第 5 页

“My compliments Red, you have done well. Is the body disposed of?”

“Jude is doing it as we speak. The painting must be extremely valuable, what shall you do with it?”

“Surely you should know that the value of something always lies within,” replied the professor as he reached for a penknife. A slight flush spread over his sallow cheeks as he plunged the knife into the canvass.

I gasped in surprise. “I killed because of that!”

“No, you killed because of this,” he exclaimed, tearing down the centre of the canvas, ripping it apart and pulling out sheets of crumpled papers.

He smiled broadly, fingering his way through the hand-written sheets as if they were the most valuable jewels in the world. I knew better than to pry but felt slightly annoyed at being kept in ignorance about the true nature of the burgulary I had organised.

So I decided to add a surprise of my own and gain back a little kudos as the professor continued to look through the papers, laying out each one neatly on the desk.

Our marriage had always been a struggle for power as we both jostled to gain victories over the other and I naively presumed that there was a degree of equality between us. But, the events about to unfold that evening served to remind me of exactly who had the real power.

“I’m pregnant,” I announced, hoping that my husband would look up from his new treasures and display at least a little surprise. He did neither.

He simply began to smooth out all the crumpled papers laid in front of him.

“Didn’t you hear me? I’m pregnant. We are to have a child.”

It had been a week since the news had been confirmed to me by our physician. The baby had been conceived about eight weeks previously on one of those rare occasions when my husband summoned me to his bedroom and I tended to his very infrequent physical needs. It was not an act of love and was treated more as a medical requirement on his part and a dutiful act on mine. It was a rare moment of pure power for me and I relished the knowledge of how intensely he needed me in those few minutes. Once the act was over, he would thank me and insist that I left the room immediately, embarrassed by his own urges, by his surrender to them and to me.

I had never held any desire for motherhood and believed this was how I had managed to avoid it thus far. I had resolved to stay childless, treating my body as simply a physical machine whose purpose was to be strong, responsive and to function effectively in combat.

Despite these long-standing beliefs, my attitude had surprisingly changed over the last week. My hand kept reaching for my stomach involuntarily and my mind flooded with images of new life growing inside, an extension of myself, someone that would always be mine.

Once I began to consider such things the idea of motherhood was no longer repellent. I began to feel a strong sense of the person developing within, filling me with new emotions.

“You will get rid of it, of course?” my husband remarked casually without even looking up from his papers. I began to pace the floor, unsurprised by his response and confident that I could get my own way.

“Don’t you have any desire for an heir? Someone who could learn and grow within this organisation then continue it in the future? I have decided to keep this child and insist that you allow it.”

Finally, after a long silence, the professor made eye contact with me, fixing me with an intense, piercing stare.

“You will see the doctor as soon as possible to make arrangements for the termination.”

I shook my head sending a cascade of mahogany curls tumbling down my back and laughed defiantly at him.

“This is my body and you can’t make me do anything against my will. I intend to have this child with or without your consent.”

The professor rose slowly from his chair and walked around to the front of his desk. He stood facing me, anger visibly rising through his body from his clenched fists to the florid glow creeping over his face.

His eyes darted around the room, his head turning from side to side compulsively, a sure warning of an angry outburst, the consequences of which were usually carried out for him by others. The professor was not personally violent, not a murderer, not a thief nor a torturer, but had more blood on his hands than any other man in Europe.

“That is my body, I paid for it and I possess it. I possess you. Don’t you ever forget that I made you what you are and that you were nothing without me, just a brawling, dirty little thief. I shaped you; my money bought the tutors who schooled you, the martial practitioners who taught you to fight. It is my body and I will do with it whatever I want. Do you understand?”

“Not this time you won’t,” I retorted, staring into his eyes with determination, ignoring the truth in everything he had just said, deluding myself as to my own power.

I swung around with a dramatic toss of my hair and strode from the room, confident that I would have this child regardless of the professor’s wishes and that there was nothing he could do to stop me.

I hated geese. They smelt, made a stupid noise, and now I had two of them trying to peck me. I really was in no mood for this nonsense and kicked one out of my way.

