Chapter fifty-one: High Voltage
25th August 1887
"One glance from you, one word more entertains/
Than all the wisdom that the world contains." Goethe's Faust
The next morning, I was down before him. He was rather taking his time, I thought. Not that there were a particular time Holmes used to get up, on the contrary, his hours varied extremely. But today he had rather outstayed the average time.
However, I smiled forbearingly at him when finally he stepped over the threshold of his room, tousled and yawning, and evidently surprised I had waited up for him.
"Good Morning!" I said cheerfully, having decided that it would be better to ignore the events of the preceding day, rather than venturing a direct appeal at his forgiveness. Running me over askance, he replied:
"Morning", and sat down opposite to me. He became more and more suspicious as I poured out his coffee and brought his newspaper, and winced like a startled animal when in passing, I fleetingly stroked my hand over his shoulder blade. Coffee spilt out of the cup and on the front page of the Standard.
"Pay attention!" he snarled indignantly, dabbing the paper with his table napkin. I resumed my seat and took up my knitting, smiling demurely. Safely barricaded behind the Standard, Holmes continued his breakfast, only a trifle irritated when I passed him his cigarette case at the very moment that he wanted it.
"Thank you!" he all but snapped. "I will light the match myself, if you will trust me to that?"
"Of course, Mr. Holmes." It was impossible to be more deferential than I. Silently I knit the baby sock, two stitches left, two stitches right, whilst he got up and, enveloping himself in smoke, wandered towards the window and gazed down on the street.
The blue wool was running short, but I did not want to provoke a fresh quarrel by using the pink, so I worked slowly, from time to time directing clandestine glances at his oblivious shape in the window. He did have nice shoulders…
A little apprehensive, lest he should somehow see through my sacrilegious thoughts, I quickly pushed myself to focusing on my work. But my eyes had their own, annoying way of returning to their starting point. Closely avoiding pricking myself with my needle, I admired his figure from beneath my lashes. It was perfectly slender and supple with just the right amount of masculine properties, there was nothing of either his father's muscular overload, nor of the mother's morbid delicacy.
That a man gifted with such mental powers should in addition be blessed with so eligible a body seemed almost more than the fair share of good fortune. But even he had a good deal of deficiencies, I suddenly recalled, he was not free of the imperfection for which human kind was remarkable. I wondered whether….
"That's a physician's hansom down there", Holmes suddenly observed, "Yes, surely it must be Watson's. I thought Mrs. Hudson were better?"
He spoke lightly, but I discerned the hopeful note. He had undoubtedly suffered from the frequent absence of his two only friends during the past week. If the landlady were indeed improved, but Watson still calling, it would assuredly be a good sign in his view.
"It must absolutely be Watson", I confirmed, joining him by the window, seizing the opportunity to stand quite close to him, though I knew I was doing myself no favour by that.
By the time the doctor had emerged from his vehicle and again vanished from sight, my cheeks had grown quite hot, and as he ascended the stairs, my heart drummed a hectic rhythm that was clearly everything but healthy. It was in a way a relief when we could turn around to greet Watson, who had entered after a short rap.
"Good morning", he returned shortly. "I am sorry to interrupt Kitty, but…"
"You bring news of a case, certainly!" Holmes exclaimed. "After all, you are the stormy petrel of crime, Watson."
If this was intended a compliment, Watson evidently failed to appreciate it. "Nothing of the sort. My visit is owed to Mrs. Hudson's condition. She is improving, but slowly, and I'm afraid the present chill humidity is impeding recovery."
"What could we do about that?" I wrung my hands. "I 'ave awready made the maid taike ever' possible measure ter keep her warm. We cannot change the climate, can we?"
A smile ghosted over Watson's face. "No, indeed not I should think. Nor is it necessary that we do so. It would suffice to transport her where the kinder clime is to be found, so that she may get rid of her affliction entirely. Why not send her to Brighton, too? I learn you had very lovely weather there."
