Chapter Four: The Wessex Cup

15th October, 1889

Like the vast majority of the vibrant, elegantly dressed crowd around her, Helen Thurlow watched the prancing, snorting, highly-strung racehorses approach the starting line, more than a little surprised to see the final entrant take its place amongst its peers.

Helen, while not widely au fait with the racing world, was more than socially aware enough to realize that this was Silver Blaze, his jockey aboard him in black and red silks, the colours of the renowned Colonel Ross according to the programme; Silver Blaze, the famously missing horse that all the papers had been abuzz about these past weeks following his mysterious disappearance and the murder of his trainer.

Obviously at least one half of that mystery had been solved, though part of her wondered exactly where and when he had been found. Her thoughts, however, shifted quickly as the sharp crack of the pistol rang out, and the horses bolted from their line, kicking up a flurry of the soft Winchester turf.

Again in concert with those around her, her grey eyes followed only the steed that had caused so much controversy, the crowd's enthusiasm whipped up by the bizarre circumstances surrounding the animal's sudden withdrawal and equally sudden re-entry into the prestigious event. Despite the conundrum of an apparently solved mystery, however, she found her attention shifting as the race progressed, her eyes moving in an entirely different direction…from the track to the viewing stand and the man who had brought her to this event.

Despite the intriguing back story surrounding events of Colonel Ross's stud, Helen knew she would never have come to this race meet, no matter how prestigious, on her own. While she appreciated the beauty and power of horses, she wasn't nearly as interested in them as her brother. No, horses were Andrew's love...but even his delight in them was overshadowed by William's.

William. She regarded him from the corner of her eye, a small smile playing about her lips. It had been almost a month and a half since they had begun courting, and no woman could have had a more sincere and attentive suitor. Effortlessly beloved by her brothers and most highly thought of by her mother, he called on her regularly, bringing her not only flowers but items of genuine interest to her -- novels, games, and amusements.

He surprised her with romantic outings and still others that reflected their similar tastes in music and art -- the depth of his knowledge of Eastern art quite profound, he made her laugh, and every so often, with the greatest of prescience and just when she seemed to need them most, he sent her the most affectionate letters that deeply stirred and flattered her while somehow still managing to remain within the bounds of propriety. He truly made her feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

Right then, she struggled to contain her smile as beside her the focus of her thoughts was a solidly quivering mass of barely contained excitement. For once in civilian clothes and cutting a fine dash in a dove grey morning suit, cravat, and topper, her beau muttered to himself while his gaze remained riveted to the race. His face wide-eyed and boyish, he struggled and failed to sublimate his animated state. "Come on..." he whispered through gritted teeth, his hand crushing the programme. "Devil take you, come on!"

His eyes widened upon realising what he had said within earshot of his lady, and catching her eye, he tipped his hat to her quickly and flashed her a sheepishly apologetic smile. When she showed no sign of offence, her happy smile remaining firmly in place, he leaned towards her and promised in a low voice, "If this lad sweeps home in first, I'm taking you for the best lunch you ever did have, and buying you the biggest bouquet you can carry!"

Arching an amused eyebrow at him in return, she found herself chuckling as she so often did with him. "Then, Captain Edwards, at the risk of sounding terribly selfish, I shall most fervently hope that Silver Blaze does precisely that," she replied.

Grinning broadly, he turned his eyes back to the race, and was immediately caught up in it again, his expectancy growing with every furlong the galloping horses covered. "I don't know how that horse got back in the race...but it's providence's own blessing that I kept my betting slip from two weeks past. My odds are cracking, Helen, absolutely cracking!"

As the horses rounded the final bend towards home, the crowd's enthusiasm grew, the hum and call of the audience increasing with every galloping stride. Calls of "Get in there, boy!", "Bring him home!" and "Take him on the rail!" emanated freely from the crowds in the lower viewing stands and trackside, but those in the elite upper stand had not yet let excitement overtake propriety, their enthusiasm limited to a mass rise from their boxes and seats and excited talk amongst themselves.

All, that is, save William and two rows down from them, his mirror image, a wealthy self made businessman some thirty years older than her beau displaying the same barely restrained exhilaration, even going so far as to bounce on his toes to his middle-aged wife's obvious displeasure.

Finally as the horses headed up the straight, to Helen's somewhat startled but immense enjoyment, William, a man unafraid of his own emotions or the demonstration of them, finally cracked under the pressure of keeping himself in check and bellowed forth like an erupting volcano.

