The Devil's Grin - a Crime Novel Featuring Anna Kronberg and Sherlock Holmes (21 page)

‘
You honour me with your visit, Dr Bowden,’ said Anton with a hint of a bow while beckoning the old man into his room. He offered him his only armchair. It used to be burgundy red, but time had turned it into a dull pink. Except for the patches, which were almost white. Bowden took the tattered seat with reluctance.

Anton made tea and stoked the fire, rarely taking his eyes off his visitor. Bowden’s expression was controlled but his beady eyes darted here and there, taking in Anton’s shabby room. He couldn’t hide a slight sneer.

Anton placed a chair on the other side of the coffee table and sat down facing his guest. ‘How can I help you, Dr Bowden?’ he enquired in a friendly manner, wondering whether Bowden would address the issue directly.

‘
I heard you have threatened four of my men,’ said Bowden while taking his eyes off the room and gluing them onto Anton’s face. ‘How do you defend yourself, Dr Kronberg?’

Good
, thought Anton, there was still hope as long as Bowden was openly confronting him.

‘
I don’t,’ he answered, ‘as I did threaten them.’

Bowden’s upper body gave the slightest jerk backwards while his eyelids flickered a little. ‘You do not defend yourself?’ he said with surprise.

‘
I don’t think I neither need nor should. The four tailed me and did so, I believe, without your orders. They let me know they don’t trust me. It doesn’t bother me, though, as I think neither of them is of importance to me or my work.’

Anton noticed that Bowden
showed no reaction to the depreciative statement.

He continued: ‘One of them was about to reveal a secret that was not for me to know.’ At that, Bowden raised his eyebrows but managed to pull them down soon enough. He seemed to be aware of the younger man’s scrutinising eyes. Anton went on: ‘The behaviour they showed was uncontrolled and their action not thought through. They followed a hunch and put belief above knowledge. I found them to be most unreliable. So I threatened them I would shove them into the Thames if anything like that would ever happen again.’

‘
They told me a different story,’ responded Bowden lightly and leaned back in the armchair, obviously looking forward to a devastating effect of his words. But Anton did not react as expected.

‘
Well, then it remains for you to decide whom you choose to believe,’ he answered calmly, while making an effort not to think about anything else but the scarlet bulls eye. Anton did not move nor did he take his eyes off Bowden.

After a long moment of consideration, Bowden answered: ‘You strike me as rather odd. Any other man would have tried to convince me of his innocence and would have fought to gain my trust. Why don’t you?’

Anton started shivering. To conceal the fear he rose to his feet and stoked the fire, then rubbed his hands close to the heat.

After he had collected himself again, he turned to the old man: ‘Because I do not put words above action. If I where in your position, I would not trust that new man either. And you don’t, which makes you a safe leader. To be absolutely sure, I would put a tail on the man, as you did, too. I would ask his former colleagues what kind of person he is, as you did, too. At some point though, I would have to make a decision. Either I can or can not trust him. At some point I would have to take a risk. It’s either in or out. But you have to make that decision, as you are the leader. Only you can know whether these four men have always been trustworthy to the highest degree, have never lied to you, have never done anything that could have jeopardised your goals. I am in no position to recommend which action is the one you should take, Dr Bowden.’

Anton walked back to his chair and sat down, silently gazing into Bowden’s wide open eyes. After a long moment Bowden pouted his lips slightly and produced a scant nod. ‘You are a remarkable man, Dr Kronberg. I have never met anyone who speaks so openly. Yet, I can not trust you. I will think about our problem and will, as you have noticed already, keep you under surveillance for the time being.’

With that he took his leave. After the door had closed, Anton placed his forehead into his palms and sat on the chair for a very long time, while seeing his own body floating face down in the river.

~~~

The woman from Dundee walked into my room. She looked at me. I was lying in my bed unable to move. She lifted my blan
ket and crawled in next to me. ‘Sleep Anna,’ she said gently, placing her skeletal hand, which was neither warm nor cold, onto my chest. She smiled. Her hand was heavy, like a large rock crushing my lungs. I could neither breathe nor move. She was smiling still, while I was dying.

I inhaled the cold air greedily, hurled myself out of the bed, and puked into the chamber pot.

~~~

Shaking with weakness,
I went to open the door and called to Mrs Wimbush, my landlady. I did not wait for her reply but made my long way back to bed and wrapped my freezing body into blankets. Sleep came fast and relieved me of the stomach ache and nausea for a while.

Someone harrumphed. I opened my eyes and saw Mrs Wimbush standing next to the bed. She looked worried and slightly annoyed.

‘
Wha’s wrong with y
a? Yer poorly?’

I nodded and answered
: ‘I think I contracted cholera. Don’t touch anything. If you did, wash your hands with a lot of soap.’

Her eyes widened
in shock and she moved back a few inches.

‘
Mrs Wimbush, I would be ever so grateful if you could get me clean water, lots of it. And a large chamber pot please...’ I saw Mrs Wimbush wrinkle her nose and shaking her shoulders in disgust. ‘And would you please make me a mix of freshly chopped onions with black pepper? Grind it together to a paste. Fresh lime would be very helpful, too, so I can mix it into my drinking water. I will also need potassium permanganate from the apothecary, so I can disinfect the diarrhoea before you or the maid handle the chamber pot.

