The worst of days – Part 8
Harriet:
As I watched my husband prepare for an evening out, I was worried, though I did not know why. Going to the club was a perfectly harmless business, not much different from going to the theatre. But at the back of my mind, the knowledge, that he might get into someone's way, nagged me. Only a week ago I had seen that a desperate creature would stop at nothing. But at last I could claim to have shot a monster disguised as a woman and I was surprised myself, how little I was bothered by the thought of having killed someone.
Quietly opening the door to the sitting room, I saw the doctor leaning back in his chair, worn and exhausted, but no longer crying. Instead, he stared into the fire in contemplation and his face showed something akin to relief. Perhaps Sherlock had found the right moment to tell him, after all. Perhaps the man's emotions had needed the floodgate thus created.
I walked into the room decidedly, turning up the gas lighting and pouring a glass of brandy, handing it to the mourning man.
"I am so sorry for my outburst..." he began, looking embarrassed.
"There is nothing to be sorry for, Doctor Watson," I assured him.
"No, perhaps not," he admitted, taking a large gulp of the spirit. "And you know, it might sound weird, but I do feel better now. As if a huge weight was lifted off my chest."
"That I do believe you."
"Where is your husband? I hope he is not hiding from me." he looked at the direction of the bedroom door as if expecting his friend to appear any moment.
"He is gone to his club, trying to find Lopscombe," I answered.
"He never gives up, does he?"
I laughed, remarking, that he would know better than I if that were the case.
"You know, the two of you look so comfortable together, I already find it hard to believe, that once I thought my friend to be a confirmed bachelor."
"It is indeed odd to think, I have only known him for ten days, now. It seems like a lifetime – and in a good sense at that." I confessed, when a shy tap on the door, interrupted our reminiscence.
Carefully Tom stuck his head in, looking concerned at the doctor and I realised, he must have come in earlier, when the man had still been crying.
"Would you like dinner to be served?" he asked when he saw I was present as well.
"That would be very nice, Tom. - Mr Holmes has gone out, by the way."
Dinner was served and Doctor Watson and I talked about his wives return.
"Will you need help with setting up the house again?" I asked.
"Yes, and I need to find a maid and a nurse."
"Then let me know when you need a hand." I offered. "Oh, and perhaps Sherlock can give you a hand in moving the furniture around, so your wife won't have any trouble moving around in a wheelchair."
His face broke into an amused smile
"You think it a good idea to involve that man in manual labour?"
"He told me he has posed as a plumber once, though he did not want to go into any particulars there – I presume a lady was involved, that might explain his reluctance with going into detail - and also, that he had helped out as a gardener and a carpenter on occasion to gather information. Moving furniture should be easy enough then."
The doctor looked perplexed, before asking: "And he has actually worked in these jobs? I always thought he had just posed as a man of these professions."
"You can hardly pose as a plumber when you have not the foggiest how to repair a drain," I argued.
"You might have a point there..."
"So, just let us know."
xxx
It was late at night, when my husband stepped into the living room, making me jump to my feet the instance that I saw him. With a feeling of uneasiness I had waited up and the moment I saw him my worst suspicions seemed confirmed. His nose was bloody, he sported a black eye and a swollen lip and ears and his knuckles were cracked as if he had partaken in a boxing fight. Even the cut on his thumb had once more bled through the thin layer of cotton gauze.
"Oh, you are still up?" he exclaimed, looking surprised.
"I could not sleep. I was worried and the way you look, I seemed to have every reason to."
He looked perplexed then burst out laughing.
"Do I really look as scary as your reaction suggests?" pulling me into his arms he manoeuvred us over to the high board, which had a mirror backing, to see for himself.
"Oh, dear!" he chuckled, "I am sorry to have given you a fright, it was not my intention, I thought you would be sleeping and I would have cleaned myself up before joining you."
"Sherlock, you look as if you have been caught in a fight. Do you mean to say all of this is just makeup?"
"No, it's not makeup and yes, I got into a fight – of sorts. I won it fair and square, by the way."
"Of sorts?!" I snorted in disbelief.
"I met an old friend of mine at the club. We got talking and he had heard of the Lopscombe brothers, telling me they had a certain hobby – which coincided with a past time I indulged in in my younger years."
I raised an expectant eyebrow.
"Boxing," he explained. "So, Parker – that is the friend I mentioned - and I went over to the Supremacy Club, at which he, fortunately, is a member, also."
"Wasn't that the club, where Beaton met the others?"
"Exactly. And the Supremacy has a lot of attractions to offer – from a well-stocked library to gaming tables, as well as a fencing arena and a boxing ring."
We had sat down and I had pulled out my handkerchief to at least stop his thumb from bleeding any further.
"Anyway, Parker has a bit of a gambling habit and he had often bet on fights when in the club. I agreed to get into the ring in an exchange for information. I doubt the young gentleman I fought against had thought he might end up being the one to be counted out. But he was just too impatient. It was a relatively easy fight, considering he was about ten years my junior."
"I am glad you enjoyed it." I sighed. "But I think I should get some cold water, some dressings and a sponge to clean you up."
"That would be wonderful."
"And then you can tell me whether it was worth scaring your wife or not."
xxx
Sherlock:
I felt bad for having forced this reaction from my friend and when Harriet told me off, quite justly as I have to admit, I saw the need to make amends, by searching for the man, I was by now almost certain, had caused the accident. It was not more but a feeling at this point, but assessing the evidence I had, it was a logical conclusion at any rate.
