The Phrase - 2 of 4
Author: Garonne
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Miss Trent-Smith's betrothed was a tall, stolidly built young man by the name of Adams. He faced us across the battered old table of the prison visiting room, his face crumpled in shame.
"I wish I could be of more help, gentlemen. But really, I feel entirely useless. I don't even - " He turned red, glancing with infinite apology at his young lady. "I don't even remember drinking all that much. I was upset that evening – I suppose Beatrice has already told you about a bit of a dispute I had with her father. I left his house in rather a hurry. I meant to go back the following day and apologise, of course, but now... " His voice trailed away.
"Perhaps we can restrict ourselves to those things which did actually take place," Holmes said.
I understood Holmes' wish to stick to the relevant facts, but I wished he would show more empathy with the wretched Adams, who evidently felt the loss of his beloved much more deeply than the loss of his liberty. I imagined for a second being imprisoned like him, and separated from Holmes. It was not such a far-fetched idea, after all. Holmes was the paranoid one, but even I could not forget that every night spent in each other's arms was another night which could condemn us to years of hard labour.
I shook myself out of this grim train of thought, and began to pay attention to Adams' words. In his account, he was addressing himself to Sherlock Holmes, but spending half of his time looking at Miss Trent-Smith, clearly treasuring every moment of her short visit. "I returned to town from their estate, and was walking back and forth along the sea-front, working off my anger I'll admit, when I met Mr Walker. He was kind enough to propose a drink and a chat."
"That's my cousin, Mr Charles Walker," Miss Trent-Smith interjected.
Adams gave her an adoring smile, completely transforming his weary face, before continuing: "We went to a pub on the seafront, the Anchor, and had a few glasses. Mr Walker was most sympathetic. He – well, I will put it honestly to you, gentlemen. He is the only member of Beatrice's family who ever tolerated me, even before this horrible business. Then a rather rowdy group of sailors arrived, and Mr Walker suggested repairing to another pub he knew. Then after that..." He hung his head, his face red with shame. "I don't remember anything until I woke up in a gutter on the harbour-front with a splitting headache."
Holmes was regarding Adams in his usual detached manner, that great brain already turning over the facts he was hearing, while he remained unmoved by the man's distress. "And what was the cause of your altercation with Mr Trent-Smith?"
Adams turned even redder than he already was. "He accused me more or less openly of being a fortune-hunter." He bit his lip. "It is the first thing which comes to mind, of course, when a man in my circumstances courts an heiress..."
The gaoler rattled his keys significantly and coughed. At the time, Sherlock Holmes was beginning to be rather well known in London, but evidently he would have had to feature in the racing pages of the Folkestone Gazette for this fellow to have heard of him, and so we soon found ourselves being turfed out of the visiting room without ceremony. I tugged Holmes forward in order to allow the other couple a few moments of privacy before we and Miss Trent-Smith were escorted to the street.
On the pavement outside, our client took her leave, after promising to brave her father with the truth that night, so that the following day we would be able to call on him, and look around the burnt-out remains of his stables.
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The small town where Adams lived and worked drew most of its livelihood from its fishing harbour. The hotel where we were putting up was in the more genteel part of town, further from the seafront, and we had left our luggage there before meeting our client. After parting from her, I had expected Holmes to make a bee-line for the harbour inn where Adams had been drinking, or even suggest walking out to the Trent-Smith estate to begin our investigations under cover of darkness, without the sanction of the head of the family. To my surprise, however, he suggested dinner at the nearest pub, followed by a stroll through the town.
Once filled with steak-and-kidney pie, therefore, we set out along a street which led away from the town centre, and rose steeply upwards towards the cliffs which lined the coast in that area. By this time, the light was already begin to fade, and the grimy sea-side town took on a softer, gentler air in the twilight. Soft orange light flickered through the cracks between drawn curtains in the windows we passed, hinting at cosy fire-sides and lending the streets a picturesque air which was completely absent in daylight.
Holmes strode along, his long legs naturally making his pace longer than mine would have been, even were I not hampered by my old wound. He was discoursing volubly on a new type of electrical-powered light-bulb which apparently could burn for more than a thousand hours.
The topic was most interesting, although I must admit that as large a portion of my faculties was taken up by observing Holmes as by listening to him. I watched his scarred, stained hand as it moved in punctuation of his words, long thin fingers sketching out carbonised cotton filaments and vacuum pumps. I stole glances at his pale, angular face, filled with animation by his enthusiasm for his subject. This changed suddenly to concern as he stopped dead in the middle of the street.
