Authors: Rohase Piercy
At my entrance he turned to face me, with the slight swagger that he always adopted as part and parcel of disguises of this sort.
'Ah, Watson,' said he, 'I trust that you are feeling the better for a good night's sleep?'
I nodded my assent, and surveyed him with a questioning air.
'As you perceive, we meet in passing this morning,' he continued. 'I fear I must leave you to breakfast alone. I go to hunt the Queen Bee.'
I knew better than to question him as to his precise plans or direction. 'Well, Holmes, I wish you good hunting,' I said, as I poured myself some coffee and glanced at the breakfast table, which had barely been disturbed.
'Thank you, dear fellow.'
He was in excellent humour. He passed behind me as I reached for the toast and pinched my arm.
'You may expect me back this afternoon,' he said. 'And then, if I am not much mistaken, we will be able to discuss the best method of drawing the Queen Bee's sting.'
With that, he was gone.
I remained standing with my back to the door, and absent-mindedly ate several pieces of dry toast. After a while, I recovered myself and resorted to a more civilised breakfast, accompanied by a hasty perusal of
The Times.
When Mrs Hudson called to clear away the breakfast things, I still remained in my chair, lost in thought. By the time I eventually raised my eyes to the clock, it was half past ten.
I rose with deliberation and went to ring for my boots. It was no use, I thought, as I donned my coat and hat. My stronger frame of mind had not effected a lessening of the torment within me. But it had aided me to form a resolve to tackle the matter.
Once in the street, I hailed a hansom, and gave a direction to Camberwell Grove. I was going to call on the one person with whom I felt that I could speak freely. Whatever Holmes' reservations about her, I was going to have a further talk with Miss D'Arcy.
--
IX
--
I
T WAS THE housemaid, Hetty, who opened the door to me. She looked at me expectantly, obviously in hopes that I brought some news. I shook my head briefly, and asked whether her mistress were at home and would see me.
Miss D'Arcy lost no time in joining me in the drawing room. She looked tense and anxious, but otherwise appeared to be bearing up well. It was only as she began to question me that I realised in how awkward a position I had placed myself by this unscheduled visit. What progress had we made? Had we seen Maria's son? Who was blackmailing him? Had we seen Maria?
Since Holmes had seen fit to disclose to her his intention to visit Mr Maurice Kirkpatrick, I saw no objection to enlightening her on that score at least. I treated her to an amusing description of that gentleman and his residence, and assured her that we had indeed seen Miss Kirkpatrick, and that she appeared in good health and tolerably calm, although obviously under considerable strain. On the subject of our actual progress, however, I thought it wisest to be reticent. This was difficult, as Miss D'Arcy was most persistent, especially upon the subject of the blackmail hypothesis; and in the end I was obliged to feign ignorance myself, saying that although I knew that Mr Sherlock Holmes had the matter well in hand, and that I had every hope that he would bring it to a successful conclusion very soon, he had not taken me into his confidence as to the exact nature of his investigations--which was true inasmuch as it referred to his activities of that morning.
One point I did let slip, however; I revealed that it was not Mr Maurice Kirkpatrick, but his father who was the victim of blackmail.
Miss D'Arcy looked so extremely shocked that I wondered whether I should once again take the liberty of offering her some of her own brandy. Her eyes resumed that glassy stare that I had observed when Holmes had first mentioned the possibility of blackmail. I assumed that she did not like to hear mention of a gentleman who had been so intimately involved in her friend's past, and tried to find some words of reassurance.
'So you see, in a way it is not really Miss Kirkpatrick's concern at all,' I said. 'It is extremely doubtful that the blackmailer knows her identity; and it was only her son who saw fit to involve her in the matter, rather unwisely in my opinion.'
Miss D'Arcy silenced me with an impatient gesture. She had risen and crossed over to the window, where she stood in evident agitation.
