The Fall: Illustrated Edition (An Anna Kronberg Thriller Book 2) (21 page)

‘Excuse me?’ she said.

‘I was just thinking that I will need your assistance tomorrow. I shall exercise my tired limbs on a walk. What destination would be most favourable?’

She looked at me as though I had lost my mind.

‘Cecile, you and I will take a walk together. Officially, at least. Jonathan will be driving and protect us ladies from ruffians. While the two of you take a stroll, I will keep at a distance.’

‘Oh!’ she cried, clapping her palm over her mouth, and acquiring the shade of a newborn piglet. I couldn’t help but laugh.

After she retired for the night, I felt elated. Seeing these two falling for each other warmed my soul.

— day 67 —
 

O
h what an overwhelming wonder that surge of energy and joy was, once the prison doors were opened. To me, it felt as though spring had come. The air smelled so much cleaner, the few birds chirped louder, and the wind in my face was fresh and lovely.

Much to Jonathan and Cecile’s surprise, I asked him to leave the driver’s seat after a few hundred yards into town. It took some convincing, but he finally relented and let me take over his workplace. Now the two lovers sat inside, safe from the ears and eyes of passersby, and I enjoyed all the freedom and speed a coach(wo)man could get. I didn’t care which streets I drove, or what park we would go to. Certain that both Holmes’s and Moriarty’s spies would follow us, I made up my mind on how to justify my behaviour, then pushed the thought aside and embraced the wonderful day.

We drove about for more than an hour until I steered the horses to Hyde Park — so close to Moriarty’s home that we could have easily walked. I knocked on the roof and the door opened.

‘Mr Garrow, I recommend you two do not hold hands when you walk through the park. I am quite certain we have company. And it would be wise to return in half an hour.’

He blinked in surprise, nodded, and helped Cecile out onto the pavement. They were both neatly dressed, but he was freshly shaven and looked entirely too good for a normal trip into town. I should have foreseen this; it could give them away.

I closed my eyes and opened my ears wide. The scraping of the street sweeper’s broom, the sharp clacking of expensive heels and the duller counterpart of those not-so-rich; chatter, sometimes friendly and other times agitated. At some distance, a man hawked baked potatoes, another oysters and eel pies. My mouth watered, and I shot a glance at Garrow and Cecile who had begun to stroll back to the carriage. I did not look out for either man’s spies. Just knowing they were close by was enough.

‘Would you two fancy a little food?’ I asked before they closed the brougham’s door.

‘Very much!’ was Cecile’s answer, so I steered the horses towards the vendors, gave Garrow a few shillings to buy us steaming pies and oysters, which we devoured with careful, yet slightly burned fingers and tongues.

I thought it unwise to enter the premises on top of the brougham for all neighbours to see, so Garrow got his accustomed seat back just before we turned into Kensington Palace Gardens. Knowing I’d have to face Moriarty’s anger did make me nervous, but it couldn’t spoil the wonderful day.

We were met by Durham, who immediately informed me that his master had left and would not return until the day after tomorrow. However, he had received intelligence of my outrageous behaviour and I must face the consequences upon his master’s return.

He had said nothing about Cecile or Garrow, I noted with relief.

I spent the night with worries safely tucked away. I needed a break from all this dread, and the only things I invited into my mind were pictures, sounds, and odours from my one day of freedom.

Kensington Palace Gardens, London, 1893 (12)

— day 69 —
 

‘W
hen will you meet Holmes again?’ The question shot across the room like a dagger. Moriarty stood next to the fireplace. I snapped the study door shut and remained where I was.

‘He finds me when he wishes to see me.’

‘But you must have a way of communicating with him should you be in danger or something of that sort!’

‘I drop a glove.’

‘Where?’

‘At the medical school.’

‘Do so tomorrow.’

‘What will I tell him?’ I asked.

‘That your father is in danger and you need Holmes to go to Germany.’

I set the information aside, the essential part of it — he had referred to Germany, not to Switzerland, and he had not even looked at me to gauge my reaction. ‘You want Holmes out of your way. For how long?’

‘A week will suffice.’

‘How did I come to learn that my father is being threatened?’

‘You overheard Moran and me talking. I told Moran to assassinate your father.’

‘Why?’ But more importantly — where was Moran
now
?

‘None of your concern, my dear.’

