Disclaimers: See Part 1.
*****
::Sherlock Holmes::
After assuring myself of Emily's willingness to join me on this case, I headed for home, stopping briefly on the way to send a telegram to Lestrade requesting all information related to the case be sent to me at once.
"You will doubtless be relieved to learn," I said to Watson when I returned home, "that your presence will not be required in this case. I know your leg has been bothering you, and I have accordingly made alternate arrangements."
"So, she agreed?" Watson said as I unwound my muffler and hung it on the coat rack.
"If you must know," I sniffed, "she did agree to lend her unique brand of aid to the case, though I'm not at all certain she appreciates the possible risks involved."
"Just remember Michael," he suggested. The lad in question had got on the wrong side of Emily during her debutante and left the scene with a dislocated knee and a rather specific stab wound from a hatpin.
I reflected on the role I had asked her to play. "I would rather not recall Michael right now. I have to make some final arrangements before the case commences in earnest."
"Well, if you need my help at all--"
"If I need your help, I shall ask. You have nothing to worry about, I'm certain."
"If you're sure."
"I'm sure."
As it was by then late in the evening, I ate a brief repast and retired to bed to gather my energies for the case.
I arose early the following morning, as was my custom during the commencement of a new case, and had broken my fast by the time the courier arrived at seven with a discouragingly slim bundle of case notes regarding the Ghost. I scanned them briefly, and then tossed the bundle into a valise in preparation to pack for the journey.
I decided that I should send Emily an early telegram letting her know when I planned to collect her, so she would have plenty of time to pack by the following afternoon
*****
::Emily Cartwright::
Twenty-four hours to pack!
It was apparent that Holmes had only the vaguest grasp of the complexity or delicacy of feminine costume - else he might have given me more notice. It was one of my pet peeves about proper ladyhood, of course, and made me long for the trousers and loose shirts I was allowed to wear in my girlhood, or at least clothing I could move around in without fear of catching my heel on a petticoat.
Of course, trousers would not fit at all into this case (however much I would have liked them to), so I recruited my room-mate and my landlady to help me carefully man-handle the crepes, chiffons, silks and such that I would probably need for two days (which comes to an amazing volume of clothes for a young lady) into more portable forms so that they would not be ruined by journey's end. When at last we had secured the valises so they would not feel inclined to explode under the strain, I had dodged forty-seven separate probes about my "family friend" (for so I had described Holmes to explain why I was going away for two days with him on twenty-four hours' notice), it was late the following morning, and I was in a foul mood, mainly because I had not yet had a chance to properly break my fast and partially because I had cut my finger on the exposed end of one of the whalebone stays in the spare corset I'd planned to pack.
I was just about to feast on a slice of marmalade toast and a glass of orange juice when Mrs Croft advised me that a hansom had just pulled up.
"I'll tell him you aren't quite ready," she added in response to the look I offered her.
"Thank you, Mrs Croft," I said, and tore into the toast.
My mood was not helped by the fact that when I finally went out to meet the cab, having securely bundled myself against the foul weather, the interior was empty but for those items of my luggage that wouldn't fit on the roof-rack.
"He didn't even have the common decency to come get me himself," I murmured, mainly to myself but partially to the cabby holding open the door to the vehicle, "He sent an empty cab. Of all the..."
"'E prob'ly dint think both o you'd fit in th' cab, wot with all the luggage y'got," the cabby drawled.
I turned sharply to chastise the cabby for his insolence, but before I could say a word Holmes winked at me from the shadow between the brim of his cap and the top edge of his muffler. He was flushed from the cold wind, and I could tell that he was smiling rather cheekily, despite the fact that the muffler was pulled up nearly to his nose.
"'Elp you oop, marm?" he offered, holding out his hand.
Apparently he'd decided he was going to be Mr Clever today.
I sighed in amused annoyance as I let him help me into the cab. Before he shut the door I leaned back out and grabbed the tail of his worn muffler and dragged him back.
"You're going to pay dearly for this, Holmes," I assured him good-naturedly.
