Chapter Four: The Prodigal Father
I asked directions to Miss Thurlow's room from the passing Goodwin, who, in so many words, informed me that he was, on Ellen Thurlow's instructions, setting up the drawing room as a makeshift dining and sitting room for her unwanted guests, following her point blank refusal to allow them sit with her at the dining table and obviously at serious odds with her husband, who similarly refused to keep them prisoner in their rooms.
He asked me if I would be so good as to inform them of this state of affairs as I was on my way up there. I, of course, agreed, and made my way up to the young Masters Thurlow's room, and, after straightening, and preparing myself as best I could, knocked politely on the door.
A moment later, I was gratified to hear a calm, if tired, "Enter."
On opening the door and walking inside, I was greeted by the rather incongruous but charming sight of Miss Thurlow and her mother seated on twin brass beds in a brightly lit and comfortably appointed room, surrounded by a veritable sea of toys of every conceivable type -- from rocking horses and lead soldiers to kites and science kits, and even a highly impressive telescope. It was a dream room for any young child.
I looked around myself and then back at Miss Thurlow, staving off the almost immediate and childish expression of wonder. "I apologise for the intrusion."
The pretty auburn haired woman stood immediately and crossed the distance between us in but a moment. "It is quite all right, Dr. Watson. As you can see, we were just settling in." She cast her eyes around the room with a hint of a smile. "It is quite the wonderland in here, is it not?" she asked softly, her voice containing a mere hint of sadness, before turning back to her mother, who merely continued to gaze out the window and into the star filled night with her usual glazed and glassy countenance.
I could not help but nod in agreement. "Truly. I would have given my eye teeth for a set of soldiers like that when I was a boy," I said wistfully, nodding towards the impressive set of French and English soldiers complete with cannon and cavalry to boot, facing off against each other on a landscaped table. I was about to comment further on her young brothers' good fortune, when I remembered to whom it was I was about to address the comment and silenced myself, wondering mutely whether, once, she too had a room like this...filled with the toys and favours from an indulgent and wealthy father.
She turned to me and must have noticed my expression, for she gave me a reassuring smile. "Please, do not concern yourself, Doctor. I do not begrudge one toy or moment of happiness for those boys. They are true innocents in this entire debacle." Turning, she cast her eyes around the room once more. "It reassures me greatly that they are so well loved and cared for."
I nodded slowly while thoughts arose of how she, too, was once well loved and cared for, and whether Arthur Thurlow might still be capable of the same icy act of abandonment if the need arose. I quashed them quickly, finding them at odds with the mediating duty I had come to perform, and smiled at her in response, then glanced at her mother before addressing the daughter once more.
"I have come, Miss Thurlow, from a meeting with Holmes and your father." I paused momentarily, taking a deep breath. "We have delivered your request to him about your mother and to his wife also, and they are in agreement. A separate dining area in the drawing room has been set aside for your comfort, so that you and your mother will not be trapped in your rooms while you are here. I believe there is also access to the rear gardens through that room, so you may take some air if you wish."
She quirked a slender eyebrow and nodded. "Thank you," she returned with a grateful tone. "I appreciate all of yours and Mr. Holmes's efforts on our behalf."
"In fairness," I said slowly, beginning to lay what I hoped was the groundwork for her father's invitation, "I believe it was your father who organised for you to have the drawing room to yourselves and for Goodwin to be your personal servant for the duration. His wife was less...receptive." I phrased my words as diplomatically as I could about the shrewish woman, before clearing my throat and pressing on quickly, "To that end...I have come to deliver a request in return."
Her expression became enigmatic at best. "A request?" she repeated.
"Your father is equally concerned about your stay here," I continued, picking my words carefully. "The house has been much disrupted, as you can see, even without your and your mother's arrival. Therefore, your father has asked me if I would intercede on his behalf and ask you, for the good of all, whether you might meet with him to talk over the matter." I paused for just a moment as my look grew serious. "And I feel you should know that quite apart from such generalities, I believe he has something important he wishes to say to you," I added quietly.
She was silent, and in the vacuum I offered quickly and reassuringly, "You will, of course, not be alone with him. If it is acceptable to you, I will remain and act as mediator."
She must have gazed at me for a full minute, her expression carefully blank, but I could tell she was evaluating what I had said and deciding the most appropriate course of action. Indeed, it was as close to one of Holmes's expressions as I had ever seen. After a moment more, she turned away, a slight frown on her face, as she made her way back to her mother and sat down on the bed next to her. "Mother...Dr. Watson has asked me to go downstairs for a bit and talk to...talk to Father. I won't be long, and I will send Goodwin up to bring you a glass of warm milk."