'Who is his father?' she asked lightly, though her attitude betrayed her. I shifted uneasily in my chair. I had already said far too much, and the violence of her reaction warned me that it would be unwise to reveal more.
'Well...I'm so sorry, Miss D'Arcy, but I really don't think it is my place to tell you that. I'm sure Miss Kirkpatrick will tell you herself, when she returns; that must be enough for you. Holmes would never forgive me, if I were to commit so serious a breach of professional confidence...'
I trailed off unhappily, and lowered my gaze, twisting my hands in my lap. Miss D'Arcy went to the sideboard and poured us both a drink. Unconventional as such hospitality was in a lady, I accepted mine gratefully.
'So, Mr Sherlock Holmes is on the trail of a blackmailer,' she said, striding about the room in a most unladylike manner.
'Yes; and I can assure you, Miss D'Arcy, that he will not rest until he has found--the person he is looking for. In a couple of days at most, the whole matter will be cleared up and Miss Kirkpatrick will be home again. There really is no need to worry.'
My assurance seemed to do nothing to soothe her. I began to feel no small annoyance towards Holmes for having forbidden me to take Miss D'Arcy into our confidence; after all, what harm could it do? She was bound to hear the whole story sooner or later, and at this stage she could even be of help to us, if she knew anything of Mrs Cecil Forrester.
Thus I began to speculate uneasily as to what Holmes would say if he knew where I was. I had to admit to myself that I had made a rather foolish and impulsive move in visiting Miss D'Arcy at all. Why had I come? I appeared only to have added to her distress, and certainly she would now be in no mood to help me in mine.
It was as though she could read my mind, for she suddenly stopped her pacing, reseated herself and fixed me again with that hard questioning stare.
'Dr Watson,' said she, 'why have you come to visit me, if you have no definite news for me, and no intention of giving me any useful information?'
I sighed and fidgeted uncomfortably in my chair.
'I am sorry, Miss D'Arcy, it was certainly most ill advised of me,' I said at last. 'The fact is that I had some idea of asking your advice on--on a personal matter. Since you had already been so sympathetic, I thought--but I see now that it was very selfish of me, and you are certainly in no fit state to be bothered with my affairs. I think perhaps it would be best if I leave right away.'
I did not raise my eyes to her face until I had finished speaking, and then I saw that her expression had changed completely; she was relaxed, and smiling--one could almost say, relieved.
'Oh, my dear Dr Watson, it is I who must apologise,' said she. 'I had assumed that you had come on official rather than personal business. I wish you had put me right immediately. Of course, I will be more than happy to listen to you, and to give you any advice that it is in my power to give. You have already been so kind, and I would be ungrateful indeed if I were to refuse to help you in return.'
I warmed to these kind words, and thanked her. She offered me another brandy, and under its influence I felt my inhibitions melt away, and I began to speak once more of my feelings for Mr Sherlock Holmes. Miss D'Arcy listened in silence, questioning me only when necessary in the interests of clarity.
The picture that I painted was bleak indeed; it was one of hopeless infatuation, coupled of course with guilt and fear which are the inevitable counterpart to such inclinations in our present unenlightened age. Miss D'Arcy, of course, was well aware from her own experience of much of what I was suffering. When I had finished speaking, she asked me one or two questions concerning Sherlock Holmes himself; his moods, his conversation, his treatment of me in private and in public. She even probed me about his use of certain substances, and my concern over his habit made me perhaps more forthcoming upon the subject than I should have been.
Miss D'Arcy sat in silence for some time when she had finished questioning me, as though trying to come to some decision. Then she looked up at me with a determined expression.
'Dr Watson,' said she, 'I like you, and respect your integrity, and you have paid me a great compliment in taking me voluntarily into your confidence in this way. Whatever the future may reveal, I want you to remember that. Now, I have one assurance, and one piece of advice to give you.
