Pecunia non olet – Part 8
Harriet:
On leaving the crypt Lestrade told us, that the previous night George Walters had been arrested on the charge of fraud and marriage swindling and was now awaiting his trial. And with this, the case should have ended. But it did not, in fact, it was only the beginning of even more outrageous discoveries connected to the Trenton jewels, George Walters and the lady he had promised marriage. And so peculiar were these discoveries, so scandalous and at the same time naive, that for once my husband agreed that he had never come across something like it ever before in his career. - At least not as a whole package, as in the separate aspects, there was hardly anything remarkable at all.
But at any rate, little did we expect any of this when we drove home. What I had expected though, was to be fairly busy for the next few days with various preparations regarding Mrs Watson's return. As I did not know the woman myself, I had asked Mrs Hudson to make a list of things we could do, to make the lady's arrival more comfortable and welcoming. It had been this list which she had slipped me the day before and which in turn had led to a rather hilarious interrogation as soon as we had settled ourselves in the cab.
"You know Harriet," Sherlock began a sneaky grin on his features, "I do start to worry."
"What about, my dear?" I enquired, at first looking confused.
"About you sharing secrets with my landlady..." was his reply.
"So I have managed to rouse my husband's curiosity?"
"Don't you always?" he asked, raising his left eyebrow questioningly.
"Yes, but admittedly it does not take much to do so, my dear." I smiled back sweetly.
"And?"
"And?"
"Harriet!"
"Sherlock?"
"You know you can drive a man insane, don't you?" he growled in mock exasperation.
"How so?" I asked back, smiling innocently, guessing by now, what he was on about.
"Could you please tell me, what you and Mrs Hudson are up to, as I grow increasingly worried about it?"
"Ah, that you mean. But again, why would you be worried?"
"Because I know both of you and thus conclude you are up to something. That is why." was his dry reply.
"Wise man! You could be a detective with those conclusions of yours..." I remarked laughing, while the corners of his mouth twitched suspiciously. "But you don't need to worry, my dearest, we are only plotting on what to do, to help out the Watson's on Saturday."
"Oh, I have almost forgotten..." my husband admitted, looking slightly sheepish.
"I would have been more surprised had you remembered. - Then again, as it seems, we require your help." I mused. "Mrs Hudson will take care of a good dinner, while I will take care of the house being in pristine condition, and well heated and so forth."
"And what is it you want me to do?"
"Get us the key, without the Doctor realising." I grinned.
Sherlock Holmes gaped at me before asking uncertainly: "And why this secrecy?"
"Because we don't want to embarrass them," I answered. "We have decided to prepare everything and then leave, so they have some time to themselves in comfort."
"And their maid?"
"The new maid will not start until Monday and neither does the nurse – that is why Mrs. Hudson and Jane helped out last week."
"Oh dear. It seems I need to pay more attention to what is going on around me." Sherlock sighed. "At least in regards to those instances that don't concern crime."
"Perhaps. But you could just as well stay the kind-hearted and lovely man you already are and let your wife remind you of all the tedious social obligations a married couple has to perform."
"You think me to be so? Kind, I mean," he asked, his expression clearly showing he thought I was making fun of him.
"Yes. I think you to be very kind and loving." I replied in earnest, looking straight at him and into his eyes. "I could not wish for a more attentive husband, actually - or a more caring one."
A very humble thank you was the answer. This time it was him who had to admit to not being used to such kind of praise. As it seemed, we were more alike than we had initially thought.
As the carriage turned into our street, Sherlock pulled me close, wrapped his arms around me and glancing at the drizzle asked: "Do you think we could get away with spending the rest of the day in bed? I can turn into quite a lazy sod when having solved a case I have to admit and regarding you, I know you certainly should rest some more."
"Are you sure I will get any rest with you in bed with me?"
Helping me out of the carriage he answered with a simple "No", that was accompanied by one of his lovely boyish smiles, his eyes sparkling.
xxx
We did not go to bed, however, as we were unlucky to have Martha having stripped down our bed to change the bedding and air the mattresses and instead we retreated to my study as we had done on Monday when our comfortable arrangement had been cut short by the arrival of Inspector Lestrade.
"So, what do you suggest we do with my house in the long run? It is a bit big to only keep for the weekends." I wondered suddenly, as we lay snuggled up on the sofa in my study to read, while outside the weather continued to be dismal.
"It might be a bit big now, but once we have a little family, we will appreciate the space, I dare say. And let's face it, Baker Street is not exactly suitable for raising children for many different reasons." he mused, unconsciously slipping his hand down till it rested on my abdomen. "Not least, because of all the criminals invading my rooms at any given hour – or my chemical experiments. I would prefer for our children to grow up in a more, let us say, protected environment. And as I was an extremely curious lad I am a bit timid to have my own children have access to chemicals, or various weapons or all the other stuff my work requires. It is not so much the carpet I am worried about, but rather the house as a whole..."
