Science of Deduction

Marilla eased down onto the sofa with a wince. "Are you in pain Mar?"

"Just a twinge in my hip, it's nothing. The price you pay for old age, I guess."

"If you like, I'll give you a massage when we get to bed?"

"You know I always like massages in bed", she replied with a raised eyebrow. "Now how about that new Sherlock Holmes story, what's it called again?"

"The Sign of the Four. Very well, are you comfortable?"

"As comfortable as I can be."

John read: "Sherlock Holmes took his bottle from the corner of the mantle-piece and his hypodermic syringe from its neat morroco case. With his long, white, nervous fingers he adjusted the delicate needle, and rolled back his left shirt-cuff. For some little time his eyes rested thoughtfully upon the sinewy forearm and wrist all dotted and scarred with innumerable puncture-marks. Finally, he thrust the sharp point home, pressed down the tiny piston, and sank back into the velvet-lined arm-chair with a long sigh of satisfaction."*

"Goodness", Marilla exclaimed "Mr Holmes is not the man I thought he was. I never took him for a drug addict."

"Are you too shocked, Mar? Do you want me to stop?"

"No, I'm just surprised is all, read away."

They had taken to reading each other novels by gas lamp. John did more of the night reading, as Marilla found it strained her eyes to read at night. She reciprocated when she read him a chapter over afternoon tea; if the action was particularly exciting and they couldn't wait a whole twenty-four hours for the next instalment.

It was a lovely way to wile away the long winter nights. If John tired of reading, they would discuss the story, comparing the case to previous crimes and speculating on what might happen next; or how the crimes had been committed and how Holmes would solve it. Generally, at the end, Holmes would remind everyone of a previously unimportant detail which everyone had glossed over or forgotten and declare the case solved with a flourish. Marilla and John got quite good at remembering all the tiny details, Conan Doyle put in all the information, it was just a matter of close reading. Marilla enjoyed Holmes' dry wit and intellect, though she did not approve of his drug abuse. What a way to comport himself, it was scandalous.

When the chapter was over, it was time for bed. Marilla winced as she got up. "Hip still bothering you sweetheart?"

"What? Yes, I suppose so." She replied, rubbing it.

"Here let me give you a hand there." He picked her up and carried her up the stairs. Once there she got changed into her nightgown and eased under the covers.

"Are you finding the stairs difficult these days?" John asked as he massaged her hip.

"Yes, a bit, I don't like walking up and down them all day."

"We could look into converting Matthew's room into our own? Might save your hips and knees."

"Mmm."

"I'd need a hand getting all the furniture down, but it's easy enough to manage if you like?"

"You know, that would be very helpful, if you think you could manage it?"

The next morning Marilla still felt sore. Her hip was very tender, and she had a slight headache. She said as much to John, who decided she needed a day in bed.

"Oh no, that's not necessary."

"I think it is, time to listen to Dr Blythe, I'll have you know my son is a physician." He said with a wink.

Marilla shook her head, pleased really that the decision was taken out of her hands. As decadent as it was, it was lovely to luxuriate in bed for the day. Her hip was quite painful.

John played nursemaid. He bought her up her lunch, then told her he was popping out for a while. Marilla lay back in the bed, read for a while, then had a nap. She came to when John appeared in the bedroom doorway.

"Right it's all settled, Davy will come over tomorrow and we'll move the furniture downstairs."

"So soon? That's no good. I'll have to clean that room first."

"Oh" John was a bit deflated, he had been so excited to help her out. "I'll just put Davy off then." He rushed off again to let Davy know about the change of plans. John bumped into Rachel on the way home. Rachel was a bit preoccupied, not her usual inquisitive self.

"Is anything the matter?"

"Yes, I've misplaced my pendant, you know the diamond one."

"Oh dear, I wonder where it's disappeared to?"

"I have no idea, it's just vanished into thin air as far as I can see. Tell Marilla I was coming to pay a visit, but I fear I'd be a poor guest today."

"Oh, that's all right, she's unwell."

"How so?"

