The Opera Singer's Daughter (A Sherlock Holmes Spin-Off Novel)

Chapter Twenty-One

"I will not be blamed for this," the Bohemian nobleman said, pointing the gun first at Mum and then Mr. Holmes. "I will not risk my country's reputation on the word of an adventuress and her lover!"

Dr. Watson sent a glance to his desk. Perhaps his own service pistol was kept there? "Herr Meyer, you are distressed," Mr. Holmes said calmly. "There is no need for violence."

The man's finger tightened on the trigger. "Enough talk! Have you all gone mad? Can you not see what she plans? She will hold this over the king for the rest of her days, to demand money and power! That is all women like her ever want!"

"Herr Meyer!" the king said in alarm. "What are you doing?"

Immediately, the gun was pointed at him. "And you! You are a worthless king! What have you done for your country save for cause scandal after scandal? You are not worthy of the legacy your father built up!"

Mr. Ware held his hands up. "Sir—" he began to say.

"Do you refuse to see the evidence?" Papa asked, speaking up. "Has Irene not kept her word all these years? Why would she break her promise now?"

But Herr Meyer was beyond reason. "The only certainty must be the death of her and her little bastard. Then, Bohemia will not need to fear her ever again."

In such close quarters, a gunshot could do untold damage. Mr. Holmes and Papa were both tense, ready for action. But any move they might make could end in tragedy for whoever Herr Meyer fires upon.

My hand moved to my forgotten cup of tea. It was a small thing, but perhaps enough to cause a distraction?

"Herr Meyer!" I called out.

His head turned my way, and I flung the now cool liquid in his face. With a gasp, he closed his eyes and staggered back a step. In an instant, Mr. Holmes was at him, wrenching the gun away from him.

Without his weapon, the man seemed to lose all fight. He sank into his seat. "Well done, Miss Aida," Mr. Holmes said.

"Foolish, wonderful girl!" Mum exclaimed, rushing to me.

"Old friend," the king said sadly. "I have done you wrong. I have put too much on your shoulders." He turned to Mr. Holmes. "He shall be dealt with by his people. Let us have no more of this."

"It is not I you should be making promises to," the detective said meaningfully.

Straightening his shoulders, the king faced my mother. "My apologies for having distressed you, Madame. I will do what must be done when I return to Bohemia. You shall no longer be inconvenienced by myself or my countrymen."

"Then, this is goodbye," Mum responded with a nod.

The king made a slight bow, which was more shocking than his apology. "If things had been different..."

"But they were not."

"Mr. Ware, bring along Herr Meyer," the king commanded. "We have much to discuss and an appointment to keep with the prime minister."

Mr. Ware obediently pulled poor Herr Mweyer up and pushed him out the door. With the departure of the men, the room felt much larger. "Holmes, are you sure?" Dr. Watson asked. "The man tried to commit murder."
"With royalty, such is common," Mr. Holmes said, waving his hand dismissively. "To attempt to extract justice would no doubt displease my brother."

Ah, Mycroft Holmes, who ran the government. What a pity I'd not had the chance to meet him. Did he know of this matter? He must if it would affect Britain's interests in any way.

"We shall be going now," Papa said. He extended his hand to Mr. Holmes. "I thank you for the help you gave my daughter and family, sir."

"Miss Aida had things well in hand." Mr. Holmes shook Papa's hand. "An enterprising young lady like her will go far in this world."