Sherlock Holmes: The American Years (15 page)

“That’s my watch!” Jackson said, and made a play to grab it back, but Bell was too fast for him and held it just out of reach.

Holmes remained silent but looked at the watch as if it had suddenly been conjured up by magic.

Jackson, shaking with fear, blanched white.

Bell handed the handsome and valuable timepiece to Captain Morrow. “I believe if you examine this you will find that it belonged to the murdered man.”

Morrow looked over the watch, “Why, yes, it has Martin’s name engraved right here on the back.”

“No!” Jackson shouted.

“Mr. Thorson, place that man under arrest!” the captain ordered, and Jackson was soon held fast by the purser.

“How did you know?” Holmes asked the doctor.

“Once I determined that Martin had in fact been murdered, it was really quite easy for me to extrapolate a killer, based upon the facts,” Bell said with a wink to young Holmes. “It is all about access. An American traveling alone, he knows no one aboard, so his personal steward would have to be a prime suspect.”

“He promised me that watch as payment!” Jackson yelled from the doorway as he was taken away. “He was into me for over a hundred quid.”

“Gambling?” Holmes asked.

“Precisely,” Bell replied. “Well, captain, you have your man and a murder has been solved.”

Captain Morrow nodded slowly, but he was none too happy.

“Well, Doctor,” Holmes asked, “answer me this one question, then. How did you know about the watch?”

“It was a trifling thing, really,” Bell answered. “When we looked over the body I could not find the man’s watch, though a fob was clearly present. I thought that quite odd. I looked around the room, even on the floor, but could not find it. Nor could I find a timepiece among his clothing. So I knew it was missing because someone must have taken it. It just remained for me to find out who. Steward Jackson was the logical suspect and the bulge in the jacket pocket of his uniform told me he was our man.”

PART III
:
America, 1876
Holmes had never seen such a vivacious creature before; she shone with absolute radiance and sensual energy.

“Oh, Joseph,” she cried to her brother. “Is it really you? After so long.”

“Yes, Diana, we came as soon as we could,” Bell said, holding his sister in his arms.

Finally she looked more closely at her brother’s companion and smiled warmly. “And who is this handsome young gentleman?”

“I am Sherlock Holmes.”

“Sherlock has proved an invaluable assistant and traveling
companion, Diana,” Bell explained. “We had the most amazing journey, which I shall tell you about later, but right now we want to hear about your own troubles and what we can do to help.”

Diana shook her head in evident despair, taking a moment to collect her thoughts. “I’m afraid I’ve become embroiled in a disastrous situation that can only end badly.”

“You can speak freely in front of Sherlock,” Bell prompted. “I trust him implicitly.”

“I don’t quite know how to tell you,” Diana began. “I know you and Mr. Holmes will think terribly of me and that perhaps I deserve all that an unkind fate has thrust upon me.”

“Let us be the judge of that,” Bell said softly.

“Why not begin at the beginning, Mrs. Strickland,” Holmes offered.

Bell’s sister nodded. “Of course, that would be best, Mr. Holmes. You just now called me Mrs. Strickland, and that is where all my problems originate. For I tell you, a dark shadow came over my life when first I met that man.”

“That man?” Holmes asked. “Your husband?”

“Yes, my husband, Rupert Strickland. You see, he is very wealthy, from a quality family, and they all hate me with a passion. While Rupert adored me, soon after our marriage he changed; he suddenly demanded that I quit the stage. We fought furiously over it and it has been a bone of contention between us ever since.”

“Well,” Holmes offered, “you cannot blame the fellow for that. He merely wishes the woman who shares his name to be a proper wife.”

“But, Mr. Holmes,” Diana said sternly, “Rupert heartily approved of my career and was my biggest supporter. He never
missed a performance, and one of the reasons I accepted his proposal of marriage was because he promised to allow me to continue my profession on the stage.”

