He reached down and pulled up the noiseless window, then threaded his long body out into the darkness.
'Holmes,' I called. His head reappeared.
'Yes, Russell.'
'Don't come here again,' I said, then realised how it must sound. 'I mean, while my aunt lives here, I can't— I don't—' I stopped, confused.
He studied me for a moment, and then his hard face was transformed by a smile of such unexpected gentleness that I clamped my jaws hard to block the prickle in my eyes.
'I understand,' was all he said, and was gone.
But I never forgot his words on the cliff.
* * *
What had Miss Ruskin possessed that could turn two, perhaps three, human beings into killers? What of hers, what piece of paper or small, flat item could have driven someone to the extremity of running her down with an automobile? If I knew what it was, I would know who. If I knew who, I could deduce what it was. I knew neither.
So I went to bed.
PART FOUR
Sunday, 2 September 1923
— Thomas Hobbes
SEVENTEEN
Sunday morning began with the richly evocative sound of changes being rung on the bells and the sun streaming through a gap in the curtains, and deteriorated rapidly. For ten whole minutes, I lay happily contemplating the floating dust motes and deciding how best to use a beautiful, warm, free, late-summer Sunday in London. I luxuriously considered the riches available to me. Were I in Oxford there would be no doubt but that I should take to the river with boat, book, and sandwich, but where in London might I find a combination of strenuous work and pointlessness? Perhaps I could take a boat downriver to—
My blissful self-indulgence was broken by a sharp rap on the door, followed by Isabella's equally sharp voice.
'Miss Small? Gennleman downstairs to see you.'
'A gentleman? But—' No, surely not Holmes. Who, then? Lestrade? Could something have happened to— Oh God. 'Did he give his name?'
'A Colonel something, miss. Come to take you to church.'
'To church!' I was absolutely flabbergasted.
'Yes, miss, it bein' Sunday and you new to the area and all, he says. What do you want me to tell him?'
'Tell him—' Dear God, of all the things I did not want to spend the morning doing, sitting in a stuffy building and singing muscular Christian hymns was fairly high up on the list. 'Tell him I'll be down in ten minutes, would you please? No, better make it fifteen.'
Make no mistake— I have nothing against Christian worship. Although I am a Jew, I am hardly a fanatically observant one, and at university I regularly attended church for the sheer beauty of the liturgy and the aesthetic pleasure of a lovely building being used for its intended purpose. However, I had a fairly good idea of where and how the colonel worshipped his God, and it was bound to be worlds removed from evensong at Christ Church. Nonetheless, a job was a job. And, I could always develop a headache or the vapours and return here.
The flowery cotton frock, white gloves, and wide-brimmed straw hat I appeared in seemed to meet with Colonel Edwards's approval, and he rose from his chair in what Isabella called her parlour and greeted me with an oddly formal half bow. He positively sparkled with his Sunday-morning polish, looking jovial and avuncular and nothing at all like the man whose pale rage had actually frightened me two days before.
'It occurred to me this morning, Mary, that I was being remiss in my duty as a neighbour to abandon you to your own resources on Sunday morning. If you've already made your plans, I should be most happy to take you to your own church, but if not ...' His voice trailed off in a question. I did not allow my baser self to take the offered escape.
'I should be delighted to join you, Colonel. I had no plans.'
'Good, very good. Come then. We'll be late.'
It was precisely as I had envisioned it, a nominally Anglican service conducted in an ugly Victorian monstrosity with no open windows, packed with overdressed enthusiasts, and complete with a sweating, roaring sermon based on an unspecified text but touching on topics ranging from employment problems to women's suffrage to the duties of an imperial power. The sermon was one of the longest I have ever had the misfortune to be subjected to, and as the man could not even manage to cite his biblical references properly, I did not feel it incumbent upon me to listen properly. I let myself sink into a light hypnotic trance, fixed an attentive look on my face, and reviewed irregular verbs. I worked my way through Greek, Hebrew, Latin, German, French, and Italian, and had begun on Spanish when the sermon thundered to its foregone conclusion. We paid our silver, sang a few more thumping hymns, and were given a blessed release.
But not to freedom. The ordeal moved to the next stage, which consisted of the stewed tea and watery coffee prepared by the Mother's Union to accompany their pink- and green-iced biscuits. Everyone knew the colonel, everyone came over to talk with him, and everyone glanced sideways at me before being introduced. I was certain that at any minute some acquaintance would recognise me and all would be lost, but I was spared that. I suppose the circle Holmes and I moved in, if it can be described by that term, had little overlap with that particular church population.
I was positively quivering by the time the colonel bade his farewells to the few remaining parishioners in the church hall, though whether my reaction was one of suppressed hysterical laughter or the urge to commit mass ecclesiasticide, I am still unsure. The colonel, however, was rarely unsure of anything, and he interpreted my withdrawn expression and trembling hands in a way that suited him.
'My dear Mary, how thoughtless of me to make you stand about sipping tea and chattering; you're obviously ready to break your fast. Come, I've made reservations at Simpson's. Now, where is Alex?'
Simpson's! Where even the busboy knew me as Mrs Holmes? That would never do.
'Colonel, I'd really rather not go to a restaurant just now. Do you mind?'
'Oh, well, certainly, my dear.' My contradiction took him aback. 'What would you like to do?'
'I had thought this morning of going to Kew. I know that half of London will be there, but I should greatly enjoy a walk.' And hope that anyone who might normally know me would be put off by my change in dress, manner, and posture. I could always hide behind my hat.
The colonel puzzled at my rebellion for a moment, and then his face cleared with inspiration.
'I have just the thing, my dear girl. Just the thing. Here's the car. Only a bit of a drive is all. Alex, we want Westbury's.'
'Very good, sir. We shall need some petrol before the day is through.'
'They'll have it there for us.'
'Colonel,' I inserted, 'I must be back by six o'clock. I told a cousin of my mother's that I'd take dinner with him.'
'Six, you say? Oh, that's too bad. They do a very pleasant dinner at Westbury's. Perhaps they'll give us a good tea, though. Make yourself comfortable, Mary. We'll be about three-quarters of an hour.'
'What, or who, is Westbury's?' I asked.
'Who, definitely. Though I suppose 'what' would not be too far off the mark. Westbury is a friend of mine, with the most magnificent house set into grounds by Capability Brown himself. Westbury has a large number of friends, and he and his wife love to entertain and do it very well, too. Unfortunately, Westbury is embarrassingly short of the old folding stuff— the dratted new tax laws, don't you know? So rather than confine themselves to the occasional small party, they hold one every weekend, Friday night to Monday morning.'
He nodded to himself as if to admire a clever solution. I had obviously missed a key word somewhere.
'I'm sorry, Colonel, I fail to see how this avoids the expense.'