At his wry expression, I had to laugh. - The house as a whole? Oh dear! I wondered what he really had been like as a boy, but there was little doubt, he must have been a most curious child. And then it struck me, that this was the first time he spoke of us having children as a certainty. There was a decisiveness and yet gentleness in his voice that left little doubt about his intentions and seemingly rather sooner than later. I myself was not quite sure if I was ready for this step just yet. It would mean for me to give up on many things, and still, it had never in my life crossed my mind not to have children - if I managed to find a husband, that was. Now I was married, to Sherlock Holmes, and though I was reluctant to give up on all I had worked so hard for, I knew we would find a solution. Or at least a compromise which would suit us all. And certainly, we could wait for a year or two – or let nature decide. And at any rate, we had not been careful in our actions at all and it had not bothered me very much till now. Perhaps my subconscious mind wanted to tell me something my brain was yet reluctant to accept.
Glancing up, my eyes met with his grey ones, a warmth in them that no-one who had encountered this man in a merely professional way would have thought he possessed. Sherlock often seemed cold and forbidding, almost unapproachable, but he was anything but. As a private man, he was loving, caring, witty, teasing, kind, understanding and passionate and the better I knew him, the more I loved him. With all my heart. Taking the book from his hands and putting it aside I turned around in his arms to kiss him deeply, I just had to. His eyes widened in surprise before he started to kiss me back with equal eagerness.
Our little encounter, however, was once again cut short, when there was a violent ring on our door and I heard the shrill almost hysteric voice of a woman. Groaning we parted and straightened our clothes.
"I will follow you in a moment," Sherlock said in an exasperated tone of voice, while I was already on my way through the door and downstairs.
xxx
What met my eyes was beyond what I had expected. There in my doorway stood a thoroughly dissolved young lady. Literally dissolved. Miranda Hannigan was not very elegant at the best of times, but now she looked akin to a scarecrow. Her hair looked as if she had been pulled backwards through a hedge, her hat sat at an awkward angle in such a way that I was rather mystified it still sat on her head at all and her coat was buttoned the wrong way so that it formed an unsightly bulge where it was most unflattering. The hem of her skirt was dirty, as if she had stumbled over it a few times – which with her was more than likely and her gloves were put on in such a way, that she had, much like children do, ended up having her forefinger and ring finger in one finger of the glove together, while one was unoccupied. She looked hilarious – till the very moment one met her eyes and saw the desperation in them and the tears streaking her comely face.
I could not help it, stepping forward I put my arms around her and let her cry on my shoulder for a moment or two, till she had calmed down sufficiently to be offered to come in.
"Oh Doctor Stephens, I don't know what I shall do!" she all but shrieked. "It is all so bad. I went to St. Anne's and they were kind enough to give me your address. I need some sound advice and you are a clever lady, being a doctor and all – you were the only person I could think of, who could possibly help me."
Leading her to my sitting room I helped her out of her coat and gloves, almost forced her into a chair and then pressed a cup of tea into her hands. - This universal remedy that only ever seems to work with an English man. With a French man, I presume it is the wine and with a German the beer that serves an equal purpose.
"This morning I have received a message that they have arrested my fiancé, can you believe it? It said he was a marriage swindler and was only after my money." her voice at this announcement sounded incredulous, but not hurt at all.
I glanced at her confused. The loss of Everett Trenton did not seem to bother her very much. But what then was this about?
It was at this instance that Sherlock stepped into the room, looking puzzled as well, obviously having overheard at least part of the conversation – well her voice, in her excitement, was loud enough to ring through most of the house without any difficulty.
"Oh, I did not know you had a visitor, Doctor." she excused herself, getting up from her chair and managing to throw it over in the process.
"Sir!" she curtsied clumsily.
"Miss Hannigan." was Sherlock's bemused reply. Only when he cast a strange look at me and with an inconspicuous gesture steered me out of the room, did I realise something was off.
"What is going on?" I asked, as soon as we had closed the kitchen door behind us.
"This is Miss Hannigan?"
"Yes, this is Miranda Hannigan. Why?"
"Because she is not the woman I saw."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, I am. I happen to be a rather observant man," he stated with an amused undertone. "The Miss Hannigan that has visited the supposed Everett Trenton was taller and had a decidedly smaller waistline. She carried herself very differently as well and she was left-handed – while this lady is clearly right-handed."
"How can you know the other lady was left-handed? You only saw her from an upstairs window and from the back if I remember it correctly."
"Because she struggled to open the carriage door with her right, even though the door handle of a carriage is, in general, easier to open with ones right, as the knob turns clockwise. She then switched to her left hand and managed easily."
"Perhaps she has an injured wrist or something. - I would not be surprised."
"Neither would I from what I have seen of this lady, but it is also, that she used her left hand to lift her skirt so she could climb into the vehicle – pulling herself up with her right, thus eliminating the possibility of having an injured hand. Try it. - You, my dear, being right handed would naturally use your right to lift up your skirts and pull yourself up with your left."
