Wordlessly I followed Holmes back into the home of Doctor Montand. We
found the lady at the large desk in her front room, busily involved with a
number of papers in front of her.
"Apparently you are not overly concerned about the fact that your son is missing." Holmes said, walking over to her. She glanced up at him.
"Nor are you, if you are more inclined to berate me on my attentions to my practice rather than attending to yours." She replied evenly. I began to see what Holmes had meant. Doctor Montand was truly fearless and in no way intimidated by my friend or his powers of deduction. But even now, looking upon the lovely woman, her features delicate and her frame small, I could not possibly comprehend that within that beautiful feminine exterior lay a mind that thought along the same lines as my misogynistic, calculating friend.
"Touché, madam." Holmes finally said with a small smirk.
"Have you found anything?"
"John has had no entanglements within the village." Holmes said blandly. She sighed, leaning back in her chair.
"I thought as much."
"Think back, Doctor. Who among your patients visited in the days before John's disappearance? Was there anyone overly hostile towards you?"
"No one comes to mind, other than the usual old crones."
"Usual, Doctor Montand? Are you faced with hostile patients often?" I said, concerned. The lady smiled at me.
"I am not entirely accepted within this community, Doctor Watson. There are those who resist my help and even vehemently oppose it. It is a societal perception that will never be fully cured, and I have made my fair share of enemies because of it." I noticed that whenever the lady spoke to me, her voice was soft, gentle, patient. Whenever she addressed Holmes, she was direct, clear, and focused. Clearly Holmes dictated much different behavior than she gave to the rest of the world. All while this exchange went on, Holmes paced about the room, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"Any new patients then? Ones whom you have never treated before?"
"Three that I can recall. A Mrs. Bracken complaining of a chill, a Mr. Tableau seeking the set of a broken arm, and a seafaring gentleman named Olin in need of some stitches."
"Did any of them meet or see John?" Holmes demanded. His questions were becoming more and more rapid-fire at the Doctor, but she stood her ground and patiently answered each one in detail.
"The two gentlemen did. John played the piano for them as they waited for a consultation."
"Describe them."
"Mr. Tableau was a middle-aged gentleman of normal height, perhaps a little taller than John himself. He was well-spoken, polite, and not the least bit of trouble. Olin was a surly, gruff type, but he was not the most intelligent of men either and did not give me any grief."
"Were they overly friendly? Did they address John?"
"Nothing other than to comment on his performance. Both gentlemen had conversations with me about him, but nothing out of the ordinary."
"But you have neither met nor treated either one of these men before?"
"No. They are new both to the area and to my knowledge."
"How do you know they are new to the area, madam?" I was not often able to get a word in between them, but when I did I kept receiving the lady's patient smiles. I began to think these were practiced, insincere, reserved for the normal citizens who did not run upon the same rails and she and Holmes did.
"Doctor Montand knows this city inside and out Watson." Holmes answered quickly, obviously in a hurry to gain any lead he could.
"I am aware of anything that happens within my radius of patients. Although these men were new to the area and unusually accepting of my doctoring, there was nothing to suggest that either of these men had any designs on my son." She added. Holmes sighed.
"They are the only possibilities at this point. If you will excuse me, I shall go over the exterior of the house again. I may find something of interest." Holmes turned and charged out, full of purpose and energy. Doctor Montand and I were left alone.
"Don't worry, madam. I am sure Holmes will do everything in his power to locate young John. After all, he is Holmes' son." Doctor Montand smiled.
"You are aware then, of all the particulars. I must say I am quite glad of this. Forever having to make up parts of my life and act in a manner that was not truth was praying upon my already frayed nerves."
"It is quite understandable, miss. Or perhaps I should say Missus?" I began to see this woman as what she legally was; Sherlock Holmes' wife. The lady raised an eyebrow at me.
"If you don't mind my saying so, I must tell you that I've never met a woman more capable of being Holmes' wife." Doctor Montand laughed.
"His wife? Doctor Watson, I am most certainly not that."
