The Fall (12 page)

One of van Leeuwenhoek’s many illustrations, 1700. (6)

‘That is very thoughtful and kind of you, Mister… oh I am so sorry, I do not even know your name,’ I said, taking two steps forward and offering my hand, ‘Anna Kronberg.’

‘George Pleasant, at your service,’ he answered with a small bow.

‘Thank you, Mr Pleasant,’ I said softly, letting my eyes dart to Goff and back at the man facing me, hoping he would understand.

He did. ‘Ma’am, let me put this book where it belongs; you may read it whenever you find the time,’ he said, pushing past us.
 

I turned to Goff and raised my eyebrows, as though not quite understanding what the man had wanted. Goff shrugged and we made our way to our preferred desks.

From the corner of my eye, I saw the librarian shelving the book in the section for illustrated science literature.

I spent the following hours reading every recent report on vaccine development to be found. Pasteur’s anthrax vaccines were made for cattle, goats, and sheep. There were none for humans. I found nothing that would protect against glanders, either. All the while I was trying to decide whether or not it was wise to trust Mr Pleasant. He was a stranger. Overwhelming was my desire to peek into the man’s heart and mind to insure he was uninfluenced by Moriarty. Putting my own life at risk was acceptable, but leaving my father’s life at stake was an entirely different matter. Torn between the danger of being betrayed and the danger of never being able to contact Holmes, the zeal for action got the better of me.

Goff had grown tired by now, and his attention was not as sharp as it had been earlier in the morning. Gradually, the library emptied. I walked along the aisles as though searching for something in particular, then passed the illustrated science section, stuck my hand into a shelf and pulled out Leeuwenhoek’s book. It had one dog ear. How much pain must it have caused Mr Pleasant to mar one of his books? I quickly slipped my hand between the pages, found a small note, and hid it inside my sleeve. The place where it touched my skin prickled with excitement.

I walked along the shelves, one eye on Goff who appeared to be oblivious to the sudden heat in the room, and my attempts to calm myself. Grateful he was not as observant as Moriarty, I picked up a journal and sat down at the desk again. When Goff begun to pick at his nails, I jotted down a few words on my already crowded note pad. From his position, he could not see that note pad’s surface and it was there I flattened out Mr Pleasant’s message. He had written only three words:
I can help
. I turned it around and wrote my answer on the back:
Please advertise in
The Times
: Small golden wedding band found in the lavatory of London Medical School. To be picked up at Tottenham Court Road 11b, Miss Caitrin Mae.

I slipped the note back into my sleeve, scribbled a bit more, read a bit more, and then made another round through the aisles. Only a minute later, the note was safely hidden in the dog eared book.

As Goff and I left, I gave the librarian a single nod and another timid smile, hoping to convey the immense gratitude I felt.

I was relieved to have something to busy myself with. How else could I have kept my sanity that night? I was tormented by fears of being discovered, of having misunderstood the librarian’s message, or that he could be Moriarty’s. And the most silly fear of all, that Holmes would not understand the message. So I sat at the door, listening to the movements of men and mice. Slowly, my mind calmed itself.
 

Long after midnight, once Moriarty was done with the woman next door and Durham had bolted me in to leave for his well deserved sleep, I rose, lit a candle, and started writing two letters, careful not to leave ink on my fingers or the nightstand.

— day 53 —
 

I
t was difficult to focus. My hands tried to work with precision while my mind and heart raced. Thoughts about the librarian’s loyalty and Holmes’s swiftness buzzed in my head. I had to be careful not to jam the hot metal lancet into my fingers or straight into the bacterial colonies growing on the swine blood gelatin. Goff was busy preparing media, which gave me a little more freedom to think without the constant worry that he would sense my nervousness.

If Mr Pleasant had delivered the slip to
The Times
yesterday afternoon, it should have been printed early this morning. How long would Holmes need to prepare a disguise, given he had read the papers at breakfast? Was he in London at all?
 

I had to stifle a groan. All I could do was hope. There was no possibility of making sure all players were positioned where I wanted them to be. What would I do if disaster were already waiting for me? Moriarty holding my note in his hand and thanking the librarian for his services, was an image impossible to push from my mind. On top of it all, my plan had a gaping hole. I had nothing to bargain with, nothing that could save my father if all went wrong.

‘Mr Goff, I need to use the lavatory,’ I said. My assistant nodded. We disinfected our hands, took off our protective gear, and marched towards the hospital’s lavatories.

As usual, Goff positioned himself at a less than respectful distance — three steps from the entrance to the lady’s.

I pushed the door open and was greeted by the massive behind of a charwoman. She was scrubbing the floor and upon my greeting, rose and turned towards me.

The door fell into its frame. I slid the bolt into place, took two steps forward, and froze. I would always recognise his eyes. The light grey with the intense sparkle, forever mischievous.

