Chapter Ten: Nevermore
7th December, 1889
It was another clear, crisp morning in London, and the winter sun shone brilliantly but without warmth over frost covered roofs and footpaths. As middle class society made their way to and from various religious services, there were the first stirrings of an air of festivity on this early Sunday hour. The season of Advent well upon it, the city was starting to prepare in earnest for the rapidly approaching Christmas merriment.
There was, however, little cheer about the slow, reluctant step of one London resident as he moved up the stairs of 221b Baker Street. Despite strategising long into the night with his wife on this thorniest of issues, everything about the good doctor bore the hallmark of a man unsure of what he was about to do. The news he bore was too...conflicting...and even now he wasn't sure he should be doing this. He admired Major Edwards greatly, and were it anyone else he was engaging himself to, he would be overjoyed; in fact, part of him couldn't help thinking that this was a fine match indeed.
But there were too many variables. William Edwards was the picture of a man in love, but it was all too evident that Helen Thurlow still had feelings for another man. A man she thought had no reciprocal feeling beyond a healthy respect and admiration. Even if that were the case, was she right to accept William in such a situation? Yet she would not be the first one to have feelings for two men and take the more attainable.
And then there was Holmes. And he was the unknown quantity.
How often had that seemed to be the case? For Holmes never quite reacted like anyone else and always in a slightly different manner. Holmes, who had no use for women and certainly no need for emotional sustenance, had stunned him with his recent behaviour.
There was no admittance, of course…not a hint of acknowledgement that his friend had fallen. The idea had been met only by derision and blackest silence. And yet…Watson paused on the landing and looked at the door… he was full sure his deductions regarding his friend were accurate. He had his own skills…quieter, more common, less flamboyant than the detective…and like his friend not always correct…but this time, this time, he felt it as surely as he felt the solid carpeted floor beneath his feet.
Holmes cared for her -- beyond benefactor, acquaintance, or friend. As a man.
And even if only for that reason, he had to tell him the news…as well as deal with the ramifications. No matter what the outcome.
The air around him and beyond the closed door was still and quiet -- no sound of a violin, of papers turning, of clients come to call...nothing at all. And the more than likely result of that was that Holmes was still probably either lying on his bed or sitting in his chair brooding, mayhap with an armful of that dreadful drug coursing through him. Watson frowned, knowing that that would quite certainly make his friend less than receptive.
But maybe there was an upside to the lack of work, the silence, and the solitude. There would be no interruptions and more of a chance that Holmes would actually hear what he had to say. Hear and, with the urgency involved, deal with the consequences, rather than pushing his emotions to one side and letting them fester for however long a case would keep him focused and occupied. This was too important to be left fallow. If what Watson suspected was true, his friend would have to make a decision and, should it be the one that a sane man would choose, act upon it in a very short span of time.
But then, Holmes, like a great many geniuses, was in possession of a kind of divine madness. Sanity…as far as societal norms were concerned…did not always enter into the equation.
Inhaling softly, he stepped forward, raised his hand, and gave a quick knock before entering the sitting room. Glancing around, he saw, as he had very much suspected, his quarry sitting in his familiar basket chair by the fire, smoking his clay pipe. Watson sighed again, but was relieved to see that Holmes was at least responsive this morning, and that when his friend's distinctive eyes turned towards him as he entered, they contained a certain amount of brightness in them. Though how much of it was a natural lightening of his black mood and how much down to the contents of the velvet lined box in his desk drawer was difficult to tell.
And then there was the pipe. Watson cringed internally at its composition...the clay...that was never a good sign.
"Good morning, old man!" he greeted him with as much cheerfulness as he could muster, closing the door behind him and moving over to his familiar chair across from Holmes.
"Good morning," Holmes returned with a brief nod of his head, a puff of fragrant tobacco smoke following his words. "Although I thought perhaps not so for you. So slowly you climbed the stairs and lingered outside the door I thought the chill December air might have frozen you in your tracks."
"Oh…" the older man replied, idly glancing around to see if Mrs. Hudson had recently brought up some tea. "No...I just have a lot on my mind - work, some trouble with the maid at home, and...well...I heard some interesting news last night."
Holmes crossed his legs. "The tea tray is in my room. I took it there when I was dressing, as the morning was a mite chilly and something warming helped. One hopes your work and servant problems are not too severe? And I await, intrigued, as to what this news from the club that has you so unsure as to how I will react to it is," he responded, all topics addressed in typically bewildering succession.
There was no trick to the insight of the last of his friend's statements of course, as Watson well knew as he went to the other room to fetch the tray out. Having unsuccessfully prevailed upon his friend to join him, Watson knew Holmes was well aware that he had gone to his club the night previous. That, combined with his slight tentativeness in his mentioning of this 'news' and his veritable slouch up the stairs were more than enough to direct his friend towards his deduction.
On taking a seat by the fire and finding the teapot still warm, Watson prepared himself a cup, inwardly lamenting that he had been so obvious. Sitting back and sipping on the milk laced beverage, he began again to find the right words to broach the subject.
"Well, as to the maid, Mary is dealing with that today. The work...I have a patient who is on the cusp of killing himself through neglect but refuses to listen to any advice that might prolong his life. And the news...well, I suppose it is happy news, but..." He trailed off, wondering if it would be best to just come out with it or not, and then with an inward snort reminded himself that this was Holmes...and it was always best to lay all the facts on the table and plan from there.
"Holmes, I was at the club last night and heard that William Edwards has gotten his promotion. He is a Major now. And as his friends and he were speaking, I overheard...well…that he has proposed to Helen," he said, his words quick and blunt.
"Oh?" came the vaguely querying voice, accompanied by a cloud of tobacco smoke. The grey white tendrils wafted up around Holmes's features as his hands moved to clasp around the right knee, which was uppermost on his crossed legs. "Interesting," he stated with a nod before closing his eyes, his pipe's contents glowing as he drew on them once more.
"Oh?" Watson repeated slowly. "Which part precisely did you find interesting?"
"The promotion. To be frank, Watson, in spite of the now Major's optimism and given his senior officer's reluctance to lose good Aide-de-Camp, I had not expected his new commission to arrive so quickly," Holmes admitted without opening his eyes. "His obvious deficiencies in other areas and general excitability aside, he must be quite the exemplary soldier..." His lips curled slightly. "Or a truly terrible personal aide."
Watson managed to keep his voice calm and level, knowing that to get frustrated or exasperated at this early stage at Holmes's deliberate avoidance of the obviously more important of the two facts would not stand him in good stead. "Yes, well, I hear he is an excellent cavalryman." He took the moment to refute his friend's slight derogation of the officer before he championed that more pre-eminent fact. "But, Holmes, did you not hear me? Helen is going to be married."
Holmes's eyes opened gradually and turned on his friend with owlish serenity. "Yes, thank you, Watson, my hearing remains perfectly adequate."
"And doesn't it matter to you?" the other man returned with a hint of exasperation. "Because you do realize that when they marry, they'll be off to India."
"Matter?" The detective's brow creased as if confused. "Of course it matters to me. Why ever would you think it would not?"
