Chapter 7

"Go to bed." Sherlock Holmes told me, while we sat, waiting for the footman to return. I was tired to the bone by now, but I was also immensely irritated by the incident. Under these circumstances, it would have been impossible for me to find any rest, despite the exhaustion I felt.

The porter arrived carrying a tea tray to accommodate us for the time being, his whole demeanour begging for our forgiveness. He did not dare speak but only placed the tray on the small coffee table in front of us, disappearing into the background as silently as he had approached.

"I'll have a cup of tea with you and perhaps a biscuit and by then the footman should be back anyway," I replied when the man had gone, stifling a yawn.

Holmes smiled, shaking his head in amused exasperation. "Do you never give in?"

"Only when it is sensible. Currently, we don't know where you will stay and I might as well be informed about it, just in case I am in need of you."

"In need of me?" he repeated with his eyebrows raised.

"When there is something going on at the hospital for example. You might need to be present as well and I could not send for you when I am unaware of where you are staying." I specified.

He looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something to that, but instead, he just bit into a biscuit, munching away silently.

It took the footman more than an hour to return. He looked depleted and vexed, his clothes soaked from a shower of rain. Walking straight over to his colleague, he spoke to him animatedly. The porter's face assumed a helpless expression. He scratched his head a couple of times, shaking it just as often in apparent disbelief and then, pulling himself together, came over to us.

"Sir, Madam – I am afraid, there is not a single room to be had in the whole of Winchester."

We stared at the man sceptically then looking at each other.

"But that surely is impossible!" Holmes burst out.

"I would have thought so myself, but it seems to be the truth. You can, of course, try for a room yourself, but Christian has been to every inn within walking distance, I can assure you."

Sherlock Holmes got to his feet and looked as if he was about to do exactly that, when, with a side glance at me, he apparently thought the better of it. Sighing he looked around the room.

"I could sleep on the sofa in the lobby," Holmes offered, his eyes fixed on the tiny Chippendale chaise, that was so short that a five-year-old would not have been comfortable sleeping on it.

"I cannot allow that, Sir. Particularly with so many guests about to arrive. The landlord will not like it and I cannot afford to lose my position."

"So what do you suggest I do?" Holmes reared up, his patience running short.

"You can sleep on the sofa in my room," I suggested, tired of this farce. "There is a screen so we can retain at least a small amount of privacy."

I put down my cup and got up likewise.

"I cannot possibly do that. It might compromise you. We might jeopardise your reputation with such behaviour."

He was, of course, right, but thinking about my brother not putting it past me to have an illegitimate child or the landlord of this hotel assuming that I was having an affair with the man now standing next to me, I began to doubt, I had a reputation to lose. I said as much.

"Of course you have a reputation to lose," Holmes told me. "You don't have a child and can prove it. We also have no affair and we can also prove it. Or at least testify to it. - But if I sleep in your room, it will be very hard to convince anyone that we have not been behaving indecently, now or on previous occasions."

I could not but agree to this.

"What do you suggest as an alternative?"

"Staying awake."

"Don't be silly. You need to sleep just as much as I do to function. - Remember what you have told me two hours ago?"

"Yes, and I stick to it – and yet, I cannot take up on the offer. I cannot do that to you."

xxx

After another fruitless attempt to find a suitable solution that would be acceptable to all of us, I finally shrugged my shoulders and made my way up to my room. Unlocking the door and turning up the gaslighting I took in my surroundings. The chamber was comfortable but rather gloomy, nothing like my own house – a home that to this day, I had always felt safe and secure in. With the heavy feeling of having lost something of immense value – and of debilitating tiredness I walked over to the large four poster bed, pulling back the covers to reveal a small parcel wrapped in brown packing paper. For a moment or two, I just stared at the unwelcome sight, hoping it was nothing but a freshly laundered night shirt – something that was unlikely, since my shirt lay, neatly folded underneath said item. Apart from that, the parcel was far too small to contain any decent piece of clothing at any rate. With trembling hands, I undid the knot and unwrapped the unwanted and eerie gift. Revealing a hangman's noose tied around a porcelain doll with a cracked head, I stumbled back, turning on my heels and running back down - right into the arms of an astonished and puzzled Sherlock Holmes. I clung to him as if my life depended on it, a repetition of the morning's events replaying in the back of my mind.

"What is it, dear – Miss Stephrey?" he asked, taking my face into his hands and looking me straight in the eye.

"Good Lord!" he exclaimed, when I had finished my tale, going up himself to have a look at the sinister thing, leaving me as a bundle of nerves, shivering and on the brink of tears.

