He knocked on Mary's door, even though he would have liked nothing better than to hide from the rest of the world in the safety of his room. Just to have another human being see his face was enough to remind him of his failure -- not like he had to be reminded.
But he had promised her he would come, and come he did, trying hard to put on a smiling face just for her sake.
It was to his surprise, when the maid showed him into the sitting room, to find that his fiancée was not alone. Another woman, perhaps five years older than she was, was sitting across from her, telling a loud and rather boisterous story while Mary sat listening quietly.
The other woman didn't seem to notice he had entered, so caught up was she in her tale, and so it was a few minutes before Mary had the liberty to rise and greet him.
"John!" she cried, smiling at him gratefully and she walked toward him with her hand extended. He took her hand, pressed it to his lips, and returned the smile, hoping she did not see the sadness lurking in his eyes.
Mary turned back to the other woman, who had raised her eyebrow at the scene. "Matilda, this is my fiancé, Dr. John Watson, that I was telling you about. John, this is a friend of mine, Miss Matilda Plumber."
"Yes, a pleasure to meet you, I'm sure," the lady said, rising more out of obligation that out of a genuine desire to be courteous. "I have known dear Mary for only a month, but we are already becoming fast friends, aren't we darling?"
Mary nodded politely but couldn't seem to manage a verbal answer to the affirmative.
"Mary has talked so much about you," Matilda went on, regaining a bit of her enthusiasm as she spoke. "Although I wonder, myself, if you are not a scoundrel, Mr. Watson."
Watson was too taken aback by her words to bother about the misapplied title. "A scoundrel? What do you mean?"
"Ah!" Miss Matilda said, a gleam coming into her eye. She leaned back lazily on the couch with the air of a queen and eyed him, much as a cat does a mouse. "I see I have you there! I have read your stories, Mr. Watson -- oh yes, I have indeed!" She gave a haughty laugh.
Watson hastily searched his mind, trying to recall what on earth would leave such an unfavorable impression in this lady's mind. He could think of nothing.
"I'm afraid you have the advantage over me, Miss Plumber," he said. "I haven't the faintest idea what you're talking about."
"Oh, how quaint, to pretend you don't know your own sin!" Miss Matilda exclaimed. "Really, Mary, I trusted you were smarter than to be deceived by the likes of him!"
"Deceived? Matilda, what on earth are you talking about? John is the most honorable of men, I can assure you!"
"But have you read his account of the case his friend Mr. Sherlock Holmes worked out for you, my dear?" Matilda asked, a sly look on her face.
Mary's face turned red in barely suppressed anger. "Of course I did, and I found nothing wrong with it! Everything was exactly as it had happened! What is it that you think I have missed?"
Matilda smiled a half-smile. "He betrayed his guilt very early on, dearest, when he was first talking about you. Or did you miss the place where he said that his experience of women extends over many nations and three separate continents?"
As the words left her lips, Watson felt a streak of horror run through him. Those words... how innocent his intentions had been when he had wrote them! But now it was plain how horribly they could be misconstrued!
"I meant nothing by that!" he cried. "I only intended to convey that I have met many women in my travels, and that Mary outshines them all in excellence!"
Miss Plumber laughed. "And, pray, how did you meet them?"
For the second time that evening his face went fiery at the thought of what she was implying. But even as a defense rose to his lips it faded away. She was wrong, certainly. He was not in the least guilty of the sin -- but he did not have the heart to defend himself. It was obvious that his tormentor would not listen.
"In quite an ordinary and harmless fashion," he murmured quietly, feeling that he must at least make some reply, even if it was inadequate. He rose to his feet, wishing that he could sink into the floor, feeling that he must leave and go anywhere, just as long as it was away from anyone he knew.
"Forgive me, but a fear I have stayed too long. I must go."
He didn't know if he could bear to look at Mary's face, so he didn't. Silence reigned as he left the room and made his way out of the house.
It was only when he reached the doorstep that he remembered that he couldn't go back to Baker Street.
Very well, then, he thought miserably. I won't.
When he reached the street, instead of turning towards home, he turned in the opposite direction.
Continued in Part 3....