I had been all prepared to tell her that I fully understood if she did not wish to face him and was somewhat surprised by her words. To my further astonishment, the older woman patted her daughter's hand absently before turning to her with a small smile. "Go along then...but mind your manners," she replied before turning back to the window, and began to hum a tune that sounded distinctly like Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.
Miss Thurlow returned her smile, and, after bestowing a small kiss on her mother's forehead, rose and came back over to me. "Shall we, Doctor? If I remember correctly, my father hates to be kept waiting."
"On this occasion, Miss Thurlow, I think for once he will wait as long as you wish," I assured her before taking a step away and opening the door for her to show her out.
Leading her back downstairs, I paused by the study door and turned back to her. "Miss Thurlow," I said quietly so as not to be overheard, "I feel I should say this as it will undoubtedly be upsetting for you, and I would not have you enter into something you do not feel ready or able for. This has been quite an upsetting day for you as is. Rest assured, there is no pressure on you to do this; should you not wish to, he will not insist. We can still turn back if you so wish."
She only smiled in reply and took my hand in hers, squeezing it just a little. "It is quite all right, Doctor. I suppose I have waited ten years to hear his explanations and justifications. Also, if we are all to be confined to the same house for even a short period of time, it would be best to get all feelings out into the open...do you not agree?"
"I do...though I must admit," I replied with a smile in return, "on this occasion, it took Holmes of all people for me to take that on board. When it takes Holmes to point such things out to me, I know I am in need of a holiday," I added with a slightly exaggerated sheepishness.
She lowered her head and appeared to struggle with something, for in the next moment she simply looked up with the most amused expression on her face, and, with a little laugh, she squeezed my hand again. "Well, after this, you must ensure that you get one. I insist."
"I will inform Holmes directly. Your support would be most gratefully received," I returned as my smile grew broader and gradually changed into an encouraging look. "Are you prepared?"
The smile slid off her face a bit more rapidly than I think she must have intended, but she nodded all the same. "Yes..." she said softly, squaring her shoulders. "As much as one can be at any rate." Squeezing her hand in return, I released it and turned to the door, knocking on it firmly.
"Enter," the deep masculine voice came in reply, a weary tone pervading it. A fleeting ironic thought of both father and daughter using the same word and same tone flashed through my mind as I opened the door and stepped inside to see Arthur Thurlow look up from his desk, and, on seeing it was me, rise to his feet with a look of almost eager desperation on his face.
"Well...?" he asked quickly of me. "What did she..." His voice halted in mid question, sliding into silence, as from behind me his daughter stepped into the room after me. He stared at her as he had before. "Helen," he greeted her quietly as I closed the door softly and remained there to give them space to speak.
She gazed about the room, her eyes seeming to miss nothing, before she turned back to her father. "There are some new books...and that couch is new...but most of this room has remained unchanged," she commented softly.
It took a moment for him to find his voice. His grey eyes were soft as he took her in keenly, and I could not help but wonder at how a man could look at his daughter as he was looking at her now, and yet have cut her so completely out of his life as he had done. It amazed, confused, and perturbed me deeply.
"Your memory is excellent," he replied, his tone showing he was well aware what implications that particular statement might have for him.
"Thank you," she returned politely as she crossed over to one of the chairs in front of his desk and sat down.
He watched her as she sat, his manner suddenly becoming nervous and agitated as he glanced at me and back at her, his mind seeming to go blank. "I...would you care for a drink?" he asked, moving towards the drinks cabinet at the back of the room before stopping with a creased brow. "Do you drink?" he asked quietly, after a momentary pause.
Her expression fluctuated only slightly as her head turned to follow him. "Not particularly," she answered civilly before turning away to gaze at the windows. "It isn't exactly a necessity."
"No..." he said quietly. "I suppose not...even if there are times when it feels like it. Doctor?" he asked, turning his head to me, even as his mouth pulled into a deeply ironic half smile.
"I will join you if you are having one," I replied, deciding the best course was to have both of them at their ease. There was little doubt that the man was agitated, as was only right and proper...but it wouldn't do either of them any good in the long run to have him remain so. He nodded in reply and poured two small brandies out, handing me one before walking back to sit opposite her.
Putting his glass down after sipping from it liberally, he shifted several times until he was comfortable. "You are looking well," he voiced after a moment. "You have grown into a beautiful young woman, Helen."
Again her expression fluctuated, and I was simply amazed at how she quietly kept herself together. "Thank you," she replied, her eyes washing over him and his rich clothes, the cost of which, I knew that she could not help thinking, would feed her and her mother for a month. "You too look well."