"I cannot possibly sleep in that room." I declared when he came back down, still frightened, but almost composed again. And for certain, had it not been for the incident in the morning, I would have taken it as a joke. Or rather a tasteless prank by some rogue for whatever reason. But I could not make so lightly of it now.

"Could you sleep there, when I would come up with you, as you had suggested in the first place?" Holmes asked reluctantly.

"I think so."

"Good, then I will do so."

So in the end, we walked upstairs and entered the comfortable room. Sherlock Holmes looking decidedly as uncomfortable as I felt. The room was fairly large, but had an oppressive feel to it, for its dark colour scheme. All the wood was blackened over the centuries and the walls and fabrics were all held in a dark blue, that once must have been spectacular. It was furnished with an old fashioned four poster bed, a wardrobe in the old English style, a set of wingback chairs in front of an elaborately carved fireplace, a washstand that was sectioned off by a plain folding screen, and a settee at the foot end of the bed.

"What made you change your mind?" I asked, as we placed the settee across the room, pushing it against the wall furthest from the bed and then placing the folding screen in front of it in such a way, that from the bed, I could neither see the sofa nor its occupant.

"The fact, that someone has tried to first lure me away, by making it impossible for me to find a room in close vicinity and second, that this someone once more basically ave you a death threat. It calls for some unexpected action – and I don't think, anyone has expected us, to share the room after all."

"No, I didn't myself," I admitted, but glad he was there, all the same.

Taking off my shoes, I climbed into bed, closing the curtains of the four-poster and got changed into my night clothes. I fell asleep almost the moment, my head hit the pillow. The light rustle of Holmes making himself comfortable on the couch giving me a sense of security after the strains of the day, that was soothing and comforting.

xxx

I must have slept extremely sound, not surprising after the adventures of the previous day. A hard banging on the door woke me up, though, but obviously too late, because Holmes, already fully dressed, was at the door before I had any time to react and scramble out of my own bed. He opened it to reveal Rhea Hayward.

"I am so sorry to disturb you, Sir, but the doctor is required at the hospital. There is a policeman arrived from London, who is snooping around and wants particulars." I heard her stammer, obviously shocked of finding him there. Drowsily I climbed out of my bed, unaware in my sleepiness that this must make an even worse impression on her, especially since I had forgotten to hang my morning gown within reach and now needed to step out in only my nightdress.

"Doctor, I have just told Mr Holmes, that you are wanted at the hospital."

"Yes, I have heard that, Rhea." I yawned, only awakening slowly. "I'll be there in a moment. Have there been any emergencies during the night?" I tried to ignore her accusing glances while putting on my frock.

"No, everything was quiet, the night nurse told me. Even that little girl has stabilised. She seems to breathe more easily now."

"Good. I'll hurry." I promised. Holmes closed the door behind her, leaning heavily on it looking embarrassed.

"I have been thinking about last night." he began hesitantly.

"And?"

"And I came to the conclusion, that it was not just a threat to you, but also someone's intention to compromise us or rather you. If he could not scare you away or harm you, he sure could ruin you by making sure, I spend the night in your room."

"But how could he – whoever he is, know that there will be a family party?"

As I spoke the words, the answer dawned on me: "He didn't, he took them."

"Exactly! How likely is it, that ALL accommodation in one town – and a fairly large one at that - is taken?"

"Well in Southend in the summer..."

"We are neither in Southend nor is it summer. I think, after intimidation did not work, whoever was behind it, is now trying to damage your reputation and set you up as a loose woman."

"But how could he know, you would sleep in my room?"

"Because he made sure of it, by placing that rope and doll, showing he is not to be trifled with. What was I supposed to do then? I could hardly leave you on your own. Of course, I could have stayed in the lobby downstairs, but I have to admit, I preferred not letting you out of my sight. And now I have gotten you into trouble anyway."

"But who would tell? How is anyone supposed to find out about this?"

"Oh, you can bet he makes sure someone does – and if someone asks Mrs Hayward, or the porter or, the footman, or the landlord, or the maid, they will all testify to its accuracy – that I have spent the night in your room. If Mrs Hayward does not go round telling everybody of her own accord, anyway. It is of little consequence, whether we behaved ourselves or not, all that matters is the appearance of indecent conduct." Holmes took a deep breath: "Miss Stephrey, we have been successfully set up. I am sorry, I should never have consented to come up here with you. I should have known that something was afoot. I don't know, what has gotten into me, to be so careless."

He looked contrite and angry at himself.

"So, what are we supposed to do now? There is no use in you blaming yourself for this situation. It is not your fault, but whoever is behind this is responsible for our dilemma – last night and this morning. Anyway, it is one thing if my reputation is damaged or destroyed, but it is another, that these children are left unprotected."

