I keep saying this but I think this was a good chapter to write. Not as fun, considering the content, but still good.
Please keep reviewing! While praise is great and all, I would really like to hear some constructive criticism...pretty pretty please?!
It is here that I will take a brief pause in my narrative to pause and reflect as only one can do now that they have their past behind them and can now see things in a clearer lens through the aid of hindsight. First of all, as impulsive and distressed as I was…my running madly into the darkness of that terrible night at that late an hour was incredibly idiotic that I have no excuse to justify it. Holmes would have definitely ruled it as a hysterical woman's emotions wreaking havoc on her mind. Looking back, I would probably have to conclude that as well. I could have met injury—or even worse—my death at some fiend's hands. It was mere providence and sheer luck that I had fell where I had or Holmes would have never found me and taken me home.
An alarm should have rung in my mind as to why Holmes would be out at this time of night but my ragged nerves had not thought of it. This would have repercussions in the future but at that time as he walked next to me, I did not even think to question him.
The rapport that Holmes and I had developed over those two months since we started courting was odd and not only in the professional terms that the pair of us had laid out in the beginning. The faux courtship began bumpily enough as our personalities clashed at several points but after some time, we had reached a balance. We still needled each other but we also unlocked the gates between us to allow each other in…to a certain limit, of course. The man was probably constructed with many walls within that were built tough and thick. As was I, the only difference was that Holmes had many years to build those walls while I had only begun mine during my six month convalescence. As I sit here, I still cannot imagine what lay beneath those walls, even though I managed to take a glimpse inside for brief moments in time.
It is here that I also reflect the way hope can manipulate people's lives. A certain phrase comes to mind as I think of this, "To hope is very much like wearing hair ribbons. As a girl, you wear too many and when you're older, you look completely ridiculous wearing even one." It was at this time, I began to take away the ribbons in my hair.
But enough introspection and musing on my part…let us return to the story.
We stopped at a park bench at Holmes' insistence and he told me to relay what had happened. In previous instances, hesitation would have taken hold of me before I would have said anything to him but the words tumbled out in a jumbled fashion. Holmes only stopped me once to try and make my speech coherent but otherwise, he listened to everything I said. Though he was trying his best, he could not contain his annoyance at my jumbled and blubbering monologue and finally stopped me.
"The fairer sex and their emotions," he admonished, shaking his head. That was all he said although I could tell he would have liked to say more. He glanced at my hand, which was rubbing my left knee. "How painful is it?"
"I'll manage," I mustered, suddenly exhausted by the night's activities both mentally and physically.
"That does not answer my question." He replied sternly.
"It hurts but I can handle it." I insisted to Holmes' disbelieving eyes.
"May I see it?"
Bewilderment flashed across my face at his suggestion. Sensing my hesitance, he added that he would in no way take advantage of the situation and I finally agreed. Cautiously, I lifted my skirt up to my knees. Holmes took no more than a second to note the appearance of my legs, the left withered and the right healthy. He noted the scratches and the bruise on my knee and promptly pulled a handkerchief out of his coat pocket and wrapped it up. I quickly dropped my skirts when he was done. He stood up and began to walk ahead leaving me to hobble after him.
It was times like these that I was always forget how chivalrous Holmes could be and he always managed to show it at odd intervals of time.
I bid Holmes goodnight when he got home and found Mum in the parlor speaking with the police. She looked up at the sound of my entrance but when she found that it was only me, her eyes dimmed. Understandably, Dad had not yet come home. The Inspector turned to me.
"I am Inspector Hopkins, Miss Andrewes," He introduced himself. He glanced at me then flipped through his notebook. "I guess that you are Miss Charlotte Andrewes rather than Mrs. Brautigan née Andrewes?"
"Yes, I'm Charlotte Andrewes." I answered, his eyes traveling from my face to my walking stick. I cleared my throat and brought his attentions back where they should be. "Do you have some questions for me, Inspector?"
"Of course," he answered. "Would you like to take a seat, Miss Andrewes?"
"No, I am quite fine in standing, Inspector. My legs can handle it."