"Have at them!" he roared his charge on. "Take him home!" He was immediately joined in echo by the business man along the line from them, whose thick Newcastle accent added to the younger man's with equal power and fervour, the two men taking the time to look at one another, smile, and wave their mutual approval before returning to cheering on their bet.

Their calls were all the prompt required, their enthusiasm the touch paper to those around them, and soon similar calls were coming from everywhere about them. Flashing Helen another grin, William almost bounced in place over the last few strides until the horse crossed the finishing line. "Yes!" he exploded once more before suddenly turning and quite unashamedly kissed her firmly on the cheek. "Yes! Yes! Yes!" he crowed with a delighted laugh. "We did it, Helen!" He held up the slip, his eyes dancing. "We did it!"

His enthusiasm was, as always, irresistibly infectious, and while she knew she should be disapproving of such public displays and almost certainly mortified at his audacity at kissing her, un-affianced as they were, with an audience around them, she was neither -- finding herself, as she had done since the night she had first met him, laughing and smiling along with him, delighting in his joy. "It appears we have, though I do believe we may owe the horse some thanks for his part in it all," she returned with a twinkle in her eye.

"So right as always! Clever girl!" he agreed with another laugh. "Therefore, when we stop to buy your bouquet, let us consider buying him a nice, edible 'Thank You' winner's wreath for him to hang about his neck and munch on."

She chuckled again, knowing full well that this was no idle thought and that he now had it in his mind to do exactly that. As she dipped her head, trying to wipe what felt like a ridiculously large smile from her face, William turned to gesture once more at his partner in the chorus, the two men waving their winning betting slips at each other in salute.

Returning his attentions back to Helen, he took her arm, and joined the slow moving exodus of people heading for the book merchants to collect their winnings. Smiling at her, his clear blue eyes twinkling with satisfaction and affection, he leaned towards her again. "Enjoying yourself?" he asked.

"It is somewhat stimulating," she admitted playfully as they moved down the steps before turning her gaze to the track and the vast number of others like them who had ventured forth to the grey and green flatlands of Winchester Downs on this rather cloudy October day.

"That it is...that it is." He nodded, following her gaze. "There is nothing quite like a good race day -- the buzz of anticipation, the sleek flow of a thoroughbred in full flight with a top hole jockey aboard her, the crowd agape and spurring them on, collecting your winnings, enjoying a fine lunch and admiring the well-dressed gentleman and ladies as they pass by." His eyes wandered over her. "Turning one's mind to which…if I might be so bold, that is a particularly becoming shade of blue on you," he complimented her, his tone growing more intimate. "It quite takes my breath away."

As her eyes came back to him, he held them for a moment before he favoured her with another slightly more self deprecating smile. "And I'm sure you wish that's exactly what it would do...I'm talking an inordinate amount, aren't I?"

Giving his arm a gentle squeeze, she shook her head affectionately. "No, not at all. You're naturally excited over something you love. How can I begrudge that?"

William laid his hand over hers on his grey suited arm. "You are a most understanding woman, Miss Helen Thurlow...I do believe I shall make that bouquet even bigger still," he informed her with great gentility and warmth. "And you are quite right," he confirmed, his eyes never leaving her face. "I am indeed most excited over something I love."

A light blush spread over her cheeks, her smile becoming rather bashful as her eyes dipped down. "Yes, well..." she murmured, "I am sure the horses appreciate your affections." She glanced up at him with a teasing smile.

He sighed good naturedly at her evasive response, but as they moved to the bookmakers' line to pick up their winnings, his eyes continued to wander over her face, his feelings now plainly written there as well as his hopes.

"They have races in India you know," he said quietly, his eyes dropping to her fingers under his. "And not just horse races, but camel races, elephant races...even ostrich races." He shook his head and chuckled. "It really is the most amazing sight. India is full of such amazing sights. I truly believe you would like it there." His words were slow and laden with meaning, while his gaze returned to her, both scrutinising and evaluating her response.

Her eyes widened a little at the thought. "Ostrich races?" she repeated before his final words caught up with her and she felt her cheeks colour again. "That sounds enthralling and rather strange; I should like to see that." And as she looked at him shyly from the corner of her eye, her voice quietened. "Perhaps…someday…I shall visit."

He regarded her with a soft but serious gaze. "I hope so. I very much hope so."

