…"
At first Arthur was embarrassed to overhear such a private conversation but hadn't shut the window and now was glad he hadn't. Adam was going to involve him in a quest to find the truth. Besides, Arthur thought, he had only done all evening what Adam often emphasized-listening and observing.
~ 0 ~
Crossing the yard from the barn where he had been helping Hoss clean tend a small split in a mare's hoof, Arthur saw and heard Adam on the front porch strumming his guitar. Adam had said he often played for pure enjoyment, but he also played to help himself think; many a problem had been resolved mid-chord. Arthur wondered which reason was responsible for this morning's music.
Adam looked up and grinning, placed his palm over the strings to still them. "How'd things go in the barn? Sure you wouldn't rather be a veterinarian one day instead of a human doctor?"
"I find animal health problematic; at least a person can tell you where it hurts but a horse or dog…they suffer in silence." Arthur sat in the chair beside Adam.
"That's why you have to be attentive when dealing with animals because it's the little things that are most important. Is the horse off its feed? Has it dropped its head or changed its gait in the slightest? Some people are too self-absorbed to notice. But, as I'm sure Hoss told you, prevention is the most important thing."
"Yes," Arthur replied. "Hoss told me some famous American once said, 'An ounce of prevention is worth a pound of cure.' And that's why stalls need to be mucked every day, hooves checked and picked and manure needs to be examined on occasion. It only reassures me that my own two feet are far easier to maintain than a horse."
Adam strummed a chord and then looked out as Hoss led the mare into the paddock next to the barn. "Arthur, tonight I'm going to town, to Piper's Opera House. Irene Adell is giving a limited performance and it's opening night. She's going to sing arias from different operas and from what I heard, she's received good reviews. Would you like to come along?"
Arthur practically jumped from his seat; he had been waiting for the invitation. "Oh, yes! Very much so!"
Adam grinned. "You heard the conversation between me and the colonel last night, didn't you?"
Arthur flushed with embarrassment. "Oh, yes, but not intentionally. Honest! I mean I listened intentionally but that wasn't the reason I opened the window." Arthur looked down. "I'm sorry, Adam."
"Don't be," Adam said. "Partway through our talk, I noticed the light from your open window. I should've moved and the colonel would have followed-but I didn't. Besides, over the years I've learned quite a few things, some good, some bad, through eavesdropping." Arthur gave a small smile. "Listen and observe," Adam said. "It's interesting what people say when you're not around—except when it's unflattering to you. Then, you wish you hadn't heard" Arthur laughed.
~ 0 ~
On the way to Virginia City, Adam explained what he would like Arthur to do once they were in Miss Adell's dressing room, that is if they managed to visit. "John Piper, although not a close friend, has been a long-time acquaintance and owes me some favors. He may be able to swing it, ask Miss Adell to see the young lad from Scotland who is enamored of her. All women revel in flattery and a performer more than most. Besides, once you see her, you will become enamored."
"What am I to do?" Arthur asked. He was becoming anxious as this was an adventure he hadn't expected, being a detective of sorts.
"I think Miss Adell keeps the one, the most damning letter with her and since so many efforts to find it have failed, I'm guessing she keeps it with her, maybe even pinned to her petticoats. But my guess is the letter is somewhere in her dressing room during her performances and that she takes it back to her hotel when she's through. So, while you and she are talking, I'll look about to see where it might be hidden. That's all."
Outside the theater, young Arthur did stop and stare at the poster of Miss Adell that lauded her magnificent voice and glorious beauty. "Is she really this beautiful?" Arthur asked Adam, not taking his eyes from the goddess portrayed.
"I would imagine so," Adam said, grinning. "But I'm sure some liberties have been taken—artistic license. Besides, beauty draws people, helps sell tickets."
Sitting beside Adam in the loge, young Arthur was transfixed by the beautiful woman on the stage and although he understood not a word of the arias nor had he ever before seen anything even akin to an opera, when Maestra Adell finished taking her bows while holding a bouquet almost too large for her, Arthur clapped so long and hard that afterward, his palms itched and burned.
