De Profundis
" Horror and doubt distract/ His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir/ The hell within him."
Paradise Lost
Nothing was said during the first seconds of her presence in the room. Simon was for the moment lost in his record, not fully aware of the addition to their party. The noise of the pages he flipped through to find the entry was the only thing to be heard.
Holmes concentrated on making his heart declench. It had probably been just the initial shock of the unexpected encounter - but by God! Kitty was so beautiful he found it hard to bear. Her tender, petite limbs should have been alike to a child's - if it weren't for the regal attitude with which they wore the slightly extravagant dress that rippled down the body in casual folds and was held together at her small waist with a belt. Although it was during the day, she wore long gloves and a black velvet neckband, a round black hat askew on the masses of golden-red hair which had been carelessly piled up on her head, Gibson-Girl style. The stare from her light grey eyes was unwavering and even provocative, a sullen red mouth contrasted appealingly with her marble white skin. To have her here, so close, and yet not here…
He knew where the borderline to mania began, and he hastened to clear his thinking. Of course this was not his dead wife. The swan-like neck, so much like Kitty's, but lacking the traces of violence, was there to prove it. It was the other woman, the woman he had not, as yet, ceased to think of as a little girl that put a trusting hand in his and pestered him with questions about a camel's natural habitat. This was little Fanny, or, as he should probably call her now, -
"Mademoiselle Morris."
Fanny had closed the door with a rather marked thud, and Monsieur Simon finally looked up from his folder, taking the pen out from between his teeth where it had been sitting.
"Will you have a seat, please?"
"I don't 'ave much of a choice, do I?" Fanny Morris returned, moving smoothly towards the remaining empty chair and sinking into it. "That is, unless I wish to kick me 'eels. Far as I remember, Monsieur, our last session took jus' a li'le bit over an hour. Which was better than the session before that - one and an 'alf."
Simon raised an eyebrow. "I am sorry we disturbed you at you workplace, Miss Morris - "
" - repeatedly now. I don't know exac'ly what you think 'ow a business works, M. Simon, but I can assure you from me experience that 'aving the police in and outta the place does not add much credit to it in th' eye of the customer."
Fanny spoke with determination and decision in spite of her young age and the defacing accent that had always made the hair rise on his nape when he had heard it from Kitty. Her whole demeanour - cold, demanding, rationalist - was that of a prudent tradesperson. It sparked another memory of his: Fanny, standing barefoot on top of an empty barrel, practising her market cry - Sunflower, cornflower, cauliflower! Come, buy! - and she and Kitty had joked about the great career that was probably ahead of her. What innocent days those had been!
Monsieur Simon cleared his throat. "Mademoiselle Morris, I think it is in order to remind you that you are in no situation to negotiate the number of times we may summon you into this office. You are even less so than most people that come here. Remember, pray, that your own part in this extraordinary chain of events is far from unambiguous. You would do yourself a favour to act accordingly."
Her mouth was a positive defiant pout now. " Ah, indeed! Remind me! I 'ad forgotten I 'ad played a part in the disappearance of me friend Madame Zhao and the Queen's funny golden toy! If only I could remember what it was!"
Clearly, this was leading nowhere. Holmes raised his chin. "Frances, would you be so good as to explain the nature of your acquaintance with Madame Zhao in more detail? How did you first meet?"
At the sound of her first name, M. Simon pricked up his ears. "Forgive me, M. Holmes. You know the young lady?"
A dark and a light pair of grey eyes briefly crossed glances with one another. It was Holmes who decided to supply the requested information.
"We are...relatives of a sort, you might say, M. Simon."
"Distant relatives", Fanny emphasized, her stare stony.
"Oh?" Simon was not happy with the turn of events. "How distant, may I ask?"
"No blood relatives at all. She is my deceased wife's niece", Holmes returned, slightly unnerved. "However, there is no reason why this should make any difference to the way I am going to conduct the investigation."
"Of course not." The neutral tones left it to the listener whether or not M. Simon was convinced by the averment. He had obviously decided to leave it at that, for now.
