Sherlock Holmes and The Scarlet Thread of Murder (13 page)

White lowered his head. “My alibi,” he said.

“I care not!” said I. “You very well might have had nothing to do with his
suicide
, but you were the reason she put a pistol in her mouth and blew her skull open in the city's centre.”

“I was young, Brett,” White began. “The incident ruined my potential career.”

“Hardly the justice you deserved.” I returned sharply.

With no warning, the door burst open. White and I stood in disbelief. I felt the blood pulsing through me. White dropped the papers he had in his hand. To our great horror, standing in the doorway, with green bulging eyes, a reddish froth around the mouth, bulbous yellow skin, and growling deeply was none other than the terrible Goblin Man. In one hand he held a large blade. His grip upon the handle was tight and his grin was menacing. He charged towards us...

Chapter 20

D.
I. Edmund Reid

The Conversation Between Reid & Osgen

Autumn 1890

The blade was pressing into my skin, and I knew that with any swift movement I could be choking on my own blood. Osgen's manic eyes looked upon me, her teeth grinding together. “Tell me who you are,” she commanded.

“Tell me your connection to Jackson,” I returned.

She frowned at me. “I told you, he died.”

“Who told you he died?”

“What does it matter?” I felt the knife pressing as she spoke.

“There's no way you can know this,” I told her. “His body was only retrieved today. His death has had no time to reach the papers. So how do you know?” A look of confusion passed across her face, then a grin.

“You fail to realise my clientele,” she moved the blade up my neck and pressed it under my jaw. “I have fingers in many pies. Information comes to me, and I to it.”

“Then your information is flawed.”

“How so?”

“Because the body isn't Jackson's.”

She stared. “It... isn't Jackson?”

“No. He lives, yet.”

“Oh dear.” She removed the knife from my neck, and rose. She walked over to a desk and leaned upon it, her hand stroking the edges.

“I need you to tell me what you know of Jackson, and why he was being forced out of this club by Goodtree.”

“How do you know this?” she asked with an eerie calm.

“I've seen the letter of instruction.”

“Jackson got into an argument with Goodtree and Daniels.”

“Over what?”

“Over rights. The argument that is nearly as old as time. We fulfil a person's desire here. Some people, like Goodtree and Daniels, like to indulge in forbidden fruit; ethnic fetishes, and so on.”

“Jackson was outraged when he learnt of their fetish?” I pressed.

Osgen hopped up onto the desk and crossed her legs. She fondled the knife in her hands. “To engage in the act of pleasure, to embrace carnal nature and give in to that inner beast which longs to break free from our oppressed society is what we do.” I looked at her, bewildered. “You don't understand, do you, Mr Reid?”

“I believe I do.”

“I believe you do not.” She stepped down from the desk, leaving the knife behind, and walked over to me. “A moment ago, I wanted to kill you. Cut your throat and spill your blood right here on the sofa. I wanted to watch you gag as you lost the ability to breathe. Why hide these carnal impulses?” She put her hands on either side of my face and leaned in. With her body pressed against mine, she kissed my lips. “You know you want to give in,” she whispered into my ear.

“Stand back, woman!” I said, putting space between us.

A look of thrill and surprise came upon her. Her eyes were on fire and she twitched her fingers with excitement. “Now Mr Reid,” she said, approaching me again. “You are in a safe place. What you do here stays here.” She reached behind and stripped off the skirt of her dress. She stood, barelegged in her corset, as she ran her hands down my chest. “Are you telling me that deep inside that shell of yours, you aren't bursting to just give in and take me? To forget this gentlemanly facade that so many try to hold up when all they really want is to be an animal?”

“I assure you, I am not.” I remained placid.

She smiled and, despite my words, brought her face closer to mine.

“I suppose Jackson wouldn't give in either, and you had him removed?”

“Oh! Jackson this, Jackson that! Hell, Reid! You have a woman ready to pounce and purr and all you can think about is the damn work! I can't be having this. It looks like I will have to kill you now. Which is a shame.” She pushed herself away and walked over to the desk.

