Mycroft Holmes (6 page)

If that is a former sailor
, Holmes thought,
I am the King of England
. As if giving proof of what he had surmised, the old man spit deftly out of the wrong side of his mouth.
There you are, spitting to windward
, Holmes thought impatiently.
A thing no sailor on earth would ever do.

But there it was, another shiver—as if that filthy creature were a harbinger of something, instead of some silliness he had spotted in the road.

The brougham began again and was making a bit of headway when, through the window, Holmes spied two funeral mutes standing sentry at the front door of a residence, dressed in black from head to toe. They stared straight ahead, holding brooms draped in black crepe, impassively silent, as they were paid to be. An expensive way to “announce” that someone in the home had died.

For the third time in that rather short trip, Holmes felt the now-familiar shiver travel down his back.

He shut the curtain impatiently. Then, when the carriage finally took a turn off Glamis Road in the East End, he suddenly felt more hearty, more like himself.

What in the world possessed me?
he wondered.

And thank heavens it is done with!

GEORGIANA WAS JUST SETTING FOOT OUTSIDE AN OLD WORKHOUSE
when Holmes’s carriage pulled up. She was demurely dressed, with no elaborate overskirts or bustle. She wore only a simple little hat placed rather low on her forehead, hair piled up underneath, ringlets peeking out.

Holmes thought those blond ringlets were most becoming, as was the mauve shade of her frock and hat. As he stepped out of the cab, he eyed the mangy group of boys, aged twelve to fourteen, whom she had just finished tutoring, and who all looked adoringly upon her. And why wouldn’t they? Teaching children to read, especially children such as these, was no easy task. The great majority already served as pauper apprentices to some overseer or another, and would never be required to read much more than their own indenture papers.

Yet Georgiana fervently believed that society could be better than it was, that the past did not have to define the future. Holmes was as delighted with the earnestness of her beliefs as with the exquisiteness of her face and silhouette—though he himself was uncertain that the world was likely to change much.

If at all.

As she laid her hand upon his arm, he could just detect, under the frilly sleeve of her blouse, the only visible symbol of her native homeland. It was a bracelet intertwined with red and black seeds. Even more noticeable, however, was the small but exquisitely cut diamond on her ring finger.

As he walked her to the waiting carriage, the boys called out “Evening, Miss Sutton!” in Cockney so thick it made his jaw ache to hear it. And they seemed thrilled down to their thrice-mended shoes when she waved and called back in kind.

Inside the cab, Georgiana leaned toward him and rested her hand gently on his bicep. He was immediately conscious of flexing that bicep, of the ridiculous longing to impress her with his sculpted physique—which to this point in his tenure on earth was more nature’s endowment than his own doing, more the luck of the genetic draw.

Yet for all he possessed, from pleasing appearance to his acumen in worldly matters, he seemed forever at sixes and sevens when it came to Georgiana. Simply put, she unnerved him. And if a bit of bicep flexing could help equal the score, thus it would have to be.

“So. Eyes shining, distracted, either you’ve made a good bargain of something, my dear, or you’re a bit in your cups,” she said, appraising him.

“Well I… in truth, I won a nice little wager earlier this morning,” he replied without mentioning the Armagnac. “But that was not what I was thinking at the moment.” Then, because he couldn’t very well confess that he’d been contemplating his bicep, he added, “I’ve just left my friend Cyrus Douglas.”

“Oh, yes…?”

As he and Georgiana bounced lightly on the padded seat, Holmes tried to sum up Douglas’s concerns, downplaying some of the more bizarre aspects of his tale, such as children’s bodies drained of blood and left lifeless on the beach. But Georgiana honed in on the very portion he had chosen to brush past.

“Did you say there are
douen
involved?” she asked. “They are calling children to come out and play?” Her voice was entirely earnest.

“Well, yes…” Holmes admitted.

“You are saying that children have died?” she demanded in harsher tones. “Mycroft, please, I am aware of the culture, and I am not so very fragile—you cannot keep such things from me!”

“Well, yes,” Holmes said again, “that is the rumor, but I hasten to repeat that it is
only
—”

“How many?” she said, interrupting him.

“How many children?” Holmes asked. “Well, three, but…”

Georgiana turned very pale. She seemed about to speak, but then covered her lips with her hand.

“Douglas has written to his suppliers,” Holmes said, seeking to reassure her, “and he hopes to receive letters with further insight.”

“Suppliers?” she asked. “You mean suppliers at various ports of call…?”

“Why yes, dearest, whatever else could I mean? I’d hoped that you had heard something that might put his mind at ease, as well, so he does not do as he has threatened, and make that wretched voyage back to Port of Spain.”

Georgiana nodded, looked away, then back. She smiled weakly.

“Well, how… how very strange,” she said. “Such turmoil, and no, I haven’t heard a word!”

“Ah!” Holmes said, smiling. “And so whatever is taking place there, it cannot be as bad as all that.”

“I wish it were that simple, my love,” Georgiana responded, and his smile faded. “But Douglas’s family and mine are on opposite ends of the island. Though Trinidad is small, and people inclined to talk, it is just as likely that the left hand, in this case, has no notion what the right is doing. I can only
hope
it is fuss over nothing…”

She seemed suddenly distracted, even a bit impatient.

