Chapter Ten
John followed Mrs Walters across the wood-panelled hall with its black and white square tiles, and then through a broad oak door into ….an amazing room. It was more than twice the height of the room he'd just left. The lower walls were lined with wood panelling, and there was a great stone fireplace on his right. A long wooden dining table with ornate chairs took centre stage in the room, with a wooden chandelier over it. Huge oil paintings- landscapes and portraits graced the three walls; the fourth was made of tall thin leaded light windows.
"This is the Great Hall". Her words echoed off the stone flagged floor. John swivelled his head around to take it all in, and saw the ornate beamed and coffered ceiling. At the far end, he could see tapestry curtains covering arched doorways set amidst carved wood panelling. "If you get lost in the house, the easiest thing to remember is that most corridors and stairs will end up here, and you can find your way again."
He followed her through the archway, she held the curtain back so he could come through to see a stone staircase going up to his left.
"It's typical of Elizabethan houses- a bit of a rabbit's warren, with extensions, wings and oddments added over the centuries, with staircases pushed in higgledy-piggledy to try to make it easier to manage." They went up the stairs to the first floor.
"This is the principal bedroom floor- and where you get a choice, Doctor Watson. You could have one of the main rooms here- it's ensuite." They went down a spacious hall and she opened the fourth door along, to reveal a huge bedroom with a four poster bed, with velvet and brocade drapery.
John walked in and tried to keep a straight face. The furniture was all antique and very fine, totally in keeping with the architecture. Yet more oil paintings of what were presumably Sherlock's ancestors stared down from the walls. "It would be like sleeping in a museum."
"Well, I can understand that point of view- it is a historic room, but it does have all 'mod cons' as they call them these days." She opened the bathroom door and he peered in to see a marble lined room with the latest in fashionable monsoon shower and raised basin designs.
"Um….you said I had a choice?"
"Yes. Sherlock won't be down here. He'll stick to his old room, which hasn't been refurbished. It's up in the North Wing- another floor up from here. To be honest, we tend to put the senior staff members who accompany conference or meeting guests up there, and keep these down here for the VIPS. The juniors get rooms in the Georgian buildings across the way. But this weekend, the guest list is much smaller so there won't be any people up in the North Wing, apart from Sherlock."
"Would you mind if I took a look?"
She smiled. "Not at all. I was told by his lordship that you might prefer it up there."
John still found it odd to hear Mycroft being referred to by his title.
She led him down the corridor to another set of stone steps and then up a flight. This time, at the top, there was a long single room that extended the full length of the main part of the house. John stopped to look at it, amazed. Mrs Walter explained. "This is the long gallery. The barrel vaulting with the painted vine leaves is unique in England. The room was used by the Elizabethan ladies who wanted to walk arm and arm for exercise without having to brave the winter weather. The North Wing is this way, Doctor."
She went on, and John tore himself away from the Gallery to follow. She went down a narrower corridor and then about half way along, there was another stairway, this one much smaller, going down. She turned back to him. "That's the quickest way down- it goes all the way to the kitchens downstairs- but it is pretty narrow; used to be the servants' stairs." This part of the house was much darker than the main section. She opened one of the doors to the right. "This is your alternative- it's been refurbished, and has a good view of Northpark Wood; you'll see it tomorrow in the daylight." John walked in and immediately felt more at home. This room didn't have as high a ceiling; in fact, it had a gabled window and sloped ceilings. The bed was a double, and the walls had attractive red and green striped wallpaper. It wasn't grand, but it was bigger than John's room at Baker Street, and he smiled at the Housekeeper. "This is more my style, Mrs Walters."
She opened a door and called him over. "This one isn't en-suite; I am afraid you would have to share this bathroom with Sherlock."
"Nothing I don't already do at Baker Street. And at least I have my own door in, instead of having to come down the stairs, as I do in London." He poked his head in. This bathroom was rather old fashioned, with white loo and basin, and an enormous roll-top bath on claw feet, complete with hand-held shower attachment looking like some antique brass telephone. The room was tiled in white and black, and well lit. "It's bigger than Baker Street's, too."
She smiled, and then hesitated. "You asked for something about Sherlock's past that he might not share with you voluntarily? Well, the bathtub is one such story. His third nanny- and yes, the first two abandoned ship pretty fast, you'll not be surprised- she was the one who put this tub in- because the sides were too steep for the toddler to get out of on his own. He had a habit of slipping out of the lower sided bath when her back was turned and running downstairs with no clothes on. Shocked a few guests, I can tell you."
John thought of Sherlock parading around 221b wearing little more than a sheet. "I'm not surprised. I suppose I should be grateful that he's now putting something on, even if his choice of clothing can be unorthodox."
They traded knowing smiles, as she opened a door opposite the one from his bedroom. "This is Sherlock's room." He followed her in, and stopped suddenly. It was nothing like the other rooms he'd seen in the house. This one was much smaller. Long and narrow in shape, with just a single window, bracketed by thick curtains and a roll down blind. There was a wooden wardrobe at the far end of the room, then a single bed up against the wall, bracketed at both ends by tall book cases. Then under the window and running the whole length of the room was a long narrow trestle style table up against the wall- a sort of lab bench, but there was no chemistry kit on it. The only other furniture was a plain chest of drawers, and there was a mirror on the back of the door which presumably went out into the same corridor that John's room adjoined. The walls were painted a dull greyish green, and there were no pictures hanging. Apart from the books, the room looked bare, Spartan.