“Well, really, Diana!” Bell protested. “You cannot be serious. You are a married woman now and should follow your husband’s wishes. You must be aware of the unsavory aspects of your profession? Why, these ‘women of the stage’ are often nothing more than common . . . prostitutes.”

“Is that what you think of me, Joseph?”

“Of course not!” Bell blushed. The entire conversation was making him quite uncomfortable.

Holmes cleared his throat. “I believe what your brother means is that you have to admit your profession has a certain unsavory aspect to it in the mind of the public—who do not know any better.”

Diana’s anger softened. “Yes, Mr. Holmes, there are those unsavory people, but not all of us are like that, I can assure you.”

“Of course not,” Holmes said softly.

“Well, then,” Bell continued, “what is this problem? Your telegram was most vague and lacked details.”

“Tell us everything now,” Holmes said. “Hold back nothing.”

Diana nodded. “My life was never an easy one back home, Joseph will attest to that. I was ostracized and disowned by our father for my profession. After Mama died I came to America to make a new start. Here in New York I found what I had been looking for. I admit there is pressure put on some of the girls to entertain important men, but I never succumbed. Until I met Rupert. He is young and handsome and it did not hurt that he is wealthy. And best of all he was never bothered by my stage work—until recently.”

“Well, what do you want us to do about this, Mrs. Strickland? We are hardly experts on marital relations,” Holmes said.

“Perhaps if I talk to Rupert?” Bell offered.

“It has gone far beyond that now, dear brother,” Diana said sadly. “You see, divorce is not an option for such a family, and now I fear . . . I
know
Rupert is trying to kill me.”

There was complete silence in the room. Holmes and Bell looked at each other and then back at Diana.

“That is a serious accusation, Mrs. Strickland,” Holmes said.

“Diana, how do you know that?” Bell asked.

“Events have moved quickly. Rupert has already been arrested but has since been released.”

“Arrested?” Bell asked.

“Yes, a month ago a man came here to the theatre. He appeared at the stage door with flowers, as do many admirers of the actresses. After bribing one of the stagehands to gain admittance, he burst into my dressing room and tried to strangle me. If it weren’t for a stagehand, he would have killed me. As it was, I escaped his attack and the man was caught and held for the police. I heard he later confessed after interrogation, admitting he had been hired by my husband to murder me.”

“The beast!” Bell muttered in anger.

Holmes appeared less outwardly upset, but within, his emotions were raw with turmoil.

“Where do things stand now?” Bell asked finally.

“Of course Rupert denied it all, and his family came to his aid. They tried to buy me off with a rather paltry sum if I would drop all charges,” Diana said, looking from her brother to Holmes. “You see, we are still married. The laws in this state, while quite
liberal, still do not allow a woman many more rights than mere chattel. And married women can be most tightly bound by law and custom. I cannot testify against my husband. I cannot divorce him. I had no choice but to drop the charges and hope he would leave me in peace.”

“This is very bad,” Bell growled.

“But that’s not the worst of it, I’m afraid, dear brother,” Diana said softly. “You see, fearing for my life, I was forced to leave Rupert, and took a room at a boardinghouse. It is run by a Mrs. Shay, who keeps a clean house for proper young ladies. Two weeks ago, Rupert came to Mrs. Shay’s and demanded I come home with him and be an obedient wife. I refused. He vowed then that if I did not come back to him he would rather see me dead. I’m afraid I have no one to turn to, no one to help me. The police view the problem as a private matter between a husband and his wife. They are loath to get involved until an actual crime has been committed.”

“But what of the assassin your husband sent against you?” Holmes asked.

Diana smiled. “I knew you would focus upon him, Sherlock. May I call you Sherlock? The man recanted his confession. It would have been a terrible scandal for the theater, so I was forced to drop all charges. He was released by the police and that is where matters now stand.”

“That is a ghastly injustice!” Holmes said.

