A Broken Engagement, Chapter 3.
The attachment between the Morstans and the Lestrades continued very steadily. The two families met almost every day for walking parties, shooting parties and picnics around the grounds of one or the other of their estates. Captain Watson was invariably included, as Charles Morstan's most steady friend and soon as the professed admirer of the Morstan sisters. It was true that it was not obvious whether he preferred Mary or Elizabeth, but Mrs Morstan watched their interaction with satisfaction, Sherlock with a less composed mind.
One morning Captain Watson called on the Lestrades so very early that only Sherlock was in the living room. Their mutual embarrassment made the atmosphere in the room very thick, and John soon walked to the window for a breath of air and to compose himself and remember his manners.
"I am sorry to impose upon you," he finally said. "Mrs Morstan told me that Miss Morstan and Miss Elizabeth were here visiting with Mrs Lestrade." In a lower voice he added, "I had certainly not intended to obtrude myself upon your solitude."
Sherlock suppressed a flinch at this openly expressed disdain for his company and only replied, "They are here, but upstairs with Mrs Lestrade. I expect them down any moment."
Silence resumed in the room, and it was a relief to both of them when Greg's two little sons ran into the room. On seeing a stranger, as Captain Watson was not known to them, they became shy and the younger boy fastened himself to one leg of Sherlock's breeches. He was only four, but his hands clung distressingly high on Sherlock's thigh drawing attention where it was inappropriate for either of them to follow with their minds or memories. Sherlock whispered to the boy, entreated, begged and finally tried to bribe him to get away with the offer of tea and sweetmeats from the kitchen. He clung stubbornly, seeming now to make it almost a game to distress and embarrass Sherlock further.
Just as Sherlock gave up in despair and resigned himself to not being able to sit down for the rest of the interview, John came to his rescue. John pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and invited the boy to come learn how to make a paper boat that would really sail on the pond. With such delights ahead of him, the joys of clinging to Sherlock's leg were immediately superseded. John proceeded to quietly entertain and interest the boy until the ladies descended and the whole party walked out, leaving Sherlock alone to consider the morning's events.
John had helped him. John had, in his practical no-fuss way come to his rescue. Did this mean that John still cared for him? That John did not wish to see him embarrassed? Or would John have done as much for anyone? Perhaps it was simply to avoid a tête-à-tête with Sherlock? Sherlock spent the rest of the morning analyzing John's motives without coming to a satisfactory conclusion.
..oOo..
When the walking party returned to the house for lunch, they had hatched a new and delightful scheme. Captain Watson had received a letter from an old navy acquaintance who was currently recovering from a wound and resting in lodgings at Lyme, only seventeen miles from Morstan House. Why should they all not go to Lyme and accompany Captain Watson to visit his friend and give all of them a trip to the seaside? No reason at all! It was a delightful scheme to all involved, and of course Sherlock would accompany them, Greg insisted on it.
Therefore the next morning after an early breakfast the Lestrades took out their carriage and seated in it were Mary and Elizabeth Morstan, Sherlock and Mrs Lestrade. Sherlock had never regretted more that he had not brought his own horse and that Greg's stable did not extend to a spare for him. Greg rode his own road horse beside the carriage, while Charles Morstan drove Captain Watson in his curricle.
When they arrived in Lyme, they made enquiries and left their luggage at the inn. Most of the activities of the season were closed already, as it was November, but one inn was still open and able to provide them with accommodation and a good dinner. Once this was settled, naturally their first object was to walk down to visit the sea.
The beach views were everything they had hoped for, although it was getting later in the day than their original plans had predicated. Captain Watson proposed losing no more time, but walking directly to the little house where his friend, Captain Murray, was lodging. Accordingly, they all made their way along the beach towards the pier. Captain Watson went ahead to the little cluster of houses along the pier, disappearing inside one for mere moments before re-emerging with another navy captain in tow, this one with a slight limp and a cane.
Introductions were performed, and Captain Murray bowed and murmured the appropriate politenesses to all the party. As it turned out, Captain Murray had once been the first lieutenant on board the Asp and had served with Captain Watson in that capacity prior to his own promotion. His personal history was also very interesting, and all the party felt an immediate sympathy for the young captain when it was revealed that his fiancée had recently died while he was at sea. She had never known that he had made his fortune in the war, and he had returned unaware of her death until his mail caught up with him here at Lyme.