"But in a legal sense-"
"In a legal sense surely, but of what matter is that to me? Two signatures upon a piece of paper which, in 10 years time will lie yellowing and forgotten in a drawer of some dusty office. If you ever hear Mr. Holmes address me as Mrs. Holmes, it is in an entirely patronizing manner." I was somewhat taken aback by her easy, confident nature. I of course was surprised that any woman would think like Holmes, but more surprised that she would share these things with a new acquaintance.
"Doctor Watson," She began, rising from her chair and clasping her hands together. "Do not strain your mind by looking for hidden affections and feelings that, I assure you, do not exist."
"But Doctor, you and Holmes have a son together. A son who, I imagine, is quite well cherished." The lady smiled for a moment, looking off to the side as if recalling some distant memory.
"That is a true enough statement. I love my son, and even though you have not had a chance to witness it, I assure you that Mr. Holmes would give up anything in the world for him." At this she snapped back to the present, her eyes looking directly into mine.
"At one time he sought my company because I interested him as a practice in deduction. But as far as Mr. Holmes and myself are concerned, we are casual acquaintances, nothing more. His visits are for his son only."
"You seem to have a clear cut understanding of each other however."
"I will concede on that point. Mr. Holmes and I understand each other very well." She murmured simply, but I detected underlying tones beneath it. For a moment I thought myself still being an idealistic fool, but it was finally clear to me that while their relationship was certainly not the norm, nor any kind of relationship I could perceive, Holmes and Doctor Montand had a relationship of some kind. After all, with every visit to his son, Holmes was inevitably running into his legal wife.
"Mr. Holmes," Doctor Montand said, both of us turning to observe Holmes himself walking into the room. He was staring down at his palm, poking at something that lay in it. "Have you found anything of interest?" Holmes held out his hand. Occupying it were a few reddish-brown flakes, the color of dark rust.
"Paint off the house, Holmes?" Holmes shook his head.
"That, Watson, is dried blood." Doctor Montand, while not visibly shocked, inhaled sharply.
"If we consider the two suspects at the moment your two new patients, Doctor Montand, we can reason from this which of the two it was more likely to be." Holmes said, meeting her gaze. Doctor Montand said nothing.
"One gentleman had a broken arm, the other some stitches needed. A broken arm is not likely to bleed, nor to aid a man in climbing down a wall of ivy. I believe the safest assumption is that our gruff sailor is the closest to a suspect at this moment." Holmes said this all as if he did not really believe what he was saying, a bland recitation that he had little or no faith in.
"Assuming that is the blood of the man in question." Doctor Montand finally murmured.
"It is quite recent." Holmes said.
"Perhaps it could also be the blood of young John." I said in a low voice. Both Holmes and Doctor Montand glanced up at me. An uncomfortable silence followed as both stared at each other. Obviously this was not a possibility that had entered either one's mind, and I immediately regretted having posed the idea.
I watched my friend's hand ball into a fist for a moment.
"That is an unlikely possibility, but a possibility nonetheless." He said quietly.
"Why not?" I asked gently. Even though this obviously caused pain to both, I felt it was important that each recognize the danger John Montand might ultimately be in.
"Because he is not an ordinary youth." Holmes snapped. Apparently Holmes' slight over-confidence in himself and occasional egotism carried over into his opinion of his son.
"Forgive me Holmes, but he is just a boy, and if he was carried off-"
"The 'boy' that you speak of is already capable of speaking two languages, winning a fencing match, and could tell you that you are a retired army surgeon with a deceased wife and a penchant for bets. He would not allow himself to be carried anywhere, nor to be thus injured if he were." Holmes finished. I wanted to believe him, but part of me thought that perhaps his concern and pride in his son was blurring what his son was really like. The doorbell rang, and Doctor Montand lingered a moment before going to answer it.
"I am not prone to allowing emotion to affect my judgment, Watson. When I say that my son is talented in many ways and would not allow himself to be injured if he could at all help it, I am speaking the literal truth." I nodded. I could believe him in that much.
"You cannot deny that it may have happened anyways, Holmes." He nodded brusquely. Doctor Montand came back into the room, calm and collected. In a clear voice she spoke:
"My previous patient, the sailor Olin is here. He says he may know John's whereabouts." At this she paused, her face twisting into disgust.
