- Sherlock
Steele
- Part
2
- Holmes and Watson were shown immediately
into the presence of Lord Michael Jeffries upon that gentleman
being informed that the famous detective Mr. Sherlock Holmes
was there for an audience. His smile of greeting was extended
to Watson. "Mr. Holmes," he said, shaking Holmes' hand
vigorously. "It is indeed a pleasure. And who is this charming
young woman?"
"My friend and biographer," Holmes found himself saying.
"Dr. Watson."
"I had heard, of course, that the chronicler of your cases
was a woman," he said, searching her features more intently.
"I never expected her to be quite so lovely." His smile
faltered as he seemed to recognize Laura Holt. But it was back
quickly. "Now, what can I do for Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"
"I heard that you were unwell," Holmes told the man,
noting that he appeared to be the picture of good health. "I
simply thought to inquire as to your health."
Lord Jeffries took a deep breath. "Unwell? I can assure
you that I am in excellent health. Where did you hear such a
thing? If I may ask?"
"Oh, a source," Holmes said.
"Mr. Holmes has reason to believe that this source is quite
unimpeachable," Watson added.
The tone became harsher as Jeffries narrowed his gaze in her
direction. "You ARE the young woman who tried to trap my
son into an ill advised marriage, aren't you? I thought I recognized
you."
"I set no trap, your Lordship," Watson said smoothly
in an unwavering voice. "It was your son who pursued me.
Now, if we can return to the matter at hand?"
Jeffries looked put out that his ploy to divert attention had
failed. "I have no idea who could have told you this lie,"
he insisted. "But it's not true."
"Then why have you been sending your son to the bank in
your stead?" Holmes asked him.
Jeffries drew himself up. "I -thought it time he took on
some responsibilities," he said. "Learn what he will
be called to do one day."
"Your son has spent practically his entire life in that
bank," Holmes reminded him. "He has never been tainted
by even a hint of scandal or malicious gossip. He's known all
over London as a responsible, well educated, if somewhat boring,
young man."
"But he's never actually WORKED in the bank. He has no idea
of the difficulties entailed. I simply believed that he should
learn the things he will need to know when the time comes."
Holmes looked into the mirror before him at Jeffries' nervous
countenance. "Without you there to guide him? To teach him?
To share you vast years of experience?" he asked.
"I . . ."
Holmes turned to face the man. "Why are you afraid to leave
this house, your Lordship?"
Jeffries' eyes widened as he stepped back. "If you will
excuse me, I- have an appointment . . ." He grasped the
bell pull to summon a maid. "Show Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson
out."
*****
"Well," Watson sighed as they got into the waiting
cab, "That was an exercise in futility."
"On the contrary, my dear Watson, I learned quite a bit
from our visit with his Lordship."
"You did?"
"Every drape in the house is pulled, covering all the windows.
His Lordship is nervous about something. I noticed when we shook
hands that he has recently been biting his fingernails. And I
overheard the servants talking as we passed that dining room.
Lord Jeffries hasn't left that house in three weeks."
Watson shook her head. "Amazing, Mr. Holmes. But- why would
he tell Wilson that he's ill when he's obviously well? Surely
not just to put him to work in the bank?"
"There is far more here than we suspect, I believe, Watson,"
Holmes declared, opening the window behind them to give the cabbie
an address.
*****
At dark that evening, Holmes and Watson stood in the shadow thrown
by the bank, waiting. "Mr. Holmes, what are we-?"
"Quiet, Watson. Just follow my lead." He remained there
as a coach was brought round to the rear entrance. The Jeffries
family crest on the door was easily identifiable. Smiling, Holmes
watched the scruffy, unkempt man approach the driver, distracting
him. "Now, Watson!" he whispered, beckoning her to
the coach.
He quietly closed the door behind them, and they settled back
against the cushioned seats of the deeply shadowed, curtained
interior.
They didn't have long to wait. Within only a few minutes, the
coach door was opened and Wilson Jeffries appeared. His eyes
widened upon seeing his traveling companions, but he said nothing
until the driver took the reins. "What are you doing here?"
he asked softly.
"Attempting to solve your problem, Mr. Jeffries," Holmes
told him. "I've made some inquiries regarding the situation.
Are you aware that your father has recently ended a long term
relationship with a dancer by the name of Lola Brione?"
"I've heard the rumors, of course," Wilson admitted
reluctantly. "I try not to take stock in such things."
"Then have you also heard that Miss Brione committed suicide
a little over three weeks ago?" Watson asked. "And
that her brother is a powerful crime figure in London?"
"As I said- rumors," Wilson insisted. "What could
that possibly have to do with three attempts on my life?"
"I do not believe that your life was ever in any danger,"
Holmes told him. "But we shall see." He lifted a curtain
to look out of the window. "We should be coming upon the
place where you've been waylaid before. When the coach is attacked,
I want you to make your escape as always."
Wilson's eyes sought out Watson. "And leave Laura here?"
"Dr. Watson is more than capable of taking care of herself,"
Holmes assured his client, aware that she was carrying a pistol
in her reticule.
A single shot rang out over the coach. "Hold to, driver!"
an accented voice yelled. Once the coach came to a rocking stop,
Wilson placed a hand on the door, then looked toward Watson.