"Oh, Oi've no doubt o' that, marm," he replied, then abruptly dropped the cockney accent and lowered his voice, "I believe I told you to pack for only two days."
"This *is* two days' worth of clothing for a woman."
He looked at me askance.
"Ask any woman," I added, and shut the door..
*****
::Sherlock Holmes::
Personally, I thought masquerading as a cabby was a rather clever diversion. However, when I saw the mood Emily was in when she finally emerged from the boarding-house, I reflected that being clever might well get me injured. I was certain that a day would be more than sufficient time for her to get packed – after all I had gathered all the things I estimated I would need on the trip in an afternoon, with room left over for my violin, in three valises. I was certain Emily had grossly over-packed, despite her assurance that this was average for a young woman.
During a brief stop back at Baker Street – during which interval I added my own belongings to the hansom with the help of the genuine (and rather bemused) cabby – Emily was kind enough to educate me otherwise.
Watson had at least the good grace to keep out of the middle of it, though at one point he gave me an amused look that, in hindsight, ought to have invited further discussion of the planned masquerade at the bed and breakfast. As it was, I was more concerned with the upcoming investigation, and it never once occurred to me.
Once the hansom was fully laden, Emily and I set off for Victoria Station, where we would catch the 12.05 to Sussex.
"We should have a fair journey ahead of us," I said as the cab started moving, "Which gives us plenty of time to discuss my plan. Now – first of all, we check into the bed and breakfast under the name of Baker – John and Mary, recently married, and looking forward to a quiet honeymoon in the country. According to the notes Lestrade sent to me, the bedroom in question is on the ground floor, with an adjoining study of sorts, which will of course include a number of possible entry points for the attacker, but it should otherwise suit our purposes perfectly. Now, we'll start by—" I stopped short, noticing a slightly dangerous silence coming from her half of the cab. I looked up from the packet of notes I'd been consulting. "Is something wrong?" I asked, after a tactful pause. Though I was not as adept at reading the female mood as Watson was, the look Emily was shooting at me across the cab from just under the brim of her hat and some distance above her folded arms translated quite clearly.
"I don't suppose it occurred to you that I might want some say in any of this," she said, rather sharply.
It hadn't, of course. Watson had never asked (let alone demanded) any input on the details of such setups, but of course I'd momentarily forgotten with whom I was currently dealing. "Consider me reprimanded," I said flatly, unenthusiastic about the idea of accepting outside input on what I felt was a perfectly good plan, "Now, what is it you would like to contribute?"
"I want to be *Clarissa* Baker, for a start."
"Ah yes. After your beloved aunt, I presume?"
"Of course. I never liked the name Mary in any case."
"I think it's a perfectly reasonable name," I replied, a bit defensively, "After all, it's commonplace enough not to draw undue attention because of novelty."
"I like Clarissa better."
"Fine," I sighed, "John and *Clarissa* Baker, newly married, looking forward to a quiet honeymoon in the country—"
"So we'll be from London, then?"
I looked back up from my notes, my patience starting to wear thin.
"Yes," I said, "We'll be from London."
"That makes sense," she replied casually, "I don't think country folk would go elsewhere in the country to find someplace special for their honeymoon."
"No," I said, "They wouldn't. May I continue?"
"Go ahead."
I returned my attention to my notes. "As I said, the bedroom is on the ground floor – apparently it's a refurbished spare room of some sort, with an adjoining study—"
"Are you expecting us both to sleep there?"
The question was a valid one, to which I had given much consideration. "If you mean will we be sharing the bed, the answer, of course, is no. You needn't be concerned about that. You will be sleeping in the bed, and I will arrange or improvise other accommodations for myself." I glanced up at her. "I trust that will be amenable."
"Of course." A look of amusement crept across her face.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said blithely, "You're probably just a bit flushed from the cold."
Aha. She apparently thought the question of sleeping arrangements had embarrassed me. It would take much more than that, if such was her goal.
"Yes," I said simply, "I had to return the muffler to the cabby, after all."
