Gaslight Grimoire_ Fantastic Tales of Sherlock Holmes - Barbara Hambly [34]
They were an interesting study in contrasts, Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald. He was tall and slender, with dark eyes set in a pale face, and an unruly shock of black hair, a lock of which he was perpetually brushing back from his forehead. His wife, while almost as tall as her husband, was more sturdily built, and her blue eyes looked out from a face which I guessed was, under normal circumstances, ruddy-complexioned and clear, as of one who spends a good deal of time in the open air. Now, however, it wore a look of anxiety, an expression shared by Mr. Fitzgerald, who stepped forward with short, nervous steps, wringing his hands together in an attitude of embarrassment.
“Mr. Low?” he enquired, looking from one of us to another, and our companion nodded his head.
“I am Flaxman Low, and these gentlemen are Mr. Holmes and Dr. Watson. We understand from your coachman that we are all expected.”
“Yes, yes, of course … oh dear, this is really most awkward. I do not know how I came to make such a terrible mistake. The dates — of course, I put the wrong one in my letter to you, Mr. Low, and it was only when I spoke with my wife after that I realized what had happened. We did not intend … that is to say, we meant … such a dreadful mix-up…”
His words trailed off, and he wore a look of contrition that was almost comical. His wife stepped forward firmly and placed a hand on his arm.
“My husband is correct in saying that this is an awkward situation, gentlemen; but such events happen in the best-regulated of households, and I believe that when you hear our story you will excuse us. Matters have been somewhat” — she paused, as if in search of the correct word — “fraught here in recent days, and we were both so anxious of a solution that we proceeded independently of each other, with the result that you now see. We will, of course, understand perfectly should one of you decide that he would rather not stay.”
“Explanations are unnecessary,” replied Holmes, and Low nodded. “My friend and I were not previously acquainted with Mr. Low, but a fortuitous chance has ensured that we had an opportunity to discuss the matter — so far as we know it — on the way here, and I think I may safely say that we see no difficulty in combining our efforts.”
“Mr. Holmes is quite correct,” added Low. “While we may differ in certain of our beliefs, we are united in our determination to put an end to the difficulties which you face.”
“Thank you, gentlemen,” said our host, relief sweeping across his face. For a moment the look of anxiety left him, and I was able to see traces of the good humor which I suspected his countenance usually wore. “I cannot tell you how relieved we both are to hear this. Of course, we really must explain why it is that…”
“Yes, we must,” interrupted Mrs. Fitzgerald, firmly but kindly. “However I do not think, John, that the front drive is the place for explanations.”
“Of course; you are quite right, my dear.” He turned and smiled at us. “Forgive me once more; my manners have quite escaped me. The maid will show you to your rooms, and then we will lay all the facts before you, in hopes that you will see light where we see only darkness.”
Less than half-an-hour elapsed before we were assembled in a pleasantly furnished sitting-room with our host and hostess, and provided with refreshments. Both Mr. and Mrs. Fitzgerald seemed to take pleasure in the everyday ritual of pouring tea and passing cakes, and for a moment their cares and anxieties seemed to fade in the flow of casual conversation around them.
“Yes,” said Mr. Fitzgerald, in answer