Big thanks to all who reviewed so far: PhantomProducer, ShellyStark, x-Pick'n'Mix-x, Buffy Sparrow, bgm76, and garnet 86. And also thanks to all my readers! Sorry for the long wait, but here's chapter 3. Let me know what you think.
Chapter Three - Something Familiar
The markets were a different experience on her own. The last time she could remember coming here was with her mother when she was eighteen. Things had certainly changed. The number of vendors had increased and it was almost impossible to navigate through the crowd of people. Somehow, though, she managed. She quickly learned that all you needed to do with most of the sellers was to make the slightest indication that you wanted something and from there is was just a matter of pointing to the right item. Vegetables and fruit had been easy. The meat had been a little harder since it was in an actual butcher's shop and she had been forced to actually write what she wanted down for the butcher. He flushed red when he realized her condition and kept apologizing even until he ushered her out the door.
He had even been kind enough to lend her a basket to carry her things. She wanted to slap herself for not thinking of looking for something before she headed out, because without the butcher's generosity she would have had a very hard time opening the door to the fisher's place, let alone getting home without attracting attention. It was unfortunate that the butcher couldn't understand sign language but she supposed that was for the better. He would surely be surprised to see her in his shop tomorrow, not only with the return of his basket but also with it full of muffins as a token of her thanks.
Caroline would have smiled to herself at the prospect of tomorrow, but the sour look the fisher was giving her kept her from doing so. She looked around and noticed a few others in the shop besides her. Waiting, she supposed. It was getting a little late already, and she really didn't want to be here any longer than necessary. She thought of returning another day and making do for the next couple of days with what she already bought. But the fisher cleared his throat, eyes fixed on her by the door.
"Well?" the fisher said. "You want somethin'?"
Caroline hesitated for a second before pointing to the fish she saw on the table behind the counter. It looked about the kind and size she needed. She then held up two fingers, indicating she wanted two of them. But the man's oblivious look confused her.
"Do you want something?" he asked, a little gruff.
Caroline sighed and rummaged around in her satchel for a piece of paper and quickly wrote down what she wanted, offering the paper to the man when she was done. He took it, gave it a quick glance, and crumpled it up, throwing her note onto the floor. She barely had time to notice that he hadn't read what she wrote before his demeanor changed. Although he hadn't been overly welcoming before, he was now far from it.
"If you can't speak then you ain't got no business here, girl."
Caroline felt her face flush red and looked around the store to see if anyone had taken notice of her since the man's proclamation. One older gentleman shook his head and left. A younger girl and her younger brother openly stared at her. And the mother of said children didn't even acknowledge her before ushering them out the door. The fisher yelled out after them but none returned. Despite the heat in her face she felt something cold settle itself in her chest. It rendered her dead to the world until she was pulled from her childhood memories by the fisher's louder voice.
"You deaf too?" the man said. "I don't want your kind here!"
Kind. Kind? Seeing red was an expression that she understood well. She'd often seen it herself when one of her brothers had gone too far and underestimated her length of patience. Seeing it creep into the recesses of her vision didn't worry her because it was proof that after four years she was still, in some shape or form, the same person she feared she could never be again. Better memories, of her father's teachings, came to the surface and gave her the courage to act on her impulses and open her mouth. It was one thing to put her down, but to openly discriminate against people with her condition made her downright angry.
"Ill-litERacy," she rasped. "…doesn't g-give YOU-the…R-right to belit-tle mE."
Once she finished, her hand rose to massage some of the tension out of her throat. Tears threatened to fall but she was good enough to hold them back by now. She knew how pitiful her voice must have sounded after so much time, but she tried not to care. Volume wasn't important. She said what she needed to, at her own cost. She'd endure a little humiliation for it if it meant getting what she came here for.
"I'm sorry," the man said, coming around the counter. Caroline's eyes narrowed at the man's approach, thinking that it wasn't an actual apology she was hearing. He leaned in and spoke louder than before. "You're going to have to speak up."
In a spur of anger, Caroline slapped the man across the face and spared herself a second of satisfaction before she promptly turned on her heel and made for the door. But before she could reach it a fist of iron captured her arm and yanked her back. A little noise escaped her throat as she lost hold of the things she was carrying. They were soon forgotten once she caught sight of the menace in the fisher's eyes as he pulled her close.
"I don't let no little hussies like you have your way in my shop" he hissed.
The fight almost abandoned her when she tried, repeatedly, to get out of his grasp and failed. But when she got the slightest impression that his gaze was turning into a leer she clenched her teeth together and swung her knee upwards. The reaction was as immediate as she hoped. The man screamed and fell to the floor, holding himself and shouting obscene profanities at her. The spectacle was attracting attention from outside and Caroline had the sudden sense to not want to be around when a constable caught wind of what was happening.
