Of Masquerades and Meetings
Disclaimer- I still own nothing but a blue teddy bear and a partridge in a pear tree.
"Sherlock Holmes is dying," remarked my friend casually, as she poured me another cup of tea.
I gave a violent start.
"Surely you are joking, Maggie," I said.
"Oh, no, Irene; it is here, in this morning's edition of the Times. You can see for yourself," and she tossed me the newspaper she had been reading.
I glanced over the article in question. It said that Mr. Holmes had been gravely injured in the course of an investigation, and his friend and confederate, Dr. John Watson, had told the reporter from the Times that the patient was on the very brink of death.
"Who is this Dr. Watson, Maggie? I have never heard of the man."
"Oh, I forgot that you had been in Europe for quite some time now. Dr. Watson is Mr. Holmes' closest friend and biographer. He has been with Mr. Holmes for some years, I understand. His accounts of Mr. Holmes' cases appear in the Strand every other week- why, indeed, Irene, I believe I once read of your little run-in with Mr. Holmes in his column."
"Really?" I asked, surprised. "I would not have thought my friend the King of Bohemia would have allowed it."
"Apparently he bound both of them to secrecy for some time- two years, if I remember aright-after which they were free to do as they pleased about the whole affair. By the way, what time is it, Irene?"
"Why, it is eleven already!" I cried, rising. "I must go to the hospital at once, Maggie."
"Certainly, dear, if you insist. I will tell John to hail a cab for you."
"Thank you, Maggie," I said, picking up my hat and cloak.
"How is Marianne now?" my friend asked, as she followed me to the door.
"Better, but she has not recovered consciousness as yet. The doctors say she should be awake by this time tomorrow. Until then, they can say nothing of her prognosis. But here comes the cab, Maggie. Good-day to you, and tell Mr. Smith that I send him my regards."
As the hansom sped along the streets of London, I fell into a brown study. Sherlock Holmes was dying. It seemed scarcely credible to me. Still, he was now advanced in years, (as I was, I thought with a rueful smile) and presumably not as strong as he used to be.
All of a sudden, I was seized by an impetuous desire to see this man. News of some of his exploits had reached my ears during the time that I was in the Continent, and I had been much impressed to think that this was the very man who had had a hand in my own exile from England. Yet, although I had returned to England once before, I had not had any inclination to visit him.
But now, he was apparently on his deathbed, and my curiosity to see what had become of him was getting the better of me.
"Driver," I said calmly, "pray turn back, and take us to Baker Street instead."
Fifteen minutes later, I rang the doorbell.
The door swung open, revealing a much- harried looking woman.
"Are you the new nurse, ma'am?" she demanded of me.
"No, I am here to see Mr. Sherlock Holmes."
"Oh." The woman's face fell. "I'm sorry, ma'am, Mr. Holmes is very ill at the moment, and I was told not to admit anyone, save Dr. Watson."
"And you are-?"
"Mrs. Hudson, his landlady."
"Mrs. Hudson, I am an old client of Mr. Holmes'-"
"I'm sorry ma'am, but Sir Oakshott, his doctor, specifically instructed me not to let anyone enter Mr. Holmes' rooms. If you wish to leave a message-"
"No," I interrupted, "that will not be necessary. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson."
I walked back to my hansom in a fit of annoyance. Truth be told, I was more irritated at the fact that my will had been thwarted, rather than the prospect of not seeing Holmes, in whom I had little interest to begin with. I have often been told that I am a stubborn woman, and this was but one example of my weakness.
"Surely," I thought, "there must be some way of visiting the man."
It was then that an idea struck me.
It was three o'clock when I returned to Baker Street, having first ensured that Marianne was well, and gathered the items necessary for the little role I was about to play.
The door opened in response to my ring.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Mrs. Hudson, I believe?"
"My name, ma'am. And you are-"
"Miss Adrianne Hopkins. I was told that Sir Leslie Oakshott was in need of my services."
"The nurse?" The good landlady seemed a little confused. "But I was given to understand that the only nurse available was on holiday in the country, and a replacement could only be found in the evening…"
"Quite so." I said smoothly. "I was the nurse they mentioned. I arrived from Surrey this afternoon, as a matter of fact, and upon reporting for duty, my superiors promptly dispatched me here. May I…"
"Oh, of course," she said, and let me inside.
Flushed with my success, I followed Mrs. Hudson up the stairs.
"Ah, I see we have a nurse after all," said Sir Oakshott, scrutinising me as he spoke. "And your name is-"
"Miss Adrianne Hopkins," I said promptly.
My tidy appearance and quiet manner had impressed him, no doubt, for eventually, he said, "Fortunately for you, dear madam, your services will only be required for a matter of hours. Miss Smith, whom I have already engaged, will be arriving at half past five this evening. In the meantime, however, I intend to return to my residence. Your duty is to watch over Mr. Holmes until my return to Baker Street."
"Very well, sir," I said demurely.
"You may not be aware that Mr. Holmes has a singular aversion to women, and nurses in particular. I would suggest that you disturb him no more than necessary. Just see to it that he takes his medication as prescribed." He picked up his hat and cloak as he spoke. "I will return in two hours. Good day to you, Miss Hopkins," and he departed, Mrs Hudson in tow.
"'A singular aversion to women,'" I said to myself in some amusement, picking up the tray I was to take to him. "Well, it is not surprising, I should think. But we shall see how the man himself is faring. Poor fellow! He must find it rather trying to be so helpless, even on his deathbed."