"Outward appearances, as you would no doubt strongly concur," he replied, still watching her closely, "can be deceiving." He hesitated then, as his mind seemed to search for something else to say before he opened his mouth to speak again, paused, sighed, and then, with a shake of his head, sat forward.
"It's no use..." he lamented, almost visibly deflating in front of us both. "I have tried all my life to be the gentleman. To make myself into something society wanted me to be...to be accepted. To be polite and diplomatic and behave...and I am only marginally more successful at it now, than I was when I was a young man. I cannot do this tiptoeing around. I am too plain speaking and stubborn for it." Standing up, he turned away, rubbing his head roughly and grimacing, before turning back to looked at her with his shoulders straight, arms by his side like the soldier on parade he once was...or the man facing a firing squad he was now.
"I know you must hate me, Helen," he said straight out. "I know you despise and loathe me for what I did both to you and to your mother. Not just for leaving her, for these things happen in marriage...but for how I left her...and you. And I have no excuses to make to you...nothing I can say that will forgive such an action.
"All I can tell you is why I did it. It won't change anything, won't make you look on me any kinder...but it will give you what I denied you all this time...an answer of sorts." He moved away to a small picture on the wall, containing a cottage in what looked to be a part of the world and time akin to Somerset on a long summer evening. "Do you remember this painting?" he asked her.
She nodded, before answering quietly, "Yes...it's where you grew up."
"Aye..." he affirmed with a nod, his accent coming out strongly as he looked up at it. "Your grandmother's home while she lived. When my mother died when I was nine, she left me two things, a small inheritance...enough to get me into a good school if I worked hard and got a partial scholarship, and my stepfather." His face darkened noticeably at that.
"Jack Aylworth, a big bear of a publican, with several hostelries to his name, and as bitter a man towards gentry as you would've ever met in your life. A bitterness that was freely transferred to anyone seeking to attain their level. He ridiculed everything I ever did, laughed at the idea of my becoming accepted by my betters, and told me I would amount to nothing unless I drove myself harder and was ruthless...like he was. He drove my mother to an early grave by berating her for every soft feeling and good thing she ever did for anyone other than him, every way she tried to better me or others around her.
"I hated him...but I lived with him alone for four years, and worked hard in school until I finally accomplished what was then the first part of my dream, getting my scholarship to Rugby, and leaving for public school for what I thought would be a better life. Unfortunately, it seems I did not ever leave him behind. It appears more of him seeped into me then I ever acknowledged."
He turned back to his daughter, who was watching him guardedly from her chair. "A rough childhood..." he snorted. "Hardly an excuse, I know. There are many out there who have suffered the same and far worse. You included now," he said, gazing at her before walking over to the window. "But his words proved more prophetic than I thought. I thought when I got to school at Rugby, I could begin to better myself…to prove him wrong...but I was a scholarship boy. I had no money, no connections, and instead of the first step of a dream, I ended up on the first step of a pattern of behaviour I was to encounter all my life. I was bullied, and when I fought back...I was the one punished...not the ones who started it. All it proved to me was that if I was to succeed in life, it would be because I got what they really admired. Not learning or refinement, but power and money...and if I were to do it, if I were to survive…I would have to be as ruthless as my stepfather had said, for there was no one to depend on but myself."
He paused for a moment and clasped his hands behind his back. "Put not your faith in princes, they say. So I didn't. I put my head down and worked hard as I had before. I revenged myself on my enemies on the sly without any trace to lead back to me so they couldn't expel me, and garnered respect…enough fear if you will…to be left alone." He nodded slowly, his mind cast back to long ago.
"That was to be the pattern of my life. I studied the great generals and kings and their lives...and again saw how they had to live alone, fight alone. They did what they had to do to make a mark on the world, and to leave a legacy...and that's what I wanted to do...had to do, otherwise I would always just be what my stepfather said I was, and not what my mother said I could be...a great man.
"I went to India, joining the army to seek my fortune in the new frontier as many young men were doing…but though I hauled myself by my bootstraps to the level of officer and Captain, I soon found that any hopes I had for further progression through the ranks, to make my name as a soldier, would flounder on our class system…as rigid and unforgiving of a man's birth as the Indian caste system they all looked down on." He shook his head quietly. "The men of my regiment were debauched and cruel, and yet called themselves gentlemen and me the upstart. They rounded on me and on the only other man who was not as they were, Hamish Balfour."
Turning back to her, his eyes met hers. "By now you know what happened next. No doubt Mr. Holmes and the good doctor have told you everything I did." He inhaled, his voice strong as he continued, "I'm not proud of it…not now…but I did what I did at the time, because that was the way things were, and because of who I was slowly becoming because of it." He exhaled quietly and looked towards me. "I wish to God I hadn't now…but I cannot change what has been, and though I railed at it and them before to you, Doctor, I must apologise now for my behaviour that night. Having just found a knife embedded in my desk, and a threat to my family's well being, you might be good enough to allow for my indignation, anger, and stubbornness. I have since decided that I must accept the consequences of my own actions without complaint." He nodded firmly before continuing, leaving me further in askance at the change in his outward demeanour and manner from before.