Relieved a little at that, Watson sat back in his chair and took a deep breath. "Only because you seem exceptionally placid about it."
Holmes sat back a little, his eyes on the ceiling and his hands still clasped around his leg. "Well, Watson, one can hardly say one is surprised by this turn of events, can he? Given the rapidity with which Miss Thurlow's relationship with the Captain…Major…has developed, a proposal was always likely to come about sooner rather than later."
"Yes, it is fast…but Holmes...that…that is beside the point. How do you feel about this?" Watson asked, rubbing his head with one hand as he leaned on it, the edges of his patience beginning to fray slightly.
"Watson." Holmes sighed and straightened in his chair, taking on a more business-like pose. "I believe it would be prudent…and indeed save both of us a significant amount of time…for you to move straight to that point in the conversation where you tell me what it is you obviously think I should be feeling. For it is quite obvious that you are plainly unhappy with my reaction to this news thus far."
Taking a deep breath to rally himself, the studiously becalmed features of his friend only aggravating him more, Watson gripped an arm of his chair to keep himself steady. How could he be so unruffled? How? Well, of course, he knew how, he answered himself. He was Holmes…the master of assiduous self-possession! But…was he really so self deluded that he was, even now, refusing to acknowledge the personal impact this news would have on him…and indeed was having on him, at this very moment?
Watson knew then that his desire to get past the emotionally enigmatic wall presented to him had never been greater.
"Holmes...Helen is about to marry...and leave the country...and you're simply sitting there smoking like I told you that it was going to rain tomorrow. Dear God, old man...she's at the very least one of your closest friends! You say this matters to you...but do you care? At all?"
"If I did not care it would not matter to me, now would it, Watson?" the tall man replied before continuing with wry humour and a slow shake of his head. "How would you have me react, Watson? With a wide beaming smile and a vigorous toasting of their good health and long life? Or with furious tears, laments, sack cloth, and ashes?"
The doctor's mouth was a grim line under his moustache as he tired of Holmes's unperturbed tone, finding it sheer obfuscation when matched to the slew of evidence on show since the introduction of William Edwards into their circle.
Apart from Holmes's exceedingly strange behaviour towards Helen over the last three weeks, prior to that, every mention of her suitor had been greeted by the detective with some comment, remark, or action that, in all fairness, the man did not merit.
Holmes was by and large a fair man -- given to sweeping generalisations on occasion certainly, but willing to take individuals on their merits. Something he had patently refused to do when it came to young Edwards. When taken in isolation, the comments Holmes had made might have meant little, but given the timing, the duration, and the unfairness of them, they had all painted a green eyed portrait of a jealous man.
And by logical progression of reason, there could be only one cause of that jealousy.
"No, Holmes..." Watson shook his head slowly as he answered him. "I did not expect either reaction. On deepest reflection, I suppose I was foolish to expect any other reaction from you than what I am currently receiving. But I know what it is I would like to see," he confessed honestly. "I'd like to see you be honest with yourself that you care a great deal for that excellent young woman.
"That her choice of husband not only irritates you but that you find him completely unsuitable." He leaned forward. "I'd like it if you admitted to yourself for once that you miss spending time with her the way you used to, and that it is not just her company that you miss but her...and that if she were to go to India, it will hurt."
"I see," Holmes intoned, reaching for his Persian slipper. "And even if any or all of that were true, Watson...what would such an admittance achieve?"
"For one...it would get it out in the open and not remain locked behind that façade you insist on maintaining," the other man returned, his tone still level and firm. "And you might consider telling her how you feel."
Turning back to face him, Holmes's features were decidedly pained. "How I feel?" he repeated with a certain amount of tedium in his tone. "Watson, you are evermore predictable. Why must everything always be emotion with you? It has been nothing but this for almost a week now. When will it end?" A long sigh escaped him…and after a moment, Persian slipper still in hand, he rose to walk across the room slowly.
"Very well..." he said firmly. "If it will satisfy your desire to hear such irrelevant and pointless admissions...I freely admit that I believe Major Edwards to be a mismatch for Miss Thurlow personally. Just as I believe India will be a mismatch for her socially and intellectually.
"She has too much intelligence and potential to be locked away in some stifling memsahib collective in the Punjab where she will discuss nothing but Tiffin and servant problems from the end of one sweltering day to the next. London or one of the great metropolises where she can continue to flourish and grow under the challenge of her business responsibilities, experience the collective thoughts and creations of the world as they flock to express themselves in London's galleries, concert halls, museums of libraries…a city, this city, suits her far better.
"Let her travel, not marry," he scoffed, "if she wishes to experience the exotic. Or at least let her marry better. For the Major...for all his joie de vivre and genuine affection will, I'm sure, ultimately offer her little stimulus for her mind and that part of her soul that requires the same." He turned and gazed back at Watson, still calm and composed. "That is what I feel and more to the point, what I believe. Can you say you believe any different?"
"He is a good man, Holmes," Watson insisted firmly, finding himself still in that strangely conflicted limbo and feeling the need to defend the man whose engagement he was currently trying to wreck. "A good man who loves her a great deal...but I do agree that India is not the best place for her and certainly not with her current obligations," the older man acknowledged grudgingly. "That said, I want her to be happy, and I know you do too. I also know that if she were to go, you would in your way…be miserable." He raised his hand as Holmes attempted to respond to that exceptionally provocative remark. "Please don't endeavour to tell me otherwise," he told him sharply.
"Might I remind you that I am a medical man. And as such I have a tendency to recognise certain commonalities and associations in behaviours. And these last few days, you have been attempting to do nothing more than detoxify yourself of her! Purge her from your system as you would a poison or a drug. And I've seen the effect it's had on you -- a foul and soundless mood that has lasted longer than any I can ever recall in all my acquaintanceship with you. She has affected you…but to your mind, infected you. And you are trying to fight it off."
He took a deep breath before continuing, "Affection...love is not a disease. Why for once when you have finally found someone you can care for, will you simply not allow yourself to feel?"
"I feel as if I am being subjected to a gramophone record with the same never ending tune," Holmes replied, staring at him before turning away. "You know my thoughts on the softer passions. They cloud the judgment and befuddle the senses. My dealings with others are predicated on logic, facts, and rational thought...and my dealings with Miss Thurlow are no different. And if you are of as like a mind as I regarding a marriage to Edwards and an imminent departure for India, why do you not speak out against it?"
"It appears your stance, Holmes, is quickly running out of steam," Watson retorted, as his friend once again shifted the emphasis of argument back to him, deploying the time-honoured muddying tactic of the man whose ground was beginning rapidly to sink from under him.
The doctor rose to his feet and continued with a candid voice, "You can pronounce that you have no deep feelings for that woman till you go blue in the face, and no one who truly knows you will believe it. I am not blind, and though you think my eyes are clouded with romantic lenses, they have been nothing of the sort for quite some time. You care about her...a great deal if the lengths to which you have already been driven in your behaviour are any indication...and if you allow her to marry and move to another continent, then you are doing no one more disservice than yourself and especially her."