“Them are me ma’s pride an’ joy, them birds. Don’t kick ’em like that Red,” cried Lenny Oakshott.

“Lenny, why in hell’s name do your parents have a back yard full of bloody ducks?”

“Them are geese Red, not ducks. Me ma breeds ’em see? Folk buy ’em for Christmas off of her. To eat.”

“I know they are to eat, Lenny, I could have deduced that for myself, thanks. When you offered me your parents’ shed to hide in, I didn’t realise it would be full of bloody posh ducks. I was going to stay the night and wait for things to calm down but I have to go now.”

My mind was racing. I had in my pocket the most expensive thing I had ever stolen. I needed to get it to Mr Maudsley before I was caught. He was an expert in turning notorious stolen jewellery into money and I needed his help.

Right now, the blue carbuncle was the most famous jewel in London. I had stolen it that afternoon and already its owner, the Countess of Morcar, had offered a thousand pound reward for its return.

Lenny was a member of the Dean Street gang, which now followed me after my dramatic victory over Wiggins in the abattoir. He was too stupid to be of much use, but so willing. The offer of the shed had seemed like a fine plan but now here I was standing out in the cold. Then lights flickered in the house and we realised that his parents had come home.

“For the love of God Lenny, you said they would be away until tomorrow. Don’t you ever get anything right? I have to go, this minute, but what if I get stopped? Police are searching everywhere and here I am with thousands of pounds of... Oh, never mind, just go and keep them busy in the house.”

I thought it best that Lenny didn’t know exactly what I had stolen. A thousand pound reward could be quite tempting to even the most loyal helper.

I watched until Lenny was in the house. I had to think of a way to hide the precious stone before getting it to Maudsley. A goose tried to peck my foot and gave me the idea I was looking for.

I grabbed the bird, bright white with a barred tail, forced open its beak, and pushed the stone far down into its innards. A gulp told me my plan had worked.

I was about to congratulate myself when Lenny’s mother burst into the yard, startling the bird which flapped from my grasp and joined its feathered friends by my feet.

“What on earth do you think you are doing? How did you get in here? How dare you try to steal my birds! Lenny, go for the police right now.”

This was turning into the most farcical crime I had ever committed. Thankfully, I was still dressed as a maid and this gave me an idea.

“But ma’am, your son, he told me it would be all right to just come out and choose a bird myself. My mistress, she has been told yours are the finest and wants me to find the best one.”

Mrs Oakshott stared at her son who looked bemused to say the least.

“This true Leonard?” she asked, turning on her hesitant, stuttering offspring. To my immense relief, Lenny nodded.

“Well, you better tell me who your mistress is young lady. I hope you have brought money.”

“Oh yes ma’am. Mistress, Lady Armitage, always trusts me with money.”

Fortunately I was in possession of quite considerable funds. Stealing a stone worth many thousands of pounds hadn’t been enough to stop me from taking the Countess’s purse on the way out of her room.

I made the transaction, bought the goose, and Mrs Oatshott helped me to catch and kill it.

It was the 22nd of December so no-one paid any attention to the maid scurrying through the streets carrying a fattened goose perfect for the Christmas table. I reached Maudsley without incident and we quickly cut into the bird to retrieve the carbuncle.

To my horror, after searching the whole carcass, the precious stone could not be found. There was only one explanation; I had picked up another bird with similar markings.

I raced back to Lenny’s house but was too late. All the geese had gone. Lenny was standing alone in the yard, shut out of the house by his mother. She was furious with him for allowing a customer to look at the stock without her permission.

“Where are they Lenny?” I cried. He was rather surprised by my interest and freezing cold on account of being stuck outside on such a bitter night.

“Dealer came for them.”

“What dealer Lenny?”

“Urm...”

“Come on, think Lenny, please.”

“Breckinridge,” he finally announced. “Breckinridge of Covent Garden.”

I ran across the city to find this Mr Breckinridge but by the time I got there he had already sold the birds and wouldn’t tell me who to.

It all seemed such a long time ago when I had hatched this now clearly flawed plan to steal the blue carbuncle. It started with a rather unpleasant sexual encounter and a resolve to find riches and change my life.

