"Nights Enough"
Watson
"Oh, confound it!"
This frustrated remark, delivered in a tone of extreme exasperation, was accompanied by a colorful string of descriptive words I assumed 'Captain Basil' had picked up in his work at the London dockyards.
"Do you need help, Holmes?" I asked, glancing at him in the ornate mirror in my rather opulent stateroom – we were both trying to fix our starched white collars and ties before heading to the ship's lavish dining area for supper.
Holmes was having a bit of trouble with his bow tie, scowling and swearing softly as he wrestled with the offensive article of clothing. He had knocked on my door halfway through my toilet and begged me to let him finish fixing his appearance in my stateroom – it seemed that the family in the room next to his had a squalling baby. Holmes was not thrilled about the situation in the least.
Finally he managed to get the stiff tie fastened in a semi-straight fashion and struggled into his formal black jacket.
"You know how much I detest these things, Watson?"
"I do seem to recall your being rather out of sorts in formal wear unless the activity involved classical music or Shakespeare," I replied, brushing my own spotless jacket and fastening the buttons, adjusting my cuffs afterwards.
"Ugh. I look like Count Dracula," he suddenly said, peering curiously into the mirror at himself, his nose a few inches from the glass.
"Good heavens, Holmes – and you refuse to read my stories because you think they are romantic drivel?" I cried indignantly.
He snickered, clapping me on the shoulder and grabbing his gloves from my bedside table.
"You have nothing on Stoker, old chap," he said with a grin, opening my stateroom door and gesturing for me to proceed him.
He shut it behind us and we made out way slowly to the deck, enjoying the salty sea breeze that was cooling the warm air.
"It is going to be a lovely night," I remarked, hoping for a little while at least to be able to forget that somewhere on board this ship Culverton Smith probably waited for us.
"Hmph."
"Oh, really, Holmes – it is lovely, you can't deny that. Look at that moon! It looks so different when there is no London smog about to obscure it, eh?"
"Watson, you will always be a hopelessly incurable romantic," Holmes sighed, but he glanced at me fondly and I knew he was not really annoyed with me.
"And you will always be a hopeless skeptic."
"Touché."
The breeze had picked up, blowing its gentle way over the deck, and the soft glow of the steamer's lights shone with a comforting warmth over the long, sleek vessel, trimmed everywhere with bright brass and golden wood – as Lachlan had said, the Lansing must have paid a pretty price for this lovely ship.
We stood at the rail for several minutes, looking out over the dark water and the moonlight in watery reflection dancing across the wake of the ship as she sailed ever further from England.
"Not seasick, are you, old chap?"
"Not yet anyway," I replied ruefully, "just pray that no storms come up while we're abroad!"
I was rather prone to being a wretched sailor if I were already not in full health or if the sea were very rough, but the weather promised to be gorgeous for several days and I was not overly worried about my inclination toward seasickness.
For another minute we stood there, staring out over the water. A woman's light voice rang in a tinkling laugh from the women's lounge, and we could hear a small stringed quartet playing from somewhere on the large vessel. Other than that, the throbbing hum of the steam engines under our feet and a murmur of friendly voices were the only sounds to be heard in the stillness of the night.
"Holmes?"
"Yes, my dear fellow."
"Do you really think that Smith is on this ship?" I asked quietly, glancing at his aquiline face, very pale and serious in the moonlight.
"I do, Watson," he said at last, gazing moodily out over the dark waters of the Atlantic.
I shivered, and not from the cool breeze that whipped about us as we stood there by the rail.
I felt Holmes put his arm through mine and turn our steps toward the massive dining hall, his quiet strength giving me a small sense of calmness.
"We shall be very careful, Watson," he promised me, "and I told Lachlan to be wary as well. Smith may be on this ship, but there is no reason why something untoward should happen if we are careful and keep our wits about us."
We headed down a companionway to the dining area below, Holmes moving very carefully because of the stitches in his side.
"I wish I could believe that, Holmes."
"Watson, please trust me, and stop worrying," my friend said, his eyes dark with concern, "it will be fine, I assure you. Now chin up, old fellow, and let us see how much enjoyment we can gain from this voyage – we are not likely to get such a chance again!"
"Enjoyment? With a murderous deranged scientist on the loose?" I hissed, not wanting the people we passed to hear us.
"Oh, gracious, Watson, that sounds like one of those confounded H.G. Wells stories. Please do try to have a little fun, old chap," Holmes replied, glancing at me mischievously, "I am sure that you will find something to occupy your time. You know, I saw more than a few of those girls on the deck looking at you just now – full evening dress, Watson…"
"Holmes!"