"You should not dismiss your reputation so easily, losing it, might destroy you." he pointed out.

"I am aware of that."

Silence fell and we stood there, face to face, looking at each other quite at a loss.

"Will you marry me?" he asked suddenly, his voice uncertain.

"Excuse me?" I thought I had misunderstood him.

"Will you marry me?" he repeated. I looked at him, how he stood there - abashed but withstanding my searching glances.

He was a handsome man, with his tall and wiry frame, dark hair, the sharp lines of his face, the intelligent eyes, the thin-lipped mouth with the almost inconceivable humorous streak and the prominent nose. I decidedly liked what I saw. But marry this almost stranger? Could I care for him enough to be his wife? Did I want to marry for the sole purpose of saving my honour?

The first two questions I could answer – to my own astonishment - in the affirmative. I liked him, not just his looks, but his straightforwardness and intelligence, the dry sense of humour and the sense of security he gave me. But the latter? No! I had always wanted more than a marriage of convenience, I could have had that several times. I wanted equality and companionship, if not love. But with a man like him, my chances of getting exactly that, where presumably greater than with any other suitor I had ever had or ever would have. Needing an affirmation, I searched his face for the right answer, an answer that began forming already at the bottom of my heart and only now needed encouragement to be voiced.

It was given to me, when, to my astonishment, he hesitantly stepped forward, bend down and kissed me ever so softly. Taking his face into my hands, I kissed him back, surprised by his warmth and gentleness. It felt oddly right to kiss his lips, feel his skin under mine.

"Yes," I answered quietly, his face still only inches from mine. I could see a small and relieved smile cross his face

"Good, then I suggest, you get dressed and we step into a registrars office on the way to the hospital." he had taken a step back again, and the man that had just made love to me was back to his cool and guarded self.

"What? Now?" I gasped. I had of course known that we could not wait for long to tie ourselves to one another, but this was really a bit sudden.

"When else? If we are married they can hardly hold against us, that we are sharing a room. - That we have not been married last night, will then not make much of a difference."

"Could it not be taken as an affirmation, that we have done something we were not supposed to do?" I asked him.

"Perhaps, but in my experience has the existence of a marriage license made even that a comparatively small folly. It is the woman not wise enough to catch the man she has given herself to, that gives offence."

"I say amen to that."

"If you get yourself ready, I will take care of the preparations and we'll meet in half an hour at the town hall."

"But I am supposed to go to the hospital directly." I insisted, remembering Mrs Hayward and that the police was expecting me promptly.

"There is no medical emergency there and the police can wait a moment longer. I'll take your gloves."

"But..." but Holmes was already out of the door.

I stood there staring at the closed door through which he had just made his exit for a minute or two before I was able to spring into action and proceed to get myself ready. Looking at my face in the mirror it dawned on me, that this would be the last time, that Harriet Stephrey would look back on me – tonight, it would be Harriet Holmes. For some reason, that thought did not disturb me in the slightest. Well, Mrs Hudson was right – one never knew what would be next with this man and he certainly was challenging to one's nerves. I could not help but smile.

xxx

"And you are sure, you want to be wed now?" the official asked.

He was an elderly man with white hair and a clean-shaven face. His eyes twinkled behind his gold-rimmed glasses as he spoke, his face full of good-humoured kindness. Sitting behind his desk he seemed to be the very man apt to fulfil this job.

"Yes, Sir." Holmes and I told him in unison.

He looked at us bemused, taking out the necessary forms.

"Well, I think it a bit sudden, but what have I to say? You seem to know each other well enough and you are certainly old enough to make your own decisions – so, no elopement to Gretna Green is necessary, hey? Witnesses?" he asked chuckling, dipping his pen into the inkwell.

"Yes, one," Holmes answered.

"Call him in."

"Mr Hopkins, will you please join us?"

A young man in his late twenties, wearing a brown tweed suit and twisting a likewise coloured bowler hat in his hands, entered the small room, looking curious. He had a pleasant face, with a sandy moustache and ruffled, slightly curling hair of the same light colour. His bright blue eyes shone with intelligence. He offered me his hand in an informal manner and when I took it, his grip was firm.

"Doctor Stephens pleased to meet you." he greeted me, bowing his head slightly.

The man behind the desk looked confused, as did I. Never in my life had I seen this gentleman before.

"I thought your name is Stephrey? Did I get something wrong?" the registrar piped in.

"No, my name is Stephrey, but I have published a book under the name of Stephens and for convenience practice under the same name," I explained.