On waiting their turn in the queue and handing in his betting slip, they received a sizeable reward, or at least they did so after receiving much in the way of grumbling commentary from their bookmaker. A tiny slip of a man from Billingsgate, he had obviously lost a considerable amount of money on the unexpected return of Silver Blaze and was weary of seeing smiling people's faces like William's coming up to further deplete his coffers.

It was a look that was mirrored by many of his fellow bookmakers' faces, all of them seemingly inundated by winning betting slips, nearly every second gambler appearing to have held onto their tickets in the vague hope that the horse might turn up.

A vague hope that had come to fruition, one that several of the more inveterate gamblers were also collecting on.

Moving away from the irate little man and back to relatively safe ground, William turned to his lady. "Come, let us get you that champagne lunch...and try and figure out how it is that horse came to be back in the race. I'm quite sure it's already the talk of the meet."

"Yes," she agreed, her mind returning to her earlier curiosity. "It is rather a puzzle."

They talked on it a little as he led her back towards the viewing stands, their intention to head beyond the permanent edifices to the makeshift cafes, bars, and restaurants which composed the small city of marquees that had sprung up around the racecourse.

"I wonder," he queried, "whether this means the police have apprehended the murderer of the trainer as well?"

"The police? No. The murderer apprehended? Most certainly," a rich, deeply familiar voice answered his question from within the close confines of the small crowd around them. Momentarily, those people naturally dispersed on their way hither and yon, revealing the tall figure of Sherlock Holmes, who was regarding them with a mildly amused look on his aquiline features.

An expression of complete shock crossed Helen's face before she quickly managed to compose herself. "Mr. Holmes?" she greeted the detective, the pieces of this newly resolved puzzle rapidly falling into place. "You were called in." A small smile tugged on the corners of her mouth. "And you solved the case."

He inclined his head and tipped his black hat to her, his eyes agleam with the triumph of a newly solved case and a tiny smile tugging inexorably at his lips. "Just as you say, Miss Thurlow."

"Well, I'll be!" William chuckled and shook his head, any surprise he felt at the appearance of the detective quickly subsumed by that discovery. "So, it's you we have to thank for our good fortune, eh, Holmes?"

Helen stepped forward and extended her hand to him with a friendly smile on her face, the childishly competitive events of the Twin Birches a few weeks previously long since consigned to history over a pleasantly passed dinner that same evening where her friend and her beau were nothing but cordiality itself to each other. "Congratulations, Mr. Holmes. Well done," she said with light yet highly respectful tone. "Your methods again bear fruit."

Gazing down at her, he took off his hat and took her hand, bowing over it. "Thank you, Miss Thurlow. I am exceedingly pleased, though not at all surprised, to say they have," he replied with a small smile.

She sighed softly in amusement as she was once again reminded of his inherent lack of modesty. "And why does neither reaction astonish me?" she returned lightly, having grown very familiar with his ways over the last year.

"Because you know me too well and are too wise a woman to think I would react otherwise," he complimented as he raised himself again, his eyes drifting to her companion. "Captain Edwards!" he greeted the handsome Cavalry officer with a loud announcement of his name, his eyes drifting over him, taking in his civilian attire. "What's this? Demobbed from Her Majesty's Service? And here I thought your promotion to Major imminent."

William laughed as he shook his head. "No, Mr. Holmes...not demobbed, merely in mufti for the day. And at the risk of tempting fate, I have been reliably if unofficially informed that the promotion shall be in situ by Christmas, and with it the possibility of a command post back in India."

"Indeed?" Holmes levelled a benign look at him. "And not a moment too soon for you, I'll warrant."

William weighed his response, gauging both meaning and intent, for though his last run in with the singular force that was Sherlock Holmes had ended well, it had also left him somewhat on his guard. Finally erring on giving him the benefit of the doubt, the officer looked beyond and around the tall detective. "Are you here alone, Mr. Holmes?"

"Not precisely..." The tall man waved his cane around vaguely. "Watson is here or thereabouts somewhere in this milieu. I believe he and Colonel Ross, our employer on this endeavour, have gone to eat. I was just on my way to watch this race," he said of the horses thundering past behind them across the finishing line. "However, that now seems redundant. Though I am pleased to say," he noted, holding up a piece of paper as the winner's name was passed around, "that this betting slip is not!"

