"How can you have any idea of the joys of marriage?" I bellowed at Sherlock Holmes one summer evening. Holmes was intolerant of emotion of any kind, and that night he had been making light of my sentimental conversation regarding my marriage, as he almost always did when I spoke of my wife. On this occasion, however, his gibes were more piercing than usual, and I must admit that it made me furious that Holmes, who had never married nor even loved, should mock my devotion to my wife.
"You think that I have no concept of marital life, eh, Watson?" said he, stretching out in his favorite armchair and lighting his pipe.
"Well, how can you?" I retorted. I did not want to leave it at that. I wanted to say something -- anything -- to upset his unemotional nature as he had repeatedly upset me: I wanted revenge. An insult to his intelligence, which was his pride and joy, was the best strategy, I decided. "You think that you are so knowledgeable in everything, but this is something you know nothing about!" I could see the anger welling within him and, at the time, it was delicious, although now I realize how awfully malicious I had been.
"I know more than you think!" he snapped in a harsh whisper, standing. I could tell that, although his tone had altered, he did not want to be angry. He turned toward the hearth, laying his pipe on the mantel, and then doing the same with his long thin arms. He was trying to regain his composure and, like a snake, I stuck again.
"And how -- by reading about it?!?" I croaked sarcastically.
I had never in retrospect heard Holmes yell, and it rather startled me. He whirled on me, and at the top of his lungs, roared, "I was married!!!" Then, at almost a whisper and with a shrug, he added, "I am married." His outburst was very unlike him, not the usual staid Holmes at all. Nevertheless, he was no longer angry, and truth be told I was too amazed to remain angry long myself.
"What?" I asked in disbelief. "To whom?"
"I think you can answer that," said he, again taking his pipe, sitting, and puffing pensively.
"Emily?" I offered.
"Who else? If ever I had loved, Emily would surely have been the object of my affections." Distractedly, he added, "I don't know if I loved her . . ."
"Tell me about it," I pleaded.
"As curious as you have always been about me ... " I regarded him strangely and he said, "I could tell. I could see it in your eyes, but you never pried, and I was grateful for that. This is the first time you've ever asked me to tell you anything about my personal life. No, I should prefer to discuss it when Emily is here." I was disappointed. He must have followed my train of thought with his eyes for he then said, "Do not despair, my dear fellow! She should be here momentarily."
"You're expecting her?"
"You seem surprised, Watson. You are not the only person who would deign to visit me."
"Does Mrs. Hudson know?" I asked.
"She does. Otherwise she would never have allowed Emily to stay here without a chaperone. Only three living souls know: Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft and now you. But here is my wife now."
There was a happy footfall outside the door. I would not have recognized it before that evening, but it sounded like the gait of a cheerful woman on the way to meet her husband. Emily knocked twice and entered. Before she even spoke, however, she looked at my face, turned her gaze upon Holmes, and then studied my expression again. Her own countenance dropped from a warm smile to a frown.
"Sherlock, you've told him."
Holmes nodded. "Watson goaded it out of me."
"I should not have thought that was possible," she grinned. "Well, it is just as well. I've grown weary of your attempting to hide our marriage from your friend."
"Watson wanted us to explain," Holmes said as he took Emily's bags and set them inside his bedroom door.
"What is the extent of his knowledge on the matter?" she asked, removing her gloves.
"Only that we are married," he answered. "I judged it best to await your arrival to discuss the details." He took her arm and led her chivalrously towards the settee. "I'm sorry. I know this is unexpected -- I, too, would have wanted more time to prepare for our discourse on this." Holmes regarded me. "Watson, do please sit down!" I did so, and Holmes alighted beside Emily, taking her hand. He looked different than ever I had seen him before as he gazed deeply into her eyes and said, "Well, my dear, where should we begin?" Emily too appeared changed. There was a peculiar softness in her face, which was usually cold and adorned with concentration.
"At the beginning," she answered. "John, I know that you are shocked and bewildered. For you, I'm certain, this was the single most surprising fact you could have ever conceived of learning. All will be clear with the explanation, however. My bond with Sherlock, you see, goes back many years, and I owe my life to him in more ways than one."
"And I owe my very life," added Holmes, "and all my joys to Emily."
"Please," said I, "I am only getting more confused."