"Ah. Well, then let us proceed with the wedding." If anything he looked more confused than before, but clearly preferred not to inquire any further lest he would get even more surprises. Young Hopkins also looked slightly bewildered, looking from Holmes to myself and back again, before shaking his head, a grin spreading across his comely face.

The actual wedding was done rather unceremoniously. The neither of us required any excessive declarations of undying love, passion or other frills that usually go with this kind of business. Two simple "I dos", an exchange of rings and the return of my gloves and it was done. And within ten minutes all three of us, were on our way to the hospital, arriving there shortly before ten.

xxx

"I have to apologise, but I am expected by an inspector from Scotland Yard," I excused myself, as we had reached my destination, turning to leave the two men that had accompanied me, surprised, that Stanley Hopkins had insisted on coming with us.

"That would be me, actually." that man remarked dryly.

Of course, he was! What had I expected? I turned around, casting a questioning glance at my husband, who stood there with an amused expression on his face, his eyes sparkling with suppressed laughter.

"I should have known, I suppose." I sighed in mock exasperation, thinking of Mrs Hudson's words the previous afternoon once more.

Pushing the door to the hospital open, we entered the small anteroom that served as waiting area and made our way into the small doctor's office at the end of the downstairs ward that was now filled with so many cots and cradles.

"Scotland Yard was informed by a Doctor Watson yesterday, that the death of the children within the last week has not been due to an epidemic, but has been a case of poisoning." the young inspector began, as we had settled ourselves down with a mug of tea in front of each of us.

"Yes, Sir, I asked him to contact you and make sure someone will be sent down here to investigate."

He nodded, taking out a paper backed notebook and a pencil.

"Have you any evidence?"

"I would not make such assumptions if I had not. If you like, we could go through the files and I point out anything suspicious. Not that I doubt your competency..."

"By no means, you are the doctor and you will know better what might be disease and what not."

Getting up, I went over to the small and rickety filing cabinet, unlocked it and lay out the papers onto the shabby old desk.

Just as we had opened the first folder, there was a timid knock on the door and Rhea Hayward entered, her face reproachful and her manner reticent.

"I see, you have finally made it here," she stated in a rather insinuating tone. "The inspector went in search of you"

I could see, that Hopkins wanted to reply something, but I anticipated him.

"Yes, I am afraid, I had an appointment elsewhere earlier this morning, that could not be postponed. The inspector was informed of that by Mr Holmes, and we met on the way here, but now that we have all arrived, I will show the inspector around."

"Good."

"By the way, Rhea, is Doctor Hayward in today?" I asked her.

"He'll be in this afternoon. Currently, Doctor Turner is on duty, though he pointed out, that he might need to leave in case one of his regular patients is getting worse."

I nodded in acknowledgement, gently dismissing her.

The small hospital had no doctors as regular staff and mainly relied on voluntary nurses and a handful of midwives, who kept their practice on the upper storey, with two of them even living there permanently. The money that sustained the institution was paid by a charity fund and a lot of goodwill. If a doctor was needed, one was normally called in and paid straight away. But due to the current crisis, there had been many doctors who had offered their help for free and now took voluntary turns with the shifts, covering the days and being on call during the nights.

Doctor Turner, who was regularly applied to by the hospital in case of an emergency, was an elderly man with a substantial girth and a jovial manner. His son had taken over his established practice in a decidedly better part on the outskirts of Winchester and he now only cared for a few remaining patients there. He liked his profession too much though, to leave the field all to the young Doctor Turner and over time, work at the hospital had become a regular habit of his. He had been one of my supporters, when I had first suggested, that the children had not died of disease, along with Rhea Hayward, though she was more reluctant to voice her opinion. All this I explained to Stanley Hopkins and Sherlock Holmes, who listened with great interest.

"Is there anything else?" I had looked up and realised, that Rhea Hayward was still lingering in the doorway, undecided what to do, but keenly listening in. I could clearly see her discovery of Holmes in my bedroom that morning had left a bitter taste with her.

"No, nothing, Miss." she finally said, emphasizing the last word, before leaving the room.

"I dare say, she has been trying to ascertain, whether she is right in her unflattering assumptions concerning our relationship." my husband remarked.

"Yes, I already feel as if I have lost ground with her." I sighed. I had honestly liked that woman, almost considered her a friend, but if she were, how could she possibly think of me so low? Why would she rather make assumptions instead of openly asking, what was going on?

"As I have told you, Harriet, it is never about what really is, but about what people think it is."

I was suddenly very aware of the ring on my left hand and looked at the almost identical one on the left hand of Sherlock Holmes.