Captain Murray gave them a sad smile as he showed them the portrait he had sat for on his arrival back in Portsmouth. He had intended it for her as a wedding present, but before it was even completed he had received news of her death. Sadly, he had no matching portrait of her as a keepsake, only her letters and a memory.
"Never fear, Murray," said Captain Watson with a bracing slap on his friend's shoulder. "Perfect memories require no physical object to anchor them, but at least you have her letters." Captain Watson did not look at Sherlock, but were those words intended as a slight at him? He had returned all the physical tokens of their relationship and had requested that his letters to John be destroyed. John still had the ring, but did he think Sherlock had a perfect memory?
By then the rest of the party had walked on, and Sherlock had to hurry to catch up. As he did so, he reflected that Captain Murray's situation was not so very different from his own. In addition, Captain Murray was a younger man, with an active profession and more hope of meeting someone new who might capture his heart than Sherlock, whose heart was captured but without hope. John, on the contrary, seemed to have hopes in his heart already. Then Sherlock scoffed at himself – eight years was by no means 'already', and it was ridiculous to think that John would still be thinking of him after all that time without even a sight of each other. Only one with a perfect memory would think so.
After an hour's pleasant walk and chat with Captain Murray, it was time to return to the inn to dress and dine. They arranged to meet Captain Murray again the next day on the pier, and if his leg was not too stiff, he also engaged to call upon them in the evening. So they parted, all well pleased with their day of pleasure. If some of the party had mental reflections which were not entirely satisfactory, it was not mentioned.
As they were climbing the hill back to their inn, they encountered a lady walking down the street towards the sea. It was an unusual time of year to meet other visitors, but even taking this into account, the lady appeared to stare at Sherlock for longer than could be considered strictly polite. Her gaze was not only curious, it was also openly admiring. John looked at her sharply and with some displeasure. She was finely made, with bright red lips and rather less clothing than the November weather made prudent. However, they soon passed her and returned to the warmth of the inn, their family party and their dinner.
..oOo..
Sure enough, that evening Captain Murray presented himself to the drawing room of their inn and the whole group enjoyed an evening of conversation in front of the roaring fire. Sherlock, who usually sat quietly to one side in these evening gatherings, found himself in earnest conversation with Captain Murray. Apparently the Captain's spirits were low also, and he did not desire the more boisterous and occasionally flirtatious conversation currently engaging the Misses Morstan, Charles Morstan and Captain Watson at the other end of the room. Greg and Mrs Lestrade had gone out for a short evening stroll.
Sherlock found Captain Murray's conversation surprisingly congenial. He talked well of music and showed excellent taste for a man who could not play. Apparently his fiancée had played beautifully on several instruments not, alas, including the violin. He was consequently very interested to hear what Sherlock had to say on the subject of violin music by composers with whom he was already familiar.
After Captain Murray had left them, as they retired to their rooms upstairs, Greg elbowed Sherlock in the ribs. "I see you have made a conquest."
Sherlock arched one eyebrow as he replied, "I detest such expressions as 'conquests' and 'setting one's cap', but if you are going to use them you may as well be precise. Of whom are you speaking?"
"Captain Murray was very taken with you, and barely spoke to anyone else all evening."
Greg's wife interrupted with, "Don't be ridiculous, Lestrade. The man has just lost his fiancée! You are reading too much into one conversation. If you want to see a match in progress, just look at Captain Watson and Mary! They had their heads together the whole evening to the point that Elizabeth was quite put out. There will be a happy announcement there soon, you mark my words."
Greg shrugged, apparently unconvinced. Sherlock murmured something that could be construed as agreement and retired to his room with a sinking heart. He did not care for the admiration of strangers on the street or Captains in the drawing room. If John was almost engaged to Mary his heart was too broken to care.
..oOo..
The next morning as he made his way down to breakfast Sherlock was surprised to meet in the hallway with the same woman they had seen on the street the day before. He made his apologies and stood aside for her. She curtseyed without speaking and swept past him and out to the yard where her carriage was being readied. A lady of means, it appeared. Sherlock watched out the window as her companion opened the door of the coach for her and her manservant closed it behind them both. Unfortunately he was standing in front of the door of the coach, so it was impossible to see the livery which would have announced her identity. Sherlock was just determining to wait to see the coat of arms when the Lestrades came down the corridor and carried him off to the breakfast room.
Sherlock's curiosity got the better of him during breakfast and he asked one of the servants waiting at table the identity of the lady staying at the inn who had departed just that morning. The servant replied, "Mrs Irene Adler, sir. A widow who is on her way to Bath for the winter."