"Not 'un day o' rain!" I confirmed readily, before I became aware of Holmes falling silent. Like always, I caught on with his thoughts after some moments of delay. If Mrs. Hudson were to leave for Brighton, Watson would cease calling, and that would mean the two of us would be completely, utterly –
"That would leave you alone, of course", Watson said reluctantly after a pause, "apart from the maid and page. I don't know whether you'll be able to manage…"
"Oh, no doubt. I mean, I expect there's work ter be done, but I don't object – "
"Kitty! You couldn't", Mr. Holmes protested, but at least on that score I could see no problem at all.
"I could, fer sure. 'ad frequently ter taike care o' more 'n two persons at a time, hain't I? Children, at that. I know 'ow ter manage a household an' I don't mind. It'll do me good ter 'ave some kind o' commitment…"
"Well…if you really think you could…"
Watson seemed quite glad to have found this solution. He was so very fond of the old lady. Holmes was clearly not amused, but he said no more. Probably he was afraid to disgruntle the doctor any further.
"That's agreed, then. And Kitty, about yourself – I should expect you in my practice some of these days, so that we can talk health in private." He gave Holmes a sour look, as though he were a vicious germ eavesdropping on our precautions. "I shall go down now and see how she is doing. Good day to you both."
He smiled at me curtly, nodded at Holmes even more curtly, and took his leave. I frowned. "What a curious behaviour…"
"What is?" Holmes asked ungraciously.
"Jus'….nothin'." I shrugged my shoulders.
"Well, don't comment on it if it is nothing." He threw his dressing gown on the sofa and returned to his room to complete his attire. But I still was not satisfied.
What was the matter with Watson? Had he found out about – well, the origins of our marriage? If so, surely he would have to despise both of us, but significantly his discontent seemed to be directed exclusively against my husband. It could not be that then, or at least not only that. But judging on the expression of Holmes' face whenever the question threatened to arise, I would never learn the reason for their estrangement.
And above all, he was so strange lately, he only seemed to vacillate between being gloomy and being on edge since…well, since we had learned about the baby. If it had at all contributed to his happiness, he was doing his best to disguise the fact. Was all this due to his falling out with the doctor? It would account for the sadness. But his constant, seemingly causeless irritability? I was not so sure.
oooOOOooo
Holmes left me to look into a matter concerning a golden pince-nez – nothing too engaging judging on the sound of it. Once again, it was raining cats and dogs, which forbade the very notion of going out of the house.
Quite some time was passed in helping Mary to get Mrs. Hudson's things together – the poor woman's lungs certainly were much affected by the dreadful weather, she would hardly stop coughing and breathed rather heavily. However, the day presented me with fresh visitors, as unexpected as gladly received.
Ernie and Porkey came for a short call and stayed almost three hours. The former was alternatingly whining and asking my forgiveness for our row – as though I were still bothered by that – and cursing the day he had let Al Whittaker into his house (it was of no use to tell him that it had been fortunate and had saved many women's lives).
The latter was thrilled by my news, though I had to apologize solemnly for not telling him first, as had been the agreement. But in the end he understood that such things do not usually go according to plan. If they did, I would have been the first person to know, and nobody else!
oooOOOooo
After I had finally got rid of the two, the rain suddenly stopped. I felt the need for a breath of fresh air. Putting on my hat and paletôt, I marched into the direction of the City. It was only now that I realized just how much I had yearned for some exercise, for going out and moving amongst complete strangers. I refrained from taking a cab. It was so much nicer to walk, or to go by 'bus as soon as my legs began to tire.
There was still some balance on my bank account. I entered a toy shop and purchased a cuddly bear, construction bricks, a rattle, a jumping jack, a box of tin soldiers, a book with nursery rhymes, and, to be on the safe side, a doll fashioned after Princess Alexandra.
Much happier than before, but also packed to the brim, I made my way down Shaftesbury Avenue, when at the corner to Piccadilly Circus I bumped into a smallish, curly headed woman with a snub nose.
"I'm so sorry ma'am, me packages, ya knows…."
The woman ignored my confused apologies. Squinting her eyes and straightening her hat with one hand, she exclaimed: "Why, it's little Kitty Winter, surely!"
"Holmes", I corrected her mechanically, "it's Kitty Holmes now. 'ow d'ye do, Phoebe?"