As quickly as she could she gathered up the items that she had dropped and, instead of going out the front, she made for the back. Once she passed the door, however, she was confronted with an older woman with harsh features. Her cold eyes froze Caroline to the floor, but the wife of the fisher did not berate her or attack her as her husband had done. Wordlessly, she reached around Caroline, grabbed the fish that she had requested, and wrapped it before stowing it in with her other things. The wife of the fisher was gentle and swift, offering the ghost of a smile as she pushed Caroline out the door with a whisper.
"No charge," the woman said in her ear. "Five o'clock. The back door. Tuesdays."
Caroline turned around but the door closed and locked as soon as it had opened to let her out into the back alley. Whistles echoed in the distance, reminding her that she needed to get home before any more trouble found her. So she made her way towards the street and hailed a cab as soon as she saw one. She could spare the money to get home just this once. The last thing she wanted after that incident was to be further assaulted on her way home. The cabbie turned around to ask where she wanted to go, but to save him the breath she shoved a note under his nose that she had prepared from earlier this morning with the other one. He took it and didn't say a word before setting off. It was hard to believe this had only been one day so far.
Once inside the Baker Street residence, she snapped the door shut with the heel of her shoe and made her way to the kitchen, not bothering to retain the silence of the house. She made quick work of the fish when she set to preparing the evening meal. It wasn't until she began skinning the carrots that she felt a lump growing in her throat. She tried to ignore it. But in the end she wound up throwing the knife down and covering her face with her hands. She hadn't even gotten to the onions yet and her eyes were beginning to sting.
Ridicule was something she had been used to since she was a child. It was nothing new. And she had learned to understand it when her father told her that people often acted out of ignorance instead of compassion. But she knew she would never grow to accept it. Being reminded of her shortcomings wasn't what she wanted for the rest of her life. Why couldn't people educate themselves? Why did she have to take it upon herself to do it for them? Did she have to accept narrow-mindedness?
…she certainly didn't want to. But what could she do? Who was she to change the world's opinion? Finding her face dry was a surprise. And the loud knocking or banging at the door was too. A vague moment of worry passed through her mind before she answered the door. On the steps stood three men, two of them constables. Absentmindedly she began wiping her hands on her apron, even as she could feel the color drain from her face. There was no warmth to their features. In fact, all three of them looked a little disgruntled and a bit more serious than what Caroline wanted to assume was just a random house visit.
"Good evening, madam. Detective Inspector Lestrade," the third man said, flashing an official looking badge. "Might we have a few words with you?"
Caroline nodded and stepped aside to allow the men entry. In the sitting room the inspector told her to sit, which she did with a growing trepidation. She would have been stupid to think it wasn't about what occurred this afternoon. There was no getting out of what she did but how was she supposed to properly defend herself to these men with her notepad upstairs in her room? Moreover, would they even take the time to listen to her? Or would she be wasting her time as she had earlier this afternoon?
"I'll be honest with you, miss…?" Lestrade stumbled, waiting for an introduction.
Caroline's mouth hung open and she froze, uncertain of how to proceed. Despite her fidgeting hands she brought one up to tap at her throat. The Inspector didn't respond so she decided to take the same chance with him as she had with her tenant.
'I cannot speak,' she signed.
A long pause followed.
"I don't think she can speak, sir," one of the constables said.
"Thank you, Clarkey," Lestrade ground out. "We'll just do this another way. We've received reports of a woman, matching your description, who was seen in Mr. Harrington's fishery this afternoon. Do you deny that you were there?"
Caroline shook her head.
"You were there?"
Caroline nodded.
"And you assaulted Mr. Harrington?"
'Not without cause-' she began.
"Clarkey, can you understand her?"
The constable looked sympathetic. "No, sir."
Caroline tried to motion for her writing pad but none of them seemed to know what she wanted. Frustration was starting to override her embarrassment. Were these men truly that thick headed? Why hadn't any of them thought to ask her if she knew how to write?
"Madam," Lestrade bolstered on, silencing her with a hand. "He claims you struck him and stole the fish that you requested of him. Do you deny this?"
'I didn't steal-'
"Yes or no, please?" Lestrade asked, heated.
Caroline sat back with shock on her face. Was this Inspector only going to take her testimony in a yes or no manner? Didn't her opinion matter? Didn't she have a voice of her own? She thought of speaking up again, as she had earlier this afternoon, but she worried about the damage she may have already done.