"I came home, and started the firm with Hamish. I was doing well. Well enough to have made enough money for people to take notice…society people." He turned around, and addressed his silent daughter once more. "People like your mother's family," he told her simply. "It was exactly as my stepfather had said. I had been ruthless, done what I had to do, and it had brought financial rewards…and with it, the first glimmer of recognition. I met your mother at one of the first society balls I was ever invited to."
A soft smile of remembrance touched his mouth. "Your family knew I was wealthy and, in truth, they threw her at me, hoping for a match. She took pity on me…what little veneer I had picked up in Rugby had been sandpapered off me in India, and trussed up like a turkey I was the most awkward of men…but she didn't laugh at me and my stumbling. She talked with me, and laughed with me, and there wasn't a snobbish bone in her body, I found…and before three weeks were through, I was as in love as a man can be." He hesitated again, his eyes flickering with a myriad of emotions, before ending in guilt. "And to my great fortune, if not hers, she loved me too," he whispered.
"We married," he continued, after shaking his head, as if to clear it, "and you came along not long after. And for a while, you were both my world. You know the next bit of course.
"I worked hard and was building something, something strong at last…but I remained driven. So driven that it did not sit well with society people like your mother's family, who love to have money, but hate the thought of actually having to make it. I say your mother's family because despite the air of gentility they give off, the velvet covers an entirely different sharper surface. Aye, to be sure it does, for despite the fact that I was supporting a good half of your mother's relatives, I soon found out what they thought of me." He jaw hardened visibly at the memory.
"I overheard them one Christmas just after we moved here to Belgravia, when you were twelve, I think. Aye, overheard them clearly I did. Your uncles and cousins, all in my own employ or benefiting from it, deriding my attempts to move up in the world, laughing at my occasional lapses into a West Country idiom…scoffing at the charitable foundation I'd begun to set up, claiming it would be a production line for more people who 'didn't know their place.'" A wry laugh escaped him as he shook his head. "They even derided the money I'd donated to the Arts Fund, claiming it was for 'clog dancing.'
"I should have fired the lot of them, cut them off, but didn't, couldn't, for your mother's sake. But that was not the worst of it…no, the worst part of it was that it drove a wedge between your mother and me, because while I would not avenge myself for her sake…she would not face them on it for mine. Would not confront or admonish them even…" He paused in his recant and sighed. "I say it drove a wedge between us, the truth is more that I let it to so. I took her inaction as a betrayal. I took it hard…harder than I should have, because my pride was wounded, and because I thought she was putting them before me. I forgot then how gentle your mother's soul was, and how much she hated to argue and cause dissention.
"Their jibes, though, just motivated me to make them eat their words, to give me the respect I was due, and I was driven onwards, not just to be a prominent business man, but to be a man others turned to…a leader…a great man with a great legacy to leave." He stopped and lowered his head slightly, his expression hidden for a moment. "But a legacy requires someone to leave it to…someone to carry it on…and for that, I required something I did not have -- sons.
"As I grew richer and more prominent, I could hear the chattering start behind my back. Hamish was unmarried and never likely to be, given his circumstances. So his share would go to me as he had no family to speak of…to me or my heir…but with only a daughter, it would require someone else…someone else to take the reins of this huge business and that haunted me, more and more. The idea of everything I worked for falling into some sycophant's hands…some society boy who thought he could run it better than I…or it all being fragmented and scattered away. I hated the thought of it."
I watched him as he moved behind her, seemingly unable to face her for what was to come from him next.
"For the longest time, your mother and I had an excellent marriage, though we were blessed only with you. We tried many times for more children. Your mother desperately wanted to give me a son, knowing how much I wanted it…but for whatever reason, she could not carry another child to term." His hands fidgeted nervously at his side.
"The wedge between us grew gradually worse, because of her family and because of my pride and the need for that son that slowly became an obsession in order to prevent everything I had worked for from sliding into the hands of some of your idiot cousins. I needed someone I could mould and teach, someone who would understand and appreciate that this wasn't just a money making apparatus. This was an empire…a force that had power and influence, and gave back to the community as well as taking from it. And only blood really understands and appreciates what its predecessor is trying to do…only blood because of its heart and soul. "
He paused again, a frown forming on his brow. "My apologies, Helen. I don't mean to make it sound like justification. Again it was…is…the way of the world. You were a bright child, intelligent, and smart as a whip. But while women are many things, empresses even…they are not accepted in international business.
