Chapter Six: Matters of the Heart
Standing in the doorway for a moment, I watched Holmes wander over to the small table that still had the remains of the women's and boys' breakfasts, and, after filling a fresh plate with some eggs and toast and pouring a cup of tea, settle down in his chair to eat. On the other side of the room, over by the window, Miss Thurlow and the boys took out a deck of cards to start their game, while Mrs. Thurlow, who was seated in a large armchair, continued to gaze out the window, her eyes as glassy and distant as ever.
Closing the door behind me, I moved to the table and sat across from Holmes before reaching into my pocket for my cigarette case, and, after taking one for myself, offered it to him.
"Thank you, Watson," Holmes said, reaching out to take one and placing it down by his plate for when he had finished his meal.
Snapping the case closed, I replaced it in my inner jacket pocket, and, after lighting my own, sat back in my chair with a most expectant look on my face. "Well?" I asked unable to hold my questions in. "What did you find out?"
Looking over at the two boys excitedly discussing which card game was best to play this time, he took in Miss Thurlow's indulgent nature and returned to his meal. "Hmmm?" he asked, drawing his response out as he sometimes did to annoy me, while buttering his toast slowly.
"Holmes!" I exclaimed, taking care to keep my voice low. "Now is not the time, old man! Out with it...I'm on the edge of my seat."
He gave my comfortably laid back position in the chair an evaluating glance before looking up at me, the edges of his mouth tugging upwards slightly. "For starters, my impatient friend, I put out some feelers to discover a little more about this Sir Richard Maddesley we caught sight of last night. Namely, I contacted a source of mine within Whitehall to see what could be ascertained about him. Knight of the Realm and member of the Foreign Office or not, I have a strong suspicion that Sir Richard's close positioning with the Rajah may have more than a little to do with the ease with which our would be assassin penetrated our client's office." He finished his toast and wiped his mouth with a napkin as he sat back. "I hope to hear back from my source before our return visit to Claridges to discuss the challenge the Rajah left for Mr Thurlow." He paused, and gave me one of those expectant looks of his.
I found myself nodding slowly. "So we wait?"
He sighed and nodded. "Yes, Watson...we wait...we wait, and inform our client that the knife embedded in his desk was not a warning as we had previously thought, but, as I said, hoping you would pick up on it..." He gave me the most long suffering of looks. "A challenge," he finished, picking up the cigarette I had offered him, and, after fishing a little in the pockets of his waistcoat took out some matches and lit it.
"My research into Hindi practices leads me to believe that The Rajah, contrary to all appearances, did not come here merely to murder our client in cold blood," Holmes informed me, drawing on his cigarette and exhaling.
"He considers himself above such things. Rather than a mere assassin, he considers himself, even at his advanced age, a warrior. I have been able to ascertain a little of the history of his rule and his battles, and there is no doubt he operates within the strictest codes of conduct and honour. Quite frankly, Watson, his Highness makes Lancelot appear undisciplined. The knife embedded in the desk was not a threat as we know it...rather it was a like a gauntlet thrown, a message from one king to another via a champion in the lists of old...and explains more than adequately why His Highness is both here and so securely guarded when he could so easily have stayed in India, and let someone else do his work for him from a safe un-seen distance."
He drew on his cigarette deeply once more. "The ritual is called Triptii. It merely means 'satisfaction' and deals with how a man might 'destroy his enemies' without losing his honour in mere vengeance…something he should rise above. Triptii demands a fair fight and the issuing of a challenge to allow the target to respond in kind. The Rajah fully expects Arthur Thurlow to attempt to end this by stamping out his life...hence his guards in the hotel." His brow creased lightly in thought. "The only thing is that something appears to have gotten lost in the translation. The upshot of it being that Arthur Thurlow has no idea that rather than being a simple target of assassination, he is, in fact, in a war of sorts."
Sitting back in my chair, I smoked quietly for a moment as I attempted to take this new information in. "Then, we should apprise the Rajah of this development... before there is bloodshed," I finally responded, leaning forward a little with a furrowed brow as a thought occurred to me. "Wait...could this loss of translation perhaps be deliberate? Perhaps someone else with a stake in all of this?"
