Sam Siciliano - The Web Weaver

Holmes laughed loudly and threw his cigarette butt into the fireplace. “Oh bravo, Michelle! One would assume the fiend could choke someone to death if he were really determined to do so. Did you notice the unusual nature of those bruises on her throat?”

“They were so distinct,” I said. “She must have fragile blood vessels.”

Holmes shook his head. “No, no—I refer to the gap in front.”

“The gap?” Henry asked.

“Given the size of the hands, the person could have wrapped them entirely about her throat, but he did not. He carefully avoided her larynx. I doubt he wanted to severely injure or kill her.”

My hands clenched into fists. “You mean someone only wanted to frighten her? How absolutely beastly!”

“I must question the servants, but the most obvious and interesting suspects—Lovejoy, his wife, Mr. Wheelwright—cannot have done it. Lovejoy and Wheelwright were together, and of course Wheelwright’s hands are far too large to have made those marks.”

“You do not actually think Mrs. Lovejoy could have done it?” I asked incredulously.

Holmes shrugged. “I know not what to make of her mental state, but she is the single most obvious suspect. She gave quite a performance. We have only her word for the ‘black fiend,’ and she could have crept up behind Mrs. Wheelwright and tried to throttle her. Unfortunately, she has very small, weak-looking hands. She, too, could not have made those marks. So we are left with a mysterious assailant who conveniently fled through the window.” Lovejoy reappeared with a small lantern. “Ah, thank you. Henry, would you care to join me?”

“Do you think it is safe outside?” I asked.

“I only wish our strangler were loitering about.” Holmes and Henry took their hats and left.

I seized my bag and went upstairs to Violet’s room. She had on her nightclothes. She was visibly trembling. “There is nothing to be afraid of now,” I said.

She gave me a grotesque smile. “Yes, there is.”

I prepared several drops of an opiate in a glass of water for her, and then sat beside her on the bed. She fell asleep almost at once. The fearful tension slowly faded until her face was utterly relaxed, her lips half parted, her forehead a smooth blank. Her hair was aswirl, the snaky black coil contrasting with the white sheets and her pale skin. Even asleep she appeared thin and exhausted.

I went back downstairs to the library. The wind had finally died away, and Henry had pulled one of the plush red chairs near the fireplace. A big log crackled nicely. He raised his arm, and I squeezed into the chair beside him, a tight fit.

“This will teach you to go visiting at odd hours.”

“I am so tired,” I said. “And did you find anything outside?”

“Only many of Collins’ and Lovejoy’s footprints.”

“No cloven hooves? Perhaps the fiend does not leave footprints.” I felt him stiffen. “I am sorry. It is not really amusing.”

“Sherlock told me we are going to Norfolk.”

“Yes. You do understand why?”

“Of course I do. We might get a spot of nice weather there. It should be lovely.”

“No, this cold and fog and rain and darkness will last forever.” My voice nearly broke.

“Hush.” Henry touched my cheek and slipped out of the chair. I shifted about, resting my head on the soft curved back. The warmth of the fire felt good, and he stroked my shoulder. “You are very brave, and I love you very much.”

I wanted to say something or touch his hand, but I was so sleepy, my limbs so heavy. My thoughts drifted elsewhere. Henry’s voice changed to that of Sherlock, but I could not make out his words. Sleep was a welcome refuge from black fiends and the memory of Violet’s throat marred by those vivid, hand-shaped bruises.

Thirteen

Holmes took off his gloves and overcoat, then set them on the table. He stretched out his hands before the fire, warming his long fingers. He glanced at Michelle. She had shifted sideways and was fast asleep in the chair.

He gave his head a shake. “She is quite extraordinary, Henry. Rarely have I seen such grace under pressure in any man, let alone a woman.” His voice was nearly a whisper.

I smiled wryly. “Much more so than her husband, you mean.”

“I meant no such thing.”

“You need not worry about waking her. Once under, she is a very sound sleeper. It would take considerable effort to rouse her now.”

Holmes nodded. He took out his cigarette case. “Good. I have several important matters to discuss with you in private. Let us leave the fire to Michelle.” He lit the cigarette, then walked to the far end of the table near the window through which the assailant must have come.

I pulled out a chair midway along the length of the table and sat down. Stifling a yawn, I withdrew my watch. There was barely enough light to see the face. “It’s after eleven. No wonder I feel like sleeping myself.”

Holmes bent over and flicked the cigarette ash into a potted fern. “I found no sign of anyone having left through this window. There should have been some trace. The earth near the house is wet; the lightest touch would have left a print. I suppose Lovejoy and Collins might have trampled the remnants underfoot. As if this case were not frustrating enough, without them stampeding about like elephants.”

“It certainly is baffling.” Recalling the bruises on Violet’s throat, I could not repress a shudder. “He must have been a brute indeed to choke her that way.”

“Mr. Wheelwright has been generous enough to give me one final chance.” His voice was heavy with irony. “Another such incident, and I am to be dismissed.”

I shrugged. “His impatience is understandable.”

Holmes gazed out the window, his back to me. The wind had died away, and now the large, dim room was enveloped in a heavy silence. Holmes turned, then put more cigarette ash into the potted fern. “There shall be no further attempts on his wife’s life. I will see to that.” His eyes were dangerous. “Unfortunately, I have other important business here in London. I would like you to remain behind for a few days and stay in contact with Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard. It is regrettable; he is a man of mediocre ability who requires supervision. You can communicate with me by telegraph if necessary. I assume it will also take time to arrange things with your practice.”

I nodded. “We certainly could not both leave tomorrow. I can cover our patients—who are mostly Michelle’s. What is this business with Lestrade?”

“I have loosed him on our Mr. Steerford and the Angels of the Lord. The Steerford matter is the simpler, being as it is a traditional swindle. Its uniqueness comes from its many illustrious participants, its sheer audacity, and the sum of money involved. I have revealed Steerford’s true identity to Lestrade, and he will be closely watched from now on.”

“Who, then, is Steerford?”

Holmes’ lips twisted briefly into a smile. “Lovejoy.”

I stared at him, the name taking a second or two to sink in. “ Lovejoy .” Unconsciously, I had risen to my feet.

“Keep your voice down. None other.”

“How can you be so sure? He was nothing like Lovejoy. His voice, his appearance...”

“You are not trained in the art of disguise. I recognized him almost at once, as he most likely recognized me.”

“Can you be certain of such a thing?”

“Any lingering doubts were resolved this morning when I made a brief visit here and spoke with Lovejoy. Since they were not hidden, I had studied Steerford’s ears and hands closely, noting certain distinguishing characteristics. Lovejoy’s were identical.”