A needle in a haystack - Part 1

Harriet:

We spend the night at an inn at Petersfield as it was getting too late to gown to the coast and get lodgings there and only the next morning we made our way to Bognor Regis, renting a small cottage a few miles out of town for the reminder of the week. It overlooked the Channel, standing somewhat precariously close to the small cliff it was built on, the grey and stormy sea thundering as if directly underneath us. But what a stunning sight! Whilst on one hand quite foreboding, on the other it was oddly calming to listen to the waves crashing against the limestone rocks and the air was filled with the salty spray of the diffused water.

When we alighted from the dogcart we had hired to get there the cottage looked comfortable enough. In the snowy landscape, the tiny house looked quite welcoming, had it not been for the lack of smoke from the chimney which clearly showed us, that no fire was burning inside to welcome us. The path to its front door was not cleared and we waded through almost knee deep and pristine snow to get into the house, but once we opened the door we found that it was nicely furnished and appeared very cosy, despite the freezing cold inside. - Which perhaps was not much of a surprise as it had stood empty since the early autumn when the last tourists had left the area. The windows were covered with frost patterns, our breaths fogged up and it was to our great relief that we found the coal supply to be aplenty.

"If you take care of the fire in the sitting room, I'll take care of the stove and a pot full of steaming hot tea." I offered, rubbing my cold hands together in an attempt to get them warm enough to perform this simple task.

"That my dear sounds like a very good plan. I'll bring in our suitcases and the food and after that, we could curl up on the sofa and read a bit." Sherlock suggested, his expression akin to that of a child in a candy shop as he searched around for a coal scuttle and soon found it behind the door of the lumber room.

I set to work and half an hour later the kettle was whistling and I poured the tea while Sherlock, at last, brought in our groceries, his cheeks sporting some colour, hair dishevelled and a smile on his thin lips.

"Have I told you how lovely you look, my dear?" he enquired. "You look quite at home."

I laughed, thanked him for the compliment and paid him one in return.

It was slowly but surely getting warm inside and I, at last, was able to take off my coat and enjoy the peace and quiet of the place. This was certainly preferable to a formal function, no matter how much I loved my brother and sister and how much I would have liked to see my mother again. Then again, my mother had a knack for sensing whenever a woman was in the family way and as of yet, I was not prepared to share this secret with the rest of my family. No, they would have to wait another couple of months till I would not be able to hide my condition any longer.

As if he had read my thought my husband wrapped his arms around me from behind, pulling me against him and held me close for a moment of perfect contentment, till we did as he had suggested and made ourselves comfortable on the well-worn sofa, placed underneath one of the living room windows to afford a wonderful view of the sea. Far in the distance, a boat made its way westward.

We read on for about an hour or two cuddled together, me leaning against him while one of his arms was wrapped around me. But eventually my mind began to stray and what had been distracting me since two nights ago broke through the surface and I addressed the issue of me possibly leaving St. Anne's. Sherlock Holmes listened in silence, his book still in hand and his face thoughtful.

When I had finished he remarked: "Will you be happy just staying at home, Harriet? I know you are as passionate about your profession as I am about mine. I have to admit however that I would prefer for you not to work at the hospital, for the sake of our baby, but at the same time I would not want to see you unhappy."

At this earnest and thoughtful speech tears welled up once again and I answered him: "I honestly don't know. I am so confused at the moment it is driving me insane. This has been on my mind ever since I was certain I was pregnant. I know I cannot have it all. I know it would be better if I gave up my profession as there is always the danger of an infection that might do harm, and yet I am unable to make a decision. My heart refuses to listen to my brain and I feel uncomfortable with either option."

My husband, at last, put his book aside and pulled me ever so much closer to him till my head rested on his shoulder, his hand stroking my hair soothingly.

"Perhaps we will find a solution where you don't have to choose. At least not between work and our child. St. Anne's is not the only alternative for you after all."

By the way, he said those words I glanced up at him and saw a small smile replace his thoughtful expression.

"And those alternatives are? Sherlock, I am a woman, I did not have many options in the first place, and not only that I am married and I am with child. Do you really think I have another option?" I was quite curious as to what he had on his mind as I saw no alternative for me than to stay at home and resign myself to motherhood.

I had known that eventually, this would be unavoidable. Most men, especially in our class of society, did not even let their wives follow a profession if they had any that was. It was one thing I had appreciated about Sherlock Holmes, that he did not mind me working as a doctor at all, and even supported me in my chosen profession. But he had also made it clear from the start that he wanted a family rather sooner than later, which was just as well as neither of us was exactly young anymore. And while I had wanted one, too, I had pushed any thought about the consequences of what inevitably would follow far to the back of my mind, not expecting to have to deal with the matter quite so soon. After all, we were only married for little more than two months. So while I was decidedly happy about my condition, elated even, at the same time I conscious that my life would have to alter quite drastically.