Holmes nodded and gave me a very pleased look. "An astute question, Watson. Yes, it would make the most sense. It may well be that whoever the Rajah's champion is, he is not wholeheartedly sticking to his master's wishes in all this, and that would indicate someone with a strong personal stake in all this…someone who has an emotional investment, but not the same core value structure as his Rajah Master…" He glanced across the room at Miss Thurlow, his voice descending even lower. "If I am correct, Watson, there is even a chance that Miss Thurlow is not a target of the Rajah at all. It is doubtful so honourable a man would target an innocent in vengeance. I believe she may simply be the target of his more ruthless arm…the Rajah may not even know she is a target."
"But who?" I asked, completely at sea about who this rogue player could be.
"Who, Watson? That particular who, is, I believe, where Sir Richard Maddesley may fit more fully into the picture," he replied, leaning forward again. "We will have to wait until I get word from the Foreign Office, but I will gladly wager with you now that Sir Richard…as he is now...was in India at the time all of this happened, and was, at that time, acquainted with Annand Mahindra and his court...and has a highly personal stake in all of this."
"He does?" I queried, sitting back once more and drawing deeply on my cigarette. "How would a diplomat have such a high personal stake with this whole sordid mess?"
"A diplomat may not..." Holmes replied in a low voice. "A young serving army officer attached to the court of a Rajah as the British Government's liaison and acquainted with, as Mr. Thurlow put it, the most strikingly beautiful and proud daughter of that Rajah may indeed have a stake in it." His eyes peered at me closely. "Think of it, Watson -- if she could make such a strong impression on our client in so short a time and in such adverse conditions, imagine what effect she might have had on a young man who got to know her in her natural environment?"
I felt my eyes widen slowly as the inevitable thought occurred. "Surely, Holmes, you are not suggesting..."
"I am suggesting nothing...merely positing, Watson," he interrupted, tapping his cigarette onto his plate. "But it is hardly inconceivable that a young Englishman might fall in love with a noble Indian princess and carry that flame inside of him through the years, the desire for revenge smouldering inside of him. Given your penchant for the romantic, I would think it would be something you would naturally gravitate towards." He smiled as he flicked the ash of his cigarette into a highly decorative, lacquered Chinese ashtray on the end table beside him.
"Consider also, the use of The Bible as the additional warning. The Bible, as we said previously, is not common in India. It is decidedly odd, then, that it should be used in tandem with the challenge khukuri. It is not something that is a part of the Triptii challenge process. It has been added, and the quotation 'An Eye for an Eye' doesn't speak of a fair fight...a battle..but rather of out and out revenge in a Judeo/Christian manner." He shook his head and sighed. "There is a decidedly Western influence in all of this, Watson, old chap."
I nodded mutely and had opened my mouth to respond when I felt a prickling on my back, as if I was being watched. Turning my head, I found that indeed I was...by Mrs. Thurlow of all people, her cloudy amber eyes almost boring a hole through me with a, before she turned to my companion.
"Mrs. Thurlow," Holmes acknowledged quietly with a respectful nod of his head.
She stared at him unblinkingly for a moment before whispering softly, almost too softly for me to hear, "Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall. Humpty Dumpty had a great fall. And all the King's horses and all the King's men...couldn't put Humpty together again." With an almost sage nod at him, she turned back to her window to watch the birds roosting on the trees.
"Indeed." Holmes nodded, agreeing with the sentiment without a trace of irony. "Indeed."
I watched her for a full minute, but it seemed that she had again lost herself into whatever world her mind had made for her. I turned back to my friend, my puzzlement most certainly written on my face.
He gave me a small smile. "Mrs. Thurlow, for all her fluctuating lucidity, is quite the perceptive woman, Watson."
I quirked a questioning eyebrow at him. "Undeniably..." I replied with some doubt.
Holmes inhaled quietly and leaned closer, still glancing over at Helen Thurlow. "Watson, I fully expect the first real shot across Arthur Thurlow's bow to occur today...most probably while you and I have been lured back to Claridges once more to meet with him. We must endeavour to keep him safe while we are away and speaking with the Rajah...to whit, I have enlisted the aide of the Irregulars to populate the area and act as a web of eyes and ears to stretch the awareness of Mr. Fagan's men."