Holmes straightened and turned back to his friend, his manner stiff. "Allow her? I am not her brother, keeper, guardian, husband, or lover. It is Miss Thurlow's decision to make, Watson. Not mine."
Folding his arms across his chest, the doctor's expression showed that he was growing past irritated. "No, you aren't. And yes, she is of legal age, her own mistress, and very capable of making her own decisions. But in this case, she is doing so without all the facts. Is it not your stance that one should never make an important decision without all the data?" He drew his shoulders back, his tone growing ever more frank. "And, as I suspect you well know having seen for yourself the look she bestowed on you on that ballroom floor…and her reactions to you long before that…you are not her husband or lover only because your pride refuses to allow you to be more than just a brain and appendix. And that pride, that stubbornness, is going to cost you her."
Holmes's eyes grew harder. "One cannot lose, Watson, what one never had to begin with. Friends often go off and marry others outside their circle. It is a fact of life, and it is doubtful in the extreme it would make the slightest difference should I go to her and tell her of my doubts regarding the wisdom of India and Major Edwards. I remind you that my very few expressed contrary feelings on the subject of your marriage certainly carried no weight. She wishes a husband, not a friend, and you will recall, Watson, that she has said a great many times that she would not marry someone she did not love...if she has picked William Edwards that is, quite literally, her affair."
The continued denial and excuses finally had their full effect on a normally very mild mannered man, and despite himself, he blazed quietly at his closest friend, "Then you are an obstinately blind fool, Holmes! She cares for and values your opinion greatly, even more than mine. Though at times such as this, I am at a loss to understand why…Lord help her that she should have found herself enamoured of such a mulish soul! When I married, your contrary opinion was merely on the subject of marriage in general...when she marries it will be your heart at stake!
"Your stance on women and the softer passions, I understood. I did not agree but I understood it. You do not trust women…and softer passions and emotional entanglements are a distraction that you cannot afford. It is a fair stance. But it is logical and rational only to that point where you discover a woman you can trust and care for, as you do Miss Thurlow, and when the tendrils of that entanglement have already wrapped themselves around your barricaded heart!" he pointed out forcefully.
"You have done an excellent job of keeping yourself locked away, but ultimately, gentle feeling is a far more insidious force then any human has a defence for. You are not heartless, Holmes. If you were, I could not be your friend as I am. Your heart has been attacked…and you have lost the battle at last. The most illogical thing in all the world is to deny that. The attachment has been formed…and whether she stays or goes, she will now always be a distraction to you. For if you let her go, those moods of yours, as we have already seen, will only grow worse and worse. For every time you grow bored and restless with no work to distract you, it will not just be your head crying out for work and more work…your mind will turn to her. No matter what you think. It will. For I know you well…I know how in solitude you wrestle with unsolved conundrums or past situations that could have been dealt with more capably, to your lasting regret. And let me tell you now, my dear chap," he warned him, "there is no regret that lingers half so long upon the mind as a love forfeited.
"And what will you do then, when not only your mind cries out for stimulus but your ensnared heart as well? What will you do to ease that now gaping emptiness?" He pointed brusquely at the desk drawer. "Fill yourself with evermore of that poison? Turn to something stronger…more morphine? Opium, perhaps? You who say that you need no emotional distractions but distract yourself constantly nonetheless with such filth? Where then that magnificent intellect of yours? How long will you be of service to a world that needs you so?
"You love her...and you're too bull-headed to let go just a little and admit it...to give her the choice. To try…even as an experiment…to see what the chemistry between a man and a woman can produce. Because, heavens forfend, that you actually allow yourself to be a man and not just a logician. Well let me tell you now, sir…it speaks to me not of logic…but of fear. And I shall not sit here and pretend otherwise along with you," he finished in a heated rush, his chest rising and falling a little with an exertion he never thought would be required. And as his final words faded from the air around them, Watson's last desperate card fell to the table, the hopeful hand he had played complete. The next play decidedly was the detective's.
Silent and impassive, Holmes returned to his seat.
Easing himself back down, he regarded the doctor coolly with eyes that had remained flat and unemotional even in the face of such an uncharacteristic outburst by his closest friend. "Do what you feel you must, Watson, and I shall do no differently," he replied, a tone of finality in his voice as he crossed his legs and steepled his fingers, thereby ending the matter.
The older man stared at him, half in disbelief and half in anger that his friend could allow such consequences to occur, and turned on his heel and stormed out without another word, leaving the detective alone with his thoughts.
Holmes remained seated in silence for a good twenty minutes after Watson had stormed out. Barely blinking, he stared into space over steepled fingers pressed to thinned lips, his breathing deep, calm, and even. Though inside, he seethed.
Peeved beyond measure at his friend's stubborn refusal to accept that he had anything to do with Helen Thurlow beyond a mutual friendship. That everything -- his attitude to Edwards, his recent admittedly foul mood, his personal standpoints…his private, necessary drug use -- should be thrown in his face as some kind of reason for him to break down and admit he was a lovelorn swain.
Preposterous. All of it.
Convivial camaraderie was a rare thing, and her quiet introspection, lack of need for idle chatter, open bright intellect, honesty, bravery, and affability made it easy to spend time with her. She was hardly 'The Woman'…but…there was a certain understated uniqueness about her. So, yes, of course, he had regretted the loss of her companionship.
But that was all, he insisted. And had he been hard on her suitor…well that, too, was justified. He would stand on everything he had said about him and the army mindset. After all, it was not the first time he had said such things, so why should he restrain himself from saying similar things now? Certainly not because Edwards was her suitor!
If she wished to marry that overgrown schoolboy, that was her business and none of his! Throwing her life and intellect away to become a pampered recluse in India, steaming under a ridiculously hot sun in some palatial mansion, shut away from the real world amongst the harem of other army wives and private society that the Empire had created amongst the Indian elite -- that was the only real waste of it. That someone of her intellect and capacity should choose to do such a thing. That, at least, was rather vexing.
Still...he rose from his seat, moving around the room...it was none of his concern.
Having walked to one end of the room, he then paced back, his brow creasing.
Still…he thought again…in his ridiculous diatribe, Watson had made at least one semi-valid point. She valued his opinion. He was, after all, her friend, and it behooved a good friend to speak up when one thought another was making a mistake. And to leave England for India was, as he had been forced to outline, a mistake...as was marrying Edwards, he admitted again to himself, almost as an afterthought.
The man was tolerable in a well meaning average sort of way, but he was not her intellectual equal. He would offer her no sort of challenge. And one needed challenges in life…even in marriage. If she married him she would undoubtedly have many children, but her mind would stagnate...and that was a crime.
He paced back and forth around the room once more.
It would be a complete waste of an all too rare thing -- a feminine brain beyond the norm, set in a personality that was without pretence. It was not right that he should sit still and see such a crime be perpetrated without speaking up. It was not his way. And did he not, in fact, have some say in her welfare?
After all, he had saved her life. And in doing so, by the most ancient of codes, he had become in essence responsible for her.
He paced further.