"And so my obsession grew, but your mother was still childless, and growing beyond child bearing years, and I had never quite forgiven her for her refusal to stand up to her family. It was then that Ellen came onto the horizon." He exhaled. "I shall spare you the details. Suffice it to say that we met at an industry ball, while I was away in Manchester, and she was more like me than unalike. Her people were merchants and respectful of my struggle to better myself. I was hungry for companionship, and she was a good listener…a very good listener as it turned out." He shook his head wryly. "Over that weekend, she figured out both me and what I wanted."
He sighed in irony. "As I said, more alike than unalike and ruthless. She offered me plainly what I wanted…another chance at sons…at keeping what I'd built alive, and struck a bargain with me. She would ask nothing of me, until the time she fell pregnant…then, I would put your mother aside, and take her to wife.
"I could make all the usual excuses -- I was lonely, I was angry…and I was…but ultimately I was weak. Weak to my desires to continue building, weak to my pride, and weak to my lust, and, though I loved your mother still, I took on Ellen's bargain. You know all the rest…" He shook his head again. "I kept my promise when she fell pregnant, and put your mother aside, meaning to give you both a comfortable life and keep you in my life as my daughter. But your mother's relatives, fearful of the loss of their positions in my firm, raised lawyers in her name to take what was mine for theirs.
"I was incandescent at their ingratitude and what I thought was her continued support of them, and at Ellen's exhortation I retaliated by withdrawing my offer of support. Then when I planned to keep you here with me, Ellen would not hear of it…said she would sooner die then have you here spying on her while she was with child, reporting to your mother and her snobbish family about my mistress turned wife. She said if I saw you I could not fail to see your mother, and she swore that that would affect her so badly it would hurt the child." He glanced away, watching his daughter's face in the reflection on the window pane. "Ellen has always been terrified of your mother, odd as it sounds…probably because she knows she has never elicited from me the depth of feeling your mother has. She knows our marriage was more of a bargain -- a transaction rather than a match, and it has made her insecure…and that has made her fearful and harder still."
He finally walked back around to sit down again. "I was, of course, the worst kind of idiot to believe her potent combination of blandishments and scare mongering…and the worst kind of father. Because I was angry, I cast your mother aside, and because I was fearful, I cast you aside, and did what she asked for fear of losing my son…the son I had…and lost anyway." He reached out and touched the photograph of a young boy on his desk that I had noticed earlier, a boy with another mop of what was very likely red hair, but with what appeared to be lighter coloured eyes of the quality of his father and his sister, who sat across the table from him.
The businessman then stiffened and sat back again. "We had the twins also. All though I think they were merely conceived because one night, when I was too deep in my cups and the worse for ware, I dared to make the suggestion that I send for you." His brow knitted in thought. "Ellen's amorousness or her ire can be raised to great heights with that particular subject."
He grew silent for a moment, looking at the still astoundingly calm features of his daughter as he gripped the arms of his chair tightly. "As I say, none of this is an excuse, merely a recounting of what occurred. There is no excuse for putting aside a child…especially a child I loved." His eyes glanced down, perhaps to hide another wave of guilt. "Nor a woman I loved, for one I never have.
"I know what happened to your mother, though I was away on business in America when she…" He swallowed lightly, and looked away again. "Tried to harm herself, and returned when she was already safe in the hospital. You despise me…and rightly so…any right thinking person like the good doctor over there does, eh Doctor?" He glanced in my direction, humour mixed with self loathing in his eyes. Unable to reply, I merely looked away as he nodded. "Aye, despised…for the road I built was paved with good intentions, and I am damned to hell for it, and the mistakes I made along its way. I ask no forgiveness from you…for I cannot expect any.
"All I ask is that perhaps you might consider entertaining the thought of meeting with your brothers and becoming a sister to them." The shine in is eyes turned rather bleak. "I would like them to have one female family influence that they enjoy.
"You would have to have no interaction with me," he assured her, "and I will handle any objections my wife has to my finally coming to my senses and settling on you and your mother what should have been yours in the first place, the sum of ten thousand pounds a year and a home in St. Albans, if you will take it. Again, it is not a bribe or a request for forgiveness...merely your due, and you will not have to see me, either of you." He sat back and seemed to finally relax. "You may throw it all back in my face, and I will not blame you for it.
"Now…" he concluded quietly with a soft inhale of breath, "you have been good enough to listen to my piece. I must give you the same opportunity. Say or ask what you will."
She stared at him for a long moment, and I could see that she was struggling not only with her emotions, but with simply taking in the slew of information she'd just been dealt, some of which at least was new to her. Swallowing, she stood, and made her way over to the painting that had started it all. "My mother needs full time medical care..." she whispered.