"Depending on how much we are willing to pay."
"Apparently you are not overly concerned about the fact that your son is missing." Holmes said, walking over to her. She glanced up at him.
"Nor are you, if you are more inclined to berate me on my attentions to my practice rather than attending to yours." She replied evenly. I began to see what Holmes had meant. Doctor Montand was truly fearless and in no way intimidated by my friend or his powers of deduction. But even now, looking upon the lovely woman, her features delicate and her frame small, I could not possibly comprehend that within that beautiful feminine exterior lay a mind that thought along the same lines as my misogynistic, calculating friend.
"Touché, madam." Holmes finally said with a small smirk.
"Have you found anything?"
"John has had no entanglements within the village." Holmes said blandly. She sighed, leaning back in her chair.
"I thought as much."
"Think back, Doctor. Who among your patients visited in the days before John's disappearance? Was there anyone overly hostile towards you?"
"No one comes to mind, other than the usual old crones."
"Usual, Doctor Montand? Are you faced with hostile patients often?" I said, concerned. The lady smiled at me.
"I am not entirely accepted within this community, Doctor Watson. There are those who resist my help and even vehemently oppose it. It is a societal perception that will never be fully cured, and I have made my fair share of enemies because of it." I noticed that whenever the lady spoke to me, her voice was soft, gentle, patient. Whenever she addressed Holmes, she was direct, clear, and focused. Clearly Holmes dictated much different behavior than she gave to the rest of the world. All while this exchange went on, Holmes paced about the room, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
"Any new patients then? Ones whom you have never treated before?"
"Three that I can recall. A Mrs. Bracken complaining of a chill, a Mr. Tableau seeking the set of a broken arm, and a seafaring gentleman named Olin in need of some stitches."
"Did any of them meet or see John?" Holmes demanded. His questions were becoming more and more rapid-fire at the Doctor, but she stood her ground and patiently answered each one in detail.
"The two gentlemen did. John played the piano for them as they waited for a consultation."
"Describe them."
"Mr. Tableau was a middle-aged gentleman of normal height, perhaps a little taller than John himself. He was well-spoken, polite, and not the least bit of trouble. Olin was a surly, gruff type, but he was not the most intelligent of men either and did not give me any grief."
"Were they overly friendly? Did they address John?"
"Nothing other than to comment on his performance. Both gentlemen had conversations with me about him, but nothing out of the ordinary."
"But you have neither met nor treated either one of these men before?"
"No. They are new both to the area and to my knowledge."
"How do you know they are new to the area, madam?" I was not often able to get a word in between them, but when I did I kept receiving the lady's patient smiles. I began to think these were practiced, insincere, reserved for the normal citizens who did not run upon the same rails and she and Holmes did.
"Doctor Montand knows this city inside and out Watson." Holmes answered quickly, obviously in a hurry to gain any lead he could.
"I am aware of anything that happens within my radius of patients. Although these men were new to the area and unusually accepting of my doctoring, there was nothing to suggest that either of these men had any designs on my son." She added. Holmes sighed.
"They are the only possibilities at this point. If you will excuse me, I shall go over the exterior of the house again. I may find something of interest." Holmes turned and charged out, full of purpose and energy. Doctor Montand and I were left alone.
"Don't worry, madam. I am sure Holmes will do everything in his power to locate young John. After all, he is Holmes' son." Doctor Montand smiled.
"You are aware then, of all the particulars. I must say I am quite glad of this. Forever having to make up parts of my life and act in a manner that was not truth was praying upon my already frayed nerves."
"It is quite understandable, miss. Or perhaps I should say Missus?" I began to see this woman as what she legally was; Sherlock Holmes' wife. The lady raised an eyebrow at me.
"If you don't mind my saying so, I must tell you that I've never met a woman more capable of being Holmes' wife." Doctor Montand laughed.
"His wife? Doctor Watson, I am most certainly not that."