There was a definite element of guardianship to be considered here. She had no father, and though he was only nine years her senior and was most certainly not old enough to be a replacement for Arthur Thurlow, another man's voice in the matter really should be heard. And Watson, given his dogmatic insistence that it should be he who should speak to her, would obviously not be taking up his customary advisory role on this matter.
But should he take up that role…against his better judgement…what could he say to her? He could advise on matters of security, on matters of personal behaviour, and on a host of other subjects related to crime and its prevention, but discussions on something as intimate as this were outside his remit.
He was neither her father nor guardian as he had said, and he could not forbid her from going. He also knew enough of people to know that denigrating Edwards and listing the reasons for his opinions on the soldier would only cause an adverse reaction. He'd found that people often took criticism of a lover as a personal criticism of their own judgement…which of course it often was, and would dogmatically pursue and quite possibly elope with such an unsuitable individual out of pride. Helen Thurlow had, thanks to the Haymarket Affair, shown a penchant for wilful stubbornness…and it was entirely possible that taking the path of suitor criticism would succeed only in making her more determined to marry Edwards and prove him wrong. So, this left him with the option of merely advising her not to be hasty in her decision to move to India, and that would be leaving a great deal too much to chance.
Logically, she needed to be swayed from any decision to leave by a reason to stay.
The difficulty of managing a company from India would, he imagined, pale next to the opportunity of marriage and a family of her own, something he knew she was desirous of. One must also consider her age, he thought, lowering himself into his chair again. She was hardly an old maid…and she had a significant fortune…but her troubles with the matchmaking Duchess of Monmouth had shown the difficulty in finding a man of her own age that was relatively compatible and with no interest in her money. Further temptation towards this marriage.
Yes…he pondered with a frown, rising out of his chair again. There needed to be sufficient incentive for her to turn it down.
He paced for another twenty minutes, dwelling on it and only stopping for another pipe or two before resuming his brisk pace yet again, until he finally came to a conclusion. The only conclusion, he reasoned, that he could possibly reach.
The only sufficient incentive would be an alternative to Edwards.
Another man more suited to her.
His brow furrowed yet again. The only trouble was there was no one more suited to her that he could think of.
Other than himself, of course.
And that was quite out of the question.
Completely.
Yes, she was a fine companion, for all the reasons that he had stated. She bore a deep appreciation for his work, and having interests of her own outside the home would no doubt mean that she would not pester him too much for his attention as many other women would, thus leaving him free to do his work as he must. And she was not ungainly…quite graceful and attractive in her way…with a particularly fine shade of auburn hair that he found most becoming upon her, no matter how she styled it.
The frown appeared yet again.
But she would be a distraction nonetheless. The fact that he could see now in vivid detail within his mind's eye how her hair had been styled at the Sotherbys' ball was proof of that. As was the fact that it had taken him some considerable time once the Becker case had been resolved to quell the repeating unbidden memory of her fervent embrace of him. It was a role, and that kiss should not have shaken him so…nor should his own response to it. It had annoyed him greatly that his body should have reacted so, for he took great pride in being able to control such things.
And that was yet another thing…control. A wife was no subletting roommate. No colleague out on the case with him. She would require a degree of input and control of their home…things would change. In addition, she was his dependent under the law. He would have to consider her in all things…including the danger he put himself in. There was every possibility he could leave her widowed.
His frown deepened even further at the thought of her back in black, then he grunted, exasperated at himself at the ridiculous way his mind was working. Why was this even in his head? He was not going to marry her to save her from her own foolishness! Even if he did enjoy her company, found her attractive…cared about her.
As a friend.
Still…his mind turned once again…there was no reason he had to marry her to stop her from going. Marriage was not what was required. All that was required was a replacement suitor. And there was every reason to believe she would accept him as such.
He thought back again to what Watson had said. As arrogant as it sounded, he had always suspected that it might be a possibility she could develop feelings for him. Her choice of Edwards had helped to remove that possibility, but events in the Becker case had led him to question that again. He had struggled with that possibility in the intervening two weeks between the end of the case and the Sotherbys' ball and tried to dismiss it along with the irritating memory of the kiss. He had had no intention of attending the ball…but he'd gone to see her, if only to find out the truth of her situation…for his curiosity had been unable to put the question aside.
And the question had been quickly answered. She had been nervous around him before, but only when their exchanges had reflected that or his mood had been less than genial. This time there was no reason for her tension…and whatever poppycock Watson thought of his scrutinising her, her look had been unmistakable.
What of it, if it had confused him? After her embrace of him and now the true revelation of her feelings, did he not have a right to find himself wondering on it and on her?
His moodiness afterwards had nothing to do with trying to do without her at all. It was Watson's pursuing the matter that had irritated him. Pressing a matter that, had the doctor left it alone, he would've dealt with calmly. In any event, it was entirely beside the point now. The matter at hand was whether it was the correct move to place himself at her disposal as a replacement suitor.
To offer to squire her was no offer of marriage. She may have feelings for him, but even if reciprocated to the same extent, there was still no guarantee that a courting would be successful. Every courting period was, by design, a test.
An experiment in chemistry.
Or so Watson had intimated.
The idea took hold, and he stroked his chin absently as he sat back. On those grounds it might be a useful exercise for him as well. It would provide her with a possible incentive to stay, and he could prove or disprove whether such a relationship would be beneficial or destructive to his situation. And should she decline his offer, well then, he could not be accused of doing less than he could as a friend. Any of these outcomes would, at the very least, remove the spectre of Watson's continued remarks upon the subject -- and all by his own unwitting scientific suggestion.
From that perspective, it would be an intriguing and worthy endeavour.
His head nodded slowly, and then, standing, he strode into his bedroom, grabbing his coat, hat, and cane. Moving out onto the landing, he dressed himself as he went.
"Mrs. Hudson!" his voice bellowed as he went down the stairs. "I am going out! It is entirely likely that I shall not be back for dinner!"
On reaching the main door, he opened it and stepped outside, swinging his cane as his eyes perused the street hawkishly.
"Cabbie!" he yelled and strode forward as the black hackney came down the road.
"Yes, sir?" the driver called down as he pulled up nearby.
Holmes climbed into the interior of the open cab. "King's Cross Station and be quick about it." His eyes glinted upon the road ahead of him as he rested his hands upon his cane and settled down, ready for the journey ahead.
Helen sat by the roaring fire in the main parlour, sipping her tea and absently stroking the legs of the snoozing Mr. Beans who had, without a by your leave, impertinently taken residence upon her lap.
For his impudence, the cat now played the role of bookstand, her book now perched against one part of his torso as she attempted to concentrate upon the novel. The concentration being required to counteract the distraction of her brothers, who were having a game of cards on the floor near her feet as they passed the time before lunch and did so whilst making quite the row over it.
She smiled slightly into her cup. They were good boys...loud, as was normal for twin eight year old boys...but generally in good spirits and even tempered. Thankfully not their mother's sons. After the last few days of restlessness, agonising over William's proposal and the missive she had dispatched after church that morning, it was a relief to once again find herself in a situation that was not emotionally fraught.