“Oh, what a lot of traffic! Where are we headed, then?” she asked vaguely, glancing out.

It was to be a surprise, but the evening wasn’t going as planned.

“A lovely little establishment with wonderful food but an unfortunate view,” Holmes responded, “in that it catty-corners the Tower of London, and I am not the sort who appreciates gallows humor.”

He expected Georgiana to laugh. Instead, she looked at him, quite pale, then glanced out the window again.

“Oh! How lovely the water looks,” she said, “with the moonlight playing upon it. Would we be so desperately late if we were to get out and walk a bit?”

“My dear, you have lived in London four long years—does the Thames still charm you?” Holmes asked. The river was lined with wharves, and crammed with so many ships and boats and barges that the water itself seemed an afterthought. The city’s commercial vigor could certainly be called impressive, but romantic it was not.

“And there’s barely a moon at all,” he added for good measure, “what with the fog rolling in. A week from now, nine days to be exact, it shall be full. Perhaps then we could—”

“My love,” Georgiana interrupted tersely. “I could use a bit of
air.
”

They were still in a less-than-wholesome part of the city, nearing the decrepit Westminster Bridge. Holmes could smell coal fires, glue from a distant factory, even a brewery or two. He was about to counter that the air here was probably in short supply, but Georgiana looked very nearly done in, and in truth he could deny her nothing.

So he reluctantly called out through the trap door for the cabman to halt, hoping his now-grumbling stomach would wait without acrimony. The driver pushed the lever that released the doors, and Holmes held out his arm to help Georgiana down.

HOLMES AND GEORGIANA STROLLED ALONG THE RIVERBANK. THE
fog lifted off the water, then rose to quickly obscure what little moonlight there was. He could feel Georgiana’s pulse racing underneath his fingertips, as if he were holding a tiny bird in his hand.

She was quiet at first, confessing only to a sudden headache. But as they reached the yellow light of a gas lamp, she at last turned to him and, with haunted eyes, confessed.

“My parents
did
write me of mysterious disappearances. They are quite concerned…”

Holmes was taken aback. “But then why not tell me immediately, my love?”

“Because I assured them it was nothing,” Georgiana declared, “for that is what I fervently hoped.” Holmes watched as her tears fell. She looked so gloriously beautiful that it was all he could do to keep himself from kissing her that very moment.

“When you gave me the news,” she went on, “it startled me. My mother is prone to mild histrionics, as I may’ve mentioned in the past, and so the hope did not seem unfounded. But surely Douglas is not given to flights of fancy, nor to groundless panic.”

“No,” Holmes acknowledged. “He is as steady a chap as can be.”

“Yes,” she said quietly. “He is that. So now I know what I must do.”

“And what is that?” Holmes said, taking her hand and holding it to his chest.

“I must leave for home immediately!” she replied, staring into his eyes.

Holmes could not have been more shocked had she announced she was joining a nunnery.

“Home? You mean
Trinidad
?” he said. “But—”

“Oh, don’t you see?” Georgiana said, interrupting him. “
I must
.” Without giving him a moment to respond, she snatched her hand away and waved for the carriage. “Cabbie!” she called out, and she hurried off.

Holmes ran after her and took hold of her arm.

“I do not understand any of this!” he cried.

“Mycroft, please,” she protested. “Let me go.”

Reluctantly, he released her arm, then followed mutely behind her as she reached the carriage. The driver dutifully released the lever and opened the doors, and she began to climb aboard. Then she turned back.

“Forgive me, my darling, I am quite resolute.”

“Georgiana,” Holmes said, “but what of your life here? What of your studies?”
What of me?
he wished to add, though he did not.

Georgiana smiled sadly. “Why, my love, have you not heard? ‘Girls ought not study at all, for it leads to mental illness.’”

“Georgiana, if you are joking…” he replied.

“Yes, my dear,” she said. “Yes, I am joking, but I am also in all earnestness. It is only a matter of a few orals before I finish. I have been faithful and diligent, surely Girton will allow latitude for a family emergency.”

“Then I shall go with you,” Holmes declared, stepping aboard.

“No.” She laid a hand on his arm, on that same bicep that, moments before, he had been so proud to have her touch. “The people of Trinidad believe in demons and spirits,” she said. “The world of the unseen.
Something
has shaken them! They will not talk of such things to most of our sort, but my family’s workers have known me since birth, they
trust
me—and so may confide in me in a way that they cannot with others, even my parents.

“Your presence would do no good, and could actually do harm. Besides, this will allow me to speak to my father of our engagement. You know how I longed to do it in person, rather than by post.”

“Yes, but to put yourself in harm’s way…” he protested weakly.

“Mycroft,
please
.” Georgiana seemed to be growing impatient with him. “I am simply going back to see my family to ascertain that all is well! Why, just this year, we women have been given the right to keep our own inherited property, and our own earnings. Surely we can be trusted to travel on our own accord.”

“Let me at least accompany you back to your flat,” Holmes offered helplessly as she recited her Hampstead address to the driver. But she shook her head.

“No,” she replied. “No, I could not bear it. If you do not leave now, I shall lose my nerve.”

“Then I shall never leave,” he said.

Georgiana kissed him lightly on the lips. Then she took a cameo brooch of herself from her purse and pressed it into his hand. It was small, carved in lava, and set in silver.