The Dean Street gang were doing well under my leadership and we made a reasonable living out of our petty crimes. But when funds dipped particularly low I would, with increasing reluctance, sell my body to make up the shortfall.

Then came the day I was approached by an old client. I refused at first, on account of his rather violent desires, but when he offered a healthy sum, I couldn’t turn it down.

John Horner was twenty-six, powerfully built with a conviction for robbery lurking in his murky past but had since learnt the trade of plumbing. By all accounts, he had become rather successful.

He boasted of his new-found wealth, laughing at me for being a whore. This ridicule was what he enjoyed. It aroused in him feelings of power, aggression and dominance. Most clients preferred it the other way around, but not John Horner.

He had married a gentle but frigid woman from a good family who used her money and position to keep and control him. Using and abusing a whore was his escape from domestic boredom.

His wife even helped him to gain regular plumbing jobs from the Cosmopolitan Hotel where her brother was an upper attendant. He thanked her by using his income to fund his addiction to unpleasant sexual practices.

By now I was very experienced in my trade and knew how to handle even the most difficult of clients, but I was afraid of John Horner. However, I needed his money so agreed to go with him.

Perversions were nothing new, but even I could not stomach what he asked of me. My refusal was met with violence and he forced himself on me. I could not fight him and knew that he would simply enjoy it more if I tried. He beat me until the sound of my arm breaking brought him to his senses. He then threw me into the street and left me lying on the cobbles semi-conscious.

Huddled there feeling nothing but furious anger and a desperate need for revenge, I made a resolution. I would do whatever it took to ensure that I was never in a situation like that again.

I laid low for a month licking my wounds, looking such a state with black swollen eyes, an immobile arm and lips the size of two butcher’s sausages. My jaw had been dislocated and Jude had to help me eat as my poor body made a slow, painful recovery.

I waited for my opportunity for revenge and it eventually came when I heard that the Countess of Morcar would be staying at the Cosmopolitan for Christmas.

It was well-known that she owned the blue carbuncle, a highly valuable gem which many had tried to steal unsuccessfully. Perhaps, I wondered, this could be a way to gain revenge and substantial wealth all in one go. I hatched my plan and started to put it into action, but certainly didn’t count on the interference of the geese or indeed Mr Sherlock Holmes.

On the second morning after Christmas, Doctor Watson called in on his old friend to pass on the season’s greetings. He was now a married man with a small medical practice and no longer lived at 221B Baker Street with Holmes. He had, however, remained a faithful friend to his old companion and still wrote accounts of his work.

On this particular cold and icy morn, Watson walked into his old rooms and was surprised to find a battered hard-felt hat on a chair with a lens and forceps beside it. He presumed that his friend was working upon a case and, though intrigued, offered to leave him in peace.

Holmes, however, did so love to show off his skills, especially to an audience as appreciative as Watson, and invited him to stay and hear the tale of how the hat had come into his possession.

It had been found by Peterson, the commissionaire, in the early hours of Christmas morning. He had been on his way home from a festive gathering when he came across a man carrying a goose along the Tottenham Court Road.

As the man reached the corner of Googe Street, he was set upon by a group of drunken young fools. They knocked off his hat and as he raised his stick to strike them, he put it through a shop window, dropping the goose.

Peterson rushed to his aid scaring all away, including the victim who possibly feared another attack, leaving just the goose and the hat.

Peterson wanted to find the hat’s owner and return the goose but the only clues to his identity were the initials H.B. on the hat rim and a tag on the goose proclaiming, ‘For Mrs Henry Baker’.

Knowing of Sherlock Holmes and his delight in such problems, he decided to seek his assistance.

Though trusting completely in his friend’s abilities, Watson could not help but laugh at the thought of Holmes being expected to find someone with just a hat and a goose for help.

Holmes, however, soon proved that he had already deduced much about the man to whom the hat belonged. This included observations as diverse as knowing that the wearer was intelligent, that he was once well-to-do but had fallen on hard times, was no longer loved by his wife and did not have gas laid on in his house. Watson was quite astounded and demanded to know how so much could be assumed from so little.