"Yes, dear, dear John," said Emily, with a sweetness that would have shamed the angels. "As it happened," she began, "Sherlock and I grew up together. Our parents were neighbors and friends. It was always assumed that Sherlock and I would wed when we were of age, and our parents were most delighted with our attachment to one another. You already know that Sherlock and Mycroft were my tutors. My father did not believe in the erudition of women, at least not insofar as my interests lay. He wanted nothing more for me than becoming a mistress suitable for the country estate Sherlock was destined to inherit. My curiosity in matters of science was insatiable, however, and my dear friends furtively taught me all they learned."
"And her curiosity," Holmes interrupted, "helped us. Her frequent, thorough questions caused us to delve more deeply into our books and encyclopedias, to try to recount lectures more exactly, and to learn more ourselves. It was a symbiosis of scholarship! Her father, however, discovered this when she was accepted to Oxford; he disowned her, and banished her from his home. Mycroft, who at the time resided in Oxfordshire, took her in, in loco parentis."
"I had always thought of Mycroft as something of a father anyhow, and a much better one than my natural father. By giving me opportunities that I should not have had otherwise, Sherlock and Mycroft gave me a life. I, in turn, gave them the Art of Deduction, their first love."
"And we made a life of it," said Holmes. "Mycroft in his way, and I in mine."
"Of course," Emily continued, "Mycroft, Sherlock and I were the best of friends, but Sherlock and I did not know what to make of our attachment to one another. With Mycroft and myself, there was a larger age difference, so he was clearly to be nothing more than a friend and father figure. With Sherlock, however, the gap was not so broad, and, along the lines of accepted relationships, we assumed that we must be in love. In view of all we had been through together, I do not consider this to be an unnatural conclusion."
"As we believed ourselves to be in love," Holmes went on, "we felt compelled to marry, and did so. Emily was not surprised when I proposed, nor was I surprised when she accepted. It had been a foregone conclusion since our youth. We married soon after she had advanced as far as she could at Oxford, in a small service -- just the two of us, a clergyman, and Mycroft as our witness. It was not necessary that we marry. Emily did not need me to take care of her: she is quite proficient in that respect. Nor did I need her to look after me. It was a marriage of love, I suppose, if either of us is capable of that sentiment. We did not let society's practices pressure us into marriage, but we've no regrets."
"We did decide," Emily continued, "that full-fledged matrimony was not for us, as I for one did not need such restraints on my career. After five years, we decided to separate, being able to accomplish more in the field of Deduction if we worked in different areas. I settled in Edinburgh, and Sherlock remained here in London. Had we our lives to relive, however, I should like to think we would do it all the same."
"Why not have the marriage annulled?" I inquired.
"Why? Who would be the better for that?" Holmes asked. "Ah ... You have the wrong idea, my dear fellow. There was no skirmish; we parted on the best of terms. Even though outsiders might see us as estranged, we are, I assure you, still a most happy couple. Geography alone cannot come between us. The only conceivable reason for seeking annulment would be if either of us wanted to remarry. That would be highly unlikely."
"Besides," Emily added, "we enjoy married life when we are together, and we also enjoy the indulgences and freedoms of celibacy when parted. It is a most rewarding union ... and disunion. Everyone should try matrimony in this manner."
"I'm sure that I cannot imagine being away from my wife for any length of time," I said.
"That is where you deceive yourself, Watson," Holmes stated. "Your presence here tonight is a respite from being with your wife, as is the time you pass in consulting, and at your club, and many other occasions. You would tire of spending every waking moment with your spouse. However, after being away from her for several hours, or days occasionally, you are all the more delighted to see her when you return. It is the same with Emily and myself. We spend more time apart than most couples do, but we are even more delighted when we do see one another. And it is essential to our work."
"It is," said Emily. "London needs Sherlock, and Edinburgh needs me! We see each other often enough, whenever there is a break in cases."
"You see, Watson," interjected Holmes, "you always wondered why I would disappear for short periods of time when I had no cases to carry me away. I was attending to my marriage. When you lived here with me at Baker Street, it was often more difficult to slip away. That is why you occasionally encountered me bored and in a foul mood. I wanted to leave, but I could not very well tell you I was off to see my wife. I had all the time in the world, but I was able to spend none of it with the person I most wanted to see. That is also why I never responded to your pushing me toward some of our more attractive clients." My cheeks burned. "Watson, you were as transparent as a freshly-scrubbed windowpane. My interest in such lovely ladies evaporated when their cases were solved because I was already spoken for. Has our explanation been satisfactory, or do you have any more questions? I see that you do," said he reclining.
