Chapter 7
Tom Langdon was in love with Molly Hooper. Madly in love. And he would have done anything for her.
That was why a few days before he had volunteered to remove a young lady from her home. Well, put like that, it looked like a kidnapping. But it wasn't. The young lady, a close friend of Molly's, was entirely in agreement with being taken away.
He had no knowledge of the issues that had driven Miss Potter to such a drastic decision, but if Molly thought that was the only way to protect her, well he had nothing to complain about. Tom was willing to help her in any way he could, even risking jail time.
And still that was why now, on a very cold February evening, he was about to walk through the heavy door of a church, that of St Bartholomew the Less to be precise, instead of that of a welcoming and noisy pub.
For Tom it was love at first sight. And how could it been otherwise? Molly was so pretty. Surely she could not be defined a breath-taking beauty who makes an instant impression, but many things about her such as her sharp eyes, her dimpled smile and her graceful figure made her, in his opinion, unique and unforgettable.
And furthermore she was witty, funny, sometimes a little clumsy but above all of strong mettle. She was someone who didn't let difficulties get her down easily. Not that she didn't have her moments of despondency, due to what Molly had never told him even though he had asked over and over again. But they never lasted more than a few minutes, a few tears and a sigh.
It must be said, however, that his was an unrequited love. Molly cared for him, she was fond of him, even made love to him but she wasn't in love with him.
Tom had come to terms with it for some time now. Quite simply he was not the kind of man who suited Molly. Although he didn't consider himself a fool, there were times when he get lost in keeping up with her line of thinking. And much as he admired her spirit of independence, Tom wanted to wife a girl who was a true angel of the hearth.
They weren't made for each other. Period. He knew it, she knew it.
Tom couldn't tell if there was a man in the world whose mind was brilliant enough to match Molly's, or confident enough to marry her knowing full well she would never, ever give up her independence for him.
And honestly, he didn't even care much. At least as long as he could continue to enjoy those wonderful afternoons, less frequent than he would have liked, curled up with her after making love, her bed sheets a messy tangle beneath their sweaty, sated bodies.
Secret encounters, planned right there in that church for when both Molly's brother and her inflexible landlady were away from home, which Tom was not at present willing to give up.
And who would? Every date with Molly was an adventure. He never knew when one of her messages summoning him to the church associated with St Bart's hospital would reach his flat or his workshop. And his heart beat in anticipation, even for days. And then there was the risk of being caught red handed!
It had almost happened once, and it had been delightfully exciting! They were engaged in various fascinating activities - he was on top, if he remember correctly -, and they only noticed Mrs Cowper had unexpectedly returned home when they heard a vigorous knock on the front door of the flat Molly shared with her brother.
He had thought her natural reaction was to panic, instead she had literally ordered "Faster". And when the old lady had kept knocking claiming she had an urgent message for Dr Hooper, Molly shifted their bodies so that she was on top, "No time to be nice, Tom. That seemingly harmless old lady will kick down the door if I don't open it soon".
And in earnest she had ridden him to the completion of both. Within a couple of minutes she was out of bed and while he was picking up his breeches from the ground, she was yelling through the half-open door of her bedchamber that she was on her way. In short, he had had to flee through the window, lowering himself, half naked, along the gutter pipe.
"Tom, I like you but you have to find someone else. Someone who won't let you out the window" she had giggled as she had handed him his shoes and shirt, "You deserve better". He too had laughed. She was adorable and Tom had never felt so alive in his life.
So, to hell with Molly's perfect man!
He slipped into the church. By day its interior, although small, was surprisingly light and airy thanks to the high lunette windows, by contrast in the evening the dim candlelight was barely enough to see where one stepped.
But for Tom was not a problem. Molly always sat in the same seat – at the end of the second to last pew, on the left aisle's side – and he would have gotten there even with his eyes closed.
He took care to keep his footsteps as soft as possible so as not to disturb those very few devotees still present to pray or be confessed. As he usually did, Tom took a seat in the pew behind Molly's, kneeling and leaning his torso forward a little so that his mouth was close to her ear.
"We have to speed things up" she spoke quietly without any preamble or greeting, which it was so unlike her. But there was no need for him to ask what she meant, so he waited for her to go on, "You said you had a friend who could get Alma a passport with a new identity".
"His name is Jim Moriarty" he confirmed. "How soon can he get the document?" she urged as her head moved a bit to the right and then to the left.
Tom could not see Molly's face but could bet she was checking the room for other people. And this wasn't like her. This wasn't their first secret meeting, but never before had she been so wary.
"He's the best in this…business. I assume no more than a couple of days. Three at the most" he replied as he too instinctively glanced around. "Good. I need you to talk to him. Immediately. By tomorrow morning you must let me know what he needs and how much he wants to be paid".
"It'll be done, I promise. But Molly…why this sudden rush? Didn't you say things needed to calm down before Alma's trip to the States could be arranged?", he had to know why her plans had changed. This urgency on her part made no sense at all.
