Stiles

„Arm, warriors, arm for fight, the foe at hand/ whom fled we thought, will save us long pursuit/ this day, fear not his flight, so thick a cloud/ he comes"

Paradise Lost

My thoughts were still with the bees when, after dinner at Mildred's farm with her father and husband, she walked me home in the gathering dust. I wondered why he had kept them, why he had taken the trouble to take care of them, to read up on the matter of beekeeping and to learn its practical execution. Apiculture, if Mildred was any reference, was much more than a hobby: It required the investment of time and money; with exhaustion, frustration, and the odd sting in your body as inevitable side-effects.

Why had he not just got rid of the hives? He had been through in divesting himself of anything that might remember him about the days of our - dare I say it - family life. Kittys few personal belongings, such as the picture of her mother and the cat Ginger Jack…they had had the same fate as I, expulsed from home, the same fate as baby Sheridan. There was not a single hint in the entire house to suggest that we had ever been here, or existed even. I had looked into every room to make certain. There was not a single likeness of Kitty, though as an artist's model she must have been painted and photographed many times.

We had been obliterated.

But then, these beehives. What was it that had made them dear enough to him, to him, who had always disdained to take up any activity for its own sake, without expecting benefits for his one and only passion? I could not think of any explanation, save that the precision and the systematic efficiency that determined the life of a bee state possibly appealed to him.

I had fallen silent during my deliberations, and Mildred must have noticed it, for she gave me a strange look from the side. „Say, are you alright? You have not grown into a chatterbox, you know, I'll give you that."

„Uh? Oh I am sorry, Mildred!" I stopped, confused. „It is just - I don't know, it must be the aftereffects of yesterday's strenuous journey."

„Now, don't tell me stories." She put her hand on my arm, looking firmly into my eyes. „You and Mr. Holmes, you are on a case, are you not? Come on, you can be honest with me. I am not going to put it in the newspaper."

Thus pressed, I admitted there might be some truth in what she was saying.

„Ha! I knew it!" She clapped her hands triumphantly. „And I'll bet my best cow Maisie it concerns yonder house in some way."

My eyes followed her extended arm to some point beyond the darkening meadows, where the gable of a cottage was only just to be seen. I frowned.

„What makes ya fink so?"

„Well…" Seeing that I did not dissimulate, but was in truth unable to follow her, she lowered her voice confidentially. „The other day, Mrs. Hudson mentioned the empty house. She said Mr. Holmes had questioned her about it."

„Questioned her? What can you mean?"

„Well, he seemed interested all of a sudden to know about the tenant, and she said he even went there to have a look around, and to look for traces as the people there had visited only recently."

I shook my head with an insecure laugh. „She musta got it wrong. What interest could an old house such as that possibly hold for Mr. Holmes? I can't even really remember it from seven years ago. It was empty, wasn't it?"

„No!" Whispered Mildred, clearly enjoying the fact that she knew something to surprise me with. „That's just the thing: Mrs. Hudson said she remembers the only time the tenants had been here before was exactly seven years ago, when you were living here with the Holmeses!"

I felt something cold creep up my spine, in spite of Mildred's fresh complexion and bright eyes. „Tha' s curious, I admit. Did Mr. Holmes himself say something to you about this matter?"

„No, he did not. But on the same day, I bicycled into town, where I saw him. He had just stepped out of the land registry office."

I shrugged my shoulders. „I don't un'erstand ya. What are ya trying to say?"

„Isn't it crystal clear? He was enquiring after the tenant's name!" She smiled complacently. „So I waited until he was out of sight, and then I got off my bicycle, and walked straight in. Asked the clerk about tenancy at the old cottage. Seemed to annoy him quite a bit, because he said something to the effect that he might as well keep the papers on his desk, if people continued to come in and ask about them."

„So? Did he show them to you?" I asked, feeling inexplicably uneasy.

„Sure he did!" Mildred raised her chin. „The cottage has been let to a certain Mr. T. Rhys-Folmec seven years ago, and he has extended the tenancy contract in three-year intervals ever since."

oooOOOooo

Holmes was as good as his word. He returned on the following day, and as I had come to meet him on the platform of the countryside train station, I discovered he had not come alone.

