The Scottish Ploy (2 page)

“GUTHRIE!
Guthrie, my boy! Come down at once! At once!” The sound of my employer’s voice in the front hall of the Curzon Street house where I had rooms brought me bolt awake and running for my dressing gown and slippers for all that it was a few minutes past three in the morning. I strove to bring my thoughts into order as I presented myself at the top of the stairs. Below, Mycroft Holmes was waiting, dressed formally and wearing a dark cape with shoulders shining with rain; I surmised he had been to the theatre again earlier in the evening.

He held his silk
hat in one hand and a pistol in the other. “Make haste, Guthrie. Make haste. I need you to dress and come with me immediately.”

I asked for no explanation, nor did I expect one. “I’ll
dress as quickly as possible, sir,” I assured him, and turned back to my room. It was two nights after our evening at the theatre; Holmes
had ventured out to the play again. That alone would not account for his appearance here, at such a time of night. No caprice would
bring Mycroft Holmes
to summon me at this hour, I knew; I rarely saw him with a pistol, but on those occasions when I had, it had boded ill. My alarm increased as I flung my dressing gown aside, shivering a little
in the sudden chill.

“Make haste,” Holmes
shouted up at me again.

This very order—uttered thrice—brought me fully
awake, for it was rare that Mycroft Holmes
issued such commands in so brusque a tone; when he did, it meant that the urgency was genuine and immediate. Spurred by this certainty, I rushed back to my room and grabbed for my clothes On the wooden valet even as I tugged off my night-shirt; I ignored the gooseflesh rising on my arms and shoulders as I sorted out my clothes, then pulled open my drawer for underwear. I tossed them atop the rest. For an instant I longed for a cup of strong tea and a bit of oatmeal to help wake me, but I abandoned that wish as I heard my employer
climbing the stairs, a sound that goaded me to swifter action. “What is the matter?”

Holmes
was standing in the door, a large figure of imposing presence that even after more than seven years’ association still
had the capacity to impress me. “I have not half an hour since received a message that alarms me. I fear that Vickers has come to light again.”

“Vickers,” I repeated, pausing in the act of pulling on my singlet. “I had hoped we had seen the last
of him. The Brotherhood, too.”

“And I, dear boy, and I,”
said Mycroft Holmes
heavily.

I knew by the tone of his voice that this was not good news. “What has happened?” I tugged my shirt over my head as I listened.

“Earlier this evening, I was summoned from the theatre at the second interval to wait upon—well,
shall we call
him a man of the highest rank and leave it at that?—who solicited my help in evaluating the work of Sir Marmion Hazeltine, which I assured him I would
do with as much dispatch as possible. The person making this appeal is hopeful
that Sir Marmion may have found a way to deal with the mad in a more constructive and humane manner, and to diagnose their ills more scientifically. I will, of course, do as he asks.”

“Of course,” I said, thinking that alone would not bring him here at such an hour or in so urgent a state of mind.

“Shortly before I left the castle, an informant from the Admiralty sent me word that Vickers has been summoned here for a meeting with other members of the Brotherhood—German members.” He sighed. “There is no legitimate reason to refuse them entry to the country.”

“But why not?” I asked as I fumbled with my buttons.

“The men are not officially listed as
non grata,
for the Crown does not recognize the existence of the Brotherhood, at least not in any way that would extend to diplomatic dealings. It would be a dreadful mistake to accord them such legitimacy as declaring them
non grata
would do. It is bad enough that they exist; it would be worse if we should lend them even the suggestion of legitimacy by recognizing them in any official way, which such a declaration would do.” He cleared his throat, a sure sign of distress. “The trouble is, they are being very clever, and this puts me in a doubly awkward position, which I must suppose is their intention.” He stumped over to my single chair in the bow of the window and looked out on the street. “I have been cudgeling my brains for some acceptable excuse to keep them out of the country, but without success. To deal with Sir Marmion on the one hand, the Brotherhood and the Germans on the other is not an easy prospect.”