"Suffering for love," Adam said. "Get used to it." Adam bought two bouquets from the vendor outside the theatre. He handed one bouquet to Arthur, the larger one with a multitude of roses. "We need to hurry and see her before the real courtiers show."
"Adam" Arthur asked, "You don't have to tell me but…have you ever been in love?"
Adam was taken aback; this was a question no one had ever asked him. After all, delving into a man's heart was intrusive and impudent and yet, Arthur asked with sincerity, not from prurient interest. "Every person's been in love at least once, so, yes, I have been in love."
"Why haven't you married?" Arthur noticed Adam's expression changed as he considered, but then, with a sad smile, Adam answered.
"I almost married a few times—almost. But, whether for good or bad, my brain has always governed my heart, and marriage carries so many risks. Besides, it's final—at least in my mind. It's just the way I am. Now let's get backstage." Adam fully smiled and Arthur grinned back holding the opinion that Adam Cartwright was quite a remarkable man with a fascinating mind.
~ 0 ~
Miss Irene Adell welcomed her young fan into her dressing room but surreptitiously admired the tall, well-dressed man who accompanied him. Miss Adell had honored the request by John Piper, the owner of the opera house, that a friend of his, Adam Cartwright, one of the wealthiest men in Nevada, and his young 'ward' be allowed a short visit with her. She graciously welcomed them and then dramatically lounged in a satin dressing gown while Arthur sat on the edge of his chair. With glittering eyes and adoration in his voice, he talked about her performance in glowing terms, her glorious voice and her beauty stating she was the most magnificent woman he'd ever seen. Irene Adell sat and smiled; the boy was charming, and she did like flattery, especially since she knew her voice would only last another two years at most but not much longer. Miss Adell and Arthur made small talk; she asked him about Scotland as she had once performed in Aberdeen, but her skin prickled as the handsome Mr. Cartwright paced behind her; it was like turning one's back on a panther and awaiting the fatal swipe from its claws. What was he doing?
Miss Adell turned to look behind her and saw Adam holding the framed photograph that had been on her make-up table among the pots of creams and paint. She quickly rose and went to him and placed her hand on the edge of the elegant, silver frame. "I'd rather you not," she said, staring into Adam's eyes. Adam released it and Miss Adell replaced it on the table. "It's valuable, at least to me. That is my sister Adora and her two daughters, my nieces. This one, the eldest, is named after me and this darling is named for our mother, Eugenie. They're the only family I have, and I bring them with me when I travel so I never feel alone."
"I understand," Adam said. "And thank you for seeing us, Miss Adell, but we must leave or I would invite you to dine. But there are many other appreciative and adoring fans lining the hall." Adam walked to the door and Arthur reluctantly rose.
"Good night, Miss Adell," Arthur said. "I can't tell you how very much I enjoyed meeting you. This is truly a memorable night, and I will relive it while recording it in my journal."
Miss Adell lightly laughed. "You speak as a writer, Arthur, and perhaps one day you'll become one and write about me. I should be flattered." Arthur was going to say he wanted to become a doctor, but it seemed moot when in the presence of such a beautiful woman. Instead, Arthur awkwardly took her hand and kissed it. Miss Adell caressed his cheek while Adam watched. She was enjoying the young admirer's slavish attention.
"Let's go, Arthur," Adam said and then turned his attentions to the beautiful woman. "I've enjoyed meeting you as well, Miss Adell, and, as Arthur said, you are beautiful. I may have to see your performance tomorrow night as well."
"Well, I would be pleased if you did. Perhaps we can dine afterwards."
"I couldn't hope for more." Adam took her hand, leaned over and his lips lightly brushed the back of it. Then holding his hat, he turned to leave and join Arthur who was already outside the door, but she touched his arm.
"Mr. Cartwright, were you ever in the army?"
"Yes. Why do you ask?"