"Why hide the fact that you are married?"
"There is much to lose by disclosure, Watson, and nothing to gain. Why advertise it? The toll on Emily would be much worse. The only effect on myself that I can foresee would be a loss of clients. The cases in which there is a large element of danger would not as often come my way, as someone might be afraid that my wife would become a widow. Also, some prospective client may decide not to present me with what he considers a trifle -- which might escalate into something of great moment -- simply because my wife and I might be disturbed."
"I, however, could get no cases of my own," said Emily, "nor could I find employment at any establishment. Employers would shun me, suggesting that instead of being a detective, I should be at home caring for my husband. They would not care one jot that I was doing exactly what my husband would want me to be doing. A spinster has much more good fortune finding work because she has to do so."
"But Holmes -- you told me outright that you were not a marrying man!"
"If you will remember correctly, Watson, I asked you if you thought me a marrying man. You said, 'No, indeed!' and you were wrong."
"But you said," I maintained, "that you would never marry because it might prejudice your opinion!"
"I phrased it in that manner," said he, "because you did not know of my marriage, old boy. Had you known, I would have added the word 'again,' for any woman save Emily would bias me. She and I think too similarly for that to be a problem. I heartily apologize, my dear Watson, but the deception was necessary at the time. In the early days, I wasn't sure to what extent I could trust your discretion. It is a relief to my mind that the lie is no longer needed, but I do ask that, in subsequent publications, you will continue to portray me as a bachelor. If it is common knowledge that I am married, it could be dangerous for Emily."
"I give you my word, Holmes," said I. "Emily, do you not worry about ... things? If all of Edinburgh believes that you are unmarried -- "
"Gossip doesn't concern me, John," said she. "However, you do not need to fret about upsetting me with harsh speech. I am less perturbable than most women: say what you mean. If children are the implication of your euphemism, there is no need of worry. I am barren." I shook my head sympathetically. "Don't look so melancholy, my good Doctor."
"You do not want children?" I gasped, shocked at this blatant denial of maternal instinct.
"I do not," she confessed. "Offspring interfere with one's profession."
"What about your vows?" I asked.
"What of them?" Holmes asked nonchalantly.
"You have both professed that you do not feel that you are capable of loving, yet you swore to love one another."
"I don't believe that we will be held accountable for something we cannot do," said Emily. "Still, if we do not love one another, we have gotten closer to love with each other than we have with anyone else. I think we have covered the other vows: we honour, obey, and share our worldly possessions. Surely no one will condemn us for the lack of one little emotion."
"What about adultery?" I asked.
"I don't follow you, Watson."
"Milverton's maid?" I asked.
"Ah that," said he. "That wasn't adultery. I was only romancing the girl a little to obtain information. I don't think that I could be charged with bigamy since I didn't follow through with the engagement. Breach of promise, perhaps."
"I have behaved similarly," Emily said, "when the situation required it. Sherlock and I have an understanding about this."
"Whether or not there is an understanding between you," said I, "I fear that I do not see the difference between that and adultery."
"Would you consider a married actor an adulterer because he played a love scene on the stage?" Emily asked.
"Well, no," said I, "but that is a different situation entirely."
"Not at all," said Holmes. "Acting is something we are required to do often as part of our work."
I had begun to comment on this when Emily stood and held up her hand to quiet me. "Sherlock, are you expecting someone?" The gentleness had disappeared from her face as unexpectedly as it had come, superceded by the familiar cold, calculating look of deduction.
"Only you, my dear. It must be a client, and it sounds like a woman," said Holmes. He too had transformed again. Holmes the sleuth-hound had replaced the transient Holmes-as-lover-and-husband.
A few moments later, Mrs. Hudson announced a young girl -- a mere child. She could not have been more than seventeen years old. She wore a stylish dress of navy blue velvet with tiny mother-of-pearl buttons. She entered and addressed Holmes.
"I'm sorry to have called so late, Mr. Holmes, but mine is a most singular and troubling problem," said our visitor as she extended her dainty hand. Holmes shook it, introduced Emily and myself, and motioned her to a chair.