"But in a legal sense-"
"In a legal sense surely, but of what matter is that to me? Two signatures upon a piece of paper which, in 10 years time will lie yellowing and forgotten in a drawer of some dusty office. If you ever hear Mr. Holmes address me as Mrs. Holmes, it is in an entirely patronizing manner." I was somewhat taken aback by her easy, confident nature. I of course was surprised that any woman would think like Holmes, but more surprised that she would share these things with a new acquaintance.
"Doctor Watson," She began, rising from her chair and clasping her hands together. "Do not strain your mind by looking for hidden affections and feelings that, I assure you, do not exist."
"But Doctor, you and Holmes have a son together. A son who, I imagine, is quite well cherished." The lady smiled for a moment, looking off to the side as if recalling some distant memory.
"That is a true enough statement. I love my son, and even though you have not had a chance to witness it, I assure you that Mr. Holmes would give up anything in the world for him." At this she snapped back to the present, her eyes looking directly into mine.
"At one time he sought my company because I interested him as a practice in deduction. But as far as Mr. Holmes and myself are concerned, we are casual acquaintances, nothing more. His visits are for his son only."
"You seem to have a clear cut understanding of each other however."
"I will concede on that point. Mr. Holmes and I understand each other very well." She murmured simply, but I detected underlying tones beneath it. For a moment I thought myself still being an idealistic fool, but it was finally clear to me that while their relationship was certainly not the norm, nor any kind of relationship I could perceive, Holmes and Doctor Montand had a relationship of some kind. After all, with every visit to his son, Holmes was inevitably running into his legal wife.
"Mr. Holmes," Doctor Montand said, both of us turning to observe Holmes himself walking into the room. He was staring down at his palm, poking at something that lay in it. "Have you found anything of interest?" Holmes held out his hand. Occupying it were a few reddish-brown flakes, the color of dark rust.
"Paint off the house, Holmes?" Holmes shook his head.
"That, Watson, is dried blood." Doctor Montand, while not visibly shocked, inhaled sharply.
"If we consider the two suspects at the moment your two new patients, Doctor Montand, we can reason from this which of the two it was more likely to be." Holmes said, meeting her gaze. Doctor Montand said nothing.
"One gentleman had a broken arm, the other some stitches needed. A broken arm is not likely to bleed, nor to aid a man in climbing down a wall of ivy. I believe the safest assumption is that our gruff sailor is the closest to a suspect at this moment." Holmes said this all as if he did not really believe what he was saying, a bland recitation that he had little or no faith in.
"Assuming that is the blood of the man in question." Doctor Montand finally murmured.
"It is quite recent." Holmes said.
"Perhaps it could also be the blood of young John." I said in a low voice. Both Holmes and Doctor Montand glanced up at me. An uncomfortable silence followed as both stared at each other. Obviously this was not a possibility that had entered either one's mind, and I immediately regretted having posed the idea.
I watched my friend's hand ball into a fist for a moment.
"That is an unlikely possibility, but a possibility nonetheless." He said quietly.
"Why not?" I asked gently. Even though this obviously caused pain to both, I felt it was important that each recognize the danger John Montand might ultimately be in.
"Because he is not an ordinary youth." Holmes snapped. Apparently Holmes' slight over-confidence in himself and occasional egotism carried over into his opinion of his son.
"Forgive me Holmes, but he is just a boy, and if he was carried off-"
"The 'boy' that you speak of is already capable of speaking two languages, winning a fencing match, and could tell you that you are a retired army surgeon with a deceased wife and a penchant for bets. He would not allow himself to be carried anywhere, nor to be thus injured if he were." Holmes finished. I wanted to believe him, but part of me thought that perhaps his concern and pride in his son was blurring what his son was really like. The doorbell rang, and Doctor Montand lingered a moment before going to answer it.
"I am not prone to allowing emotion to affect my judgment, Watson. When I say that my son is talented in many ways and would not allow himself to be injured if he could at all help it, I am speaking the literal truth." I nodded. I could believe him in that much.
"You cannot deny that it may have happened anyways, Holmes." He nodded brusquely. Doctor Montand came back into the room, calm and collected. In a clear voice she spoke:
"My previous patient, the sailor Olin is here. He says he may know John's whereabouts." At this she paused, her face twisting into disgust.
"Depending on how much we are willing to pay."