Inspector Hopkins merely harrumphed and mumbled a few words before beginning his line of questions; they ranged from when I had last seen my father, where was he supposed to be going, etc. I told him the details that I knew that I had told Holmes as well. He merely nodded in response. All standard questions were asked and politely thanked me for my time. Mum spoke with the Inspector further while I clambered up the stairs and got myself ready for bed. From my open bedroom door, I could hear snippets of the conversation downstairs.
"We will put all our efforts into finding your husband, Mrs. Andrewes."
"Thank you, Inspector."
"One more thing, Mrs. Andrewes, if I may ask? What is it that ails your daughter?"
And with that inquiry ringing in my mind, I slammed the door and dove into bed, almost instantaneously falling asleep without even turning down the gas.
I never knew that silence could feel so empty and forlorn.
Four days had passed and my father was still missing. The police were clearly baffled but of course, they did not allude to being so. There was no word from him at all or a note of a threatening nature. Nothing and perhaps that was what scared me most of all.
Friday had come and I stood in the lecture hall to find it empty. Of course, class had been cancelled due to my father's disappearance. James had come along with me as he could not stand the Inspector and his bumbling team swarming around our house. He had rushed over a day after Dad disappeared, leaving his practice in the capable hands of Dr. Watson. I walked over to the rostrum where he usually began his lectures and then at the paraphernalia around his desk.
"I wish Anne were here," I thought out loud.
"I know but she's not fit to travel after giving birth and whatnot," James answered as he looked around the room. "I've never seen it like this. It's so…dead."
Of course, the last word jarred me considerably and it was only after James had muttered it that he realized its effect. He rushed over and apologized to me, reassuring me that he did not think that Dad was…no, my mind could not even form the word. I merely nodded out of necessity and continued to stare at Thomas Jefferson's bust, who was staring off into the distance. Perhaps he could find my Dad, I mused halfheartedly.
Footsteps echoed in the hall, causing James and I to turn around. The smell of tobacco hit me first and through the smoke, I saw that it was Holmes. James walked over to him and shook hands, conversing about several things. Holmes asked about the police investigation and shook his head in a knowing manner when James told him about the lack of results. He took a drag off of the cigarette and blew the smoke out slowly through his nose when he turned towards me.
"How are you faring?" He asked.
"The police are bumbling idiots." I answered with vitriol.
He smiled a small, ironic smile. "Oh, yes, I know."
I looked around at the empty seats and remembered something that Holmes told me previously. "Um…Sherlock," I had to call him by his first name as James was within our presence. "You told me that there has been a strange person attending Father's lectures?"
He took another drag from his cigarette before answering. "Yes, strange in the sense that he was unfamiliar."
"What did he look like?" James inquired, his brow furrowed at the sound of this information.
"A tall man…actually he was around your height, Charlotte. His skin was tanned, his hair was a dark brown, and he seemed to wear secondhand clothing."
"Secondhand clothing?" James repeated to Holmes' words. "How could you tell?"
"They were a bit too large for him and seemed a little worn." Holmes said in a dismissive tone, as if it were such an easy detail to discover. "He was a robust looking individual. I never got to get a clear look at his face, however, as he always managed to sit towards the back. Nevertheless, the man would always come up and talk with your father after the lecture was over."
"Did you overhear anything that was said between them?" I asked becoming even more interested.
Holmes shook his head. "No, there was no way that I could stay and listen. Your father always managed to shoo me out of the room and they were talking in hushed tones."
James had taken a seat. "Was there anything to consider that the conversation was malevolent in any manner?"
"No," Holmes replied. "Actually, it seemed quite friendly."
We all sat in silence as James added the scent of tobacco in the air, pulling some cigarettes out of his pocket. Holmes provided him with a match and the lecture hall was soon filled with smoke. Among other things, I was lucky that I had not inherited my father's terrible asthma since I knew he would not have been able to cope with it. Yet while I did not have his asthma, there was only so much smoke I could handle and I told them that I would be walking back home.
"Well, you can't go by yourself." James reasoned as I hopped onto the bicycle.
"Oh, James, if anyone crosses me, I'll whack them with my walking stick." I said brandishing my walking stick in the air.
