I turned my head to look at Sherlock. Was he listening?
Then I glanced around the room. Uncle and Sherlock were engaged in a conversation about Hume’s philosophical essays on euthanasia, a topic I wished to learn nothing more about. Archibald, wearing the silly suit that Sherlock had purchased for him, was grabbing more food from every plate, and his young cohorts Ollie and Rattle followed suit. Mother spoke to Michael as she bounced my little nephew on her knee. I noticed that Michael’s glass of champagne had not been touched. I was glad of it.
And Aunt Susan, what a pretty picture was she, as she rocked little Billy.
Those hands were meant to swaddle babies, I thought. Those arms to hold them close.
I had an epiphany. “Archibald,” I called. “Would you join me in Dr. Sacker’s study for a moment?”
Sherlock disengaged himself from conversation for a moment to stare at me but said nothing.
“’as I done sumfin’ wrong, Miss?” Archie asked.
“No, of course not. Just give me a moment of your time. Bring your glass of milk and the muffin.”
He grabbed both and followed me.
“Wha’ is i’, Miss?”
“Archie, I was thinking. My aunt and uncle have always wanted children. Do you think perhaps... well, I was just wondering if maybe they could take Billy - and you - in. I have not broached the subject with them yet, but-”
“Take us in? Would yer be meanin’ t’ be stayin’ in fis place? Me and me bruva?” he asked, throwing his arms into the air.
“Well, yes. You would have fine clothes and plenty of food. You could get an education.”
“Me? Naw. I’s ’appy with me lot.”
“Archie, you live on the streets. And Mr. Holmes takes advantage of you.”
“Mr. ’olmes keeps us busy, Miss,” he admonished. “We likes wha’ we does.”
“But Billy is just a baby, Archie. A little toddler, like my nephew.”
He thought a moment. “Well, yah, Billy’s anothe’ matta all tageva. ‘e’s a good boy.”
“Yes, yes, that’s my point. If he were educated, perhaps he could grow up to have a far easier life than yours. Become a page or even much more. I wanted to speak to you first, of course. Before I consult with Uncle and Aunt Susan.”
“Lemme thin’ on i’. Can I go back t’ eatin’ now?”
“Of course,” I laughed.
“And Miss, call me Bill. Everybody calls me Bill. Or Wiggins. I’s th’ li’l one ’ho’s Billy now.”
“Yes, Master Wiggins. As you wish,” I said. “Now, run along.”
He ran from the room and before I could rise to leave, Uncle came in and closed the door behind him. His expression spoke volumes and I knew he had much to say. He opened up a folded piece of paper and read from it.
We shall be notes in that great Symphony
Whose cadence circles through the rhythmic spheres,
And all the live World’s throbbing heart shall be
One with our heart, the stealthy creeping years
Have lost their terrors now, we shall not die,
The Universe itself shall be our Immortality!
“What is that, Uncle?”
“A few more lines of Oscar’s poem. I asked him if I could borrow them for a moment. It’s quite good, actually. I rather hope there is some form of immortality. For the sake of those young men we’ve recently buried. Oscar can be quite profound.”
“He can be that... sometimes. “
A shadow crossed his face.
“What is it, Uncle?”
“I think we should talk, Poppy. Don’t you?”
52
Uncle sat down and folded up the piece of paper. “I just wanted to say I am so very sorry, Poppy.”
“I’m the one who should be sorry, Uncle. How I ever could have doubted you... entertained such horrible thoughts-”
“No, no,” he said cupping my hands with his. “I’m sure when you saw all my little notes in margins and when I wouldn’t speak to anyone, you became suspicious.”
“And why, Uncle? Why wouldn’t you tell us what was going on?”
“As Sherlock told you, it was an elabourate ruse to catch the killer out. We all thought that if I were tossed in gaol and refused to speak, then everyone would think me guilty. And then Sherlock had the article placed in the newspaper... well, we thought Mr. Brown would make preparations to flee. It never occurred to me to see if anyone at the museum... that this Oriental fellow-”
At that moment, I suppose I was like a frantic writer, filled with a jumble of confused thoughts about Sherlock and Uncle, the mercy killings, the dead men, most especially the young reporter. I did not know how to express myself.
So I simply said, “It’s over. That’s what counts, Uncle. And I love you.”
“But all the time I was in prison, I did think a great deal about euthanasia, about everything that’s been written on the subject and how the debate goes on and on.”
“And so it shall. But, Uncle, you cannot goad me into a philosophical discussion right now. I am just ever so glad you are home. But I do have a proposition for you.”
“A proposition?”
I told him my thoughts about Archie and his little brother Billy. Then I waited.
He sat back, looking a bit stunned. “Children? Here? As if they were our own kith and kindred?”
“I don’t know about arrangements, Uncle. Archie does not seem inclined to give up his little brother completely. But perhaps clothing, food, some education. Something to give little Billy a chance-”
“I should like a reliable page one day,” Sherlock said as he burst into the room, champagne bottle in hand. “I think it’s worthy of consideration, Dr. Sacker.”
“Do you now?” Uncle asked, smiling. Then he slapped his palms on his knees, rose and said, “I imagine the two of you should like a bit of privacy.”
Sherlock poured some champagne into a glass and gave it to Uncle. They lifted the glasses to one another.
“In all likelihood, you have some totally unlawful and dangerous
