Michelle.” She looked up at Holmes, the mocking smile pulling briefly at her lips. “I knew from the first that I could never deceive you.” She appeared somehow relieved.
Lovejoy—or Farnsworth—or whoever he was—shook his head grimly. “Mr. Holmes, you have no proof of any of this. You have upset my wife; you have driven my mistress half mad. When will you be satisfied?”
Henry still had hold of me, and I could not see his face. His voice was grim. “Are you certain of this, Sherlock—are you absolutely certain?”
Holmes drew in his breath. He looked very tired, dark circles under his eyes, his face gaunt, his lips grayish. “Yes.”
Violet was smiling at him. “Tell them what proof you have.”
Holmes reached out with his long arm and sagged against the wall next to the fireplace. “It was those attacks which gave you away. The first was brilliant, the second merely desperate.”
“But the bruises...” I moaned. “Who choked her?”
“That was Mr. Farnsworth.” He turned to Farnsworth, whose genteel front suddenly wavered, his alarm apparent.
“But he was with Wheelwright!” Henry exclaimed.
“Yes, but he had choked Violet a few minutes earlier. He did it quite carefully, not wishing to injure her, and then he went downstairs. The two women did the rest. Violet is not a professional actor like those two, and as a result, I... was more easily taken in.” He was staring at Violet. “All the same, it must have hurt. Other women might have dreamed up such a scheme, but to actually sit there and let him put his hands about your throat...” He let his arm drop. “This would be quite easy to verify. Mr. Farnsworth’s hands should perfectly match the handprints on her throat. Enough of the bruises remain to make such a comparison.”
No one said anything. I felt dizzy again and faintly nauseous. What kind of woman could possibly...?
“This attack was followed by your desperate plea to escape—to go somewhere else—anywhere else. This happened the day after we met Mr. Steerford. Farnsworth had recognized me, even as I recognized him. You knew I was getting very close, and you wanted me out of the way, out of London and far from Steerford and the Angels of the Lord. I was forced to rely on Lestrade. Yesterday the Farnsworths arrived, no doubt with an enormous sum of money, and it was time to send me packing. Mr. Wheelwright had given me one more chance. What better way to get rid of me than by staging a final attack? You did your best to make your husband send me away at once—you baited him—but the storm complicated matters. You three planned to depart today with the money, no doubt heading for the continent. England would be far too hot for you. However, that final attack was clumsy. It confirmed all my suspicions and made everything fall into place.”
Violet’s head was held high, her brown eyes glistening and chin thrust forward. “And your proof?”
Holmes walked over to the small desk, opened the top drawer, and held up a common garden fork, less than a foot long, with a wooden handle and three curved tines. I had used such a fork many times to prepare a bed for flowers.
“Last night I found this near where you were attacked. You had laid it upon your shoulder like this.” Holding it in his right hand, he set the three metal claws back behind his left shoulder. “You pulled it forward and down, ripping open your dress and cutting yourself. You then hurled the fork over the wall as far as you could.”
“Oh, Violet!” I could not keep the revulsion from my voice. “How could you do such a thing to yourself?”
She gave me a pained smile, and then looked again at Holmes. “The fork might have been misplaced by the gardener. One would expect to find it amidst rhododendrons and ferns.”
Holmes gave a savage laugh. “This particular fork was in a bucket before the house with several other tools yesterday morning. The fork was not in the bucket last night. You seized it when you ran from the house.” He held it upright again, his hand shaking. “Shall we examine your lovely white shoulder and verify that the spacing of the tines matches that of the wounds?”
Violet sighed. “That will not be necessary Mr. Holmes. As I said, I knew I could never deceive you. And I could no more have ignored you, than you could have ignored your Moriarty.”
I felt curiously empty inside. I made a sound, which I recognized as a sob. “But why, Violet? Why did you do all these terrible things and hurt yourself and...?”
She lowered her gaze. “Mr. Holmes?”
“Her all-consuming hatred of her husband. She has hated him for many years, and that hatred has grown into a hatred of his entire circle of acquaintances, of his entire class. It has become a hatred of life itself. She began by wanting to revenge herself upon her husband, to frighten and humiliate him; then she determined to destroy all those who seemed equally shallow, vicious, and cruel. Perhaps... perhaps there was an element of jealousy as well.”
“Never!” Violet leaped to her feet, her voice a sudden clap of thunder, both hands raised. “
Holmes shrugged. “Comprehending female sentiments has never been my strong point.”
“His little blonde shopkeeper is welcome to him—welcome to him!” She sank into her chair.
I put my hand over my mouth. My throat hurt, and I felt almost as if I had been physically assaulted, kicked, or slapped. “I don’t understand,” I managed to say.
“No,” Violet said sadly, “and you never shall.”
Henry stroked my hair lightly. “How could you... waste...? Oh, what is the use of questions.”
Holmes dropped the fork abruptly and pulled a revolver from the pocket of his frock coat. “Please do not move your right arm, Mr. Farnsworth—no sudden motions whatsoever. Very good. Now slowly withdraw your hand. Set it on your lap. Excellent. Henry, I believe he has a pistol of some sort in his inner jacket pocket. Would you be so kind...?”
Henry walked across the room to the sofa and carefully reached into Farnsworth’s pocket. He was on the opposite side from the sister. He withdrew a small, ugly weapon.
“A derringer, Mr. Farnsworth. Wherever did you find it? Do you realize how difficult it is to hit anything? They are totally useless beyond a few feet.”
Violet shook her head angrily. “You did not tell me about any guns, James.”
Farnsworth glared at her. “His proof does not amount to much.”
“What is the use?” Violet sighed. “You have it all exactly right, Mr. Holmes.” Her smile slowly faded. “I must confess I don’t much care for the idea of prison.”
“You cannot!” I cried. “You are too sick!” I turned to Sherlock. “For God’s sake—you cannot let them lock her up—
Holmes flinched. “Calm yourself, Michelle,” he said. Henry came back across the room. I grabbed for his hand. He sat on the chair arm and put his other hand on my shoulder.
Holmes and Violet were staring at one another. She appeared sick again and utterly exhausted. The Farnsworths were frightened now, both of them. The fire had died down, but with a sudden crackle, an ember flew out and landed on the hearthrug.
Holmes lowered the revolver and closed his eyes momentarily. His mouth twitched. “If you will return the money—every penny—I shall let you go.”
Violet stared at him. “
“You must give back all the money and call off the Angels of the Lord and the others. It must all cease.”
Violet smiled. “My own father-in-law has paid James for years to spy on me, and Harrington—he was such a pig. Abigail was only one of his victims. If you had known him, you might have understood.”
Holmes opened his mouth, his face reddening. “You presume too much, madam. Never speak that way to me—
Violet stared silently at him. The corners of her mouth slowly rose. “Free?” She laughed. “You still do not understand.”
“For God’s sake, Violet.” Farnsworth leaned forward, a man I had never seen before. “Say yes!”
Violet shook her head. “None of you do. You simply do not understand. I would rather die than spend another day with my husband. This is my eighth wedding anniversary.” She laughed, baring her teeth. “It was to be the day