"Pray take a seat, Miss -- "
"Charlotte Williams."
"-- And tell us how we may be of help to you."
She was obviously agitated, yet there was a bright sparkle in her eyes and a lovely rose color in the cheeks of her otherwise pallid face. Her poise and composure were quite precocious: I have only seen the like in women nearly twice her age. She cleared her throat sedately and began her tale.
"I am the oldest of three children. I have come on behalf of my parents, for they refuse to seek help. You see, Mr. Holmes, there have been three threats and two attempts on their lives. I am most frightened for them. The perpetrators have stated plainly that they will do nothing to my siblings or myself, for their quarrel is only with my parents. This is little compensation to me, however, for the vicarious danger is most unsettling. I cannot understand at all why anyone should target my parents, but your reputation, Mr. Holmes, led me to believe that you could point out some detail I had missed."
"Have you asked your parents to explain these threats?" Emily asked.
"Repeatedly."
"And they know the identities of these would-be assassins?" Holmes queried.
"They do not."
"Have you any clues as to their motive for wanting to kill your parents?" I asked.
"None. I'm sure my parents know why, but they will not tell me. They maintain that it is nothing for a person my age to concern herself with. Imagine! My parents' lives are not worth worrying about?"
"Your parents attitudes perplex me, Miss Williams," said Holmes. "They seem cavalier about it all. Could it be that they believe, for whatever reason these people wish them harm, that such a fate would be deserved? They would believe their demise to be justified?"
"That would be how it appears, Mr. Holmes," she answered. "My parents strongly advocate Fate, and believe that they will die if and when they are meant to perish. Worry, to them, is a foolish way to spend their remaining time on this Earth."
"Quite," said Holmes. "Tell us about the threats."
"They were all typewritten. I have them here."
"What a foresighted little girl!" exclaimed Holmes as she produced them from her handbag. She giggled, her only remotely childish action, as Holmes snatched them from her. "How unfortunate!" he snapped.
"What is it, Sherlock?" Emily asked, looking as disappointed as he.
"There are no watermarks and the typewriter is new, so nothing can be inferred. Besides the fact that they were handled by two pairs of gloved hands -- probably a man's and a woman's -- there are no characteristic marks of any kind!"
"The work of a careful person," Emily added.
"From where were they posted?" I asked.
"These people are shrewd, Watson," Holmes said. "They would not allow a postmark to spoil their otherwise flawless scheme. I imagine they were slipped under the door during the night. Miss Williams?"
"That is correct, Mr. Holmes. And they were careful, Miss Chrane, for the notes were not even moist on wet nights."
"How many servants do your parents have?" Emily asked.
"None," she replied. "Mother has always prided herself with taking care of entire household alone."
"When did the notes arrive?" Holmes asked.
"Monday, Wednesday, and Friday nights, the week proceeding the first assassination attempt."
"Tell us about that," Emily proposed.
"It seemed at first to be a hunting accident. Two weeks ago, they were invited to Leicester for a fox hunt by Charles Thorpe of Doughtery Manor. After the chase, when all the riders were walking the horses back to the stables to be groomed, two shots rang past them from a grove of trees. Father's horse was shot, and bolted. Mother's horse reared up, and almost trampled her. She sustained only a sprained ankle, thankfully. All the guests were close by, and there were no traces of anyone else -- not even rifle cartridges in the grove."
"No footprints?" I asked.
She shook her head. "The soil in the grove was dry and hard-packed."
"And the second attempt?" Emily prompted.
"Poison. Last week, they were dining in town at Goldini's. Someone in the kitchen slipped poison into their cocktails. By the end of the meal, they were delirious and nauseous. Traces of cyanide were found at a sub-lethal level, but they were ill for three days. An employee disappeared soon after, but he apparently was disguised and had given a false name. Five men matching his description were found but released, for they all had concrete alibis. Can you help me, Mr. Holmes?" she asked.
"I shall do my best," said he. "We shall start our inquiries on your case tomorrow. I would like to know, however, why you have waited so long before consulting me?"
"I only tonight received my parents' permission to come to see you."
"Thank you, Miss Williams," said Holmes, rising.
