The Beekeeper's Apprentice - Laurie R. King [81]
I must have drifted off to sleep there, for I awoke with a start some time later with Holmes’ hand on my shoulder and voice in my ear.
“I won’t permit you to spend two nights running perched in a chair, Russell. Come and have some food with us.”
I stood up sheepishly and put on the tiresome spectacles. “May I wash first?” I asked to a point halfway between Holmes and his brother.
“Of course,” exclaimed Mycroft Holmes. He ushered me down a hall to a small room with a daybed. “This will be yours while you are here, and the bath and such are through here. I borrowed a few things from a neighbour, if you would like to shed your present attire.” He looked a bit embarrassed at the inescapable intimacy of this offer, but I thanked him warmly, and he looked relieved. He was quite obviously no more accustomed to having to take the needs of a female into ac-count than Holmes had been before I walked into him on the downs.
“Just one thing,” I added hesitantly, and saw the anxiety come back to his corpulent face. “Your brother’s injuries—he really should not be allowed to spend the night in a chair. If he would be better in here...?”
His face cleared. “No, worry not, Miss Russell. I have sufficient space for the both of you,” and he left me for his imminent food.
I washed quickly and dressed in a thick blue robe I found hanging in the wardrobe. My hair I left pinned up on my head, escaping ten-drils and all. My feet went gratefully into a pair of slightly too small carpet slippers, and I went to join the brothers at the table.
When I walked into the room, Mycroft immediately scraped back his chair, stood up, and went to pull out a chair for me. Holmes (re-turned now to his normal self, white teeth and all) watched him for a moment, looked at me, laid his serviette on the table, and slowly stood, smiling curiously. I was seated, Mycroft took his seat, and Holmes sat, a peculiar twist to the corner of his lips. Reminders of my femininity always took him by surprise. However, I could not hold him to blame, for they took me by surprise as well.
The roast capon was delicious, the breads fresh, the wine sparkled on the tongue. We spoke of inconsequentials and finished with a plat-ter of cheese, among which I was pleased to find a piece of old Stilton. Mycroft and I shared it, leaving the cheddar to Holmes. It was a most satisfying meal. I said as much as I pushed back my plate.
“A full stomach, a slightly tipsy brain, and the knowledge of a safe place to sleep. What more could a person ask? Thank you, Mr. Holmes.” We adjourned to the fire, and Mycroft poured out three large brandies. I looked at my glass and wished for bed, and sighed quietly.
“Will you see a doctor tonight, Holmes?”
“I will not see a doctor, no. It must not be known that we are here.”
“What of the Club, and the cook? They must know, surely.”
“The Club is discreet,” said Mycroft, “and I told the cook that I was exceedingly hungry.”
“So, no doctor. Even Watson?”
“Especially Watson.”
I sighed again. “I suppose this is another of your tests of my abili-ties at basic first-aid, or some such. Very well, bring on the gauze.”
Mycroft went off to find the necessaries, and Holmes removed his jacket and began to undo his buttons.
“How may I distract you this time?” I asked sympathetically. “The story of Moriarty and the Reichenbach Falls, perhaps?”
“I need no distraction, Russell,” he said curtly. “I believe I have al-ready told you that a mind which cannot control its body’s emotional reactions is no mind worth having.”
“As surely you should know,