Author's note:
- Like Gwenn, I haven't written in forever. I will try to be faster with the next chapters!
- This chapter's title is inspired by the song "Baba O'Riley" by The Who
- The lynching of 11 Italians actually happened in New Orleans in 1891. I had no idea about it and first discovered it while researching for this chapter
- The two hotels I mention in this chapter are completely invented, I am sorry if they really did exist.
- as always, thanks to Ennui Enigma for the editing
OOO
Eastbourne, May 13th, 1943
I haven't written in forever.
My daughter fell ill. It was nothing serious but she had to leave her service for a couple of weeks, so she came to us.
She was anxious and, being unwell, had a lot of time to worry even more. We did our best to cheer her up and her mood improved together with her physical health. She has resumed her tasks now.
For the first time, I really believe that we will win this war. We are making progress on almost all fronts and partisans are uprising everywhere.
Still, news coming from the Continent is often tragic. In Warsaw, Jews rose up against deportation. They have been resisting for weeks now but I honestly doubt that they can stand it much longer: they are hopelessly outnumbered.
I cannot begin to imagine how many casualties this whole war will cause.
OOO
Pittsburgh had developed greatly during the Secession war. Sherlock found a job as a chemist in one of the steel industries. I sometimes gave French and violin lessons.
In Britain, Mycroft had opened a bank account for Alexander Copper and I had my own money. However, we decided to live on our wages only, even if they were modest. We wanted to avoid being tracked down, even if it meant that we had to keep a low profile. We rented a very small flat and hired a maid who came to us in the morning only. We didn't attend concerts or other cultural events, even if that was difficult for us.
Although he liked to describe himself as a logical, rational man, Sherlock had a tendency to dramatize. Before our marriage, he had told me that he was a difficult man to live with. But I found out soon that it was not true.
Sometimes he was lost in his thoughts and did not wish to speak. On those occasions, I simply let him be. I had been living alone for years and for me it was not a problem to spend an evening without talking. I knew that this was his way and that he was not mad at me.
Order was clearly not his cup of tea and our apartment looked quite bohemien. But as long as my own items were not messy, his untidiness did not bother me much.
He did not use to show his affection openly or to pay spontaneous compliments. Therefore I cherished even more the few occasions when he said something sweet or brought me an unexpected gift.
"I never know if I should do a braid or a bun" I said one day, looking at my image in the mirror.
"You are fair-looking either way" he said quietly. Yes, I know that it sounds cheesy but not coming from Sherlock, the least sappy person on the planet.
"That is really sweet!" I answered.
"This has nothing to do with sweetness. Your hairdo cannot alter your face's features, which are..."
"You don't have to explain your compliments, Sherlock. They are not a deduction of yours!"
He raised his eyebrow to show a mild disagreement but didn't reply.
In the first weeks after our wedding, Sherlock was wary of me.
He expected me to complain about our lacking social life, about our modest lifestyle or about his reserved behavior.
Our luggage had contained essential summer clothing only. We needed winter clothes but I didn't want to spend too much money for them. I therefore decided to tailor some clothes by myself. It was a warm evening at the end of July and we were sitting in our small living room. Sherlock was searching for information on Penrose in the newspapers while I was sewing a jacket.
"I am so glad that Julienne taught me something about tailoring!" I exclaimed, wearing the jacket.
Sherlock took it the wrong way.
"I know that we must save money but we can afford to pay a tailor" he said cautiously, putting the newspaper on his lap.
"Why should we? This looks good, in all modesty" I answered looking at the sleeves, which were only a little too long "Let's call the tailor for your winter clothing instead. I've never tailored trousers"
"I certainly don't expect you to tailor all of your clothes by yourself. You are already quite busy with the household. We can afford to buy your clothes..."
"I am not complaining" I said calmly, putting the jacket aside "You are always waiting for me to start complaining, aren't you?"
