Chapter 11
Author's Notes: Apologies for the delay in getting this chapter out. Real life intervened, as well as doubts as to where this story was headed. Thank you as always to my reviewers, sailor-fussion, mierin-lanfear, Haley Macrae, and Lindsay. Your compliments make me feel all gooey inside! Holmes' views on the countryside are taken from the Adventure of the Copper Beeches, and the entymology of his new name comes once again from those fabulous Italians at the Strand magazine. I picture Sir Edgar as being a lot like the Minister of Magic in the Harry Potter movies. This chapter contains foreshadowing.
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As his now-empty soup bowl was removed from in front of him, Sherlock Holmes leaned back in his chair.
"I suppose I will try to find lodgings elsewhere. It will not do to rely on your continued hospitality," he reflected aloud.
From across the mahogany table, Miss Bassano raised an eyebrow. "You may, of course, do whatever you wish, but I suggest you reflect more carefully on your decision. My uncle has not yet given you your assignment, nor your new identity papers. Perhaps a year ago, this would not have been a problem, but with the unrest of recent months, you will be expected to justify your presence wherever you may go. Il Tatti will provide the anonymity you require."
"I am not accustomed to being dependent," Holmes said quietly.
"I would encourage you to grow accustomed to it quickly. Such is the nature of exiles," Miss Bassano pronounced.
A heavy silence settled over the room, and remained unbroken until the table was set for dessert. Picking at his pudding with a fork, Holmes again attempted to make conversation.
"Have you any desire to return to England, Miss Bassano?" he queried.
She looked surprised at first, but then frowned. "I am a divorced woman, with little chance of remarrying at my age. I do not belong to the class of people whose wealth and status grants them a place in society even after scandal. There is no life for me in England." She paused and bit her lip. "Here in Florence, I am surrounded by others who have left, or chosen to leave their homes. I am a perpetual tourist. I can leave my home unescorted," she smirked. "There is freedom in that; and as a woman, I must be grateful for what little freedom life affords me."
He had to be satisfied with that response, for it was more honest than he had expected.
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Holmes sat on the terrace, squinting into the Saturday sun. Fields stretched out into the distance, broken by the sparkling reflections of river water. Yet he was unimpressed by the freshness and beauty of this bucolic vision of spring. Once again, as he had done many times before, he reflected on the hidden wickedness of the isolated cottage in the countryside, the many crimes that could be committed with impunity in the scattered houses. His musings were interrupted, however, by the sound of an approaching carriage. It was some time before it reached the house, but Holmes at once divined the identity of the visitor. He was pleased to find he had not mistaken, as he heard the voice of Sir Edgar in the hall. He stepped back inside, and as his eyes adjusted to the relative darkness, Miss Bassano swept by him to greet her uncle.
Sir Edgar's appearance was unchanged but for one thing: his bureaucratic face now wore a smile. It was not the same predatory smile he had shown the day before. This time, it seemed a closer approximation of genuine joy. His temper also seemed expansive.
"You will not leave us, I hope, my dear?" he asked his niece.
"I think not," Miss Bassano replied, her eyes narrowed slightly with suspicion.
Sir Edgar made his way to a round table in a corner of the room. From his briefcase, he produced several folios, which he placed on the tabletop. Closing the briefcase, he reached into his coat to produce a cigarette case and a lighter. He offered a cigarette to Miss Bassano, who gave him a deprecating look and refused. Holmes refused also, and stood waiting while the older man let out a satisfied puff of bluish smoke.
"I must say my dear," Sir Edgar looked at his niece, "that I have really outdone myself this time."
"No doubt," Miss Bassano answered with quiet dread in her voice.
"Mr Holmes, this package contains your new identity," he gestured towards one of the folders lying on the tabletop. "I have consulted with your brother, and he assures me that you speak French?"
"My grandmother was French, and my brother and I are both fluent in that language, yes," Holmes answered.
"That is very convenient. French is the language of international diplomacy, as you well know. And not since the wars with Napoleon has Britain had so much need for diplomacy as now." A little bit of ash from the end of Sir Edgar's cigarette fell on the table, and smouldered. Miss Bassano absently brushed it off. Sir Edgar continued, "So you will need a new name. I have invented the perfect name for you, Holmes. It could signify one of any number of European nationalities, but it bears the weight of great meaning and responsibility."
"Poetry, Uncle? What are we to call Mr Holmes?" Miss Bassano urged.
Sir Edgar straightened his back and proclaimed, "You are to call him Sigerson. See here, if we read "siger from right to left, it becomes 'regis'. As you well know, this is the Latin genitive of 'rex'. Your name becomes 'king's son,' the prince. In Latin 'princeps' is not only prince, but also the most important." Sir Edgar paused for dramatic effect. The ashes from his cigarette floated in the air past Holmes, on their way to the floor. "You, Mr Holmes, will be one of our most important spies. You have no prior identity, but much experience. You could pose as a tourist, even!" Sir Edgar seemed lost in the possibilities, until he was interrupted by Holmes's question.
"Pardon me, Sir Edgar, but what will be my assignment?"
Sir Edgar looked up, startled. "That has yet to be decided, my boy. The Foreign Office must determine where the Empire's greatest needs lie. But my niece will help you."
"Will I, indeed?" came the indignant response from Miss Bassano.
"Well, he is your little find, isn't he, my dear?" Sir Edgar's predatory smile returned to his lips.
"Indeed," she sighed, and the secret sadness in her eyes was no longer a secret from Holmes.