“And now you know, Joseph, Sherlock. My life is in danger from my own husband and there is not one thing I can do to stop him. Until there is an actual crime committed, and an actual corpse—
my own
—the police will hear nothing of it. I do not want to wait until that fatal moment to be proven right.”

There wasn’t much to say after that. Bell and Holmes escorted Diana back to her room at Mrs. Shay’s and proceeded to their rooms at the Union Square Hotel.

“Well, Sherlock?” Bell asked. “What do you think? What can we do to help her?”

Holmes looked up. “I’m not quite sure.”

“Well, I for one am going to visit this husband of hers first thing tomorrow,” Bell stated. “Diana gave me the address of his hotel.”

Holmes nodded, “And what do you think about all that she has told us?”

“It’s ghastly, Sherlock, ghastly that my own sweet sister should fall into the hands of such a monster,” Bell said. “I take it you noticed the old bruises on her cheek and shoulder?”

Holmes nodded. “I thought it prudent not to mention them, since she did not.”

“Yes, I thought the same, though it galled me mightily,” Bell said in anger. “I noticed more as we embraced—I could feel what seemed to be welts upon her back. I tell you, Sherlock, my lovely sister has been ill-used by this brute and he shall be made to pay.”

After visiting Rupert Strickland the two men arrived at the theater and went their separate ways, Bell to talk with the staff and workers, Holmes to Diana’s dressing room.

He knocked lightly upon the closed door.

“Come in, Sherlock,” a soft, feminine voice called to him.

A thin smile played upon Holmes’s lips as he slowly opened the door and entered the dressing room to behold a vision of loveliness that fairly took his breath away.

“You expected me?” Holmes said incredulously.

“I am glad you are here without Joseph,” Diana said. “I wanted to speak to you, to see you again, alone.”

Holmes’s eyes roved over Diana Strickland’s face and form. She was seated at a dressing table before a large gilded mirror. She wore a white lace gown, her back toward him as she brushed her long red hair. She did it slowly and almost languidly, with long, sensual motions the young man found most alluring.

He was entranced. He took a deep breath as Diana slowly turned to face him. She allowed a smile to escape her pouty red lips, and the young man could not help but grin like an overexcited schoolboy. Diana was everything he had ever dreamed of in a woman. The young man stood there in awe, forgetting the reason he had come to see her.

“You and Joseph talked to Rupert?” she asked softly.

“Yes, not an hour ago.”

“And I’m sure he told you all kinds of terrible lies about me, Sherlock.”

“Actually, I found him to be a very angry man with violent tendencies. You are right to be afraid of him,” Holmes said softly, marveling at Diana’s alabaster skin, the swell of her breasts as she breathed, the bright allure of her deep blue eyes. A man could become lost in those eyes.

“Come here, Sherlock,” she said, her voice light, her manner inviting. “Sit down, beside me, and tell me what Joseph thinks.”

Holmes was only too happy to comply with her request and shared her settee in front of the dressing table. He felt his heart beat faster as the closeness of their bodies produced a heat that seemed to grow between them.

“Your brother is most upset by this situation,” Holmes said, not knowing quite what to say, nor what was expected of him. “He fears for your safety . . . as do I.”

“Oh, Sherlock, you are so sweet,” she said. “So he believes my story?”

“Of course.”

Diana turned to look at Holmes, her eyes gazing longingly into his own. “And you, Sherlock, do you believe me?”

“Is it important to you that I do?”

“More than you can ever know,” she replied.

“Then yes, Diana, I believe you,” Holmes said, amazed at the deep blueness of her eyes, reveling in her closeness. Diana elicited feelings that both delighted and terrified him. He was shocked at how easy it would be for him to throw off all strictures of gentlemanly decorum and wallow in wild abandon.

As if reading his thoughts, Diana suddenly stood up and moved away from him. “That’s very nice to hear, Sherlock. But what do you and my brother intend to do about it all?”

Holmes’s amorous plan evaporated as he watched her move away from him.

“Do about it?” he asked.