a/n: prompt from Deb Zorski-cold-
Holmes and companions do not belong to me.
"Revenge is a dish best served cold." old proverb.
I have borrowed the rhyme pattern from a non Sherlock Holmes poem I wrote a few years ago (and two of the lines.)
POV of the abominable wife of Ricoletti of the club-foot (mentioned in "The Adventure of the Musgrave Ritual.")
Cold
I'm a vengeful Victorian lady;
My husband, alas, is in jail.
It was Holmes who had made sure
His crimes were all paid for;
And our schemes to make money would fail.
~0~
I constantly think of my husband;
Alone, in his bleak prison cell.
For fifteen long years
I have shed many tears
For my spouse (and that money, as well.)
~0~
To add to my sense of injustice;
My name was in print; I had heard.
In "The Strand" was a page
Which suffused me with rage.
"Abominable"; just one word!
~o~
I am not really one to hold grudges;
But I think that detective should pay.
Revenge, I am told,
Is a dish best served cold;
He'll be sorry he got in my way!
~0~
I have studied his habits and movements;
Made notes on each foible and whim.
I have learned all I can
Of the heart of this man,
And what actions might devastate him.
~0~
I could burn down his Baker Street lodgings;
He wouldn't be happy with that.
I could slander his mother,
Or blackmail his brother,
Or murder his landlady's cat.
~0~
Or, of course, there's his loyal companion.
A kidnap; a ransom demand!
He might even pay double,
With Watson in trouble.
(And I haven't forgotten "The Strand")
~0~
If, by chance, Holmes refused to oblige me;
My response would be chillingly clear.
I'd announce my ambition
To kill a physician;
And Watson would just disappear.
~0~
This would not be too hard to accomplish;
I know what could act as my bait.
I could simply pretend
I was nearing the end;
Send a note to his clinic...and wait.
~0~
When he rushed to my aid, I'd be ready,
With gun, ether, shackles and key.
I would make Holmes regret he
Had crossed Ricoletti,
And regret he had ever crossed me!
~0~
later...
I penned my sad plea for assistance;
A boy, passing by, took my note.
As I sounded so sickly;
I was sure he'd come quickly;
Once he'd read every word that I wrote.
~o~
I waited, and peered through the window;
How could he resist my sad plight?
A ragged old crone;
Wandered past on her own;
Glanced my way, and then moved out of sight.
~0~
Two labourers slouched in a doorway,
Three boys played a game at their feet;
Then I smiled at the sound
Made by hooves on the ground.
As a carriage appeared in the street.
~0~
The doctor approached, as expected,
And knocked on my shabby front door.
I was ready, as planned;
Gun and ether in hand;
He stepped in, after knocking once more.
~0~
I stood with my cloth at the ready;
My moment of triumph, at last!
As he checked out the room,
I moved close, in the gloom...
Then the scene changed incredibly fast!
~0~
The doctor turned swiftly towards me;
I was gripped by two arms like a vice.
That ragged old crone,
In a soft, steel-edged tone,
Whispered," Drop it; I won't ask you twice."
~0~
I knew, straight away, I was beaten;
My plans for the future were shattered.
They'd ruined my fun;
I threw down my gun,
By the side of Holmes' skirts, where it clattered.
~0~
Holmes took off his flower trimmed bonnet,
His features were cold, grim and hard.
"This is how it must end
If you threaten my friend"
Then he called in two men from "The Yard".
~0~
later...
Tomorrow, I'm at the Old Bailey,
For the harm to the doctor I'd planned.
I am sure I'll do time
For my terrible crime,
But, I've earned some more lines in "The Strand".
~o~