"All right, assuming you are right and the lady you saw was not Miranda Hannigan, then who was she?" I wondered.
"I don't know. - But are you sure this is the right, Miss Hannigan? Just to be certain."
"She was introduced to me by another lady, a Mrs Willis, who volunteers at the hospital and who is acquainted with my aunt. I believe Miss Hannigan and Mrs Willis are neighbours."
"Good."
We both returned to the sitting room, relieved to find her and the furniture well.
"I am sorry for the interruption." Sherlock excused his behaviour. "I just needed to ask my wife where she has managed to hide my pipe… - By the way, my name is Sherlock Holmes, I am, this ladies lucky husband."
"Oh dear, I did not know!" Miss Hannigan exclaimed, jumping up from her chair again and once more knocking it over.
"Don't be alarmed, you came here for my wife's advice as far as I have gathered it and I will leave you to it. I am only looking for my pipe. - Ah, here it is." - It had been lying in plain sight on the sideboard.
Kissing me on the cheek he whispered: "Good luck!" and then disappeared upstairs again.
"So, you have received a note saying that the man you are engaged to be a fraud."
"Yes!"
"I am so sorry, Miss Hannigan, I don't know what I can say to this." and I really did not.
"Neither do I. I have no idea why the police would think I am engaged."
I stared at her, speechless. This was not what I had expected at all. Could it be, that someone had been conning the confidence trickster?
"Then why are you so… - so beside yourself?" I, at last, managed to say, sitting down on the chair closest to me.
"Because about three hours ago I received this." she searched her various pockets till she remembered that she had stuffed the second letter into the front of her shirtwaist.
Handing me the note I read through it with knitted brows then looked up again.
"You are being blackmailed?"
She nodded vigorously. "So it seems. Someone claims to have seen me with my supposed fiancé, kissing!"
I refrained from pointing out that the letter claimed a lot more intimacy than just a simple kiss.
"But could you not prove that you have never known this man?"
"I would of course, but how? Even the police think I am this man's betrothed. I am even to appear in court against him!"
She had a point there. Could George Walters be applied to, to save her reputation? If there was no other way, it might have to do.
"Do you have any idea how I might get out of this mess? As said, you are the only person that came to mind, who would not judge me."
"Why would I judge you? These things happen easily and many a misunderstanding has led to an innocent woman being slighted."
I thought back to the beginning of my own marriage and realised just how lucky I had been. For me, it had turned out to be a blessing, but then again, Sherlock Holmes was a very honourable man. I had every reason to trust him in the first place. In Miranda Hannigan's case, I dearly hoped there would be a happy ending and thought it was rather doubtful, not with what I had heard as yet.
"Because most people would assume, that with an accusation like this, there must be a reason. But there really is none, I swear."
"The letter implies something of a more intimate nature and a loss of virtue could be proven," I suggested carefully.
"But that is the very thing, Doctor, it cannot."
"But if you have never been with a man I could testify to it, as a doctor."
"I am no virgin anymore..." she spoke so quietly that I almost did not hear what she had said.
And when what she had said sank in, I was relieved I was sitting down already.
"See, even you are disgusted by me..." she sobbed, burying her face in her hands.
"I am not disgusted. What a nonsense!" I replied, biting my lip as I had been about to point out I most commonly worked with prostitutes but remembered at the last moment, that she might misunderstand my meaning. Getting up to put my hand on her shoulder soothingly I added instead: "I am only surprised, that is all."
"It was after my parent's death, he comforted me..." she confessed. "And at one point we started kissing and it went on. Since then we spend almost every night together."
I gaped at her. If I remembered it correctly her parents had been dead a while.
"Is he married?" I, at last, asked, then thought about the ridiculousness of my question as it would hardly be possible for a married man to spend so many nights as she had implied with his mistress.
"No. But I think he thinks he is not good enough for me. And yet I would marry him straight away. - He never must find out about these accusations!"
"Then I presume he is one of your servants?"
She nodded, smiling warmly and it was obvious she loved the man deeply.
"Perhaps you should ask him to marry you," I suggested.
"I have, but he thought it indecent – as if he were taking advantage of my position and fortune."
Sighing I offered her another cup of tea, which she gladly took. Sometimes men were weird creatures. There he was, making love to his mistress, which could consequently get her into deep trouble and yet, he was reluctant to have a minor scandal in making her his wife. – If it even would cause a scandal, considering the daughter of such an illustrious man as Lord Thornhill had, a few years ago, married a penniless artist without any further uproar and both were now accepted and valued in the society.
"So, what am I to do?" she asked after a while. Never before had I seen Miranda Hannigan this composed. With a serene calm to her friendly face and warm eyes, she looked very pretty actually.
"I would say, what you are in want of, is a consulting detective."
