Blind Reparation
"Never can true reconcilement grow/ Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep"
Paradise Lost
She felt that the end was near when he sought her out in her cell. Too weak to be made to rise from her pallet, it was clear that life was slowly slipping through her fingers. This was his last attempt to catch her while she was still there.
He stood on the far end of her rude bedstead. The upper half of his body was lost in shadows, she realized, whenever she could muster the energy to lift the lids of her eyes. Thin, spidery legs in crisply ironed trousers were the only visible part of him, legs that ended in polished patent leather shoes. His cold sneer woke her to presence of mind. She was not gone, not yet.
„Where did you hide the King's Orb?"
He was never put out by her silence. With a tenacity that seemed inexhaustible, her repeated the same questions, for hours on end if need be. Clearly he had had the training of a gentleman, and his accent was upper class. He was not tempted into screaming or using bad language. He was just there, patient, horrible.
His presence alone meant torture.
„Who are your confederates?"
Fairly soon, his precisely uttered words seemed slurred again, the lids sank back over her eyes, infinitely heavy. The burning in her stomach had ceased a long time ago. She could feel no more, suffer no more, crave no more, except for a release into sleep. This refuge, so difficult to enter for her in days gone by, appeared more and more attainable. She drifted into a state of semi-consciousness, a state imperfect, but already pleasurable. They were losing hold of her. They would have to let her go….
Somewhere in the last flares of her remaining capacities, she heard the high, cold voice call for water, and command that she be fed.
oooOOOooo
I felt strange after his departure.
Yes, I had resented, had even hated him these many years. But if I was quite honest with myself, his avowal of responsibility for what had happened astounded me. Was it quite fair that he took the blame in its entirety? Strangely, I felt shaken in my assumption of his guilt. And an assumption it was, not a conviction. It was wrong of him to think that I laid down all the blame at his door. Incredible as it seemed, he did not quite understand the nature of my anger, my smoldering, impotent rage. He did not feel at all that he had forsaken me when I was vulnerable.
Aunt Cathy, aunt Cathy was all he ever thought about. Not even the death of their son engaged his thoughts so much as her sudden, tragic demise did. Of that, I felt confident.
Oh, but what was the use of crying over spilt milk? Mr. Holmes was perfectly right. If we meant to look toward future interests, the best we could do was try and be a team. That was the best chance Madame Zhao had, if she actually was in danger as Holmes had intimated. And in danger she had to be, or I would have heard from her before this.
I washed my tea things, and relapsed onto my bed, biting my nails. A quick glance at the clock told me it was no good to return to the boutique - we would be closing shop soon, anyway. I could just as well sit here, and use the time to ponder - once again - what Madame had said on the last occasion I had seen her.
I was not to talk to the police. Very well, I would not involve them. Wherever Holmes was, they would be superfluous anyway. What else? There was such a yawning gap in my understanding of any of this that it seemed impossible to get hold of a clue. The only tangible thing was the damaged treasure, the King's Orb, an artifact that had started this whole series of miserable events.
If it could only be found, maybe it would explain everything. Or it might, at least, contain an indication as to whither Madame had disappeared so suddenly. But Madame's flat had been searched several times now, and I had no knowledge of her movements in the days prior to her disappearance. I knew three things only. She went out little due to her handicap. She was smart. And she had been frightened.
oooOOOooo
There was a little billet the valet brought up to his suite the next morning. It was from Frances, and
comprised all the places that to her knowledge were frequented regularly by Madame Zhao.
He tried to put his rumpled clothes ands thoughts into order while he scanned the short list. Among several obvious addresses related to her occupation as a restorer, there was a buddhist house of worship on the outskirts of the city, a store that specialized in tea and other East Asian goods, Madame Martinez' boutique and a favourite café in Montmartre.
Holmes raised his hand to his chin as he reflected on this development. So, Frances cooperated, at least a little. That was something gained. Her attachment to the vanished woman had to be strong if it could outweigh her dislike for him. For a flash, he even considered obtaining his niece's forgiveness if he succeeded in finding her- but no, don't think of it. It was evidently too much to ask.
