Disclaimers: See Part 1.
*****
::Emily Cartwright::
His hands were shaking, just a bit. I could hardly avoid noticing, after all, but I decided not to remark on the fact, for his sake. Overall, his manner was very businesslike as he unlaced me, working as quickly as he could, I expect, to avoid prolonging the moment. Of course there was nothing I could say or do to make him feel any more comfortable about it, let alone informing him that he would most likely have to cinch me back into the infernal device in the morning! Instead, I attempted a bit of small talk.
"That had to be the worst cup of coffee I've had in a long time," I observed, and he paused briefly in his task.
"Even so," he replied, continuing with the laces, "I wish you had managed to drink more of it. We both need to remain alert tonight, in case our nocturnal visitor comes."
"It tasted like mothballs," I countered, taking the first remotely deep breaths I'd been able to since that morning. "I know all about suffering hardships for the sake of polite society, but there is only so much I will endure."
"Such as a corset, I suppose." There was, I noted, more than a hint of irony in his voice. At least he was starting to see the humour in the situation.
"You know," I replied, half-turning to glance wryly over my shoulder, "If I weren't so fond of you, a remark like that would have earned you an elbow to the head."
He glanced up, his mouth twisting (through whether it was twisting up or down wasn't readily apparent) and his voice as neutral as only he could manage. "I'm honoured to have earned milady's approval." He returned his attention to the eyelets. "I'm nearly done… There."
Now freed of that modern curse of ladyhood, I took a few moments to work the kinks out of my complaining spine, and then pulled my robe on to spare him any further discomfort.
"Now, tonight," he continued, "before you turn in, make certain that the door and window are securely locked. I suggest you try to stay awake if you are able, and listen for any intruders. I shall be right next door in the study, keeping vigil, so if anything happens, just shout and I shall come immediately." He paused, and then looked me in the eye. "Do you have any questions before we take our respective posts?"
I didn't, so he returned to the study. I set to work kindling a fire in the hearth, both to warm the room and to test Horatio's story about the hearth's temperament. Once the fire was kindled and crackling comfortingly in the hearth, I checked that the door was locked and the window latched and shuttered. Finally I climbed into bed with my physics book to read myself into sleepiness. I was not, however, planning on getting much sleep tonight.
*****
::Sherlock Holmes::
After I concluded with that disagreeable task, I left her to finish her nocturnal ministrations and I mine. As I pulled on my dressing-gown over my night-dress (so that if anything happened to attract the attention of our hosts, we could at least put forth the illusion that we'd both been sound asleep in the same bed before they arrived), I noticed from the corner of my eye a book on one of the shelves that hadn't been quite pushed in flush with its neighbours. I pulled it off the shelf and glanced at the cover: _Herbs and Herbalism_ was the title. I lit the hooded lantern I had packed, setting it on the floor by my feet, and sat down in the wing-backed chair, stretching my slippered feet out towards the fire, to examine the book further. I noticed almost immediately that a localised section of the binding was weakened, as though the owner of the book had read a specific chapter repeatedly. I set the book, spine down, in my lap and let it fall open where it would, which turned out to be at the opening of a section entitled "Valerian", and started reading.
I do not remember exactly when I drifted off to sleep, the book still open in my lap.
*****
::Emily Cartwright::
When next I awoke, the room was deathly cold and pitch black; the fire had obviously gone out, but I had other concerns at the moment for what woke me up was a small shuffling sound, like someone trying to make no noise at all. I remained where I was, feigning sleep and hoping that I was just hearing things or, if not, that it was just Holmes checking on me. No – I couldn't delude myself on that, for the stealthy sound had come from too near the bed.
An icy hand brushed my left breast through the material of my nightgown. I drew breath to scream but my attacker's other hand clamped quickly over my mouth while the first hand grabbed my breast more forcefully. I grabbed at the arms holding me down, trying to push them away, but leverage was not in my favour and the Ghost, whoever he was, bore down more forcefully. In the process, the hand that muffled my screams shifted slightly so that the heel of it was now pressed up under my nose.
I couldn't breathe.
The b-st-rd was trying to suffocate me!
Anger and desperation lent me new inspiration, and I started grasping about beside me, trying to find my physics book, which I remembered I had set on the bed beside me before extinguishing the lamp. My fingertips found it at last and I clawed it towards me until I had a secure grip on it.