"I shall see to it," he responded immediately, as he continued to stare straight ahead of him. "Whatever she needs, there will be no expense spared."
She closed her eyes and bowed her head, and I found myself taking a step towards her, as I feared her emotions would finally fell her. However, her eyes soon opened, and she turned quickly to her father with a most wary expression and posture. "How can I be sure it will last...this new found generosity and fatherly compassion? You loved me once...I know it. But the years alone have also left their mark...how can I be sure you will not just up and take it all away again? Not the money...but these new brothers of mine...or even yourself?"
"Myself?" he repeated, turning his head to look at her, somewhat bemused and startled by that, as in truth was I. He stared at her, and I could almost see his mind feverishly trying to think of what to say in answer, having been taken by surprise, as it was, by any kind of personal interest in him. "I...I...will draw up an agreement. Harry, my assistant, will help me. The money will be signed over to you in perpetuity. As for your brothers...I can see to it that it's included in the agreement, if you wish, that they spend a set amount of time with you. The house in St. Albans is large with extensive grounds, perfect for boys to run and climb and explore. If you take it, and like the boys...I could arrange for them to spend, say, half their summer holidays with you there?"
He paused for a moment, as he considered it further. "And one weekend a month...or perhaps a weekly visit, whichever you would prefer. You have yet to meet them, and may not be inclined to so much time with them...though they are very good boys, truly," he insisted vehemently.
Miss Thurlow frowned and shook her head. "I do not want to take your sons from you...nor desire a legal contract. I don't need a house, Father...or money. I never have," she returned, her tone almost sharp, before her posture relaxed a little with a sigh. "I am sure they are wonderful children...I never doubted that. If they wish to spend time with me, I am sure I will enjoy doing so...no matter the location. But what I want to know is..." She paused, and took several steps toward him. "If…when the heat of this madness is over...when you are safe once more...will you still wish to be a father to me? Will you keep your promise if I take the effort to get to know you again...or will you simply walk away as you did before?"
He blinked again, his expression even more telling that he had not at all been expecting this development. His look spoke of a man who had been anticipating her to berate and fly at him, or to take what he could give as her due and turn her back on him icily...he had never for one moment foreseen this.
"You wish to know me again?" he murmured in quiet disbelief. I must admit I found myself looking at her the same way, but there appeared to be very little anger in her...only a quiet sadness.
She gazed at him for a moment before crossing over to stand by his desk. "You are my father," she said softly. "Yes, you have done some horrible things...and not only to me and my mother. But, if you remember anything about me, you know it is not my nature to carry a grudge...or to hate. Yes...I am angry with you, but at least now I understand now why you did the things you did. Though I do not approve of them, make no mistake." She sighed and sank wearily into a chair, the first chink in her strength that I had seen.
"I have been alone for ten years caring for my mother, who is nine times out of ten barely conscious of my presence. I do not complain about it, for it's my duty to care for her and I love her dearly...but it is a lonely life nevertheless. I would like to have at least one parent who I could talk to again." She raised her head, and I could see she was forcefully blinking back her tears. "I suppose I just wish to have a family again..." Her voice faltered, and she again turned her eyes to her hands as she struggled to maintain her composure. "I would just like to have my father back...even if it is only for now."
Her father's eyes remained fixed on her, and a minute later, he slowly rose out of his chair and walked around his desk to stand in front of her. Even from across the room, it was obvious his hands were shaking.
For a moment I considered getting up to leave, but I had said I would stay, and, in all honesty, I could not rip myself away from the pull of such a moment. So I remained and watched as Arthur Thurlow's nervous hand rose up and almost touched the hair on his daughter's bowed head, then watched him lower it again as he took a shuddering breath.
"After all that I have denied you, all that I have taken from you and put you through, how could I deny you something as worthless as my presence in your life. If that is what you wish...then I swear on the lives of your two brothers that I shall remain your father for as long as you wish. I have much to atone for I know, and I will do this however you say, at whatever pace you desire." He closed his eyes, and when he opened them again, tears that matched her own stood in them. "Helen...I am so very, very sorry," he choked, his voice finally breaking.
It took her a full minute to respond, but when she did, I could see the reasons why streaking down her cheeks as she desperately tried to cling to her dignity. "I know," she whispered. "And I forgive you...but it is not only I whom you must make amends to." Her tone was one of a careful reminder as she rose to her feet. "Though I fear what your actual presence will do. All I ask is the care she desperately needs."
"She will have whatever care she needs…doctors, Vienna, Switzerland, it should never have come to this," he replied with a nod before his head dropped under the weight of another wave of guilt. "I will make amends in whatever way you think best."