He set about showing me with condiments what he had in mind in terms of creating a cocoon of safety around the area. "I will alert the local constabulary via Lestrade not to harass the Irregulars, who will stand out somewhat, it must be said, in the surroundings of Belgravia...but with all this in place, it will surely be impossible for anyone to get near the place unseen," he said confidently.
I nodded in agreement, noting that his plan would most certainly turn this place to an impenetrable fortress.
Sitting back again, he continued, "Once we are returned, we must consider more strident measures to keep our client and his family safe."
"Such as?" I asked curiously. "A bodyguard at all times?"
"No..." Holmes dismissed the suggestion with a shake of his head. "That alone will not suffice. We may have to send the family into hiding until we can negotiate some kind of agreement for, at the very least, his family's safety."
I heard a rustle of fabric behind me and turned to find Mrs. Thurlow now standing next to me, her eyes fixed on Holmes. "Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary; Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore; While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping; As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door, ''Tis some visitor,' I muttered, 'tapping at my chamber door; Only this, and nothing more.'" She stared hard at him. "Nevermore...nevermore."
Holmes stubbed his cigarette out on his plate and stood up to face her. "I hope to change that particular outcome, Mrs. Thurlow."
Her eyes continued to bore into his. "Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer, 'Sir,' said I, 'or madam, truly your forgiveness I implore; But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping; And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door; That I scarce was sure I heard you.' Here I opened wide the door; Darkness there, and nothing more."
He looked at her curiously, a small frown on his face. "I believe, Watson, there is again something more Mrs. Thurlow would have us know...though this time, I am somewhat at a loss…"
If he was at a loose end, I could only stare at the scene completely stupefied, and noticed that except for her and Holmes, so was the rest of the room.
She cocked her head to the side, her lips pulling into a sad smile, even as some of the lucidity already bled out of her eyes. "And the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting; On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming. And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor; Shall be lifted---nevermore!"
Her daughter rose from her seat across the room and made her way over to us. "Mother...is there something you wish for?" she asked gently.
Mrs. Thurlow, however, took the last few steps to my companion and placed a hand on his chest, whispering adamantly, "Nevermore...nevermore." Taking her hand in both of his gently, Holmes looked into her eyes, and tried to read the light there before it faded completely. "Rap, rap..." she breathed to him, before turning her eyes to her daughter. "Is it time for tea, Helen?" The usual almost dream-like quality had returned to her voice.
I stepped forward at seeing the uncomfortable look on Miss Thurlow's face, and took her mother's hand from Holmes's, leading her over towards the card game. "No, Mrs. Thurlow, not yet. Would you like to sit with me for a while?" I asked, seating her in an armchair next to me so she could observe the game in comfort, and, gaining no response, gave her a small smile before sitting down with the boys. They stared at the older woman for a moment before turning to me.
"Are you going to play with us now?" Andrew asked with no small amount of enthusiasm.
"Most certainly," I replied, returning his grin, and proceeded to shuffle and deal out the cards.
Holmes, meanwhile, turned to Miss Thurlow, and with a tight smile indicated for her to take a seat, waiting for her to do so before seating himself before her.
"I apologise, Mr. Holmes," she whispered over to him. "I have no idea what could have come over her. I do not believe she has spoken that much in over a year."
He nodded thoughtfully for a moment as he took her statement, just as he did everything, on board. "If you'll forgive me, Miss Thurlow, I believe her talkativeness has much to do with the proximity of your father," he voiced quietly. "Watson told me of your talk with him last night...and your first steps towards reconciliation. I believe that your mother, for all that she has, like yourself, undoubtedly suffered, has never reached the point of actively hating your father. I believe that her actions were motivated in some small way by concern for him."
The young woman gave him a gentle smile. "My mother could no more hate than draw breath, Mr. Holmes. It is simply not in her nature." She glanced over at her for a moment before turning back to my companion. "She is deeply hurt...but I do not remember her ever saying even an angry word about him. She could always see inside someone and know their best and brightest features, even if they did not know them themselves."
