The Lammas Curse Read Online Free Page B

mother gave her
up without even naming her. She claims her mother simply gave her
over to one of her lovers, Count Volodya Volodymyr. I believe he
was a native of Odessa. The Count died when she was still quite
young. She didn’t mention what age. She was subsequently raised by
the Count’s unmarried sister, Countess Zoya Volodymyrovna.”
    “Ah, Countess Zoya, now there’s
a name I recognize, an adventurous woman with a penchant for
attracting powerful men, immensely wealthy in her own right. The
young lady in question inherited her aunt’s estate?”
    “Yes, and that of her
step-father too.”
    “Mmm, yes, that would make the
young woman extraordinarily rich.”
    “She travelled extensively with
her aunt and, shortly after the aunt died from a snake bite while
they were in Australia, she married an Australian.”
    “Name of?”
    “Jack Frost. But his real name
was Darcy Droitwych. They were married for three years and lived in
Melbourne. He was twenty years her senior. He became crippled
following a horse-riding accident and later killed himself. She
inherited his estate too. After becoming widowed, she decided to
come to England to seek out her family roots. That’s the reason I
came here tonight. She has expressed a desire to meet you.”
    “Has she, indeed?”
    “I could introduce her if you
like. I know you do not permit women to darken the doorstep of the
Diogenes Club but I believe your lodgings are just across the
road.”
    Mycroft pushed to his feet and
moved his bulky frame with surprising suppleness to the large,
Georgian, sash window that gave onto Pall Mall. He didn’t say
anything for a moment but gave his concentration over to the window
shutter, closing it against the swirling fog filling the street
like smoke from a flueless fire trapped inside a darkened room.
    “I have moved lodgings since we
last met. I now reside permanently upstairs. I have the topmost
suite under the dome. It offers a spectacular panorama of London. I
must show you some time. It is reserved for the president of our
modest little club and since our last titular head recently shook
off his mortal coil the baton has passed to me.”
    “Congratulations, Mycroft.
President of the Diogenes Club sounds like a high honour. I know
you were one of the six founding members, although, I hope you
don’t mind my saying, I never pictured you as a committee man.”
    “I’m not, and I’m not exactly a
President either. But you know how these things go – the more
modest the club, the more pompous the title. It is actually Grand
Master or primus baro . You should think about joining. I can
put your name up for consideration if you like.”
    “Oh, no, the Micawber Club
suits me very well. I feel quite at home there. Thank you, none the
less. And getting back to the Countess – perhaps Claridges would
make for a suitable rendezvous, or Brown’s Hotel which always seems
more discrete and the electric lighting not quite so harsh on the
retina.”
    Mycroft moved back to the fire
and tossed his cigar end onto the flames. “Let me do some research
first. I can check into her background and confirm the details you
just imparted.”
    “Yes, of course,” agreed the
doctor tactfully. “That would be the best way to go.”
    “You trust this young
woman?”
    Dr Watson weighed the question
carefully yet still failed to answer confidently. “Up to a point. I
can’t help thinking of that saying about keeping your friends close
and your enemies closer. I thought it might be safer for all
concerned to keep an eye on her.”
    “A wise strategy. What is your
personal opinion?”
    “Personal opinion?”
    “Like, dislike, that sort of
thing.”
    “Well, she’s not like anybody I
have ever met - like and dislike are such pedestrian epithets,
descriptions of lesser mortals. There’s a joie de vivre about her
that is undeniably infectious. Once she gets an idea in her head
there is no stopping her. And she takes sleuthing seriously. I get
the