She nodded in agreement, and there was a small smile of gratitude on her face. "Thank you, Father."
His eyes rose to meet hers again before shaking his head. "There is none required. It is I that should be thanking you, for a second chance I hardly deserve." The hand that had so nearly touched her before rose up again, his voice tremendously soft for a man of his demeanour. "It is something to discover after a lifetime of seeking greatness that in the end the measure of a man's importance is calculated in his children." His hand shakily brushed her cheek tentatively. "For all my sins, Heaven has still given me four such children as would make the greatest emperor living envious," he whispered, as his eyes filled again. "I've missed you so, my darling girl."
As she reached out and took his hand, I could see her own emotions were near breaking, and again I felt a surge of discomfort, as if I were an intruder. "I missed you too," she whispered.
I watched as the imposing figure of Arthur Thurlow drew his daughter close to him, and, for the first time in ten years, took her into a father's embrace, his hands continuing to tremble. His eyes shut tight, he held her close and firm against him, looking for all the world like a man who had been tossed about at sea for an eternity and had finally found the shore.
He held her quietly as she cried against him softly, her emotions finally brimming over, and he rocked her back and forth. Yet as I turned my head away, I found to my surprise that rather than seeing only the man I had loathed just two nights before, I could now easily imagine the man he once was, kind and loving, and how such a consoling and affectionate parental gesture would've occurred often with the daughter he had loved but forfeited for his prideful dream.
Despite his past, despite the kind of man he had been and that I had thought him still to be, I could not help but be deeply moved by the reunion all the same, and vastly impressed by the forgiving nature of his daughter.
It was a long time before either of them spoke again, as Thurlow drew back but did not release her, his look sorrowful. "I'm so sorry I drew you into this...so sorry that this has to be how we reconcile with my past and the threat of death hanging over us."
Pulling a rather plain handkerchief from her pocket, she gently dabbed her eyes. "I know...but these things will out," she agreed with a sigh. "Sometimes it takes a tragedy to see what is most important to us. However, I am sure this is only temporary. Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson seem quite adept at their jobs."
He smiled, and I could not help but note again how much it changed his face and his entire demeanour. For it made him look youthful and vigorous and even more like his daughter. "Aye..." he agreed with a nod and glanced over at me. "They found you quick enough, make no mistake." He pursed his lips and smiled again at her. "I'll trust your judgement on them both. I can't fault them myself." Then with a shake of his head, he gazed down at her again and once more pulled her into an embrace and back out again. "Thank you, Helen," he said with complete sincerity as he gazed deep into the eyes that looked so much like his. "Thank you so much." His tone was filled with intense gratitude at this second chance with her, and it took him another moment to recover. "Now..." He swallowed and coughed gruffly, trying to restore some equilibrium. "Would you like to meet your rapscallions of brothers? Because they've been pestering me something awful to meet with you."
Miss Helen Thurlow was a handsome woman, not conventionally pretty or delicate, but the smile that formed on her face transformed her into a most beautiful woman indeed. "I think I would like that very much," she replied, wiping the last of her tears from her eyes and composing herself once more.
Reaching behind him, Arthur Thurlow rang enthusiastically for Goodwin, who on his instructions went and returned forthwith with the two boys, already in their nightshirts and dressing gowns, their slippers on their feet. Trooping in, Goodwin held them steady, one hand on either shoulder with a firmness testifying to the man's long experience of them, as he brought them to stand in front of their father's desk where the patriarch still stood with their sister seated beside him. For their part, the boys glanced curiously at her without trying to seem as if they were.
"Boys," Arthur said, his grey eyes dancing with delight and anticipation as their brown ones turned to him. "Andrew…" He laid one hand on one boy's head by introduction, before doing the same with the other. "Matthew, I would like to introduce you to Miss Helen Thurlow, your older and very much wiser sister." His smile widened as their eyes moved to her once more with rampant curiosity. "Say, 'How do you do,'" he instructed them.
Matthew, like his brother, gaped at her in awe before he stepped forward properly and stuck out his hand while attempting to solemnise his face. "How do you do, Helen," he said obediently. "I am Matthew."
Miss Thurlow smiled that sweet smile once more before taking his hand in hers. "A pleasure, Matthew. I look forward to getting to know you," she replied, before turning her attention to the other boy, who looked as though he had ants in his pants the way he was forcibly trying to keep himself still.
"How do you do!" he enthused, taking her hand and pumping it several times, which only caused her smile to grow in utter bemusement. "I'm Andrew! And I'm sure we're going to get along famously! Do you like cards? Or pirates?"