Maybe, however, it would be useful to have Frances with him as he visited the indicated stations of Madame Zhao's everyday routine- a couple of words to her employer might render that feasible. There remained only the question of how to move her into compliance. It had always been a talent of his, the handling of women who might be useful, or so Watson had stated in his accounts. But having Frances tolerate him was maybe not enough. He might have to ingratiate himself, and he had an idea.
Scribbling a reply on the back of the note, he announced his call on the following day after Frances' working hours, and had the valet put it into the post.
oooOOOooo
To say I was surprised at Holmes' reaction to my note would be an understatement. I had to look twice before I was quite certain he had come to my door fully equipped with hacksaw, screwdriver, gimlet and grinding pencil.
„Hullo", I said tentatively.
„I have come about your blind", he stated, by way of explanation.
„Re'lly." I was angry about my faintheartedness, and wanted to laugh at the same time. „I say, that's very thoughtful. But d'ye know any fink at all `bout fixing stuff?"
He did not deign to reply, but instead crossed the room with his swift gait, and stepped onto the same footstool he had used the day before.
„We shall have to unhinge the belt reel first of all. Can you hold this, Fanny?"
I approached with hesitation, sensible of the fact that he had called me by my childhood name. I was long weaned from the sound of it - only my far away family ever used it, and Uncle John, of course. At the shop, I was strictly „Miss Morris" or „Francoise".
He pressed so many technical devices into my hands that I could hardly hold them at one time. „Let me cover my bed first, Mr. `olmes! It will be covered in splinters, otherwise."
I was allowed to perform this precaution, and lowered my burden to the floor to go and get a heavy wollen blanket which I usually reserved for winter months. Spreading it over the bed, I enquired: „ `ow is it possible ye sacrifice yer time for a trifle like that, Mr. `olmes? Don't think me ungrateful, on'y I should fink ye're busy lookin' fer clues?"
He looked down on me from his elevated position, and took a screw from where it was stuck between his lips. „I shall be, Fanny, don't be alarmed. But this damaged shutters are, as you said, abridging your sleep, and I can't allow for my colleague to be tired on the chase."
„Yer - colleague, Mr. `olmes?"
„Yes, indeed." He inserted the screwdriver into another screw and started to turn it emphatically. „I work better with a partner, and you, knowing the victim, are the obvious choice. I want you to come along to all the places you named in your list, and help me find out how Madame Zhao spent the last days before her disappearance. There must be an indication as to where she went, if she went anywhere at all, and what she did. It is the only thinkable method that remains to us, after everything else failed. We must reconstruct her movements, Frances. Will you help me?" He asked brusquely, redirecting his gaze from the occupation of his hands to me.
I did not know what to say. Part of me agreed with everything he said - but another part was awfully afraid. I could not commit a breach of promise to Madame. I could not.
„But I will `ave precious li`le time to do it, you know", I finally said. „My employer is not o`the kind that allows spontaneous holidays."
He waved me away. „That will be taken care of, rest assured. But are you prepared to assist in this enterprise - to assist me?"
I opened my mouth, and shut it, and suddenly knew less than ever how to reply. Holmes was a stately man, but all at once he looked a young boy, up there on the stool, and without the frock which usually added to the impression he made by concealing his leanness. I felt something ache deep inside - he had repented, hadn't he? And his sufferings, surely, had been adequate to his crime?
He looked lost, at the end of his tether. It was only logical that he appealed to me for help. Who else could he turn to? As he said, all other methods had brought no results. It was my duty to help, if it could save my friend. It simply had to be in her interest that I acted when re-opening my mouth…so help me god.
„Awright, Mr. `olmes", I said slowly. „I will come wiv ye. Where shall we go first?"
oooOOOooo
My commitment worried me, but once uttered, it seemed too late to take it back. After all, what could be wrong about it? I was able to assist, and yet to keep silence about some little points, was I not? So I helped Holmes in silence to install a new shutter belt, before we set to work.