"Not to worry, my dear girl," said Emily, putting an arm around the girl's shoulders and leading her to the door. She closed the door behind Miss Williams, smiling, and then turned with a snarl. "It does not make sense! Those attempts were deliberately survivable, but what is the connection?"
The speed and ease at which Sherlock Holmes and Emily Chrane arrived at their conclusions always amazed me. Although I had heard and seen exactly what they had, they had made several deductions when I was still in the dark.
"How do you know it was intentional?" I asked.
"If these people had taken so many other precautions -- " Holmes said, "picking up the cartridges, wearing a disguise and giving a false name -- they would have practiced their marksmanship and ascertained the proper lethal dose for cyanide." Holmes retorted, collapsing into his armchair. "Of course it was intentional!"
"How did they know where the Williamses would be and when?" I asked.
"That, my dear Watson," said he, leaning back and placing his fingertips lightly together, "is exactly what we must discover!"
Shortly thereafter, I left them for the night. When I returned the next afternoon, I found Holmes pacing and smoking his cherry wood pipe. He did not seem to notice me, so I did not demand attention. I sat in his armchair and lit myself a cigar. I had puffed at it merrily for a few moments when Emily entered.
"What is the news from your Irregulars, Sherlock?" she asked.
"Nothing," said he, laying his pipe down on the mantelpiece and thrusting his hands deeply into his trouser pockets. He continued to pace, however, as he said, "Apparently this mystery lies outside of their circles."
"I did not think anything lay outside of their circles," said I.
"Neither did I," Holmes stated, with a smirk.
"And what of the Williamses?" Emily asked.
"Strangely enough, there was no answer to the bell when I called," said he with a broad smile and not a little sarcasm. "I've examined the employees at Goldini's. If any one of them was lying, he was doing an exemplary job of it. Had you any luck?" he asked Emily.
"None," she sighed. "I must have talked to everyone in Leicester. Thorpe was very cooperative. He provided a list of the guests on that day and allowed a search of the grounds and a questioning of the servants. All fruitless, I'm afraid," she said, lacing her fingers behind her back. "The other guests had the same look of truth emanating from them. Needless to say, the Leicester police are baffled."
For some time, Emily and Holmes paced, looking downward. Emily suddenly stopped, and, out of the blue, said: "Politics! I tell you, Sherlock, this case has political overtones. All my instincts say so. Perhaps Mycroft could enlighten us. I know you have a little faith in a woman's intuition. For some ineffable reason, I strongly believe my suspicions to be correct."
"My dear," said Holmes, stretching out on the settee, "I am beginning to agree. It could not hurt to see Mycroft, especially since we have no other course of action at the moment."
Just as he said this, there was a loud clamor downstairs, at which Holmes and I both jumped up. Suddenly, Miss Williams burst into the room, followed by the flustered housekeeper.
"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," said Holmes, grasping our client by the shoulders, trying to pacify her. "Calm yourself, Miss Williams." When she was less agitated, he added, "Now, what is it?"
"My parents have disappeared!" I was taken aback, but Holmes and Emily, appearing unmoved, merely gave one another a sidelong glance.
"Sit down," said Holmes, "and tell us about it." He guided her onto the settee, then sat beside her, trying to comfort her as best he could.
"My parents went out for their morning walk. They said they would return in half an hour, as usual, but now it has been three."
"But you do not know that they have been harmed?" Emily asked.
"I do not," she answered, "but help me, please!"
"Before we can help you," said Holmes, "we need some more information. Our inquiries, I fear, have come to a dead-end, Miss Williams. We need to know more about your parents to help us to formulate another line of questioning. Would you happen to have a photograph of them we could use?" She nodded, pulled a cameo out of her handbag, and gave it to him.
"And what is your father's occupation?" Emily asked.
"Father is a schoolmaster," the girl stated.
"What does he teach?" Holmes queried.
"Italian language and history."
"Has anything uncommon," Emily inquired, "besides the threats or attempted assassinations, happened?"
"No ... well, there was the inheritance ... Oh, and the telegram. It came about two months ago. It was in Italian, but father said it was from a colleague of his at the University, who had since moved back to Italy."
"It was from Italy?" Holmes asked.
"It was."
"What about the inheritance?" he asked.
"Mother inherited over £5000 from a distant relative."
"Does your mother speak Italian?" Emily asked.
