Disclaimer: all characters belong to Laurie R. King and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Even the basic idea belongs to Ms. King and can be found in the first chapter of The Beekeeper's Apprentice.
Chapter Two
As soon as I could, I left the room. That girl's presence had certainly startled me; I had not expected anyone to be in my rooms. It was not only her being there that disconcerted me, it was also that she saw through my disguise with one glance! Not even Irene Adler could do such a thing.
Perhaps I am becoming overconfident with my abilities as an actor.
The girl was indeed an interesting subject. Her poor clothing disregarded, she came from an apparently wealthy background, which could be seen in her physical appearance - well nourished frame, healthy skin, no calluses on the hands - and in her speech and deportment. Her American accent was recent, perhaps two or three years, and speaks of northern California, I believe. She was obviously well educated and had a keen interest in ancient writing - Hebrew to be exact- which I deduced from the ink stains on her left hand.
While I exchanged my attire for something more suitable, I listened for noises in the adjoining room. A teacup rattled, that was all. From what I could tell, she was not a stray mignon of Moriarty, come to spy on my doings. No, this girl was here because she desperately needed help. People like her did not ask for my assistance unless they had the direst need.
From the look of that girl's thrice let-down and oft-mended dress, she was in trouble. She could not have been more than seventeen, yet she was wandering the streets of London alone. There was more to Miss Mary Russell than her appearances could tell me, I could feel it.
But how could I help someone who made me feel so...off-balance?
Watson was wrong. I did have a heart. The instrument had stirred.
This should be an interesting case.
He flew back into the room, now looking much the opposite of his appearance only moments before. A mouse brown dressing gown wrapped around him, he now closely resembled the man from the Strand's illustrations of the Sherlock Holmes stories. But even though they portrayed a man of nearly forty, this Sherlock Holmes could only have been thirty-
five. Instead of a receding hairline, this man merely had a high forehead, topped with sleeked back dark hair.
Suddenly, my eye caught his and I realized that I'd been staring at him as though he were underneath a microscope. I bit my lip and looked down at my teacup. Now cold and tepid, the tea was undrinkable. I set it down quickly, trying not to meet that eyes I could feel resting upon me.
"Would you mind, Miss Russell," Mr. Holmes began, standing near the door. "If I asked Mrs. Hudson to bring up some dinner? I haven't eaten since breakfast, and from what I see, neither have you."
I nodded, somewhat impatient in wanting to tell him my problem. But perhaps a detective who has already eaten is a better one. And I was still slightly hungry myself.
He clapped his hands together. "Excellent. If you'll excuse me..." His form disappeared down the stairs, calling: "Mrs. Hudson!"
Finding myself alone in the room once again, I stood and moved towards the window, trying to ignore the desk drawer and what it contained. The rain was beginning to let up, and people were once more going about their business.
Somewhere in the house, a clock rang out the time. One...two...three. I wouldn't be able to stay much longer after Mr. Holmes' late luncheon (or very early supper). My aunt probably was looking all over for me, attempting to corner me in the sitting room to meet another insufferable young man she wanted for me to court. All they wanted from me was my money, and I knew that each of them was in my aunt's back pocket. Every penny I had would go to her in the end, and I would never allow that to happen.
Footsteps leaping up the stairs (he must have skipped half of the steps, at least) warned me of Mr. Holmes' return. Collecting myself, I faced him as he entered the room.
"Mr. Holmes, if you wouldn't mind, I do have a favour to ask of you."
"Indeed, Miss Russell. That is precisely why you came. Ask away."
I sat down in the chair I had recently vacated as Mr. Holmes carefully moved his violin and sat in the facing chair. He leant forward, his grey eyes so intense that I could have sworn that they were looking into my very soul.
"It started five months ago after... when I returned to England," I began quietly. "My parents and brother were dead, and I felt completely alone. My closest living relative was my mother's elder sister, thus she was appointed my guardian. She had no home of her own, so she moved into my parent's summer house in Sussex with me. In her role of guardian, all she was supposed to do was ensure my safety and morality while I attended a women's college in Oxford. However, she has decided to control my future as well.