“Can nothing be done? Is there not some way to delay the Germans until you have delivered the information on Sir Marmion for your ... your inquirer?” I asked as I stepped into my under-drawers. It was cold enough that I could feel the goose-flesh on my back and arms; I noticed that the small cat my landlady had taken in had come into my room, and sat staring, in the way of cats. I had found that cat myself, in these very chambers, covered in red paint; for that service the cat, a handsome, brindled creature now called Rigby, occasionally displayed a contemptuous affection for me: this was one such moment.

“No, not without causing embarrassment to a German noblewoman, and possibly leading to difficulties with the Turks,” Holmes said with a brief, cynical chuckle.

“Oh, yes, the Turks,” I said, continuing to dress.

“They are a complication, making swift action now all the more necessary.” He pulled at his lower lip. “The crux of the matter is that German noblewoman.”

“Good God!” I expostulated as I put on my trousers, tucking in my shirt-tails and adjusting the braces before I reached for my waistcoat. “What a coil! How comes a German noblewoman to be caught up in this?”

“Well might you ask. We have had word from Scotland. Concerning Sir Cameron.” He glanced back toward the stairs. “We won’t be overheard, will we?”

More and more tangles! What had Sir Cameron to do with this? I wondered, not doubting for an instant that the sottish Scottish knight could be part of this imbroglio. “No; only by the cat,” I said in answer to his question. My landlady was not only the soul of discretion, she was a woman who valued sleep; she would not deprive herself of rest in order to eavesdrop.

Holmes looked reassured. “Well, you do recall that Sir Cameron’s second wife is German?”

“Yes; I thought they were estranged.” I had assumed that since I had first encountered the bumptious Scot in Munich on my first mission for Mycroft Holmes. “She has almost never been seen in his company. Not that I blame her.”

“Just so,” said Mycroft Holmes drily.

“Have they reconciled?” I asked, thinking it unlikely.

“Not as yet. But it seems she has come into a tidy fortune from her uncle, and now Sir Cameron is all alacrity to reestablish—er—
rapprochement
with her. Apparently she is of a similar mind—although I cannot fathom why. She has made the first move for reasons I can only speculate upon. His acceptance, on the other hand, is easily guessed: it would suit him very well to have his hands on her money.” His smile was without humor. “His advantages are readily apparent should they reconcile. Hers are less so, which makes her pursuit of him so puzzling, although that is precisely what it appears is happening. She, it would seem, is encouraging him, which has to be something new in their marriage. Until now she has been at pains to avoid him. Yet as of two weeks ago she has sent word that she intends to visit him. She has said she will come to England to see him, to determine if she wishes to renew their—um—intimacy.”

“That is a bit embarrassing,” I said as I knotted my tie, then opened my sock drawer and pulled out a rolled pair. “But I do not see what that has to do with this emergency.”

“Her uncle, it turns out, had some close associates,” said Mycroft Holmes grimly. “In the Brotherhood. They will be her traveling companions according to the telegram she has sent to him. I have only just learned of this, or I would have advised against permitting her to have them escort her. It would have been much better to have her accompanied by half a dozen officers of one of the better Scots regiments.”

“Is it too late to make such an arrangement?” I was standing on one foot, my sock held at the ready; Rigby watched inscrutably.

“I fear it is. Should I make such recommendation at this point, it would lead, I fear, to precisely the suspicions I would like to avoid.”

I faltered as I pulled on my socks and looked for my boots. “Are you certain? That they are part of the Brotherhood? Are your sources accurate? This is not the sort of accusation you would want to make without persuasive evidence.” I retrieved them from under the bed, and shoved my feet into them. “Considering what has happened to Sir Cameron, I wouldn’t think that—”

“As certain as I may be without seeing their blood signatures on their oath. Your caution is laudable, my boy, but in this instance it is also misplaced,” he answered, a grim note coming into his voice as he got out of the chair. “And there is the report on Sir Marmion, which should not be delayed. Are you ready?”

