Molly surveyed the dance that was still in full swing. The wooden floor vibrated underfoot as couples skipped and hopped to a lively tune. To her right and left, the so-called upper echelons of New Westminster society ladies conversed about all manner of pointless gossip. She only half-listened to their prattle, and almost completely drifted off in thought any time the alpha of the group, Olivia Grayson, chose to impart her wisdom. Truth be told, even if the conversation was interesting, Molly was too distracted by her confrontations with Sherlock from earlier in the evening to contribute much. She hardly knew what to do with herself. Part of her wanted to storm off while the other part felt obligated to pretend they were blissful newlyweds even though Sherlock's unkind words kept rattling through her head.
"I do not have feelings for her and believe me, I will be happy to shake her hand and send her on her way as soon as humanely possible."
She knew she had no real right to be upset with him. Thus far, their relationship had been fairly one-sided. Sherlock had rescued her from clutches of an evil man, most likely saved her life by taking her in, sheltered, fed and provided for her and what had she done but leech off him? It was a nice thought for a while that he might somehow have come to care for her, enough to keep her, but what had she done to earn it? Nothing in her mind.
Molly sighed as she stole another look at him. How could she not? From across the expanse of the dance hall and the whirl of the dancers, he drew her eye like a bright flame. She felt a deep stab of pain in her heart upon gazing on his flawless profile. He was breathtaking; the man of her dreams. That was the problem, though. He was a dream, no . . . a fantasy. If her life thus far had taught her anything, it was that fantasies were fleeting and reality disappointing. She couldn't rely on what-ifs and could-bes. She needed to make her own dreams come true.
"My dear, Mrs. Holmes," a voice cooed. "You look positively vexed! What has put that frown on your face?"
Molly lifted her head and glanced at the woman whose shrill voice had cut through her thoughts. Olivia Grayson, the banker's wife, had an expectant look on her sour face. Molly drew a quick breath.
"F-Forgive me, I was distracted."
Molly didn't normally take an instant dislike to people but Olivia had a perpetual scowl of disapproval on her face underneath a practiced smile. She was about five years older than herself, a head taller and a third heavier with icy blonde hair and bright blue eyes. Mrs. Grayson was attractive, but not appealing with her lips stretched thin in disdain. The effect made her look much older.
"What has caught your attention?" She enquired pointedly, then looked past to where Molly had been gazing.
Fortunately, Sherlock had moved off but in his place a woman with warm, brown skin and a long, raven braid spoke with Mary Morstan.
"Oh, I see," Olivia grinned like a crocodile. "I see, indeed. Hmph, well, you're quite right to be upset. There seems to be no discrimination to the types they let into these functions anymore."
The vapid Georgette Newton and Prudence Hayer who flanked Olivia tittered. Molly wrinkled her nose. She was beginning to wonder if she liked any of them.
"Um, e-excuse me? I-I don't follow."
Olivia flicked her fingers in the direction of Mary and the other woman. Her voice dropped an octave.
"You don't need to conceal your distaste around us, Mrs. Holmes. It's a disgrace that they let savages in here and this one is that, twice over."
Georgette's ginger curls bounced as she leaned forward with her hand half-covering her mouth.
"She's not only an Indian," she whispered, "but she's also part, well, black . . . and she's married to a white man, one of the police men. Anderson, I believe. It's disgusting."
Molly stared at them with her mouth hanging open for a moment. She looked at each of the women one by one in disbelief. She didn't know whether to laugh or smack them across their ignorant faces. She turned to see if there was something she had missed in her assessment of the woman. There was nothing savage or disgusting about her. She looked quite dignified, actually. She wore a plain, white gown with a sash slung over her shoulder in a unique hand-woven pattern. The garment was tied at the waist with a belt in a similar motif. The woman also seemed to be conversing quite freely with Mary who smiled and laughed as if delighted by what she heard.
"S-So, let me get this straight," Molly clarified with a tremor in her voice. "She's disgusting because she is . . . of mixed heritage?"
Olivia raised her chin. "Don't you agree?"
Molly shook her head and backed away from the group, suddenly mortified to be seen with them. "N-No, not at all. I-I cannot believe any of you would have such vile thoughts, let alone voice them."
Molly looked down at her beautiful wedding band. Someone with a similar heritage had created this wonderful work of art. How could the creator of such beauty, or anyone like them, be considered a savage?
She heard a couple shocked gasps from the ladies as she straightened herself to her full height and stared down her nose at them.
"Shame on you, all of you. Have you no kinship for her as a woman? Do you not struggle every day of your lives to be taken seriously? For your voice to count? She is no different than any of you . . ." Molly could see her words fell on deaf ears and came to the swift conclusion she did not want to spend another second in their company. "Actually, I-I sorely hope she is nothing like any of you. Excuse me."