"Why yes, yes, yes, we did meet just the other day. I wonder where that was? Right, you came to my house with Lorenzo, now I remember. But pray, why must we talk standing out in the drizzly weather like two dairy maids? Come in here! It's my favourite place hereabouts."
Without much ado, she seized my elbow and towed me through the door of a fairly exclusive-looking establishment. Café Monico, the only glimpse at the outer façade told me, before I was manoeuvred past red plush curtains and directed to sit down at one of the window tables, opposite to Phoebe.
"Some Oolong for my young friend and me", Phoebe ordered, busily removing the pins around her sumptuous flamingo-feathered hat. "And crumpets with jam, clotted cream and apple tart. And don't be too long about it, I am in something of a rush today."
I noted the way Phoebe was treated with respectful forbearance, as though she were indeed a regular partron to the place, and also the way she enjoyed issuing commands, in the full knowledge that never again she would have to wait on any tables in the whole wide world.
"So", She observed after a second which was economically spent in drawing breath, "you are married now. Yes, I recall Lorenzo telling me that, the night that you came to see me. When was that again?"
"It's been quite some time", I helped refresh her mind. "The night you 'ad Mr. G- reading at your plaice, ya knows?"
"Ah, Mr.G- …fabulous man." Phoebe sighed fondly. "he's hopelessly out of fashion of course – but to such a degree as to give him a touch of novelty and interest. Believe me, he has come to stay – both as a writer and a person elegant society."
"You seem ter enjoy people that 'ave come to stay", I remarked drily.
"I do. Is there anything just as enjoyable? You ought to show more in society, you know. Marriage and all that is very well, however it does not always provide sufficient diversion. But I perceive – " her quick, inquisitive eyes darted at my baggage, running it over curiously. I blushed.
"Um, yes, the timing for that is summat inconvenient. I shall be much occupied in future…my circumstances 'ave altered."
"So I see." She nodded, and directed a penetrating gaze at my face. "My dear, you are still thinking of that painting, aren't you? My friend, Lord George, will be having his private exhibition in September – that's next month. It would be a crying shame if Lorenzo of all people weren't included in it."
"Yes – I – " I drew circles on the shiny walnut surface of the table with my index. "I – that is to say, we, had a trifling misunderstanding the other day."
"A misunderstanding?" Phoebe's narrow brow rose.
"Indeed, yes."
"Between Lorenzo and you?" The brow rose even higher.
"Yes."
"But my dear child!" she made a gesture of helpless incomprehension, almost brushing the Staffordshire tea set from the table that was just being laid out. "You're seeing this in utterly false dimensions! This is not time to stick at trifles, or indulge in childish pride. Lorenzo needs this exhibition. He's not having any patrons. He's not getting commissions. It is the chance of a lifetime! George has told me about the picture, says it is really quite remarkable. Trouble is, Lorenzo is reluctant these days to show it to a third party. I suppose that must be because there is no progress made. Is there any progress being made?"
"Not re'lly, I'm afraid." I lowered my head. "We hain't been workin' on't in about two weeks."
"Well, hurry up then! Just go and see Lorenzo, and tell him you're sorry you – you – what was it you did to him?"
"Di'n't tell 'im about the chile afore 'e found out", I muttered weakly.
"As I thought. Just some itty-bitty disagreement that can be settled at a moment's notice. And one more reason to make haste! Expectant women rarely make good models!"
Reclining in my seat, I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling a bit railroaded. After all, what did Phoebe know about modeling! She could have sat for the rotten wing of a youth fountain tableau, at best.
"Anyway…" she recommenced, somewhat more kindly. "I am sure we shall get Lorenzo where we want him, and we all want him to succeed, don't we? Tell me, is the painting still very incomplete?"
I shrugged my shoulders. "I can ne'er judge on that. Paintings often look perfectly complete ter the layman, whereas the artist still finds bits an' pieces that need some polishin'. Far as I'm concerned, the painting is completed. Yet really nobody could decide that but Lorenzo himself…"
Absent minded, I accepted a cup of tea from Phoebe, and bit into a scone with strawberry spread.
Aha! Further contact with Lorenzo seems inevitable.
Good thing, too! With both Holmes and Kitty off sex, I'm cracking up over the surly, testy atmosphere at 221B….
Love, Mrs.F
