My Dearest Holmes (22 page)

'You contacted Mycroft.' There was no stopping me now.

'I ... yes. Because of his government connections, you see. I could reach him through diplomatic channels. Because I needed money.'

'Yes, I see. I suppose that would be important.'

Another brandy. Another cigarette.

'What did he say to you?' His voice was flat, hopeless.

'About the rooms. Your wish, he said. That they be kept the same.'

'Only that?'

'And that he was next of kin, and that I had no right to see the will.'

There was a look in his eyes that I can only describe as fear.

'Did you go there? To Baker Street?'

'Not after my interview with him there.'

'But--then--what did he say?'

'He said I could keep the Stradivarius. I took it away with me.'

'Anything. I said, anything you wanted.'

'He said that the bills would be paid. He said that I could publish an account of your death, but no more cases. He said that my habits were not unknown to him, and that I should be careful of making too much of my intimacy with you, and that I must remember that you would never have put yourself in danger if it were not for me.'

Holmes looked utterly aghast. I was pleased.

'Oh ... God. But I thought--he said that you--were all right.'

'All right?' I nearly choked.

'He said--he didn't tell me you were ill, and I found out. I tried to contact you. But he said that the risk was too great. That you were under surveillance because of your indiscretions. That they would destroy you, and trace me. Then I heard'--he nodded at my clothes--'about Mary. But I--he ...'

He trailed off. Mercilessly I stared him down. My lips were numb, but I forced them to speak.

'Did you think I was anything other than destroyed already? Did you think I had any will or desire left for indiscretions, when I thought you were dead? Did you think that I cared for my reputation, when one word--one note, one token, could have let me know, oh God, that you were still alive? How could you, how
could
you, when you knew--that I loved you?'

The tears started to my eyes in earnest now. I did not know how to keep myself from breaking down. Hastily I gulped more brandy and stared desperately into his haunted face.

'Tell me, did you work it all out beforehand? Was that what you sat up all night thinking about, that night in Meiringen? How to escape without anyone knowing? Was that when you wrote your farewell note? A brilliant piece of composition, by the way--I still have it, would you care to read it over? I expect you counted on the fact that my hysterics would be convincing. The only thing I don't understand is how you faked all those footprints, and none coming back. Quite a remarkable achievement, that, but obviously not beyond the scope of your genius. Oh God.'

The tears were running down my face. Quickly Holmes finished his brandy, and came round the table to me.

'Let's go to your room. Come, try to be calm until we get there. Let me help you; don't worry, they will see your mourning and think it's that. Here, lean on my arm.'

I did as he told me, hastily dabbing at my eyes and keeping my gaze fixed upon the red floor. I heard the waiter murmur an anxious enquiry as we passed, and Holmes' low reply, in which I caught the words, 'sa femme' and 'en chambre, s'il vous plait'. I heard other murmurs of sympathy. Then we were on our way up the stairs. I do not think I could have found my room again, but Holmes led me there. I fumbled in my pocket for the key and handed it to him. He let us in, and shut the door firmly behind us.

I sank down on the edge of the bed, my head in my hands. I felt Holmes come to sit beside me. He took my wrists and gently drew my hands away from my face. To my own surprise, I jerked them away from his grasp.

'No,' I said roughly, 'leave me. Tell me. Tell me from the beginning.'

Sitting quietly on the bed, with his hands clasped on his knees, and his gaze fixed upon the lower right-hand corner of the door, he told me what happened that day at Reichenbach.

Moriarty and Ralph Spencer had found him at the Falls. They both had guns; he was unarmed.

'They came from different directions, and I was trapped. They threatened me. They threatened you. They said it was not too late for me to withdraw my evidence at the trial; and if I did not, they would kill us both, and make sure that our joint reputation was held open to question back in England. Moriarty would kill me, the other would overtake you on your way back to Meiringen. I offered to bargain, if they would leave you unharmed. I said I would discuss the matter with Moriarty alone.'

He had managed to persuade Spencer to go back to the main path with the boy, who was, as had been suspected, in their pay. He had written the note with Moriarty's gun trained on him; no doubt the latter had calculated that a farewell note would be to his advantage, if he were unable to persuade Holmes to agree to his conditions, and were forced to kill him. But Holmes, unarmed though he was, managed to overpower and disarm his antagonist.

'We tottered together upon the brink of the Falls. I have some knowledge, however, of baritsu, or the Japanese system of wrestling, which has more than once been very useful to me. I slipped through his grip, and he with a horrible scream kicked madly for a few seconds, and clawed the air with both his hands. But for all his efforts he could not get his balance, and over he went. With my face over the brink, I saw him fall for a long way. Then he struck a rock, bounded off, and splashed into the water.'

Shaken and exhausted, Holmes' one thought had been to escape; not only from Spencer and whoever else might be on his trail, but also from himself, and from his association with me. Moriarty's threats had struck home at his most vulnerable point; his confusion and ambivalence, his jealousy and despair about our friendship. It had been the decision of a moment, a decision made in panic; he had climbed up the rock, which was not quite as sheer as it appeared. It was a terrifying and difficult climb.

'I seemed to hear Moriarty's voice screaming at me out of the abyss. A mistake would have been fatal. More than once, as tufts of grass came out in my hand or my foot slipped in the wet notches of the rock, I thought that I was gone. But I struggled upward, and at last I reached a ledge several feet deep and covered with soft green moss. I collapsed upon it and lost consciousness. I must have been out for a long time. It was night by the time I recovered. It was a moonlit night. I looked over the edge. There were footprints everywhere. My cigarette case was gone from the boulder. Someone had found the message.