Leaving Harriet to deal with the devastated man, did nothing to make me feel any better, and still, when I had climbed into the Hansom to get to my Club down Pall Mall, a stones-throw from the Diogenes, the anticipation of what might await me, got the better of my emotional dilemma.
I alighted at the Winthrop's Gentleman's Club, where I went but rarely. I, in general, preferred my own home to the formality of a sociable club, but I also saw the need for the connections an establishment like this afforded me. In this instance I was lucky. As soon as I entered, an exclamation of surprise echoed through the entrance hall, and the very man I had hoped to meet with, came into view as he descended the stairs.
"Sherlock Holmes!" a man in his early forties cried, walking towards me with an outstretched hand. "I never thought I would see you again."
"Parker, how are you?" I greeted the fellow, a man I had first met when setting up my business a good fifteen years ago.
"Very, well, very well, thank you. I thought I saw a ghost when you just walked in. Were you not supposed to be dead?"
Inviting him to a glass of good Whiskey I explained the situation.
"You have always been a strange man, Holmes," he remarked, ordering himself another glass and asking if I wanted one, too. I declined, seeing the necessity to keep my wits together and getting drunk would not do.
"Are you still out and about in society much?" I asked him offhand, as he drained his second tumbler.
"You know it is my job, Holmes. The papers pay good money for the latest news on who has done this and who has done that. I still owe you for your advice of freelancing for the press. This way I manage to get the best price with the least effort."
"That is very convenient because I will need some information from you."
"I am all ears." he leaned forward, looking at least as sober as myself, though I doubted he had only just begun with his brandy.
When I had finished my tale he pondered for a while, his fingers drumming on the armrest of his wing-backed chair.
"I think I have met both men," he answered, at last, ordering himself yet another glass, this time mixed with soda. "One, if I remember it right, got arrested, the other I don't know, I haven't seen either in a while."
"Yes, Randolph Lopscombe is imprisoned for treason."
"I could never keep them apart, I have to admit. They are twins – identical ones. Just one was more of a rogue, while the other was quite the gentleman."
"I thought as much. When have you met the other the last time?"
"About the same time his brother got arrested. Perhaps July '93."
"So you saw him after his brother's arrest?"
"Yes, I did, actually. I had taken him to be his brother and asked him if he had managed to escape the police after all. He looked quite taken aback, thinking of it."
"And after that?"
"He seemed to have disappeared from society."
"He was engaged to a young lady, do you know what happened to her?"
"Miss Decker was her name, pretty little thing. It was quite a bit of a scandal. You know, she was engaged to the other brother first?"
That would explain Randolph Lopscombe's contempt towards his brother Joseph.
"Do you know what had led to this change of circumstances?"
"No, I could never find out. Perhaps she had kissed the wrong twin? Wouldn't surprise me, as said, it was difficult to tell who was who."
"When was the engagement broken off?"
"Must have been a couple of months before the arrest and the respective disappearance."
"And when did she get engaged to the other Lopscombe twin?"
"Oh, only a few weeks later. That is why it was so scandalous."
Now it was on me to contemplate what I had just heard. I caught myself playing with my wedding ring, as my thoughts tried to clear themselves.
"Where did you meet them usually?" I at last asked.
"The Supremacy down St. James Street."
"Are you a member?"
"Yes," he answered to my delight.
"Any chance you could introduce me there?"
"Sure. One is allowed to bring guests."
"Good. May I settle your bill?"
"I'd prefer to see you in the ring once more. I am in the mood for a little wager. I'll pay the bill here and you indulge me with aiming four fists and feet at another man's upper half."
"Still prone to your old vices I see."
He laughed, shrugging his shoulders in a mock apology. "What is a man to do? And I am fortunate enough not to have a troubling wife waiting for me at home. I am a free man and why should I not enjoy my freedom?"
"Don't you feel lonely coming home to an empty bed?" I knew his reputation all too well, it seemed.
"Who says my bed is empty at night?" was the reply, accompanied by a saucy smirk. "I am not as stuck up as you are."
"Then it is fortunate that your bed is kept warm by your concubine and mine by my wife. So it suits either lifestyle." I quipped, making him gape at me in surprise. "So, you want me to fight? Actually why not? I am in the mood for a bit of action. Let's go."
We walked the short distance to the Supremacy Club, passing the Diogenes where I spotted my own brother sitting in a window seat, watching the world outside, making his acute observations and enjoying his much-valued peace and silence. I tapped my hat to greet him and he gave a slight nod of acknowledgement.
"This is the only club that will not have me," Parker grumbled. "But you have to apply and then you are questioned by one or other of the founders and one has to abide by so many rules it is ridiculous. - That chap you have just greeted interviewed me, he made me feel like a schoolboy being told off by the headmaster himself"
"Yes, he makes me feel like that most of the time."
"You know him then? Could you not put in a good word for me?" Parker begged.
Shaking my head, I declined the request: "I can imagine that it would get very tedious for you, to spend even just one hour without any conversation, and I dare say, you would not like it very much either, to be completely ignored by the other club members – as that is one of their rules."
He sighed, nodding in agreement. "Yes, I reckon you are right, Holmes. And still, in my line of work, I would have appreciated it."
"There is not much gossiping going on in the Diogenes Club," I assured him, as we neared our destination.
Christopher Parker sighed once more, before resigning himself to his fate of never becoming a member of the Diogenes Club at 79 Pall Mall, London, Whitehall.