"Watson, I do apologise. I am being most unaccountably thoughtless. I am forgetting what such a steep ascent must be doing to your stiff leg."
I stopped too, warmed by his concern, although it really was not necessary. I smiled at him. "You are rather charging along like a steam train, Holmes, but I assure you, my leg is coping perfectly well."
"It was thoughtless of me, nevertheless. And you - you reward me with one of your incomparable smiles." He reached out suddenly and grasped my elbow. It was the most he could bring himself to risk in the public street, even if it were dark and almost deserted, but at that moment, it seemed to me as gentle and intimate as a kiss.
"Holmes," I began, hardly knowing how to choose between all of the unforgivably maudlin ways I wanted to finish that sentence. I transmuted the words into another smile. "Really, I am fine. And I would quite like to get to the top of this hill. I have a feeling that, if we round the corner, we shall have a view over the bay and the whole town."
Indeed, at the top of the street the terraces of houses came to an end, and we emerged onto a grassy space, which in the darkness was dotted with the vague shadows of wooden benches and lobster crates. We crossed it to lean on a railing which protected Sunday strollers from falling down the rocky cliffs to the harbour below. Spread out before us was the deep dark mass of the bay, ringed three-quarters way round by the speckled carpet of street-lamps and lighted windows of the town. The sea-breeze was blowing towards us, and all we could hear was the musical clinking of metal fittings as boats rocked in the harbour below.
Safe in the darkness which had now completely fallen, Holmes took my hand in his, and pressed it against him. We stood for a few moments like that, without speaking. I thought I would like to remember this moment for ever. After a while I turned my face towards Holmes, and found that he had been looking at me, although he could not have been able to see much more than my silhouette.
He caught my gaze, and I saw the shadows of his face change shape in the darkness as his mouth moved in a smile.
"Shall we go down?" he said. "This is far from being a balmy summer's evening."
It would be pleasant indeed if life were made of perfect moments like that, I reflected as we returned to the hotel. Holmes and I, side-by-side: I wanted to imagine that we would be so forever.
Holmes seemed to be deep in thought as well. I hoped that he too was thinking how glad he was to have me by his side, although his mind had probably returned to electrical light-bulbs.
When we reached the street where our hotel was situated, quiet and deserted in the moonlight, I suddenly found out what he had been thinking, for he drew me closer to him, and murmured it in my ear.
My heart leapt and my face began instantly to burn.
"Good grief, Holmes..." I stuttered.
I am rather prudish by nature, I will readily admit. Holmes, on the other hand, has a very impressive vocabulary when no one else is around to overhear us, and as we proceeded down the street he continued to employ it, in a low voice, and to spectacular effect, stopping only when we were within earshot of the hotel's night watchman.
"Evening, gentlemen," the man said, looking up briefly from the pages of The Sporting Life. "Cold out, eh?"
My face felt like it was burning bright red, and I was glad I was wearing my long coat buttoned up, hiding Holmes' effect on the rest of my body. Holmes, damn him, looked as composed as always, and his cheeks as pale as ever.
"Everything all right, Doctor?" he said, with an eyebrow arched. "Perhaps we should remain downstairs for a quick drink?"
"I am going directly upstairs," I said with as much dignity as I could muster, and marched up to one of the two rooms we had taken, Holmes following on my heels.
I shut the door behind us and we both fell upon it and each other, laughing like boys.
"You bastard," I gasped. "I thought I would explode!"
"I had better release the pressure, in that case," he murmured, loosening my cravat with one hand and locking the door with the other. "It's a risky business, applying heat to a sealed container."
My gaze travelled downwards. "You're approaching rather a high pressure yourself, I see."
"Well, with such a splendid example of mankind hanging around my neck, how can I help myself?"
"You did a rather good job of controlling yourself up to now," I said in admiration.
Holmes ran a finger down the length of my bare neck, making me shiver. "Let us see if I can make your body obey me as well as my own, shall we?"
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I was drifting off to sleep when I felt the sudden absence of Holmes' warm body beside me and roused myself slowly. When I finally opened my eyes, I found Holmes standing over me and watching me. The light from the candle he held softened the sharp lines of his face, and his eyes appeared gentle and affectionate. He saw that my eyes were open, and his face softened further into a smile.
"Holmes?" I said sleepily.
"Go back to sleep, my love." He brushed a lock of hair from where it was tickling my forehead. "We shall be busy tomorrow."
"Don't go, Holmes," I murmured, but he had already left. He was far too paranoid to spend the night in my bed in a public hotel.
I fell asleep wondering whether I had dreamed his parting words.