Unquiet Spirits: Whisky, Ghosts, Adventure. Bonnie MacbirdЧитать онлайн книгу.
yesterday with mystery hanging in the air, but then a note was found. She seems to have eloped with the groundsman’s son.’
Eloped. ‘Well that is certainly good news,’ I said.
‘The family is greatly relieved. Fiona had been so upset by what had happened to her that she could not function. Though we may never know what precisely did happen.’
‘Well, then, it was certainly a domestic intrigue, as Holmes surmised. What brings you to Nice?’
‘I told you, Dr Watson. We winter here in the South of France.’
‘Yes, but I mean specifically here, in Nice, today. The Grand Hôtel du Cap is more than an hour from here.’
She stopped walking and just stared at me. Her voice turned icy. ‘Then Mr Holmes is tracking the family. How do you know we are staying at the Grand Hôtel du Cap?’
‘Well, the Grand Hôtel du Cap … I just presumed you would be in the best hotel in the area,’ said I, realising my gaffe.
She looked unconvinced. I knew I was in trouble and went on the offensive. ‘Well, I might then ask you how you managed to discover me here, on the Promenade? That is certainly serendipitous.’
‘In fact, it was exactly that, Dr Watson. I came in for some shopping. You see?’ She opened a large canvas bag she had been carrying which contained some brightly embroidered linens, and then tapped her new hat. ‘We have only just arrived and it is always how I spend my first day.’
As Holmes had said, of course. ‘Forgive me,’ I said.
‘Forgiven,’ she said with a smile, taking my arm. We resumed our walk. ‘Though I do not give up easily, Dr Watson. I know full well that the McLarens are under a cloud of suspicion of having to do with the phylloxera epidemic and some vague threats to the research. I do not see it myself. The laird is not the warmest of men but he is not an evil man. His elder son, Charles, has not the courage or brains to have engineered such a thing, which began some years ago, anyway, and my Alistair thinks the notion of the epidemic being man-made is foolish and impossible. Nevertheless we have been questioned and I would not be surprised if your Mr Holmes was sent to investigate us.’
This young woman was making me nervous, and I am not a nervous man. The McLarens were most certainly on Holmes’s agenda.
‘No, he has been sent on another matter,’ I said, thinking that investigating Vidocq made this at least partly true. ‘Would you care for a fruit ice?’
‘Dr Watson, you are a very poor liar.’
I said nothing.
‘I noticed a book on phylloxera on his table in Baker Street. The research on this pest is centred in Montpellier. When do you plan to visit?’ The lady stood looking at me, her blue and white dress now billowing in the sea breeze. She held on to her feathered hat with one hand and smiled at me.
‘The wind is coming up, madam, perhaps it would be best if—’
‘That is all right. Let me help you. Dr Watson. I would wager my last shilling that you are here on the business of the French wine industry. What you fail to understand is that I am on your side. I brought the dynamite to you, did I not? If there is something amiss in my family, I am as interested as you or Mr Holmes to discover it.’
‘I really do not know what to say, Mrs McLaren.’
‘I will make sure you and Mr Holmes are invited to dine with us at the Grand Hôtel du Cap. It is a stunning hotel, and as you said, the best in the area. You will at least be certain of a wonderful dinner.’
My luck was changing. ‘Well, perhaps—’
‘Where are you staying?’
‘The Beau Soleil, here in Nice.’
‘Hmm, I have not heard of it. Dr Watson, will you hail me a cab, please? It is growing chilly and I should like to return to my hotel. You can expect an invitation soon.’ Stepping into the street, I easily procured a cab for her, and as she mounted it, she turned and gave me a small wave.
How very curious, I thought. If it were not so illogical, I might entertain the thought that she was pursuing us, or Holmes, for some unfathomable reason. But the wind had picked up, and I was dressed lightly. I shivered and turned back to the Beau Soleil.
Some hours later, after a fitful nap and dinner in the modest hotel restaurant, I returned to the room to find Holmes stretched out, catlike on one of the wretched beds.
‘Ah, Watson. I see from your expression that you have been successful,’ he cried. ‘And so have I. Your news first!’
‘Yes, I found the lady almost immediately, or rather she found me,’ I said. ‘She had her shopping with her. But she seemed to suspect that we are on the trail of her family regarding this vineyard problem! Why she could possibly—’
‘Watson, Mrs McLaren is observant. Remember that she espied the miniature still on my table in Baker Street and likely the phylloxera materials as well. It is not a very far leap to infer my involvement.’
‘I suppose. Holmes, let us leave this room and take some air.’
In a few moments we were on a rooftop terrace with glasses of Pernod. There was almost a view of the ocean, if somewhat marred by intervening buildings in various stages of disrepair. Ours was not precisely a first-class hotel.
‘If only I had known of the suspicions surrounding the McLarens, I might have taken Isla McLaren’s case then,’ said Holmes. ‘No matter, I shall take her case now.’
‘Too late. The maid Fiona seems to have eloped with the groundsman’s son. There was a note.’
‘A shame. I could have used that as our entry point—’
‘In any case, Holmes, Mrs McLaren said we would be invited to dinner. Just as you had hoped.’
Holmes reacted strangely to this. ‘This is rather more convenient than it should be. And yet I do not believe in coincidences. I wonder about her agenda.’
‘She did know that her family is suspected of interference in the phylloxera research.’
Holmes started at this. ‘Interesting. I am surprised she did not mention it in Baker Street.’
‘But what of your detour in Tours? Did you accomplish what you hoped?’
Holmes’s meeting, as it turned out, had been with a man we knew from an earlier case. This supremely wealthy and powerful gentleman had, since our dealings with him, bought a château and vineyard in the Loire Valley, in order to be nearer a certain French singer of our acquaintance with whom he was most painfully in love. Her name was Cherie Cerise, or Mademoiselle Emmeline La Victoire, as we had known her.
‘This man happens to be a close friend of Philippe Reynaud. They were old Etonians together. Alas he could offer no insight into Reynaud’s suspicion of the British but something else of use came of the meeting!’
‘What was that?’
‘He was absolutely shocked when I told him that Jean Vidocq had been hired by his friend Reynaud to protect the French researcher.’
‘Why would he care about this?’
‘Because this same Vidocq has developed into a nemesis. Do you remember the friction between them on our case last year? They continue to be rivals in love for the French chanteuse.’
This fit exactly with my impression of Jean Vidocq. ‘I see,’ said I. ‘But … how do you intend to use this?’ I wondered. ‘I mean, given that “domestics” as you call them do not fall in your purview.’
‘Ah, Watson, you chastise. Vidocq’s role in this phylloxera scandal is precipitously attached now to his private romantic life.’ Holmes laughed. ‘I can ensure his dismissal from that post if I can prove the affair.’
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