Murder at the matinée – Part 1
Harriet:
It was little more than a week after we had successfully got Joseph Lopscombe into prison, where he now awaited his trial, that I arrived home from a long and weary day at St. Anne's. I had felt off for a couple of days now and hoped I was not coming down with something. Handing Tom my hat, coat and umbrella, I climbed up the stairs to the sitting room, where I found to my dismay, that my husband was bend over a chemical experiment that filled the air with a rather pungent smell of sickly sweetness.
"What on earth are you doing?" I sighed, as I entered the room, the air thick with smoke.
"I am trying out something. But I have to admit I had little success so far." my husband answered, looking rueful.
"What is this stench?" I wrinkled my nose and dashed over to the window to open it, gagging.
"An extraction of belladonna, peppermint, red currant and flavoured gum Arabic."
"I must inform you now, that I do not own a life insurance and will never give my consent to have one taken out on me." I gasped, still trying to control my rising nausea.
He had joined me at the window and now was laughing heartily, while I felt rather wretched, only just able to refrain from retching.
"So, what exactly was this experiment supposed to prove?" I dug deeper, giving him a peck on his lips at last.
"That George Williamson of Idaho was killed by his partner in business, by managing to infuse gum Arabic with an extract of belladonna."
"I suppose he liked to chew gum?"
"He did. He also liked to make money with it."
"Chewing gum?"
"No, making it. He was one of the partners of Williamson and Blythe the upstart sweet manufacturers in the American mid-west."
"Ah, that now explains everything. Apart from why you are working on the case. Last time I checked we lived in the English capital, called London..." I said, with a sarcastic undertone. I had been so looking forward to a comfortable evening at home, that the lingering smell damped my mood considerably.
"I work on it, because I received this telegram this morning, shortly after you left. And since I had nothing better to do, I thought I might as well look into it."
He reached into his waistcoat pocket and handed me a crumpled piece of paper.
I read through it, with increasing irritation. "And just who is this Inspector Millar to ask for your help? Isn't it a bit silly, considering the distance?"
"Are you angry at me?"
"No, but I am greatly annoyed by the aroma you have created. I have had putrid smells most of the day, I am not in the mood to sit around in them all evening as well. I honestly feel quite sick from it already, I don't think I can bear to stay here all evening long."
"We could curl up in bed and read a bit," he suggested.
"Yes, we could, if you had not left the bedroom door open." I pointed at the only leaning door.
"Oh, no!" slapping his palm against his forehead, he then pulled me close, holding me, my head against his shoulder, whispering into my ear: "Can you forgive me?"
"Of course. I love you, I think I can forgive you almost anything. But could we stay at my house for the night?" I answered him, a small smile slipping across my features as he looked at me in the most sheepish manner.
"That, my dear is a brilliant idea. Then we can leave the windows open a fraction and by tomorrow the smell should have evaporated."
"Yes, with any luck..." I replied, reluctant to believe the stench would clear away so quickly.
xxx
Sherlock:
"Is your maid still not back?" I asked as we climbed out of the cab, eyeing the dark house, looming up from behind the shrubs and trees.
"No. A family matter." Harriet explained matter of factly, walking ahead of me and unlocking the door.
We stepped into the dark and cold hallway and I could feel my wife tense slightly. Turning up the gas, it immediately became a more cheerful place – and one devoid of dolls swinging from the ceiling.
"Do you want me to take care of the fires?" I asked while helping her out of her coat.
"Yes, then I can make us some dinner," she answered.
I looked confused. Surely she would not have left anything in the house for the many weeks she had stayed away, and think it was still edible? But as it turned out, I had underestimated my wife and her skill in stock keeping. - And in cooking.
"Do you want me to stoke all of them?" , I wanted to know, when I had collected as many coal-scuttles as I could carry at once, to re-fill them.
"No, the one in the bedroom, the bathroom and the living room should do – and I took care of the range." she had wrapped an apron around her skirt, rolling up the sleeves of her shirtwaist and I saw, that the range was already fired. Following me downstairs and into the cellar, Harriet pointed out the coal cellar.
Through the door of the larder, I saw an array of jars, smoked and salted meats and fish as well as some bottles of wine and crates of apples, pears, nuts, onions and potatoes.
"What did you think?" she inquired when I remarked on it. "This room is perfect for keeping things fresh – the temperature stays almost the same in winter as in summer. And did you not search the whole house anyway?"
