Chapter Two: A Narrow Margin of Error
4th October, 1889
"Personally, I believe it to be a sound plan," Watson said, handing Helen a cup of tea before seating himself opposite in Holmes's chair. "Devious," he added with a smile, "but sound. After all, if you believe that Mr. Norris's wife is so influential to her husband's thinking and you require his vote for the plans to expand more fully into the United States, then wooing her in private to your cause seems a perfectly strategic move, and one certainly not open to a man in your position." He paused for a moment with a sigh. "That is, at least not without raising suspicion as to his motives."
"You don't think it too…underhanded?" Helen asked a little uncomfortably.
Her advisor gave her an encouraging smile. "Believe me, compared to the stories I've heard from business friends at the club and those I've encountered whilst working with Holmes, this manoeuvre is positively open, benevolent, and gracious. And a charity supper dance at the Twin Birches sounds just the ticket to begin it all with…especially if she doesn't dance due to the weakness in her legs. Diverting her husband to the dance floor with your friends and speaking with her alone should be much easier." He continued to mull it over while sipping on his tea, before shaking his head at the heretofore hidden tactical nuances of his young lady-friend's character. "Yes...very clever."
Helen's eyes twinkled as she laid her cup back on its saucer. "Thank you, John. I am most gratified that you approve," she replied with a newly relaxed chuckle. "Lucy Norris is, from the few encounters I've had with her, a formidable woman; we shall see if it does truly prove to be a profitable undertaking. However, I have learned over the last year that the dynamics behind the scenes are as important as the ones in the boardroom." She shook her head wryly at the concept.
Putting his cup and saucer down on Holmes's desktop, Watson nodded. "True. Nothing in any part of life happens in isolation from everything else. Almost every step we take in one sphere is influenced by the other spheres in our life." Pausing on that, he pursed his lips a little and sat forward, his words a little tentative. "And whilst on that train of thought, dear Helen...are you intending to speak to Holmes today about your acquaintance with Captain Edwards?"
Her face sobered a little as she nodded. "I was...but it seems he is absent yet again." She indicated the flat, empty save for them, and gave him a lop-sided smile. "I am beginning to wonder if it is fate."
Looking at the clock on the wall, Watson's brow furrowed a little as he moved to check his own watch. "Yes...it is odd. Mrs. Hudson gave me to understand on my arrival that he had only gone for a short constitutional, and that he knew that I wished to see him." A sigh escaped him on confirming the time with his pocket watch. "He really should have been..."
The sound of a quickly and heavily closed door echoed through the solid confines of 221b and was speedily followed by the sound of footsteps taking the staircase two and three at a time.
"Ah..." Watson said with a tight smile to his companion, slipping his watch back into his waistcoat pocket. As he did so, Helen's face flashed with anxiety, and she swallowed heavily, before nodding and taking a deep breath to compose herself prior to the detective's imminent appearance. Any fear that a trace of residual feeling for this man would strongly manifest itself on his first appearance before her for some weeks was quickly washed away in the small river of trepidation running through her.
She had little to no experience with delicate conversations such as these, and with their friend's nature given to prickliness...she had no idea if he would take her news well, badly, or perhaps even go so far as to rebuke and dismiss her out of hand as just another romance-driven woman.
"Watson," Holmes's raised voice preceded his entry into the room, "have you seen this morning's Times and the article on..." The door opened, and paper raised high in one hand, Holmes came to a complete stop in the portal. "Miss Thurlow," he finished seamlessly, as if the utterance of her name was the natural conclusion to his thought. "This is a surprise. I had not realised Watson meant for today to be one of your meetings."
She gave him a smile of greeting, and inclined her head. "I'm afraid so, Mr. Holmes. We haven't been able to meet as of late, and decided that should be remedied as soon as possible. How have you been faring, sir?"
Stepping inside, he closed the door, and tucked his paper under his arm. "Excellently, Miss Thurlow." He glanced at Watson as his colleague vacated his chair to move to the sofa. "I was informed you were spending much time at the Birches of late; I trust you and your family have been well?"
She nodded. "Yes, thank you, Mr. Holmes, we are all quite well. Though yes, I have been staying in the country, but I have as of late now started returning to London again for both business and personal reasons."
His gaze rested on her for a moment, evaluating her words. "Of course," he finally replied in a light tone before making haste for his chair, drawing the paper out from under his arm as he sat. "Pray, do not let me disturb you both further...as you say you have been absent, and I'm sure your meeting is all the more imperative for that."