'I could not go back to Meiringen; I had, to all appearances, killed an innocent man, and if I rejoined you, they would know me to be alive, and pursue us both. I could not go on to Rosenlaui; they would be waiting there, just in case. They must think me dead; let them go on thinking that, it was safest, until you got back to London and the trial was over. Somehow I ran ten miles over the mountains in the darkness, and a week later I found myself in Florence, with the certainty that no one in the world knew what had become of me.'

I stirred, and he paused.

'You did not hear me calling you?'

'No.'

Of course not. The waters.

'You were lying up there, unconscious, all the time?'

'Yes.'

I could not believe it. I thought that I would have known, if he were there. But the place had been empty; deserted. As if he had merged into the torrent of water.

'I came back,' I said. 'Twice.'

He was quiet. 'I did not know,' he said.

There was a silence; then he continued.

He had meant to communicate with me, he said. He had never intended that I should think him dead for long. But when he had contacted Mycroft, through diplomatic channels, and asked him to deliver some discreet message to me, Mycroft had warned of the scandal and danger and advised him to wait until after the trial.

The trial had gone badly, in that Spencer and Moran were not touched. Holmes, now hearing that I had been ill, had again asked his brother to contact me, and this time was told that I was under surveillance, and that the slightest indication on my part that I knew him to be alive would lead his enemies straight to him. Apparently Mycroft assured him that I had plenty of friends to comfort me, and would certainly be all right. He also spoke of my wife; her security, what she deserved.

'I should not have believed him'--Holmes looked up at me at last, and our eyes held--'I know what he thought. But I chose to believe him. What can I say? I remembered that you judged things differently. And I was travelling, meeting new people, imbibing new ideas. It seemed to me that freedom was within my grasp. The possibility of a completely new life. And I thought that if I cut you out of my heart--'

He stopped abruptly, unable to continue. It was not in his nature to weep, but he closed his eyes while I wept for him.

When he could proceed, he told me of his work under the name of Sigerson. Mycroft had been pressing him to work for the Government, and he did for a while, in Khartoum. Then he came back to France and settled in Montpellier; a laboratory commissioned him to research into coal-tar derivatives.

Spencer and Moran meanwhile had found out that he was alive, and so the game of cat-and-mouse was resumed.

'I came to Paris, and Spencer followed me here. Moran, I knew, had gone back to London. I sent for news, through my contacts, and that was how I heard about your--about Mary. It was a great shock. I contacted Mycroft again, and forced his hand. I told him that as far as I was concerned, I now had nothing to lose; and if he did not give my token to you, I would return publicly to London to find you myself.'

The smooth, flat monotone of his voice cased. There was silence in the room. The sounds from the boulevard below drifted up and clustered against the window; they came from outside, from another world.

Then abruptly, I buried my face in my hands and sobbed uncontrollably. Once I had begun, I found that I could not stop.

I felt his hand on my shoulder.

'Watson,' he said. 'Don't.'

I could not stop. His hand moved lightly over my hair. And again.

'Please.'

I struggled with my breath. I heaved into silence, with only the occasional sob. Through every nerve in my body, I felt his hand upon my hair.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

'Entrez,' said Holmes' voice from the other side of the room. I looked through my fingers, and saw a man enter with a small table, followed by others with plates and salvers, a bottle and glasses. Silently they laid the table with
pdti
, cold fowl, salad.

'I ordered lunch up here,' said Holmes from the window. 'I thought you would prefer it.'

When they had gone, I recovered myself while he poured the wine. We talked, and ate.

We talked all afternoon. We spoke of Mary; of Herr Steiler; of the trial, of Spencer and Moran. Holmes told me a little about Lhassa; but it was too painful for me to hear him speak of places and people he had encountered when I thought him dead, and I asked him to stop. We spoke instead of Baker Street, picking up the threads of the old days.

Later, we went for a walk. The cool evening breeze revived me somewhat, and I experienced a childlike wonder, gazing up at the lamplight in the trees as we passed beneath them. We dined at a garish little restaurant on the Boulevard St Michel. Holmes, as I looked at him across the chequered tablecloth, actually looked happy. There was a smile around his eyes as he met my gaze.

It was only when we were halfway through our meal that he asked me again about Mycroft--how he had delivered his message to me, what he had said. His lips set into a thin, hard line as he heard my account of it.

'I'm sorry,' he whispered, 'I'm sorry.'

His eyes searched my face.

'Watson,' he said, 'forgive me. Please.'

It was as though a rainbow were arching back over the wasteland of the last few years. My face must have shown what I felt.

'I forgive you, my dear Holmes,' I said softly.

'Thank you.' The smile returned to his face and he poured us both more wine.

I drank far too much that evening. Following the brandies and the wine at lunch, it was enough to render me almost incapable. The emotional strain of the last twenty-four hours and the previous night's lack of sleep no doubt did much to enhance the effect. When we arrived back at the hotel, Holmes helped me out of the cab and up the stairs to my room. Even in my drunken state, I relished every sign of tenderness and concern. He made me drink some water.

'My poor Watson, you're exhausted,' he said. 'Here, let me help you with your collar. Don't bother to undress, just sleep now, as you are. You'll feel all right in the morning.'

With the briefest of preparations, I made ready. Holmes pulled the quilt over me.

'Sleep now,' he said. 'I will be just along the corridor. I will see you in the morning.'

'Don't go,' I tried to say, raising myself on the pillow. 'Don't go. I am afraid of not seeing you again.' I remember that panic rose in my throat, and that he calmed me, taking my hand.