"Madam, did you or did you not commit the crimes I have described?"
"The answer is yes and no, Lestrade," someone said.
Caroline turned to view the newcomer to the room and gaped. Mr. Holmes stood, leaning against the opening of the room as if he'd been there for the whole conversation. He fussed at some substance that seemed to be stuck to the side of his pipe, as if pulling the room's attention onto himself has been an afterthought. He looked up to four pairs of eyes fixed onto him, furrowing his brows in confusion for a split second. But he didn't turn his attention to her.
"Always the answer you never seem to be satisfied with," Holmes said. "Isn't it?"
"Mr. Holmes, this is a private matter-" Lestrade began, standing up.
"Ms. Collins is the landlady of this house. Any matters of legal issue regarding her involve me as I am her tenant in Mrs. Hudson's absence."
"Be that as it may, your involvement at this juncture is not needed."
"What were the crimes? Assault and thievery, I believe?"
"Not that it concerns you, Holmes. Were you a witness?"
"Well if it doesn't concern me, then I hardly think it matters." Holmes turned his back and started towards the staircase, making Caroline's heart skip a beat. Had he really seen the whole thing?
"This woman verbally and physically assaulted a vender today," Lestrade shouted. "If you've got evidence then you either bring it here or I bring you in for obstruction-"
Holmes about-faced with a curious look lacing his features. "Hm. Well, that's not entirely correct, now is it?"
Lestrade looked so red in the face that Caroline thought he might burst after another syllable. She hadn't noticed until now that her hands were fisted in the skirt of her dress and apon. Confrontation made her nervous. But this man was an inspector, surely he had some semblance of self-control despite Mr. Holmes' baiting.
"Sir," Clarkey questioned?
"How and why," Holmes asked, coming back into the light of the room. "Would a woman, who is obviously mute, verbally and physically assault a man twice her stature?"
Lestrade paled as the room fell silent. But never one to take something lying down, especially in front of his own men, the inspector tried to brush past the indignity of the situation and get to the point.
"Enough games, Holmes," Lestrade hissed. "Were you a witness or not? I won't be wasting any of my time on your theories if you haven't got a solid story."
Holmes gave the inspector a cold glare. "I invite you to point out to me an instance in our history when I have not."
Lestrade sighed, retook his seat, and motioned for the detective to begin. Both constables exchanged nervous glances as Caroline took a deep breath to calm herself. Holmes relit his pipe and gave it a few puffs before he began retelling his account of the reported incident.
"You fancy th'girl?"
Sherlock turned and recognized the gypsy woman that he had previously employed. Somehow she had snuck up on him, even with all the jewelry attached to her clothes. But he returned his attention to the scene unfolding in the fisher's shop.
"Maria, dear," he greeted tightly. "How are the little rascals these days?"
"Yer 'irregulars're gettin' antsy, Mr. Holmes."
Feign disinterest. Decrease present interest. Return to task at hand. "I wouldn't expect any less…"
Maria hummed acknowledgement. "Should send a few of 'em after 'er if you've taken such a liking."
Push disinterest. Act distracted. "Perhaps I will…"
"Who is she?"
Damn women.
Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away from the angry fisher to spare the gypsy woman a moment of attention. "Jealous, are we? I don't think your bedfellow, would appreciate you associating with singular men such as myself. He was the cause of his previous wife's death, you know. Do worry after yourself first, my dear."
The desired reaction was instant. Maria sputtered nonsense. Sherlock turned back to view the fisher's shop and watched as the man came around the counter. Reading lips was simple. Reacting to said words was difficult. Emotions flew easily. He learned a long time ago to control them, to detach oneself for clarity and for the advantages of the objective. As far as other people were concerned, the answers came easy. So he understood why his interim landlady struck the fisher.
"Mm," Maria mused. "Got spunk she does."
His own reaction, however, wasn't as simple. When the fisher grabbed the younger woman he didn't register any change in his body because his movements toward the shop were measured and calm. On some subconscious level, he supposed, he was forcing himself to react to the crowd around him and not draw any attention to himself. But on an emotional level he was worried. Slightly. But he had less cause to worry than he originally thought because before he had the chance to defuse the situation occurring inside, the problem solved itself.
"This gypsy woman," Lestrade interrupted. She can corroborate-"
Holmes pulled a face. "I'm insulted you have to ask."
"Protocol. You saw Ms. Collins commit the crime?"
"Ms. Collins acted out of self-defense. And rightly so after the nasty bruise Harrington's left on her right arm."
Lestrade seemed to deflate after that. Caroline thought that perhaps the whole thing would blow over now that just about everything was made clear, but her stomach flipped when the inspector turned to her. "Let's see it, then."
