A Letter of Mary - Laurie R. King [42]
I rang off, then got the operator back to place a call to Mycroft. While waiting, I spoke to Holmes.
"Lestrade would like a bottle of your honey wine to present to a lady friend of his on the occasion of her birthday."
"I am honoured."
"I thought you might be. He even promises not to tell her where it came from. He wants the substance for its own true self."
"Good heavens. Am I to become a rival to France? A honey wine to make you weep?"
"Weak, perhaps," I said under my breath, but I was saved from repetition by the call coming through. Mycroft was more audible this time, and when I told him he'd have to pluck another bird for Lestrade, he replied that he should be happy so to do, even if it meant performing the task with his own pale hands, which I doubted. I hung the earpiece back on its rest.
"I'll go pack," I volunteered. Leaving such a thing to Holmes could mean some interesting outfits. "Anything in particular you want?"
"Only the basic necessities, Russell. Anything undamaged is likely to be unclean, and we will be making purchases in London for our personae. I shall go tell Mrs Hudson of the change in plans— she had thought to leave tomorrow, but we can take her with us to the station."
"What about the box? Back in the beehive?"
"I think not. That was a temporary measure and would hardly stand against a concerted search. I recommend either putting it in a place they've already searched or else taking it with us."
"To Mycroft? Of course! If anyone could keep it safe, Mycroft could." I stood up and began to put away my papers and books, then paused. "Holmes, I should hate to have this mangled again; a good many hours have gone into it. What do you think of our chances of being invaded a second time?"
"Take anything precious with you. I don't think there's much risk, but there's always the chance. I did ask Old Will and his grandson to keep an eye on the place this time. The boy understands that he is to keep the old man out of trouble, even if it means sitting on him."
"They'll be thrilled." I grinned at the thought. Will was the gardener, but during the reign of Victoria he had also been an agent of what would now be called "Intelligence." Sessions in the herbaceous border or amongst the runner beans were invariably filled with anecdotes of spying behind the lines during "the War" (which was more likely to be the one on the North-West Frontier or the Crimea than the recent engagement in Europe). The boy, now sixteen, had been infected with his grandfather's enthusiasm, and he positively ached to be asked for such tasks by Sherlock Holmes himself. "Have you spoken to Mycroft yet about the lad?"
"I have. He was interested but agreed to wait until the lad has finished his schooling."
"Mycroft's people would pay for university, wouldn't they?" Whoever his "people" were, I added to myself.
"They would. They prefer gentlemen spies, or educated ones, at any rate. Look, you finish up here while I move up the arrangements with Mrs Hudson and Will. Don't take too many books, though. You may have to leave everything with Mycroft."
My brother-in-law, Mycroft, was much on my mind as I packed my papers and a few books and a toothbrush. I was very fond of that fat and phlegmatic version of his brother but had to admit that at times he made me nervous. He was possibly the most powerful individual in the British government by then, and power, even when wielded by such a moral and incorruptible person as Mycroft Holmes, is never an easy companion. I was never unaware of it, and always there lurked the knowledge that his power was without checks, that the government and the people lay nearly defenceless should he choose to do harm or, an appalling thought, should his successor prove neither moral nor incorruptible. I was fond of Mycroft, but I was also just a bit afraid of him.
His exact position in the governmental agency into whose offices he walked daily was that of a glorified accountant. It amused him to think of himself that way, though it was quite literally true: He kept