Warlock Holmes--A Study in Brimstone (31 page)

“Holmes!”

“I am sorry, Watson. And I am yet more sorry for you, Lady Eva, but his name is known to me and I have reason to suspect that he is more than capable of rendering the destruction he has threatened. If you wish to be happy in your marriage, pay him.”

“But I can’t!” Lady Eva protested. “Don’t you see? My family has a title, yes, but that is no guarantee of means. It is not
wealth
that has allowed me to enter London society. It is only…”

She trailed off, for modesty does not allow a true lady to extol her own virtues.

“It is only your perfect grace,” I said. “It is only your charm. It is only that, in you, the London aristocracy see what it is they aspire to become. They see their better, and yet the tutor is so winning that they cannot bring themselves to resent the lesson. Not to mention your cheekbones! Look at them!”

Lady Eva blushed. Holmes only watched me, waiting for me to make my point. I recoiled and mumbled, “Oh… I say, have you ever had one of those days where you find yourself thinking a thing and then—and you have no idea how it happened—you find that you have been saying it as well? I am having just such a day and I apologize.”

“No, no, that was… kind of you, Doctor,” said Lady Eva, fixing me with a smile that crushed my mind and my heart and made me wish beyond all hoping that I had been born an earl. “Yet, my trouble remains. Even by calling upon the support of my family and friends… even by putting myself deeply in debt to those who might wish me ill, I am sure I can raise nowhere near the sum. I think I can manage two thousand. Maybe a little more, but only very little. Oh, if you cannot save me from this man, could you at least negotiate with him on my behalf? Tell him to take two thousand—take it and leave me alone.”

Holmes sighed, “I can try, Lady Eva. If you ask me to, I will. Yet, I warn you that more harm than good may come from my involvement. Milverton knows me well and I think he is not… favorably disposed.”

“What choice have I?” asked Lady Eva with a sad shrug. “I cannot raise his fee and idleness dooms me. Say you will help, won’t you? Say you will try?”

“I shall do my utmost,” said Holmes. “I’m sure Watson will, as well. I only hope some good may come of it. Leave me his letter, won’t you? Watson and I shall be in touch when we have news. In the meantime, it might be wise to begin raising the two thousand.”

There was nothing left to do but say our farewells and see Lady Eva out. As I helped her down the stairs, she rested her hand in my palm and let me place my other hand beneath her elbow to guide her down. I drifted down the steps in dazed happiness, then let go of her perfect hand and turned back to re-mount the stairs to our rooms, to Holmes and to the life I had built myself. I was suddenly overcome with the feeling that I had let it all go wrong, somehow. This feeling was only reinforced when Holmes flung open the window above me and shouted, “Wiggles! Wiggles, I need you!” such that all the street might hear.

* * *

Holmes fretted over his reply for almost half an hour, despite the fact that it was only three lines long. Wiggles and I waited by the hearth. At first I was uncomfortable in the company of the young wererat, but boredom eventually conquered fear. Soon, I sat suppressing my laughter as I watched him sniff the air, having apparently forgotten he was in his human form. In another ten minutes, I was tearing little hunks of bread and throwing them this way and that, watching him scuttle about to retrieve them.

Finally, Holmes approached. He handed Wiggles a letter, a shilling and a slab of beef that was just beginning to display that rainbow sheen which says, “You ought to have eaten me yesterday.”

“Find the Soulbinder, Charles Augustus Milverton,” Holmes said. “Give him this letter and wait for his reply. I am sure he will wish to set an appointment with me. Do not fail to bring his response or we may all find ourselves in some trouble.”

“Soulbinder?” I wondered.

“Yes. Soulbinder,” said Holmes. “Come on, Watson, let’s go for a walk. Or something. I don’t care; I just don’t want to sit here thinking of him. I shall tell you more in the park.”

He didn’t. Shortly after reaching the park, he was accosted by a squirrel. It ran up his trouser leg and snatched a crust of toast from his hand. Holmes seemed quite content to chase the little blighter up and down the path, sometimes cajoling, sometimes threatening, always emanating the especial joy of one who has made himself a grand new friend. For my part, I was happy to let Holmes go. It left me free to think of Lady Eva and sigh.

And sigh.