She grabbed a handful of her skirts and swirled away from them. She stalked across the floor directly to where Mary and the woman stood. Mary's companion eyed her warily. Molly slowed her steps as she approached. She felt guilty for just having heard what she heard. The taint of it felt dirty, as if it clung to her skin like a stain. She hoped they didn't mistakenly lump her in as one of them.
"Molly! Oh, my goodness, look at you!" Mary exclaimed.
"Hello, Mary, how are you?" She inclined her head.
Mary was dressed in a simple, light green gown which intensified the colour of her greyish-green eyes and pale, blonde hair.
"I am well, very well," she looked at her friend. "Sally, this is the woman I was telling you about, Dr. Molly Hooper. Molly, this is Sally Anderson."
Molly threw a glare back over her shoulder and then stuck out her trembling hand. "It's Holmes now. Pleased to meet you."
Sally's brown eyes crinkled at the corners as she shook her hand. "Holmes, eh? As in Sherlock Holmes?"
"Erm, yes."
"Well, you're a brave one, aren't you?" She winked.
Molly pressed her lips together and shrugged. Both Sally and Mary laughed.
"I don't mean anything untoward by that," Sally corrected herself quickly. "He's a fine man, to be sure. He's just a different sort, isn't he? My husband is quite infatuated with him."
Molly finally smiled. "He seems to have that effect on people."
They all laughed Then, Molly fell right into conversation with the pair after their introductions as if they had been life-long friends. It was a sort of relief to have a proper exchange about subjects near and dear to her heart. Mary and Sally were exactly the kind of friends she had hoped to find in her new country. They were brash, opinionated, fearless and active in the community. The epitomized the modern female and everything she hoped the new world, Canada, would be about.
"Molly, you simply must join the New Westminster Council of Women," Mary declared. "I will talk to our president, Mrs. Hill. I am certain she would be thrilled to have an actual fully-trained medical doctor join our group. Not to mention, you have the ear of the local magistrate. Ooh, maybe you could convince your sister-in-law Anthea Holmes to join us as well."
Molly raised her brows. "Um, I wouldn't count on my having much influence over my brother or sister-in-law but your council sounds interesting. What do you do?"
Sally grinned. "We're just getting started so we're still working it all out but we're modelling ourselves after similar councils back east. See, we met the Governor General's wife, Lady Aberdeen, last month at the Gala and discovered that she's a fearsome advocate for women's rights. She invited Mary and I and several others to a talk and inspired us to do some good in this city. Our good friend, Mrs. Hill, set up the New Westminster local branch of Lady Aberdeen's National Council of Women of Canada organization which is non-sectarian and non-partisan. Our focus is social reform for both women and men. Right now, we're trying to improve some of the conditions at the Pen for women."
A frission of energy shot through Molly's body. A whole world of purpose opened up before her eyes.
"Yes, oh my goodness, yes! I would love to be involved with a group like this. What is the 'Pen', though? Is that a prison?"
Mary pursed her lips. "Yes, it's the prison they built out here when British Columbia agreed to become part of Canada. It's the largest one in the west. It's also a filthy, rotten place where women who are guilty of usually minor crimes are treated like swine. Our group has been pushing for access to the female inmates so we can provide some healthcare and assess if their basic hygiene needs are being met. There are a disproportionate amount of native women in there who also have no idea of their rights. We want to offer them some education so they aren't afraid to demand to be treated with some dignity."
By the time Mary was through with her elucidation, her hand was balled into a fist over her heart. Sally's back was rigid and she stood tall. Molly could not help being affected by their passion.
"Well, I cannot wait to join you. Perhaps I can attend your next meeting and convince your president in person to let me become a member," she said excitedly.
Mary clapped her hands together. "Yes, we meet Thursday afternoons at Mrs. Hills' house. You can come with me if you like."
Of course, the council was all volunteer work which Molly would be more than happy to do, but she needed to find a job in addition to that. She made a plan then to start offering her services the women at the meetings and then branch out from there. If she couldn't earn enough providing medical care, then at least she would connect with more people and perhaps find employment in other areas. Once she established her independence, she would do both her and her husband a favor and push for dissolution of their marriage, if not sooner.
She looked around for him again. The crowd at the dance seemed to be thinning. She imagined the festivities would be drawing to a close in short order. She spotted John making his way towards their trio with a nervous look on his face. When he stopped in front of them, he bowed his head.
"Good evening, ladies," his voice shook slightly, "I -ah- um, that is, Miss Morstan, would you care to dance?"
Mary was only too happy to flit off with John while Phillip Anderson claimed Sally for what turned out to be the last dance. Molly scanned the crowd again once she was left alone. She contemplated finding her way outside to see if Wiggins had returned with the carriage when a shadow loomed to her right. She glanced sideways just as Sherlock's hand grasped her wrist gently.
