Sherlock Holmes and the Queen of Diamonds (5 page)

‘He keeps lookin’ at me.’

‘Maybe he’s sketching
you
.’

‘He better not,’ he growled.

She cocked her head at him, surprised by his reaction. ‘Don’t tell me you’re like the Indians,’ she said, trying to
make light of it. ‘They believe that if someone takes your photograph or draws your picture they take your soul along with it.’

‘It ain’t that,’ he murmured, suddenly disentangling himself from her. ‘Listen, I’m gonna tell that there feller to quit drawin’ me.’

She frowned, alarmed by the change that had come over him. ‘You don’t
really
mind, do you?’ she asked. ‘I mean, we
have
ascertained that you’re not a rustler.’

But for the moment at least his sense of humour appeared to have deserted him. Without another word he strode across to the sketch artist, yanked the pad out of the startled man’s hands, turned it around and glanced at the portrait he’d been working on. His mouth thinned when he saw that it was an excellent likeness of himself.

‘I’ll take this,’ he said softly, and before the artist could do more than open and close his mouth a few times in surprise, he ripped the portrait from the pad, crumpled it up in one fist and shoved it into a jacket pocket.

‘But … but …’ was all the artist seemed able to manage.

‘Don’t you go drawin’ me again, mister,’ warned Howard. ‘I don’t cotton to it.’

They stared at each other for a moment, the artist’s hazel eyes both puzzled and fearful. There was something about Howard that thoroughly intimidated him, and he could only sigh with relief when a voice behind the man suddenly called: ‘I say there, Mr Howard!’

Howard glanced around. ‘What is it?’ he asked testily.

If he sensed Howard’s dark mood, Victor Landon certainly didn’t show it. He said jovially: ‘They tell me you’re from 
America, sir – Missouri, of all places! I spent some time there last year, on business. Saw some of the locals perform the most marvellous tricks with a lariat. How are you with a rope, sir?’

Howard shrugged, deciding to settle with the sketch artist before the party ended. ‘I reckon I can handle one,’ he allowed. ‘But I didn’t bring mine with me. Didn’t figure I’d need it.’

‘Surely you can find a length of rope, Elaina?’ Lady Chatfield said.

When everyone else chimed in, begging Howard to perform some tricks, Elaina sent Fordham in search of a length of rope. He returned shortly with a coiled washing line. ‘I’m afraid this is the best I could do, my lady.’

Howard took it, got the feel and weight of it, and said: ‘Best do this outside.’

Caught up in the excitement, Elaina clapped her hands and called: ‘Outside, everybody! Mr Howard is going to entertain us.’

She opened the French windows and led Howard outside. Everyone followed them out on to a wide paved terrace
overlooking
the formal gardens. Immaculate lawns and rose gardens were surrounded by stands of spring-blooming ash, birch, beech and wych-elm, all of them dwarfed by a single massive oak that occupied the centre of the main lawn. In the far distance, hawthorn, blackthorn and holly sheltered against the old red-brick wall that enclosed the grounds.

The terrace itself was enclosed by a low wall, upon the coping stones of which sat a series of small terracotta
flowerpots
, each one holding amaryllis, gardenia, phlox or other 
spring flowers. As he walked, Howard quickly fashioned a small eyelet in the rope. Through this he threaded enough rope to make a loop of about five feet in diameter.

When his audience had gathered around, he arranged the loop on the ground beside him. Silence fell as he began to spin the loop, which slowly rose off the ground for a few inches and began to revolve ever faster. Everyone applauded, but this wasn‘t the trick – it was merely what came
before
the trick.

A moment later he hopped into the spinning loop and began switching the free end from left hand to right and back again, around and around him, at incredible speed. The loop rose ever higher, first to his knees, then his waist, then his shoulders and finally high overhead. The loop whirled up around him like a well-trained snake, causing the onlookers to gasp with admiration.

