Sam Siciliano - The Web Weaver

“Perceptive of him. Did he say anything more of interest?”

I hesitated again. “He said Violet hates him, and he hates her, but...”

Holmes raised his eyes from his boot. “But?”

“But he is not as good at it as she is.”

Holmes lowered his gaze. “Ah.”

Holmes and I went downstairs and through the great hall. Luckily we did not see either Wheelwright père or fils . Rather than waiting in the gloomy entranceway, we went outside. A gravel road ran before the house, a small roof providing shelter for carriages, but the vast expanse of lawn was lush, green, and still wet. The moisture glistened on the toes of our boots.

A tin bucket full of the gardener’s hand tools stood near one of the roof columns, and Holmes poked about in the bucket with his stick. He had on his cloth traveling coat and deerstalker hat; somehow the cap made his nose appear even larger. He looked washed-out under the bright sunlight.

I heard an odd scrambling sound: A youth on a bicycle pedaled vigorously uphill, standing almost upright as he did so. He came to a stop a few feet from us, and then withdrew an envelope.

“Does either of you gentlemen know where I might find Mr. Sherlock Holmes?”

Holmes raised his stick. “I am he.”

“I’ve a telegram for you, sir.”

“Thank you.” Holmes handed him a shilling.

The boy grinned at the coin. “Thank you , sir.”

Holmes slipped his long finger into one end of the envelope, then tore it open and withdrew the paper. His lips formed a smile and he laughed sharply. “Imbecile.”

“What is it?” I asked.

“The chickens have flown the coop. It’s from Lestrade. The Lovejoys have vanished.” Sherlock whacked at the gravel with his stick, then drew a line. “I expected as much.”

“I wonder if we shall ever see them again.”

Holmes shrugged. “I wager we shall, and probably sooner rather than later.” He withdrew his watch and opened it. “I wonder what is keeping the ladies.”

“Their clothing is more complicated than ours. Violet was surely angry.”

Holmes’ nostrils flared as he whacked at the gravel. “Yes. I wish...”

I waited, but he did not finish. “What do you wish?”

“I wish... I wish I could help her. I wish I might break the enchantment and rescue her from this—” he raised his stick and pointed at the gray stone walls of the immense house— “this castle, this tower, where she is imprisoned. If she is imprisoned.”

I smiled. “You wish to save her from the giant. And the old ogre.”

“I only wish to save her. And I wish this case were over and done with.”

“I told Michelle the same thing last night.”

“One way or another, it will be over soon.” He stared down at the gravel. “I have never been so caught up in a case, never felt so...” Again he struck the gravel. “It makes everything so much more difficult. Usually I pursue the truth. That is my guiding light, my main principle, but now I am not certain I want the truth. All the same, there is no other way. First I must have the truth. Then we shall see.” He stared out across the lawn.

Wanting to comfort him, I blurted out, “She does love you.”

He winced as if I had struck him and turned away.

“I am sorry. I only...”

“That also makes everything more difficult.” He would not look at me.

“I wish I could help you.”

He raised his eyes and smiled at me. “You and Michelle have been invaluable. I am glad you are both here.”

“Michelle thinks you will find a way.”

“She would. I have never met a more generous spirit.” His eyes were sad, his smile pained. “But you know better.”

I opened my mouth, but I could not lie to him.

He shrugged. “So do I.” He raised his stick and rested it on his right shoulder.

We heard a noise behind us. Michelle and Violet had changed their shoes and put on their hats and heavy coats. Michelle carried a wicker hamper with two handles. She was flushed with excitement while Violet appeared pale.

“I’m sorry we were so long,” Michelle said, “but we had the cook put together a picnic lunch. It is almost noon, and this way we can stay outside longer.”

Violet gave a curt nod. “And we can avoid the ordeal of lunch with my father-in-law, an event which would be a dyspeptic extravaganza even for those with stomachs made of stronger stuff than mine.”

I could not help but laugh at this. “Let me carry the basket.” I took it from Michelle. “Goodness—how many people did you tell her you were feeding?”

Violet smiled. “I fear the dear cook wants to fatten me up. If we cut across the grounds, there is a pleasant path into the woods.”

Michelle slipped her hand about my left arm. Her face was radiant, her happiness apparent. Violet seemed to have recovered her spirits. Her full lips formed the customary ironic smile, but her dark eyes had an almost haunted look.

“What a beautiful day,” Michelle said.

Violet nodded. “It is good to be outdoors.” She stared up at the sun.

“I put Gertrude to bed,” Michelle told me. “The poor girl. I did not like the sound of her lungs.”

Violet sighed. “Her health has never been good. When she first joined us, she was sick all the time, but she has been much better the past two years.” She stared past me at Michelle. “Promise me you will look after her.”

Michelle laughed. “You know I shall.”

Violet stepped before us. We stopped, and she seized Michelle’s arm. “I mean promise me that you will look after her—that you will not forget—no matter what.”

Michelle’s smile wilted, but did not quite vanish. “Of course I promise. You know I am fond of Gertrude.”

Violet realized we were all regarding her. The ironic smile returned; she forced a laugh. “Forgive me, I... Because of Father Wheelwright I may not be able to keep her with me for much longer.”

Michelle’s smile was gone. “He would actually have you dismiss her, even if you told him she had been ill with a fever?”

Violet laughed harshly. “Without a doubt. You must have seen that.”

“You were right, my dear. He is an old lizard.” We were all walking again. Michelle stared resolutely ahead. “I shall find her another place, I promise you. She is such a sweet girl. Oh, it does seem monstrous.”

“Hush,” I said softly. Michelle gave me a wrathful glance. “We must not spoil the day.” Nor must we get Violet all worked up again.

She caught my meaning, even though I did not say the significant part aloud. “Oh, I am sorry,” she said. “Things are barely calmed down, and...”

Violet smiled wearily. “If only you knew what it means to me to have friends who understand, friends who do not snivel and whimper about the ‘servant problem.’ But it is too nice a day, and I must be good. I must think soothing thoughts and put that vile old scoundrel out of mind. Even Donald cannot bear his company—I know no one who can. But there I go again!” We had nearly reached the woods. Violet slipped her hand about Holmes’ arm, then started down the path into the trees. “You are very quiet, Mr. Holmes. Have you nothing to say? Nothing pleasant to say?”

“Idle pleasantries are not my strong point.”

“Oh dear, I do hope you have not been overrated,” she said. A loud laugh burst from Holmes. “Oh, sorry.” But Violet sounded pleased with herself.

We were all silent for a while. The forest air and the sunshine were like a tonic. Violet was the shortest of our group, and she set a leisurely pace. The breeze overhead ruffled the dry leaves, and a few of them came drifting down to join their departed brethren on the forest floor. It felt much damper and colder amongst the trees. We could see the blue sky through the branches, but a few high thin clouds had appeared.