Sherlock mulled over this information. Who was Mrs Irene Adler?
..oOo..
After breakfast the whole party walked out to enjoy the sea views from the pier once more before returning home. They met with Captain Murray halfway down the hill, and again he attached himself to Sherlock and they conversed most pleasantly of authors and composers as they strolled.
The party walked along the pier with the initial intention of seeing Captain Murray back to his accommodation, but the wind was picking up and soon it was unpleasantly cold. They looked for a way to descend to the more sheltered beach walkway, but there was only a small ladder with iron rungs set into the stone of the seawall. It looked altogether too precarious for those of the party wearing only low slippers. They had just about decided to part ways with Captain Murray and return to the inn, when Mary started teasing Captain Watson about his reluctance to display his seamanship skills by descending the ladder. Of course he protested that no such reluctance existed, that it was consideration for the ladies of the party which motivated his decision. Mary would not stop, teasing and provoking John until finally he agreed to assist the ladies of the party who might wish to descend and walk along the shore. Only Mary was keen, Elizabeth and the Lestrades deciding to return directly to the inn. Sherlock and Captain Murray descended the ladder first and stood at the bottom watching as John assisted Mary to descend.
As he watched, Sherlock reflected that it really was a most awkward endeavour and nothing to do with seamanship at all. Mary should have realized that sailors used ropes and rigging, not iron staples. John was doing a sterling job under the circumstances, naturally, but Mary's slippers while fine for walking were most unsuitable for this kind of activity. This thought had no more crossed his mind when one of Mary's feet slid out of her shoe. She screamed as her fingers slipped off the iron rungs, and John's grab for her hand was just a fraction too slow. She plummeted to the stone pathway three metres below, landing just in front of Sherlock and Captain Murray, and lay still.
John tore down the ladder, eschewing the last four rungs and jumping instead directly to the ground. He fell to his knees beside Mary, taking up her hand and checking for a pulse. He clasped her hand to his chest and gasped with relief, "She lives!" There was no blood, no obvious wound, but her eyes remained closed and though she breathed, there was no sign of consciousness.
Sherlock felt himself start to breathe again at the news, but Captain Murray was ahead of both of them. "Bring her to my lodgings, and I will fetch the surgeon to come directly there!" he cried and set off immediately for the town. Sherlock and John picked up Mary, trying not to jostle her head and carried her to Murray's boardinghouse. They laid her on the sofa in the drawing room in front of the fire, covered her with a blanket and then there was nothing to do but to wait. John and Sherlock each carried his fears and hopes in his chest, but neither felt able to confide them in the other.
..oOo..
Captain Murray soon returned with the surgeon, who examined Mary and pronounced that her head injury was serious and her brain had suffered a contusion, but the case was by no means hopeless. He had seen people recover from worse injuries. He left them with cautious hope.
"Thank God," groaned John when he was gone. Then he sank down into a chair and rested his head on his folded arms on the table, oblivious to the discussion going on in the rest of the room. Sherlock was cut to the heart to see him in pain, and for such a reason. Had he been contemplating the death of the woman he loved? Sherlock dared not ask.
Finally, something else occurred to Sherlock, and in a low voice he asked the room in general, "Her father and mother – how can we tell them?"
At this, John raised his head, his face pale and tear-streaked but composed. "I will go. I must. It was my fault that she fell. No," he raised his hand to forestall Sherlock's protests. "It was my fault she was on the ladder in the first place. She would not have insisted if I had not been weak. I will inform the rest of the party on my way past the inn, and send Elizabeth back to stay with her." Then he was gone.
Captain Murray did his best to reassure Sherlock as they waited, resting one hand on his shoulder, and Sherlock started to wonder if perhaps Greg had been right. Captain Murray's despair at the loss of his fiancée might be starting to lift, and perhaps his thoughts were starting to take a new direction. If so, how to deter him?
Then the Lestrade's carriage arrived at the door, and it was but the work of a moment for Elizabeth to alight and for Sherlock to be seated instead. Charles was driving Greg in the curricle, as John had taken his horse for the urgent journey back to Morstan House. In the carriage Sherlock and Mrs Lestrade were too oppressed in spirit for conversation, and too aware of the empty seats beside each of them.
The journey passed quickly, possibly because of the dread of what awaited them at its end. As they drove into the village they passed John heading back the other way. Clearly he had broken the news to Mr and Mrs Morstan, changed horses and was headed back to Lyme and Mary, immediately. Sherlock stared into his pale face as he rode past them, but he gave no sign of recognition.