"Well, I have to admit my suggestion might sound a bit selfish," Sherlock began, "but perhaps you could work as an assistant for Doctor Bell. - Do some research, compare cases and the like. I doubt you will get paid though, but it is not as if we are dependent on your salary. You could contribute a great deal, helping the police and me, all the while satisfying your own curiosity and do something very useful."

At first, I gaped at him, but then had to smile. That I presumably would not earn anything or only very little in such a position would not make much of a difference as my main income was from what my father had left and invested for me, so much was true. As it was all the money I had received from my position had been re-invested into the hospital anyway. But if it was possible to work with the coroner I would have a purpose other than waiting for our child to be born.

"Do you really think he would allow me to assist him?" I asked him eagerly, fully aware that I sounded like a child who had just been promised a treat.

Sherlock chuckled at my expression then nodded.

"Well yes, why not? I will speak to him as soon as we are back in London. If you want me to, that is. But with your curious disposition, I think this might suit you very well. I doubt Doctor Bell will object to such a scheme, not since you have proven yourself worthy at any rate."

My mind wandered back to the murder of Mr Thompson and the first time I had met the slightly abrasive and decidedly shrewd man. But the more I thought about the idea, the more it grew on me. Though the thought of leaving the small charity hospital I had run for the better part of three years and with it all the people who had come to trust me, still made my heart heavy. There I had toiled in the knowledge to be exactly where I was needed the most, while at the same time I had the best possible conditions for more research. I was, after all, not so altruistic as to not wanting anything out of it as well. In this instance, it had been knowledge that had been my reward. I also refused to get my hopes up in case Sherlock's idea would come to nothing in the end. After all who knew how the good old doctor would react to such a request?

I voiced my worries and was rewarded with a gentle kiss, one of my husband's irresistible grins and his assurance that if I could not help Doctor Bell I could always help him.

"Don't I do that anyway?" I asked, laughing.

"Hm, yes, admittedly." he mused.

"And would not hunting criminals be even more dangerous than working at a hospital?" I dug deeper.

"Yes, but while I hunt them down in the streets, you could safely sit at home and..."

"And worry about your safety," I replied wryly.

"Well, perhaps that as well," Sherlock replied smirking. "Oh dear, we are a pair indeed! I wonder if other couples have similar problems?"

"I doubt it. Mainly for the reason that their wives don't insist on working."

"Technically neither do you, you just happen to do it anyway - but I would not want it any other way. If I had wanted an ordinary wife I could have married a long time ago, but alas, I did not. What I wanted was a Harriet Stephrey. You know, you are right, sometimes my profession is a dangerous one, and exactly that is the reason why I would not have married a lesser woman than you. If ever something should happen to me, you and our children would not suffer from destitution at least and believe me, that is some comfort to me."

Once more his words made me tear up. As it was I was unable to deal even with the thought of something happening to the man I loved so dearly at the best of times.

"Hush, dear! All will be well. I intend to grow old with you and I will be very careful in all my undertakings. That I promise."

xxx

The two days passed uneventfully. We did nothing but reading, sometimes play some music, as conveniently the cottage was equipped with a slightly off-tune piano, and go for short walks, in the cold winter air. I was feeling a lot better for it, though I still was tremendously tired, easily irritated and often sick, which led so far, that my husband refrained from drinking coffee in the morning as that usually upset me.

It was on our last night that we lay in bed, as always snuggled together closely, speaking about our plans for the following week, which comprised of me resigning, visiting Mary and not much more – unless Doctor Bell agreed to our scheme. Sherlock had no case at hand but had found a couple of newspaper articles which had caught his attention and roused his suspicions. He was a vigilant man, following every potential crime closely lest he should be engaged in the case.

"Harriet, there is one thing I actually would like to ask you," Sherlock said after a few minutes of content silence after which all had been settled.

"Yes?" I mumbled drowsily, close to falling asleep.

Somewhat hesitantly he asked: "Would you mind me being there when our baby is born?"

Glancing up I met his eyes which were glistening in the semi-darkness as the moon shone through our window, and saw that he was serious in his request.

"Are you sure you would want that?" I enquired, knowing full well that most men preferred to stay as far away from their wives as they possibly could while they were in labour.

"I would not ask if I were not." was his earnest reply as his hand slipped down to rest on my stomach as if he could not wait to feel our child's first movement.

"Then how can I refuse? But, Sherlock, you must promise me to leave the instant you start to find it unbearable."

"Is it so bad?"

His eyebrows had shot up to almost his hairline in an expression of heightened concern.

"It can at times. It can drag on for hours, sometimes even days, is painful and exhausting and emotionally challenging, to say the least." I answered matter of factly, ignoring my own fears this excited.

"Then how can I not be there? How could I let you go through this all on your own?"

"Most men do, nowadays at least."

"I am not most men!" my husband exclaimed somewhat indignantly.

"No, and I am glad you are not." I smiled at him affectionately. "And thus I would love to have you by my side."

Snuggling up to Sherlock again I began to feel sleepy, now that these issues had been addressed, and soon after fell asleep, my mind so much lighter than it had been before. I really had married the best of men.