The odd couple

„The way seems difficult and steep to scale/

With upright wings against a higher foe."

Paradise Lost

It was in the afternoon of the next day that I saw him again.

My day had been mirthless drudgery so far. A delivery from a local supplier had proven incomplete, and of course Madame had sent me to settle the unpleasant affair with the tradesman. On my return, I realized my bungling colleagues had used my absence to make a mess of a rather expensive bale of duchesse, cutting it up into all the wrong lengths. Lectured and sent back to their ordinary chores, they aimed foul glances at me from time to time as I was sitting at my work table and trying to save what was left of the bale. At around noon, the delivery was repeated according to my request, and again things were missing from the order.

It goes without saying that Madame was not very well pleased with the outcome of my intervention, much less with the ruined duchesse. In her treatment of me, she was no less severe than she was toward the other seamstresses, even though more responsibility rested on my shoulders and my work was more valuable to her. On the contrary, she deigned it appropriate to blame me for the collective fault, and reproached me for failing her as a supervisor.

Thus, my mood was at zero level already when at five o'clock, I locked up the shop behind the last tardy girl. She flitted past me, of a sudden immensely eager to escape into her treasured Saturday evening and free Sunday, before on Monday morning dreary workaday life would again absorb her. I could only too well imagine what she was all about: Listen to Yvette Guilbert at the Lido or the Casino de Paris, made up in her best finery, smiling and laughing her dumb laugh along with many glasses of champagne and cups of black coffee. Presumably, she had some kind of beau who would help her while the night away, a fellow as witless as she, with no aim in life but to raise enough money soon, so he might marry her. On the morrow, after long, restful hours of sleep, she would meet with the other girls from the shop. They would go to a coffee house or cheap restaurant, and chatter about their respective suitors, and rail against evil me. I could see it all before me.

I, however, had other plans. There were no admirers waiting, no friends either, since the disappearance of Madame Zhao. But I would not be idle. I would browse order catalogues for Madame Martinez, do the weekly accounting and finish one or two details on a special commission I had taken home. The two evenings at my disposal bore red marks in my calendar: Saturday, there was a soirée at the Opera Garnier, where I would spy on the finesses of the ladies' wardrobe, and Sunday I had a dinner appointment at Maxim's with a former competitor who was on the point of liquidating his business, and intended to sell stock and machines to us. Besides, there was a broken shade at my place that needed fixing. Altogether I could not complain about lack of occupation. Therefore, I did not envy the girl that virtually bounced down the sidewalk toward the metro station, sunlight playing with her golden plaited hair - why would I? With a small sigh, I slipped the keys into my bag and made to follow her with a more measured step.

There was an intersection just a few steps behind the boutique, and from thence, a long shadow was cast over my path, a shadow of unwelcome familiarity. I raised my eyes.

„Hello, Frances", a calm voice said.

In the twilight of the narrow side road, Sherlock Holmes rested his back against a cast-iron street light, arms crossed over his chest. Automatically, my jaw set, and my eyes narrowed to slits like those of a cornered cat.

„Whatcha want?"

„I want to talk to you."

I did not bother to stop, but he followed as I continued down the road.

„What about?"

He had caught up with me quickly, and now stood in my way, towering over me in a way I resented, because it reminded me of intimidation attempts made by my dealers and other partners in negotiation. My irritation drew my brows closely together, but that was not sufficient to make him step aside.

„About our meeting yesterday. Frances, it was not right to send you away in that manner. Your resentment is understandable and I was a fool to let it annoy me. However, these prejudices must be disregarded if any progress in the investigation is to be made. You DO wish us to make progress, don't you?"

I hesitated. All that hatred was back with a hot and mighty surge; it seemed to boil in my throat and my heart beat faster. He was a murderer! He had slain my Aunt Cathy, had he not? It was not safe to get involved with him. He was cold.

But he was also brilliant. That I could not ignore. Maybe there was truth in what he said…if I could bring myself to trust him, Madame Zhao might be discovered. As far as she was concerned, I had long counted out the police. She had known they could not help her, she must have had reasons for saying these words: „Do not go to the police, girl. Tell them nothing."

But what was there even to tell? Everything was so awfully obscure. There was just nothing solid to go on.

Holmes could see my hesitation. He took a step toward me, fixing his intense, hypnotic gaze on me. I shuddered with resentment, with wrath.

„Frances. This woman could be in severe danger. It is more than probable that she has the King's Orb, or that she knows where it is. There are people who would not mind violence if it helps to get at the treasure. Madame Zhao might have flown such people; and if we can find her before they do, it will be none too early, that much I can promise you."

I felt my mouth open and close stupidly, like a dumb fish. The picture he painted of Madame Zhao's probable situation had been decisive, and yet I could hardly bring myself to acknowledge it. The pain ran deep, and I did not want to risk a loss of face with Holmes.

„What are ye going ter do?" I finally asked.

„Talk to you", he said simply.

oooOOOooo

We sat in the small chocolatérie off the Boulevard Haussmann. I would have preferred somewhere more alcoholic, for I needed a drink for my shattered nerves, but it was the closest place, and didn't matter anyway.

My hands nursed a cup of chocolat chaud which I didn't taste, my lips were set too grimly to allow a single drop in. He was smoking profusely, as he had always done. The thought that he, too, might be nervous, made its tentative appearance, but was dismissed as irrelevant. Besides, he had drained my patience.

„Well, Mr. `olmes? `ow can I contribute to the investigation? All I know I've already set down in me statement." Unconsciously, I maintained a stiff posture and a straight back. He should consider me a sceptic, not an instrument in his undertaking.