Caroline didn't exactly know why, but her eyes shot straight to Sherlock Holmes. She didn't want to ask him to speak any more for her, but she also didn't want to endure any more humiliation today. Holmes gazed back, seemingly understanding her dilemma.
"Really, Inspector," Holmes chided. "There's no need-"
"Mr. Holmes, I trust you enough to do your side of things. Now, I'd be very much obliged if you allowed me to do mine?"
In short, the inspector's hands were tied. The law required him to see it done and there was no other way around it. All eyes turned to her as she took a moment to gather the courage to do the deed. Her left forearm had started aching and stinging once she returned but she didn't dare look at it. Either way, some divine power obviously had other plans for her. And, just to spite that being, she quickly unbuttoned the end of her sleeve and snapped it up her arm, refusing to look any where other than the far wall.
Both of the constables gasped, but the inspector and Mr. Holmes had more restraint. The hand-print bruise on her forearm was turning an ugly shade of red. Small spots of darkening purple had just started appearing. She suspected a few muscles may also have been pulled due to the strain present when she clenched her fingers together. Caroline hated feeling like some poor specimen on exhibition, but she bore it until the inspector seemed satisfied. When he was, she replaced the sleeve and sat in silence, not too keen on communicating with anyone.
Mr. Holmes also explained how the wife had given the fish to her in recompense after how her husband had treated her. Caroline wondered at how he knew that but didn't have the energy to ask. He saw the inspector out after Caroline was apologized to, also being promised that the man would be brought up on charges for the physical damage done to her person. She could only nod in response as the other constables followed him out the door, bearing looks of disgust.
When all was said and done she and Mr. Holmes were left to themselves in the darkening house. Shadows ran along the walls and floors at the setting sun. Caroline started in surprise, realizing how late it was getting and that dinner should have been served some time ago. She rose on unsteady feet and made her way towards the kitchen. But Mr. Holmes reminded her that, no matter where she retreated to, she would not be alone.
"You must excuse the inspector, madam. He is, normally, in possession of some sense of tact."
Caroline turned and nodded, finding some comfort in his softer tone. His hair, unlike before, had been combed back and set into a respectful arrangement. And it looked as if he may have changed his clothes as well. He looked…sharper, more refined than before. Was it because of her? Surely not.
'He was very…' She had trouble finding the right word to sign, to describe Inspector Lestrade, but Holmes filled in the blanks for her.
"Painfully oblivious? Brazenly ignorant?" He stopped to think, then answered with a straight face. "No. Maddeningly laughable."
Caroline chuckled a little.
Holmes smiled. And Caroline swore she could feel herself starting to blush. His smile was quite brilliant…and infectious. It startled her because it put her at ease, made her forget her troubles, and reminded her that there was a person standing in front of her, a person that could make this new and frightening situation bearable for a while.
"But not normally so crass either," he mused.
Caroline's brows creased.
"I am a consulting detective, my dear. The perks of such an occupation allow me the choice of whether or not I am to take the cases that are brought to me by either personal clients or the Yard itself. Hm. What month is it now?"
'April,' she signed.
"Oh," Holmes said with a look of sudden contemplation. "Well then. That's certainly enough cause for his displeasure."
'Is he a good man?'
"Honorable, yes. Dedicated would, perhaps, be the better term."
Caroline smiled as best as she could. The weight of the day settled itself in her center, barely reminding her that this morning she had gotten on a train, unaware of what trials awaited her. This morning she was an anxious and closed ghost of the self that she was beginning to feel again. She couldn't recall a time, in the past four years, away from home, when someone had made her feel at such ease, when someone had inspired happiness in her, however small. She was grateful for that and the hope it planted.
"Now, Ms. Collins," Holmes said, crossing the foyer to her. "I do believe you were in the middle of preparing dinner. Some coastal recipe, yes?"
Caroline blinked. How had he-
"Might I offer my assistance?"
She hesitated, wanting to ask him how he did such things, whether they were plain guesses, educated guesses, or strange knowledge that he gained through means unknown to her. But, she thought, there was plenty of time. And she did love to figure things out on her own…
'You've done so much for me already. Allow me to repay you.'
"You mistake my intentions. I was merely repaying you this evening for my rude behavior earlier this morning."
Caroline pursed her lips. 'Then it would appear as if we are even.'
He smirked. "You hide pain very well, Ms. Collins. Your left arm will be of little use tonight. I possess two in perfect shape for your uses."