Helen watched him for a moment before turning to Watson with a questioning look, her nervous state leaving her uncertain that she hadn't somehow managed to offend him already.
The doctor's shake of his head and tiny smile was small but encouraging. "No disturbance, Holmes," he assured, turning towards him. "In fact, unless I am much mistaken I believe we had just concluded, had we not, Miss Thurlow?"
"Oh yes," she agreed with a grateful look and inclination of her head. "You are not disturbing us at all...unless there is something you need John for...then I shall of course depart."
"Not at all..." the other man answered, glancing over the top of the paper. "I merely wished to draw Watson's attentions to an article quoting a monograph he worked on with me, in this morning's Times."
Her eyebrows rose. "Indeed! Congratulations to you both. What agreeable news," she voiced in a pleased tone.
Watson, who had in his own way been as tense as Helen, brightened considerably at that and was just about to question Holmes when he remembered his priorities. The discussion of papers could wait, and there was something far more imperative to deal with first. The question was how to broach it.
"Excellent news, Holmes," he responded, folding his arms. "I look forward to reading it...but we shouldn't delay Miss Thurlow too long; as she has just proven to me via our discussion, she is certainly busier than ever."
Yes..." Holmes's disembodied voice came from behind the newly opened and raised newspaper. "I dare say."
Watson watched the unmoving front of The Times for a moment. "Yes...well we should let her go...but…wasn't there something you were keen to ask her?"
"Oh, you are not holding me up. What was the monograph on, if I may ask?" Helen answered a bit belatedly, coming hard on the heels of Watson's question, and missing both his attempts to broach the subject hanging over them.
His subsequent attempt to stop her undermining it with a change of subject foiled, the doctor's shoulders slumped somewhat, a small sigh escaping him as the newspaper lowered itself a little.
Holmes looked from one to the other of them, their discomfort and crossing conversational topics the kind of clues he could've picked up at the age of three. Closing and folding the paper, he rested it on his lap. "The monograph," he said, addressing her first, "was on the 'Efficacy of Identification and Dating of Skeletal Fragments in Unsolved Murder Cases'...Watson's medical input was invaluable."
She nodded and flashed him a smile. "Fascinating! And yes, I would suppose it would be," she agreed. "I must make it a point to read it when I return home this evening."
"This evening?" he ventured. "Is it shopping, or is it further business with the Boards of your various attachments that keeps you in London?"
She shook her head, not appearing the slightest bit troubled with his question, though inside her stomach was in knots, and the oddest part of it was that she was not entirely sure why. "No, Mr. Holmes. I am meeting someone for an early dinner, and so I shan't be home till around seven. But I shall give it my full attention, and likely barrage you with questions when I see you next," she answered with a smile.
With an acquiescent nod to any such future interrogation on her part, and turning away to place the paper on his desk, he spoke again. "Now, I suppose I should ask the question that Watson wishes me to, so we can end this rather uncomfortable little waltz we are all engaged in."
Watson blinked at the sudden shift back to the previously aborted topic and Holmes's perspicacity regarding it. "What? Oh, I only meant..."
Helen tensed a little. "Question?" she asked. "Of course, what is it?"
"Watson," Holmes glanced at his friend, as he stood to take down his clay pipe...the sight of which made Watson wince internally, "wished me to broach the subject of your accompanying me to the Berlin Philharmonic when they arrive in town in two weeks' time to play the Royal Albert Hall - something I had mentioned to him several times over the past few weeks." Examining the pipe closely, he turned back to them. "A question there seems little point in asking now, as it appears its only merit was to provide you with an opening to explain not only why you cannot attend, but shall not be attending any such recitals with me in the future." He looked from the pipe to her, his gaze level. "So, let us save some time and skip to the answer, shall we?"
Watson's wince was not this time an internal one.
Her eyes widened as she shifted in her seat in discomfort. It was one thing to broach such a subject and inform him on her own terms, but to have him simply lay it on the table as almost an accusation stung more than she wanted to admit. "I see..." she replied softly, before looking up at him with a serious expression. "It was never meant to be a secret...and I had intended telling you...but it seems you have beaten me to it, though I admit to being curious on how you know." She smiled wryly. "Though I suppose it is rather moot really."
Taking his Persian slipper from its place, he seated himself with a smile. "Miss Thurlow, you know me at least well enough to know the answer to that question. How is it I come to know anything?" he returned, as he began to fill his pipe.