"Yes, twice, but the cellar door was obviously untouched, so I saw no reason to waste my energy on it. But anyway, now I am getting quite hungry."
"Yes, me too, but it will take a while till I am done. - I hope you like fried potatoes."
"Yes, very much so."
We were just about to ascend the steep steps to the ground floor again when the doorbell chimed.
"Who on earth..." my wife asked, sounding none too pleased. "I hope it is not my neighbour. She is a bit of a hypochondriac and currently expecting her first child. Not a good combination at all."
"Do you want me to answer the door? I could always claim you are indisposed, have been murdered or something."
"I would appreciate that," Harriet answered laughing, letting me pass.
It was not her neighbour, however, but her friend Anne Fraser, together with her husband, who stood on our doorstep.
"I am so sorry, we are calling this late and unannounced, but we saw the lights were on and I have an invitation for you and your wife, Mr Holmes." the lady smiled, looking apologetic.
"Please, come in, I'll go and get Harriet. She is busy in the kitchen and I doubt it is advisable for you to venture there, seeing you are on your way to an evening party."
"Yes, we are." she looked puzzled. "And we do indeed have little time, I am afraid. But do you think you could arrange to join us next Friday for a matinée at the Lyceum? I am aware it is on a rather short notice, but we have a box and we thought you might be interested and..."
Behind me, Harriet had appeared, arms laden with groceries.
"Anne? What is the matter? Is something wrong with Louise?" and putting down the bowl with the vegetables she had brought up on the side table, she stepped forward, hugging her friend, bearing a worried expression.
"Oh, no nothing is wrong at all and my little darling is as well as she could be. We only just passed and thought we might as well ask if you would like to join us for Bach's Brandenburg Concertos on Friday next. We have a box for the matinée and after that, we could go and have dinner somewhere. I did threaten to invite you, after all." Anne Fraser teased, making Harriet smile lopsidedly.
"Dear?" my wife looked at me in a way that made it clear she would like to go, and since I was rather partial to Bach as well, and wanted her to have a nice evening with her friends, it was agreed on.
"So, where were we?" Harriet asked, as the door had closed behind them, looking confused and tired after the sudden interlude and it occurred to me, that she must have had a very trying day indeed. "Ah, yes, I wanted to prepare dinner. Now it is already past half past eight! Can you still wait, or can I offer you an apple till I have managed to get the potatoes done?"
"I can wait, my dear. I can also give you a hand with the cooking, you do look exhausted. You know what? I first help you in the kitchen and then light the fire in the bedroom and after we have eaten, I tuck you in and read something to you. How about it?"
"That sounds absolutely wonderful, Sherlock, but I would like to take a bath before going to bed. I was not exaggerating when I said I had a lot of pungent smells invade my nostrils today. From open sores to a woman who… - Oh, never mind. By the way, you still smell of your experiment as well." she wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"If I remember it correctly your bathtub is big enough for two." I smiled and she grinned back.
"I think so. - So if you could heat the boiler now, we will have the luxury of having a steaming hot bath by the time we have finished our meal." she advised me, beginning to peel the potatoes and onions.
"Anything to please my wife." I smiled, kissing her neck before picking up the coal scuttles to march upstairs.
xxx
The pungent smell from my experiment was more persistent than I had thought and I had ended up staying in Chiswick for the rest of the week, while Watson had moved out of our shared rooms more speedily than he had originally planned to. For two days he and I, having nothing better to do, with my wife back at work and no case for me to solve, had moved around some furniture already, making sure, Mary Watson would be able to move about the rooms without too much hassle. But it was Harriet, who made it look like a home again, with a couple of flowers, arranging the cushions and doilies and putting everything the lady of the house might want and require within her reach and it was also due to her, that within the week, a woman had been found who would make a suitable nurse to the paralysed lady.
The day after our retreat to Chiswick, Tom had joined us there sometime during the afternoon and was quickly getting adept at lighting fires, cleaning grates, setting the table and so forth. On his second morning, Harriet had already departed for Lisson Grove, I found him desperately trying to open the living room window to let in some fresh air, but to no avail. I had almost forgotten about the nails, I had hammered into the windowsills, to keep intruders from opening the latches from the outside and had to admit, that at the time, I had been a little bit overzealous.