"I see," Holmes replied, "and from what Watson told me of what your father said last night, it may also be the case that she took a lot of the blame upon herself." He looked over at Mrs. Thurlow. "Gentle souls, such as your mother, often do. She may have blamed herself for not defending her husband more to her relatives and the wedge that drove between them...and, most unfortunately of all, for her inability to provide him with the son he desperately wanted."
Turning back from where the older woman was seated, he focused his attention back on her daughter once more. "I can't help feeling that as your father was the cause of her illness...it is he who holds much of the key to your mother's recovery."
Her brow furrowed slightly. "It is possible," she acquiesced. "She has always felt things most deeply. I too have often wondered if perhaps she took on more blame than she should have. But after her...accident...she retreated so fully, I was sure it was simply heartbreak. Perhaps, after all this time...the blame is still there, no matter how misplaced." Her gaze became slightly more intense. "What do you suggest, Mr. Holmes?"
He regarded at her closely before coming to a decision. "Miss Thurlow, you have shown thus far that you are a woman with a good head on your shoulders, and not given easily to upset or exaggerated reactions to what is going on around you. I feel, therefore, that I can tell you I believe there is good reason to think that this situation with your father may not be easily or quickly resolved. As a result, it may well be that you and your mother will be spending some considerable time with your father and his family..." He leaned forward, putting his elbows on his knees and pressing the palms of his hands together. "At some point during that process, when you feel your mother might be strong enough, you may wish to consider letting him meet with her."
His gaze turned thoughtful, even as he continued to watch her reactions carefully. "It is odd that your mother chose to quote 'The Raven,' if you'll pardon the poor pun," he continued, smiling just a little. "A poem about a descent into madness at the loss of a loved one. She may well have meant more than that in its quotation to me," he said musingly to her. "But the fact remains, it is the loss of one dear to her that has done this to her, taken her to this dark and melancholy place. I have read the works of Emil Kraepelin as well as many other alienists and physicians of the mind, and with your mother it is as you say...an injury...a deep and abiding hurt in her heart...and only one person holds in his power the healing of that hurt." He sat back a little in his chair and laid his arm along the table. "Just as he did with your own hurt."
Glancing up from my hand of cards, I saw her eyes narrow ever so slightly as she took in what he had said to her, weighing it carefully and trying to resolve it against her own emotions, which I could tell erred to the protective. As she glanced over to her mother again, her expression softened and she nodded. "My mother never says anything that she does not mean," she admitted, turning back to him. "Her choice had a purpose. Perhaps it was about herself, perhaps about my father, perhaps even about you...or maybe all three or neither. It is hard to tell anymore. However, I am forced to agree...perhaps meeting with my father would allow her some peace, or at the very least resolution."
"Consider it, Miss Thurlow," Holmes agreed softly with an encouraging tone. "That is all you need do for now. Your mother shows signs of great perceptiveness in those moments when she surfaces. I believe that everything she was still exists within her, and very much hope that would indicate that, someday, it may be possible for you to have the mother you once knew returned to you, for the most part, as she once was."
A ray of hope seemed to light in her eyes, and she gave my friend a quiet smile. "I have wished for that for many, many a year, Mr. Holmes. If there is any chance, then I will do what must be done," she told him firmly, glancing over at her mother, surprised to see her watching the two of them with a quiet smile.
The flash of awareness in the older woman's amber eyes was only there a moment as she met Holmes's once more. "Never more," she told him with an almost playful scolding tone before the light dimmed, and she turned to gaze lazily at a potted plant.
The not quite frown returned to his brow again as he once more took in her remarks to him and sat back to reconsider her words to him, tapping his mouth lightly with his steepled index fingers. "Your mother, like your father, is quite a remarkable person...flawed yes...but then remarkable people generally are. I hope that I get the opportunity to meet her in the full of her health one day, Miss Thurlow," he told her.
"I believe she'd like that, Mr. Holmes," she replied, turning to gaze at him again with her keen grey eyes.
"Well then, Miss Thurlow," he said, smiling a little wider, "you may assume that one day when this is resolved, I shall gladly keep that appointment, and call on you both."
A smile touched her lips as well. "Then, I shall endeavour to make sure I have plenty of tea."
Reaching into his pocket, Holmes pulled out his cigarette case and opening it, glanced at her. "Do you smoke, Miss Thurlow?" he asked with an evaluating look.