The corner of her mouth tugged upwards. "Yes, I know...through observation and deduction. I am sure I am full of tells, and I'm sure poor John here has been doing a valiant effort on my behalf to allow me the time to inform you myself." She glanced down at her hands for a moment. "You know under previous circumstances, I would have gladly gone with you...however, you are correct that I no longer can," she continued, rapidly quashing the pang she felt in the pit of her stomach on finally saying those words. "I recently met a man through my cousin and her husband, and we are now courting."
"Yes. A soldier. An officer to be precise." Holmes nodded, packing his pipe. "Cavalry. Decorated and experienced. About thirty years of age approximately. Tall, dark of hair, and newly returned from abroad, India most likely."
Even after years of such observations, Watson stared at him agape, while alongside, Helen was rendered completely speechless after the almost exact description of her beau.
Holmes reached for a match and paused on noticing their faces, before chuckling softly. "As I have often said to you both, there is no magic, nor trick involved. When I say that observation and deduction bring me to my conclusions, I mean exactly that. Observation is everything," he reiterated, striking the match against the fireplace and placing it to his pipe as he drew on it.
"Observation." Watson blinked and sagged back slightly, before glancing at Helen. "He must have seen you both," he said quietly, to which she nodded slowly, agreeing silently that this was likely the case, though frowning a little at the same time at his game playing.
Holmes smiled blithely, and puffed smoke into the air. "If obfuscation of your courtship was your plan, Miss Thurlow, I would suggest you take your walks with your new beau in an area other than the vicinity of Marylebone and Regent's Park. If, however, the object was to do so in the hope you might be seen, then it succeeded admirably."
Her brow furrowed even more. "I assure you neither intents were on my mind or his, Mr. Holmes," she asserted, her tone a little offended. "We were merely taking the air...and you were of course free to address us at any time," she pointed out.
"I would never dream of intruding on a private and intimate conversation so," he replied. "Besides, I was, at that time, across the street engaged in waiting for Watson to return from his purchase of a consignment of Virginia blends from the excellent Rosenbaum's."
Watson frowned only for his eyes to widen a moment later as he exclaimed, "That evening? So, that's what you meant by that comment about..." He stopped himself suddenly on remembering Helen's presence. "That is to say…why you appeared distracted when I came out. Why didn't you say anything, Holmes?"
The gaze that was suddenly fixed upon him spoke volumes to John Watson as to his unsuitability to be asking such a question, leaving him in no doubt as to what would follow between them on Helen's departure.
"So, a Cavalryman," Holmes said, bypassing his colleague's question all together. "I deduced as much from his gait and his tunic, scarlet as it was...the 16th Queen's Own Lancers if I'm not mistaken, Miss Thurlow?"
"Yes, that's right," she confirmed with a nod, not having failed to see the dynamic play out between the two men. "His name is Captain William Edwards of the Chelsea Edwards, and you are correct that he has only recently returned from his last posting in India. He now is working for General Cadwalader and a chance toward a promotion to Major later this year...or so it has been suggested."
"I see." The detective took her words in with nod. "I presume that it was this subject that you were trying to broach to me the night of the performance at the Opera, before I was called away?"
Watson's eyes moved to her quickly enough this time to belay her response. Knowing the truth of what she had intended to tell him, his expression seemed to ask her to let Holmes continue to believe in his erroneous hypothesis. She paused for a moment, torn between following the doctor's advice and being honest with his colleague.
"No," she replied finally, "we met a very short time later." Her gaze as she looked up at him was direct and contrite. "Please don't be irritated with John's omitting to tell you of this, Mr. Holmes. My relationship with Captain Edwards really was never a secret, but John felt since my time and outings with you would be affected, that I should be the one to inform you...and I feel he was quite correct in that. I am sorry, though, that our paths have not crossed sooner for me to do so." Picking up her gloves, she slid them back on, her fingers nimbly doing up the buttons.
Taken a little by surprise, Holmes's brow creased. "I see...but then if that was not what you had intended to tell me that evening, what…if I might make so bold…was it?"
Seated where he was, Watson suddenly wished the floor would kindly open up to swallow him, while, glancing up at Holmes, Helen smiled somewhat flatly. "It is no longer of any importance, Mr. Holmes...quite irrelevant in fact." She turned her attention to the doctor. "I'm sorry, John, but I have to leave if I'm going to meet William on time," she apologised sincerely, knowing she was leaving him to a sure interrogation.
The older man nodded, fully aware that the eyes of his colleague upon him were narrowing slightly. "Of course..." he replied evenly. "Give him my..." he began, and froze, closing his eyes slightly before glancing at Holmes, who naturally had not missed the slip that proved he not only knew of the good Captain but was also personally acquainted with him. Dragging his eyes back to Helen, he inclined his head somewhat lamely. "Enjoy your afternoon."