“And how, pray, are you going to do so?” I approached her slowly. She held the knife up. “I can defend myself against a knife.” She looked at it, and acted as if she was going to throw it at me. I ducked. She laughed.

“This is a fun game, Mr Reid.” A smile graced her face. Then she slammed the knife into the top of the desk. “But now it's time to end.” She withdrew a concealed revolver. I dived as the gun went off, darting towards the back of the sofa as each bullet came closer and closer to striking me. I sat behind it, and could hear the clicking of the empty gun. Osgen began to chuckle. “Come out, Mr Reid!”

I could hear her opening drawers. I reached for my revolver, and slowly peeked around the corner of the sofa. When she caught me, she fired a shot from another gun and burst into laughter. I reached around and fired a shot.

“Oh! That was close!” she cried in glee. She fired a shot and it went through the back of the sofa and struck me in the arm. I held back my cry of pain as best I could. “Did I get you? Did I?”

I quickly rose and fired a shot at her. She screamed as my bullet pierced her arm. She growled like a wild animal, and I could hear her shoving things off the desk in a fit of rage and throwing whatever she could get her hands on.

“I need you to calm down!” I called out to her while I nursed my wound. Suddenly, the noise stopped. I looked around to see what she was doing, but she was not at the desk.

“Here I am,” she smiled at me and cackled.

I turned. A shot was fired, and my revolver was blown away. With some cat-like agility, she had crept up on me from behind. Her left arm was a red mess, blood covering her corset and streaking down her white legs. In her right hand, she held her revolver aimed directly at my head.

“I don't wish to kill you, madam.”

“You're not in a position to kill me.”

“Tell me who killed Jackson.”

Her eyes blazed. “Stop bloody asking about Jackson!”

“If you're going to kill me, grant me that, Mother Osgen.”

Her eyes cooled. Her scowl softened. “It pains a mother to have to punish a child. Men will never know what it was like when God had to punish her children with the curse of death, and continuing that punishment will never be easy.”

“Then you contradict yourself. You said you give in to carnal impulses. Like Cain killing Abel. But now, you wish to kill me but it pains you - thus your carnal instinct isn't to kill, but to live.”

“Mr Reid, don't try and make this philosophical. You must die.”

“So you'll kill me to protect the person who attempted to kill Jackson.”

“Yes.” She stretched out her arm, I looked down the barrel, and awaited the bullet. “Goodnight, Mr-” Her words were cut off by the bang of a gunshot.

I jolted back with my eyes closed and my heart beating furiously. I opened my eyes and saw Osgen standing before me, wavering. The gun dropped from her hand and crashed onto the floor. She fell to her knees. I could see a tear in her left eye. Then she fell over, dead. Her body lay collapsed to the right, and in her fiery red hair I could see a cold crimson thread of blood. I looked at the doorway, and there stood Doctor Watson, his revolver still smoking.

Chapter 21

Doctor Watson

The Hunt For Brett and White

Autumn 1890

Inspector Reid looked at me with utter shock and bewilderment. The red-headed woman lay dead on the floor. The room was in complete disarray, and bullet holes speckled the walls. I ran over to Reid once I saw his arm had been wounded. I took my cravat and wrapped it firmly around the wound.

“I thought I was dead,” panted Reid.

“A moment later, and you may have been,” I returned.

“Where is Holmes?”

“Downstairs.”

“We need to find White and Brett. Their drinks were poisoned, and I have no idea what these women have done with our colleagues or what they will do to them.” I helped Reid up, and we made our way towards the stairs. “How did you get in, by the way?” I asked as we descended.

“We heard the shots from the cab outside, and Holmes and I kicked the door in. I came up here while he looked elsewhere,” I informed.

When we came downstairs, no one seemed to be aware of either the gunfire upstairs or our entrance. Down in the hall, the members were still drinking while scantily dressed maids served them.

“Her, that maid over there. I remember her. She served us initially. She might be able to tell us where the others are.”

“Ah, there you two are,” said Holmes approaching from behind. He evaluated Reid. “Is she dead? The red-headed woman?”