„Uncle John!"

I threw my arms around the short, chuckling man in the grise tweedsuit, and pressed him to my heart. „You `ere!"

„My dearest girl!" Uncle John embraced me warmly, before holding me an arm length away to look at me. „Thank God for your good looks! After all Holmes has told me you have been through, I had expected a sick and nervous girl!"

„Well, ya should know me better`n that, Uncle John! You look well too", I exclaimed, pecking him on his cheek. Despite my words, I found his usually ruddy complexion a little wanting in colour, and there were dark rings beneath his eyes as well. Once even a little thickset, he was now rather gaunt and fragile. Aunt Mary's death, I ruminated, had not passed him by without a trace.

He set to watch out for the trolley with their luggage at once, and I could not but extend my welcome to Holmes, who had silently looked on.

„Mr. `olmes. I'm glad you are back", I mumbled self-consciously.

„So am I. Good to see you, Frances", he replied, extending his hand to me. I accepted it, bewildered by the formal gesture, when our intercourse had formerly been so much more intimate. My eyes wandered up to meet his, searchingly. There were many things on my mind I would have liked to ask him, if it were not for Uncle John and my cowardice.

He was also troubled, I could tell that from his mien, although a stranger might not have noticed. „I thought you would welcome the opportunity to see John Watson again. I think you have been separated since - „

„ - since the funeral, yes", I said, blushing at the thought of my appalling behavior on that day. „Mr. `olmes, I only want ya ter know - „

But that very moment, the sound of a heavy trolley pulled across the platform approached, and out of nowhere, Uncle John was back at our side. There was a tiny silence, during which he looked from me to Holmes and from Holmes to me uncertainly.

„Our suitcases! My dear Watson, you are the mainstay of this voyage. They had put them back on train by mistake? Well, they would have travelled on if it had not been for you. I would not have thought such thick-headedness possible, much less have anticipated it. Halleluja!" And he marched down the platform, swinging his cane and to all intents and purposes expecting us to hurry after him.

Uncle John gave me a brief glance. „You really do look well, my child", he repeated, albeit with a low ring of incertitude. „Come, we must not let Mrs. Hudson wait. She will be waiting for us with hot tea, I'll wager."

And we followed suit, just as we were supposed to do.

oooOOOooo

Uncle John was right, of course. After tea, we found a quiet moment for an interview, for Mrs. Hudson was washing the dishes, and Mr. Holmes had excused himself under the pretext of looking after the bees.

„Well, my dear. All of this must have been rather a shock to you", Uncle John said in summary, stirring the remainder in his cup with a tea spoon. „The men who burgled you in particular."

I drew up my shoulders with a shudder. „You may well believe that! All on my own, they would very probably have manhandled me `orribly, and then done me in."

His fist unconsciously drew together. „Those blackguards! Threatening a helpless woman! Ah! If only I had been there!"

„I `ave not been totally `elpless", I reminded him. „Luckily, Mr. `olmes was in time ter save me life. `e was fantastic! If it `adn't been for `im, it is doubtful indeed whether we two would have met again."

„Yes - it is a mercy he came by", Uncle John said slowly, and of a sudden I felt a need to explain this circumstance.

„Right..ah…because…because `e wanted ter let me know about the latest developments", I fibbed. „We `ave been exchanging information, you see."

„Have you?" He fingered the handle of his china teacup. „Well, I must say, I am glad to see you thus reconciled to Mr. Holmes, Fanny. When I think of your encounter earlier this year…"

„Please! Don't mention it", I asked, my ears burning. „I cannot believe my shameful comportment. I `aven't asked yer forgiveness for it yet, Uncle John. It was not a day to unearth old animosities, and I am awfully sorry."

He shook his head, smiling kindly. „You were confused with the pain of loss. I am only relieved to find you changed your mind about Holmes, who is, after all, not at all a bad fellow."

„I know." I hung my head a little.

„There, there." Uncle John patted my scalp forbearingly. „What counts is the present. And it seems you have become quite good friends, despite everything."