"Yes, fluently. In fact, she and father met in an Italian language class."
"Thank you, Miss Williams. That will do wonderfully," said Holmes as he showed her out. He practically threw her out the door as he said, "We shall contact you if there are any more developments."
"Holmes, you could have been more polite about that," I chided. "That young girl is not as accustomed to your impertinence as others are."
"Watson, amenities bore me!" he retorted as he grabbed his hat and coat and helped Emily on with hers.
"I assume you no longer have to see your brother?" said I.
"You assume incorrectly," said Holmes. "We need Mycroft's help more now than before."
"I thought you had solved it."
"Not completely, Watson, but the solution is impending. Emily, your intuition is to be commended!"
"It is political, then?" I asked.
"I believe so," said Holmes. "That is why we need Mycroft. Are you coming?"
"Of course," said I.
When we arrived at our destination, we were shown in to see Mycroft Holmes shortly. Holmes and Emily entered in front of me, and I noticed that they were holding hands.
"I see Dr. Watson knows about the lovebirds," said Mycroft Holmes, barely looking up from his desk. Holmes and Emily immediately parted, blushing. "Emily," said Mycroft, standing, "come give your brother-in-law a kiss!"
"Dear Mycroft," said Emily, embracing him warmly. "They are painting at the Diogenes Club?"
"Oh my," said Mycroft, "I thought that I had removed all the paint from my hair."
"You did," said Emily, smiling, "but paint has a distinct odor which is not as easily removed."
"Ah, yes, well I have had my nose too full of the smell from my luncheon today to notice that it still lingered in my hair. And what may I do for the three of you?"
"I assume you know who these people are," Sherlock Holmes said as he showed the photograph to his brother.
"Antonio and Sophia Lorenzini," said Mycroft Holmes.
"Italian agents?"
"Yes. We had news that they were soon to be returning to their homeland. How did you come by this photograph?"
"Their eldest daughter gave it to us. She was worried that someone was trying to kill them."
"Hmmm . . . very clever. Have they left London yet?"
"We have reason to believe that they left this very afternoon."
"That is unfortunate. You could have done your country a great service by detaining them."
"They were only a few steps ahead of us, but we had no charge to put to them. Planning a false assassination attempt on oneself is hardly punishable by law."
"Well, we have not managed to capture them in twenty-eight years, so you did all that you could, I suppose. What do you plan to tell your client?"
"As little as possible," Sherlock Holmes replied.
Miss William met us at her door, and invited us into her home as if she were born to be the mistress of such an elegant household.
"This arrived a few minutes before your cab, Mr. Holmes," said she, handing him a letter that he passed to me.
I read it aloud:
Dear children,
I regret to be the bearer of bad tidings, but your mother and I must
leave, never to return, and I am afraid we cannot explain why.
Suffice it to say that it is a matter of great gravity and even
greater secrecy. We have left you £5000, with which you can begin
your new lives. Charlotte, you have always been mature for your age:
your mother and I are certain that you are up to the task of caring
for your siblings. Go first thing Monday morning to Mr. Fauncewater,
a solicitor on Bond Street. He will explain the terms of your
allowance. Good luck, children. We wish you all the joy and
prosperity in the world! Always,
Your loving father.
Arrividerci
"It does leave a great deal unanswered," she said sadly.
"Yes it does, Miss Williams," Holmes began, "but perhaps we can fill in some of the gaps. Your mother seems to be an exquisite typewritist." Miss Williams regarded him strangely. "It was she who typed the threats and they were handled by only your mother and father's gloved hands. They did not get wet on messy nights because they never left the house but were placed, by your parents, inside the front door."
"But . . . the assassins?" she asked. "Surely they did not poison and shoot at themselves!"
"Hired," Emily said. "There is not much a poor man will not do for a guinea. They were most cunning about the execution of their plans, with specific instructions for the 'assassins,' I'm sure. They did it very completely. A planned disappearance was also an excellent dénouement."
"But why?" she asked.
"Espionage," I said.
"What?" she whispered.
Holmes glared at me and I realized that the nature of their leaving was one thing he did not want the poor girl to know. Unfortunately, I realized it too late. Now this business had to be fully explained, but I decided to leave all the further explanation to Holmes and Emily, so I would not make another such blunder.
