I apologize for how long this setup is taking, but if I don't follow all the directions it will all fall apart later on. My plot outline is ridiculously complicated (think along the lines of HP and the Goblet of Fire. I mean mon Dieu, have you noticed how much foreshadowing is in that book? [Scratches head in amazement]).
This whole rebelling characters thing is getting way out of hand. Holmes won't tell me what is going on dem it! He's refusing until he's solved it, but I'm the author who's writing the demmed story! I've got special privileges! So Bush and—er I mean comrade-in-writing Watson and I have issued a 48 hour ultimatum. I can't write anymore without those bloody details!
Enough of that.
When the rain comes
They run and hide their heads
They might as well be dead
When the rain comes
~Rain by The Beatles~
Chapter five
It was unusually warm for October. There wouldn't be many more days like it so I leaped at the chance to get out of the house and arranged a picnic. All I needed was a proper Victorian male escort.
"Lewis, would you load the picnic basket into the carriage please? It's much too heavy for me," I lied. I hoped he wouldn't remember the occasion when I'd climbed up all three flights of stairs with a struggling child beneath either arm.
Fortunately his training took over and with a, "very good Miss," he lifted the basket. Nervously I walked behind him, this was going to take some dexterous maneuvering. Betsy winked at me as I lightly stalked out of the kitchen.
"Have fun dear," she said with a tremor of laughter. "Oh, and before you go, cook said give 'em some lemonade from the bottle with the broken seal if things get out of hand."
"Thank you, both," I replied, unreservedly.
So when Lewis leaned into the open top carriage to deposit the basket, I enthusiastically shoved him in as well and closed the door behind us.
"All set Fred!" I called loudly to the forewarned driver. The children giggled hysterically at the sight of their governess kidnapping their butler.
"Miss Kinglars what is the meaning of this?" he regally demanded.
"You didn't think we would be going without an escort, surely," I replied in an as scandalized tone as I could manage.
"Very well than Miss," he said in an amusingly dejected tone.
"Come now Lewis," I cajoled, "Betsy said you needed a vacation, and it's only an afternoon. Cheer up."
I could hardly believe he was seriously that dismal, but looking at his face you had to believe it. He was truly silly. It was so mad to realize that this refined gentleman sitting across from me was in all essence pouting I burst out laughing on the spot.
When we'd gotten to Covent Park I was beginning to wish I'd brought leashes. I'd thought the children had gotten through les petites diables stage, but it was resurging. While I had no need of an escort, I had plenty need of Lewis. Once we'd had lunch Jacob and Sylvia drowsed off (via the lemonade).
Thomas wanted to explore so Lewis took guard of them. I marveled at his ability to maintain dignity while sitting on a blanket on the ground. I had forfeited dignity to these children long ago. While I doubted you would mistake me as a mother (what respectable parent would let their children frolic so?) Lewis stuck out like a giraffe in a room full of penguins.
Light scattered through the tree leaves onto the gravel path as I meandered a few paces behind Thomas. Occasional strands of laughter and conversation breezed across the air. Birds chirped; you could almost imagine you were in the country. I tipped my head back to admire the trees. I didn't like the unbroken sea of rooftops visible from my window.
Well that would be my excuse for not noticing the rock directly in my path. I lay face down for a moment, gathering the scattered pieces of my pride. Gavel crunched before me and I found myself studying a high quality black leather shoe.
'S'il vous plait, Dieu, don't let it be Holmes,' I fervently prayed.
I was graciously answered with a hand up that I didn't recognize.
"Are you well Miss?"
"Yes sir, I'm fine," I murmured. Brushing my skirt off rigorously to hide my crimson face.
"I would like to make a proposal, if I may be so forward."
I looked at the man closely in surprise. His dark eyes glimmered with untold intelligence, somehow he reminded me of a Cobra. As I studied his stoic face I decided his hood was not opened. For the time being I was on firm ground.
"You have my attention," I said cautiously.
"Favorable arrangements could be made for you if certain information, ah, found it's way into the right hands," he said in a low voice.
"I'm not interested," I told him firmly and lengthened my stride.
"Listen," he snarled, viciously yanking my arm, "I can assure you that it will be well worth your time."