She shook her head, the smile still on her face. "No," she replied, as she turned to the table to pour herself a cup of tea.
There was a definite hint of approval in his nod, for in his opinion it was an unseemly vice for ladies. The second part of his question followed quickly. "Do you have any objections to my partaking?" he queried, picking up one slender cylinder of tobacco.
Picking up her cup, she turned to him with a look of surprise. "No," she replied. "Please...feel free. It is Indian tobacco, is it not?" Her eyebrow quirked up as she inhaled quickly.
He looked at her in surprise. "Yes...for a lady who does not smoke, that is a rather acute observation and shows a keen nose, especially when the tobacco is as yet unlit."
She shook her head and sipped her tea. "Not at all, Mr. Holmes. My father used to smoke Indian tobacco quite often when I was a child. The unique scent has stayed with me," she explained. "But I thank you for the compliment all the same."
Nodding slowly, Holmes lit his cigarette, drawing on it as he watched her before he slipped back into his chair with his eyes closed in comfortable contemplation, smoke curling around his head, and Miss Thurlow quietly sipping her tea across from him.
We spent the morning guard duty mostly entertaining the boys with even Holmes breaking his concentration for a hand or two with them. As the afternoon progressed, at times the atmosphere was so companionable and familial that one almost forgot the dark cloud that hung over the entire household. At least until Holmes would excuse himself to return to his seat to read a little from some of the books on India that he had had delivered to him shortly after his arrival, thumbing through the reference material, or moving to stand by the French windows that opened up onto the veranda and the steps that led down to the tree lined long back garden of the Thurlow household, persistently returning to the problem at hand and the parts of the puzzle he still felt were clearly missing.
Holmes stayed with us throughout the morning and the bulk of the afternoon, departing from our presence only once for a half an hour or so.
Finally, at four o'clock that evening right on the dot, there was a knock on the door and Goodwin entered, extending an invitation for the boys, myself, Holmes, and Miss Thurlow to join the master of the house for afternoon tea in his study while Goodwin remained with Mrs. Thurlow.
The boys were up like a shot and taking hold of their sister's hands nearly dragged her bodily from the room, the combination of crumpets and having their father and sister together with them to satiate their vast curiosity far too good to resist. Rising up, I looked at Holmes, and, waving me on, he stood up to follow.
The boys' eyes were bugging out with delight as we entered the study, for the table our client had had laid out for tea was laden with sandwiches of all kinds, cakes, crumpets, scones with jam and cream, and biscuits of all sort, as well as tea and coffee. A sumptuous spread and one that Thurlow, seated beside the genial young Mr. Hant, received due reward for with a pair of exuberant hugs from his sons and a gaggle of questions about what they could eat and how much.
Hushing and reminding them of their manners gently, he bade the boys to sit until their guests were seated, and then he looked over at his daughter with a quiet smile. "Helen, perhaps you might do the honours?" he asked her.
"Of course, Father," she replied, flashing him a quick smile, and rose up and set about filling the cups, asking each of us what we would like in it.
As Hant responded to Miss Thurlow's question, her father's gaze, like mine, was drawn to the way the young man was watching her, his look keen and vastly interested, his eyes following her every movement. Our client's gaze met mine, and, for a moment, he smiled knowingly.
"Harry..." he said, lifting up the cup that his daughter had just attended to for him and sipping on it, "I don't believe I have properly introduced you to my daughter, have I? Of course not." He shook his head as he answered his own question. "You only heard of her for the first time three days ago!"
The raven haired, handsome young man dragged his eyes from her and flushed slightly. "Yes, sir, Mr. Thurlow...and no, sir. I haven't had the particular pleasure of an introduction yet."
The businessman looked at his daughter. "Miss Helen Thurlow, this is my assistant Mr. Harold Hant, a young man of quiet intelligence, charm, and, most necessarily for me who has none, tact."
Hant shook his head, and smiled. "You underestimate yourself, sir," he replied as he rose out of his chair and offered her his hand. "Miss Thurlow," he continued, turning that smile to her, his eyes on her once more, "it is my great pleasure and good fortune to meet you."