Naturally, the very moment that thought occurred, a minor fracas broke out.
"Helen," Andrew moaned as his brother once again won a hand. "Do tell Matthew to stop cheating."
His sister looked up and quirked an eyebrow at the matching pair of redheads.
"I'm not cheating!" protested the other indignantly. "That's precisely how William showed us to play the game! And besides you dealt the cards! Remember!"
"Oh." Andrew looked down at the deck in front of him. "Yes." His frown lasted precisely two seconds and was promptly replaced with a bright beam. "My apologies! Well played!"
"I should jolly well think so!" Matthew huffed with a nod and grinned.
Helen swallowed back a chuckle with her tea and was just opening her mouth to add a comment when there was a knock at the door. Looking at the clock which read one thirty, a half hour before lunch was due, she put down her teacup before responding, "Enter?" in mild surprise.
The parlour door opened, and the family's good hearted if stiffly upright butler, Goodwin, stepped inside. "Your pardon, Miss, but you have a guest. Mr. Holmes has just this minute arrived," he informed her. "Are you at home and if so, shall I see him in here or to the front drawing room?"
She quickly rose to her feet, the cat falling to the floor with a huffy meow, and barely kept the astounded expression from her face. Seated as they were in the parlour at the rear of the house, none of them had heard a horse and carriage approach. Brushing at her dress to remove any fur, she tried to quell the rising surge of tension…and inwardly lamented that her respite had been all too brief.
"Yes…yes…I…I'm at home," she stumbled, her agitation showing. "Show him in here, Goodwin. And…could you perhaps bring some more tea and biscuits?"
The boys glanced at each other and turned back to their game, pretending to ignore what was going on, but also keen to eavesdrop as well.
"Of course, Miss." The butler inclined his head. "I'll ask Mary to bring them up directly."
"Thank you, Goodwin," she replied with a nod and re-seated herself, smoothing her dress down again quickly, this time for wrinkles. It was a plain deep blue skirt and jacket, the white high collared blouse just barely visible around the neck and top above where the buttons joined, but it was not an outfit she normally received company in.
Pushing the stray hairs from her face, she folded her hands together and tried to look as if everything was normal. She had not seen him since her deep embarrassment at the masquerade ball. Why on earth was he here? And alone it seemed, for Goodwin had made no mention of John. Alone…he never came alone. Was something wrong? Had something happened? A host of questions ran through her mind and across her face, until, catching a glance from Andrew, she shifted and composed her features, relieved that, for once, he had refrained from commenting on her plainly restless state and gone back to his game.
There was silence for a minute after Goodwin's departure, until muffled footsteps were heard upon the carpet in the hallway and the door opened once more, the butler stepping in again. "Mr. Holmes, Miss," he announced, holding the door open.
Holmes strode in in an entirely businesslike manner with his hands clasped behind his back. He came to a stop directly in front of her. "Miss Thurlow," he greeted her, giving her a small smile and a slight bow. "Forgive my unexpected intrusion."
Looking up and extending a hand to him, she returned his small smile in welcome. "Not at all, Mr. Holmes. It is always good to see you." Though he had little idea, she thought, just how much.
Andrew and Matthew glanced at each other and frowned, the card game ceasing as the observation of their sister became rather more interesting.
Taking her hand, Holmes bowed again over it and released it, turning to glance at the two children. "And how fare the young Masters Thurlow?"
Matthew stood up, smacking his brother lightly as he did so to remind him of his manners. "Very well indeed, thank you, sir. And how do you do, Mr. Holmes?"
"Quite well, Master Matthew," the visitor replied, smiling a little at him.
Andrew gazed at his sister hopefully. "Is William coming too, Helen?"
Helen could feel the colour in her cheeks pall at the question. "No, Andrew," she said in a rather tight tone, Holmes's presence and the subject of William placing a weight upon her chest. "Why would you ask that?"
"I thought, perhaps, we were to have a tea party…like the last time." He looked up at Holmes. "We both have new bows and arrows now, you know!" he said cheerfully. "Thanks to you and William. They are much more our size…and we are jolly good now, aren't we, Matthew?"
"Yes, indeed." His twin nodded and smiled up at his benefactor in archery. "I remember everything you told to me, sir."
"Yes…William has been supervising us." Andrew beamed, and then sighed. "It's been tremendous fun. Although now that it is getting so cold we shall probably have to wait until the spring for him to do so again."
"Unless, Helen marries him, of course," Matthew reminded him.
"Matthew!" What colour had faded from their sister's cheeks returned in a heated rush as she brusquely admonished her less rumpled brother. Jumping slightly at the unexpectedly sharp tone in her voice, one she had not meant, he looked at her guiltily…in a manner reminiscent of how the boys used to look at Ellen, their mother.
Berating herself for her lack of composure, she managed a small reassuring smile at him. "One does not speak of such things in company," she reminded him before being interrupted by Goodwin's light intruding cough from the doorway.
"Excuse me, Miss, but should I tell Mrs. Reggie that there will be one more for luncheon?"
Helen gazed enquiringly at the visitor. "Would you care to join us for lunch, Mr. Holmes?"
"I think perhaps that may depend upon our conversation but, for the moment, yes, thank you." He inclined his head. "I believe I would."
Giving him a rather long, quizzical look at his response, she nodded slowly and turned back to the butler. "Yes, Goodwin...thank you, and thank Mrs. Reggie."
"Of course, Miss." With a quick bow, the butler retired from the room, leaving the family and their guest alone.
Turning to her brothers, Helen glanced down at the mess of cards and back at them as they eyed their guest while he looked about the room. The boys were wildly fond of William, and it was an inevitability that his name would be brought up by them should they start to pepper the detective with questions, comparing and contrasting his stories and anecdotes with William's. And right now, she truly could not bear that.
"After you've cleaned up the carpet, why don't you do the same to the battlefield in your room before luncheon. I've told you before about expecting Mary or Goodwin to pick up after you," she addressed them, her voice soft but firm.
"But…" Andrew began, his eyes moving plaintively from her to Holmes and back, obviously keen to start questioning him straight away.
"We shall see you back downstairs at the table in half an hour," she told him with an air of quiet finality.
Both boys looked at each other and groaned. "Yes, Helen," they chorused obediently.
Bending down, Matthew swept up the cards as Andrew turned to their guest. "If you will excuse us?" he asked politely.
Holmes held in his mild amusement to reply straight faced and seriously, "Of course."
Matthew rolled his eyes at his brother and gave Holmes a quick grin, having long ago decided he was not the least bit intimidating. "We'll see you later then," he added before accompanying his brother to the door.
Helen gave them both firm looks. "Tidying, boys...I do not want to find the place worse than when you started, nor hear complaints that you've been up to mischief again."
"No, Helen," they chorused, nodding their heads adamantly in unison and just a bit too quickly as they scampered out the door.
Their sister sighed and shook her head. "Those two..." she murmured before turning her full attention to her guest. "Please," she continued, gesturing to a chair opposite her in front of the fire as she sat down.