We eventually managed to remove them with the help of some pliers and a visible dent in the wooden windowsill, where I had pressed down the tool for some leverage. It took us the whole morning to get all the nails out, but at long last, it was done and even the kitchen window could be opened again.
"You know, you could have tied a bit of wire or string around the latch to keep it from slipping out when forced," Tom told me, matter of factly, when we had pulled out the very last nail, and I realised that he was quite right.
"Do me a favour, boy, don't tell my wife," I replied, ruffling his hair, remembering that at the time she had thought my measures a bit extreme.
"No, not me, sir." he grinned.
"What is he not supposed to tell me?"
Both of us wheeled around to find Harriet standing in the doorway, looking bemused and it was quite evident, that she had been watching us for some time.
"Nothing!" Tom piped up in a way that made her smile broadly – and round up on me instead.
"You are home early." I tried to change the subject. But like many a married man before me, came to the realisation, that a wife can be the most persistent creature in the world if she chooses to. - And Harriet had chosen to.
Owing up to my mistake, I felt like I always had, when I had been caught red-handed by my uncle when still a boy myself. She tried to look stern but failed miserably. Shaking her head, she looked up at me, with a smirk on her lips and a twinkle in her eyes and I knew there was no storm brewing.
"Oh, and Sherlock, I am home this early, because we have been invited to the theatre, remember?"
I had not, of course.
xxx
I was done changing rather quickly, while Harriet, with her mane of thick long hair, needed considerably more time to get ready to follow the Fraser's invitation and I was quite looking forward to seeing her in something other than her plain everyday attire. I had, of course, glanced into her wardrobe and had seen several evening and ball gowns, and I was certain, she would look stunning in any of them.
Returning downstairs, I checked on Tom, who had been charged with solving some mathematical calculations as part of his education, we had agreed on giving him. He knelt on a chair at our kitchen table, chewing on his pencil, completely engrossed in his task. I left him to his work and instead, in expectation of an afternoon of lovely music, sat down at Harriet's piano and began playing a tune from her sheet music. Till now, we had never got around playing music together, I realised to my dismay, determined to change that sometime soon.
"I did not know you can play the piano as well," she spoke softly, stepping into the living room and casting a quick glance at the clock hanging on the wall, I realised, I had been quite lost in my task as well. I turned around and my jaw dropped in awe.
My wife always looked lovely, but now she was downright stunning. Her silk dress had a deep shade of violet-blue, with an ornamental embroidery around the hem of her skirt and at the end of her elbow - length sleeves. This embroidery was a few shades darker than the fabric and only when she moved, one could see the thin thread of silver, that was entwined with the blue ones. The dress showed some cleavage, but only just enough to make a man make a double take without actually staring. She did not wear a necklace, but a sparkling pair of gold and crystal earrings and her hair was pinned up with the aid of an unassuming crystal embedded comb, in a way, that two curls fell over her left shoulder. Most women would need a pair of curling tongs to achieve this, but my wife was fortunate enough to have hair curling naturally in soft loose corkscrew ringlets – given she allowed it to hang loose, which was but rarely.
"Is everything all right?" she asked, looking down at herself, her cream coloured gloves still in her hands.
"Everything all right?" I managed to articulate, answering quite bluntly: "At the moment I am the happiest of man. - Because tonight I can take this beauty home with me and make love to her."
"So I take it I look halfway decent?" she mused, sitting down on the piano stool next to me, playing the second to the tune I had practised.
"No, not halfway decent at all!" I exclaimed, turning to face her. "Harriet, you look breathtaking. You are always pretty, no matter what, but at this moment, I do wonder, how I deserve a wife this beautiful and intelligent."
"Thank you," she whispered, and to my astonishment her eyes flowed over, tears streaking her lovely face.
"What is the matter, dear?"
"That was just very nice of you to say, I am not very used to receiving compliments." she admitted, looking embarrassed, wiping her cheeks with the back of her hand.
I was taken aback. How could one not compliment this gorgeous woman? And then I remembered her remark on the train home from Winchester. Perhaps she was just a little too daunting for most people and men especially. Something I thought odd, thinking that she was such a kind-hearted creature. - Well, society was rarely interested in kindness, but more in small talk and that was indeed a skill, my wife had yet to learn. Pulling her into an embrace, I held her close to me, whispering in her ear: "I love you!"