The Devil's Grin - a Crime Novel Featuring Anna Kronberg and Sherlock Holmes (17 page)

~~~

Two hours before leaving Guy’s
I prepared a cryptic wire for Holmes: ‘
Dare to dance with a Saxon? Eight o’clock, Wilson & Bow. Bring your disguise. AK. PS: Got a name for you.’

Once at home I quickly ate a sandwich, grabbed the three loaves of bread and two bottles of brandy I had gotten for tonight, and went to one of the neighbouring houses. We were to have a party. Although I wouldn’t be able to dance yet, I could still enjoy the music and the company for a little while.

A small crowd had already gathered on the ground floor of an old warehouse and everyone had brought a little food and drink. The Irish were sitting on wooden boxes behind a makeshift table. There I placed the bread and the brandy, noting that I may come back for a small gulp.

‘
Sure
,’ they said in unison, all wearing a wide grin, before chucking down each a large glass of their newly won refreshments. Then, they started tooting and scratching a little on their two fiddles, the one accordion, and the tin whistle. Grinning, I recalled an Irish proverb
‘
What butter and whiskey won’t cure, there is no cure for’
and wondered whether I should try that as a new treatment for my patients. Then I remembered that I may not have any patients at all if I got to work for Stark and his
colleagues
. I would have
test subjects
instead, I thought with a shudder.

A
bout fifty people were assembled. It was still very cold but the fire in the centre of the large hall and the dancing would soon warm up the place. The music started abruptly and everyone was on his or her feet, dancing, clapping, laughing, and singing. I got the feeling of standing on an active volcano. Despite my sore head and rib cage, I enjoyed myself. Then I spotted Garret; he stood in a corner and observed me before giving himself a push forward.

‘
Anna,’ was all he said. He looked rather serious today and I wondered what the matter was with him.

‘
Garret,’ I answered, smiling warmly.

‘
What ‘bout a dance?’

‘
I can’t,’ I said rolling my eyes and regretting it instantly as my head started spinning.

‘
No bother, jus’ wanted ter talk to ya. Besides, we can dance slowly.’ He led me outside, took my hand into his and placed the other on my waist. Then we danced oddly slow to the fast Irish folk music that seeped through the warehouse walls.

‘
So I was thinkin’ tha’… tha’…’ He stopped there, stared down at his boots, then squared his shoulders and spoke. ‘Ya told me ter never ask ya, but… I thought screw it. So… Would you be my wife, Anna?’

That punched all air out
of my lungs.

I pushed myself from him and quietly answered
: ‘No.’

‘
Because I’m a feckin’ hobbler?’

‘
I have always known you as a thief, Garret. And yes, this would probably hold me back if I’d ever thought of marrying you. But there are things in my past and present life that make it impossible for me to be someone’s wife.’

‘
Right,
sure. Ya jus’ want ter fuck,’ he said coldly.

For a moment I felt like slapping his face, but then
took his hands into mine and said softly: ‘You have saved my life and you are my best friend. I am so very sorry, Garret. I do love you, too, but not how a wife should love her husband.’

‘
So that’s it? Yer never goin’ ter tell me who you are? Why you have that thing in your doctor’s bag?’

I grew very hot suddenly.
‘Thing?’

‘
Ya have a cock on straps in your doctor’s bag, Anna. I wonder why ya have a doctor’s bag at all. Yer are a nurse, or that’s what ya told everyone. What are ya doing all day long, Anna?
’ He had taken two steps back, extracting his hands from mine. The distance between us had grown so much now, it felt as if we’d never be able overcome it.

‘
Garret, why did you propose to me at all?’

He exhaled loudly; it sounded like a growl. He lifted his hands, as if to speak, opened his mouth, closed it again and I decided to answer for him. ‘You thought that after our marriage I would tell you all about me? All my secrets?’

All
air left his lungs and he nodded.

‘
Let’s just assume I’m a pervert,’ I noted as neutral as possible while my intestines wrenched themselves up and around my throat.

His eyes
were full of rage now, knowing that I would not reveal myself to him. Then he growled in earnest, turned, and left without a word.

I don’t know how long I stood there, watching the passing clouds reflected in the puddle before me. Eventually the cold crept under my coat and my head began to spin again, so I made to leave, too.

After only a few yards I almost stumbled over a pile of clothes with a wreck of a beggar inside. ‘What are you doing in the middle of the street?’ I enquired. He coughed and mumbled something like ‘M’Lady.’

‘
Come, stand up, and I’ll help you to the sidewalk,’ I bent down and offered my hand. The pile started moving reluctantly and a pair of piercing grey eyes gazed at me.

‘
For Christ’s sake!’ I shouted, pulling hard on his tattered coat, almost ripping it in two.

‘
My apologies,’ said Holmes, rising to his feet and looking as if nothing had happened.

‘
You spied on me!’

‘
Excuse me, but
you
sent me a telegram!’ he said indignantly.

‘
But I did not invite you to… to…, what’s the
damn
word again?! …
eavesdrop
!’ I punched his shoulder, ‘damn it Holmes!’ The hard shove hadn’t shown much effect.

‘
I
am
sorry!’ He growled. ‘I
tried
to be discreet and give you some privacy. You two almost ran me over! I didn’t want to interrupt so I took cover and hoped you wouldn’t see me. And you wouldn’t have if not for your exorbitant philanthropy!’

‘
What?’

‘
Forget what I said. Why did you want me to come?’

His swift change of topic didn’t go unnoticed and I made a mental note to get the rest out of him later.

‘
Dr Gregory Stark from Cambridge Medical School is an anatomist who got bored. He invited me to take part in his so called
privately funded vaccine development project
.’

I had to bend down now, my head was spinning badly.

‘
I need to go home,
’ I muttered and turned around to leave. Holmes was at my side instantly and offered me his arm. I took it with reluctance. Strangely, he walked me to my apartment without me ever having given him the address. I unlocked the door and he helped me onto my bed.

‘
Thanks,
’ I said, lying down and closing my eyes for a while. ‘Could you identify the two men already?’

‘
I a
m very close. I think in two or three day’s time I will have found out all there is to know.’

Holmes looked around in my rooms. ‘May I ask why you chose to live here? You could easily reside in a better area and still come here every day to treat the poor.’

‘
Ah, Mr Holmes, some things are so obvious and still you can’t see them.’ I looked up into his face and saw his eyes darken. ‘I live here because I like it. There is life here and real people. People who speak their minds, who quarrel openly and not behind closed doors. People who kiss on the streets and not at home after night fall. It's dirty, dangerous, and tough to live here, but I prefer this life to the controlled boredom of the higher classes.’

I observed his expression but couldn’t tell whether he understood anything of what I’d said.

‘
A wise decision,’ he noted.

‘
Excuse me?’

‘
It was wise not to reveal yourself to the Irish man, although he was close enough to-’

‘
Get out!’ I hissed. His head jerked back a little as if I had slapped him. Then, he rose to his feet, gave a single nod, and left with a quiet ‘Good night.’