Under his control, the loop began to descend past his head and shoulders, then below his waist to his calves. Now,
spinning
it one-handed, he stepped out of the loop, then back in. He repeated the procedure several times, so that he appeared almost to be skipping. Once again his audience burst into applause.

Enjoying himself, he continued to perform. He allowed about three feet of the rope to dangle from his left hand. His audience watched expectantly. Then he turned his wrist suddenly and the end of the rope flew backwards over his arm, forming a loop as it did so. At the same moment he jerked the eyelet up and caught the loop. He shook the rope off his arm and let it fall, and there, tied into the rope, was a perfect pretzel shape. 

Once again there was a burst of applause. Once again Howard repeated the procedure, allowing the last three feet of the rope to dangle from his left hand. Turning his wrist sharply he caught the end in the eyelet, but this time when he shook it out it described a near-perfect figure eight.

‘Bravo!’

‘Well done, sir!’

He shook the rope out again and began to spin the loop vertically beside him. Women cocked their heads in curiosity. Men scratched thoughtfully at their sidewhiskers. Then Howard hopped sideways, right through the loop, only to hop back again just seconds later. He repeated the trick twice more, and then brought the loop up so that it was spinning directly over his head.

Again the guests fell quiet. The only sound now was the whoosh the rope made as it sliced through the air, leaving a vacuum in its wake. At last he cast the loop and a gasp went up as it fell neatly over Elaina’s head, pinning her arms to her sides. While everyone around them clapped, Howard slowly began to draw her to him, hand over hand. Elaina, acknowledging the cheers, went towards him, laughing like a young girl.

She thought he would stop pulling when she was almost to him, but he didn’t. He kept drawing her closer until they were standing face to face, almost touching. There was
something
so intimate in the moment that the applause and cheering faltered a little and suddenly turned
uncomfortable
.

‘Better let me go before they get the wrong impression,’ she whispered through a smile. 

‘Or the
right
one,’ he said with a sly wink.

With one movement he removed the loop and then turned and bowed. The good humour immediately returned.

‘More … more … do some more!’

Encouraged by the reception, Howard threw the rope aside, unbuttoned his jacket and suddenly pulled out his ivory-handled six-guns.

An uneasy silence descended upon the terrace. Even Elaina’s grin began to look strained.

‘All of you,’ said Howard, ‘keep well back.’

Everyone quickly obeyed.

Howard began to spin the guns by their trigger guards. They flashed and winked as they spun first one way, then the other. Then he started flipping them over his shoulders and under his arms, and soon the watchers started to clap and cheer appreciatively. The guns seemed to be alive as he flat-spun them, then made them cross in mid-air. He caught them by their barrels, spun them again and then, almost faster than anyone could see, they were snug back in their holsters.

Acknowledging the appreciation of his audience with a casual wave, he set himself with legs spread and knees slightly bent. Then, almost faster than the eye could follow, a gun appeared in his right hand and a shot boomed out in the chilly afternoon. One of the flowerpots resting on the low terrace wall exploded, spraying terracotta and dirt
everywhere
. Howard’s audience, who’d never seen the like before, went wild. As they clapped and cheered he fired again, three quick shots, and one after another the adjacent flowerpots exploded in spectacular fashion. 

The gun was back in leather before anyone saw it happen. Immediately, he drew his other gun and three more shots echoed through the afternoon. The heads of three flowers burst apart.

‘I say, good show, Howard!’ cried Landon.

Howard grinned, feeling that he had at last gained the acceptance of these idle rich and, caught up in the moment, he aimed at the head of a fourth flower.

But before he could fire there was another gunshot and the flower disintegrated. Howard spun around, eyes hooding like those of a cornered wolf.

He saw Holmes and Watson standing in front of the French windows. They had clearly just arrived … and Holmes was holding a smoking revolver in his right hand.

CHAPTER 6

Jealousy

F
or one long moment no one moved. Then Elaina broke the spell, hurrying back to the house to greet the newcomers. ‘Holmes! I was wondering when you were going to show up,’ she exclaimed.