Her face was full of sympathy as she returned the gesture. "Of course, and to you as well. Please give my best to Mary, and tell her I look forward to her visit this week-end," she returned, before turning to the other man.
Holmes stood up in advance of her departure. "Have you anything special planned?" he enquired lightly.
"No," she replied, cringing internally. Holmes being the last person she wanted to be discussing her beau with, she found herself half uncomfortable at his question and half irrationally irritated that he did not appear upset with her in any way over this. "We usually meet on days that I am in London, either to take tea or a meal or simply take the air and talk."
"I see..." He smiled a little to himself at that. "I had thought perhaps you were continuing your concert going with the good Captain? Perhaps he is not interested in the arts? It would not be an unusual state of affairs for one in his profession."
Watson, in the midst of standing up as well, straightened his jacket and frowned a little at the comment.
In that, he was not alone as Helen's brow furrowed once more. "No, quite on the contrary, Mr. Holmes, he enjoys music a great deal," she returned, feeling a stab of annoyance at the apparently dismissive comment. "However, his schedule and mine have prevented such an outing...though I dare say we shall be attending one in the near future."
"Excellent!" He nodded approvingly. "I would hate to feel you were being deprived of something you enjoyed so thoroughly."
"I assure you, Mr. Holmes, that I am not being deprived of anything that I enjoy. For indeed, Captain Edwards is a most attentive gentleman, and he and I share a great number of interests," she returned, her annoyance seeping into her voice at the rather condescending tone she felt he was affecting.
"I am gratified to hear it, Miss Thurlow." He smiled amiably, seeming ignorant of her irritation. "And I look forward to making his acquaintance. For while one expects members of Her Majesty's officer corps to carry themselves as gentlemen, it's a rare thing to find many of the professional soldiering type with an artistic or imaginative approach to life. They are, for the most part, regimented to an alarming degree."
"Indeed?" Her chin rose a little, as her lips pressed together tightly. "Your pardon, Mr. Holmes, but I feel bound to say that that statement is one of excessive generalisation. There are a great many professional soldiers in service, and each is an individual in his own right."
Watson nodded where he stood. "I really must agree with Miss Thurlow, Holmes. I was in the armed forces, remember?"
Holmes smiled a little as he looked at his friend. "You were a medical man in the army, Watson. That is quite a different thing altogether." He shook his head a little. "Of course, there are rare exceptions...but for the most part the individual is trained out of the professional soldier. It is a necessary occurrence...for an army must work as a trained unit...the self lost in the whole.
"Such uniform behaviour, however, is I find too often transferred to the mind. To whit, personally from simple observation of the progression of several battles in which our troops have been involved, I have formulated several thoughts on how our combat tactics and ideas of warfare in general could be improved in order to better manage loss of life amongst our men. But the generals to whom I've spoken show, just like those of other countries, all the marked signs of the woeful lack of imagination of which I speak. The way they have been taught is the only way they can perceive...and what they are used to is all they can fathom. That is the soldier's mindset, I find."
Being raised a young lady and possessing the training and mindset of one was the only thing that kept Helen, at that moment, from losing her temper with the detective and speaking her mind in earnest.
Frankly, she was aghast at his stubbornly narrow-minded thinking. She had dealt with it before in regards to his opinions on women, but it was one thing to defend her own gender, another to not even have the aggrieved party there to defend himself. Never mind the excessive irritation she personally was feeling from his apparently congratulating her on her courting status one moment and being condescending about it the next.
Taking a deep inward breath, she chose her next words carefully. "You are, of course, entitled to your own opinion, but I am afraid I must disagree with you completely in this case."
"Naturally." Holmes inclined his head solemnly, though the smile still played around his lips.
She stiffened immediately, infuriated even more, as his meaning was quite clear. "I see...so you do not think I can have a rational personal opinion because of my involvement with a man?"
Holmes was all innocence as he glanced at Watson, who was watching the goings on with some bemusement. "Not at all," he answered with a shake of his head. "Though, of course, it would be natural to assume some loyalty to the man you are courting."
"Loyalty has nothing to do with it, Mr. Holmes," she returned, barely missing a beat. "I see William as a man in his own right, just as I see you and John...and indeed any man I meet. I have never compartmentalised anyone due to their occupation, class…or gender…nor do I expect I ever will. It is simply not how I see people. Everyone is an individual in their own right, and deserves to be treated as such. To simply expect someone to behave in a certain way or have certain attitudes based on a label is unfair and blinkered."