Placing the teapot back on the table, she took his hand and inclined her head respectfully. "Mr. Hant," she returned with a gentle smile, her eyes taking him in and evaluating him much as she had when she first encountered Holmes and me. "A pleasure, I am sure. Have you worked for my father long?"
"Not quite six months, Miss Thurlow," he replied, his gaze apparently riveted to her face, much to her father's growing amusement. "I came to him just after his partner, the late Mr. Balfour, passed away in his sleep. Your father was in need of someone to help him with the extra work load, and was good enough to think I might be the man for the job."
"Now…now...lad…" Arthur interrupted, patting him on the shoulder, "I've no use for false modesty, as you well know by now. You came highly recommended to me, and were, indeed, just the man for the job."
"I'm sure you have filled the role most admirably," she added with that same smile that could boost a man's confidence, the one she had graced me with the day before, but seeming to take no outward notice of the intensity of Hant's gaze. "My father relies on you a great deal it seems, and he does not allow just anyone that kind of confidence."
"Where were you employed before, Mr. Hant?" Holmes asked before the young man, smiling even more broadly than before, could reply to her. His gaze wavered between the decided preferred object of his attentions and Holmes across the table from him.
"I held a sales position with Fortnum and Mason, Mr. Holmes," he replied smoothly, taking the opportunity to have some of his tea. Handing Holmes his cup, Miss Thurlow returned to her seat as well, sipping on hers as she observed my friend and her father's assistant.
With a nod of thanks to their hostess, Holmes took some of his tea and nodded. "I see such a sales background would have helped, I'm sure."
"Yes, sir," Hant agreed with a smile. "I worked in their import/export section, so that gave me a head start with Mr. Thurlow's business."
Thurlow nodded before adding, "The lad is multi-lingual. Very, very handy to have around the place...he can speak, what is it...five…languages?"
"Six, if you count the Swahili," he corrected, lowering his head, somewhat embarrassed by the praise, and when he raised it again his eyes were on Helen Thurlow once more, a slightly sheepish smile on his face.
"Most impressive," she assured him with a quick smile and incline of her head. "At least to me, for I can only speak two...and my French is much disused."
"I'm sure you exaggerate and your French is in fact perfectly charming," he replied in an equally encouraging manner. "As for me, my French is not too impressive. I travelled extensively as a young man...and I picked up a lot of them as a child. You know how absorbent young minds are…they pick up on things and never let them go." His eyes moved to her brothers. "Just like these two young men," he added, shooting them a mock aggressive glare, to which they grinned broadly.
"Papa..." Matthew asked, tugging on his father's coat, "are you going to let Harry marry Helen?"
Both their father and Hant nearly choked on their tea, while Miss Thurlow's eyes widened to nearly saucer proportions.
"What..." Arthur gasped, coughing and smacking his chest lightly, "what are you talking about, Matthew?"
Matthew frowned at the adult's seemingly total obliviousness to the obvious.
"It's quite obvious, Papa, that Harry likes her. Can he marry her, Papa?" Andrew asked with no small amount of enthusiasm
Matthew nodded in agreement. "Harry is all googly eyed over her," he pointed out. "And Harry is very handsome and dashing, and Helen very pretty...and their names both begin with H!" he finished, as if that were the clincher.
Their father snorted, this time from amusement, and glanced at his daughter and young Mr. Hant, the latter of whom looked like the earth could swallow him up.
Miss Thurlow, however, though flushing a rather pink shade, merely shook her head. "I'm afraid that is entirely out of the question," she told the boys. "No offence to Mr. Hant, who I am sure would make a wonderful husband, but I am in no position at present to marry anyone...nor would I wish to marry someone I had just met. I am afraid I am a little old fashioned, boys...when I marry it will be for love, and love only." Giving them both a quick smile, she turned back to her tea, and sipped on it, almost grateful to its presence.
Matthew frowned in confusion. "But how do you know you won't love Harry?" he queried, looking over at Harry closely. "He is very nice." He turned back to his sister with an inquisitive expression. "And what position do you need to be in to marry Harry?" He grinned, and glanced at his brother. "Marry Harry...it rhymes!" he enthused, nudging him.
Andrew chuckled and nodded in that head bobbing way of his. "Harry and Helen Hant!" he enthused. "All H's!"