"If you will", Holmes returned to Fanny, prompting her to respond to his initial question.
She gave him a long look that clearly assessed him. Finally, she deigned to reply. "Madame Zhao, Mr. 'olmes, was - is - a customer of my employer, Madame Martinez. Our fashion boutique is located on the Boulevard Haussmann. Since Madame Zhao is a resident o' Montmartre, the distance to the shop would constitute a rather insurmountable challenge for a woman 'er age."
"She is 63", M. Simon provided behind a raised hand. Holmes nodded impatiently.
"Aye. An' she 'as a bad back. In such cases, however, we provide a home-service...which is a li'le more expensive, o' course, but there's many people that fink it's worth it. Now, I was the employee Madame Martinez sent when Madame Zhao wished ter give us a first commission - I took her orders, her measures, the sketches she had made herself. An' when the dress was ready - a strange, asian sort of costume! - I called on 'er again fer the fittings."
"And this is how you became friends", Holmes presumed, always a little unsure about the mechanisms of this process.
"Not at once. She made a few more orders at our shop, and every time, I volunteered ter go, and I ended up seeing 'er in my spare time, is a nice old lady, really nice, and no filthy thief!" Fanny suddenly exclaimed, hotly.
He let that pass without comment. "I understand you were the last person who saw Madame Zhao before her disappearance. That was at her flat, I take it?"
"No. She 'ad asked me out to a café in Montmartre where we was wont to go."
"I see. And to you, whom you knew her relatively well, did she seem her usual self? Or was she nervous - agitated? Did she say anything?"
"Nofink." Her burst of temper had been fleeting, and Fanny had returned to her former state of cold sullenness. "She was….what she was like usually. I 'ave nofink more to say."
He sighed. "Frances. Please, this is important. It would help if you could remember anything. It would help to find your friend, who may find herself in serious danger. We might be able to trace her, to rescue her if necessary, but we need something to go on."
Frances sneered. It was ugly and shocking in so young a person, and the situation warranted no approximation to a smile, not even such a distorted one. "I say, Mr. 'olmes! So you can rescue women, can't you? And 'ere I thought you were good only in destroying 'em."
M. Simon seemed bewildered at that, but Holmes chose to ignore the affront. "What about her Majesty's orb then? It must be found. Surely, living abroad has done nothing detrimental to your patriotism? You are english in your sympathies, aren't you?"
"As english as the cliffs of Dover, Mr. 'olmes."
Her hatred was blatant. It seemed to make the air colder, the walls of the room closer. He found it hard to breathe. Every time he winked, he seemed to catch glimpses of a scene his dreams had made him familiar with: Kitty, walking up the coastal path, tears streaming down her face. Tears for the less than perfect baby she had given him, for his rejection, his incapability of accepting this caprice of nature. She would turn around one last time, to see the far away house, sheltered from the winds in its depression, she would raise her hand in a hesitant adieu - and then she would walk straight over the cliff, into thin air….
He usually woke at this point, shouting and clutching at things: Anything, from the book he had fallen asleep over to the hair on his own head. He tried to hold, to save, but it was too late; he was awake. And now, he had not even been sleeping, although he had been looking into Kitty's eyes constantly, reproaching him with his sins beyond the grave. Yes, yes! He was to blame! He did not need this nightmarish doppelgänger to remind him of that.
He got up in a swift movement, towering over Fanny who remained seated, kept where she was by the mere weight of her hard heart. "Miss Morris, you will restrict yourself to answering my questions unless you wish to suffer the consequences. I am in no mood to subject myself to your extremely inappropriate frolic about our mutual loss. It is quite sufficient that you disgraced your aunt Mary's funeral with remarks of this sort. Please understand that my patience is at an end."
Effortlessly, she maintained her sneer. "M. Simon, is it at all possible that I be questioned by somebody who is not prejudiced against me? Superintendent Dulage, perhaps?"
That was too much. She had definitely crossed the line.