"To confirm my suspicion. I am an observer of people as in my business, it is necessary while performing to gauge one's audience; are they pleased, entranced, bored? And while observing you, I noticed you have a military bearing-shoulders back, ramrod straight spine yet, you are trying so hard to lose that authority you once projected. I assume it's because you are now a rancher, or so Mr. Piper said. You're an interesting man, Mister…or should I say 'Captain' Cartwright?"
Adam nodded slightly. "I'm a civilian now so mister is fine." He grinned and put on his hat. "Goodnight, Miss Adell. Here's hoping to see you again." Adam left and Miss Adell closed the door behind him and leaned against it. There were other men, other admirers out in the hall but she felt she needed to recover first; Mr. Adam Cartwright was a dangerous man, she decided but oh, how she loved playing with danger.
~ 0 ~
Adam drove the buggy without talking but Arthur wasn't offended; he recognized Adam was reflecting on what he had seen and learned from the backstage visit. So, Arthur enjoyed the night air and the clinking of the horse's tracings as it trotted along the road but more than anything, Arthur wanted to talk about Miss Irene Adell.
Finally, Adam said, "You have a rare gift for silence, Arthur. It makes you an invaluable companion. So, did you enjoy the opera?"
"Oh, yes. It was most grand, absolutely wonderful and Miss Adell, she is the most perfect female I've ever seen, far more beautiful than her poster, don't you think?"
"Yes, she is beautiful and quite the woman. And a very clever one at that."
Arthur looked at Adam's profile, part of it in shadow, and saw he was smiling. "Did you find where the letter is hidden?"
Adam looked over at him. "Can't you guess?"
"Well, no…I suppose I was distracted. I'm sorry."
"Don't be. I can't blame you for not being able to pull your eyes away from her, but you did exactly as I asked, distracted Miss Adell, at least for a bit. But think back, Arthur. Did anything unusual happen?"
Arthur sat, pondering, going over the visit. After a lengthy musing, he offered, "Well, there was the photograph. She seemed upset that you had picked it up. It is a bit rude to examine another's belongings."
"That's true, but she was more than merely upset—she was fearful. The letter is behind the photograph. She confessed she kept the photograph with her always because it was comforting. According to her, the woman and children are her only family. Now I could accept that if it were a lover or fiancé, but a sister and two nieces? And that may not even be who they truly are; the frame may have held a standard photo for presentation in the shop and that was it. I'm sure that's where the letter is hidden and tomorrow night, I'll retrieve it while she's on stage."
"Adam," Arthur reluctantly said, "I feel quite the scoundrel for participating in this deception as Miss Adell is quite wonderful. Are we doing the right thing?"
"I've been considering that as well," Adam replied. "I don't think much of Colonel Mead, his infidelity and how low he fell in considering embezzlement; obsessive love can cause a man's ruin. The whole matter is distasteful, but as you noticed, Miss Adell inspires many ideas in a man, most of them…unwholesome. The colonel is a man who lost his way, and should his affair be exposed, he would have his life and reputation ruined. Then there's his wife to consider. Does the colonel deserve the scandal? Perhaps. He was swept away with passion. Unfortunately, it happens to many men."
"What about Miss Adell? Wouldn't her affair with Colonel Mead ruin her?" Arthur wanted more than anything to spare Miss Adell.
"Not necessarily. It might even help her. Scandal is a double-edged sword—it can destroy a person or raise them in reputation." Arthur sat in silence; there were many things he needed to ponder.
~ 0 ~
Although Adam was entranced by Maestra Adell, the quality of her voice and her elegant figure, he wasn't deterred; he left his seat and strode backstage to Miss Adell's dressing room. In his cutaway coat and narrow trousers, he was a refined figure, no one to arouse suspicion. Outside the dressing room Adam held the locked doorknob and, using a small wire, worked it until he heard a click and the knob turned. Going to the dressing table, he quickly flipped over the frame and gently removed the back piece. He immediately saw the folded letter. Hearing voices outside the door, he slid the unread letter into his inside coat pocket and waiting until the voices faded, he quickly left, carefully shutting the door and headed back to his seat with a self-satisfied smile. He had been correct in his deduction.