Matthew sighed and rolled his eyes dramatically. "I am sorry. He is what Mr. Goodwin calls incorri...incorrigible," he explained to her seriously as their father covered his mouth surreptitiously, and I must admit to following suit.
However, their sister tried her hardest at keeping a more serious expression. "Well...yes, I do like cards...and I'm afraid I do not know much about pirates, other than what I have read in Treasure Island or other books, Andrew...but I do agree, I think we will get along very well indeed."
Andrew practically bounced in his slippers with pleasure. "Oh, we can teach you all about pirates! And Papa reads to us from Treasure Island all the time! It's a marvellous book, don't you think?" he managed to get out all in one breath.
Matthew nodded in agreement as he gave her such a closely scrutinising look that would have done Holmes himself proud. "You look very much like Papa," he noted finally. "Maybe you could read to us too."
She smiled softly and glanced up at their father. "If Father does not mind, I do not see why not," she replied.
Their father sniffed and folded his arms with a serious look. "Well..." he drew out with a frown, shaking his head slowly and rather overdramatically, "I'm not sure."
"Oh Papa, please..." Matthew turned and gripped one end of his rich frock coat. "Please, Papa?"
Andrew was nodding up a storm and making a pair of eyes that would have put any puppy to shame. "Oh yes, Papa! Please!"
Their father looked down at them and stroked his chin. "Will you promise to give Goodwin no problems for the rest of the week...and say your prayers properly?"
Matthew looked at Andrew for confirmation that they were agreed on the deal. Andrew swallowed nervously, but nodded. "Yes, Papa," Matthew agreed on their behalf. "We promise."
"Very well...if your sister is agreeable, she may take my place tonight if she so wishes," Thurlow agreed.
"I would be honoured to," she replied with a slight incline of her head at the duo of red-heads, and extended her hands to them. "Though you will have to show me the way."
Matthew grabbed one hand and started tugging. "We'll show you! You have our room, so we're staying in the big guest room! It has the biggest bed...which is very good, because Andrew kicks in his sleep."
Andrew flashed his brother an indignant look. "I do not!" he fired back. "But you snore!"
"Do not!" Matthew retorted with a frown. "I have adenoids...the doctor said so!"
Andrew snorted loudly in reply, and took his elder sister's free hand. "You snore," he reiterated.
"Do not...and you do so kick, you kicked your covers right off last week dreaming you were playing football," Matthew pouted.
"Boys..." their father admonished lightly, "no arguing. Do you want to scare your sister off already?"
Matthew's cheeks flushed as he dropped his head. "No...sorry, Papa. This way..." he urged her, looking back up.
"Very well," she acquiesced, letting herself be led away. "But don't fear, boys," I heard her whisper. "I do not scare easily."
Thurlow watched them go and walked part way after them, a contented and joyful look in his eyes, before turning to me. "Thank you, Doctor," he said in such a heartfelt manner that it made me wonder what had happened to the man who had come to Baker Street such a short while ago. "Thank you for your efforts."
"I hardly did anything," I demurred. "Merely broached the subject…it was she who decided to come down here to face you."
"And I doubt she ever would have done so, if you had not agreed to be here with her," he countered, and slowly stuck out his hand. "Thank you for finding her and bringing her here, and thank you again for your help. I am still a little overwhelmed by what has happened. I did not in my wildest dreams think she would ever consider forgiving me."
After a moment I took his outstretched hand and shook it slowly. "Yes, well...from what I've observed, she's quite a remarkable young lady...very resilient and brave, but…" I paused, before continuing with a serious and honest tone. "All the same, I was surprised myself. But then," I added, gazing at him with a tight smile, and including him in my observation, "people have a tendency to surprise one, I've found."
His smile matched mine for a moment. "Now...if you'll excuse me, Doctor. I must find Harry and set these new agreements down before breaking the news of these developments to Ellen."
"How will she take this?" I asked him, my brow furrowing slightly.
"Badly," he replied with a philosophical tone. "Very badly indeed, but then there is nothing new in that, I'm afraid, Doctor."
He stepped out into the hallway, and we went our separate ways -- he to make good on his promises and confront his wife, and I to travel with Holmes to make an appointment to see the man who was, in effect, the reason why we were all here in this house.
Authors' Note: Thank you all again so much for the kind reviews! It's most gratifying to know that we are getting the tone right and that our characters are well rounded (one always fears that new characters will come out flat). Um...I think I must still be in Victorian speech mode...heh. Again thank you to all that read, and we look forward to hearing your thoughts as we continue to unravel the mystery. Aeryn (of aerynfire)
Edit: Thank you to Baskerville Beauty for pointing out small but significant woops! It has now been corrected...(blushes madly)...and on with the story!
