The rest of the morning I spent talking to Harriet and Evelyn about what
they knew about Lily's private life. All that they knew is that she had no
family except for an aunt in Derby and her brother's friend in London, who
was an art dealer there. After I left them to go to their lecture, I spoke
with the local inspector who was obviously used to curious scholars asking
questions. However, I learned very little of anything that afternoon and I
thought of only one thing that I could do. I could not handle this by
myself, I simply did not have any influence over the police like my husband
and partner did. The only thing that I could do was to call in Holmes and
ask for his help.
I went back to my rooms for tea, then work on my article to take my mind off of today's events. After that I would telephone Mycroft's to send a message to Holmes. However, I did not get to phoning until after ten, when I had finished my article. I went downstairs to use my landlady's telephone and waited while the connection to London went through.
"Hello?" Came my brother-in-law's deep voice, "Who is this?"
"Hello, Mycroft. It's Mary Russell," I replied.
"How are you, Mary? Sherlock said that you are working on an article for an American publication," Mycroft said happily.
"Yes, I just finished that, but something has come up and I need to get a hold of Holmes. It's rather important," I added as an afterthought.
"You are in luck tonight, Mary, for my brother is here with me right now," Mycroft said questioningly, "I'll let you speak with him."
A moment later, Holmes took the instrument and spoke to me.
"Hello, Russell. May I ask what is bothering you so much as to call my brother's house at this time of day? You are very lucky that we are still awake to take your call," he said sardonically.
"There has been a death," I said flatly, "The girl who I was tutoring killed herself last night, or so the police think."
"What do you think about the matter?"
"I have a feeling that she was murdered, Holmes. I spoke with the two who found her and they feel the same way. Lily could have never committed suicide. She just wasn't that kind of person," I said, beginning to feel sick.
Holmes was silent for a moment. "What did you say her name was?"
"Her name was Lily Woodhouse," I answered inquisitively.
"I will be there tomorrow morning or as soon as I can," he said after a moment.
"Does it have to do with the forgery case in London?" I asked.
"Yes, very much indeed," Holmes replied, "See you tomorrow, Russell."
With that he hung up the telephone, leaving me thinking. Why was he so - so detective-like after he found out her name? and how does this death relate to his case in London? It was getting to late and I was too tired to think of answers to these questions, so I went to bed and slept long and deeply.
~ * * * ~
The next morning, I woke up late and heard a sound that was incongruous with the place: the sound of a violin playing a beautiful tune. Another thing that was strange was the smell of a certain pipe tobacco that was very familiar to my nose. I sat up in my bed and looked around the room until my eyes came upon my husband playing his violin with a still-smoking pipe sitting on the table beside him. Grabbing my spectacles, I blinked in disbelief. How on earth did he get in here? I must have made a noise because he stopped and turned to look at me.
"Good morning, Russell. I trust that you had a good sleep?"
"Yes, I did, but how did you get in here so early, Holmes?" I asked sleepily.
"It is not very early, Russell, nearly ten. Your landlady is very trusting, you know," he said, putting his violin back into its case and coming to sit on the side of my bed. "She let me into your room without a doubt to my being your husband. There is a good side to being married to one's partner, I suppose."
I yawned. "I suppose that you want to know all that's happened so far."
"Yes, of course. That is why I am here instead of in London. A murder is far more important than a simple forgery case," he drawled.
"I'm sorry that I took you from London. I know you like it there," I apologized.
"The way that your voice sounded last night on the telephone, I knew that this death hit you quite close. How much do you know of the girl?" Holmes asked.
I then told him about everything that had happened since two nights ago, when Lily had spoken to me about her grief. It was hard to speak when I told him of her body hanging there with a bloated tongue sticking out of her mouth and a purple face. I simply shook the memory of it from my mind and continued on with my narrative. I told Holmes about what Harriet and Evelyn found and should him the ring. He looked at it and handed it back to me, saying nothing more than, "It is suggestive."
When I finally finished, he said nothing, but instead got his pipe and lit it.
"What do you think of the matter, Holmes?"
"It is very interesting, I'll tell you that," he said after a moment. "From what you've told me, it seems to be a perfect suicide." I began to protest, but he cut me off. "However, it is a little too perfect for my liking. It is obvious that the note was forged and planted, but the ring's presence bothers me. Tell me, do you trust the two witnesses?"
"I'm not quite sure yet. I have not known them very long," I said, rather surprised at his question. "But if you insist, Evelyn is very quiet and reserved and she was very much affected by seeing Lily -er- dead. Harriet did not seem to be affected by it at all. Maybe she is tougher and less prone to fainting and the vapours. But I myself would be very much affected by seeing someone hanging there like that and I was when I entered the room yesterday morning."
"That is what I find strange, Russell. Miss Vane should not have been so - so calm as she was if she was good friends with Miss Woodhouse as you thought her to be," Holmes said thoughtfully.
"It did seem as if Evelyn was better friends with Lily than Harriet was. Maybe they were more acquaintances or classmates than friends," I said looking at my watch that sat on the beside table. "I hope that you don't mind, but I'd rather get breakfast over with before lunch begins."
"Of course," Holmes said, standing up and moving towards the door. "I'll go tell your landlady that we would like breakfast soon." He disappeared out the door before I could reply that I didn't usually eat breakfast in Oxford and that I usually went straight to the Bodleian or to one of the colleges.