Miss Adell and Adam dined together although she insisted it be a short, light dinner. Tomorrow was the last performance of her three-day engagement, and she didn't want to ruin her voice with alcohol or highly seasoned food that might cause dyspepsia. She needed her sleep as well for nothing ruined her performance more than a lack of it. For Adam, it was an enjoyable dinner. Miss Adell was delightful company, a clever conversationalist and had a few backstage stories to share. Besides, she seemed to grow even more beautiful as the evening wore on, and Adam was beginning to feel soiled by the whole matter of the letter, fighting the urge to hand it back to her with his sincere apologies. Perhaps he would toss it in the fireplace once home and say nothing to Colonel Mead. Irene Adell, Adam decided, was a wonderful woman, and the colonel deserved humiliation and punishment for anything he may have done to distress her.
After a dinner that ended far too soon, Adam offered to walk Miss Adell to her hotel but instead, she asked him to walk her to the theater; there were a few things she needed to retrieve. He waited outside her dressing room door until she came out carrying a small train case. "You may walk me to the hotel now, Mr. Cartwright."
"Please, I asked you to call me Adam," he said.
"Unfortunately, we will not have a lengthy acquaintance, and short ones don't call for such familiarity."
"Allow me to carry your case then," Adam said and taking it, offered her his other arm and together, they walked to the hotel. Despite his hopes of being asked up to her suite, Miss Adell said goodbye in the lobby and Adam admired her magnificent figure as she went up the stairs to her room.
All the way back to the Ponderosa, the letter was like a hot coal in Adam's pocket; he hadn't yet had a chance to read it but once he rode into the yard and handed the buggy off to the barn boy, he stood on the porch under the lit lantern and pulled out the letter. As he read it, he began to grin, and once he reached the end, he chuckled. Irene Adell was quite the woman who would possibly eclipse memories of the other women he had known. And he had never even held her in his arms.
~ 0 ~
"No, Colonel. I found a letter, but it was from Miss Adell and not to you. It was written to me," Adam said. The Colonel had been anxious all through breakfast as he wanted to talk alone with Adam. Colonel and Mrs. Mead were leaving for Carson City as the convention was in two days. He was meeting with his campaign manager over lunch to discuss his candidacy acceptance speech. Mrs. Mead, although she found his behavior oddly out of character, put it down to nerves; he had told her just the night before while pacing beside their bed, that deciding to run for governor of Nevada was more frightening and intimidating than his first battle of the war.
The barn boy was hitching up the horses to the buggy; Ben Cartwright was driving the Meads to the Carson City Hotel, their suite already secured by the campaign manager, and Arthur was bringing down their luggage while Mrs. Mead was fussing about with anything and everything she could as she supervised.
The colonel, looking about to make certain no one could overhear, pulled Adam further away from the house. "Why did she write you? Is there something between you two that prevented you from helping me? You should have told me." His face became flushed.
"No, there is nothing between Miss Adell and me although I wouldn't be unhappy if there were. I can understand your feelings for her, Colonel; she more than deserves any man's devotion." Adam pulled out the letter and unfolding it, handed it to Mead who took it with shaking hands and read:
My Dear Mister Cartwright,
I was most tempted to address you as 'Captain Cartwright' since you have confessed to your military duty. That led me to connect you to Colonel Mead as I know he is in the area due to the upcoming convention for a gubernatorial nominee. Military experiences bind men to one another, so I suspected he asked you to recover a letter I have in my possession that implicates him in most distasteful behavior.
I sensed you detected where I had secreted the letter when you and young Arthur paid me the visit and you closely examined the framed photograph. And despite any expression of skepticism on your part, I sensed you did not believe it was a photograph of my sister and nieces; you are correct in that conclusion. The lovely woman pictured is my manager's sister and those are her two daughters. He keeps them with him always as he is a bachelor. Otherwise, I would have had to find another picture of an imagined fiancé to hide the letter. If you have a photograph of yourself, perhaps in uniform, it would serve.