"Capital!" William enthused, genuine in his regard for Holmes good fortune, and eager to try and win over his companion's unique and definitely protective friend. "This has been a fortuitous day all around so far!"

Helen arched a rather amused eyebrow at the detective. "You placed a bet as well, Mr. Holmes?"

"Several," he replied. "I'm surprised that surprises you, Miss Thurlow. I enjoy riding as you know, and the study of racing form is quite the logistical art. Previous performance, the running of the ground, handicap weight...there is a mathematical quality to it that makes it a fitting...and somewhat profitable...semi hobby, though I would appreciate it if you kept that bit of knowledge from Watson."

"Well, after you point out the reasoning so precisely," she returned with a smile, her eyes twinkling at him and how he brought even the dubious practice of gambling back to a fine science, "I can assure you I am surprised no longer, and we both shall, of course, keep your confidence."

"Well..." William said, glancing from one to the other, "Helen and I were on our way for a celebratory champagne lunch following our victory in the Wessex Cup. As the winnings we have are…we now discover…are down to your intervention in the return of Silver Blaze, I believe it would be only fitting if perhaps, after you collect your own money, you might join us as our guest? Perhaps to regale us with your retelling of how all this came to pass?" He turned his eyes back to his companion. "What do you think, Helen?"

"Yes, please, Mr. Holmes! I have been following the case in the papers, and would very much enjoy learning how you managed to resolve it all," she agreed, flashing a quick smile at her beau before adding hastily, "But of course, we would understand if you had plans."

Holmes's instincts advised him to decline the invitation. He had never enjoyed being the third wheel at any couple's table and he didn't imagine he would care for this either. Especially so in this case, for as mannerly as Edwards was, after a full evening in his company, he still could not for the life of him see what it was Miss Thurlow saw in him. The man was an irritatingly overeager, over-emotive, human pup.

However, the opportunity to relay the details of the case to her, something he had been deprived of doing of late, was too much the temptation. "No, Miss Thurlow, I have no plans," he informed her. "Thank you, Captain Edwards, I accept your kind invitation with thanks."

With a smile and a pleased nod of his head, William took Helen's arm. "Splendid, Mr. Holmes. I am glad," he said sincerely. "Now…let us deprive the bookmakers of some more of their ill gotten gains, and pass it along instead to some stalwart purveyor of fine food and wine, eh?" And after casting a happy smile at Helen, he led them on their way.

Some half an hour later, while seated in a crowded but well run V.I.P enclosure with an excellent view of the extended Downs beyond them as they dwelt over a fine lunch of venison, a vintage bottle of champagne, ever within hands reach, courtesy of the Captain's winnings, Holmes finished his retelling of how he had found the famed Silver Blaze...and revealed the horse to have been the killer of the trainer John Straker.

"Well, I'll be blowed!" William shook his head in amazement, taking another spoonful of the Bermuda onions that had come as one of the sides. "The horse did the deed!" he exclaimed, a slow smile spreading over his face as he started to shake his head wryly.

Helen stared at the detective with an expression of amazement mingled with a distinctly impressed air. "So, Mr. Straker was attempting to injure such a fine animal to pay for some dresses?" she breathed, thinking on the man's demise. "His death is unfortunate, hardly commensurate with his attempted crime, but it truly is amazing how an animal's instincts are so keen."

"No more amazing than what a man will do to finance and therefore continue an adulterous subterfuge," Holmes added. "I am unsure whether Mrs. Straker's grief over his death will be tempered by the knowledge that her husband was an unrepentant philanderer or made all the worse by it."

"Agreed, Mr. Holmes, a nasty shock for the poor lady." William sighed in empathy. "A nasty shock. Not only is she widowed, but her husband is not the man she thought him to be. It is a bad business."

"Indeed," Helen murmured with a sage nod at Holmes. "The poor woman."

The detective raised his glass to his lips, and took a sip of his wine. "Hopefully, she will not waste her life in mourning for a man who was not so worthy of her grief."

"Hopefully so." The younger man nodded. "You may at least have saved her that through your good work, Mr. Holmes," he complimented, to which the detective inclined his head in acceptance. "And that was some fine guesswork that brought you to your conclusion," he finished before returning to the remains of his meal.

Holmes froze in the act of returning his glass to the table, while Helen's eyes widened as she winced internally at the comment.

"I beg your pardon, Captain Edwards?" Holmes said slowly in a voice that could cut the glass he held in his hand clean through. "I fail to understand you, sir...guesswork?"