Force times velocity… the phrase surfaced in my terrified brain as I swung the book as hard as I possibly could at the spot where I judged the Ghost's head to be. As the book connected, a terrific shock jolted up my arm, and I heard a stifled grunt. I swung again, and those terrible hands were off me. I kept swinging blindly until my numb fingers lost their grip, and I felt the book tumble into the corner.
Not knowing if the Ghost was still there, not knowing if he was hurt, or angry, or stunned, I filled my lungs and screamed with every ounce of strength I could summon.
*****
::Sherlock Holmes::
The sound of screaming from the bedroom tore through my slumber like a sharp knife through paper. Fear, dread, dismay – all these threatened to immobilise me, but I pushed them aside, snatched up the lantern (which, thank God, was still burning) and launched myself from the chair, causing the book I'd been reading to topple gracelessly to the floor.
I was through the connecting door like a shot, un-hooding the lantern so that I could see any intruders. To my frustration, I saw none – but I did see Emily, looking very fragile in her nightgown and still screaming with such terror that I knew that I'd been only moments too slow, and I saw her beloved physics book lying near the wall under the window (which, incidentally, was still closed and shuttered). I set the lantern on the bedside table and took her by the shoulders in an attempt to jar her from her hysteria – only to have her lash out blindly, clawing at my face. I seized her wrists, but she continued to struggle.
"Emily – Emily!" I said sharply, trying to bring her out of her shock. "Look at me!"
Her eyes seemed to focus then, and she stopped fighting me. Seeing that I was no longer in immediate danger of being blinded, I released her wrists. Almost immediately, she flung her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly with the grim desperation of a drowning woman.
I felt absolutely wretched. It was largely my doing that had landed her in the situation, and then I'd further betrayed her by falling asleep – falling asleep! – when she'd trusted me so implicitly to keep watch on the bedroom where she'd been sleeping – where she'd been attacked.
The only thing I could do now to salvage the shambles I'd made of the investigation was to find out what she remembered of her attack. However, I needed her relatively calm in order to question her, and pushing her away while she was in this state would have been heartless and thus quite out of the question. Instead I held her close – feeling the violent trembling in her limbs, her heart hammering frantically in her breast, and her breath, warm but shallow, against the side of my throat – and did my level best to help her re-gather her scattered wits.
*****
End of Part 8.
*****
::Emily Cartwright::
His hands were shaking, just a bit. I could hardly avoid noticing, after all, but I decided not to remark on the fact, for his sake. Overall, his manner was very businesslike as he unlaced me, working as quickly as he could, I expect, to avoid prolonging the moment. Of course there was nothing I could say or do to make him feel any more comfortable about it, let alone informing him that he would most likely have to cinch me back into the infernal device in the morning! Instead, I attempted a bit of small talk.
"That had to be the worst cup of coffee I've had in a long time," I observed, and he paused briefly in his task.
"Even so," he replied, continuing with the laces, "I wish you had managed to drink more of it. We both need to remain alert tonight, in case our nocturnal visitor comes."
"It tasted like mothballs," I countered, taking the first remotely deep breaths I'd been able to since that morning. "I know all about suffering hardships for the sake of polite society, but there is only so much I will endure."
"Such as a corset, I suppose." There was, I noted, more than a hint of irony in his voice. At least he was starting to see the humour in the situation.
"You know," I replied, half-turning to glance wryly over my shoulder, "If I weren't so fond of you, a remark like that would have earned you an elbow to the head."
He glanced up, his mouth twisting (through whether it was twisting up or down wasn't readily apparent) and his voice as neutral as only he could manage. "I'm honoured to have earned milady's approval." He returned his attention to the eyelets. "I'm nearly done… There."
Now freed of that modern curse of ladyhood, I took a few moments to work the kinks out of my complaining spine, and then pulled my robe on to spare him any further discomfort.
"Now, tonight," he continued, "before you turn in, make certain that the door and window are securely locked. I suggest you try to stay awake if you are able, and listen for any intruders. I shall be right next door in the study, keeping vigil, so if anything happens, just shout and I shall come immediately." He paused, and then looked me in the eye. "Do you have any questions before we take our respective posts?"
I didn't, so he returned to the study. I set to work kindling a fire in the hearth, both to warm the room and to test Horatio's story about the hearth's temperament. Once the fire was kindled and crackling comfortingly in the hearth, I checked that the door was locked and the window latched and shuttered. Finally I climbed into bed with my physics book to read myself into sleepiness. I was not, however, planning on getting much sleep tonight.