'The assurance is that Mr Sherlock Holmes feels much for you, and is more dependent on you, in a sense, than you are upon him. Why else would he provoke you, as he does, why else would he administer drugs to himself in your presence, if he does not want to stimulate your reaction, and be assured of your concern? He gives to you, and to you alone, all his vulnerable side, all his needs, all his love, so far as he is able; and yet, unless I am much mistaken, he will never give you more than he gives at present. He is incapable of it; there exists in him some deep emotional blockage, some fatal inability to admit to his vulnerable side, which causes him to present himself as all brain and no heart. However, the cost of this is high, as his need for the drug bears witness.
'Now, I do not believe that you will change him; and as far as I can see, if you let matters remain as they are, he will hurt you badly. Of his basic preference for his own sex, and his indifference to mine, I have no doubt whatever. But rather than accept himself, he will be cruel, even to the one he loves. You, Dr Watson, are more stable than he, and unless I am much mistaken, more naturally versatile. You are also, by virtue of your being more demonstrative and self-accepting, more at risk.
'I do not know if you are aware, Dr Watson, that a certain Bill, namely the Criminal Law Amendment Bill, was passed in January of last year, and is now law? It contains a section--Section 11, entitled "Outrages on Public Decency"--which puts you, and all the companions with whom I have observed you, in considerable danger.'
I felt the blood drain from my face.
'I have heard of it,' I said. 'I have--not enquired as to the details...'
Miss D'Arcy waited until I raised my eyes to hers, and then held my gaze as she continued. 'It refers exclusively to your own sex, with no mention of mine--a fact which has several implications which I will not go into here. Briefly, Section 11 states that all acts of a certain nature between men--
all
acts, Dr Watson, as was not the case before--whether committed in public or in private, are liable to a punishment of up to two years' imprisonment with hard labour.
'I see, Dr Watson,' she continued, watching my face, 'that you understand the implications. I am so sorry. You may be surprised at my knowing these details; don't be. I make it my business to know the exact loophole and letter of the law as regards every aspect of personal conduct.
'I am telling you this simply to make sure that you are aware of the risks you run. I am sure I do not need to add, that even if his own nature did not prevent him from doing so, his knowledge of this law--and I think we may assume that he does know of it--would prevent Mr Sherlock Holmes from changing his behaviour towards you, no matter what his feelings.
'When you confided in me yesterday, I spoke lightly of the advisability of protecting one's reputation. I did not then feel inclined, on so slight an acquaintance, to take the trouble to speak more urgently to you on the matter. Since then it has preyed on my mind, and your honouring me with your further confidence decides me.
'Put yourself above suspicion, Dr Watson. Take a wife, set up your own establishment. You can do it, as many have done before you. It will be hard, both for you and for him; but if you do not make this sacrifice now, you will be both at risk. It is my belief that Sherlock Holmes will in any case sacrifice you to his own instability one day; and you will only be able to bear it if you have a life of your own to fall back on. I do not say that you should end your association with him; only that you should take steps to put it on a different footing. You are vulnerable, Dr Watson, in many ways; I urge you to take this step now, before it is too late!'
The reader will readily imagine with what emotion I heard her words. I remember staring hard at a small occasional table that stood slightly to the right of my chair, on which lay three neatly addressed letters ready for the post, and knowing that the sight would be branded forever onto my memory of this conversation. Curiously, I remained dry-eyed, but I must have paled considerably, for Miss D'Arcy handed me a third glass of brandy and softly urged me to drink it. I sipped at it absently, and sighed.
'Miss D'Arcy,' I said at last, 'I thank you for being so frank with me. I think you may be right. I am sure you are right. But I must take a little time; it seems so vast a step--so irrevocable...'
'Not irrevocable,' she interrupted quietly. 'Not at all irrevocable. But prudent.'
I sighed again.
'Well,' I said, 'I will think it over. At least, I will think over setting up on my own, I suppose. But as for marriage--how can I possibly contemplate such a step? I could never dismiss him from my mind enough to act the part of the married man. And who on earth would want to marry me?'