My feet were about to step forward, my hand yearned to rest on his cheek.
How have you been?
I wanted to ask.
Are you happy? Do you have someone you love? Someone who loves you in return?

Of course, I did no such thing. Wiping emotions off my face I said, ‘Thank you for coming. I don’t have much time. My gaoler is waiting just outside the door. Here,’ I held out one envelope, ‘this is my will. No! Don’t speak now. Read it and then deposit it at your lawyer’s. Do you know a man by the name of James Moriarty?’

I had barely finished speaking when Holmes stepped towards me, eyes scrutinising my clothes, face, hands, and shoes. ‘It would appear as though Moriarty is the most dangerous criminal in the whole of Europe.’

‘Moriarty was the head of the Club—’

‘I am aware of that,’ he interrupted. ‘I have been hot on his heels for months now. As a matter of fact, the man is at the very heart of a far-reaching criminal organisation. Did he abduct you?’

I nodded and held up my hand to hush him. ‘We have but a few minutes! Holmes, I beg you to save my father. Moriarty is holding him captive, too. I believe he might even be here in London. He and I are allowed to write each other and it takes only four to six days to receive an answer.’

‘Who put the advertisement in
The Times
?’ He gazed down at my fine patent leather boots, atypically exclusive for my taste. ‘You’ve worn them for a while now; two or three months I should think… That long? Why did you not contact me earlier?’

I swallowed.

‘Where is he keeping you?’ His voice was metallic. I saw the effort it took him to remain calculating, take facts and fit them next to one another to form a picture.

‘In his house,’ I replied, emotions cutting my voice thin. ‘It was very hard to contact you at all. I cannot make mistakes and risk my father’s life.’ I gazed up into his face, saw the questions sizzling to be asked. He wiped them away, clearing his mind, nodding once.

‘The timing will be critical. Obviously, I cannot split myself in two.’ His hands balled up and all breath hissed through his nostrils. Behind his narrowed eyes, I could see his brain rattling.
 

I placed my hand on his arm. He looked at me, a little surprised, as though I had just appeared. ‘All I need is for my father to be safe. Here is a letter. Give it to him when…
should
you find him. And please do not worry about me. I am treated well. ’ I held out the second envelope, gulping down the possibility that my father might never hold this message in his hands, or that this could be the only thing he would ever see of his daughter again. ‘I wish I could cover your expenses.’

‘Why would you say such an absurd thing? You cannot believe I want to be paid!’ he said, clearly offended.

‘No! No, I don’t think that. But I don’t want you to do it because you feel sorry for me.’ The instant I heard myself say it, I noticed how stupid it sounded. Yet, it was precisely what I felt.

Perplexed, he answered, ‘Would a favour for a friend be more acceptable?’

Could he not see that any sympathy from him would only make my endeavour harder, almost impossible, even? No matter how much I wanted to take that last step forward and lay my cheek on his chest, it would not help me the least. All that would happen would be a weakening of my resolution. ‘We have no friendship,’ I said quietly. ‘We are lovers who never loved. Being together is almost unthinkable. In essence, we have nothing.’

His stern face never moved as he slipped both envelopes into his voluminous bosom, and said, ‘I have my own vested interest in seeing Moriarty and his entire criminal network brought to justice. That he has involved you and your father in this business complicates matters. Very unfortunate and rather impractical, I must confess. However, I will certainly get you both to safety soon enough. This business requires excellent planning. We will meet here again in two days’ time. You’d better leave now.’

I almost thanked him for that verbal slap. All of a sudden, I found my soft self rather annoying. ‘One more thing. Colonel Moran — can you tell me anything about him?’

His eyes darkened. ‘He is Moriarty’s right hand and the second most dangerous man you could come across.’

I nodded.

‘You met him,’ he noted wearily. ‘Of course. Moriarty wouldn’t send anyone less to capture his bacteriologist.’

‘The man has an obsession with guns,’ I volunteered.

‘He does indeed! He is thought to be the best heavy-game shot in the British Empire. I don’t need to tell you to be very careful around him. He is volatile and far from being a gentleman. I am convinced he has murdered two women, but I have never been able to prove it. He once used a small child as tiger bait while he was stationed in India.’

Yes, I could easily imagine Moran doing this. He was free from scruples of any kind. My stomach revolted at the thought of going back to Moriarty’s house. I wondered whether I could convince my feet to walk away from Holmes.

‘Thank you,’ I whispered and watched as his eyebrows pulled apart and his shoulders sagged ever so slightly. Did he know I could read him like a book?

As I stepped out into the hallway and heard the door snap shut behind me, a feeling of overwhelming loneliness forced water into my eyes. Hastily, I blinked it away before Goff could see it.