"First of all, she has reduced my monthly allowance to a measly sum that is half of what a scullery maid would earn in a week. She has also strictly forbidden me from attending school, claiming that it would ruin my mind and frighten away any 'suitors'." When Mr. Holmes raised an eyebrow at this, I quickly explained. "My aunt wishes for me to marry instead of attend school. The problem is, however, that I - I don't want to marry. Not now, not ever."
"She cannot force you into marriage, Miss Russell," Mr. Holmes pointed out. "That is against the laws of our country."
How could I say this? I thought to myself. How could I say that all she wants is my money?
"Indeed, I know that, sir," I continued. "But it's the reason why she wants me married that frightens me. You see, until I turn 21 or marry, my parent's money - my inheritance - is entirely in trust. Only the interest can be touched beforehand, and even then only small amounts can be withdrawn each month."
"You fear, Miss Russell, that your aunt will try and trick you into marrying before your majority so that all your money becomes your husband's?"
Wincing at the term husband, I nodded. "Mr. Holmes, my aunt is penniless, but she is very extravagant in her spending. And unfortunately, the money she receives each month for my care is spent on her wants, as you can see." I pointed to my dress, where the mended moth holes were all too obvious. "Once I turn 21, she will have no more income. If I marry, and she has my - my husband under her thumb, then she is financially safe.
"I do not doubt that she will go to any length to secure her future," I said. "She has always been jealous of my mother's good fortune in marrying my father, a wealthy American, and I am now the person she takes that jealousy out upon. All I want you to do is get her to leave me alone. You would not have to make her leave Sussex, but somehow stop her from controlling my life. She has no right to do so, especially because she does it only for her own gain."
Mr. Holmes leaned closer, his eyes capturing mine like a cobra ready to strike.
"There is something more, is there not?"
The blood flowed from my face. How could he know? Can he see my thoughts?
"The scars on your right hand tell many stories, Miss Russell," he said softly. "How is it that you came to be in your aunt's care?"
The hand in question closed into a tight fist. I could feel my short nails digging into flesh.
"'The past is prologue'," he quoted. "If you wish for me to look into this matter for you, I must know the entire story, Miss Russell."
I looked down at my hand, my eyes tracing the labyrinth of scars that bespoke of the end of life for those I loved most. Without looking at Mr. Holmes, I told him the story or those scars.
"My father was a business man, originally from California. When he came to London, he met and married my mother, who was barely a step up from a Cockney Jew, the daughter of a rabbi. I was born here, as was my brother a few years later. But my father's companies in California began to have trouble, so he packed us off to San Francisco when I was fourteen.
"For two years, we lived happily on American soil, until my father received a letter. I have no idea who it was from or what it said, but the contents sent him into a frenzied state. Without warning, he had all our belongings packed and sent up to Vancouver. We were to follow the next day in a closed carriage. I realized that we were running from someone. It had to do with that letter, but I had no idea what."
The next part of the story pained me so much that I hated to think about it, much less tell it to someone I had only just met. Mr. Holmes mustn't know that it was my fault. It had nothing to do with my aunt.
"There is a section of coast, fifty miles north of San Francisco, where the road goes along a high cliff above the water. As our carriage rounded the corner, the horses shied and the harness broke loose..." My mother's cry as the carriage fell over the cliff resonated through my memory. This was not the first time I wished that I had not been thrown from the vehicle.
Fighting back tears of grief, guilt, and shame, I found it difficult to finish.
"The tide was high at the time and there were many rocks... They found the bodies of my family and the driver nearly a week later, washed up miles down shore..."
"Do you believe their deaths have anything to do with your aunt's greed?"
I shook my head. "I cannot believe that she would go to such lengths. Surely she would have killed myself off as well."
He sat back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "How long ago did all this happen?"
"The...accident was last August," I replied, trying to keep my voice from shaking. "And I returned to England in January, just after my birthday."
