Chapter 6
Author's Note: Thank you to Haley Macrae and Estriel of EstrielandJenna fame. I didn't mean for the last chapter to be so evil in its cliffhanger ending. I generally write these chapters at work, so they're only as long as I can write in an hour. This one is longer, as it has lots of explanation, but I promise we will get to action in the next chapter. Much of Holmes' upcoming account is taken directly from the Adventure of the Empty House, as well as the hypotheses of some Italian Sherlockians.
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Holmes took it as a sign of the quicksand that comprised the feminine temperament that she continued to smile. He could not, in his present state, determine whether the smile was genuine, or the cruelly cutting kind society ladies were known to use.
"Well, as long as we are playing at gross misconceptions, it seems to be my turn. Aside from the fact that your name is Sherlock Holmes, you have a brother named Mycroft, and a friend named Watson, an enemy with the initial 'M,' who may indeed be one with the 'Moriarty' of your delusional ramblings, and very little money indeed, I know nothing at all about you." She came to perch on the side of the bed and smiled again at his look of wonderment. She held out her hand. "My name is Beatrice Bassano. I was indeed married, but it is my uncle who is in the Foreign Office. And I when I was growing up in Sussex, I was taught that a gentleman never comments on a lady's age."
He took her proffered hand and nodded towards it in the nearest approximation of a bow he could manage while lying down. Within his own thin, bruised hand, it was soft and white. She was dressed well, though modestly, in a dark purple gown. Her nearly-black hair was dressed simply, lacking any of the ornament he had seen fashion dictate. She was not a woman of striking beauty, but there was something pleasing in her aspect: a frank brow and honest eyes that now looked at him, crinkled in mixed amusement and curiosity.
He began to recite aloud. "My name you read in my documents. Dr. Watson's name must have been..."
"He authored your obituary," she finished for him. "The feeling with which those words were penned assured me he was your great friend. Yet, here you lie, while no one in the world is aware of your continued existence, and indeed, improving health." Instead of a reply, Holmes looked away. Seemingly oblivious, she continued, "Who is Moriarty? Is he the reason the world presumes you dead?"
Holmes shuddered, remembering the chilling scream that echoed up the Falls. "Yes." He quickly drew himself up as if to emphasise his point. "But I cannot tell you any more."
Miss Bassano threw her arms in the air. "Oh no, not this again. Surely you do not continue to believe that I have rescued you from a muddy road in a rainstorm, nursed you back to health, endured your insolence, only to carry out some malicious plot on your life? I would have thought that my very knowledge of your brother's existence would have cleared me of suspicion." She sighed. "To what, then, do I owe the pleasure of having the world's first consulting detective in my State Bed?"
Holmes answered that question with one of his own. "How do you know my brother?"
Somewhat taken aback, she answered, "There is hardly anyone in the government who does not know your brother." This was not an informative answer, but Holmes seemed suitably mollified, for at length, he began.
"No doubt the English newspapers have been filled with the sensational accounts of the trial proceedings against the minions of the 'Napoleon of Crime'. I have spent the last few years unravelling the web of criminal intrigue spun by that Professor James Moriarty. When at last I had tracked him to Switzerland, I had little doubt that any confrontation between us would end with a death – I did not know whose.
Let it not be said that the late professor did not possess the manners of a gentleman. Indeed, he graciously allowed me to write a note to my friend Watson, which I also believed would be my last act in the world of the living. There was a duel of sorts, a match of strength for strength, with no weapons drawn between us. We tottered together upon the brink of the fall, when at last I slipped through his grip, and saw him fall onto the swirling waters below.
I knew, however, that there were at least three others who had sworn their murderous vengeance on me. As I took shelter on a ledge, observing the ensuing investigation that led to the inevitable conclusion of my death, I planned my disappearance. If all the world was convinced that I was dead, my pursuers would take liberties, and would soon lay themselves open so that I could destroy them. Yet, while I lay imagining my own safety, a huge rock, falling from above, boomed past me, struck the path, and bounded over into the chasm. As another stone struck the very ledge upon which I was stretched, within a foot of my head, I saw the outline of a man against the darkening sky. Even that one glance had told me how dangerous that confederate was. From a distance, unseen by me, he had been a witness of his friend's death and of my escape. He had waited, and then making his way round to the top of the cliff, he had endeavoured to succeed where Moriarty had failed.
When I saw that grim face look over the cliff, I knew that it was the precursor of another stone. I scrambled down on to the path. I don't think I could have done it in cold blood. It was a hundred times more difficult than getting up. But I had no time to think of the danger, for another stone sang past me as I hung by my hands from the edge of the ledge. Halfway down I slipped, but, by the blessing of God, I landed, torn and bleeding, upon the path. I took to my heels, did ten miles over the mountains in the darkness, and fell in with some smugglers who took me over the border at the Susten Pass. The cold and rain cut off my route many times, with roads closed due to flooding. Starving and desperate, I took my chances when I threw myself into the back of a passing peasant's cart. I assume that is where you found me..."
Visibly tired, Holmes leaned back into his pillows. Miss Bassano nodded slowly.
"Yes, you tumbled out of the back of the cart on the road from Sesto. You lay in the mud, blocking the road for my trap. You were mumbling something in English. I had no choice but to take you in."
"And so now I am in Florence?"
Miss Bassano smiled. "You are located in the State Bedroom of the Villa Il Tatti, not three miles from the centre of Old Florence. Welcome to Chiantishire, Mr. Holmes." Rising from the bed, she once again adopted the commanding tone Holmes had heard before. "You may ask more questions tomorrow. For now, you must rest."
To his own surprise, Holmes was inclined to comply.