"I'm serious, Charlotte," James replied gravely. "Especially after what happened with Dad," he added and then after a moment turned to Holmes. "I need to get a drink or something before I go mad. Would you mind walking Charlotte home?"
"I'm not a dog, James," I retorted.
"I wouldn't mind," Holmes replied lightly.
"That's settled then." James chirped and then walked out of the lecture hall, leaving Holmes and I to our own devices. After surveying the hall once more, I began to walk out of the hall. I opened the door and looked behind me to see Holmes sitting with his eyes closed and his legs stretched before him, clearly he was in some sort of reverie. I cleared my throat and his eyes snapped open.
"Well, are you coming along?" I inquired sardonically.
Holmes stood up and walked over to the door, extending his arm towards me. "Well, of course, my lady."
"Don't belittle me, Holmes." I reprimanded as I accepted his arm.
"Of course not," came the usual clipped reply with that familiar smirk on his face.
When I arrived home, Mum had just finished talking to Inspector Hopkins. Holmes greeted Mum warmly. She greeted him as kindly as she possibly could but she wore the signs of fatigue and worry on her otherwise lovely face. Her hair was ordinarily impeccable but now hung around her in a mess. Her clothing was wrinkled as well. In a gesture unlike Holmes, he made my mother sit down on the settee and had Josephine fix her a tray of tea while he began to fix a fire in the hearth.
"You are a good young man, Mr. Holmes." She said warily as Josephine put the tea tray down. Mum poured herself a cup of tea. Her hands were shaking so much that the tea would have spilled it all over her if I had not taken it out of her hands.
"Mum, what did Inspector Hopkins say?" I asked quietly as I sat down next to her.
"They talked with Mr. Hepburn, the man he was meeting in London." She spoke in a soft and quiet voice that I needed to strain my ears to hear her properly. "Mr. Hepburn told him that your father had stayed two days with him and then Mr. Hepburn himself escorted your father to the train station and saw him off. They have Scotland Yard looking everywhere for him in London and they are searching for him here." She suddenly gripped my hands tight. "Oh, Charlotte, I don't know what to do. I'm terrified…"
I was at a loss for words. I could not tell her that the whole situation would turn out for the best since I did not know and was slowly becoming less optimistic. I was searching for something to say when it seemed that someone else had spoken them for me.
"We can only hope for the best, Mrs. Andrewes." Holmes said his eyes gazing into the fire. "That is the only thing that we could do and it is no use to speculate what could be happening for it does not do us any good."
Mum managed to smile. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes. I can see why my Charlotte fancies you so."
Astonishment briefly replaced my anxiety and vexation at her last statement. Holmes merely smiled good-naturedly at my mother's compliment and continued to look into the fire as if there were untold depths within. I turned back to Mum.
"Are you feeling well, Mum?"
She patted my arm lovingly. "I am feeling slightly better, Charlotte. If you do not mind, I need to lie down for awhile. I am terribly exhausted by all this."
"Of course, Mum. You deserve some rest today." I nodded and she excused herself from the parlor. When Mum had left, Holmes stood from his seat and began to look around the room.
"Holmes?"
"Hmmm?" He mumbled as he walked over to the bookshelf to view the collection of books my father had collected over the years. He then wandered over to the piano and inspected it.
I walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. He turned his head back towards me. "Thank you," I whispered.
He just nodded, quickly clasped his hand over mine, and returned to walking around the room. He spotted my father's violin case in the corner and made to open it when I stopped him.
"Don't,"
"I merely want to see what it looks like…if you do not mind, of course." After some thought, I conceded and he gingerly pulled out the antique violin out of its case. "I've heard of your father's skill with the violin." Then his eyes lit up with excitement as he exclaimed, "Can this be? It couldn't possibly…a Stradivarius violin?"
I smiled though there was a slight jab of pain as I remembered my father. "He got it as a present from the music professor from Baillol."
Holmes looked at it admiringly for a moment longer then reluctantly began to put it back into its case. He was about to shut the case when I stopped him.
"If you do not mind, could you please play something?"