„That is true." I smiled timidly. „I used ter disbelieve yer accounts of the adventures you `ave `ad together…not the substance, o` course, on`y the way ya would allus maike `im appear in the brightest light. It made me angry…I guess I kinda thought ya were bein` modest, puttin` yer light under the bushel for `is sake. A bit of jealousy might of played a part, I s`ppose, `cause `e seemed ter be so important t'ya. Little did I fink `e could be like this in real life: A gallant man, brave, selfless, with nerves of steel and a mind so sharp as to pierce every mystery. Why - „ and I laughed, „it sounds too good ter be true, doesn't it?"

Uncle John remained silent for a moment, reaching into his pocket for a smoke. „Yes, my child", he finally said, lighting a match and bringing it closer to the cigarette between his lips, „I expect it does."

And in the light of the small flame, I could see a mild frown dig into the spot between his eyebrows, drawn together forbiddingly.

oooOOOooo

He was done for today at the hives. Taking of the thick gloves that protected his hands, he sighed inwardly with relief: The full use of his hands allowed him to light a cigarette, the first one in hours, thanks to the blasted new non-smoking regulations on train.

He was not in a hurry, and slowly ambled back toward the house, drawing on his fag. Winter was coming, and no mistake: But still, compared to evenings in the city, those on the Downs somehow always seemed to be balmy, one reason why he valued the place above all others in the Kingdom. Watson was leaning against the frame of the front door when he came up the path, also enveloped in his smoking habit. He nodded at him with a small smile - the Watson smile, kind, polite, unassuming.

„I say, my dear Watson, my frame aches with abiding cramped between train seats and luggage nets for hours on end. Would you care for a stroll?"

„Of course." Watson dropped his cigarette end, extinguishing it with his heel.

They chose the path which, over rolling hills, finally led to the small market town. The mild exertion of climbing stiles and walking uphill was indeed a pleasant counter to the inactivity imposed by train traveling. He closed his eyes and tried to recall the feeling of jumping across the stile instead of carefully stepping across it - but those days were past, and he would not make a fool of himself trying to prove otherwise!

He shared this sentiment with Watson, who replied only with a small mutter. A small glance to the side sufficed: Yes, Watson was a tad displeased with something, and he would have to find out, cautiously, what it was.

He sighed. This was hard work to him.

„Don't you feel, old man, that we are taking the best course possible int his enterprise?"

„Well, you know my reservations, Holmes. We should take her into our complete confidence."

„We will, as has been agreed. Tonight."

„Tomorrow, Holmes. It would spoil her night's rest with awful anxieties. Besides, I don't know how she will react. It is dangerous, she may not wish to come along. Actually, I hope she will not."

„I have involved her from the beginning Watson, I am not leaving her out on this investigation now. If she decides to come, I will not try to stop her. A close friend of hers is immediately concerned, remember."

„I know…and still I have doubts about her presence on this case!" Watson declared suddenly, his tone somewhat raised above his usual pitch.

Holmes looked at him, surprised. „What is the matter? So far, she has come to no harm. I have been able to keep her safe. You can ask her if you won't take my word for it."

The doctor stopped in the middle of the path, and turned around. „It is not only her physical well-being I am concerned about, Holmes!"

Aha. So this was the way the wind was blowing.

„Well?"

Watson drew breath trenchantly. „Don`t you think she looks a lot like Kitty?"

„It is possible. I hadn't thought, but yes."

„And you are aware she has only just turned twenty-one this year, aren't you?"

He raised an eyebrow. „What exactly are you implying, doctor?"

„Why - „ Watson raised his hands, a strange gesture of helplessness. „perhaps what I want to say is, I think you may be trying to jump the stile, old boy!"

He remained in exactly the same spot, unmoved. „Do you really think so?"

„Yes", John Watson said, firmly.

He set in motion again, continued on their way. „Thank you, doctor. I will reflect on this", he promised vaguely. Behind his back, Watson sent a prayer of thanks heavenwards.

Hullo guys!

The story draws closer to its apex, but somehow you don't seem all that keen. I know, of course, the nature of sequels. They can hardly ever fulfill the promise of Part I. So the question I am asking is this: Should I discontinue the story? Maybe it is just not good, and when I know it I can live with that. Only, without any reaction at all, it is kind of hard to determine what to do.

Any thoughts on this?

Love, Mrs. F