Pursing his lips slightly, Holmes opened his mouth to reply, only to slip his pipe back between his teeth, and watch her for a moment more. "Everyone is an individual, just as you say, Miss Thurlow." His head inclined once more with no hint of condescension present in his tone or manner.
Watson quickly grasped the apparent agreement by Holmes, taking the momentary lull in proceedings as his cue, and stepped forward smiling, even as the two people in front of him continued to regard one another, one in irritation...the other thoughtfully.
"Well, at least we are all agreed on that!" he said cheerfully, rubbing his hands lightly. "Helen, as charming as this has been, we really should not delay you any further. Let me walk you downstairs and see you off?"
Her posture seemed to relax a little as she turned to him. "Yes...I shall have to hurry if I'm not to be late," she agreed, before turning back to Holmes. "Good evening, Mr. Holmes." She bade him farewell with a rather curt nod of her head.
"Miss Thurlow," he replied, walking back to his chair and standing there, until Watson, throwing him a perplexed glance, walked her from the room and downstairs.
It was some five minutes or so before the doctor returned, having waited with her until they had hailed a cab for her use and saw her on her way. On his return, he found Holmes seated in his chair, hidden behind The Times, flumes of smoke from his pipe rising up over the top of the broadsheet.
Again despairing that it was the clay pipe -- the sign that Holmes was in a prickly mood, a state of affairs underlined by his aggravating manner regarding William Edwards's profession -- he moved quietly over to the table, and began to clear the cups and saucers so as to make more room at the table.
"Miss Thurlow is an ardent defender of her new beau," Holmes voiced, his words slightly clipped by the pipe still clenched between his teeth. "Though she fails to appreciate that while she may regard my opinions as mere clichéd stereotyping, clichés are in fact true observations that are just frequently expressed. The frequency of that expression does not make them any the less true. Still..." he conceded, "he sounds unusually rounded." He paused for a moment. "Did you...or rather...do you find him so, Watson?" he asked, the inference very clear.
Fighting back another flinch and swallowing the guilty feeling that seemed to want to assert itself whenever the good Captain was mentioned, the doctor nodded. "Yes, I found him very genial and open minded...a very likeable and affable young man with quite a refreshing outlook on life." Sitting down at the table and opening his notebook, he held back the urge to argue that he had missed Helen's point entirely on the subject of keeping an open mind with regards to people.
"Ah..." A short laugh emanated from behind the paper. "A refreshing outlook on life," he repeated. "I shall take that to be your attempt at a tactful way of describing his somewhat less then restrained manner. A manner I had not heard about from you prior to today."
"Yes, well...it was not really my place to say, Holmes," the other man replied, trying to look busy as he glanced over old notes.
The paper lowered slowly, and a pair of sharp eyes fell upon his back, watching him in silence. A silence that seemed to swell and fill the room with its expectation as Holmes waited for more from his best friend.
Finally, Watson sighed and turned to him. "What would you have me say, Holmes? I stand by that it was her news to impart to you and not my place. It was not a secret, but at the same time it involved her relations with you."
Holmes's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Not your place to inform me of an important development in a friend's life?" His brow creased. "You would not hesitate to tell me of such developments in any of our other acquaintances' lives...I fail to see the difference here, Watson. And how did you come to find out about it?"
"Yes, but she is not just an acquaintance, now is she? She is our friend, and has a rather singular relationship with you and this affects that greatly. She wished to tell you herself, but has been unable to before now. Had something like this occurred with our other 'acquaintances,' can you say it would have the same effect on your life as this does?" Watson insisted.
"Effect?" the detective repeated, his frown increasing. "What effect other than I have once again lost a concert companion? I fail to understand the tentativeness everyone has had in telling me about this development!"
His friend watched him closely, before finally shaking his head and sighing. "Very well, Holmes. Perhaps I should have told you, though I still believe I followed the correct path on this," he said conciliatorily, and turned back to his notebook.
"Even in meeting with this man before I had been informed of this development that would so greatly affect me?" Holmes countered.
"I've only met him once, Holmes," the other man insisted, turning back to him quickly.
The detective nodded. "Sufficiently innocuous as to be unimportant, correct?" he asked.
A very guilty look crossed the doctor's face, as he coughed uncomfortably. "Well...it was for lunch with Helen, him, Mary, and myself..."
"Quite." Holmes turned back to his paper. "And despite the great effect the news would have on me, your attendance at such an appointment is quite within the grounds of friendship and propriety, because what affects me has absolutely no effect on you."