*****
::Emily Cartwright::
He was blushing, despite anything he said to the contrary – I knew cold-chapping and I knew blushing, growing up the way I did – but of course if I corrected him he would only dig in his heels. Of course my enquiry about the sleeping arrangements was perfectly valid – I preferred to know ahead of time how far he wished to take the masquerade and whether I had to make any personal adjustments (mine or his – I had grown fond of him and I really didn't want to have to dislocate anything on suspicion of impropriety).
Once we'd arrived at the train station, I had a fair idea of the direction in which he planned to take the investigation. John Baker, a banker, and his new bride Clarissa Baker would check in to the bed and breakfast for their honeymoon, and working under that ruse Holmes and I would take stock of the dramatis personae to be found living and working there, comparing notes whenever possible.
"Remember your role," he concluded, "it is important that the culprit does not suspect either of us to be other than we seem to be: a newly wedded husband and wife visiting the countryside."
I sighed. "I know how to act demure and ladylike."
"Then you would do well to act the part," he said with a slight smile that supplied an otherwise unspoken *for once*.
I smirked and promptly immersed myself in the lessons Mrs Weaver had so studiously attempted to instill in me, timing my opening scene to the instant he opened the cab door.
"Oh, John, darling, isn't this exciting?" I gushed, hands clasped in front of my bosom, "I've never been to the country before – I heard the scenery is simply lovely this time of year!"
I was gratified to see Holmes stop short with one leg outside the cab, staring hard at me in what might have been shock or simple lack of equilibrium. It took him two full seconds to recover and adapt.
"I would offer nothing less to my beloved bride," he replied, achieving the character of proud husband within three words. He took my hand and helped me down from the cab, motioning to the porter as he did so. While our respective luggage was being transferred to the waiting train, he added sotto voce, "Tell me you're not going to act like that the whole time we're there."
"Don't you remember whose idea this was?" I returned sweetly, also sotto voce.
"Please," he said, with the tiniest note of pleading in his voice (not that he would ever stoop to begging).
"Oh, all right," I conceded, "I think I'd get sick to my stomach if I had to act like that all weekend in any case."
*****
End of Part 4.
*****
::Sherlock Holmes::
After assuring myself of Emily's willingness to join me on this case, I headed for home, stopping briefly on the way to send a telegram to Lestrade requesting all information related to the case be sent to me at once.
"You will doubtless be relieved to learn," I said to Watson when I returned home, "that your presence will not be required in this case. I know your leg has been bothering you, and I have accordingly made alternate arrangements."
"So, she agreed?" Watson said as I unwound my muffler and hung it on the coat rack.
"If you must know," I sniffed, "she did agree to lend her unique brand of aid to the case, though I'm not at all certain she appreciates the possible risks involved."
"Just remember Michael," he suggested. The lad in question had got on the wrong side of Emily during her debutante and left the scene with a dislocated knee and a rather specific stab wound from a hatpin.
I reflected on the role I had asked her to play. "I would rather not recall Michael right now. I have to make some final arrangements before the case commences in earnest."
"Well, if you need my help at all--"
"If I need your help, I shall ask. You have nothing to worry about, I'm certain."
"If you're sure."
"I'm sure."
As it was by then late in the evening, I ate a brief repast and retired to bed to gather my energies for the case.
I arose early the following morning, as was my custom during the commencement of a new case, and had broken my fast by the time the courier arrived at seven with a discouragingly slim bundle of case notes regarding the Ghost. I scanned them briefly, and then tossed the bundle into a valise in preparation to pack for the journey.
I decided that I should send Emily an early telegram letting her know when I planned to collect her, so she would have plenty of time to pack by the following afternoon
*****
::Emily Cartwright::
Twenty-four hours to pack!
It was apparent that Holmes had only the vaguest grasp of the complexity or delicacy of feminine costume - else he might have given me more notice. It was one of my pet peeves about proper ladyhood, of course, and made me long for the trousers and loose shirts I was allowed to wear in my girlhood, or at least clothing I could move around in without fear of catching my heel on a petticoat.