Sweeping the tails of his frock coat forward, Holmes sat down smoothly and crossed his legs. "I trust your mother is well?" he enquired. "I am surprised not to find her with you."
She nodded and smiled warmly. "Yes, she is doing quite well and quite busy with her charity work, now the holiday season is approaching." She sat back in her chair a little, trying to keep her hands still. "And how are you faring?"
"Somewhat troubled, I fear," he replied, clasping his hands.
"Oh?" She swallowed lightly, the seriousness of his expression and directness of his gaze perplexing her greatly. "I am sorry to hear that…is there anything I might do to help?"
"Yes…via your consideration of an offer," was the highly direct and entirely vague response, leaving her quite at a loss.
"Off….offer?" she repeated.
"I shall come to the point quickly, Miss Thurlow," he continued in a grave tone. "My visit here today is for the purpose of making you an offer."
Her expression only reflected deeper puzzlement. "And what precisely might the nature of this offer be, Mr. Holmes?"
Rising to his feet, he glanced at her thoughtfully before his brow creased. Placing one hand behind his back, he moved to the fireplace and gazed down upon the blaze therein. "It has not escaped my notice that your friendship with Major Edwards has, of late, deepened into something more than that."
Her eyes widened immediately. "Mr. Holmes…" she managed as her heart somehow undertook the not inconsiderable simultaneous feat of coming to a complete stop and lurching up into her throat to half strangle her response. "I…really don't see how that is…" She got not a sound further than that as he proceeded on unabated.
"It is, of course, the way of these things that such developments result in a proposal of the sort that you have recently received. However, I must be brutally honest with you. Despite the Major's reputation, I do not feel that this would be the wisest of matches for a woman such as yourself."
She blinked. "How…?" she began, stunned that he had even known of William's proposal before remembering to whom she was speaking. "You don't?" She changed tack, utterly baffled by the fact he was even speaking on such a topic.
"Yes." Raising his other hand, he leaned upon the high mantelpiece above the fire and looked back over his shoulder towards her, a deep frown of concern etched on his features. "I find the idea of someone as stimulated by life and interests such as yourself in India as the mere wife of an army officer to be...in short...a travesty and a waste of a good mind and spirit."
Helen straightened in her seat at his words. "Mr. Holmes, quite frankly I don't think that you have…"
Still, he did not stop. "However, it is also obvious to me that a woman like yourself is, quite naturally, in need of a suitor. And this being the case, I feel that perhaps it might be sensible for you to consider an alternative avenue in this regard -- someone rather more suited to your undoubted intellectual capacity and general personality."
"I…beg your pardon?" Helen responded, gazing wide-eyed at him and veering between trying to decide whether to laugh with shock or be vastly irritated. The latter gradually began to win out. Inhaling slowly, she restrained herself from commenting on the gall he had marching in here and casually bringing up something so vastly personal -- that he of all people should discuss, as if an authority, what 'a woman like herself' was naturally in need of…while being completely ignorant of the topic at every conceivable point prior to this. It quite took her breath away.
It took a moment of forcibly reminding herself of his 'ways' before she resolved herself into a stiffly composed if somewhat irked state. "And you…of course…know someone better suited to me?"
He turned to face her, his back to the fire. "After some considered thought, I believe that I do, yes."
Moving back to his chair, he seated himself smoothly. "Miss Thurlow...it occurs to me that this past while of our acquaintance, our dealings with one another have not been...unpleasant. In fact, without fear of contradiction, I have found them to be rather more the opposite.
"I have found that we are compatible in a great many areas, such as our taste in art, music, the theatre...your mind is amongst the sharpest of my acquaintance and you have shown, with only one notable stumble, a good deal of logic in your thinking. You are not given to flights of fancy, nor the need to discuss trivia, and have shown a great deal of bravery throughout your life. You are, not to put to fine a point on it, quite an exceptional woman, and I feel I have come to know you and your tastes quite well.
"Keeping within that framework...it seems to me that rather than you wasting your undoubted qualities in some half-haremed existence in India, you should remain here in England, where your mind and spirit can continue to be expanded by interaction with your peers. There is no telling where a mind belonging to a woman such as yourself, given enough stimulus, could end up, and it is something that I confess I would be very interested in discovering." He paused before adding, "Naturally, that would require you decline Major Edward's proposal."
"Naturally." Helen's clenched jaw barely moved.
"Of course…one could hardly expect you to entirely give up the hope of making a suitable match. It is an advantageous social move for a young woman in our society and a necessary if somewhat antiquated and rigid state of affairs. You would, therefore, be in need of a suitor to replace the one you would be giving up."
"I had no idea, Mr. Holmes," Helen said with stony eyes and a tart edge to her voice, "that you shared such a predilection for matchmaking with Her Grace, the Duchess of Monmouth. Of course, you now intend to tell me who that suitor should be?"
If he noticed her asperity he did not acknowledge it, and drawing himself up where he sat, he replied, "I would suggest that, given our previous interaction, seeming compatibility, and sufficiently similar tastes, that the rational selection would be I." He inhaled slowly. "Therefore, Miss Thurlow, I would like to offer myself as suitor to you."
Helen's annoyance at his meddling vanished in a wave of surprise during which she failed to keep her eyes from widening and her lips parting in astonishment. Taking a moment to try and digest the information, she failed. "Mr…" she started before stopping, taking a deep breath, and beginning again, her face a vision of confusion, "Mr. Holmes…forgive me…but do I understand you correctly? You wish to…that is you want...to court me?" Her disbelief rang through in every syllable.
After a moment to consider her words, he answered, "I believe that is the term, yes."
She nodded slowly before rising to her feet and crossing over to the window to stare out at the frosted-over rear gardens, her mind reeling as she attempted to make sense of what was going on. Turning back, she said softly, "And this…this is all because you think I am leaving for India? That you feel it would be some kind of waste of intellect?"
Rising when she had, he watched her closely. "No. I feel that there is an element of advantage for you to be had in your accepting me and for me in your doing so."
"For you?" she asked quietly.
"Yes…" he replied after a moment. "I must admit that I have not enjoyed the absence of your company while you have been seeing the Major. Your accepting me as a suitor would afford that to me once again…and in a more official capacity."
Her eyes widened again at such an admittance, only to narrow, so that when she met his, her own were once more carefully guarded, but her words retained their edge. "So….this is to do with William…with his taking my company from you?"
He blinked slowly, unsure as to how to respond. "To a degree I suppose it must be said that I…"
It was her turn to cut across him. "What if I were to tell you that I have just this morning declined his proposal of marriage? Would you still be offering yourself to me then?"
"You have refused him?" His face brightened. "Excellent, Miss Thurlow! A remarkably brave and prudent decision, if I may say!"
Her tone remained quiet. "That is not an answer to my question."
"So, you are no longer receiving him as a suitor?" he ventured.
Her sigh was long and bone weary. "Nor is that, Mr. Holmes. But I shall do you the courtesy of answering. I have only just sent the refusal of his offer this morning." Her eyes dipped to her hands in her lap as the sadness and guilt washed through her. "Major Edwards and I are still courting…he is a wonderful man, but I shall sever our romantic ties when next we speak. I can only hope he will forgive me." Her voice quavered on her last words.