"Yes, indeed." William nodded approvingly, answering after he had swallowed. "Very fine guesswork to stumble upon the horse like that."

The glass hit the table with an audible clink. "Stumble?"

"William," Helen cut in swiftly, hoping to explain and soothe ruffled egos before the situation escalated out of hand, "Mr. Holmes does not guess," she explained quietly. "He employs a method of careful observation and logic to come to his conclusions. He deals solely with facts."

Her beau looked at her in surprise, then over at Holmes, and back to her again, his next words light but firmly adhering to what he had said before. "Come now, Helen, Mr. Holmes knows what I mean...after all, he said so himself. Out on the moors when he and the doctor were tracking the horse, he said that he employed both supposition and imagination with regards to what happened to the horse. These are the tools of guesswork."

"They are the tools of deductive reasoning, sir," Holmes said quietly.

The officer frowned, obviously not understanding. "But how so? If you suppose something to be so...or if you imagine it might be so...you are jumping over the gaps in your knowledge, making a leap of logic as it were...to fill in those gaps with a guess, is that not so?" He raised his knife from his plate and waved it a little as he made his point. "Take for instance the Gypsies."

Holmes stared at him steely eyed. "Yes?" he asked in that same quiet voice.

"Your guess was that the Gypsies could not have taken the horse because they would've had to either scarper with it or sell it on…and yet they were still encamped there...nor could they have sold it in the vicinity as everyone was on the look out for it. But Gypsies have a long tradition of horse trading, Mr. Holmes...longer even than Colonel Ross and his ilk. Plus they're a lot more devious, and are well versed in all the tricks of the trade, the scamps. Might they not have employed exactly the same ruse in colouring the horse, and casually flogging him off at the nearest fair...or even eventually travelling out of the country to sell him on to some rich bidder on the black market?" He sat back and regarded them both. "As it happens you were right...they didn't...but you were right because you guessed the horse took off elsewhere instead."

"But he did not guess!" Helen piped up. "He followed the tracks the horse left behind."

Holmes's eyes flashed at the use of that word again on the officer's lips. "Precisely, sir...I did not guess, Captain Edwards," he spat, his anger well and truly risen. "I used my knowledge of a horse's gregarious nature to deduce how the animal might react, and following that deduction, discovered the tracks of the animal and followed it to where it had been hidden, using logic to reveal how it was hidden in plain sight."

William looked at him, surprised at his reaction, and frowning a little at Helen's somewhat direct defence of him. "I mean no offence, Mr. Holmes. I simply fail to see how a leap of logic, even an educated one, cannot be seen on some level to be a guess."

The detective's jaw was as tight as a drum as he reached to pick up his cane and hat.

"I dare say you can't, Captain," he responded, his increasingly downward estimation of William's intelligence all too clear in his tone. Standing, he gave a quick bow. "I shall leave you to cogitate on it further, perhaps it might sink in...eventually. Thank you for the lunch...enjoy the rest of your winnings and your afternoon," he said to him, and then nodded quickly at Helen. "Miss Thurlow," he said before turning on his heel and walking out of the VIP enclosure, leaving a rather bemused William behind.

"What was all that about?" He blinked at Holmes's retreating form.

With a sigh, Helen rose to her feet. "You just insulted him, William," she replied. "I had best go speak with him."

"Insulted him? I thought I made some damn decent points!" he retorted, standing as she did. "The man is higher strung then an Arabian Stallion!"

Laying her napkin on the table, she shook her head. "William!" she said softly but with a firm edge. "He has his pride, just as you have. If someone had spoken less of the cavalry what would you have done? You turned his entire science into something that sounds willy nilly or happenstance. Now, I shall be back in a moment." And with that, she left the table and walked smoothly out of the marquee before hurrying after the retreating figure.

"Mr. Holmes!" she called, moving as quickly as dignity allowed her, while trying not to make it appear as if she was giving chase. "Mr. Holmes!"

Ahead of her, Holmes strode through the open grass towards the empty holding paddock beyond the VIP enclosure, fuming internally. Guesswork indeed! Edwards was exactly as he had surmised -- a typical military man, only capable of understanding what lay obviously in front of him and nothing more...unable to see two steps beyond the end of his nose, as evinced by his failure to see a different route to enhance Matthew Thurlow's ability with a bow; and conclusively proven in the man's inability to see the inevitability of the snapping of that bow once the strain reached a certain point. All the foresight, ingenuity and imagination bred out of him so that he could conform and think like some kind of collective hive mind... never deviating from the norm. How rigid and small the mentality.