Watson groaned inwardly, and fought very hard not to slump in his chair. "You know that's not true, old man...but...she asked me there in an advisory capacity, and..." He sighed and shook his head, already seeing how this conversation would end. "I agree this was all handled very badly...and you should have been told..." Straightening, he took a deep breath, and relinquished the argument. "I apologise, Holmes."
The other man harrumphed in his chair, and nodded. "It's done, Watson...but in the future, I'd be obliged if you, as my closest friend, kept me informed." He relaxed a little and glanced back at him, his gaze softer and more amiable. "After all, you better than anyone know my insatiable desire for data."
Watson felt the tension flow out of him at the sight, and chuckled in spite of himself. "Indeed. So...what data do you require?" he returned, arching an eyebrow.
"I am still unsure why everyone felt this would have such a great influence on me..." Holmes said, folding his paper once more. "After all, it is not as if I did not know that something like this would happen sooner or later. In fact, I am sure I said as much to Miss Thurlow. She is, after all, a fine match for any man. What was her reluctance in bringing this turn of events to my attention? A letter surely would have sufficed?"
His colleague frowned a little. "There I can only conjecture, Holmes. She never mentioned it...perhaps she felt you should hear of it from her own lips? But on her reluctance...I think she feared disappointing you in some way. For I know she truly enjoyed her concert outings with you."
After a moment, Holmes nodded slowly. "It would be in keeping with her nature to want to discuss this in person. As for disappointing me..." He shook his head lightly. "I could not help but foresee this -- she is a woman, a fine one with many attributes attractive to a man, and as a woman she possesses a romantic inclination. She has put others before herself for a great many of her years, so I could hardly begrudge her a little weakness in indulging that inclination." He smiled a little to himself. "No...as I say, my only surprise lies in her choice of a soldier."
"Oh?" Watson asked conversationally. "And what type of a man would you have her choose then?"
"I had thought an artist or entrepreneur of some sort would suit her far better in temperament," he admitted. "Someone with a more unique, artistic view of the world...solid but imaginative, flexible in terms of ideas and concepts to help bring her out of herself, maximise her potential, and show her something more of the world, as well as sharing her interests and values, and she his, of course..." He sighed and shook his head. "Indeed, it well may be that in this Captain Edwards, who is so well rounded according to you both, she has found such a man."
A light frown formed on his friend's brow as Holmes spoke, and once he finished, Watson found that niggling feeling that had been in his mind since he had found out about Captain Edwards and his relationship with Helen was returning with more persistence. Pushing it to one side, he nodded. "Yes...he is a very fascinating young man with a good head on his shoulders and plenty of life in him...in fact, he has got some to spare really. And it is quite obvious that he is deeply fond of Helen."
"As it should be, Watson," Holmes replied. "As it should be..." Standing up quickly, he held up his now rather creased paper. "Now, to our article. Would you care to see your name in print once more, my friend? Or has it now become commonplace for you?" he enquired with a smile.
A gleam of assent shone in the doctor's eyes, as his expression perked up at the mention. "Not at all, dear chap!" he enthused, though the back of his mind noted the state the paper was in. "Not at all!"
"Thank you." William handed the waiter back the wine list, having chosen the dinner's accompaniment in advance of his companion's arrival. With a smile and quick bow, the waiter at the Savoy Grill departed to leave his customer alone to deal once more with the rather flirtatious glances he had been receiving from a young lady in one corner. Ever since his arrival alone, the pretty young woman, unknown to her chaperone, engrossed as she was in her own meal, had been using her fan and eyes somewhat outrageously.
Tugging a little at his collar and glancing nervously in her direction, he was once again met with the slow moving fan and raised chin that indicated her interest and desire to be approached. Had he made her acquaintance, it would have been perfectly acceptable, after all she had no idea he was attached...but, even given as prone as he was to impulses, to be so beckoned by a young woman he had never been introduced to in the middle of the Savoy was somewhat embarrassing. Swallowing a little, he ventured what he hoped was a polite smile, and shot his eyes back to his menu on the table in front of him.
Still feeling her eyes on him as he turned the page to peruse the entrees, he tried to avoid looking back by gazing everywhere but in her direction.
Normally the grand first floor restaurant in the heart of the Savoy Hotel -- its carved and inlaid walls and pillars splendidly mounted in mahogany, and chairs covered with red leather -- would be full for dinner, so there would be plenty to occupy the attention, but this was to be an early dinner and as such, the huge room was half empty. On his third sweep of the place, scrutinising it as if it were the most fascinating thing he had ever seen, he exhaled in relief on seeing Helen glide up the steps from the ground floor below, and step up to the maitre d' to be pointed in his direction.