* * *

As midnight neared, Holmes became ever more anxious. He paced the sitting room of 221B Baker Street, casting his eyes this way and that, but nowhere found relief. Time and again, his gaze was drawn to the clock on the mantelpiece, though I could not tell if he was impatient for the midnight hour to arrive or afeared of it.

“Warlock, sit down, won’t you? You are making me nervous.”

“You ought to be nervous,” he replied. “Our guest is a dangerous man.”

“And you are sure he will come?”

“He will come.”

“But his note said to expect him at seven in the evening,” I reminded Holmes, waving the return letter we had received from Milverton. It was written on lavender stationery and scented with a perfume that reminded one of musk ox and honey.

“I told you: that note is a lie. He’s playing with me. He shall come at midnight. He always does.” Holmes ceased his pacing, turned to me and muttered, “You really ought to go, Watson.”

“I told you, Holmes: I am not going anywhere. Our client has engaged our services to save her from ruin and I will not meekly fall by the wayside and allow myself to fail her.”

“What you mean is that you do not trust me to conduct this negotiation.”

There was more than a little truth to that, but it was not my only motivation. In fact, I was worried for Holmes.

“Well… you know, Warlock… we’ve met a number of dangerous characters, but this is the first time I have seen you so unsettled. I can’t help but wonder why you’re so frightened of the man.”

I could tell I had wounded him, but after a moment’s reflection he said, “I suppose I
am
frightened. You know me, Watson. You’ve seen what I like to do with poisons and so you know I am a gentleman who is somewhat difficult to harm. Milverton, though… Milverton could hurt me.”

“How do you mean, Holmes?”

Yet, he did not answer. He would not answer. He resumed his pacing.

“How do you know him?” I asked, attempting to start again on a different tack. “His victims are highly placed in the London aristocracy, yet I have never heard of the man.”

“Oh, our paths have crossed before, Watson,” Holmes said, then paused as if considering how much he ought to tell me. He must have deemed me worthy of further trust, for he added, “Milverton was often a pawn of Moriarty’s.”

“Moriarty!”

“Yes, my great enemy.”

I thought a moment, worrying over one or two points until finally deciding that the only way to know was to ask. I said, “And yet you display more fear of this supposed pawn than you ever did of Sebastian Moran, whom you claim was Moriarty’s trusted lieutenant.”

“It is not his rank within Moriarty’s gang that I fear,” said Holmes. “It is his ability. Yes, Moran is a nasty fellow, but he has no leverage upon me. Milverton does.”

I was going to ask what that leverage might be, but was interrupted by the chiming of our clock. Even before the first bell had faded, it was drowned out by a rapping on our sitting-room door. Warlock wilted. I rose to admit our guest.

If I had been hoping to find a looming specter clothed all in smoke—and I will confess, I rather was—I was disappointed. Milverton was one of those men who took every care that his dress and appearance shouted “businessman” yet every other aspect of his body, face and bearing declared “wheezy little bastard.” He was in his early fifties, yet doing his utmost to appear in his late twenties. He wore a gray suit, tailored better than almost any other I had encountered. His teeth were straight and shining white. His skin, which I at first assumed to be deeply tanned, was revealed to be orange as he stepped into the light. The color was so unnatural that I wondered, for an instant, if he might be a demon. The thought was quickly chased away by the realization that it was more likely he’d been tempted by the tubes of orange skin-tinting goo one may purchase for tuppence at any of the less reputable pharmacies.

He swept off his gray silk top hat and threw his pale gloves within. He hung this on a hook and deposited his silver cane in our elephant’s foot umbrella stand. His dark hair was slicked with some form of thick, pungent grease into long strands, which failed to cover his balding dome, despite the expert care with which they had been combed over it. Not deigning even to look at us, he cooed, “Soooooo sorry, chaps. I know I’m behind my hour, I know I am. And yet, what is a fellow to do, eh? London, don’t you know. Traffic, don’t you know. I do hope you haven’t been waiting long. Oh, I
do
hope not.”

He turned to me, fixed me with a false smile and said, “
You
must be the estimable Dr. Watson, unless I am much mistaken. Oh yes, Doctor, I know quite a few unnatural fellows who would like to know more about you. Yes I do. Quite a few, indeed. They always get nervous if this one…” here he inclined his head in Warlock’s direction, “… spends more than three weeks in any one man’s company.”

Behind Milverton, the wall discolored. Silently, it began to bleed. The spots joined together to form the word
WRETCH
.