As she approached, Holmes deftly spun the gun by its trigger guard and handed it back to Watson, butt first. ‘Here, Watson – your service revolver returned with thanks.’

Watson accepted it with a look of disapproval. But Holmes only had eyes for Elaina as he pressed her hand to his lips. At last his keen eyes found those of Howard and he nodded with respect.

‘My compliments, sir. You are quite the marksman.’

‘You’re no greenhorn yourself,’ Howard said. Gun still in his hand, he slowly approached Holmes. ‘Accordin’ to my brother, you English don’t care to go around packin’ iron. And yet here you are, loaded for bear.’

‘We only go armed when the situation demands it,’ said Watson.

‘Like a tea party, you mean?’

‘Of course not. But when Holmes here tells me to carry my
revolver, I carry it. Had he told me that his only intention was to use it for show, however, I would have thought twice. Firearms should be treated with more respect.’

Howard indicated the revolver. ‘You mind?’

Before Watson could argue, Howard took the gun and examined it with interest. ‘Never seen one of these before.’

‘It’s a Webley mark two,’ Watson said stiffly.

Howard hefted its weight, felt the way the grips fitted his palm, then whirled and fired it. On the other side of the terrace the head of another flower vanished in a small but dramatic explosion of petals.

Holmes gave a faintly mocking smile. ‘Do
you
mind, Mr Howard?’

Howard hesitated, then drew one of his Colts, spun it by its trigger guard and handed it to Holmes. As he took it, Holmes said: ‘Ah. Mr Colt’s famed Peacemaker.’

‘You know your weapons, I’ll give you that.’

Holmes sidestepped, snapped his arm out straight and fired. Flame tore from the barrel and yet another flower burst apart.

Again their audience clapped. But Elaina, sensing the growing tension between the two men, quickly stepped between them. ‘Before you destroy
all
my flowers, gentlemen, may we call this little competition a draw?’

‘A diplomatic solution,’ said Holmes, ‘but not one that I could accept. I have no doubt that Mr Howard could shoot rings around me, if he so chose.’

‘There you go again,’ said Howard, bristling. ‘Makin’ a compliment sound more like you’re spittin’ in my face.’

Forcing a smile, Elaina turned to her guests. ‘Show’s over, 
ladies and gentlemen, and since it seems to be clouding up I suggest we go back inside and enjoy some more
refreshments
.’

For the remainder of the afternoon Howard gave Holmes and Watson a wide berth. But he surreptitiously kept an eye on them to make sure they didn’t get a chance to surprise him again.

Watson, meanwhile, was troubled by Holmes’s attitude toward Howard. He had known Holmes long enough to recognize just how out of character it was, and decided to await the right moment to question it. The moment came as they were standing in a corner of the library sipping their tea and observing the other guests. ‘You know, Holmes,’ he said quietly, ‘sometimes I just do not
understand
you.’

Holmes lifted one eyebrow. ‘I fear that few people do,’ he replied. ‘But I see from your expression that you have
something
specific over which you would like to take me to task?’

‘I do. This Howard fellow. Ever since you first set eyes on him, you seem to have gone out of your way to goad him … even belittle him. Doesn’t the poor man already have enough problems of his own without having to endure your sarcasm and veiled insults as well? Good God, man, how would you feel if your younger brother went missing overseas?’

‘Ah, yes,’ said Holmes, unfazed by Watson’s chiding, ‘his missing brother. I had quite forgotten about him.’

‘You never forget
anything
, so don’t try to deceive me with that. I must say, though, you seem to have taken an instant dislike to that man and for the life of me I can’t understand 
why—’ Watson broke off abruptly as it hit him, then said: ‘Good Lord, you’re not
jealous
of him, are you?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

‘No, no, you are. I can tell.’

‘And why, pray, would I be jealous of him?’

‘I suggest that it has to do with whatever relationship he appears to be cultivating with the countess.’ Watson shook his head, both amazed and amused. ‘Sherlock Holmes, the man who once told me that even the best of women weren’t to be trusted!’