He laughed outright at my absolutely mortified face, but as I spluttered for an answer I realized he had accomplished what must have been his goal – to get me to smile and take my mind off Smith. I finally smoothed down my jacket and glowered coolly and calmly at him.
"You are just jealous, Holmes."
"I?" It was his turn to be indignant, or at least pretend to be.
"Yes, you. What are you going to find to occupy your free time on board? Chess tournaments? Fellow handwriting analysts?"
Holmes glared at me as we entered the dining area, and I grinned back at him, seeing that he was not really in earnest with his irritation. We seated ourselves at a small table at the side of the room – Holmes always preferred to keep his back to the wall if possible so that he could watch people and make embarrassing deductions about them as they passed.
A white-coated waiter with a French accent that I believed to be put-on took our order and went along his way.
"How an Irishman can fake an accent like that is beyond me," Holmes muttered, fidgeting with his napkin ring as he scanned the crowd slowly and methodically, occasionally shooting a random deduction in my direction, which I was only half-paying attention to.
"See anyone that could be Smith?" I asked nervously, also playing with the ornate silver napkin ring.
"No, but I cannot see very many people closely from this angle. I shall have to get hold of the passenger list at some point, Watson," Holmes said, finally directing his attention back to me, "and see if I can narrow the possibilities down a bit."
"How do you propose to do that, seeing as that information is highly classified?" I asked, taking a sip of my sherry.
"Really, Watson, need you ask?"
"Oh, no, Holmes – you'll get us thrown into the brig our first week out!" I moaned in dismay, not at all relishing the thought of breaking and entering a purser's office.
Holmes chuckled at my remonstrance.
"You used to argue with me on the strength that burglary is a crime in the eyes of the law, Watson. Now you are only worried about it being wrong if we are caught?"
"Yes, well," I spluttered, trying to cover my breach of British citizenry, "I – "
"Never mind, my dear chap," he returned with a grin as our waiter came back, "I shall in all probability do it at some point while you are making yourself a large number of female friends. You will not even miss me."
"Don't you dare go breaking into things on your own, Holmes, or I shall –" I had to break off as the waiter got within earshot, carrying our food, but I let my raised eyebrows and glaring eyes finish the thought for me.
Holmes poked at his food, not really eating it, and I found it hard myself to concentrate on the little appetite I had, my gaze searching out every man sitting alone, wondering from this distance if he were Smith.
Holmes finally shook off his melancholy and began to detail to me a little more about Meurnier, the French artist who sculpted that dreadful likeness of my friend, entertaining me with his story of how many tries it took for the sculptor to get the image to cast the perfect shadow; and after a few minutes I had pushed Culverton Smith and his deadly diseases to the back of my mind.
We finished out meal and our sherry and then exited the dining area.
"Shall we take a stroll round the deck, old chap, or try the lounge?"
"I would rather have the open air, if that's all right? It was rather warm in there."
"Certainly," my companion declared, gingerly mounting the nearest companionway steps with me close at his heels.
The promenade deck was ablaze with soft lights, casting sparkling beams of color and fluttering shadows on the many couples dancing under the brilliant white moon. The sounds of young laughter and converse followed us as we made our way past the partying passengers toward a group of comfortable-looking chairs on the far side of the dancing area.
Holmes expertly weaved in and out of the crowd of people, narrowly avoiding getting champagne spilled upon him by more than one person, and I followed in his wake, finally reaching the other side. He took possession of a comfortable couch and offered me a cigarette as I sat beside him.
"Thank you. How are your stitches holding up?" I asked as he offered me a match.
Holmes held the match to his own cigarette and then snuffed the match into the nearby ashtray.
"All shipshape and seaworthy, Watson," he said with a smirk.
I groaned at the bad pun but otherwise ignored it.
"Holmes, have you seen Lachlan since we first came on board?"
"No, I have not. But we cannot be in too close contact with him, Watson, if he is to act as a sort of spy for us among the crew. Midshipmen do not usually socialize much with passengers, especially not on such a large vessel as this."
I nodded thoughtfully in agreement.
"What do you suppose Smith is planning to do to the ship?"
"I am undecided yet, Watson. I have eight separate theories – all of which are decidedly unpleasant thoughts," my companion said, looking at me with a furrowed brow.
I swallowed hard, not knowing and not wishing to know what was going on in that overactive imagination of his.
"Pardon me, gentlemen, but would it bother you if I took that other chair there," a voice politely interrupted our conversation.