"Come with me, Laura," he said.
She shook her head. "Go, Wilson. Now." They watched
as he opened the door and ran to the side of the road, ducking
behind a rock fence.
"The game is afoot, Watson," Holmes told her. "Be
ready." He watched as she pulled out the revolver and made
sure it was ready. She had more courage than many men of his
acquaintance, he thought to himself. In the time they had been
together, he had yet to see her balk at any task, any danger.
She had even volunteered to be the bait in the trap he set to
capture her husband's murderer.
The sound of someone dropping onto the coach brought Holmes'
thoughts back to the present, and he glanced at Watson as there
was a soft "thud". He guessed that the driver had been
rendered unconscious. "Be ready, Watson," Holmes said
again, taking a revolver from his own pocket as the coach was
set into motion again.
When it stopped, they pressed themselves into the darkness to
watch as the door was opened. The highwayman tossed the floor
rug aside to reveal a cut out portion of wood which he lifted
out with ease.
Holmes and Watson each drew the hammer back on their weapons,
and the man looked up, revealing dark curling hair and an olive
complexion. "Don't move, my good man," Holmes ordered.
"Step into the coach- and then call your friend to join
you."
The man's eyes glittered dangerously as he came into the coach.
"Luigi!" he called, then began to say something more
in Italian, until Holmes took further aim.
"In English, if you please, sir."
"Eh?" Luigi responded in an aggravated tone. "What's
a matter, Rico?" he asked, coming nearer. "Too much
money for you to lift by yourself, maybe?" His laughter
stilled as he saw Watson's gun pointed directly at his head.
*****
"So Lola Brione's brother was blackmailing my father?"
Wilson asked the next afternoon as the three of them sat in Holmes
parlour.
"It was more than simple blackmail," Holmes told him.
"Lola committed suicide because she was with child. Your
father's child. But he refused to marry her or acknowledge her.
She went to her brother, who was furious. Brione sent a message
to your father that if he ever saw your father's face again,
he would be a dead man. Then Lola took her life, and Brione informed
your father that in lieu of his life, he would take several million
pounds from the bank. Your father set up the transfer, using
the coach, then went into hiding. He didn't trust Brione to keep
his word about not killing him, so he sent you in his place-
with the instruction that you were not to be harmed or the transfer
would cease."
Wilson sighed. "The scandal will ruin the bank," he
said.
"What will you do?" Watson asked in a soft voice.
"Go abroad for awhile, start over," he told her, then
turned and took her hands. "Come with me, Laura."
Holmes concentrated on lighting his pipe as he awaited her answer.
"Wilson," she began, but he stopped her.
"We could be married. I know I'm not the best catch at the
moment, but I'd do whatever I had to in order to make you happy."
"I'm flattered, Wilson," she said, "but I have
to refuse."
Holmes tossed the lighted match into the fire, turning so that
his relieved smile was hidden to the room as she continued.
"I like my life as it is now. I have more freedom, more
independence as James' widow than I could possibly have as any
man's wife. I doubt I shall ever marry again."
"What about security?" Wilson asked. "What about-
love?"
"James left me well provided for," she reminded him.
"And even if he hadn't, I'm still a doctor. And there's
the income from my writing as well." She touched his hand.
"As for love, I'll always consider you a friend, Wilson,
but I'm not in love with you. I'm sorry."
Wilson lifted her hand to his lips. "Then I'll take my leave.
I want to thank you, Mr. Holmes," he said, rising to shake
hands. "Good bye."
Holmes watched as Watson closed the door behind their guest before
moving toward her writing desk. "Did you mean what you told
him?" Holmes asked. When she looked up, he said, "About
never marrying again?"
"I don't know," she admitted slowly. "I suppose-
if I met someone that I loved- and who loved me in return,"
she said, lifting dark eyes to his. Strange that he had never
really noticed how lovely they were. "Someone who wouldn't
try to run my life, who could accept me for who I am." And
her hair. He found himself wondering what it would look like
down, perhaps spread across a pillow. "Mr. Holmes?"
she asked, her voice filled with concern as he sat down heavily
in a chair. "Mr. Holmes?"
*****
"Mr. Steele? Are you alright? Mr. Steele?"
He opened his eyes, smiling as he saw her chestnut hair hanging
near his chest. Lifting a hand, he touched it. "Your hair,
Watson," he muttered.
Laura Holt frowned. "Watson? My hair? Maybe I should call
an ambulance after all," she said.
He moved and moaned as his bruised shin protested, recognition
of his surroundings setting in. "That- won't be necessary,
Laura," he assured her, wincing as his left shoulder began
to throb. "I'm sure I'll be fine with a little of your tender
loving care."
"You're sure he's okay?" the driver of the car that
had hit him asked. "I swear, I never saw him."
"It's okay," Laura assured him, helping Mr. Steele
to his feet as the man finally left and the crowd began to disburse.
He made an attempt to brush the dirt from his suit and straighten
his tie as she asked, "What was that about Watson?"
He smiled, draping his uninjured arm around her shoulder. "I'll
tell you all about it while you tend to my injuries," he
promised. "But I was right: You WOULD have made quite a
fetching Dr. Watson."
The End
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by Nancy Eddy