"You have to admit that few other ladies in your position would live like you are living now without complaining constantly. I know that ladies are not all alike. Many couples... disagree... for less than that"
"You never promised that we would live comfortably, Sherlock. You were very earnest and told me that it would be no picnic. It's not like you tricked me. As for tailoring, I enjoy it. I like making something with my hands"
He made a vague gesture, as if to say "fine, you win" and went back to the newspaper with a small smile on his lips.
Another topic we were forced to address very soon were children.
"There is something I need you to promise me" Sherlock told me one evening in a very cautious tone. From the way he looked at me, I could tell that he was expecting me to argue.
"What is it, then?"
He seemed to be searching for words.
"You may find yourself... in a delicate condition sooner or later"
"Yes" I answered simply.
"Do promise me that you would go back to Europe in such a case"
I was speechless.
"Are you out of your mind?!" I asked.
"Gwenn, what I am doing is dangerous! I don't want to risk even more lives than I am already doing!" he replied, slightly annoyed.
"And I should cross an ocean in order to avoid it?" I argued "Would it be too dangerous to stay here in Pittsburgh or in Boston or wherever?"
Sherlock made an unusual gesture, as if he wanted to bury his head in his hands. But he thought better and put his hands on his lap again.
"Sherlock, I would never put myself into danger if I were with child" I said quietly "But this country is large enough for me to go unnoticed. What if something went wrong? Would you be happy with a minimum of eight days in order to cross the ocean to see me?"
This argument seemed to convince him.
"No" he said immediately.
"If it makes you feel better, I am trying to avoid it at the moment"
"...I beg your pardon?" he said, meeting my gaze.
"I love children, you know that. But a pregnancy doesn't look like a good idea at the moment"
He looked at me for a long moment, not saying a word.
"What is the matter?" I asked cautiously.
"I have been depriving you of so much, of your family, friends, habits, comforts... I do not wish to deprive you of children as well".
His voice was quiet but the eyes were filled with pain.
"You are not depriving me" I replied "I am not even thirty-two years old. There is plenty of time. If we are meant to have children, we will"
Yes, I was making it easier than it was. Having children with almost forty years might have turned out difficult. But I did not want to share this thought with him. He was already feeling so guilty for choices that I had made willingly that I did not want to make him feel even worse.
"Very well" he said feebly, going back to his book.
OOO
As soon as we were settled, Sherlock started looking for Thomas Penrose, the first of Moriarty's associates.
For the first time, I could see how Sherlock worked. Upon our arrival in New York, he had bought a book about New Orleans and a large map of the city. He spent almost every evening studying the map, reading news about New Orleans on the newspaper, reading books and essays about the city's history.
Eventually, he knew that map so well that he could remember the name of every single street.
Until then, I had underestimated the amount of study, reading and preparation that his job required. I was amazed at how persistent he was, working all day and then studying for hours every evening.
"What do we know about Thomas Penrose at the moment?" I asked one evening.
"He is not the typical Moriarty's associate" replied Sherlock. "He comes from a poor family, he has been in jail and spends his time in run-down neighborhoods, questionable inns and brothels. The other three men I am looking for, on the contrary, are all rich and cultivated. They are more likely to be found in an art gallery, in a theatre or cabaret. Professor Moriarty himself had a penchant for art and exquisite taste"
"But what does Penrose do for a living?"
"Well, Moriarty didn't lose his time with minor crimes. He cared for power. His associates deal with espionage, military secrets, attempts to murder politicians and royalty. Penrose has always been the connection between Moriarty and the executors"
"I suppose it is not easy to find him from afar" I said.
"No. Especially because New Orleans is not the most quiet city in this country and crime seems to be rising" he replied.
It was true. The newspapers reported very often about crimes committed in New Orleans. Lynching, especially against black people and foreigners, were not uncommon. Just a couple of months before our arrival in the States, eleven Italians who had allegedly been involved in a murder were killed by a mob. As a consequence, the Italian consul broke the diplomatic relationship with the States and left the country. It was decidedly not a peaceful time for New Orleans.