"What was it that kept you from returning sooner?"
Fortunately, Mrs. Hudson chose that moment to bring dinner. As she arranged the dishes on a small dining table in one corner, I stood up quickly to avoid answering his question. He observed my reluctance to answer, but wisely said nothing more about the matter.
"Thank you very much, Mrs. Hudson. It looks as though you've cooked for an entire army," he commented with amusement. "Surely we don't look that famished."
She merely smiled, probably used to his quips, and made sure we began eating until she left, apparently satisfied.
It was a very enjoyable meal. Certainly I had not eaten so well in many months and Mr. Holmes tried to keep up with me for appearances sake. When Mrs. Hudson bustled in once we had finished, she couldn't help remarking on how much he had eaten.
"Indeed, Mr. Holmes. You must be feeling quite better now. Haven't had a proper meal in ages, he hasn't," she said, the last directed towards myself. "Doesn't eat enough for a cat to starve on. Wonder how he goes on like he does, I do."
"Enough, Mrs. Hudson," Mr. Holmes cut in. It seemed to me that it was an old argument for the two of them. "The meal was delicious, but I must complete my interview with Miss Russell. So if you don't mind..." He practically had to push her out the door. Once she was gone, he stood with his back to the door, reminding me of a lord shutting out the raging mob.
"One day," he muttered, more to himself than to me. "I will live quietly on the downs and raise bees. Alone."
To hide my smile, I turned to look out the window. In the time that I had told my story and that we had eaten dinner, the workday had completed and the street was now filled with people on their way home.
Speaking of home, I should have left for there already. My aunt would be in a rage by now.
"Thank you very much for your kind hospitality and your time, Mr. Holmes. It seems that I must leave now before my aunt calls for Scotland Yard to find me."
I heard his footsteps behind me, then he stood beside me at the window, pipe in hand.
"How will you be getting back to Sussex? Victoria Station is a long distance on foot."
Thinking it over in my head, I blushed with embarrassment. I hadn't even thought of how I was to get back to the station. The rest of my money I had spent on the Underground to get here.
He noticed my hesitation. "Allow me to order a cab for you. A lady shouldn't be walking the streets alone. London is a breeding ground for criminals of all types."
"I really couldn't, Mr. Holmes," I stuttered, surprised by his philosophy more than his chivalrous attitude. "A hansom is far above my budget..."
He raised an eyebrow. "Then you must allow me to - "
"No!" I interrupted angrily. "I won't take charity."
He smiled mischievously, his grey eyes bright. "Would you prefer me to walk you over to the station then? Those shoes might prove a problem, however..." He let the sentence trail off, leaving me to lament about my too-small shoes. Damn the man! He was as sly as a fox.
Instruction
Seeing the incredulous look on my face, he burst out laughing. "I believe I know the answer to that, Miss Russell. Just a wait moment and I'll be with you." He hurried out of the room, still chuckling to himself.
With a frown, I gathered my now-empty reticule and stood by the door. Mr. Holmes reappeared soon after, wearing a black city suit. I followed him down the stairs and out the front door. Once he hailed a cab, he turned back to me.
"Have no fears about your case, Miss Russell. I will do everything in my power to help you."
I held out my hand and, thankfully, he shook it this time.
"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," I said. "When should I expect to hear from you again?"
He smiled enigmatically, which worried me slightly.
"I shall find you. But the problem is, will you know it's me?"
Before I could reply, he handed me into the cab and handed the driver a full shilling.
"Make sure the lady arrives safely," he instructed, then stepped away as the driver urged the horse on.
I tried to turn and look back at him, but when I did, he was gone.
A/N: thanks to everyone who's reviewed so far! I never expected this to get so many so quickly. If you have any questions or comments, please tell me, either in a review or in an e-mail. I'm open to suggestions. :-) One more thing, I've decided to leave the title as it is (it's grown on me) and possibly make this the beginning of a short series. I don't intend to mirror the original series too closely, but some aspects will be similar, for the sake of trying to keep to kanon.