“And Warlock Holmes!” Milverton continued. “How long has it been? A very long time, I think. Such a pleasant surprise to get your note. I must say I was a bit put out, for I
had
warned Lady Eva not to seek any outside aid. A man might be tempted to increase his fee in the face of such events, but seeing as it is you, Warlock—seeing as it is you—I think I can overlook this one indiscretion on her part. Only this one, though. No, since she has brought me back into contact with my old friend, her balance remains unchanged at seven thousand pounds. I trust you have it?”

“I don’t have it, Milverton,” Holmes growled. “
She
doesn’t have it. You know that is why I wrote to you.”

“Oh. Oh dear. Well, I only assumed she might have reconsidered by now.”

“It is not a question of her consideration. She does not have the money.”

Milverton shook his head and tutted. “Well she really ought to find it, you know. Such a judicious investment on her part. Why, her beau makes that in less than a year and a half! Can you imagine? Losing her love? Losing her position in society? Losing all that money for all of those years over the concern of less than a year and a half’s income? She’s cleverer than that. I know she is.”

Above him, the word
BETRAYER
added itself to the wall.

“She hasn’t got it, I say,” Holmes repeated. “Take two thousand, Milverton, and do no mischief.”

“Oh my. Oh, dear me. Now, you see, I
told
her not to bargain. I
told
her the price was not subject to debate. Now that is
two
indiscretions on her part. I cannot let that pass, Holmes, I really can’t. I regret to inform you that Lady Eva’s account now stands at eight thousand pounds.”

Holmes’s anger and frustration burst forth in visual style. His eyes lit up. Milverton, bathed in their terrible green glare, took a step backwards. Holmes took two towards our unwelcome guest; a grim smile spread across his features. But before Holmes could work any mischief, Milverton held up one hand to beg a moment’s pardon and affected a terrific yawn.

“I say, such an hour… I think a cup of coffee is in order, don’t you, gentlemen? Yes. Coffee, don’t you think?”

Holmes stood staring at Milverton, with his fingers opening and closing slowly, as if he wished to grab something, wished to squeeze. Milverton stood his ground, but seemed to find a sudden interest in our furnishings. He regarded our bookcase for a moment, then stared at the picture of General Lee. He seemed content to examine almost anything, as long as it was not Holmes’s burning glare.

I smiled.

Much has been said of mutual benefit as the ideal foundation for bargaining. Good mention is also made of charity, civility and moral concerns, but to the student of history, these are laughable. He who has read of the Mongol hordes, of the South Sea pirates, or the might of Rome knows the ideal bargaining tool.

Fear.

I stepped in, saying, “Yes, coffee sounds splendid. I’ll just make a pot, shall I? Holmes, why don’t you take a seat on the sofa? Leave your armchair for Mr. Milverton, won’t you? He is our guest, after all, and the night is cold. He will appreciate being close to the fire.”

I moved to our small pantry to get the coffee grounds. Milverton took Holmes’s armchair, though he seemed ill at ease in it. Holmes cocked his head to one side, until his ear was nearly upon his shoulder, and sat down on the sofa, smiling at Milverton hungrily, with his eyes still alight. I took my time fetching the coffee, sure that each passing moment strengthened our bargaining position, rather than weakened it.

As I returned and set some water to warm above the fire, I said, “So, what exactly is it you do, Mr. Milverton? Holmes described you as a Soulbinder.”

“Did he?” asked Milverton. “Well, that is a misfortune. I have asked him not to, you see? I have asked him never to use that title and yet he disregards my wishes. Well, I am sorry to say that Lady Eva’s account now stands at nine thousand.”

“You are not a Soulbinder, then?”

“Is there such a thing as a soul, Doctor?” he scoffed. “You have been through and through the human body, have you not? Have you ever encountered one? Have you ever slipped with your scalpel and nicked somebody’s soul? I should think not. Is there a part of us that lives on after we are gone? Why should we assume so? No, I do not deal with such speculative fictions. My art lies in more tangible concerns. We each of us have a destiny, Dr. Watson. As we grow and interact, these human destinies intertwine with one another. I am one who sees these threads. I am one who can knot them closer together. Or, if I wish, I am one who can pull them apart. If Lady Eva is such a fool as to doubt my art, she may find her fiancé’s destiny takes a very separate path from her own. She would not be the first, I fear.”