He moved on and only decreased his pace as, on the fringes of his anger, he heard his name being called. Slowing, he looked back and saw the familiar form of Miss Thurlow quickly running after him. Stopping by the paddock fence, he placed his cane in front of him, and leaned both hands on it, his eyes staring straight out over the Downs as she caught up with him.

Breathing a sigh of relief that he had stopped finally, Helen slowed her pace, and took the last few meters to regain her composure and settle herself before stopping beside him. Of course, now that she was there, she found that her mind had gone quite blank about what to say, so instead of addressing him she simply stood next to him and attempted to appear as though she was calmly scanning the vista before them.

He waited, if not patiently then expectantly, for her to speak. After a full minute, it became clear that nothing was apparently forthcoming. Finally, he assumed that she was unable or unwilling to comment on her beau's stance, her loyalty and affection for him clearly stronger then her logic. Disappointed and irked still further, he glanced at her and tipped his hat once more, this time in silence, before turning to move off.

Sighing, Helen reached out and touched his arm. "Mr. Holmes...wait. Please?" she asked softly.

"I believe I just did, Miss Thurlow," he responded coolly. "No doubt Captain Edwards is waiting on you also."

"I apologise...for what he said. He was wrong to denigrate your work," she rushed on, not paying attention to his icy words, her fingers wrapping themselves heedlessly around his forearm and holding him in place. "I...I am not exactly sure what to say. But if it is of any benefit to you to know, I did tell him he was wrong to trivialize your methods so."

Realizing she was holding on to him, she allowed her hand to drop away, a tinge of pink colouring her cheeks. "I truly don't believe he meant any offence, and I ask you not to think ill of him for his lack of appreciation of your methods…" she paused nervously, "and…it would distress me greatly too, if you were to think ill of me as well...that just because I have an understanding with him, that I no longer respect or care for my friends' feelings or honour."

He continued to stare over her head, his indignation burning brightly until gradually her words began to temper its heat…at least towards her. Finally, his eyes lowered to her, and he nodded in acceptance of what she said, appreciative that she had at least retained the courage of her convictions and own opinions in this love affair of hers.

"I am grateful for that," he said quietly, before continuing after a moment, "Though it distresses me to see a friend of mine with a man who is so blinkered."

She barely kept the sigh that threatened to bubble up in response to the now familiar argument. "William has his faults, as do all people," she admitted, "but he is kind and loyal...he has a true heart and a rather genuine soul. However, he shares my flaw of speaking when perhaps he should not." She gave him a wry smile. "I'll endeavour to explain it again to him," she promised. "But you must never doubt that I do understand, and as I told you recently, will retain my own opinions and convictions...no matter what." Flushing a little again, she rubbed her hands unconsciously together, noticing that in her hurry, she'd forgotten both her coat and her gloves.

He was silent for a long moment, gazing at her partially bowed head. "I am gratified to have such reassurance on those grounds at least," he said finally. "Very well," he relented with a sigh, "I suppose the man must have something about him to make him worthy of having won your heart...maybe his intelligence merely escapes me for the moment, since I am not as exposed to it as you. Though right now, I feel that to be a mercy." He inhaled and let it go. "It is forgotten...you may tell him so."

"Thank you," she replied with a grateful smile as her eyes met his.

He nodded, his stiff stance relaxing somewhat, but as he gazed down at her, the thought gripped him for a moment to tell her that he doubted all the explanations in the world would make a difference. That William Edwards would never, in his opinion, be a worthy match for her and that she would be doing herself a disservice in continuing with him.

But her talk of heart and soul was beyond him...that was not his realm; it lay beyond his understanding. He had learned a long time ago that logic could not fight the irrationality of fancy. And her fancy lay with Edwards, so there was no point in arguing the toss further. She would not thank him for it.

"Well..." he said breaking the silence, "I suppose I should seek out Watson and the Colonel, we have some few items to discuss before we take our leave of Winchester by train this evening." He drew himself up. "I shall say good afternoon to you, Miss Thurlow. My best to your mother when you see her."

Helen smiled and held out her hand. "Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes. Safe journey, and please give my best to John," she returned.

