“Nor do I,” I said. “I do not relish the thought of Prince Edward becoming King just yet.”
“You besmirch the Prince?”Michael asked.
“While I wish she had not withdrawn from public life after Prince Albert’s death,” I said, “it certainly shows the depth of her love and commitment, whereas her son is an adulterer. He has not inherited his mother’s moral fiber.”
“Poppy!” Uncle said. “Those are rumours.”
“Oh, I think it is more than rumour. The prince has built a little love nest for his mistress, Lily Langtry,” I retorted. “Oscar Wilde knows her and he told me of this.”
Michael shrugged. “They are royalty,” he said. “They are different.”
“Why? Why are they different? And why should we look the other way? I shall not apologize for the fact that it bothers me that there are so many poor and homeless and wretched on London’s streets and the monarchy does so little about it. They are privileged. They are born privileged. I have far more respect for the commoner who pulls himself up by his bootstraps and carves out a living or manages to get a good education despite the odds against it. Like Uncle.”
“You have concerns about the prince, Poppy,” Uncle said. “About his disregard for his wife’s feelings and the Crown’s reputation... I understand that,” Uncle said. “But unfaithfulness does not necessarily equate to an inability to rule justly. Though the Prince may suffer from some moral ambiguity, this does not mean he abandons fairness and justness. People cannot be neatly nor uniformly sorted into kind, tolerant, and trustworthy on one side, and lying, venal, unfaithful and bigoted on the other. Mankind is complex. So the prince’s moral deficiencies and his ability to rule are separate issues.”
I wanted to agree with Uncle. I loved his humour, his intelligence, his wisdom and kindness... his ability to lift you with a word or his capacity to fell you with a look. The intransigence which made him the great surgeon that he was because he settled for nothing less than the highest standard. I loved his ineffable and cynical wit, the clarity with which he saw most things, including me, and the fact that he never spared me the view. I had learned a lot from him. But on this point I disagreed.
“Are they separate issues, Uncle? I think they are linked. I think that one’s moral compass guides an individual in all things, and if good judgment is lacking in one place, then it may also be deficient in another.”
My dinner companions were saved from further discourse because Genabee brought dessert to the table. I think I saw all three of them heave a sigh of relief.
Sherlock joined me after dinner for a game of chess. I knew the rudiments of the game, but it became clear quite quickly that it would take a long time to excel at it. I admitted this to Sherlock, who said, “To excel in chess is the mark of a scheming mind. You are too altruistic to be much of a schemer, Poppy.”
I set about to prove him wrong, of course, but in no time he bested me. He castled the King’s rook and announced, “Mate in two moves.”
I mentally retraced his last several moves. Uncle undoubtedly would have known how to keep Sherlock from being able to castle on the King’s side. With a huff, I laid down my queen and crossed my arms.
“What are you doing?”
“Conceding,” I groaned.
He tipped over the king and said, “You don’t lay down the queen. You lay down the king. Another game?” he asked, grinning.
I shook my head. “Absolutely not!”
Michael came into the library with two glasses of sherry and handed them to us. He sat down next to Sherlock. “I received a letter from Victor. He heard from a friend of his in the military that things are heating up in Afghanistan. His friend is a doctor who had just set up a charitable dispensary in Kabul. It sounds very bad. Syphilis, leprosy, especially amongst the Hazaras. And many other diseases like asthma. The hospital was ransacked, but we have regained control and apparently it will be up and running again by next month. They have treated a number of wounded as well.”
Sherlock abruptly excused himself and I turned to Michael. “What of your friend John? The doctor who went off to Netley last year?” I asked. “Have you heard from him?”
“Oh, yes, Watson. He wrote that he expects to join the 5th Northumberland Fusiliers or the 66th Berkshire Regiment.”
Sherlock returned with a small package and gave it to Michael.
“What is this, Sherlock?” Michael asked.
“Something I picked up at Morse Hudson’s gallery. A small picture frame. I thought perhaps you could frame a photo for your son.”
Michael’s face shown his surprise. “That was very thoughtful, Sherlock. Thank you.”
Sherlock waved in the air. “Do go on. I did not mean to interrupt.”
Michael looked down.
“What is it, Michael?”
“According to my friend John, they are about to deploy to Kandahar. And Ayub Khan hates the British and wants to expel them completely and set himself up as the Amir. Things could get very ugly.”
“I shall pray for him.”
Perhaps because Sherlock could see that I was uncomfortable with this talk of the war, he said, “Let us not engage in discussion on the follies of mankind over land, religion, title and profit. Poppy, let’s talk about the swans.”
Chapter 6
Having no idea what Sherlock was talking about, exhausted from the day and with an early call to duty in the morning, Michael bid us good night and went upstairs to the guest room.
“So,” I said, “swans.”
“Yes, swans. I finished testing the blood of the swan in the lab. It was, in fact, poisoned before it was slaughtered. The Queen may rest easy tonight. It died a merciful death.”
“How so?”
“My chemical analysis revealed the presence of Datura stramonium. The swan was drugged with it.”
“Datura... is that deadly nightshade, Sherlock?”
“Yes. Datura is a genus of nine species of poisonous