Of course, trousers would not fit at all into this case (however much I would have liked them to), so I recruited my room-mate and my landlady to help me carefully man-handle the crepes, chiffons, silks and such that I would probably need for two days (which comes to an amazing volume of clothes for a young lady) into more portable forms so that they would not be ruined by journey's end. When at last we had secured the valises so they would not feel inclined to explode under the strain, I had dodged forty-seven separate probes about my "family friend" (for so I had described Holmes to explain why I was going away for two days with him on twenty-four hours' notice), it was late the following morning, and I was in a foul mood, mainly because I had not yet had a chance to properly break my fast and partially because I had cut my finger on the exposed end of one of the whalebone stays in the spare corset I'd planned to pack.
I was just about to feast on a slice of marmalade toast and a glass of orange juice when Mrs Croft advised me that a hansom had just pulled up.
"I'll tell him you aren't quite ready," she added in response to the look I offered her.
"Thank you, Mrs Croft," I said, and tore into the toast.
My mood was not helped by the fact that when I finally went out to meet the cab, having securely bundled myself against the foul weather, the interior was empty but for those items of my luggage that wouldn't fit on the roof-rack.
"He didn't even have the common decency to come get me himself," I murmured, mainly to myself but partially to the cabby holding open the door to the vehicle, "He sent an empty cab. Of all the..."
"'E prob'ly dint think both o you'd fit in th' cab, wot with all the luggage y'got," the cabby drawled.
I turned sharply to chastise the cabby for his insolence, but before I could say a word Holmes winked at me from the shadow between the brim of his cap and the top edge of his muffler. He was flushed from the cold wind, and I could tell that he was smiling rather cheekily, despite the fact that the muffler was pulled up nearly to his nose.
"'Elp you oop, marm?" he offered, holding out his hand.
Apparently he'd decided he was going to be Mr Clever today.
I sighed in amused annoyance as I let him help me into the cab. Before he shut the door I leaned back out and grabbed the tail of his worn muffler and dragged him back.
"You're going to pay dearly for this, Holmes," I assured him good-naturedly.
"Oh, Oi've no doubt o' that, marm," he replied, then abruptly dropped the cockney accent and lowered his voice, "I believe I told you to pack for only two days."
"This *is* two days' worth of clothing for a woman."
He looked at me askance.
"Ask any woman," I added, and shut the door..
*****
::Sherlock Holmes::
Personally, I thought masquerading as a cabby was a rather clever diversion. However, when I saw the mood Emily was in when she finally emerged from the boarding-house, I reflected that being clever might well get me injured. I was certain that a day would be more than sufficient time for her to get packed – after all I had gathered all the things I estimated I would need on the trip in an afternoon, with room left over for my violin, in three valises. I was certain Emily had grossly over-packed, despite her assurance that this was average for a young woman.
During a brief stop back at Baker Street – during which interval I added my own belongings to the hansom with the help of the genuine (and rather bemused) cabby – Emily was kind enough to educate me otherwise.
Watson had at least the good grace to keep out of the middle of it, though at one point he gave me an amused look that, in hindsight, ought to have invited further discussion of the planned masquerade at the bed and breakfast. As it was, I was more concerned with the upcoming investigation, and it never once occurred to me.
Once the hansom was fully laden, Emily and I set off for Victoria Station, where we would catch the 12.05 to Sussex.
"We should have a fair journey ahead of us," I said as the cab started moving, "Which gives us plenty of time to discuss my plan. Now – first of all, we check into the bed and breakfast under the name of Baker – John and Mary, recently married, and looking forward to a quiet honeymoon in the country. According to the notes Lestrade sent to me, the bedroom in question is on the ground floor, with an adjoining study of sorts, which will of course include a number of possible entry points for the attacker, but it should otherwise suit our purposes perfectly. Now, we'll start by—" I stopped short, noticing a slightly dangerous silence coming from her half of the cab. I looked up from the packet of notes I'd been consulting. "Is something wrong?" I asked, after a tactful pause. Though I was not as adept at reading the female mood as Watson was, the look Emily was shooting at me across the cab from just under the brim of her hat and some distance above her folded arms translated quite clearly.
