-LOLA MONTEZ ON ROMANISM, 1858

"You do realize, Nell, the key piece of information Bishop Potter revealed among the cornucopia of possibilities he presented?"

"Besides the utterly odious fact that the dead man in Mr. Vanderbilt's billiard room was poor Father Hawks?"

"Yes, besides that. And I believe that your use of the extreme expression 'utterly odious' refers more to the fact that Sherlock Holmes was present at that scene than to the inhumane condition of Father Hawks's body."

I held my tongue for a count of twenty before I spoke again. (Conversing with Irene always took more self-control on my part than with anyone else on the planet.) "From our selfish point of view," I admitted, "it's extremely frustrating that the one man who could shed light on your possible mother's last weeks on earth has died just one step ahead of us."

"That fact is frustrating, yes, but it also is highly suggestive, and, I must say, extremely sinister."

"I do not like you to use that word."

"Which word? Suggestive?"

"Sinister. You know that you can't resist the sinister."

Irene was lounging on the sofa, a wisp of smoke from the little cigar in her serpent-wrapped mother-of-pearl holder haloing her pompadour, looking like a femme fatale in the Sarah Bernhardt School.

"Blame it on my theatrical upbringing," she said. "You haven't mentioned the key fact we learned, beyond the obvious shock regarding the identity of the victim on the billiard table. Poor Mr. Holmes! I doubt he has a prayer of tracing that ravaged shell to Father Francis Lister Hawks."

"He has proven himself quite the match for you in previous encounters."

"No need to speak so sharply, Nell. I realize you don't want me getting ahead of myself. You know, this game of one-up really doesn't matter. Stopping these criminals is what the true 'game' is about, and this is a particularly gruesome and confounding one."

I took a deep breath. "I find it most provocative that Father Hawks was proposing sainthood for the late Eliza Gilbert. It strikes me that any sensible prince of the Church might commit any number of sins to prevent that outrageous notion from even becoming public knowledge, much less being acted upon."

"'St Lola' does have a gloriously contradictory ring. I can quite envision a play of her life. It would be a stunning role, to say the least."

"There is a play of her life; she wrote it and performed in it."

"But the last, most poignant act was missing. Also any mention of issue, such as myself." Irene bestirred herself to extinguish the cigarette, then shook her head. "You're quite right, Nell, that a churchly body might recoil from attempts to establish a world-famous sinner as an inspiring example of eleventh-hour salvation. Still, I doubt today's hierarchy would resort to such medieval solutions for disagreements in doctrine as torture and murder."

"Who better?" I put in, "especially as the Catholics may be involved, given Lola's loathing of the Jesuits. I must say that I do find her sensible in that one regard. You do recall the Inquisition?"

"I also recall the witch hunts. They were a nondenominational persecution, you will admit."

I nodded as I shivered in my summer weight gown. "This death at the Vanderbilt house sounds that medieval."

"And it smacks of the churchly," she admitted at last, sitting back again. "I must take credit for pointing out to Mr. Holmes that the body bore the marks of crucifixion. However, the key fact for me yesterday was Bishop Potter mentioning thahas become of memt Father Hawks believed Lola Montez had been robbed of her jewels. From what little we read, they were plentiful and spectacular. Even as early as the mid-'40s, she traveled with one entire trunk holding her 'capital' and jewels. And that was before King Ludwig lavished more gems upon her. One does wonder what has become of them. Wealth is a more universal motive for misdeeds nowadays than religious differences."

"And if you really are her daughter, her only daughter, you would be the natural heir of such wealth."

"Two large 'ifs,' Nell. While I am never one to scorn rightful endowments, I'm far more concerned about the jewels and what religious opinions of a long-dead adventuress would lead to the death of a humble retired priest in New York City this summer."

"Obviously, he knew something others killed him to keep anyone from finding out."

"No . . . I'm afraid someone killed him to find out what he knew, specifically. I suspect his death was accidental, in that such brutal treatment of one his age had an unexpected result. Not that his tormentor, or tormentors, would have freed him afterward anyway."

"What difference does it make? His death was horrible beyond imagining. I wish we could go home and forget about it."

"So do I, Nell." Irene stood and went to the window overlooking Broadway. "I can't believe that in this day and age someone would so abuse an old man, or any human soul. But, then, we had ample evidence in Paris of what still goes on, this globe over, that one would think had been eradicated from the earth with the Huns. That's why I shall have to let Sherlock Holmes know of this development."

"I knew it! Any excuse to intrude on his investigation."

"Our investigation has intruded for us. And I'm not willing to let Father Hawk's death go unsolved or unpunished, are you?"

"No, of course not. I merely . . . dislike that man."

