Before Baker Street, there was Montague.
Before partnership with a former army doctor recently returned from Afghanistan, Sherlock Holmes had but the quiet company of his own great intellect. Solitary he might be but, living as he did for the thrill of the chase, it was enough.
For a little while, at the least, it was enough.
That is, until a client arrives at his door with a desperate plea and an invitation into a world of societal scandal and stage door dandies. Thrust deep in an all-consuming role and charged with the safe-keeping of another, Holmes must own to his limits or risk danger to others besides himself in this the case of the aluminium crutch.
Sherlock Holmes meets with an acquaintence, Mr. Langdale Pike, so as to learn more of the gossip surrounding the central man in his case and to test the soundness of his new disguise as Mr. Ormond Secker, a persona by which he hopes to gain access to Mr. Tobias-Henry Price’s social circle.
Excerpt, chapter 7:
“Hold for one moment, Mr. Pike.” I leaned towards him, a twinkle in my eye. “You have paid me the greatest of compliments and eased my heart just now. Having fooled you, I believe I can deceive our Mr. Price, who has scandal aplenty to his name after all, if your card for me at Montague is any indication.”
He grumbled and took up our pace again. Up Piccadilly to Regent we walked, our conversation safely blanketed by the sounds of the passing traffic.
“Your words the other day had me thinking of various little rumours over the years concerning Mr. Price. Nothing unusual. Nothing ruinous.” Pike took out a little book and thumbed through to a page before continuing. “Mounting gambling debts, unfounded. A series of compromising letters, complete fabrication. Ah, underhanded business dealings, the most promising of scandals . . . all easily cleared up.”
“Any women?” I raised an eyebrow.
“Two!” He laughed. “One reportedly threw herself into the sea in Brighton, a shunned and unhappy lover. The second was a secret wife.”
“Actresses?”
“Both.” He chuckled again and closed his little book. “Nothing sticks to the man. He is clean. Untouchable.”
“And the timing?”
“All beginning a little over two years ago.” Mr. Pike turned his eyes ahead, his face dark in thought. “On their own, the details are inconsequential. People in his class jockey for position by any means necessary, and so these rumours come and go. I know the patterns well. I know what has teeth and what rings sound. I did not see it, did not think it, until I considered the aim of your questions and why you might be looking into his affairs.”
“You have revised your opinion of him, then?” I pressed.
He shook his head. “I think he is exactly what he purports to be. A flashy, monied pretender no different from the rest. What I have come to believe, however, is that Mr. Price has an enemy. Someone hell-bent on taking him down but who has no idea how this class of man works. Who hasn’t an inkling of the type of power and protection that his money buys for him.”
I considered the fresh-faced and innocent Miss Clarke. Either this unseen adversary had vastly improved their tactics, or Mr. Price’s antagonist was none other than the actual and true Tobias-Henry Price, recently seen on horseback near his uncle’s home.
We suspended our conversation as we entered Verrey’s and managed the ordering of our meal. Each of us had our thoughts to weigh and neither of us desired to speak in specifics now that we had left the drone of the pavement behind.
At length I had to have my question of him and so asked, “Do you believe he is who he says he is?”
Pike eyed me in such a way as to demonstrate that the irony of my question had been noted. He shrugged. “Of course. And for many reasons. The first being that to even forward that challenge is to attack the entire system. Am I who I say I am, and how is it you know? The gentleman you are asking over, can you attest that his uncle, Sir Edgar, is who he says he is? And, if so, then his word is to be trusted, yes?”
“But the one does not live here,” I countered.
“Yet he has not been out of the public eye for so long that our memory of him has grown dim. Ten odd years is an eternity for such a claim to endure and, if a falsehood, stands as much a danger— socially—to the uncle as it does to the nephew.”
I believed that the lie went even as deep as Sir Edgar, I countered to myself.
But why? Some defect with his true heir? If so, Sir Edgar might well be to blame for the disappearance of Miss Clarke’s Toby. The timing fit, as he would have acted swiftly once he discovered that there was a lady involved who could expose the whole game.
Too, Mr. Price’s failed public scandals matched the length of Miss Clarke’s courtship with her man, renewed two years ago when he had returned to England from his business abroad. In any event, I would meet this London Price, watch and learn what I could. Barring any progress there, it was to Sir Edgar that I would likely have to return and soon.
“I thank you for your insight, Mr. Pike. I will allow that caution to guide me. To my mind, the schemes of London society are impenetrable and forever putting me ill at ease. I came to town for culture and pleasant diversions, only to find myself enmeshed in flirtations and heresy.” I fiddled with my glasses, allowing my character’s ever-present smile to dim for the first time since our meeting.
“Ah, my poor Mr. Secker. For culture, you’ll want the opera. For entertainment? You’ll want the very people you are asking me of. As for a meal, Verrey’s is amongst the best.” He raised a glass, and we turned our talk to far less dangerous pursuits.
AUTHOR BIO
M. K. Wiseman has degrees in Interarts & Technology and Library & Information Studies from the University of Wisconsin-Madison. Her office, therefore, is a curious mix of storyboards and reference materials. Both help immensely in the writing of historical novels. She currently resides in Cedarburg, Wisconsin.
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