Holmes was silent for a moment while he regarded her obvious sorrow over the decision. "May I ask why?"
She turned her head sharply to look at him, a trace of anger in her voice. "No, Mr. Holmes, you may not!" Struggling to quell her nearly overflowing emotions, she turned her head from him. "At least not until such time as you have the manners and the sensitivity to answer my questions."
The detective blinked before frowning and dropping his head in contemplation. Pursing his lips, he began to nod slowly. "You are quite right. In my eagerness to see this through I have been tactless…a failing of mine, as you know." His piercing eyes rose to meet hers once more. "The answer to your question is yes, Miss Thurlow…despite your refusing the Major's offer…my own offer to court you remains upon the table."
"Why?" was her quiet and immediate response.
"Why?" he echoed, slightly bemused by the question. "As I have said, it would provide you with no diminishing in your status as attached…and would afford me the pleasure of your company as well as allowing me to research my long held hypothesis regarding the distractions of…"
Her hand shot up, halting him in mid flow. "Your pardon, Mr. Holmes…" she interrupted him, staring at him incredulously, "but am I to understand that you would view our perceived courtship as some kind of…experimentation?"
Her guest appeared nothing short of confused by her reaction. "Miss Thurlow, should you give it some thought, you will realise that all courtship periods are in their way experimentations in compatibility and…" He was astounded as she started to laugh…and a loud uproarious laugh of utter disbelief at that. "Miss Thurlow?" he asked, somewhat piqued.
"Chemistry!" she chortled before catching sight of his face at her brazen laughter. "Oh forgive me, Mr. Holmes! But only you could march into a woman's parlour and demand she put aside one lover to take another -- all for the sake of a chemistry experiment!"
"Miss Thurlow, that is really a rather simplistic summation of…" he began.
"No, Mr. Holmes," she interrupted him once more, still chuckling. "Thank you. But no."
His expression became quizzical. "No?"
Helen straightened and grew serious once more, a light frown of determination on her face. "No, Mr. Holmes. I do not wish to court you."
There was a notable tensing in his shoulders and jaw. "I see," he said coolly. "And may I at least know why on this occasion?"
"Certainly," she replied. "It is perfectly simple. Logical and obvious if you think about it," she jibed him deliberately with his own style of words, her voice level. Suddenly she felt more in control around him than she had felt for a long, long time. "Why should any woman seek to court a man who sees her not as a woman and prospective wife…but as a test tube? The contents of which he is testing upon himself!" She snorted lightly. "A flattering offer to be sure, Mr. Holmes…but no."
His voice was quiet when he spoke again a short time after. "I have offended you."
She did not even deign to cast her eyes on him. "Yes, Mr. Holmes, you have."
"It was not my intent, I assure you." His voice came softly in return. "I…I believe you begin to see a part of why I avoided such entanglements before. Everything surrounding the softer passions is something of a mystery to me…and I am therefore a novice…and not a very accomplished one at that."
"Very true," she agreed wholeheartedly, glaring at him. The soft, somewhat abashed smile she received before he lowered his eyes took her a little by surprise, and after a moment watching his uncertainty, she softened.
She had refused him…and reclaimed herself and her independence in doing so. She loved him still but knew now she could stand alone…live alone…without him. And so, he might as well know the truth of it all, for there was nothing left to lose.
"You asked me why I declined William's offer." She turned back to the window. "The answer is not an easy one. I love him dearly, sincerely. He is the kindest, most generous man I believe I have ever met. And at another time, in another place, I am quite sure that I could have fallen wholeheartedly and passionately in love with him far beyond the level I have." Her throat tightened as she spoke, truly and desperately sorry that it wasn't that time or that other place. "But the timing was not right for us. He came to me too late." She closed her eyes to keep hold of the tears that had fallen all the night previous as she composed the letter to her soldier, knowing it was but the first step to breaking his heart.
Dragging in a juddering breath and her chest tight with emotion, she turned back to face the detective. "I curse myself for a fool every time. But what he seeks I cannot give, not beyond the fragments I have. I know it is not a very scientific thing to say, Mr. Holmes…but while William lives in my heart, it is another who owns it in its entirety." Her chin rose in defiance. "In truth…it is William who deserves it more."
Holmes flinched internally on feeling his heart constrict once again.
Just as it had done when he saw her being attacked in the Haymarket. As it had when she had kissed him…when he had danced with her…when Watson had told him of William Edward's proposal.
And this time…finally…as he stood before her under her direct and self-possessed gaze, he did not ignore his heart as he had been doing all along. Did not pretend it was anything other than what it was -- the true and deep affect she had come to have upon his heart. His friendship for her, for all his denials, had deepened into something far more. And it hurt to hear her words and to know of her desire to love another before him if she could.
The ache in his heart that her words engendered was of the like he had not felt for years…not for almost two decades now. It reminded him why it was he had fought so hard to keep himself aloof and emotionally restrained…reminded him why he had tried everything he could to pretend this wasn't happening and that he didn't care for her more than he did.
He knew full well that being with her would distract him. He needed no false period of experimentation to know that. He knew that he was risking everything in embarking on this road with her, no matter what façade he tried to put over his courting of her to legitimise it to his increasingly desperate mind. He was afraid of losing his rational mind to an irrational heart. Afraid, too, that deep down he was simply not cut out to be a lover nor a husband and that he would, in his emotionally stilted, rigidly selfish ways, hurt her far more than a life alone ever would.
But he knew also he had her heart…even if she wished it otherwise.
He knew it and he found himself more afraid of losing it…her…than anything else. Afraid that this may indeed be his last chance. A fear that Watson had stirred up with his questioning and accusations. One that Holmes had subsumed in anger, false indignation, and in a black bleak depression of the spirit, unwilling to admit to it…and the deeper emotion behind it. But the fear ran free now, and even though she had all but said she loved him, he could feel her turning away…a feeling that was underlined by her next words to him as he stood silent, watching her.
Her voice was quiet. "I have been alone for twenty and six years...I would rather continue to be so than live a lie. To embark on a courtship with you while you see me only as a friend and test case is as full of fault as my accepting and thereby wronging a man who loves me the way I love you."
She inhaled softly. "And so now you know the truth of it, Mr. Holmes. And I wish you good day and well upon your return journey to London."
He stood where he was for a few moments before he nodded and began to move slowly across the room towards the door as per her wishes. "Very well…but before I go, may I know when I may begin to call upon you?"
"I beg your pardon?" her shocked voice exclaimed softly as she blinked.
Turning, he gazed back at her. "I asked when I might begin to call upon you?"
Staring at him, she found herself growing incredulous once more. "Mr. Holmes...have you not heard a word I have said?"
"All of it," he assured her with an incline of his head. "Every syllable. And my question remains just the same."
All she could do now was gape at him, wondering what manner of man it was she had given her heart to…what she had ever done to be cursed so.