"It's hopeless," I muttered to myself, then I extricated my body from the bed and put on the day's clothes. So much for calling in the detective for assistance, he meant to take over.
I went back to my rooms for tea, then work on my article to take my mind off of today's events. After that I would telephone Mycroft's to send a message to Holmes. However, I did not get to phoning until after ten, when I had finished my article. I went downstairs to use my landlady's telephone and waited while the connection to London went through.
"Hello?" Came my brother-in-law's deep voice, "Who is this?"
"Hello, Mycroft. It's Mary Russell," I replied.
"How are you, Mary? Sherlock said that you are working on an article for an American publication," Mycroft said happily.
"Yes, I just finished that, but something has come up and I need to get a hold of Holmes. It's rather important," I added as an afterthought.
"You are in luck tonight, Mary, for my brother is here with me right now," Mycroft said questioningly, "I'll let you speak with him."
A moment later, Holmes took the instrument and spoke to me.
"Hello, Russell. May I ask what is bothering you so much as to call my brother's house at this time of day? You are very lucky that we are still awake to take your call," he said sardonically.
"There has been a death," I said flatly, "The girl who I was tutoring killed herself last night, or so the police think."
"What do you think about the matter?"
"I have a feeling that she was murdered, Holmes. I spoke with the two who found her and they feel the same way. Lily could have never committed suicide. She just wasn't that kind of person," I said, beginning to feel sick.
Holmes was silent for a moment. "What did you say her name was?"
"Her name was Lily Woodhouse," I answered inquisitively.
"I will be there tomorrow morning or as soon as I can," he said after a moment.
"Does it have to do with the forgery case in London?" I asked.
"Yes, very much indeed," Holmes replied, "See you tomorrow, Russell."
With that he hung up the telephone, leaving me thinking. Why was he so - so detective-like after he found out her name? and how does this death relate to his case in London? It was getting to late and I was too tired to think of answers to these questions, so I went to bed and slept long and deeply.
~ * * * ~
The next morning, I woke up late and heard a sound that was incongruous with the place: the sound of a violin playing a beautiful tune. Another thing that was strange was the smell of a certain pipe tobacco that was very familiar to my nose. I sat up in my bed and looked around the room until my eyes came upon my husband playing his violin with a still-smoking pipe sitting on the table beside him. Grabbing my spectacles, I blinked in disbelief. How on earth did he get in here? I must have made a noise because he stopped and turned to look at me.
"Good morning, Russell. I trust that you had a good sleep?"
"Yes, I did, but how did you get in here so early, Holmes?" I asked sleepily.
"It is not very early, Russell, nearly ten. Your landlady is very trusting, you know," he said, putting his violin back into its case and coming to sit on the side of my bed. "She let me into your room without a doubt to my being your husband. There is a good side to being married to one's partner, I suppose."
I yawned. "I suppose that you want to know all that's happened so far."
"Yes, of course. That is why I am here instead of in London. A murder is far more important than a simple forgery case," he drawled.
"I'm sorry that I took you from London. I know you like it there," I apologized.
"The way that your voice sounded last night on the telephone, I knew that this death hit you quite close. How much do you know of the girl?" Holmes asked.
I then told him about everything that had happened since two nights ago, when Lily had spoken to me about her grief. It was hard to speak when I told him of her body hanging there with a bloated tongue sticking out of her mouth and a purple face. I simply shook the memory of it from my mind and continued on with my narrative. I told Holmes about what Harriet and Evelyn found and should him the ring. He looked at it and handed it back to me, saying nothing more than, "It is suggestive."
When I finally finished, he said nothing, but instead got his pipe and lit it.
"What do you think of the matter, Holmes?"
"It is very interesting, I'll tell you that," he said after a moment. "From what you've told me, it seems to be a perfect suicide." I began to protest, but he cut me off. "However, it is a little too perfect for my liking. It is obvious that the note was forged and planted, but the ring's presence bothers me. Tell me, do you trust the two witnesses?"
"I'm not quite sure yet. I have not known them very long," I said, rather surprised at his question. "But if you insist, Evelyn is very quiet and reserved and she was very much affected by seeing Lily -er- dead. Harriet did not seem to be affected by it at all. Maybe she is tougher and less prone to fainting and the vapours. But I myself would be very much affected by seeing someone hanging there like that and I was when I entered the room yesterday morning."
"That is what I find strange, Russell. Miss Vane should not have been so - so calm as she was if she was good friends with Miss Woodhouse as you thought her to be," Holmes said thoughtfully.
"It did seem as if Evelyn was better friends with Lily than Harriet was. Maybe they were more acquaintances or classmates than friends," I said looking at my watch that sat on the beside table. "I hope that you don't mind, but I'd rather get breakfast over with before lunch begins."
"Of course," Holmes said, standing up and moving towards the door. "I'll go tell your landlady that we would like breakfast soon." He disappeared out the door before I could reply that I didn't usually eat breakfast in Oxford and that I usually went straight to the Bodleian or to one of the colleges.
"It's hopeless," I muttered to myself, then I extricated my body from the bed and put on the day's clothes. So much for calling in the detective for assistance, he meant to take over.