It had grown rather late now. Darkness was falling, and wrapping the street in gray, translucent matter. But we still had an agreeable temperature, and in my casaque, I felt prepared for tonight. Holmes' suggestion was that we drive to the temple Madame used to attend, because they were likely to hold some sort of evening service. He possessed an amount of knowledge on the topic that rather amazed me, although he claimed his acquaintance was closer with the Indian than with the Chinese variety of Buddhism.
He gave me quite a lecture during our ride in the cab. His intention was that we should pose as seekers of faith, whose interest in the doctrine had only lately been inspired. „Always remember", he instructed me, „you wish to tread the eighth-fold path of Buddha. The path which leads away from pain and craving, and towards felicity. You seek to attain a state of enlightenment and to escape eternal rebirth. For this, you are prepared to acknowledge the four noble Truths and to adopt a disciplined mode of life including study, meditation and renunciation. Is that clears to you?"
„Yes, Mr. ´olmes", I replied with, I am afraid, a somewhat bitter smile. As though I had ever led anything but a life of renunciation! I might be able to conceal it from my loved ones, too far away from here to see for themselves, but in my heart of hearts I knew I had only one thing in my life, and that was work. I was unlike the other girls at the shop, and the pleasures of friendship or even romance were not for me. Or, if that sounded better in the ears of a Buddhist, I adhered to a disciplined mode of life.
„We are in the 13th arrondissement", Holmes, who had been counting streets and turnings under his breath, suddenly said. „It can't be far now. Are you ready, Frances?"
„I guess so", I replied with a weak smile. „There ain't nothing much they can do to us but kick us outta th'plaice, is there?"
„I agree. But keep in mind what I told you. And do not give your actual name, just in case."
„Awright!" I peered out of the cab window. We had come to a halt in front of a dark, run-down row of houses. From what I was used to in Madame's cheery garments ans colorful personal things, I would have expected a place of exotic glamour, not these dreary, dismal surroundings.
We got out, and had a quick look around. As the cab had pulled off and the clatter of hooves was fading out in the distance, Holmes linked arms with me. „Come along", he muttered, and led me into a dark thoroughfare that served as a side entrance to one of the decrepit houses. A glance at the signet which had been affixed discreetly to the gate post, told me we were at the right address.
„Temple Drikung Kagyu, 288 Rue des Pyrénées", it read in brandished gold letters. Underneath, there was a golden circle, enclosing characters unknown to me.
A faint glow of light persuaded us to venture deeper into the dark alley. Its source proved to be a large, burning torch attached to the wall next to rather a low doorway, which had been adorned with all kinds of gaudy tinsel. For no sensible reason, I felt a little relieved. The things seemed to bring me closer to Madame, and the gloomy neighborhood looked more trustworthy for it.
„Bonsoir", a husky voice suddenly said next to my ear. A man, not much taller than me and clad in red, had stepped out of the door with his arms crossed, so that his hands disappeared within the sleeves of his garb. „Et qui êtes-vous, mes amis?"
He scrutinized us from eyes embedded in a brown, crinkly face, eyes which could not disown their Asian origins. His gaze was calm, steady, questioning, but not unfriendly.
„We are seekers of the faith", Holmes explained in French. „My name is Danton, Olivier Danton. And this is my friend, Mademoiselle Barthes. We had hoped to gain access to your congregation and learn more about the sacred doctrine."
There was a moment's pause, during which we were eyed closely. Then, in the same, unhurried tone, the man spoke: „How know you of this temple?"
I cast down my eyes nervously, while Holmes replied for both of us. „An old acquaintance in the city mentioned it to us. Madame Ling Zhao. Do you know her?"
Another pause. The man's face was stony when he spoke again. „Ling Zhao, yes indeed. She does not come here anymore."