Chapter 14

Author's Notes: Thank you Shannon Holmes, I am flattered you think so. Haley Macrae, I try to keep the updates regular because I hate it when other writers abandon their faithful readers without notice. I am very busy these days, but I try to write as often as I can. I'm glad I didn't get pelted with rotten tomatoes for my cliffhanger. This story is developing more slowly than I envisioned; but as long as my readers are still interested, that's OK! I am finally done the with the introductory bits. The names at the end are an invention that will come in handy later; you can guess how. I may get some rotten tomatoes for this chapter. I am prepared for flames!

For the first time during his sojourn at Il Tatti, Holmes ventured upstairs. It was dark and quiet in the hallway, but one door had been left ajar. He

entered the room quietly.

Holmes was both frustrated and relieved at the anonymity of the interior. The decorations, while thankfully not fussy and feminine, had nothing about them that could be described as touched by the personal taste of their inhabitant. The room was sparsely furnished, with little more than a chair, a dressing-table and a wardrobe. The bed, covered with heavy green hangings was pushed against the back wall. A little sunlight filtered through the drawn shades, giving the walls an odd, crepuscular glow.

Miss Bassano lay fully dressed on top of the covers, her black spread like a halo around her head.. Her left cheek was swollen to an angry red, and the skin around her eyes was puffy from weeping. There were small cuts on her face and hands which disfigured her pale skin. Her breathing was slow but regular, and her eyes were closed, so Holmes assumed she was asleep. She was remarkably small and vulnerable, like a sick child.

He picked up the chair and moved it beside the bed. Clearing his throat, he sat down. From the bed, Miss Bassano sighed.

"You shouldn't be here, Mr Holmes." Her voice was low and quiet. Holmes felt a flush of embarrassment warm his cheeks. He had been in women's bedrooms before, but never while they were occupied.

"How do you feel?" he ventured, rather lamely.

Miss Bassano's eyelids opened rather slowly, but she did not turn her head to look at him. "My home has been invaded, my reputation ruined, and I have a male nurse. Things couldn't be better, Mr Holmes." A teardrop escaped the corner of her eye and ran down her temple into the pillow.

"I haven't come to nurse you," Holmes said. "I'm afraid I have no skills whatever in that regard."

"Then I would ask you to leave me in peace." Miss Bassano closed her eyes again.

Holmes leaned forward and covered her hand with his own; she jerked it away. "I have come to apologize, Miss Bassano. I am quite convinced that this unfortunate situation has been caused by my presence. The evidence suggests that the intruder was looking for me when he entered your home. The attack on my brother a few days ago was a warning to me that my whereabouts were no longer a secret. I found a note on the intruder's person; I believe that if it were deciphered, it would have been an order for my death. Unfortunately," Holmes said with some chagrin, "the local authorities did not deem it important enough to save.

"When this hired killer entered the villa, he did not expect to meet you. I wonder that you, a woman, could have so efficiently disarmed him. Your conduct is commendable."

"Commendable..." she repeated in a whisper, as her tears began to flow in earnest.

"I consider it a mark on my character that I was not able to protect you. It is to my everlasting regret and shame that you bore the violence intended for me. It will never happen again. I have, however, a proposal that I hope you will find agreeable."

A weak shrug from Miss Bassano encouraged him to continue. "I believe that the only satisfactory solution would be marriage."

"Get out." Miss Bassano's voice once again took the steely tone Holmes had heard before. She turned her head and fixed Holmes with a gaze filled with anger and desperation. "I am not normally given to hysteria, Mr Holmes, but if I had more strength left in me, I swear I would throw something – anything – at you, if only to dislodge that misguided valour!" She pulled herself up to sit, and winced with pain. Clenching her fists, she brought up her chin defiantly. "Another arranged marriage? I don't think you've been paying attention, Mr Holmes. I am not interested your ideas of nobility. There is nothing noble about this," she spat.

Holmes looked down. "As you have yourself said repeatedly, you rescued and endured me. I am beholden to you for that. Your own life is in danger now, in more ways than one. I hoped to help."

"Help me how? By chaining me to a stranger for all eternity, under his jurisdiction, with no rights, no identity of my own... To have to answer to his desires? ...To your desires?"

Holmes' eyes grew wide with horror as the understanding filled him completely. "No, I assure you, it would be in name only." He paused, and began again. "You cannot remain here. If I am correct in my suspicions, the man behind this will not be stopped even if one of his minions has been apprehended. You have saved yourself, but made an enemy also, and if this incident is anything to go by, a dangerous and vindictive one."

"If you will not do this for yourself, at least will you come to my aid again? Think of this: My enemies are seeking an Englishman travelling alone. You are alone also, vulnerable in your solitude. Yet, if we were to travel as a couple holidaying abroad, we be virtually anonymous. I would do work for your uncle. We would bide our time. Eventually, my enemies would take liberties, lay themselves open, make fatal errors and I could arrange for their arrest. We might then return to our lives in safety; I to London, and you back to Il Tatti."

"I am to be used and discarded again." Her voice was hollow, but the tears had stopped.

"Have you another option?" he asked.

Miss Bassano covered her face with her hands and cried, "For God's sake, get out!"

Holmes stood up and replaced the chair by the dressing-table. He did not close the door behind him. Descending the stairs, he took the liberty of sending the anxious Abigail up to her mistress with the explicit instructions to keep vigil at her side all night. Despite this precaution, he spent his own night-time hours staring into the licking flames of the fireplace in his room.

wwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwww

When Miss Bassano made her eventual appearance downstairs at breakfast, the swelling on her cheek had subsided to become a mottled bruise that spread from the corner of her lips over her cheekbone. The cuts and scrapes were less obvious, and her eyes were clear. She sat silent and sullen, barely eating anything. When Holmes had cleared his plate, she looked across at him, and asked,

"What name shall I take?"

Holmes chose not to show how pleased and startled he was when he answered. "I thought of using the name of my maternal grandfather, George Altamont. It has the benefit of being ambiguous: it could be French. I have heard even it as an Irish-American name."

Miss Bassano nodded. "Then my name will have to be Martha. George and Martha." She smiled weakly.