A smile broke over her face, as she, accompanied by a waiter, moved gracefully between the tables towards him. "Good evening, Captain Edwards," she greeted him, her words formal but her tone warm, as she arrived at his side.
Having risen from his seat at her approach, he contained both his own broad smile and the immediate desire to tell her how pretty she looked as best he could, tempering both to a happy nod and an equally polite, "Miss Thurlow, you look positively charming."
A waiter arrived behind her to help seat her, as William took the hand she offered him. "Thank you, Captain," she replied, her eyes twinkling. "And may I say you too are looking particularly well this evening."
"Thank you," he replied, waiting until she had been seated to resume his own. "And in return, may I say that your punctuality is even more welcome than usual."
A questioning expression formed on her face. "Oh? Are you due back early this evening?"
"No..." He shook his head, and risked a brief glance out of the corner of his eye to the lady in question, who appeared gratifyingly disgruntled at Helen's appearance on the scene, her fan fluttering in annoyance. "Let us just say your presence is extra welcome, this evening."
Still seeming a bit confused, she nodded. "Very well...but that is rather gratifying to hear," she replied with a smile.
Sitting back, he waited until the waiter handed her her menu before speaking again. "I've taken the liberty of ordering the Chardonnay that you enjoyed so much last time."
She gave him an appreciative smile. "Thank you. That sounds wonderful," she approved, glancing through the menu and deciding the chicken sounded pleasing. Closing the folder, she turned her attention to the man across from her. "How have you been faring this week? I am sorry I have not been able to meet you this last week, but my father's business has been active as of late."
"No need to apologise...I admit it's something of a novelty calling on a lady of business, and having to schedule around meetings and the like, but I find it really rather refreshing that we have something else to talk about regarding your day beyond needlepoint, painting, and cake baking, to which it seems so many ladies' days are restricted," he assured her, before sighing.
She laughed at that, her earlier annoyance and disgruntled humour at a certain detective starting to ebb. "Yes, well...I'm rather horrible at painting, my needlepoint is good but rather uninteresting, and though I can bake a cake...I rarely have the time anymore. I believe my last one was my brothers' eighth birthday. Most of my conversations these days deal with international shipping law, expansion and sale of subsidiaries, anything else dealing with shipping - including the dock schedule, and, of course, other people's art and...music...which I am particularly fond of."
"Oh, that reminds me..." William said sitting back. "Roger told me the Berlin Philharmonic were playing the Albert Hall in just over two weeks' time. I would rather like to go, and was wondering if you'd care to accompany me?"
The reminder of the concert suddenly brought images of her conversation with Holmes, renewing her irritation a little. "Yes, that would be wonderful," she agreed readily, pleased that he wished to go, while somewhat satisfactorily proving to her how little the great detective knew about people. She sniffed internally in quiet triumph. "I would love to accompany you."
"Excellent! I shall see about getting tickets once we organise what date would best suit the eminently busy Madam Chairwoman," he teased. "So," he looked back to his menu, "how did your meeting with Dr. Watson progress?"
A light frown flicked over her brow. "Well enough. I had some ideas I wanted to run by him, and we decided four out of five were sound and the other needed some revision," she answered, taking a sip of her water and flashing him a smile.
"Well, that sounds productive," he approved. "It was at his place of business, wasn't it?"
"No," she corrected, trying not to allow her early annoyance to return. "It was at his and Mr. Holmes's business in Baker Street. He was to meet with Mr. Holmes after, and felt it would be easier for him if we were to meet there."
"Ah, so you met your friend the Great Detective again, did you?" He smiled, and nodded as the waiter brought their wine and showed him the bottle.
"Oh yes..." she said lowly. "And in full form, I can assure you."
"Oh?" He tasted the wine, and gave the waiter leave to pour for them both, while watching her face, her tone easy to catch. "How so?"
She stared at her glass for a moment, her barely contained irritation now beginning to leak through. "Well, he can just be so rigid!" she finally lamented. "Everything must follow one line of thinking...he generalises and if it doesn't fall into his set parameters...well, sometimes it is like talking to a brick wall."
William sat back, indicating to the waiter to give them a few more minutes. "Was there something in particular he upset you over?" he asked quietly.
She sighed and picked up her glass of wine. "No...not really. I mean, he is brilliant...and a good friend. But...his view can be so narrow sometimes...he corrals people into groups and labels them, and then expects them all to behave the same way. All women must behave thusly...all police like so...all doctors...pick a group and he will have a ready opinion about it. I've tried to explain that people are individuals...and should be seen and experienced that way...but he clings to his narrow view. It's just so...so...frustrating," she vented, her voice low but animated.