"One more dance, Mrs. Holmes," He murmured.
She tilted her head up defiantly. "No, thank-you, Mr. Holmes."
His eyes narrowed, one slightly more than the other, before she felt a tug and she was in his arms.
"It wasn't a request," he replied gruffly.
She sucked in a breath. She disliked that she was both incensed yet excited by his arrogance. Not wanting to make a scene, Molly let him lead her to the floor. She chewed her lip as he spread his fingers out over the small of her back and urged her closer with a sudden tightening of his arm. Her whole body flushed as if it had a mind of its own. Another waltz, she thought ruefully, lovely!
"I see you are making friends," he observed in a low tone.
"Yes," she recalled the rude comments Olivia and company had made earlier and hoped he did not agree with them. "Is that a problem?"
She inhaled a sharp breath as he spun her quickly to the left. "Not at all. Mary Morstan and Sally Anderson are two of the more level headed, intelligent women in this city. It does not surprise me that you would gravitate towards them."
"S-So, you would not disapprove of our becoming friends?"
He tilted his head. He looked confused.
"What does it matter if I approve or not? You are free to associate with whomever you wish. Well, within reason. I would prefer you have female friends."
Molly's face prickled with heat but she breathed a sigh of relief. It was short-lived, however.
"I also hear you are making enemies," he commented dryly.
Her cheeks flared. She was, in fact, becoming dizzy as he turned her again on the floor. She stumbled back and tripped over her skirts. He held her firm with a flex of his hand which felt like a hot brand through her layers of clothing.
"Do not ask me to apologize to those women," she huffed, but her temperature increased for a different reason. "They are terrible, terrible people. I only said what needed to be said. I am sorry if I caused you any embarrassment."
His fingers danced on her back as he wrinkled his nose in distaste. "I do not care one iota what those ignorant gossips think. Besides, I am not known around town as the most diplomatic of gentlemen. They can hardly expect my wife to be so."
Molly blinked up at him in surprise; she had expected a lecture. "Really?"
If she just leaned forward, her body would contact his from hip to chest while his strides would nudge between her legs. Could married people cause a scandal? Her stomach fluttered. She could not believe how her body betrayed her. She was supposed to be indifferent to him, or rather, cross enough that his appeal should have significantly diminished. Sherlock's brow furrowed as he peered down at her with a blaze in his eyes.
"The rumor around town is we are a love match," he murmured as he studied her face, "that we were swept away by our feelings. So, it would make sense that you are like myself in that way."
"What way?" She breathed.
His lips twitched before he spoke. His eyes darkened as his pupils seemed to expand.
"Passionate."
Molly wished she had more experience with men. She was so confused by him. In these moments with what appeared to be heat in his eyes, she could swear he felt something for her or at least, desired her in some small measure. Yet his harsh words echoed in her ears. He did not want to keep her, he did not have feelings for her, he would be glad when they parted ways.
The music ended then. Sherlock did not immediately release her from his hold.
"Sherlock," she whispered. "I think it is time we annul this marriage."
His chin snapped back. "Do you?"
She swallowed. It hurt to speak those words but she knew it was the right course of action. She could not continue to muddle her way through their confusing interactions and expect to come out unscathed. As it was, she would be somewhat heartbroken when they parted. She had seen glimmers of what life could be like with him and wanted more than what he seemed willing to give.
"Don't you?"
"No," His eyelids fluttered. "What are you going to do? How will you support yourself?"
She lifted her shoulders. "Those are not questions you need to concern yourself with anymore. I am no longer sick. I can take care of myself."
Sherlock did not have a rejoinder. Instead, he finally relinquished his grasp and swept an arm towards the hall doors.
"It is late. We can discuss this more tomorrow," he mumbled.
"But-"
"Now is not the time or place, Molly. Please, Wiggins awaits with the carriage. Would you mind very much heading that way while I say my goodbyes?"
Again, the look on his face was perplexing. He was flushed, flustered and seemed to shift on his feet as if he had drank one too many cups of punch. Molly sighed.
"Yes, you are right," she agreed, but grabbed his arm and squeezed it as she made a point of looking directly into his eyes. "We will speak more about this tomorrow, though?"
His chest raised with a heavy breath.
"Yes, yes, of course."
Sherlock turned from Molly and headed towards where Mycroft and Anthea shook hands with various townsfolk as they prepared to depart. He clenched his teeth. Molly wanted to be free of him. He did not blame her as his clumsy attempts to put his brother in his place had caused her offense. He balled his hands into fists. More time. He needed more time as he had not yet figured out how Molly fit in his life. Mycroft could approve an annulment overnight and she would be free leave his house in a matter of days. The thought made his stomach turn.
More time . . .
He had to make annulment an impossibility.
He needed to seduce his wife.