~~~

Stark called again
a week after his first visit. He meant to stay in my lab for only a few minutes to enquire about the bacterial pure cultures. I told him I would not give out any cultures as long as the research paper in the
Lancet
wasn’t published. I explained that I was still in the process of characterising several different bacterial strains of the same species, as they seemed to show varying aggressiveness. That was when his eyes lit up and his hands started vibrating slightly. He wanted to know how the course of the disease differed and was delighted to hear that I had germs that could kill my test rabbits within only three days instead of two weeks. It was a lie, but served the purpose. I also mentioned that additional security measures had been taken to prevent the pure cultures from falling into the wrong hands, which could result in them getting contaminated. Or even worse - they could cause harm. But I would keep the details a secret, only I knew where and how the cultures were stored and how they were labelled. He tried to hide his disappointment and renewed his invitation. My hooks were in deep and I was satisfied.

I went home and noticed that my door was unlocked. I pushed it open with my index finger and slowly peeked in. Holmes sat on my only armchair.

‘
Do you want me to die prematurely of a heart attack or something?’ I cried.

‘
I think you are working on that quite effectively yourself,’ he answered calmly, and I decided to ignore his snide remark. ‘Why did you come?’

‘
I could identify the two dead men.’

I closed the door with a bang and approached him.

‘
Pray proceed.’

‘
The first one was a Scottish farmer, Dougall Jessop, who had moved to London roughly four months before his death. His wife died, he lost his farm, and ended up in Fulham Road Workhouse. He was on a come and go basis as he had the occasional employment outside. In London he had no friends and no one missed him. The last they saw of him in Fulham Road was beginning of summer last year. The second man is also a Scotsman, Torrian Noble. He lived in London for the past five years and spent most of his time in Gray’s Inn Road Workhouse, but disappeared, too, at the beginning of last summer, and has since not returned. Jessop has never set foot into Gray’s Inn and Noble is unknown to the Fulham Road Workhouse.’

‘
So they met in Broadmoor?’

‘
I consider it as very likely,’ s
aid Holmes.

‘
How exactly did they get there?’ I wondered aloud.

‘
Well, I have a theory. Both workhouses belong to Holborn Union, which means they all are being watched by a single board of guardians, headed by a chairman. I heard from other inmates that a surgeon
had visited and offered free treatments. That was at the beginning of last summer.’

I interrupted him. ‘That is extraordinary, Holmes! No such thing as medical treatments for paupers has ever been provided in any workhouse. At least not that I know of.’

‘
Exac
tly!’ said Holmes. ‘My theory is that this surgeon examines the inmates, interviews them about their family situation, and chooses the ones that have no family, no close friends, and are comparatively healthy. The chairman of the board of guardians must be involved. A surgeon can't just walk in and examine paupers at his liking.’