Her eyes narrowed and she studied Sherlock Holmes for a moment. He was clearly older than her…by how much she was unsure. But she would be willing to bet money on the fact that he was older than her oldest brother, William. He seemed like a gentleman, and had certainly acted like one after this morning. It made her wonder what had transpired or changed since then, because she hadn't been here to witness it.
'I've been told you are not normally so generous.'
"On certain occasions, you would be correct. This, however, is not one of them."
Surely, he was just trying to get on her good side, but whether it was true or not she welcomed the effort and help. She motioned to the kitchen behind her and he followed. As they worked she was happy to learn that he actually knew what he was doing when she asked him to do things. While the fish was cooking and they were preparing the side dishes she snuck a side-glance at him. He seemed engrossed in what he was doing. His jacket has been shed a while ago, and just in his vest and shirt she could tell that he was an athletic man of some sort. He was active in the things he chose to do. From what she gathered this morning he was also an intellectual…and more than a little eccentric.
He was secretive. Distrusting. Having followed her this afternoon was proof of that. But in the end he was also a gentleman and, dare she hope, understanding. He was one of the few people that knew how to communicate with her. And yet, she felt that he wasn't being entirely open with her. He kept things locked away like she did. He was guarded. In a cautious way, she thought. When he caught her looking she didn't look away. She let herself get lost for a while, exploring what he was willing to show.
Her conclusions turned out to be right. There was a darkness he was hiding, something he kept under close watch, maybe something that he never let loose. It was seductive, as if some small part of him were pleading to be found. Beyond those small traces she could see was a wall, preventing anyone from getting in or anything from leaking out. It surprised her because it was nearly like looking at a mirror image of herself years ago when she had first moved to Norwich. It gave her chills to see it rather than remember it.
'I'm not one for pity,' she motioned.
"Of course not," he responded.
Indifference was what he offered, contradicting everything she had just surmised, but she knew better than to doubt herself. 'I don't see myself any differently.'
"As you shouldn't."
'You are willing to accept this? Me? As I am?'
He stilled and turned his body to face her, leaning against the counter. Silence followed as he took his turn to study her. She got the faintest impression that he was much better at this than she was. Though that thought should have frightened her, she didn't feel threatened. In fact, she wanted him to open her like a book. She wanted him to peruse the pages of her life and devour them. She wanted him to see her, to understand her, and to accept her for who she was. So she spent the last remaining moments in a small kind of agony, waiting for the judgment that he was to pass.
"I would certainly be a fool if I did not," he said.
Caroline blinked away the stings that returned to her eyes and replied with a smile. He returned to his task, gently mentioning that the fish was likely to be done by now. She moved quickly and began plating them both. When she was done and when they had both set the table for themselves, she reaches across and lightly touched his arm. Though the touch had only been a passing thing, it surprised them both. But she held a steady gaze and said the one thing she had been meaning to tell him all evening.
'Thank you.'
It was a simple thing to say and applied to many things he had done for her today, but she trusted him to see the truth she was trying to convey, that the thank you wasn't just for helping her prepare dinner, or for helping her avoid arrest and criminal charges on her first day back to London. He looked at her as he did earlier and told her all she needed to know with just his eyes. Verbalizing it wasn't needed to seal the matter, but more to assuage her constant fears. Either way, hearing it as well served a purpose.
"You're welcome, Ms. Collins."
They tucked in to the meal and afterwards she practically pushed him up the stairs so she could do the dishes by herself. As she washed them, she felt his absence, felt the large space pressing down on her. But the sounds she heard, of him pacing the floors above her brought her more comfort. It may have been only one day, but the hope that she had gained today had been worth all the trials. It made her feel as if she would actually make it out the other end of this with more than she thought she was going to. Having someone like Mr. Holmes as a tenant would surely make things easier. It made her smile all the way to bed later that night.
But little did she know how quickly her demeanor towards her savior was to change in the coming weeks.
And from here on out for a few chapters is where the fun begins. Oh soooo wrong Caroline dear. You poor thing.
A note on Caroline: I suppose an explanation on her mute-ness is in order after this chapter. Her being mute is partially by choice and partially not. Her condition is in part because of an inherited thing (which you will see in her father much later), and because of what happened to her four years ago. I HATE not being able to spill the beans right now, but I figured I'd let Holmes do it for us. And believe me he's got lots of spilling to do. Hoarder. So please bear with me on this! I know it might not make a whole lot of sense right now but I promise it will.
The next couple of weeks are going to be really hectic for me since I'm auditioning for all of these graduate schools. Keep your fingers crossed for me! I promise to update at the soonest time possible…as long as my brain doesn't turn to mush in the meanwhile. Please leave reviews on your way out!
Rainsaber