Matthew giggled. "It is all very perfect," he pronounced, and then smiled back at her. "I thought you just needed a church and a vicar...what other position do you need, Helen?" he asked her again.
His sister looked, for the first time since I and Holmes had met her, entirely flustered. "It's...it's complicated Matthew," she replied, putting down her cup and standing quickly. "I...I should go check on my mother," she mumbled quickly, and with a polite if brisk nod, she almost ran from the room.
"Girls are strange," Matthew huffed watching her go. "I thought they liked to talk about mushy stuff like love...and weddings...and babies."
Andrew nodded, his expression matching his twin's. "What position does she need to be in, Papa?" he asked with puzzlement. "Does she need to stand on her head or something?"
Thurlow chuckled again as he looked at his son. "In general it's the man who stands on his head." He smirked before explaining, "Your sister is talking about things like a dowry, and seeing her mother safe and cared for, boys." He leaned forward as he continued, "And as for liking to talk about mushy stuff...ladies do...but..." He paused with nod at Harry on the sly, who caught it and flushed even deeper. "Not in front of a prospective beaux, boys."
"Ohhhh..." Matthew nodded in understanding, before asking, "What's a dowry?"
I glanced over at my colleague to see what his reaction was to all this, and the amusement was written large across his face, although hidden behind an almost permanently raised tea cup.
"A dowry, Matthew," their father answered, "is the wealth a woman brings with her into a marriage. Many young women, your sister included, feel strongly that a woman should bring something tangible with them, as a matter of pride, into a marriage. Many don't marry until they have a suitable dowry. Though she is not yet aware of it, that is something your sister no longer has to worry about." He ruffled Andrew's hair as the boy bit into a jam and cream covered scone, coming away with a red and white moustache. "Oddly enough," he continued, "thanks to Harry here...who took some documents I had drawn up and redrawn will to be notarised...now your sister is to be a lady of property...just like you boys."
I barely contained my look of pleasure at Thurlow's so rapidly following through on the previous evening's commitments to his daughter and first wife, and immensely glad that Miss Thurlow was finally to have some security in her life.
"You have changed your will?" Holmes inquired finally, lowering his tea cup with a curious look on his face.
Thurlow nodded slowly in reply. "Some minor adjustments to..." He paused, catching the boys' eyes on him, and grew obviously uncomfortable talking about such things in their presence. "Boys, take your sister's tea and some cakes into her will you, and don't pester her anymore about marriage," he told them firmly.
The twins exchanged that look that all young children do when they know they are being sent from a room on a pretext so that the adults can talk freely, but with a sigh they dutifully filled a plate and took two cups of tea...one for 'the silent lady'…and left the room carefully with their load.
After they departed, our host sat back in his chair. "You might as well know, gentlemen, that I have changed my will to give my daughter equal custody of the boys with my wife should anything happen to me."
Holmes glanced over at me and put his tea down. "That is quite a development after just one day, Mr. Thurlow...and your wife's position on this?"
"Deadly opposed..." he replied, "or at least it would be, if she knew anything about it, that is. Currently, only we four here know." Our client sighed as he gathered his thoughts. "The fact of the matter is, gentlemen, as Harry here can testify...my marriage to Ellen is not a good one, never has been. But that is no one's fault but mine. The boys though...the boys are a different story. Their mother scares them. They want to love her, and I can see them try, but she is too self absorbed and concerned with how they are her future to let the love she undoubtedly has for them shine through in any other way but over-protectiveness and strictness. It is something that has gotten worse with her since the death of our first boy, Barnaby." He shot a look towards the door. "In addition, the boys both know she uses them to manipulate me. They need someone who can show them affection for at least a part of their lives...I believe Helen can and will do that.
"Yesterday, Ellen threatened to divorce me for what I did...backing Helen over her. Threatened to take everything that was going on and drag it in front of the courts...the only thing that stopped her was my pointing out that if she did, everything she had done would be dragged out for all London to hear too, and while she may have had money, any chance of social position, something she craves even more than I, would evaporate with it." He rose to his feet and stretched. "I will spend the rest of my life with her, I know that...and that will be my punishment for what I have done...but I will not see the boys punished for it. They will have me until I die, and she can do nothing to me once I am dead, and they will have Helen then."
