Chapter Four

On Second Meetings and First Impressions

I was more exhausted that I could ever remember and I wondered vaguely if maybe this was a side effect of time travel. All my senses seemed preternaturally sensitive; I could hear the tread and muffled voices of the policemen upstairs, feel every splinter digging into my back. There was a dull, throbbing pain in my right shoulder, always a source of problems due to the injuries sustained in the car accident and later gunshot wound. A small barred window set high on the wall let in a small bit of diffuse light, creating unreal patterns of light and shade.

Time travel. It seemed impossible. It was impossible. But it had happened nonetheless. The evidence was everywhere, in the clothing, in the train system, in Oxford. Though it was nearing the end of the summer term in Oxford when I started my recreation of Professor Jensen's experiment, it seemed to be spring now, with the first buds just showing on the trees and tulips blooming in the gardens. I didn't have an exact date, but judging from the clothing, I could estimate I was at least twenty years in the past.

It was logical to think that the same thing had happened to Professor Jensen. I wondered where he had wandered to and what had happened to him. I didn't know Jensen well, but he had struck me as a man with a shaky gasp on the realities of life outside academia.

I'm not sure how long I was in that holding cell. I may have dozed off at some point. The bunk was merely a wooden platform bolted to the wall, but I was far too tired to care. It was around noon when I was jerked back to awareness by the sound of the door down the hall being unlocked.

I heard them coming all the way down the hall. My hearing has always been particularly acute, perhaps as compensation for being nearly blind without my specs. The acoustics of the gaol cell helped as well. Stone walls echoed and amplified the conversation of the guards at the end of the hall, and before the morning was over I had heard more than I ever wanted to know regarding the state of their respective love lives.

"Glad you could make it. We've got a case that might interest you." The first voice said, in the unmistakeable tones of a police officer giving a report. "She flat out refuses to give an account of herself and frankly speaking, she seems more than a bit confused. I thought perhaps a knock on the head, but the doctor has given her a clean bill of health."

The other man asked something, but his voice was too quiet for me to catch the actual words.

"Name is Mary Russell and she's about twenty years old. She had a notebook with her when she was taken into custody. It looks like chemistry, so you might want to have a look. Beyond that she refuses to speak."

Ah. I thought. Perhaps they had finally decided whether to charge me or let me go. I sat up, automatically adjusting my hairpins. I had removed my glasses in an attempt to get some sleep, so I extracted them from my shirt pocket and threaded them over my ears.

Fuzzy shapes and blobs of colour resolved into two men. The one with the keys was a plain-clothes detective I had not seen before. I transferred my gaze to the second visitor.

Holmes. Thirty years younger and looking politely bored. His mouth was moving, but a roaring sound filled my ears. The cell swam out of focus. The world gave a sickening lurch and the floor came rushing up to meet me.

Holmes moved quickly, catching me before I could hit the floor. I felt as if I was struggling up out of a well of darkness. My vision refused to behave, but I could feel the heat of his body, smell the rich, familiar odours of tobacco and aftershave. I vaguely heard someone call for brandy. I thought it might be Holmes, but his voice sounded distorted, as if I was hearing from underwater.

I felt arms around me, lifting me back onto the bunk. A glass was put to my lips and I reeled backward, coughing as a truly poisonous variety of brandy hit my tongue. The room stopped spinning and my vision settled, but it left in its wake the beginnings of a truly vicious headache.

"Do not be alarmed Miss Russell." Holmes said in quiet, reassuring tones. "I am here to help."

"I'm fine." I whispered, contrary to all evidence.

"You are anything but fine, dear lady. You are one step away from a nervous collapse. When did you eat last?" Holmes could be extremely good with people when he exerted himself. I smiled shakily.

"Luncheon yesterday." Spent happily arguing over hapax legomena with a pair of professors and another theology student. "I assure you I am not prone to fits of hysteria, Mr. Holmes."

"Lestrade," Holmes said to the other man, "fetch the lady something from the canteen." Somehow, I was not surprised. I had been on the receiving end of so many shocks during the past twenty four hours that this one hardly registered. Lestrade turned to a younger constable hovering just outside the door; presumably he had brought the brandy.