"Your parents," said Holmes, "are Italian spies. They had been here many years, observing the important people of London. They arrived about a decade before you were born."
"Why were they sent here?" she asked. "And why did they have to leave?"
"There we enter the realm of speculation," said Holmes. "They had been here so long, however, that their actual names have been lost in the shuffle, and now there is no way to trace them."
"You do not know where they went?" she inquired.
"When can only speculate regarding their destination, as well. The important thing is they left you well provided for. The 'inheritance' was probably money they brought with them in case of an emergency."
The young lady pondered this information for a long while, then stood. "Well, Mr. Holmes: what is your fee?"
"Your case was quite a test of our abilities, Miss Williams," said he. "Even though I am aware of your new affluence, I shall not charge you. The problem itself was reward enough, and that money will have to last you a long time."
"I see. Thank you, Mr. Holmes," said she, seeing us to the door. Miss Williams seemed satisfied with their explanation, but I still had some questions. When we were once again in the comfort of the sitting room at Baker Street, I posed them.
"How did you know the threats were handled by a man and a woman?"
"There were two sets of finger impressions," Emily answered, "one much larger than the other. The size difference suggests that one belonged to a man, the other to a woman."
"Why did you ask about their servants?"
"When Miss Williams mentioned that the papers were not damp on the wettest nights," said Holmes, "we knew that there must be a confederate inside the house. There were no servants, so the parents were evidently the culprits. We suspected them from the very beginning, due to their attitude, and the lack of servants confirmed our suspicions. Mr. Williams ties to Italy gave us clues as to how politics were involved while Mrs. Williams fluency in Italian was also a clue. One can learn a language passably from a class, but one does not develop fluency in any language without its frequent and necessary use."
"Why did that not conclude the investigation?" I asked.
"We wanted confirmation," said he. "Since the Lorenzinis could not tell us their story, being safely on their way to Italy, Mycroft was the next best option. It is a poor detective that concludes a case without all the threads tied neatly in a bow."
"Since the Lorenzinis were themselves the culprits," I commented, "that is why the they would not allow their daughter to consult you."
"Exactly!"
"Why do you think they finally relented?" I asked.
"The fact that they suddenly yielded," Emily replied, "would most likely indicate that their arrangements had reached a point at which our involvement could do them no harm. In other words, they were ready to leave, so they decided to allow their daughter to do something, however futile, to calm her own nerves."
"What a shame it is," I said, "that you could not tell Miss Williams where they were going. It might have eased her mind a little."
"I can forgive your letting the espionage remark slip," said Holmes, "for Miss Williams would most likely have not accepted our explanation without it. For whatever reason they were called away, it must be a dangerous business. Miss Williams following her parents to Italy could be the worst possible thing for her. She might be killed, and possibly even at the hands of her own parents."
"Good Lord, Holmes! Why would you say that?"
"When they fear discovery," he replied, "spies can be very cold-blooded. They were willing to do themselves bodily harm in order to throw their daughter off their scent. If she persisted, she may have done so to her own destruction. I read of one Russo-Bohemian double-agent who murdered his wife, as well as his unborn child, when the lady followed him, only because her presence threatened to destroy his cover story."
The conversation then drifted to other subjects. After a smoke, I left them alone for a few days to allow them to attend to their marriage whilst I saw to mine. I only returned after I had a note from Emily saying that she wanted to see me before she left. I climbed the steps to the sitting room unsurely, for I could not imagine why my presence was so important. I asked her so.
"Because you are the best friend of my husband, and a good friend of mine. I wanted to say goodbye." She extended her hand and, instead of shaking it as she probably expected, I seized and kissed it. I knew it would most likely surprise her, but I did not think that it would embarrass her. She flushed a deep crimson.
"Watson, stop flirting with my wife," said Holmes, looking up from a book. "I've never molested your Mary."
"Sorry, Holmes," I chuckled. "Goodbye, Emily. I hope you have a pleasant trip. Holmes, I shall see you later." I walked out of the room, yet my curiosity outweighed my tact and I eavesdropped.
"Come and see me soon, if you can," I heard Emily whisper.
"You know I shall, my dear," Holmes whispered in reply.
"I wish I did not have to go."
"So do I, but you must. As we told Watson, Edinburgh needs you -- right Watson?"
I fell all over myself trying to get down the stairs quickly as they laughed from behind me.