On seeing her reaction, Holmes softened his rather blithe stance and took a step towards her. "I was wrong to approach you as I did today. Wrong to speak of you or our seeing one another as a case of research. I did so foolishly…to protect myself."
"To protect yourself?" she asked, utterly at a loss.
"I am as I know...and as Watson persists in telling me...not an open man emotionally. He has likened me to an iron drum -- taut, rigid, and sealed tight…a rather fatuous simile if you ask me, but there you are." He sighed. "I do not deal with sentiment easily…nor in truth do I like to, and it is not something I see changing a great deal in the future. A fact I should warn you of once again before we embark upon anything," he said, to her bewilderment.
"Normally, I do not have a problem with emotions in that I simply disregard them. However, I have this past while being attempting to disregard a great many of them. Far more than is usual. Which in and of itself was worrying to me. I struggled with the cause, attempting to disregard that too and rather unsuccessfully.
"And when finally faced with attempting to deal with the matter, I preferred to come to you with a supposedly rational and logical approach to our courting. In actuality to describe it as such is equally as absurd as Watson's simile. In undertaking such an approach, I have very much misrepresented myself and the truth of the situation." An introspective smile was nascent upon his face. "His comparison of me to an inane schoolboy was, in retrospect, far more apropos."
His gaze was steady as he looked at her, his small smile seeming a little resigned. "Given your admirably honest final remarks, I suppose it is only fair that I respond in kind. It is, therefore, prudent to inform you that my own regard for you is not merely that of one friend for another."
The shock of electricity the statement caused shot through her body with such force that it left her momentarily unsure that she had heard him correctly, leaving her staring at him foolishly. "It's...it's not?" she stumbled finally, too taken aback to verbalise anything more.
"No," he replied firmly. "Though it has taken me a ridiculous amount of time to acknowledge it…it is not."
"But…" she struggled for coherent thought, "I thought you did not…that is to say could not…"
One dark eyebrow arched towards his slicked back hairline. "I assure you, Miss Thurlow...cold unfeeling automaton as I may appear at times...I do remain a man with all the accompanying failings and feelings that occur within that state. I do…and can…feel. I may not externalize all my emotions, but I believe it is obvious that I do get angry, insulted, moved, and amused like all other men. I feel pity, grief, and affection like other men. I merely have the wisdom to realise that voicing or acting upon such feelings does not often lead to contentment." He paused. "But evidently not the wisdom to acknowledge when I have been bested by them."
Her cheeks flushed as she glanced down. "I didn't mean to imply that you do not feel. I just...I did not think you felt anything other than friendship for me."
"That is not surprising, given as I convinced myself wonderfully of the same thing. If I did not wish to acknowledge it…ignored and struggled against it, how, my dear Miss Thurlow, could you know better?" He crossed over to stand in front of her, his eyes gazing quietly down at her. "However, now that you know it to be otherwise?" he enquired expectantly of her in a soft, low voice.
She looked up, sincerely thrown. "I...I'm not sure what to think," she whispered honestly. "I did not expect this. Ever. And now that it is here…I…" Her words trailed away into silence.
Holmes's nod was slow. "I understand...the things we dwell upon in our hearts do not always turn out to be what we want when they finally present themselves to us. Naturally, you need some time to consider this somewhat unexpected turn of events." He stepped away from her. "I shall depart as you suggested and give you the time and space to come to a decision."
With a slow bow, his eyes remaining on her throughout, he turned and moved across the room to go.
"No...stay!" she said suddenly. "Please..." Crossing with swift steps over to him, she looked up into his face as he turned back to her once more. "Do you love me?" she asked plainly.
He gazed at her and frowned somewhat before clearing his throat uncomfortably. "Miss Thurlow, that is quite the question to place before a man who has confessed to being awkward with the expression of sentiment."
"Perhaps so, Mr. Holmes," she acknowledged. "But I have struggled with uncertainty and conflicting sentiment of my own for some time over this, and I believe I am entitled to a modicum of assurance on this one important matter."
His silence was protracted as his eyes left hers, his brow furrowing in such deep thought that the wheels of his remarkable mind were almost audible to her. When his eyes found hers once again, they did so with a notable degree of earnestness.
"Miss Thurlow, I believe I hold you in higher regard then anyone I have ever known," he told her in utter seriousness. "Your good estimation of me is, I have found to be, increasingly important to me. And there is little doubt that…despite my stubbornness...I have found myself thinking on you with escalating frequency. From what I know and have observed upon the subject, I believe the answer to your question to be...yes."
The room was quiet for a time, with only the crackle and hiss of the wood in the fire breaking the hush as they stood and regarded one another. The words that neither of them had ever thought to hear him speak hung suspended between them, until she reached out and tentatively took his hand in hers, their fingers entwining awkwardly but providing a remarkable warmth that both could feel.
"Then, Mr. Holmes...with your permission, I would like to exert that well-known feminine prerogative and retract my previous decision. And would instead, be honoured to accept your offer," she replied, barely restraining the feelings of joy and relief that coursed through her.
He gazed down at her hand on his, observing it with a sudden nervous wonder, and cleared his throat once more. "Then it is agreed," he said quietly.
She smiled softly at his bowed head. "Yes...I believe it is."
"William? Is something wrong?"
The officer looked up from the letter in his hand, his slight frown resolving itself after a moment. "No…" He cleared his throat. "No, Mother." He smiled up at her as he folded the note over and slipped it inside his tunic. Picking up his glass of wine, he gazed across the dinner table and put the drink down again. "Emily?" he addressed his sister. "Would you mind terribly if I postponed our outing tomorrow?"
Emily glanced up from her dessert and smiled, her blue eyes that were so similar to his reflecting that smile. "No…not providing you take me out the following day. Is it work?"
"I promise, and no," he replied, smiling at her. "It's nothing important…half expected actually. Just something I have to attend to."
Authors' Notes: And now...you all know. And what is left you may ask? Well, William for one! He needs to be clued in...and his reactions. :D So, stay tuned for next week's chapter and our concluding one -- Chapter Eleven: Reversal of Fortune.
Oh and the Nevermore quote? Yes, it is from The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe and from the Forfeit Daughter...(is pleased people remembered this)...but there was also a few actual story quotes I was looking for...mostly pertaining to Alice and how she seems to know everything with a Yoda like foreknowledge...heh. Ah well...(snicker)
Now, thiswill bemost certainly the last chapter of this story. (nods sadly) And I have to admit this one was my personal favourite...but not the saga! (grins) So fear not...we will be continuing. Starting in a couple of weeks (possibly three) we shall present -- The Rules of Engagement. And our lovely pal, Wens, has done us a nice cover photo manip, which I shall post the link to on our author page.
I think just about everyone's questions, except the William based ones are now answered...or maybe we've added a few more? (giggles) If so, feel free to post them, and I'll try to answer them next week if I can...or you can always email us.
Thank you all to everyone who has been reading and/or reviewing...and please feel free to continue to let us know your thoughts! We really do love hearing from our readers. See you next week! Hugs to all -- Aeryn (of aerynfire)