‘
Certainly
,’ she whispered slowly and rather pale. Then she added: ‘Don’t ya need a docter?’

‘
No, thank you Mrs Wimbush, I am a medical doctor and can take care of myself. But I would be very grateful for a good fire.’

The last thing I needed was some quack who would examine me and find these odd details about my anatomy.

Mrs Wimbush left and soon returned with the requested chamber pot and coal for a larger fire.

~~~

Around noon
, my landlady had got me most of the things I’d asked for. While she was gone, I meandered between bed and chamber pot, between vomiting, half-consciousness, and explosive diarrhoea.

Inside, I felt ice-cold, while my skin was burning with a high fever.
I was sweating profusely, too. It felt as if my body wanted to get rid of all the liquids it had stored. I imagined myself shrivelling up like a stranded jellyfish.

My wrapped-up breasts were beginning to ache. But I could do nothing about it, as Mrs Wimbush walked in and out of my room, exchanging soiled chamber pots every so often. Two bulges underneath the sweaty shirt would be more than obvious. She had offered to send the maid to help me wash myself. I refused, hoping she would take my protest seriously and not write it off as the ramblings of someone too sick to think.

It took
two days of drifting in and out of consciousness, of expelling bodily fluids, and wishing I could die rather sooner than later, until some of my strength returned.

I decided to finally wash myself, bolted my door, and undressed, undid the bandages from around my chest and, as a result, felt quite out of breath already.

Warm water was waiting in the jug next to the wash basin and I
scrubbed my reeking body. It needed two changes of fresh water to finally feel clean again. Panting and naked, I sat down on my armchair and let the blaring fire toast my front.

~~~

He let go of my hand. ‘I’m so sorry,’
I whispered. His answer was harsh and made my heart ache: ‘Leave me alone. You are embarrassing me.’

I just made it to the chamber pot in time.

~~~

The morning of the third day
I felt my appetite returning. The bits of dry bread I had for breakfast did not urge themselves up my throat again and I knew that cholera lay behind me.

Just as I had undressed and started to wash
the night sweat off, I heard a knock on my door.

‘
Who is it?’

‘
Mrs
Wimbush. Havin’ a telegram for ya,’ she shouted a little too loud through the closed door.

‘
Thank you Mrs Wimbush. Could you please leave it at the top of the stairs? I am not fully dressed at the moment.’

She harrumphed - I assumed in the affirmative -
and stomped down the stairs again.

I waited until I heard her door slam shut, then opened mine a small crack and snatched the wire. Its content made my neck tingle

‘
Will call tonight at seven. JBowden.’

I stared down at
the piece of paper, hoping the letters would disappear. Unfortunately, they didn’t.

I wasn’t ready for Bowden yet. My brain felt as thick as honey.
The only person I could think of now, the only one who may know what I could do, was Holmes. So I put my tea pot in the windowsill as a sign for him to come. I had barely washed and dressed when a rap on the door announced his arrival.

I
opened, and Holmes stepped in, still wearing his pauper clothes and the workhouse stench. How long would it take to solve that case? I wondered.

‘
Good lord! What happened to you?’ he cried out.

‘
Cholera,’ I said, and
retreated to my armchair, with my cold feet close to the fire. I had seen myself in the glass earlier - my already gaunt complexion had transformed to a rather famished look with dark rings under my eyes. It had scared even me.

Holmes exhaled
audibly. ‘Why the deuce did you not call me earlier?’

‘
Because I know how to treat ch
olera and you don’t?’ I offered as an explanation.

He opened his mouth t
o retort, mumbled something like ‘pigheadedness’ and then dropped the issue.

‘
And how can I be of service
today?’ he asked sarcastically.

I frowned and was about to give him the wire when I noticed the state of his hands.

‘
How long have you been picking oakum now?’ I asked. He didn’t answer.

I fetched a pair of forceps from my doctor
’s bag.

‘
Sit down, plea
se.’ I motioned to the armchair and sat next to him on the armrest. Awkwardly, I took his hands into mine and started extracting oakum shrapnels from his skin.

‘
How odd,' I said
quietly, ‘no one notices that your hands are not used to hard work, that the workhouse’s stench can not cover the smell of Muscovy soap and tobacco, that you have a decent haircut, that your ears are clean, that you shaved with a sharp blade, that...’

‘
It never stops to surprise, does it?’ said he while I pulled a particularly thick splinter from underneath his thumbnail. He didn’t even flinch.

‘
It never surprises me that people can’t see
me
,’ I answered and saw his expression flickering from quizzical to nonplussed before he put his mask back on.

I was done with the splinter extraction and let go of his hands.

‘
Bowden se
nt me a telegram,’ I said with a thin voice. ‘He will call tonight.’

I got up again and rummaged in a drawer until I had found a
small jar with a thick yellow paste in it. Silently, I worked it into his hands and he started smelling like a sheep.