deliberately be cruel, but you must...” I smiled. “Today you must be charming.”
He made a frightful grimace. “I have never been charming in my life.”
I laughed. “Yes, you have, although it is a charm peculiar only to you. Oh, pay no attention to me, but do be gentle with Violet. She is sorry for what she has done, I can tell you that. Can you not...?” I paused before the door. “Oh Sherlock, can you ever forgive her?”
“Yes.”
I went through the doorway. “We have a visitor from London.”
Violet turned slowly and saw Holmes. Her eyes abruptly widened, her lips parting, a fierce energy animating her face. Holmes froze again. The two of them stared hungrily at each other, their inner passion revealed only for an instant, as if two suns had suddenly flared up in the confines of the small room. Violet bit at her lip. She lowered her gaze, her eyes desolate. Holmes had not moved, but seemed paler than before. I gave him a nudge, but he seemed made of stone and incapable of motion.
The vast silence which had filled the room made me uncomfortable.
“Henry has just stepped out. He should be back shortly. He will be glad to see you, Sherlock.” Sensing an opportunity, I added, “Perhaps I shall go and fetch him.”
That moved them, but not as I had hoped: The prospect of being alone together clearly terrified them. Holmes’ eyes had opened wide in disbelief, and Violet’s delicate, shapely hand gripped at the chair arm.
“You need not trouble yourself,” Holmes said weakly.
“Oh, very well.” I walked over to a chair near the fireplace and sat down. My moving seemed to stir Holmes. He slipped his top hat under his arm, then pulled off his gloves and put them in the hat.
Gertrude stepped into the room. “Let me take your things, Mr. Holmes.”
He nodded solemnly, handed her the hat, then took off his greatcoat. “Thank you, Gertrude.” He strode to the fire and rubbed his hands briskly before it. Neither Violet nor I could see his face.
“What’s the news from London?” I asked.
“Nothing of interest. The weather is even colder and drearier than when you left, the rain and fog unceasing. Good cheer for the New Year is difficult to come by. And there are no cases of particular merit, nothing to divert me now that...” He squared his shoulders, drew himself up, and then turned to face us. “And how are you faring, Mrs. Wheelwright?”
Violet shrugged. “As well as might be expected.” She would not look him in the eye.
“I hope you will soon be recovered.”
As soon as his words faded away, I sensed the all-encompassing silence lurking nearby. “I doubt,” I said, “that you have remained completely idle.”
“No, thank heavens. Ennui has always been the bane of my existence. Lestrade needed some help finishing up what he had bungled.” He had begun to pace, but he glanced warily at Violet. “I managed to dredge up Herbert’s diamond necklace. It cost him about a third of its purchase price to get it back, and now he has it up for sale.” He smiled. “This time it is safely stowed in the bank. Would it disturb you ladies greatly if I smoke a single cigarette?”
Violet shook her head. “It is a beastly habit,” I said, “but go ahead.”
He withdrew a cigarette from his case and struck a match. “There has been work to do, but not enough, and nothing of real complexity. I have been...” He was pacing again. “Solving a challenging case is always satisfying, but the inevitable disappointment soon follows. The greater the challenge, the greater the disappointment. Rarely does anything of equal interest turn up. One is weary, one is restless, but there is little of merit to occupy the brain. Instead it continues to race on, to spin out lunatic reveries or veer off into odd, dark corners.”
Violet had raised her dark eyes and was staring intently at him.
“There are times when my powers seem more a curse than a gift, when I would gladly... But such idle thoughts are useless. One must play the cards one is dealt. I only hope something of interest turns up soon. Patience is not one of my virtues.”
Violet’s cheeks had a faint flush, the first color I had seen there in some time. “I understand exactly what you are saying. At least...” She stared at him. “At least you have the possibility of another interesting case. I have spent so many years, so much time and energy... And now there is nothing, nothing at all. Am I to take up knitting or watercolor painting?” The ironic smile appeared.
Holmes gave a sharp laugh. “I think not. There is, however, the violin.”
Violet lowered her eyes. “I have not played since... Norfolk.”
“That is a waste,” Holmes said. “I do not know what I would do without my violin. It soothes the troubled spirit. You must play again.”
I nodded. “I have tried to tell her the same thing. She must not sit and brood all day long.”
Violet was gazing at the fire. “I do not want to be soothed. I do not deserve it. At least, Mr. Holmes, you have the consolation of knowing your talents have been put to good use, that you have righted wrongs and helped the unfortunate. You have not been corrupted—you have not let hatred and the desire for vengeance drive you to terrible deeds.” Her eyes filled with tears.
Holmes was distressed. “It is not so simple as you think. I deal with vicious and unsavory people all the time. Frequently they are my aids and accomplices. You said that you wanted justice. Your goal was a worthy one, although you took... the wrong path.”
“Was it?” She laughed sharply. “As they say, the road to hell is paved with good intentions. You accused me of wishing to be God, and you were absolutely correct. I thought I could be judge, jury, and one of the avenging Furies. My crimes were monstrous, but worse still was my arrogance, my phenomenal arrogance.” Her cheeks were flushed, her dark eyes smoldering, and she had run out of breath.
“Do not torment yourself,” I said. “It does neither you nor anyone else any good.”
She did not seem to hear me. “And Donald, poor Donald. During our eight years together, I never felt any pity for him, not one ounce. I pitied only myself.”
“He was cruel to you,” I said. “He hurt you physically. Your hatred was understandable.”
“But it was as he said—he had not touched me for years! He turned to his little blonde, and he tried to leave me alone. Still I hated him—I would not let him be—I baited him. He was a fairly normal man of no great intelligence, but by no means a cretin. And he was nowhere so cruel or spiteful as his father. Yet my mind made him into an absolute monster. Surely he deserved some pity? He was unhappy too. Other men marry women more intelligent than them, yet they are not... murdered.”
Holmes stared at her in horror, a long ash dangling at the end of his cigarette. I felt my face grow hot.
“Oh, Violet, why must you talk so? I was there—whatever else it may have been, it was not murder.”
Her mouth twisted into a frightful smile. “Whatever else it was does not much matter now. He is just as dead. And his only crime was that he married a woman with ice in her veins, a woman who could not love.”
“Stop that!” I had stood up, my fists clenched. “In God’s name, Violet, you are no saint, but you are no such devil either. Can you not see? Now you are making yourself far worse than you really are.”
She stared up at me, her eyes black whirlpools of despair, which would suck into their depths the entire world. “Do you think so?”
“Yes. I know there is much that is good and loving in you.” I sat down.
A tear trickled from her left eye, and she wiped quickly at it. “Oh, I hope you are right.”
“She is,” Holmes said softly. When Violet looked at him, he walked to the fire and flicked off the ash of his cigarette. He had his back to us again. “You are beautiful and... charming. You are... It was very hard for me to expose you. I hope you understand that.”
“I do,” Violet said.
“And I was... hurt that you deceived me for so long, but that is not fair on my part, because I think we both always knew how things stood. The realization was always there at the back of my mind. Henry and Michelle had no suspicions, but you and I knew better. We were not fooling one another, not for much of the time.” He turned about to face her. “Were we?” He raised the cigarette to his mouth.
She smiled, her eyes still glistening. “No.”
“You certainly had me fooled,” I said.
Her smile grew sad. “It is as I have said—it is because you are too good. I hope you understand that my greatest regret is for deceiving you, for betraying your trust and your friendship.”
I sighed. “And I have told you repeatedly that you are forgiven.”