Tipping his hat and bowing at the waist, Holmes gave her a small smile. "Till our next meeting," he said in farewell before turning, and with a slow swing of his cane, ambled in long slow strides across the paddock area back towards the main racing enclosure, where the horse owners generally resided.

Helen stood there for several moments watching him go, a thoughtful expression on her face, before she turned back herself and returned to the dining enclosure and her waiting beau, preparing to deal with the other prominent man in her life.

William, as she soon discovered, sat where she had left him, on one side of their table and one hand holding a racing form which he was ostensibly studying. However the frown on his face, accompanied by the loud thrum of the fingers of his other hand which lay upon the table, told much of his true mood. Annoyance, it seemed, was no easier for him to hide than his happier emotions.

A quiet cough interrupted his thoughts as Helen slipped back into her chair beside him, immediately noticing the signs of irritation. "Well...all is well now," she said in a light conversational tone. "Well, with Mr. Holmes at any rate..." She sighed and took his still twitching hand. "I am sorry for running off like that, William. But I wanted to avert what could have developed into a potential disaster before it began."

"It appears to me that socialising with Mr. Holmes must contain a great deal of such behaviour," he huffed.

"He is a man of unpredictable temperament," she agreed.

He turned to her at that. "And your willingness to defend him, Helen, surprises me, especially given your irritation with him some weeks ago. You tell me I insulted him...that he has his pride just as I have…and ask me if someone had spoken less of the cavalry what would I have done?" His frown deepened somewhat. "Well, I remind you that you yourself informed me that he did just that. And in the wake of his expert commentary on the military, I comported myself, I thought, with some decorum in the face of that when I met him subsequently." He glanced towards the door through which Holmes had disappeared. "Not like some po-faced Prima Donna thwarted in her petulant way! And furthermore…any offence I gave was purely unintentional!"

She sighed, and nodded. "William, you are a kinder and much more even tempered man than he. Yes, you have your pride in yourself and your vocation, but you have a fuller life. You have family, friends...he has primarily only his work. It is what he's devoted his life to at the cost of everything else. It is who he is...it is all he has. He takes it with the utmost seriousness...not that you do not take your profession seriously, for I know you do, but imagine that being a soldier was the only thing in your life."

His frown flickered somewhat as she continued, "I know that you did not mean to give offence, I told him exactly that much…but at the end, in his view, that is exactly what you did. I'm not asking you to agree with it, merely understand it. He is my friend, William, and will continue to be so. I would hate for you both to fail to get along, and all on the account of such a little misunderstanding…something that in the future can be so easily avoided."

"He is...an odd man." William shook his head, some of the stiffness in him slipping away under her words and gaze. "Magnificently interesting, a good fellow at heart, and an undoubted genius in his way, but...it's a sad path he's chosen…terribly lonely. To be so intractably bound to one's work and logic and incapable or unwilling to open oneself to others...I can hardly fathom it.

"I can only admire John Watson, Mary...and you...for your tolerance and continued friendship with him," he continued with a sigh. "And of course he is your friend...and I would no more wish for that to change for you than the sun to fail to rise tomorrow." He turned his hand so his fingers entwined with hers. "Of course, I shall endeavour to understand...and humour him...more. After all, I owe him a great deal."

She arched an eyebrow at him, a grateful if puzzled expression on her face. "How so?" she enquired.

His other hand moved to take hers as well. "If not for his choice of profession and his actions, there is every chance you would not be sitting here with me now."

Her eyes widened, and a deep blush rose in her cheeks. "I...I suppose not," she agreed, inwardly startled but masking it well. "Though, I would not recommend being left at the opera to many women."

It was William's turn to look puzzled. "I…I'm sorry, Helen, leaving you at the opera? I was referring to his saving your life."

Helen nearly choked on the water she was sipping, and inwardly kicked herself for her slip. Dabbing her mouth slowly, she fought to keep her cheeks from going as red as her hair. "Oh…of course," she agreed hurriedly.

William's eyes widened, a clear realisation dawning on his face. "Helen..." he said quietly, "it was him?"

She sighed and nodded. "We used to go to musical events together, simply as friends," she explained. "However, on that night during the first act, he received an urgent telegram regarding a case and had to depart hurriedly…so much so that he had no time to see me home." She paused and glanced at him before placing as much of a neutral bias on her recounting of her feelings regarding that night as she could. "Naturally, as you might understand, it was an uncomfortable experience sitting there alone, especially when so many had seen us enter together. So, I decided to leave immediately the moment that intermission came…and that's when Roger found me." She shrugged and gave him a small, helpless smile.