“This is no time for amazement at your powers, Mr Holmes, but how can you know it was a red-headed woman?”

“By your sleeve. Red hairs wrapped around the button on your cuff. The hair is too long to belong to Mr White. The logical conclusion is that you were in a battle with a woman with long red hair.”

“What you observe is truth. She is dead.”

“Shame.”

“She was going to kill him, Holmes!” I cried.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” a maid asked.

“Yes, girl,” said Reid. “You may recall me from earlier. I was speaking with Mother, er, Osgen. Where has she taken my colleagues?”

“I don't know.”

“Pupils dilated, pulse increased, aversion to looking any of us in the eye,” said Holmes.

“What?” she replied.

“You're lying,” said he.

“You're making me nervous, is all,” she stammered.

“Girl, your Mother is dead, there is no salvation for you. You will tell us where our colleagues are, or I will arrest you for aiding in a kidnapping,” said Reid.

She stepped back a moment. “Follow me.”

She took us to the back of the hall and through a door that matched the wooden panelling of the walls. The hall we went through was dark with little light to help us see. She opened a door and gasped. The room was empty. Holmes darted inside and looked around. He found a shattered oil lamp.

“A nice trick,” said Holmes.

“What?” demanded Reid.

“Oil,” Holmes pointed, “One of the two used it to free their hands before escaping.” As Holmes stood, he looked at the mirrors around the room. “Hmm, false mirrors. Interesting.”

“There's a key in this cuff,” said I.

“And the oil is still warm,” Reid said.

“Tell us miss, where did they go?” Holmes asked.

“I don't know, honest I don't!” She replied nervously.

“Is there another way out?” I pressed.

“I don't know! I don't, I'm not allowed to go beyond this room.”

“It's likely they went deeper in rather than risk being caught going back through the hall,” said Reid.

“Agreed.” Holmes nodded.

“Girl, you have to come with us,” said Reid. I took her by the arm and put her in front of us as we continued down the hall.

As we walked, we heard a blood-curdling scream. Holmes and Reid ran ahead while I followed behind with the girl. A light led me up a flight of stairs.

The sight inside was one of utter horror. Brett lay by the window. He held his side, groaning in pain. Holmes stood over White, who lay on the floor by an open door. Reid was nowhere to be seen. The girl screamed at the grotesque scene; I covered her mouth, telling her to quiet herself. Her breathing calmed after a moment, and I removed my grip. She curled in a ball in a corner, tears running down her face.

I raced over to Brett. “Don't worry, Brett. You'll be fine,” said I, examining his wound. He was covered in blood, but his wounds were manageable. He had a few gashes in his abdomen, a deep wound in his left leg, and a broken hand.

I turned to Holmes. He looked at me and shook his head. I looked down at White. He lay in a thick pool of blood. His throat had been slashed and someone had ripped his belly open and yanked is intestines out. Holmes glanced at Brett.

“Is he... is he... dead?” Brett asked with tears in his eyes. “Is White dead?” I held Brett's face in my hands a moment, and his panicked eyes looked at me.

“He is, Brett. He's gone.” The journalist burst into a shower of tears. “I tried, Doctor. I tried to help! White, he... he... I was wrong about him.”

“Tell us what happened,” I asked.

“We already know,” said Holmes.

“What?” I turned to look at Holmes who was shifting through the desk and looking at some kind of mechanical blueprints.

“It was the Goblin man,” Holmes said coolly.

“The Goblin man?” I questioned.

“A hideous creature,” gasped Brett. “It came in like a devil. No, no, I can't speak of it. I won't.”

“Calm yourself,” I assured him.

“Reid chased him out. He was ripping at White when we came in,” said Holmes.

“I thought Jackson was the Goblin? We found that attire at his lodging in Putney.”

“So we did, Watson. Someone else has taken on his mantle.” Holmes began looking through the disrupted papers on the floor and in the desk.

“But why?” I asked.

“I don't know yet...” Holmes trailed off. “What is this?”

“Tell us.”

“A letter to Mother Osgen from Daniels. He's agreeing to the passing over of his company to an unknown benefactor.”