A tall, dark young fellow in full evening dress like ourselves was gesturing toward the chair across from us. As it was the only one available, he really was being over-courteous and Holmes graciously told him to go right ahead.
We chatted aimlessly for a few moments, and the chap told us he was a young lawyer from Essex who was taking his wife on an extended vacation, etc., etc. The chap rambled on and on, to Holmes's increasing irritation, until his wife suddenly appeared from the partying throng; and then he rose with the usual pleasantries and sauntered off with the lady.
"Ugh."
"Really, Holmes, he was a very nice young fellow," I said teasingly, seeing Holmes's disgusted face.
"Be that as it may, he was decidedly dull. What is it about being aboard ship that makes people think that everyone on it is an instant friend?"
"That is the usual attitude, Holmes – you just are simply unusual," I replied, my eyes glinting mischievously, "most people actually enjoy making new friends, believe it or not."
Holmes snorted. "I did once. That was enough for me, Watson."
I smiled at the rather dubious compliment, finishing my cigarette and tossing it into the ashtray.
"As you were saying, Holmes, about your theories."
"What about them?"
"Holmes, don't be so infuriating!"
He laughed and stood, smoothing out the wrinkles in his jacket and walking over to the deck rail.
"And do not give me any of those 'you will see and hear enough before the voyage is over' lines, Holmes. I was not in on your confidences before with Smith – can you not take me in this time round?" I asked, very much in earnest.
I saw again that odd expression when I mentioned the Smith case flit across his face and he sighed, his light manner leaving him on the instant.
"Come out of hearing range of that infernal racket, Watson," he said, stepping away from the happy revelers further along the polished deck. After thirty or forty feet he stopped, looking out over the dark water for the second time that night, his lower arms resting on the brass rail. I joined him as he spoke.
"I think, Watson, that Smith intends to do something to the passengers of this ship, either collectively or selectively, just as he did the others. You remember that at first, it was only cargo ships attacked, and then passenger ships as well?"
I did not like the way this conversation was leading, but I nodded, my throat feeling very dry all of a sudden, and glanced over at his sombre face.
"Well, this is the biggest and most expensive ship yet to take off out of Portsmouth for the Lansing line. If he did something to it –"
"It would cause widespread panic," I whispered.
"Exactly. I cannot fathom yet what his motive is in these atrocities, but I do know that he has to be stopped, before we reach India. He must be stopped."
Holmes's chilling statements swept away the former warmth I had been feeling, and I shuddered at the veiled meaning in Holmes's words about the man's atrocities.
"I am going to go poking about in the men's smoking lounge, Watson, to see if I can pick up any faint tremors indicating the location of this villain," Holmes remarked at last, snapping himself out of his reverie.
"I think I shall go back to my stateroom and turn in," I returned, "let me know when you get back, will you?"
"I shall walk back with you, Watson," he said on the instant, guiding me in the direction of our rooms, "I think it best that we not separate during this voyage if at all possible. Strength in numbers, you know, and Smith will be far less likely to attack one of us if we stick together."
I shivered again as the wind, rapidly dropping in temperature, blew with force over the long shiny deck.
"Holmes, I am worried about Lachlan. Do you suppose –"
"Watson, you simply must stop your fretting," my companion said gently, "Lachlan will be fine. Smith does not even know of his existence – but that is another reason we must not have much contact with him. It will ensure his safety."
We were nearly to my stateroom when my tired mind suddenly realized what Holmes had said earlier.
"Half a moment, I am not going back to that room," I said, "and letting you go to the lounge by yourself."
"I shall be fine, Watson, and you look as though you could use the sleep; it was an early morning," he returned, patting my shoulder reassuringly.
"Be that as it may, you said yourself that we should not separate on the voyage, and you are right as always," I replied stubbornly, turning us in the direction of the lounge.
Holmes grabbed my arm and pushed me back toward the staterooms, and I resisted.
"Watson, for heaven's sake, you are acting as if I shall disappear if you let me out of your sight!" he sighed in exasperation.
"The last time I left you when I knew we were in danger, Moriarty caught up with you," I said, my voice shaking despite my efforts to control it, "and I had to live with that guilt for three years. I vowed on the day you returned to never let that happen again, Holmes."
Holmes stared into my eyes for just a moment with a sudden shock of guilt at what I had said, and then his gaze softened and he slipped his arm through mine with a sigh, tugging me gently toward our rooms.
"Come, my dear chap, we shall both turn in. There will be nights enough for socializing and investigating."