"Her arthritic hip is playing up and she has a bit of a headache. I've ordered to stay in bed for the day."

"Oh, the poor girl. Please send her my love."

"I surely will."

Back at home, John conveyed Rachel's best wishes to Marilla and told her about the mystery. "How intriguing. Did she say where she last saw it?"

"What, are you going to play Sherlock Holmes and find it?"

"Maybe I could John, we've been reading enough of his stories. I might have picked up a few pointers."

John brought a simple dinner up to Marilla which they ate in bed. He suggested another chapter of the book. "Just to keep our hand in, you know. So you can find Rachel's pendant."

He read: "Miss Morstan entered the room with a firm step and an outward composure of manner. She was a blonde young lady, small dainty, well gloved and dressed in the most perfect taste. There was, however, a plainness and simplicity about her costume which bore with it a suggestion of limited means. The dress was a sombre grayish beige, untrimmed and unbraided, and she wore a small turban of the same dull hue, relieved only by a suspicion of white feather in the side. Her face had neither the regularity of feature nor beauty of complexion, but her expression was sweet and amiable, and her large blue eyes were singularly spiritual and sympathetic. In an experience of women which extends over many nations and three separate continents, I have never looked upon a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature. I could not but observe that as she took the seat which Sherlock Holmes placed for her, her lip trembled, her hand quivered and she showed every sign of intense inward agitation."*

"He paints a good portrait with his words, doesn't he?" Marilla remarked, "especially for a man."

John nodded and continued to read. Marilla could feel herself nodding off to his words, it was comfortable and warm in the bed, she could feel her eyes closing, but she was determined to listen to hi … … John glanced up, and saw that she was fast asleep. He smiled to himself. Taking note of where they were up to, he closed the book and blew out the candle.

The next morning the sun shone brightly into the bedroom and Marilla woke feeling much refreshed. Her hip was feeling better after the day's rest. She looked over to see John stirring and reached over to touch him. "Feeling better, love?" He enquired.

"Much better, thanks."

Marilla was able to get downstairs under her own steam. She did like the idea of moving their bed to the ground floor though, those stairs were not her hips' best friends.

After breakfast Marilla paid a visit to Rachel's house. She was determined to solve the mystery if the pendant hadn't turned up already.

"Good morning Rachel."

"Good morning Marilla, I hope you are feeling better, dear."

"Yes, I am thank you. John informs me you have lost your pendant, have you located it yet?"

"No." replied Rachel forlornly, "it seems to have disappeared into thin air."

"Where did you see it last?"

"It was on my dresser."

"Can you show me?"

Rachel led her into her bedroom and pointed out the spot "I had taken it off the chain because I was concerned that it was tarnishing. Once I had studied it intently, I left it here."

Marilla had a good look around, but the pendant was nowhere in sight. "I suppose you've looked behind the dresser?"

"What? Yes, I've looked there."

"Has anything changed in your home circumstances?"

"What? It's just me here."

"You haven't got any new pets living here, have you?"

"Well I did get a new pussy cat. She's such a dear little thing. Her name is Luna, she's black."

"Oh dear."

"What? You don't think she's stolen it do you?"

"Not stolen no, I think she may have eaten it."

"Eaten it? Oh no! Will I ever get it back?"

"I think you will, in a few days or so."

Rachel looked at Marilla in shock and burst out laughing. "Oh no!"

Sure, enough Luna did pass the pendant a few days later. Rachel never really wanted to wear it afterwards. Although Marilla and John assured her that after a good wash it would be fine. Instead Rachel's daughter was delighted to receive a generous Christmas present that year.

Davy and John moved the bed and chest of drawers down to Matthew's room. Marilla left her bedroom of many years with some regret, but she did not miss traipsing up the stairs multiple times a day. Rachel invested in a box to contain her jewellery, hoping to avoid another incident. John and Marilla continued to enjoy the antics of Mr Sherlock Holmes. John had taken to calling Marilla Mrs Holmes, on occasion, which always made her smile.

*The Sign of the Four, Arthur Conan Doyle