"Alma's parents hired someone to find her" was her simple and terse explanation, "A detective" she hastened to add with a soft sigh. A sigh. Had he heard right? Had she really sighed as she said the word detective?
"A detective? That's it?" he couldn't help but sound incredulous. He really didn't understand why Molly fretted about this man. He could do little except a few questions here and there. Evidence of a kidnapping or a voluntary escape there was none. For the matter, there was no evidence of anything.
That night, the night he and Molly had taken Alma out of her house and away from there, there was no one in the street or at the window. No one had seen or heard anything. They'd been extremely careful.
But even if anyone had seen or heard anything or anyone, it would have been her personal maid who had offered herself as a diversion in case some unexpected event happened which, to his knowledge, had not occurred. Everything had gone smoothly.
And what's more the girl had been taken to a place where the presence of an upper-class young lady would never be considered. Alma Potter was in a brothel. No matter how classy it or its Madam was, "Les petits plaisirs" was still a brothel, and no one would have thought of looking for her among prostitutes.
So what's the point of Molly's anxiety?
"It' s no big deal! You eat men like him for breakfast!" he purred as he nuzzled her neck. A gesture that usually caused her to tilt her head to one side to encourage him to continue. It wasn't like that this time.
She remained motionless, her gaze straight ahead. Not even a hint of a giggle, or a "Stop it Tom, we're in a church!" of feigned reprimand. Nothing at all. It had never happened she was so…unimpressed.
And Tom felt a pang in his heart. He wasn't wrong, then! He had sensed she was somehow different as soon as she had started talking. But he had chosen to banish that feeling to the back of his mind. He had chosen to pretend not to have sensed it. But now her indifference to his approach, brought it back in full force.
"Not this man" she said and let out another sigh. Two sighs. Molly had sighed twice over this man. It was not a good sign. "This man is different. This man is…" she folded her hands in her lap and sighed again, "Dangerously captivating".
Tom stiffened. He had never heard her talk about any man in a such a way. And with his stomach turning, he had to admit to himself that Molly was no longer his Molly. Those words of hers had been like a lid closing on his coffin.
She probably did not realize it herself yet, but this man, whoever he was – some kind of sorcerer, surely - somehow, had won her over.
"Dangerously captivating" Tom repeated, "Interesting choice of words". For the first time Molly turned her head enough to allow her to meet his eyes, "What do you mean?". He shrugged, trying to keep his voice conversational, "You tell me. It's not like you to let yourself be captivated".
"Captivated? You think that about me?" the look she was giving him was grim to say the least. "Well, I can't help but think this man has had some effect on you. Otherwise why rush things about Alma? What are you afraid of? He has nothing against you and he will find nothing. And on top of that", Tom leaned in, almost as if sharing a secret, "You know you can stand up to whoever you want, don't you?".
"I wish it were true" she murmured with a small sigh, looking forward again, "You are very sweet, Tom, to think so highly of me. But this man is no ordinary detective. This man is Sherlock Holmes and he does magic tricks with his mind. It has never happened a culprit got away with it if he was the one to investigate".
"I might be hard-pressed for time" Molly added in a quite tone of voice, "And I can't and won't risk Alma being found, brought home and back into his clutches, just for the sake of proving I'm as smart and cunning as he is".
Tom said nothing for several moments. All he could think was…bloody hell! Of all the private detectives in London, the Potters had had to hire none other than Sherlock Holmes!
He had read of his feats in "The Strand" and had often heard of him in the pub as well. Holmes really was the ultimate of detectives, one who was so fascinated by a well-thought-out mystery that he didn't give up until he had solved it. Not to mention what a formidable observer he was.
And all this made Holmes a dangerous man, especially to Molly given her involvement in Alma's disappearance. Tom could well understand why she had thought of him as such.
What he didn't understand was what she found captivating about him.
Holmes was known to have no friends, apart from Doctor Watson who assisted him with his cases and narrated them in "The Strand". When he wasn't busy with a case he used to spend his days holed up in his flat in Baker Street doing who knows what experiments, playing violin, smoking pipe and, for the mere purpose of stimulating his mental processes, consuming cocaine in a seven percent solution, or if he needed his mind to slow down alternate it with morphine.
How could such a man pique the romantic interest of a woman like Molly Hooper?
"He's not for you" he blurted out.
This time Molly turned completely towards him, "I beg your pardon?". Tom stood up and looked down at her. She could pretend as much as she liked she didn't understand who he meant, but the blush on her cheeks and the sparkle in her eyes told him not only that she figured out perfectly, but also he was right. Molly had feelings for Holmes.
"He's not for you, Molly. I know one can't rule the heart, but you should rule yours, or you'll end up in pain".
She opened her mouth to say something, then paused, her lips remaining parted for several seconds. Finally, she just placed her gloved hand on his, squeezing a bit and saying "Let me know what Mr Moriarty needs for Alma's passport".