He pulled the Stradivarius out of the case again and placed it on his chin. Taking the bow into his hands, he paused before putting it against the strings and began to play. He scraped the bow against the strings, producing a melancholy chain of notes, which developed into a jaunty and light tune that was not only familiar but I had accompanied my father on this piece many times.
Holmes saw the look of recognition in my eyes as I approached the piano and began to play. It had been ages since I had last played but the Mozart returned to me as though I had only played it yesterday. As soon as I joined in, Holmes seemed to become more animated in his playing, his head bobbing to the rhythm of the piece. I surprised myself as I was able to play the piece without a mistake. It was at that moment when I was applauding myself when I hit the wrong note.
Immediately, Holmes stopped playing and glowered at me. My cheeks turned red, both in embarrassment and irritation.
"I haven't practiced in awhile." I said, regretting the whine in my voice. Holmes merely lifted an eyebrow in response. "Well, if you're so talented, Holmes, then show me what you can play on the piano."
"Very well," he placed the violin back into its case and took a seat next to me on the piano. He stretched his arms out, placed his hands on the keys, and began to play. I swear that I will never see the limits or the depths of this man for he played quite well. I recognized the tune as a piece by Chopin and every single note was perfect. After a few minutes he ended his piece and then turned towards me. "It is your turn now, I believe."
I laughed with mirth. "Of course, it is." I stretched out my fingers and wiggled them just before I laid my fingers on the ivory keys. I then began to play an elaborate glissando of notes and then paused, taking a quick glance at Holmes before I began to play a sophisticated version of…Frère Jacques.
Hearing the introduction, he nodded appraisingly at my skill. Then when I reached the elementary song (even as I sang the song softly), the look on his face turned into one of extreme confusion. Then, he understood the joke and his face broke in laughter. It was not polite laughter but laughter in its true essence. He buried his hands in his face, laughing loudly at my joke. I was naturally surprised by this sudden show of emotion on Holmes' part and then I too joined in his laughter.
Our laughter was interrupted when the bell from the front door rang. I excused myself from my seat and went to answer the door. I opened the door and saw that it was a clear night and a pleasant breeze flew into the hallway. I saw that it was Inspector Hopkins.
There was still shards of laughter in my voice as I spoke, "Good evening, Inspector Hopkins."
"Evening, Miss Andrewes," he said gravely. "Could you please tell your mother that she needs to come with us?"
"Of course," I said, giggling when I heard Holmes play Frère Jacques on the piano. I woke up Mum and after some minutes she came downstairs and spoke to the Inspector.
"Good evening, Inspector Hopkins. What brings you here at such a late hour?" Mum greeted them politely.
Inspector Hopkins took off his bowler hat. "Mrs. Andrewes, I need you to come with me, if you please."
"And where shall we be going, Inspector Hopkins?" Mum asked as she wrapped her coat closer to her body.
The Inspector swallowed visibly and I immediately knew there was something terribly wrong. This was not some bumbling attempt to look like they were accomplishing something. I saw the Inspector's hands wringing the brim of his bowler hat. Holmes had stopped playing and now stood next to me, listening to what the Inspector was saying.
"The morgue, Madam," he murmured softly.
Mum immediately fell towards the ground as if she had been punched in the gut. Luckily, Inspector Hopkins was there to catch her before she hurt herself. A terrible moan emerged from her petite body that echoed throughout that wintry night. She mumbled something through her tears and Inspector Hopkins attempted to console her while he escorted her to the carriage.
As soon as those words had left the Inspector's lips, my breath was immediately taken away. I felt terribly numb from head to toe, as if I had been dumped in a bucket of ice water. My knees turned watery and for the second time in a month, I considered myself lucky to be a cripple for I had something to support myself. I watched Mum's retreating back followed by Inspector Hopkins.
"Charlotte,"
I had forgotten that Holmes was next to me at that point and I visibly jumped in fright at the sound of his voice. He rubbed my back in an effort to calm me down. When he had stopped rubbing my back I instinctively gripped both of his hands in mine.
"Please come with me," I whispered. "I cannot do this alone."
"Of course," he replied softly.
And with those words, we entered the carriage and much to my surprise, I did not let go of his hand until we came to our unfortunate destination…and neither did he.