intrude upon your meal.”
Holmes nodded brusquely. “Yes, this is obviously meant to be a festive evening, one reserved for the female of the species.”
Violet was surprised. She stared up at them, reflected for a moment, and then smiled. “Oh, do sit down for a moment.” She laughed. “I am not an utter churl. I shall give you five minutes or so, and then you will be banished.”
I put my hand on Henry’s arm. “You know my husband, Henry. This is his cousin, Sherlock Holmes.”
Violet dropped her roll, and her nostrils flared. “
Obviously pleased, Holmes bowed from the waist. “The same.”
“This is my friend, Mrs. Violet Wheelwright.”
Holmes nodded, his eyes fixed on her. His nostrils also flared. He pulled the chair out, sat, and crossed his legs.
Violet tore a small piece from her roll. “I have followed all your exploits with great interest, Mr. Holmes.”
“Indeed? Then I must warn you that Watson’s narratives are mostly fiction.”
“Oh, I am glad to hear it. I feared we were in for some tedious deduction.”
Holmes’ dark eyebrows rose. “Tedious deduction?”
“I must confess I find all the deductions less than convincing. No doubt that is the fictional part to which you refer.”
Holmes’ eyes narrowed. “That is the only part he has right.”
“Oh dear, then I suppose we are in for some deducing. You will no doubt know where Michelle and I have been, on account of the unusual mud on my skirt.”
Holmes’ mouth twitched briefly into a smile. “You are skeptical of the art of deduction?”
Violet put another piece of bread in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Moderately skeptical.”
Henry toyed with the end of his mustache. “Have a care, Violet. You are hurling down the gauntlet.”
Holmes shook his head gravely. “No, no, good taste forbids.”
Violet gave him a quizzical look. “Good taste?”
“It would be indelicate to refer to your dress being so awkwardly damaged or the state of your undergarments.”
Violet dropped her knife; it clattered loudly on the plate.
“And I am sure a woman such as you would not like to be reminded of any feminine weaknesses.” Her eyes widened, then her mouth opened. “Such as fainting.”
Violet stood up, knocking over her chair. She pointed a finger at me. “You told him!”
“I swear I did not! We have been together all day, Violet. Whatever is the matter with you?”
She sighed, then realized everyone in the immediate vicinity was staring at her. She shook her head, picked up her chair, and sat down. “Do forgive me. This is the second display of feminine weakness today, Mr. Holmes. I hope the stories were correct in that you will now explain how you arrived at your remarkable conclusions.”
Holmes nodded. “Gladly, madam. You are wearing your coat although it is warm in here. Moreover, earlier I noticed Michelle leap to prevent the waiter from removing your coat. Also, your dress and your collar are not properly aligned. I suspect a tear or breach in the back which has been pinned together.”
Violet nodded. “Oh, very good. And the feminine weakness?”
“I had to ask myself how a woman such as yourself might have damaged her dress. Henry told me you were with Michelle at the medical clinic. You would have been subjected to unpleasant sights and smells—wounds, lacerations and sores. Perhaps the sight of blood became too much for you, and you swooned. Knowing Michelle’s views on female dress, she would have tried to loosen your garments—it would be easy to tear a dress in the process.”
I clapped my hands. “Bravo, Sherlock.”
Violet’s mouth formed the mocking smile. “And the disarray of my undergarments?”
Holmes reddened about the ears. His face could not be called handsome. His nose was too large, his features too sharp, his hair too black and oily. All the same, I was so fond of him that I liked his face: it had great character and showed his every mood. His gray eyes were particularly large and expressive.
“As I said earlier, modesty forbids.”
Henry laughed. “When her coat is open, even an undiscerning oaf such as I can tell whether or not a woman is wearing a corset.”
“Henry!” I exclaimed.
“A corset distorts the female shape,” he said. “It and the bustle make women resemble primitive fertility symbols. At least the bustle has fallen out of fashion.”
Violet shook her head, and finished the last of her roll. “Fairly beaten, Mr. Holmes. The first round goes to you, but next time I shall be better prepared.”
The waiter appeared and set down our plates before us. The smell of the beef set my mouth watering, and I quickly took a spoonful of the potatoes.
Holmes eyed the slab of red meat on Violet’s plate. “I see you are in earnest, madam. You must be in training. Already you have begun to fortify yourself. The Simpson’s large is a truly prodigious cut.”
He withdrew his watch from his vest pocket. “I fear we have exceeded our allotted five minutes. We should leave the ladies to dine in peace.”
Violet sawed at one end of the meat, cutting it into small, neat strips. “You may stay a while longer if you will promise to make no further deductions about me.”
“You have my promise, Mrs. Wheelwright.”
“And some of the details were not correct. It was
“No?” Holmes leaned forward. “What then?”
Violet’s brown eyes glanced my way. “Weariness,” she said sharply. “And a corset laced far too tightly.”
I swallowed a mouthful of beef. “I can vouch for her, Sherlock. She watched me stitch up several wounds without flinching.”
Holmes’ lips pursed briefly, and his fingers tapped at the tablecloth. “A detail only, as you said.”
Violet raised her eyes and swept them briefly from face to face. She dabbed at her mouth with the napkin. “No, it was not blood, as you may well deduce from this bleeding slab of bovine tissue before me.”
An explosive laugh slipped from Sherlock’s lips. Violet, although at first taken aback, seemed pleased by his response.
“Violet,” I said, “your comment is too perceptive for someone who has spent time in the anatomy lab.”
Violet finished chewing another piece. “I am sorry, Michelle. Anyway, it was not blood which made me faint. I have been under something of a strain of late.” She bit her lip and glanced at Holmes, who had not taken his eyes off her.
“Have you, Mrs. Wheelwright?”
“Yes, Mr. Holmes. And are you as chivalrous in real life as in the narratives?”
Holmes’ upper lip twisted back. “‘Chivalrous?’”
“Under your misogynous front beats a heart of gold.”
Holmes’ mouth twitched. He sighed. “It is at moments such as this that I most despise Watson’s efforts. You have me at a disadvantage, madam. Although we have only been acquainted a quarter of an hour, you assume you know my character because of some foolish words you have read. I would ask—I would beg of you—to reserve your judgment until you know me better.”
He stared at her so gravely that her smile faded away. “Perhaps I have done you an injustice, Mr. Holmes, although you must admit that your deductions were decidedly in keeping with Dr. Watson’s portrayal.”
“Granted, madam, but you must admit that you invited—no, you positively begged for—a certain comeuppance.”
Violet laughed, then set down her fork and clapped her hands. “Bravo, Mr. Holmes. We are fairly matched. I shall try to know you better, especially since you are related to my good friend.”
While they had been talking I had finished my roast beef. With a contented sigh I pushed my plate back. “Take care, Sherlock. Be wary of dining with her at Simpson’s. You may discover more adventures than you thought