"Do you think crime is rising because of Penrose?"
"He certainly contributes to the rising crime" he answered stretching his legs "but to think that he is the source of it all is probably an overstatement. An explosive city where many crimes are committed is just the right environment for his criminal activities"
"But if it is difficult to find him from here, why don't we move to New Orleans?" I asked.
"I want to be sure that he is there before I move. Although I have information that he should be there, I am not certain about it at the moment. I wish to spend as little time as possible in the lion's den"
OOO
It was a Saturday afternoon in September and Sherlock was studying the newspaper in utter concentration.
Suddenly, I heard him inhale sharply and turned to him.
"Look!" he said without lifting his gaze, pointing at an article.
"New Orleans: strangled judge found on the river bank" said the title. The article reported news that the judge Sidney Auger had taken a cab outside of the tribunal in New Orleans and had been found some hours later on the Mississippi's bank, strangled.
"It is Penrose, I am sure!" exclaimed Sherlock "there were two similar murders in London and one in Paris. Someone climbs into a cab, gets strangled with the horse's harness and is found on the river bank. Frossard, assistant of the French ambassador in London, was murdered like that!"
He started pacing nervously.
"What are we going to do now?"
He stopped in the middle of the room and looked at me.
"I should leave for New Orleans immediately but..."
"But?"
"What about you? You cannot pack everything in half an hour"
"It's alright. You can leave tonight. I will pack, see about the rent, our maid and your job and then join you as soon as possible" I said matter-of-factly.
"But this way you would travel alone with the luggage. It is one thousand miles"
"Oh, a thousand miles!" I replied "I went from Madison to Brittany with my mother's coffin. I can manage a thousand miles"
"But you don't know the region"
"Neither do you"
"But..." he begun but suddenly stopped.
I smiled playfully.
"You wanted to say 'but you are a woman' and then you thought better of it. I've always known you were clever!"
Sherlock sighed dramatically. His raised eyebrows seemed to say "Lord help me, what have I to endure!"
"Are you sure, Gwenn?" he asked seriously.
"I am. Don't worry about me"
He looked at me for a long moment, then he nodded and grabbed the rail timetable.
"I can be in Dayton tonight, travel to Memphis tomorrow and arrive in New Orleans on Monday. The train leaves in less than two hours" he concluded, tossing the timetable away and heading to our bedroom. He packed hurriedly while I made him a couple of sandwiches.
"I don't think I can leave before Tuesday" I told him an hour later. He stood by the door, ready to leave.
"Meet me at Jackson's hotel in Toulouse Street as soon as you are there" he answered putting his hat on "Should you not find me there, leave at once and..."
"Sherlock"
"...and go back to Europe"
"Sherlock. Listen. Should I not find you there, I will travel to Baton Rouge and wait for a letter or a telegram at the Chatillon Hotel. I will wait for a week"
He looked as if he wanted dearly to argue with me.
"Is there anything I can say to change your mind?" he asked hopelessly.
I kissed him fondly.
"No. You should go or you will miss the train"
We looked at each other for a moment, then he murmured "very well", took his luggage and turned to the door.
He stayed still for a moment, then he turned to me and kissed me softly.
He looked at me as if he wanted to say something. Eventually he managed a small smile and left.
I stood by the door for a while and relished in the feeling of that kiss. It might have been the last one...
I dismissed that thought with a huff. "Don't cry over his bones while he is still alive" I told myself briskly.
On the following two days I packed and paid the rent and the maid for the rest of the month. I went to Sherlock's company and explained that he had received a letter from Britain with a job offer and we were going back.
Mr. Ashton, his boss, was sorry to hear that.
"Well, I understand that he took the opportunity to go back to his country" he said "but we are losing our finest chemist. Should you come back to Pittsburgh, the Ashton Company will have open doors for Mr. Cooper"
"I will let him know" I said with a smile.
On Tuesday, I left.