His alar wings quivered, which never boded well for the one calling forth his distaste. Taking one step away from her, Holmes with a jab of his chin indicated the door. "That is enough, Miss Morris - for today. Now get out."
She smiled widely, though her eyes were surprised at the command in his voice. With a cat-like leap, she got up from her chair, and moved past him in a manner he could only describe as insolent. At the door, she revolved with her strange, broad smile, a pose which made him feel her hatred all the more.
Then she was gone, so suddenly he wondered whether she had ever really been there. Meeting the searching gaze of M. Simon, however, he decided that she probably had.
oooOOOooo
I left the Sécurité with a measured step, and maintained it for two blocks before I broke into a run. It felt good to move so fast, to leave it all behind me.
It was a comfort to think I could run away.
My strength lasted for maybe twenty minutes. When the Île de la Cité came into view, my pace deteriorated into a slow jog. I felt tears pricking at the corners of my eyes, and wiped them away angrily.
How dare he insinuate I did not feel Aunt Cathy's loss. I had loved her dearly, and he had taken her from me, forever. And how dare he suggest I were indifferent to what had happened to Madame Zhao - my remaining, my only friend in this place. How dare he. How dare he.
Nôtre Dame began throwing long shadows across the water. I collapsed onto a bench by the Seine esplanade, burying my head in the crook of my arm. Shaken by bitter, angry sobs, I remembered Aunt Cathy, my lovely aunt, my refuge from the hardships and dangers of Limehouse. She had provided a shelter for my baby brother Nicholas and me, whenever the threatening presence of our drunken, insane father loomed, whenever our mother had been scorchingly unfair toward me in her blind, ignorant jealousy. She had resented her sister, who was so much better than her in every way, and resented me for being fond of her, for resembling her.
And when things had started to be really bad between mother and me - when we had moved to Ireland - she had come. Never will I forget the happiness of this winter, only excelled by the time I had spent in her Sussex home. I had thought it would go on like this forever. I had wished for it.
But then the baby had come - adorable, moon-faced, but deficient in the eyes of the world. Aunt Cathy would not have minded. She would have cared for it, would have cherished it for what it was: A lovable, innocent soul. But not everybody was like her. Mr. Holmes was not like her. He had punished her for it. His criminal neglect had killed her, and the baby, too.
I yanked a handkerchief out of my pocket, drying my eyes.
Holmes would have to pay for the damage he had done. Uncle John said he was lonely, unhappy - well, serve him right. I hoped he would suffer agonies until the day hell freezes over. And I hoped I would never again be made to face him, to speak to him as though he were not my enemy. That he was, and the enmity maybe was the only thing I was left with - all friendships lost.
Indeed, perhaps it was better for me to have no friends at all. On whosoever my affection was bestowed seemed to suffer a horrible fate. Madame Zhao's disappearance only attested to the rule. Where was she, and what had become of her? Had she gone away on her own accord, and if so, why? She had not stolen the silly thing. Surely she would have let me know if she had intended to leave for any length of time. On the other hand, could there have been an abduction? Had she been hidden away somewhere; imprisoned? Dead?
Maybe I would never know. The police wasn't any good. I sensed all too well their suspicion of me, masked by polite requests and careful expressions. It would not come as a surprise entirely if I would find myself in jail in the end. The prospect had not even the power to frighten me.
The belfry across the water struck the full hour. I knew I could not remain eternally on this bench. Soon, the patrol would focus their attention on me, and I had no use for that. In addition, it was getting colder.
Shoving my handkerchief back into my pocket, I rose and started back for home, gloomy thoughts stirring my mind.
Hi Folks!
Oups - another sad chapter. I hope to get started on the case soon, however, so we can have more action in the story! Hope I made no blunders in the story continuity from "A Study in Wedlock" to "The Adventure of the Red-Headed Intrigue". Always on the lookout, but you're never quite safe.
Taken away by my heroine, I wanted to have my hair dyed red. It kinda didn't work out, hair's still the old colour. But my hairdresser thinks I look awesome! :-P
Best, Mrs. F