Irene left the window and came to me. "Nell, you are loyal beyond belief, but you must forget the minor role he played in the King of Bohemia's pursuit of me two years ago. You yourself remained in St. John's Wood to 'welcome' the hunting party after Godfrey and I had made our predawn escape. You yourself reported what the king, Mr. Holmes, and Dr. Watson said. You admit that Mr. Holmes obviously regretted working for the king. By your account, he even rejected a costly jewel in exchange for the portrait of myself I'd left as a memento for the king."

"Yes, but have you ever thought why he did so, Irene?"

Bemusement was not a common expression with her, but I had evoked it now. "Why, to express his contempt for the king, of course. After all, I'd left my portrait in exchange for the formal photograph of the king and myself posed together, which Willie was so anxious to reclaim. How indiscreet of him to allow me to wear the Crown Jewels, even for a private occasion, when he had never intended to marry me. I've seen enough of Mr. Holmes to know that he doesn't suffer fools gladly."

"Irene, he was the fool! He refused a huge emerald-and-gold ring and accepted only your portrait instead!"

She thought for a bit, then wrinkled her nose. "I should have done the same. King Willie has rather Teutonic taste. Emeralds are often flawed and quite fragile and, I think, too gaudy for the well-tailored man, especially an Englishman and a no-nonsense Englishman like Mr. Holmes. I myself prefer sapphires and rubies, as a matter of fact. Perhaps Mr. Holmes does too."

"Irene, you are being deliberately obtuse."

"Thank you, Nell, for implying I have to make an effort to be obtuse."

She was smiling as she sat beside me and took my hand, a gesture rare between us, perhaps more because of my natural reserve than hers.

"My dear, dear Nell. I know what you fear, and must say that you have been too good a student of the fears instilled in women rather than the freedoms available to them."

"Women have no freedoms," I objected without thinking.

"Exactly. Not unless they take them. I learned early that some unknown fairy godmother-perhaps even Lola Montez, who knows?-had bestowed upon me the curse and the blessing of a comely face. I am well aware of the effect it has on people. With strangers it may grant me a wider berth and some small favors. With those I associate with more closely, it has brought me envy from many women, and false regard from many men. It has brought me more tears than smiles, because I have not known whom to trust. As you saw in Bohemia."

I gazed at her, and swallowed.

"I tell you that if Mr. Holmes holds any special regard for me, it is not because of my face or form. He is simply not a man to be swayed by such surface considerations."

"He is a man," I argued.

"He is a man of the mind, first and foremost, and that sort of admiration I will accept gladly. You mustn't worry, Nell." She shook my hand with a fond, governesslike admonition I well recognized. "I am not susceptible to admirers, even ones who treasure my brain rather than my beauty. It's you I worry about."

"Me?"

"You are susceptible to hasty judgments that spring from fear. It's not your fault It's how you were born and bred to be. But, have faith, Nell! The world will not bite you, and if it does, my goodness, you can always bite it back!"

"I can?"

"Indeed, and you have already taken a nip or two out of it on occasion. You must relish the chance to dance near your fears, for that's how you conquer them."

"So nothing I can say or do will keep you from bearing the tale of Father Hawks's identity directly to Sherlock Holmesr?"

"No. It is the right thing, the only thing, to do."

There was such conviction in her tone, and a mute echo of agreement in my heart, that I argued no more.

25.

A FOOTNOTE TO A FOOLISH TIME.

On arriving in this country she found that the same terrible

power which had pursued her in Europe . . . held even

here the means to fill the American press with a thousand

anecdotes and rumors. Among other things, she had had

the honor of horsewhipping hundreds of men whom she never

knew, and never saw. But there is one comfort in all these

falsehoods, which is, that these men very likely would have

deserved horsewhipping, if she had only known them.

-LOLA MONTEZ, AUTOBIOGRAPHY, 1858

Irene's note of that very afternoon was returned by evening.

"Tea at four P.M. You know my location."

I studied the unadorned black penmanship. "No salutation, no polite phrases. It could be a telegram. He didn't even bother to sign it."

"I'm sure," Irene said over my shoulder, "he is more used to telegrams than notes."

"It doesn't even indicate if we are to meet him in the hotel dining room or . . . elsewhere."

"Tea will be served in his rooms. He would not care to have us overheard."

"What did you say in your note?

She smiled and stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped before her, while she recited like a schoolgirl: "'Dear Mr. Holmes. Miss Huxleigh and myself have learned some shocking information relating to the Vanderbilt incident that we felt obliged to convey to you at your earliest convenience. Most sincerely yours, Irene Adler Norton.'"

She eyed me. "Was that proper form, Nell?"

"Far too genteel for the likes of a consulting detective. Do we really want to discuss this gruesome news over tea?"

"Mr. Holmes was no doubt thinking that you would be missing that lovely English habit in New York."