A Letter of Mary - Laurie R. King [41]
The fire subsided into rustling embers, and Holmes sat curled up in his chair, sucking at an empty pipe and staring into the glow. I took up my hairbrush and began to plait my hair for the night while the voice of a woman whose bones had long since turned to dust echoed softly in the dim room.
ELEVEN
lambda
The following morning was spent waiting. A singularly frustrating experience, waiting, made more so by the feeling that the labours of others are neither as quick nor as thorough as one's own. I always envied Holmes his ability to switch off the frustrations of enforced inactivity and turn wholeheartedly to another project. He spent the morning pottering happily in the laboratory, while I turned resolutely to my books. I had intended to produce a first draft of my book (on the concept of wisdom in the Hebrew Bible) before the end of the year, but that was before Miss Ruskin's letter hit my desk. Something told me that hunting down her murderers was going to take large chunks of time from the coming days, if not weeks.
Through sheer determination, I managed to focus my mind on the words in front of me, though every time I came across a reference to Sophia, the Greek word meaning "wisdom," the figure of Mary would stir gently in the back of my mind. Eventually, I was surrounded by journals and books, as I followed a phrase from Proverbs through a recently published religious text from ancient Mesopotamia and tried to recall a similar theme from an Egyptian hieroglyphic inscription. When the telephone rang, my mind was far, far away, and I took up the receiver irritably.
"Russell. Yes, this is she." Where was that? I racked my brains. It was a reference to the goddess Ma'at, surely. Budge's book on— "Yes? Who? Oh, yes, certainly, I'll wait. Holmes!" I shouted, books forgotten. "Holmes, it's Mycroft." I listened hard for a minute over the sound of his descending footsteps, the earpiece glued to my ear. "He wants to see us, and could we get to London for dinner tonight? What's that?" I shouted into the telephone, then strained to hear across the distance and the numerous exchanges the call was coming though. "Oh. He says he has some grouse and a new port he'd like you to try," I told Holmes. "At least, I think that's what he said. Either that or he's in the house and has a few darts he'd like to let fly. In either case, perhaps we ought to go? Right." I drew a deep breath and readdressed the mouthpiece. "We'll be there by seven o'clock. Seven! Right. Good-bye."
In the typically contrary nature of the beast, the telephone, which had sat obstinately silent all morning, rang again almost immediately. I picked it up and the operator informed me that it was another London call, would I please wait a moment, dear, so I did, until the line crackled into life. I bellowed my name into it, and that must have come near to rupturing Lestrade's eardrum, for his voice when it came was as clear as if he were standing in the room beside me.
"Miss Russell?" He sounded a bit tentative. I hastily lowered my own voice.
"Good day, Inspector. Sorry about that. I've just rung off from a very bad connexion, but this one is all right. Have you any news?"
"A few things have come in, and I'm expecting more this afternoon. Shall I give it to you over the telephone, or send it to you? I'm tied up here, unfortunately."
"Look, Inspector, we're coming into Town ourselves later today. Will you be at the Yard around, say, six o'clock?" Holmes, who had turned and come back downstairs at the second ring, gestured at me. "Just a moment, Inspector, Holmes is saying something."
"Invite him for dinner with Mycroft. There's sure to be enough grouse for a regiment," Holmes suggested.
"Inspector Lestrade? Are you free for dinner tonight? About eight o'clock, at Mycroft Holmes' rooms? Good. And you remember where he lives? That's right. You what? Oh yes, certainly, he would be flattered. Right. See you tonight, then."