Reaching for a plate, he placed some sandwiches on it before sitting back with a distant look. "Of course, there's no telling when my death might occur...tomorrow...or twenty years from now."
It was Holmes's turn to sit forward, and he gazed at our host with an expression of utmost seriousness. "Mr. Thurlow, there is something you should know..." he began before telling our client all about his discovery of the Triptii challenge and his suspicion of a Western hand in all this, as well as his inkling that some kind of attack might occur tonight when he and I were absent from the house on a return visit to the Rajah.
"But..." Thurlow said wide-eyed as Holmes finished, "could he seriously expect me to attack him? If I even attempted such a thing, I'd be up on trial surely..."
Holmes inclined his head in agreement. "That could indeed be his intent, Mr. Thurlow. It could be he knew because of your prominent position, you would never stand trial for his daughter's death…but if you killed him in plain view of London Society...an old man and a friend of the Queen, there was no way you could avoid justice," he opined. "However, personally, I don't believe that to be the case; I believe he is living the spirit of this battle to the absolute maximum, and should you have succeeded in killing him, that would have been an end to the blood feud...over and done with...no prosecution brought. But I cannot say, either way."
Thurlow rose swiftly before wandering to his drinks cabinet, where he poured himself a stiff scotch and downed it quickly. "I don't know what to say, gentlemen. There is no way I could raise my hand against him, not unless he were to walk in here himself and try to harm my family. Then, it would be self defence." He glanced back at Holmes quickly. "But, Mr. Holmes, if what you say is true, then hasn't his will been undermined by whoever it is he has working for him not giving me the proper challenge?"
"Precisely..." Holmes confirmed with a nod, his eyes glinting, "just as Watson pointed out earlier. If my hypothesis is correct, we have something of a loose cannon on our hands, and I believe in that we may have the breaking of this stand off."
"What do you mean, sir?" Hant asked, putting down his cup and listening intently.
"If...and I stress IF...the Rajah is as moral and bound by strict tradition as it appears...then to have been operating under an unfair advantage over an opponent will render him dishonoured," Holmes explained quietly. "If that point could be brought home to him, then we may have the beginnings of a point of negotiation in order to find some other method of resolving this."
"But..." Hant voiced with a frown, "she was his daughter. He would never give up his vengeance on so trivial a point, would he?"
"Honour, Mr. Hant..." Holmes sat back, steepling his fingers as he answered, "is never trivial in the noblest of minds...and if there is one thing that is apparent, it is that Annand Mahindra carries himself nobly. His search for his daughter is not about vengeance, it is about restoring honour, both hers and his. He would no doubt sacrifice everything rather than face dishonour. If he feels strongly enough that he has been dishonoured by his man, he could call him off."
Thurlow walked quickly back to his chair. "Do you believe so, Mr. Holmes?" he asked with a frown, his voice straining to contain any hope.
"I believe, Mr. Thurlow, that it is most certainly worth the risk of leaving here tonight after dinner to try," Holmes confirmed, picking up a small cucumber sandwich and popping it in his mouth confidently.
Authors' Note: Greetings and many thanks again to all that have read and/or reviewed. It truly means the world to us. :) Okay, now to address some notes...heh...
1. BaskervilleBeauty: This is the year 1888 (August 20-23 to be exact)...and yes, phones were invented by this point and were very likely used in the most posh of hotels (LFire knows her research...:) ), and I think you got confused on the crinoline...we didn't mean a crinoline, but the fabric which was used in petticoats at that time. As for Holmes being an actor, I know I read this in a story somewhere, and indeed Baring-Gould does say it, though I believe Klinger - who is the newest authority with an annotated set - does say he was as well... As for the plot...ah that will be giving the game away...snicker
2. J.A. Lowell: Glad you are enjoying as well! Your comments were a real treat to read I must say! Yes, we know Holmes's eyes are grey (as are Mycroft's...heh), but we decided to make them hazel (yup, a slight deviation from cannon) to make it a dedication to Jeremy Brett...call it our personal touch. :)
Thank you all again, and we hope you are enjoying Chapter Six!
Addendum -- January 6th, 2006: Thank you again to D'arcy for beta reading this chapter it is very appreciated.