"I see..." William's smile was small and slow, his voice a little knowing. "And the group he lighted upon this time particularly frustrated you?"
She sighed, hearing that familiar tone that indicated he knew precisely what she was referring to in a round about way. "Perhaps a little," she acknowledged.
"And what manner do soldiers affect, according to Mr. Holmes?" he queried, allowing some amusement to slip into his voice.
She pursed her lips, her eyes narrowing a little in remembrance. "Well, if he were to be believed, then soldiers would be a bunch of uncreative automatons with no appreciation for art or culture."
"Ah," he exhaled with a nod. "Well, to be fair to Mr. Holmes...I have met more than one or two who would definitely fall into that category. There is a tendency towards a certain 'type' in the army...conformity is good, and gets you ahead faster. To be honest, I think it's come as something of a shock that I may get a promotion for not going precisely by the rule book." He chuckled a little at that. "But yes, of course, like every other group, we have our poets and our artists and musicians…and thank you," he finished quietly.
Her shoulders relaxed a little, and she smiled. "You are welcome...but honestly, it was not entirely because of you. I firmly believe that we must judge each person on their own merits and as individuals...who they are...not what they are. And, I have had this discussion before with him about other groups...but I do admit this topic irritated me a little more than normal."
"Well, he sounds like a man of firm opinion...and such men often irritate I've found, but ultimately, despite what you say, he must be doing what you say and judging on the merits of the individual," William ventured.
"How so?" she enquired, her expression curious, the tension ebbing from her posture by the moment.
William smiled. "You say he is dismissive of women's wit and intelligence in general, and yet he counts you among his closest friends and confidants, does he not?"
She blinked, and then slowly nodded with a slight smile, seeing where his train of thought was heading. "Yes...I suppose I've proved an exception to his rule," she conceded. "Though I have had that argument with him often as well...his view of women, I mean."
"This is just a thought," he leaned forward a little, "but perhaps he is partially doing it to see how you react? To see what arguments you will use? To test your mettle, as it were? He seems a man prone to 'proving' things, and a lively debate for a man with an intellect like you tell me he has would seem a favourite way to stimulate the brain."
She sighed and gazed at him affectionately, pleased to have her assessment of William to Holmes proved again pointedly. "You are right...it is very likely that is what he was doing. Goodness knows, I've seen him do that enough to others," she agreed, shaking her head. "And I then fall into the same trap. A poor debater I turned out to be." She chuckled a little self-deprecatingly.
"I'd be inclined to say the contrary...if he engages you thusly, he must feel you are a worthwhile challenge." William smiled, and reached out to touch her hand. "And if on this occasion you proved a little more flappable than others, it is perhaps only because it touched on something a little closer to home and heart than previous. And if that is so, then I cannot say I would wish it otherwise."
She gave him a soft smile and squeezed his hand. "You are a good man, William Edwards. Thank you."
A soft cough interrupted their quiet moment, and their gazes broke from one another in a mutual bout of slight embarrassment, as menus were hastily retrieved. The enigmatic waiter took William's order, and then raised his pencil to his pad as he turned his attention to Helen.
"And you, miss?" he asked of the happily smiling woman. "Have you made your choice?"
Authors' Notes: Wow, boy has it been an eventful week! Thank you again to all that have read and/or reviewed...or simply tried the story. Alas, one can not please everybody. As mentioned last chapter, we have gotten a beta, and hopefully this week it shows. (grins)
As to the questions - alas I cannot answer them all...to do so simply would defeat the purpose of telling the story in the first place, but let me set one thing to rest. William Edwards, Captain of the Cavalry, is a nice, kind, sweet man. Period. End of story. He is exactly what he appears to be...and I guess that's unique when it comes to a Holmes story, but there you are. (laughs)
A huge thank you and major blushing going on to the sweet gal that liked our picture so much! I have passed that on to Wens, who made the photo manip, and we are really touched you like it so much. (Dances) Also it seems we frustrated some people with the ending of Unforeseen...all I can say is...Yea! Mainly because it shows we did our job right. Alas, you were meant to be frustrated...sorry! (Dances more)
Well, I must be off...but one final note before I zooom...we will be posting weekly for the foreseeable future, either on Thursday or Friday. This is to give us time to write future chapters and make sure all odds and ends tie up and meet. Cool? Hugs to all! - Aeryn (of aerynfire)