But it turned out that my sympathy was rather misplaced, for I had barely come within ten feet of the invalid's door when I heard a low whistle and the unmistakeable rustling of paper. My curiosity roused, I peered inside through a small crack in the door, and was astonished to find the so-called invalid sitting up in bed, whistling to himself, while reading a copy of the same edition of the Times that I myself had been perusing that very morning.
"Well, I never!" I thought to myself, as I knocked on the door smartly.
Instantly, the rustling of paper ceased, and a weak "Come in!" was heard from within.
The room was dark, the blinds almost three-quarters down, as I entered. A single shaft of sunlight struck the tall, thin, languid man lying upon the bed, his head swathed in bandages. He was- or rather, had been- comely, after a fashion, and he had a most masterful air about him, even as he lay spread-eagled upon the bed in apparent semi-delirium.
Setting down the tray, I took off the spectacles I was wearing, and walked over to Holmes' bedside.
"Mr. Holmes," I queried, "do you recognize me?"
He squinted at me.
"Of course," he said at length in a feeble voice. "I believe I have the honour of addressing Mrs. Irene Norton, nee Adler, late of the West End theatre in London."
"Quite," I responded dryly. "Your voice is quite weak, Mr. Holmes. Appropriate for a dying man, possibly, but not for one who was reading the evening paper with ease just two minutes ago, before I entered the room."
He laughed, albeit in his usual voice.
"I have erred, I confess, Mrs. Norton," he said, sitting up in his bed. "But I trust that my secret is safe with you. Pray sit down."
"You may rely on me, Mr. Holmes," I replied, seating myself on a chair close to his bed. "But I must say that you would have been an invaluable asset to the stage, had you chanced to take up acting as your profession."
He inclined his head in a gesture of acknowledgement.
"So many have said," he answered. His thick eyebrows furrowed. "I trust that you bear me no ill-will for my conduct during our last encounter?"
"No, indeed." I replied. "You were only doing your duty by your client, Mr. Holmes. I cannot endeavor to bear you any grudge. Although I must confess, I rather suspected that you would not be pleased to see me, knowing that I outwitted you that one time."
"Tut, tut! That was many years ago, Mrs. Norton." He waved a hand dismissively, but I was conscious of a certain tension in his stance that showed that I had indeed been correct, and my arrival had served as an uncomfortable reminder of the bruise that I had inflicted upon his ego several years ago. Still, he was generous enough not to speak of it in bitterness, and therefore I did not contradict him.
He continued, "In any case, a true professional always acknowledges his rivals, be they man or woman." He looked at me, and I knew then that he was scrutinizing me in that manner he often used upon his clients. "But what brings you here, to my supposed deathbed, in the garb of a nurse, no less?"
"I was in the hospital visiting my- visiting a relative. I heard that you were dying, and I wished to see you, but I was told you received no visitors, hence the disguise." I smiled pleasantly, but Holmes was not fooled.
He looked me in the eye.
"Your child?"
I nodded, tears welling up in my eyes.
"She met with an accident while we were here on holiday. My husband, he is distraught and I-"
I turned away, unable to speak.
Holmes touched my shoulder lightly.
"I am very sorry indeed," he said sincerely.
"Thank you," I said, recovering my composure with an effort. "I trust that she will be well soon. Now tell me Mr. Holmes, how have you been?"
"I am well, as always," he replied.
I raised an eyebrow, taking in the enormous bandage around his head.
"Some ruffians attacked me while I was investigating a case," he explained. "My injuries are not serious, as you can see, but it is my belief that exaggeration of my injuries is the best course of action at present." He paused, looking up at me. "You have not changed, Mrs. Norton. You seem quite healthy, despite your recent trauma."
"Why, thank you, Mr. Holmes." I said lightly. "I am afraid that I cannot return the compliment, though, as I seem to have the misfortune of seeing you only when you are covered in bandages."
He ignored my last comment.
"No doubt the South of France suits you well. Ah, but you have taken to violin- playing. Very intelligent of you. Music is, after all, the balm of a man's soul. I should hear you play sometime."
He looked at me playfully, but knowing Holmes' gift of deduction (and his love of flattery), I did not attempt to ask how he knew these things.
"Well," I said, rising. "It is late. I must go to my husband- he will be anxious to know where I have gone."
He bowed. "It has been a pleasure to see you, madam. Ah, but hark! Sir Oakshott approaches. Mrs. Norton, I believe we both have roles to reprise." And he sank down onto his bed, the very picture of a sick man.
Sure enough, before I could make a swift exit, Sir Leslie Oakshott entered the room.
"Ah, Miss Hopkins," he said. "How is he doing?"
"He is very ill, sir," I responded, very seriously.
"Excellent!" came Holmes' voice from the other end of the room. "I must congratulate you upon your performance, Miss Adler. I wish you good evening. This lady, Watson, has authored a wonderful little monograph upon the subject of oysters. You must read it some time."
I stifled a laugh. Sir Oakshott, who had fortunately not noticed my little start when Holmes mentioned my name, looked sympathetically across at his patient.
"Delirious, I see," he said, shaking his head. "Well, nurse, you may leave. I believe Miss Smith will arrive in a few minutes to replace you."
I bade him good night and left the room. As I was making my way out of the house, I met another man coming up the stairs, an anxious look upon his countenance. As his eyes fell upon me, his look changed to that of confusion and then surprise, but I did not pause.
"Good evening, Dr. Watson," I called out as I shut the door, leaving him staring dumbfounded after me.