This shocked me; I nodded, and rubbed my chin. “I haven’t shaved, sir,” I said as I realized it for myself.

“Tyers will lend you a razor when we reach Pall Mall. It is a good thing you keep a change of clothes at my flat; you may not return here for a day or two. We haven’t time for shaving now. Sid Hastings is waiting for us and time is passing. Come along, Guthrie. And be careful.” He was already at my door, holding it open for me; Rigby slipped out of the room ahead of us. What could I do but don my coat, take my cloak from its peg on the door, and follow Mycroft Holmes down the street?

Sid Hastings brought his cab up to the kerb and let down the steps. “Gentlemen, do come in,” he said calmly, as if this were midafternoon and not the dregs of night; we climbed in and closed up the front of the cab. “Walk on, Lance.” His new horse, a slapping bay with Cleveland blood in him, obeyed his signal properly, and soon we were moving along at a good trot to Pall Mall, the hollow clop of the horse’s hooves echoing eerily in the empty streets.

The dark streets were wet from the mizzle that came in off the Thames. I took a deep breath of the night air, as much in the hope it would waken me as to avail myself of its benefits. After going several blocks in silence, Mycroft Holmes spoke. “It is the most damnable thing,” he said with emotion as he swung around, holding his pistol at the ready.

“Damnable? The Brotherhood?” I had not been privy to the thoughts that led him to this expostulation, and heard him now with a sense of apprehension; I could not see whatever it was that had alarmed him.

“Damnable,” reiterated Holmes, squinting into the foggy darkness. “We are being followed,” he declared. “Two men on horseback.”

Again I looked and saw nothing, although I did hear the sound of a pair of horses not far behind us. “Are you certain?”

“Guthrie, dear boy, I left the theatre early in part because I was given a warning that there might be an attempt on my life tonight; the summons from the castle was fortuitous in that regard. There was a pair of horses behind me then, there was a pair of horses behind me when I left the castle, and there is a pair behind us now. If you listen, you will hear one of the horses has a loose shoe. You will hear no wheels, so you must assume the horses are being ridden, not driven.” He shook his head, still twisted about in the cab in order to keep a watch on what was behind us. “And there is other trouble to deal with tonight. It is a difficult situation.”

“What trouble?” I asked.

Mycroft Holmes did not answer directly. “The Brotherhood are busy again, as I told you. Vickers has been out of the country for almost a year, and I had reason to hope he would remain abroad, fixed in Germany, where we had our last report of him; after all he suffered as the result of our pursuit of him, I would have supposed he would wash his hands of Britain. Any prudent man would. But prudence is not one of the Brotherhood’s virtues, is it?” He did his best to chuckle at this observation, an effort that ended on a sigh. “I have it on good authority that he intends to meet with these German Brotherhood members while they are here, which indicates he will be back, and protected by their position and rank. His return can only mean that the Brotherhood are resuming their efforts to find like-minded friends in Britain. They have more than enough of those already. The timing of the visit is suspicious.” He pulled at his lower lip, a sure sign of consternation. “If the Turkish delegation had not set Sunday week for the start of their visit, I could view the Brotherhood’s activities with a less jaundiced eye. It is all too pat. I have wanted to believe that this is mere co-incidence. But as it is, I cannot allow myself the luxury of hoping for the possibility that these incidents are only happenstance.”

“You aren’t surprised at this, are you, sir?” I asked, recalling the many times he had given warning to his colleagues in the government regarding the activities in the Brotherhood. “That the Brotherhood are trying once again to reestablish themselves in England?”

“No, not surprised,” said Mycroft Holmes heavily. “It was only a matter of time until Vickers found a way to work mischief again, and with the Turks coming, the opportunity must seem too promising to pass up. There is tension enough between Eastern Europe and the Turks to offer the Brotherhood the very opportunities they seek, and Vickers is not one to miss such a chance. In his position, I would probably have done the same thing. Still, I hoped we would have a little more time to prepare for their return.” He slapped his thigh through his cloak, a dark frown on his broad brow. “Well, it is not to be.”