The Case of the Headmaster's Terrier
Chapter 14: The Ascendency
I would have thought that the spectacle of my enraged mother and Professor Rangaford standing side by side would have caused my nerves to entirely fail me. It did not happen, as an immediately obvious and powerful distraction occurred.
Professor Rangaford caught sight of my mother. He froze.
A less observant child may not have caught the miniscule contractions of muscle, interrupted from their initial intentions. They may not have seen the sudden dilation of the pupils, the flaring of the nostrils, and the sudden fixity of expression. I always thought Professor Rangaford wore an iron mask upon his features, now I watched him put it on.
Such small, subtle movements, but to me, he may as well have leapt around the room shouting and screaming. I knew Mycroft could see it too, and wondered if he understood the reason for this sudden disturbance.
The professor recovered himself quickly, his habitual demeanour reasserting itself. But I was certain I could read some grave discomfiture into his expression still. He addressed my mother, and I was certain of it. He was distinctly uneasy, and uncertain of his reception.
"Mrs Holmes. How do you do? It has been a long while."
"Indeed, Professor Rangaford. It is gratifying to see you again. You are looking well."
He bowed in response, and a silence grew, during which time I spied a brief flicker of his eyes over towards me. Mycroft seemed hyperalert next to me, his body tense, and his attention fixed upon Rangaford, an ugly expression upon his face. Rangaford did not seem to notice my brother. He was regarding my mother again, and I thought he looked somewhat pale.
"I have come to inquire after your son, Mrs Holmes. I am glad to hear he is recovering."
"Yes, he appears to be." Did she have to sound so indifferent? Even Rangaford appeared infinitesimally nonplussed at her tone. "I understand I have you to thank that his recklessness did not result in his demise? I am grateful for your endeavours, and I am sure Sherlock must be also. I apologise on his behalf for his scandalous behaviour."
"Please, do not mention it. He is young, and his intentions were good. He intended the rescue of a creature in distress, and his mistake was in failing to predict the consequences of his actions."
What? What was going on? I became aware my jaw was hanging open slightly as Professor Rangaford defended me, and I closed it again. I was agog. My mother then continued.
"By scandalous behaviour, I am not merely referring to the events of that night, although I must still deprecate such foolishness. I understand it has been necessary to punish Sherlock repeatedly for all manner of misdemeanours recently."
He definitely paled now. He looked miserable; strained, and.... ashamed?
"He... his behaviour has improved recently. His offences in the past have largely been trivial, and many of his masters speak highly of him."
He must be afraid that my mother would see the damage he had inflicted. He was defending himself. It must not have occurred to him that my mother had already inspected the damage, and had approved it – for what normal mother would behave so?
"Please, I do not approve of pandering to the boy simply because he has been ill. It is most misguided. He is idle currently, and the Evil One is likely to find work for him if he is not constantly rebuked for his transgressions. He was ever a susceptible child."
Rangaford was staring at her, but I could not define his expression.
"I have seen the marks that have had to be inflicted upon him, and I can see the extent of his offences. Better his body than his immortal soul. I must ask that you continue to discipline him, and scourge the unruliness out of him."
I have never heard a silence so intense at that which followed this statement. I could see the realisation dawning upon Rangaford that my mother had seen the battery to which I had been subjected. The realisation that she approved took a little longer. He stared at her, as if she was a species he had never yet encountered, as if he could see right through her... and then, as if he was seeing her for the first time.
Disillusionment. I had heard the word for the first time some weeks ago, and stored it for future use, liking the way it rolled off my tongue. Now it catapulted to the surface of my mind with an almost audible 'pop'. Disillusionment was the emotion I had found hard to identify upon Rangaford's face, but I could read it plainly upon his face now, so powerful it seemed verging on despair. The suppression of his expressions only served to enhance them for me. The room seemed to be thrumming with powerful adult themes that I did not fully understand, as if a spell was upon the protagonists.
Mycroft spoke, and the spell was broken.