Holmes eyed him sharply. ‘Might I suggest that you take out your handkerchief and wipe that look of disapproval from your face?’

‘Very funny,’ Watson said grimly. ‘I don’t need your keen analytical mind to work out what’s going on here. But have a care, Holmes. That woman has a reputation – a most
unenviable
one. As your friend I feel I should advise you to have nothing to do with her.’

‘Listen to yourself, Watson. If anyone is exhibiting signs of jealousy here, it’s
you
.’

‘That’s a damnable thing to say.’

‘Damnable, perhaps. Accurate – certainly.’

Watson drew himself up and his moustache seemed to bristle. ‘I didn’t realize it was a crime to care what becomes of one’s best friend,’ he grumbled. ‘Good heavens, Holmes, you know as well as I do that she pushed her husband down the stairs.’

‘Until you have solid evidence to corroborate that
statement
, it remains little more than idle gossip, Watson, pure speculation – and that is something I never respond to.’ 

‘Then respond to this. What about her promiscuity? Good God, Holmes, the infernal woman has been … well,
intimate
… with more men than England has colonies.’

‘My friend, you know that my interest in the countess is purely professional.’

‘I always thought so,’ Watson said. ‘Now, I’m not so sure.’ He set his cup and saucer down, seemingly hurt by Holmes’s rebuttal. ‘Perhaps I should just leave you to it. If you like I’ll return to the offices of
The Era
and continue searching their archives for your crippled acrobat.’

‘I should be most upset if you do,’ replied Holmes.

‘Why?’

‘Because things promise to get altogether more
interesting
here before much longer.’

Presently late afternoon darkness began to settle over the serene Richmond countryside. The pleasant chirruping of birds was replaced by the insidious whine of flying insects. Lights began to glow in the windows of the surrounding houses and taverns. Streetlights were lit, illuminating passing hansoms. Nightlife began.

But as far as Watson was concerned, things at Montague Hall remained exactly as they were – tedious. At long last, however, Elaina’s guests started making their farewells and taking their leave.

‘We must be leaving too, Countess,’ said Watson with no small relief. ‘But it has been a most pleasant afternoon.’

‘I’m glad you enjoyed it, Doctor,’ Elaina said. ‘But if you don’t mind my saying so, you’re a lousy liar.’

As Watson cleared his throat in embarrassment, Holmes 
said: ‘You are as direct as you are beautiful, Countess. Unfortunately for Watson, he is as uncomfortable with the one attribute as he is at home with the other. Would you care to share a cab with us, Mr Howard?’

Howard glanced at Elaina before answering: ‘No, thanks.’

‘Mr Howard is staying on as my guest,’ she explained.

Holmes eyed her for a long, hard moment before saying: ‘I see.’

‘Actually, you don’t,’ she said. ‘Neither you nor Dr Watson.’ She guided them toward the door, adding: ‘But I can tell you this. Offering a fellow countryman a place to stay is a small price to pay for his saving my life last night.’

Holmes’s mouth tightened into a thin line. ‘Of course,’ he said flatly. Then with a polite nod: ‘Good evening, Countess.’

Outside, as soon as the door closed, Watson wasted no time heading for their waiting hansom. ‘At last!’ he said with feeling. Then, when his friend didn’t respond: ‘I was
beginning
to get worried. You’re normally the last man to wear out your welcome, Holmes, but couldn’t you see they were
aching
for us to leave?’

‘Of course I could. Why else do you think I refused to make a move?’

Watson rolled his eyes. ‘Holmes, you’ve always been
insufferable
, but I have the dreadful feeling you have just become more so!’ He buttoned his jacket. ‘Now, shall we get a move on? Pastries are all very well, but Mrs Hudson is serving roast mutton tonight!’

Holmes shrugged and slowed his pace. ‘By all means go along, old friend.’

‘What about you?’ 

‘I promised you that things were about to become
interesting
. Don’t you want to find out just
how
interesting?’

Without waiting for a response, Holmes turned and started walking back toward the house.