"I don't suppose it occurred to you that I might want some say in any of this," she said, rather sharply.
It hadn't, of course. Watson had never asked (let alone demanded) any input on the details of such setups, but of course I'd momentarily forgotten with whom I was currently dealing. "Consider me reprimanded," I said flatly, unenthusiastic about the idea of accepting outside input on what I felt was a perfectly good plan, "Now, what is it you would like to contribute?"
"I want to be *Clarissa* Baker, for a start."
"Ah yes. After your beloved aunt, I presume?"
"Of course. I never liked the name Mary in any case."
"I think it's a perfectly reasonable name," I replied, a bit defensively, "After all, it's commonplace enough not to draw undue attention because of novelty."
"I like Clarissa better."
"Fine," I sighed, "John and *Clarissa* Baker, newly married, looking forward to a quiet honeymoon in the country—"
"So we'll be from London, then?"
I looked back up from my notes, my patience starting to wear thin.
"Yes," I said, "We'll be from London."
"That makes sense," she replied casually, "I don't think country folk would go elsewhere in the country to find someplace special for their honeymoon."
"No," I said, "They wouldn't. May I continue?"
"Go ahead."
I returned my attention to my notes. "As I said, the bedroom is on the ground floor – apparently it's a refurbished spare room of some sort, with an adjoining study—"
"Are you expecting us both to sleep there?"
The question was a valid one, to which I had given much consideration. "If you mean will we be sharing the bed, the answer, of course, is no. You needn't be concerned about that. You will be sleeping in the bed, and I will arrange or improvise other accommodations for myself." I glanced up at her. "I trust that will be amenable."
"Of course." A look of amusement crept across her face.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said blithely, "You're probably just a bit flushed from the cold."
Aha. She apparently thought the question of sleeping arrangements had embarrassed me. It would take much more than that, if such was her goal.
"Yes," I said simply, "I had to return the muffler to the cabby, after all."
*****
::Emily Cartwright::
He was blushing, despite anything he said to the contrary – I knew cold-chapping and I knew blushing, growing up the way I did – but of course if I corrected him he would only dig in his heels. Of course my enquiry about the sleeping arrangements was perfectly valid – I preferred to know ahead of time how far he wished to take the masquerade and whether I had to make any personal adjustments (mine or his – I had grown fond of him and I really didn't want to have to dislocate anything on suspicion of impropriety).
Once we'd arrived at the train station, I had a fair idea of the direction in which he planned to take the investigation. John Baker, a banker, and his new bride Clarissa Baker would check in to the bed and breakfast for their honeymoon, and working under that ruse Holmes and I would take stock of the dramatis personae to be found living and working there, comparing notes whenever possible.
"Remember your role," he concluded, "it is important that the culprit does not suspect either of us to be other than we seem to be: a newly wedded husband and wife visiting the countryside."
I sighed. "I know how to act demure and ladylike."
"Then you would do well to act the part," he said with a slight smile that supplied an otherwise unspoken *for once*.
I smirked and promptly immersed myself in the lessons Mrs Weaver had so studiously attempted to instill in me, timing my opening scene to the instant he opened the cab door.
"Oh, John, darling, isn't this exciting?" I gushed, hands clasped in front of my bosom, "I've never been to the country before – I heard the scenery is simply lovely this time of year!"
I was gratified to see Holmes stop short with one leg outside the cab, staring hard at me in what might have been shock or simple lack of equilibrium. It took him two full seconds to recover and adapt.
"I would offer nothing less to my beloved bride," he replied, achieving the character of proud husband within three words. He took my hand and helped me down from the cab, motioning to the porter as he did so. While our respective luggage was being transferred to the waiting train, he added sotto voce, "Tell me you're not going to act like that the whole time we're there."
"Don't you remember whose idea this was?" I returned sweetly, also sotto voce.
"Please," he said, with the tiniest note of pleading in his voice (not that he would ever stoop to begging).
"Oh, all right," I conceded, "I think I'd get sick to my stomach if I had to act like that all weekend in any case."
*****
End of Part 4.