"Perhaps you would care to explain how you came to be in Victoria Station wearing masculine clothes and without a penny to your name." Holmes asked. He moved back a bit once it was apparent I could sit upright without assistance. I tried to shake off the odd mixture of relief and disappointment.

"I needed to go to Sussex, but I had no money. It seemed to be a logical decision." I shrugged, fully aware of the inadequacy of the explanation, but my brain was too muzzy to think up something better.

"What is in Sussex?"

"I don't know."

"Come now, madam!"

"I just felt that I had to be in Sussex. I don't really understand it myself." It was the truth too. "Believe me; I'd like to know what is going on just as much as you."

"What do you remember?" Holmes asked.

"I remember Oxford. I'm not sure what I was doing there. I walked down to the train station and took the first train to London and was accosted by the constables when I tried to get on the Sussex train. That's it really."

"You stowed away on the Oxford train I presume, since you have no money."

"Needs must, Mr. Holmes." I replied with equanimity. Holmes frowned. "Perhaps you can tell me who I am?"

It was less a question than a challenge, and Holmes rose to the occasion.

"Mary Russell, originally from the western coast of America, though you have been in England long enough to lose most of your accent. Judging from the cut and quality of your blouse you come from a family wealthy and eccentric enough to clothe their daughters in masculine attire. You are left handed, obviously, and have sustained a recent injury to your right shoulder. I note you wear a wedding band on your right hand; may I inquire after your husband?"

I dropped my gaze to the gold band, not trusting myself to speak.

"He…He's gone." I said finally, unable to articulate it in any other way. Let Holmes assume that my husband had abandoned me, or I him. He pressed his lips to together; I could almost see his thoughts linking an absent husband with a recent injury.

"You are Jewish and you write in Hebrew, and I assume you speak the language as well. This, coupled with your origins in Oxford lead me to believe that you are employed at the university in some capacity, perhaps as a secretary?"

I nearly said something sarcastic, but remembered the time period. Women were not yet admitted to degrees at Oxford.

"Ah." Holmes said softly, and took my right hand in his. I froze, torn between the desire to snatch my hand back and the desire to throw myself into his arms. But he turned my wrist so that my palm was facing up and examined the cuff of my sleeve. "I see you write Greek as well. The eleison has made an indelible mark on your sleeve. And you were in a chemistry lab recently."

He brought my hand closer to his face for perusal of the ink and potassium thiocyanate stains on the sleeve. He seemed to be unaware of the effect his physical proximity was having on me, but Lestrade noticed my discomfort.

"Mr. Holmes, unless you can tell us her address from the state of her cuffs, I think we needn't trouble the lady any more."

"Hmm? Alas, my skills do not extend that far, Lestrade." Holmes said, letting go of my hand. "Will you be charging her?"

"I think not. Not much of a charge in any case."

"Very well." Holmes fished a card out of his pocket. "If you would care to drop by Baker Street later today, perhaps I may be of some assistance."

My lunch arrived from the police canteen moments after Holmes and Lestrade left. It was an unappetizing version of a Cornish pasty, but it was food and the coffee that came with it helped enormously. By the end of the meal I felt nearly human again.

As Lestrade said, they had little to hold me on. I was released on my own recognisance within the hour. I kept enough wits about me to lose the PC sent to dog my footsteps after I was released from the Yard's gaol, though in truth it was not hard to do. I simply had to duck around a corner and double back behind my pursuer. The PC gave up searching the crowds rather quickly, and I headed straight back to Victoria.

I truly did not know what force propelled me so inexorably toward Sussex. My mind was slowly beginning to comprehend the situation, but my body seemed to have a will of its own. I knew there would be no Holmes, no Mrs. Hudson, not even Patrick or Old Will. Yet I had to go.

I did not make the same mistake of boarding the train early. Instead I waited until the last moments before the train left, hopping on board with last rush of frantic passengers. I repeated the tactics that I used on the Oxford train and kept moving ahead of the conductor checking tickets, and spent half the journey locked in the WC, thinking wistfully of the benches in third class.

On arriving at Sussex I walked straight through the village without stopping, and automatically turned down the road leading to my mother's family home.

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.•´¨•»¦«•Kerowyn•»¦«•´¨•.