The officer raised his chin. "Ah, I wondered why you would not say who it was when Sarah pressed you...now I understand." He gave her a reassuring smile. "I have to admit I thought whoever it was must be a blackguard, but in his case, allowances must be made..." He chuckled and nodded. "Yes...I see in that regard, too, I must be grateful his actions led to you being here with me."

She smiled softly at him, while inside she breathed a sigh of relief that he had not enquired more into the details of that night. "Indeed, a fortuitous chain of events," she agreed.

His smile broadened at her words. "I'm glad you feel so." Leaning forward, he placed a kiss on her hand. "And rest assured, sweet lady, I will try all the harder to be his friend."

"Thank you," she replied, her voice soft and full of gratitude as she gave his hand a gentle squeeze. "That means a great deal to me."

"Very well." His face grew thoughtful for a moment. "Let us be militaristic about this for a moment, and organise a plan of campaign. See if we can't outflank him after all. What say you, on my return from the summit in Munich with General Cadwalader, to the idea of organising a dinner party? Inviting John, Mary, and Mr. Holmes, amongst others. I will be on my very best behaviour, I promise. Although..." he paused and added softly, "let us not make it too soon after my return."

A glimmer shone in her eyes at that. "Oh? And why not, Captain Edwards?"

"Why, Miss Thurlow?" he replied, sitting back as the next race was announced, his expression surprised at her question, though a slow smile spread over his face as he answered, his voice deep and low, "I would've thought that was obvious." He moved his chair a little closer. "After all that time away, can you not guess how much I will have missed...my horses?" His eyebrow arched as he kissed her hand again.

Though she tried her level best to look affronted, she found it impossible to dampen the mirthful look in her eyes. "Very well," she huffed good-naturedly. "I am sure your horses will be pleased to see you after so long a period."

"Yes," he agreed with a nod, chuckling softly. "They are a mite skittish at times...but I am increasingly hopeful that they are growing as fond of me as I am of them." Holding her eyes for a moment longer, he stood and nodded towards the exit before offering her his arm. "Shall we?"

Rising to her feet, she slipped her arm around his, a soft smile on her lips. "Indeed, we shall," she agreed, as he led her out into the crisp October air once more.

Authors' Notes: Greetings and Salutations! Yes, okay, it's Thursday night, but as I have a temp job assignment tomorrow, I thought I'd get this up tonight so that it would be up in time for Friday reading. :D I hope everyone enjoys it, and please let us know what you think!

Now it's answers time...well as much as we'll say anyways...heh...

1. I hope everyone now has their answer to the whole Bow and Arrows incident? Well...a partial one at any rate. (smiles sweetly)

2. Yes, this was Helen's first kiss. As this is Helen's first 'boyfriend,' everyone is safe in assuming that she has never been kissed before. (grins)

3. What does Helen's mother know? Oh my, now that is the million dollar question! In short? A great deal.

4. Why doesn't this story have a romance rating? Well...now...there is romance! But honestly, it's not what I would catagorise as a Romance story...too much else going on.

5. As you can see...we have now had a hint of Holmes's perspective...and yes, there will be more. And we all now know what he thinks of Captain Edwards. Poor Will. He really is a nice, sweet, and kind man.

6. No, I shan't tell you all everything Holmes was thinking...that's for you to puzzle out on your own. (wags finger) But we both love to hear what you think, so please keep the theories coming:D

7. We're so glad everyone seems to like Alice and the twins. They really are great and a lot of fun to play. Oh, and BB? We've both not yet seen Finding Neverland...but it is sitting in my dvd shelf...so one of these days I shall watch it. Your comparison has made me curious.

Right...I think that's everything covered! But before I go, I need to place a huge and urgent warning on the next three (yes, the mystery grew to three) chapters. The content in this mystery may not be to eveyone's liking. We are going to Haymarket and the Underworld of London, so I really must warn everyone in the strongest terms -- there will be nothing explict (I promise), however, the subject involved in it is prostitution and child prostitution. If anyone finds this upsetting, I urge you to give it a miss. Again, there will be nothing explict and certainly zero sex of any kind...but the topics are referred to and mentioned. Okay, if anyone has any questions they are free to email us. Cool? So until next week (cross your fingers I get this edited in time)... - Aeryn (of aerynfire)