"I am sure Professor Rangaford is delighted to hear that you are such an exemplar of maternal devotion, Mother. However, if scourging of the flesh leads to cleansing of the immortal soul, I imagine Sherlock has one of the most pristine souls in England. I am sure Professor Rangaford will ensure any discipline he metes out from now on is in proportion to the offence."
Mycroft's voice held an edge I had not heard before. I had thought the silkiness of Professor Rangaford's dialogue sinister before; Mycroft was operating on another level of intimidating. I began to think there may be more to my brother than I had hitherto suspected. It seemed to take several beats for Rangaford to assimilate Mycroft's words, then he gave a visible start, and turned to leave.
"Of course, Mr Holmes. Your brother shall be treated fairly." He was backing towards the door. "Mrs. Holmes, my respects to your husband". He missed the door handle on his first attempt, then found it, and escaped.
My mother was taken aback, although barely showing it.
"I do not appreciate your questioning of my authority, Mycroft. I shall overlook your behaviour on this occasion, but you will remember you are still a minor, and, as such, under my jurisdiction."
"For a short while only, Mother. You would do well to disregard the few months legally separating me from my majority. I believe I have already become quite influential. I shall be happy to assume some of my father's duties in the management of our family's affairs early if necessary, but I shall defer to your opinion on most matters if I deem it prudent. It will be excellent training for us both in preparation for the day when I shall take the reins in earnest."
An ugly flush crept across my Mother's features. She could sense her star being eclipsed, and, although she clearly burned to crush Mycroft beneath her heel, she was wise enough to realise this unexpected adversary was showing to advantage. Antagonising him was likely to lead to her own discomforture.
Mycroft was not finished.
"Sherlock's accomplishments must have been sorely limited by the physical harm and intimidation he has endured. He will need to catch up over the Easter holidays. I shall undertake his tuition myself, but I shall need to remain at University. There will be room for him in my chambers. I will suggest to Father that this be made a permanent arrangement. I am sure you will agree that the scholarly atmosphere will be of benefit to him."
Mycroft spoke with such complacency, and self assurance, that there seemed little opportunity for my mother to object. Her power seemed diminished as I watched her being over-ruled. Suddenly, a good measure of my terror of the woman seemed to be supplanted by uncomplicated dislike.
"Now, Mother," continued Mycroft, "Matron most strictly commanded that Sherlock not be subjected to too much disturbance. I was reading him to sleep when you arrived, and, delightful as I am sure your visit is, I feel he has had enough excitement for one day, and I should return to my task. We shall see one another at dinner. I recommend you take in the theology section of the school library – it is held to be one of the finest in the country."
He was ushering her out of the room, and she was going, too astounded to resist! This new masterful sibling was a revelation to me, and I could scare believe I was to be spared the relentless persecutions at school and during the holidays. Staying with Mycroft over the summer seemed like Nirvana beckoning. My mind had conveniently skated over the fact that Mycroft had frequently chastised me himself in the past; now he seemed to glow with authority and benevolence. I could almost imagine his portly frame in shining armour, if not for the fact he would indignantly and absolutely refuse to appear so inappropriately attired.
I stared at him as he returned to my bedside. He was studiously avoiding my gaze.
"How did you do that, Mycroft?"
"Do what?"
Annoyance at this deliberate dullness dissipated some of my awe.
"Mikey! You know what! You made Mama do as you wished, as she listened to you."
"Never call me Mikey, child. Of course she listened. It was an eminently sensible suggestion. You will be most welcome over the summer. If you wish to earn your keep, you are an acceptable fag and errand-boy, I presume?"
"Of course. I am good at almost everything" I answered with a grin, not fooled by his feigned mercenary motives. I was not to be distracted from the main point though, and I returned to it.
"Why did Mama do as you said? And what happened with Professor Rangaford? He was looking at her as if she'd just stabbed him."
"My, how fanciful you are today. However, there is an aptness in the metaphor. Can you not deduce it for yourself? You have the data. Theorise."
I paused. I had heard rumours, but voicing them seemed highly disrespectful. Mycroft was fairly unshockable though. I theorised.
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That's it, Mikey! Squash 'em!
I feel better now. Please review if you do too! Thanks to all you lovely people who already have.