"What is it about men, that they can't seem to understand the meaning of N-O when issued from a girl's lips!" I growled, heedless of his illusory uncloaked hood in my minds eye. If he thought he could intimidate me he had another thought coming. I tore my arm out of his grasp and shoved his shoulder back while hooking his ankle. I didn't wait to witness him sprawled across the path.
"Thomas!" I called, jogging after him.
"Emma?" he said, tumbling out of a tree (we dispensed with formality when other adult weren't around).
"We're going home." I grasped his hand in mine and hoisted my skirt with the other so I could move freely.
"But why?"
"Can you be brave?"
He nodded with a scoffing expression.
"There's a man here who could put you in danger. You're not to say anything to anyone about this, you understand. I need to talk to someone first."
I sighed with relief, Sylvia and Jacob were fine, but where was Lewis?
"Miss Kinglars?"
I started; Lewis had snuck up like that creepy butler in Mr. Deeds.
'It must be part of training,' I thought wearily.
"We needed to get the children home," I told him. He nodded and bent to rouse Jacob.
"No," I changed my mind as I lifted Sylvia, "I think a direct consultation with 221B is in order."
I left Lewis and the children in Mrs. Hudson's capable hands and stormed the brigade. To my distorted delight the detective was in residency. He sat in the famous armchair, smoking as predicted.
"What the hell is going on?" I snarled vehemently.
"Pardon me?" he drawled sarcastically.
"What do you mean by placing me with the Wilson's?"
"I beg your pardon? Perhaps you should sit down and explain yourself."
I studied him for a moment and the sat down, swearing to myself in French. Hearing this he leaned forward, his keen eyes flitting over my figure.
"Someone approached you," he started.
I must admit I was taken aback. Glancing over my behavior and words I understood how he had come to the correct conjuncture and re-hinged my jaw. Not to say I could do it on my own, but it was logical. Logic was about all I had hope of following.
"You are rather difficult to follow, Kinglars," he added bemusedly.
"I'm glad to hear it," I retorted with a fairly meager dose of spite.
"So do divulge, Kinglars." He rubbed his hands together with an expression that made me want to laugh. I recounted everything to him finishing apologetically with, "it's really nothing substantial. You understand I want to make sure this wasn't some mad sort of set up."
"I am wounded by your doubt in me," he mocked.
"I know what your brother does for a living and I wouldn't put it past either of you," I rejoined. His cocked eyebrow arched dramatically.
"Come off it Holmes and tell me—ah never mind, I'll take the children home and go on as—" I cut myself off abruptly and blanked out for a moment.
"Kinglars, tell me already," Holmes pleaded in frustration.
"I just remembered an argument I overheard a few weeks ago. This man was threatening, well from his tone I surmised as much, Mr. Wilson. He refused to comply. Glass broke and he left in a rage. After he'd gone up I searched the study, but I couldn't find anything broken. It was very odd." I gazed off into space musing about what I'd seen and heard that night.
"Hmm, what?" I asked snapping back into reality at the sound of Holmes's voice.
"What can you tell me about him?" His voice was strained with impatience.
"Had a very long stride. Lighting was terrible; I didn't get a good look at him. His hair was dark." I paused a moment for reflection, "very well dressed. His suit was a high quality cut. Perhaps ten centimeters taller than me? I can't be sure. That's it, I'm sorry."
"It may yet prove useful," he murmured, leaning back and packing his pipe with little taps. There was a clear rap on the door that I recognized at once.
"Lewis?" I called.
"Ah, yes I beg your pardon Miss Kinglars, but there is a storm approaching. We should get the children home quickly," he advised.
Light flickered in the sinister thunderheads looming over London.
"Wicked," I whispered to cover my anachronistic comment. Hesitantly I rose.
"You will be keeping an eye out for me?"
"It needs material and in its present form shows little promise, but I will."
I nodded my thanks and hastened downstairs with Lewis at my side.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
I have 40 reviews [sob]! Thank you!
Constructivism (cool word ne?) welcome, Also note: Emma has been so kind as to inform me that in the future will be a romantic subplot, but I have too much respect for my characters to sugarcoat it. Not to say that it won't have a waffy moment or two, but their personalities' are too cataclysmic (cool word ne!) to keep it from being rocky slightly angst, ya know? Love y'all!