You are observant, Mr. Cartwright, but as I told you, so am I. And despite the distastefulness of the situation, I concluded that you are a charming, handsome gentleman, indeed an intelligent man but your loyalty to Colonel Mead would supersede any affection you might develop for me. Nevertheless, I believe you guard your heart far too well, something I should learn.
As for the rest of Colonel Mead's letters to me which he and his associates have not been able to discover, I have performed in cities across this whole country and have made the acquaintance of many successful and influential people who have been kind enough to keep an envelope for me until I request its return. I am not so foolish as to keep all my "eggs" in one basket.
I will be at the convention and will carry through on my threat should Colonel Mead announce his candidacy. I cannot, knowing what I know and having proof of it, allow such a corrupt man to govern the state of Nevada.
Perhaps, Mr. Cartwright, someday we will meet again. It would be most pleasant.
Truly yours,
Irene Adell
"I can't believe this," Mead said. "She still has the letter and can use it against me." Mead looked at Adam, desperation in his face. "What shall I do?"
"Whatever you think is best," was Adam's reply.
~ 0 ~
Adam stood by the doors in the back of the convention hall while speeches were given and scanned the room. There were many well-dressed women of all ages in attendance but none that even closely resembled Irene Adell. Perhaps she had had a change of heart, Adam thought and found he was slightly disappointed. But he couldn't blame her for not bringing such a scandal into the light that might ruin her as well.
Colonel Mead was introduced to tumultuous applause and Adam became alert; all his muscles tensed in anticipation. Would Miss Adler come waltzing in waving the notorious letter? But it seemed there would be no need as Colonel Mead began his speech with apologies to all those who had supported and encouraged him to run for governor, but he found it necessary to withdraw his name for consideration. Mead went on to say he had personal reasons and through discussions with his campaign manager and his wife, decided that a political life was not one for him. He deeply regretted disappointing his supporters.
In the back row, Adam saw a man, small in stature but well dressed and having a trim beard and heavy brows, stand and stride toward the doors. Just as he passed Adam, the man tipped his bowler and said, "Good evening, sir."
There was something in the voice that was oddly familiar, and it wasn't until a good five minutes later that Adam knew; the man was a costumed Irene Adell.
~ 0 ~
"And so, when my American friend told me about what occurred, related the contents of the letter and Miss Adell's disguised presence at the convention along with the colonel bowing out from the race, well, I was most impressed with how the mystery of the hidden letter was solved and the part I played in it."
"Oh, Sir," a woman excitedly asked as she quickly rose from her chair, "Have you any idea what became of Miss Adell? Did she and the gallant Mr. Cartwright ever meet again? I know I'm a silly woman, but I have hopes they did meet and perhaps married. They do seem to be matched to one another." She smiled and then sat down.
"Of course they didn't marry," An older man told the woman. "Did you not listen? Miss Adell was losing her voice and more than likely decided to lose herself as well somewhere in America or Italy perhaps."
Another woman chimed in with, "What better place to lose oneself than in the wilderness of America. I think that Cartwright man searched Miss Adell out, declared his love and they married. That's what I think happened—or should I say, hope happened."
The evening's host hushed the crowd so Sir Conan Doyle could respond. He stood and after a dramatic pause, replied, "Unfortunately, I never found out. Although I wrote the Cartwrights quite a few times and received replies, our correspondence eventually ended. I never knew the fate of any of the people involved. But if you'd care to know what I believe happened, as with Holmes, Adam Cartwright never married. He may have found Miss Adell or perhaps she visited him at his ranch, and they carried on a torrid love affair, but marriage? I think not. Cartwright's words that I still remember and that I have had Holme's deliver in my work, explains my answer: My brain has always governed my heart.
~ Finis ~