"It's …ah…a bit surprising."
She gave a slightly apologetic look back at the Doctor. "This was the nursery bedroom- your room once belonged to the nanny. Originally the walls in here were light blue and much more cheery, but Sherlock chose this colour when he was twelve. Both boys started up here, but Mycroft moved down when he was four. Sherlock was offered one of the rooms next to his mother at the age of six, but he refused- and stayed up here thereafter. There was a playroom across the corridor, and another room that served as a school room. Both were big enough to be refurbished into proper bedrooms for the conferences."
"School room?"
"Mycroft went to a day preparatory school from the age of five, then a boarding prep before going to Eton when he was thirteen, but Sherlock was home schooled until he was thirteen and a half. His mother taught him until she died. That was when he was ten."
Oh, so young! John was learning a lot about his flatmate.
"By the time Mycroft inherited the title, he was already at Oxford. He started university a year earlier than most – always so precocious and bright."
"And you were working here when this happened?"
"Yes, I've been with the family since Mycroft was six."
"So, given you've known Sherlock for…all of his life, is that why you thought he'd come this weekend?"
That made her stop and look at him carefully. "No. In fact, he's not been here for six years, because for him, this house is full of ghosts, Doctor Watson." She paused. "I thought he might make an exception this time, because you had been invited. I'm glad to see I was right. You have no idea how pleased I am about that."
He thought that one through, and was reminded of Mycroft's comment ("How many friends do you think he has?") Maybe the answer was more than the elder Holmes thought, if both Mrs Walters and Mrs Hudson counted themselves as such. Whether Sherlock would was a different question.
"Let me show you the rest of the house. There a few things you should see before he shows up. Once his brother gets here and the place fills up with guests, I'll not get the opportunity again."
So, John got his own guided tour, and was shown a library that took up the whole first floor of the South Wing. It was bigger than the public library down the street where John had grown up- and the books looked more interesting, too. "I think he must have read every single one of these books, Doctor Watson. He was absolutely voracious as a reader, almost as keen on that as he was on his chemistry."
Then they went through a row of remarkable rooms on the ground floor- paintings lined the walls as she took him through the Morning Room, the Music Room, the Drawing Room.
She stopped at the corner of the house, in a little anteroom and drew his attention to a painting on the wall. "I think you'll find this one interesting. It's of the fourth Sherrinford Earl, painted in 1793. He was a real Regency Dandy who lost the earldom later- gambled it away, I'm afraid, but the viscountcy remained."
John looked at the portrait. Dark wavy hair surrounded a familiar face. Only the colour of the eyes was different, but the high cheek bones, the curves of the upper lip- it was a startling likeness.
"Sherlock is more a Sherrinford in looks, like his mother's side of the family; Mycroft takes more after his father in his appearance."
John wondered about the father. "Sherlock has never spoken about either of his parents. If all this came on his mum's side, what did his dad do?"
"Richard Holmes wasn't even English; well, not at first, anyway. A Norwegian evacuee in the War, he came to England as a child. Changed his name, became a British citizen, and ended up very wealthy and well-connected in the business world. He owned pharmaceutical companies all around the world."
She turned a corner and down another hall. By now John was pretty much lost. "One last stop, Doctor, and then I will take you back to your room. By now your things will have been taken up. But first, I'd like you to see something."
She touched a key pad that opened a door and then led him into a smaller room; this one was wood panelled, too. A stone fire place at one end had a pair of leather wing back chairs facing it. A dining table at the other end of the room was bracketed by the extraordinary addition of two mounted knights in full armour. Mrs Walters saw his surprise. "These are Mycroft's private rooms- they're used rarely during conferences and meetings. He calls those two Arthur and George- some sort of family joke I've never quite understood." She opened another door with a keypad and went into a similar wood panelled room- this one was a study, with a modern glass-topped desk and bookcases. The housekeeper turned on a wall switch which lit up a series of small lights over paintings on the walls, between the book shelves. She walked John over to one, which he realised wasn't a painting at all, but a photograph- of a very beautiful woman with darkest auburn hair tumbling in curls down past her shoulders, framing the high cheekbones of her face. She wasn't looking at the camera, but rather down at the small boy cradled in her arms, sound asleep. John didn't need the Housekeeper to tell him. "That's Sherlock…and his mother?"
She smiled. "Yes- Violet Holmes, the Viscountess of Sherrinford. And Mycroft took the photo. He was twelve at the time, and Sherlock was five. The camera was a Christmas present and he really enjoyed using it. There is such love in that photo. She adored Sherlock, as difficult a child as he was. And, my goodness, he was a difficult child. The fact that he would sleep in her arms when he wouldn't let anyone else hardly touch him- well, it was his way of loving her back. And Mycroft- he loved them both. So, whatever words get said between the two brothers this weekend, Doctor Watson, don't forget that there was a time when there was love between them, too."
John matched her slightly wistful smile. "Given what I have seen of the way they talk to each other now, it's hard to believe that. So, thanks for sharing that photo with me, Mrs Walters."
She took him back up to his room, and he started to unpack his things, opening the boxes of clothing from William Evans first to remind him of what he had come to the house for- he was looking forward to the whole shooting experience now, even more than he had been before. A chance to see Sherlock and his brother in their family home might reveal more about both of them than he had anticipated.