‘
Why
do you want to assassinate my father?’

‘Ah! Let’s call it a simple change of mind,’ he said with a smirk.

‘You scare me.’

He walked up to me and took my face in his hands. ‘I know.’ His touch froze my skin. ‘You don’t trust me and I don’t trust you. That’s why you get so little information. For now, at least.’

I pushed away from him. ‘Holmes will expect me to have a little more insight on your reasons for killing my father. He will not be satisfied with a mere delivery of what I’ve overheard.’

‘You will come up with something, I’m certain.’

‘You don’t want to feed him with false information about our project?’

‘I don’t deem it necessary.’

The small hairs on my arms pricked. Whatever he was planning, I was certain he wanted to test me. ‘I’ll drop the glove tomorrow morning. Holmes will contact me the day after.’

He nodded, his expression turning colder. ‘Now, to that other business. You were seen driving my brougham around town.’

‘Obviously.’

‘Have you any idea,’ he snarled, ‘how often I have to restrain my hand?’

‘A very precise idea, I should think.’ And then a rather mad thought came upon me. ‘If you want to know why I did this, then allow me to show you.’
 

He snorted. I held out my hand. After a moment’s hesitation, he took it.

While Garrow braced the horses, Moriarty and I dressed in warm wool and fur, pulled scarves around our necks, and climbed up onto the driver’s seat. Garrow nodded, gave the animals a clap, and off we went.

‘I will tell you a secret, James. Something that no one but my father knows about me. But you’ll have to be patient. Much like your opium, it needs to be experienced.’ My decision to take a forward plunge scared me a little.

The
clack-clack-clack
of hooves echoed through the empty alleys, and the clatter of wheels followed.

‘You have just been travelling and your senses have experienced a great many things. Mine have not had much stimulation. I have been locked up in your house and the laboratory for almost seventy days. Sixty-nine to be precise. Yes, I do count my days in captivity, James.’

‘You are not a captive anymore,’ he noted.

‘Indeed! Now, what would you do if you were in my situation?’ I flicked the horses and they changed into a fast trot. The chestnuts’ hooves clacked in synchrony and the sharp sound bounced off the cold cobblestones, the houses lining the streets, the lanterns. I gave him no time to reply. ‘Listen to the music, James! Can you hear it?’ I turned towards him and saw his quizzical expression. ‘Close your eyes,’ I said softly, and turned back to the horses. ‘The sound changes. When there are houses on both sides of the streets, it grows louder but also duller. Now there are only trees lining the street. The clacking is reflected by the cobblestones and trunks. It would sound differently again if it were summer and the trees had foliage. Now the sound is very clear and… wide open, for the lack of a better description.’

‘The loud rattling of wheels makes the slithering noises almost impossible to hear. Yet, every single one of the wet cobblestones forces each of the four wheels to skid sideways just a little. Do you hear it?’

We drove down the Strand and onto the Mall until I slowed the horses to a stop at St James Park.

The Strand, London, 1896. (13)

‘Listen,’ I said, turning to him. ‘Do you hear the twigs’ quiet scraping when they move in the wind? People’s muffled laughter all the way from the Strand? I love this music, James. And I hear and feel it all, not just the little that meets the ear. Sound forces itself in and I cannot shut it out. If you were to put me into a room full of people, I could tell you what each one of them said during the course of an evening. Everyone I have met so far, including you, can focus on one conversation, while I cannot. It is extremely tiresome, but I cannot choose what my ears and mind take in and what they don’t. All is soaked up. And yet I love the noise surrounding me. I need to hear the wind in the trees, the bow on the strings, the tapping of sparrows’ feet in the dirt. It touches my heart and it makes me feel alive. I spent sixty-nine days in an empty house, and I starved. That is why I rode your brougham through London.’

He listened silently, as though he were able to grasp the impact of captivity, the lack of stimulation for the senses.

‘I cannot tolerate Gooding and Garrow getting married and having children,’ he finally said, his gaze travelling down to my mouth, his hand meeting my chin and lifting it.

I noticed his possessive expression, the parting of his thin lips. I tucked my observation away where it wouldn’t have the power to make me flinch.

‘Can you not allow them this little affair?’ I whispered. He bent closer. My throat clenched.

‘As you wish.’ His breath poured over my face as his mouth came down on mine.