He inhaled deeply. „We all know precious little, Frances, that is the point. Madame Zhao is an extraordinary restorer. The damaged artifact is of extraordinary value. She gets the commission in spite of prejudice against her ethnicity. Within two weeks, she disappears. Her flat is devastated. The Orb is gone."

He leaned forward, again fixing his gaze on me. „Is there really nothing you can add to this, Frances?"

I opened my mouth, closed it again, and shook my head.

He appeared to wait in a state of suspension, with a strange glint to his eye. Then, disappointed, he collapsed back into his seat. „Very well. The done thing is now, for the investigator, to comprehend the character of the person in question as precisely as possible, so as to be able to estimate the considerations that may have motivated her course of action."

„You want me to describe `er character?" I fell silent, chewing my lower lip. „I haven't known her that long. Jus' about a year."

He waved me away. „Time does not matter. You remain the most reliable source as regards her person."

„She was `eadstrong", I said, suddenly. „What she wanted had ter be done. I remember makin' some suggestions when she placed her first commission. She wouldn't `ear of any changes. She even chid me for suggesting them."

„She was fond of things? Material things, that is?"

I gave him a nasty look. „No, not the way you fink. She loved things. That's different."

He quirked an eyebrow. „In what way?"

„Well, she did like to collect things. By Jove, `er place is one single big museum", I said and suddenly had to laugh. „She likes to look at things, touch things, play wiv `em. But she does not need to possess `em. Many o` her collections just seem to be there to spark interesting conversation. She gives them away in the end, mostly."

„And what collections are those?"

I furrowed my brow. „All kinds of things. She collects soapstone figurines…china dolls…materials, like papers and silks…origami…chinese knots….Herbs and spices…"

„And she freely gives them away? To whom?"

I shrugged my shoulders. „To visitors, colleagues….jus' people she has to do wiv. It is a Chinese habit. I could never leave `er place wivout one or two gifts, and often more."

„What did she give you, then?"

I disliked the tone of his question. My reply was frigid. „Food, mos'ly. She is a very capable cook. Sometimes clothes, jewellery. Nothing of value."

„But she treated everyone this way?"

„I suppose I was a bit of a favorite. She has a short, imperative temper, and therefore, she is somewhat lonelier than need be. She appreciates society very much, but sometimes frightens visitors away wiv `er o'erwhelming hospitality. People fear they are expected to return her generosity, and are never seen again."

„What do you mean by that?"

„Well, it seems logical, doesn't it? People are not used to these manners. They feel trapped, and it embarrasses them to `ave gifts pressed on them against their will. Also, she always thinks she knows what is best for everyone. Once, it was her desire ter present me wiv some old pieces from her wardrobe. I told her quite blatantly I did not want `em, and she would keep telling me I was a fool not to have these very good things, and in the end, I had to take `em. Another time, she made me accept a glass o' green tea leaves, although I thoroughly dislike green tea. She just repeated its health benefits o'er and o'er again."

Almost exhausted, I stopped, tears pricking in my eyes. Madame Zhao just could not be gone forever. She was one of the finest persons I had ever known, despite her many faults. It is not in the nature of mankind to recognize a gem when it is presented with one, and in this, I presume, lies the reason why she was not as popular as she wished to be. Also, she had been born a child of the East, and things had never been easy for her in France. Now I comprehended that, and if she had been there this very moment, I would have told her so.

Holmes seemed to realize my thoughts had drifted away, for he busied himself with his pocket watch for some moments to give me time to compose myself. I finally took a sip of my chocolat chaud and furtively looked at him.

He looked older than in my memory, that is true. Seven years had passed since the event that had brought our peaceful Sussex life to a sudden end. They had changed him as they had me, and we, once uncle and niece, had turned into strangers. But the fault was his, and, while time had made me into a successful, independent professional, it had degraded him to the dwindling fame and powers of middle age. His prime was over, and mine had just begun.

The sound of his voice roused me from my brown study. Mildly confused, I set down my cup and uselessly stirred the drink which had grown cold. „I beg your Pardon?"

„Madame's flat", he repeated, patiently. „I intend to go there tomorrow and look for such evidence which has not already been disturbed by the helpful hand of the Metropolitan Police. It would be useful to have you there too, if….if you are prepared to come."

I met his gaze with, I suppose a somewhat defiant expression. „Certainly, why not. That is, if it does not take too long, for I still have other things ter do."

„We will make it as short as possible", Holmes observed, signaling to the waiter that we wished to leave. „Two of the clock at Montmartre." His tone had grown as cold as my beverage, and I could glean from it that he shared my desire: The soonest possible termination of our cooperation, so that we might be allowed to pursue separate paths again.

ooooOOOooo

„Where is it?" the man asked for the third time, his voice high and snarling.

For the third time, Madame Zhao shook her head, facing down, so she would not have to look at her interrogator.

„Ah, very well. You seem to have befriended the bugs in your new abode." She knew without looking the man smiled a his horrible smile. Her hair, filthy and hanging down, saved her from the the sight even of his person. Only the tips of his patent leather shoes were visible to her, as she peered immovably to the floor. „We can see to it you and they are reunited. Maybe you will find them grown in number. But I'm sure you won't mind, as they will constitute your diet from now on."

The patent leather shoes moved out of her field of vision, and strong hands grabbed her under her arms to remove her to her cell. All the way there, she was bullied, but it was easy to withstand their attempts to make her speak after she had sat out the patent leather man. It was not as though she had proven particular constance by refusing to speak. Her life depended on it.

Hiya!

I hope you enjoyed the chapter. As always goes: I am open for criticism and suggestions, so don't hesitate!

Also belle époque Paris is always worth a study, but good sources are rare. If you know any informative online articles or such, I would also be grateful for a hint.

Thank you!

Love, Mrs. F