*****
::Sherlock Holmes::
After I concluded with that disagreeable task, I left her to finish her nocturnal ministrations and I mine. As I pulled on my dressing-gown over my night-dress (so that if anything happened to attract the attention of our hosts, we could at least put forth the illusion that we'd both been sound asleep in the same bed before they arrived), I noticed from the corner of my eye a book on one of the shelves that hadn't been quite pushed in flush with its neighbours. I pulled it off the shelf and glanced at the cover: _Herbs and Herbalism_ was the title. I lit the hooded lantern I had packed, setting it on the floor by my feet, and sat down in the wing-backed chair, stretching my slippered feet out towards the fire, to examine the book further. I noticed almost immediately that a localised section of the binding was weakened, as though the owner of the book had read a specific chapter repeatedly. I set the book, spine down, in my lap and let it fall open where it would, which turned out to be at the opening of a section entitled "Valerian", and started reading.
I do not remember exactly when I drifted off to sleep, the book still open in my lap.
*****
::Emily Cartwright::
When next I awoke, the room was deathly cold and pitch black; the fire had obviously gone out, but I had other concerns at the moment for what woke me up was a small shuffling sound, like someone trying to make no noise at all. I remained where I was, feigning sleep and hoping that I was just hearing things or, if not, that it was just Holmes checking on me. No – I couldn't delude myself on that, for the stealthy sound had come from too near the bed.
An icy hand brushed my left breast through the material of my nightgown. I drew breath to scream but my attacker's other hand clamped quickly over my mouth while the first hand grabbed my breast more forcefully. I grabbed at the arms holding me down, trying to push them away, but leverage was not in my favour and the Ghost, whoever he was, bore down more forcefully. In the process, the hand that muffled my screams shifted slightly so that the heel of it was now pressed up under my nose.
I couldn't breathe.
The b-st-rd was trying to suffocate me!
Anger and desperation lent me new inspiration, and I started grasping about beside me, trying to find my physics book, which I remembered I had set on the bed beside me before extinguishing the lamp. My fingertips found it at last and I clawed it towards me until I had a secure grip on it.
Force times velocity… the phrase surfaced in my terrified brain as I swung the book as hard as I possibly could at the spot where I judged the Ghost's head to be. As the book connected, a terrific shock jolted up my arm, and I heard a stifled grunt. I swung again, and those terrible hands were off me. I kept swinging blindly until my numb fingers lost their grip, and I felt the book tumble into the corner.
Not knowing if the Ghost was still there, not knowing if he was hurt, or angry, or stunned, I filled my lungs and screamed with every ounce of strength I could summon.
*****
::Sherlock Holmes::
The sound of screaming from the bedroom tore through my slumber like a sharp knife through paper. Fear, dread, dismay – all these threatened to immobilise me, but I pushed them aside, snatched up the lantern (which, thank God, was still burning) and launched myself from the chair, causing the book I'd been reading to topple gracelessly to the floor.
I was through the connecting door like a shot, un-hooding the lantern so that I could see any intruders. To my frustration, I saw none – but I did see Emily, looking very fragile in her nightgown and still screaming with such terror that I knew that I'd been only moments too slow, and I saw her beloved physics book lying near the wall under the window (which, incidentally, was still closed and shuttered). I set the lantern on the bedside table and took her by the shoulders in an attempt to jar her from her hysteria – only to have her lash out blindly, clawing at my face. I seized her wrists, but she continued to struggle.
"Emily – Emily!" I said sharply, trying to bring her out of her shock. "Look at me!"
Her eyes seemed to focus then, and she stopped fighting me. Seeing that I was no longer in immediate danger of being blinded, I released her wrists. Almost immediately, she flung her arms around my neck, hugging me tightly with the grim desperation of a drowning woman.
I felt absolutely wretched. It was largely my doing that had landed her in the situation, and then I'd further betrayed her by falling asleep – falling asleep! – when she'd trusted me so implicitly to keep watch on the bedroom where she'd been sleeping – where she'd been attacked.
The only thing I could do now to salvage the shambles I'd made of the investigation was to find out what she remembered of her attack. However, I needed her relatively calm in order to question her, and pushing her away while she was in this state would have been heartless and thus quite out of the question. Instead I held her close – feeling the violent trembling in her limbs, her heart hammering frantically in her breast, and her breath, warm but shallow, against the side of my throat – and did my level best to help her re-gather her scattered wits.
*****
End of Part 8.