The Beekeeper's Apprentice - Laurie R. King [94]
“Oy, driver, where are you taking me? This isn’t the way to Covent Garden.”
“Yes, Miss, this is the faster way, away from the heavy traffic, Miss,” the voice whined obsequiously.
“All right, you, now look. I have a revolver, and I will shoot you if you do not stop immediately.”
“Now, Miss, you doesn’t want to be doing that, now,” he snivelled.
“I’m feeling more like it every moment. Stop this cab, now!”
“But I can’t do that, Miss, I really cannot.”
“Why not?”
The shaggy head leaned over the side, and I stared up at him. “Be-cause we’ll miss the curtain if I do,” said Holmes.
“You! You utter bastard,” I growled. The gun shook in my hand, and Holmes, seeing it, drew his head back quickly. “Look, you, that’s the second time you’ve played your bloody tricks on me in three days.” I caught the startled look of a passerby and lowered my voice. “If you do it again and I have a gun in my hand, I won’t be responsible, d’you hear? As sure as my mother’s name is Mary McCarthy, I’ll not be re-sponsible for my temper.”
I sat back in the swaying cab and caught my breath. Several min-utes later a thin voice drifted down to me.
“Yes, Miss.”
Some distance from the theatre he pulled the ancient cab into a dark spot adjoining one of London’s innumerable small and hidden parks. The growler sagged sideways with his weight, and in a moment the door fell open. He eyed me.
“Your mother’s name was not Mary McCarthy,” he said accusingly.
“No, it was Judith Klein. Just don’t scare me again, please. I’ve been walking around frightened and blind since I left your brother’s rooms, and I’m tired.”
“Apologies, Russell. My twisted sense of humour has had me in trouble before this. Pax?”
“Pax.” We clasped hands firmly. He stepped up into the cab. “Rus-sell, this time it is you who must turn your back. I can hardly go into the theatre looking like the driver of a four-wheeler.” I hastily de-parted out the other side.
Coat and hat, stick and proper evening coat, hair combed, mous-tache applied, he alighted from the cab. A small man wandered up, whistling softly.
“Good evening, Billy.”
“Evenin’, Mr....Evenin’, sir.” He touched his hat to me.
“Don’t break your neck over the boxes inside, Billy. And there’s a rug under the seat if you need it. Just keep your eyes open.”
“That I will, sir. Have a good evenin’, sir, Miss.”
I was so preoccupied that I did not notice when Holmes tucked my arm in his.
“Holmes, how on earth did you find me?”
“Well, I cannot claim it was entirely a coincidence, as I thought it possible you would fall victim to the charms of the place and be there all day. Also, both the doorman and the attendant to whom you gave Watson’s bag were watching and swore you hadn’t yet left when I asked an hour ago. That was a slip, incidentally, Russell. You ought to have abandoned the trousers.”
“So I see. Sorry. What did you find today?”
“Do you know, I found absolutely nothing. Not a rumour, not a word, nary a breath of someone moving against that old scoundrel Holmes. I must be losing my touch.”
“Perhaps there was nothing?”
“Perhaps. It is a most piquant problem, I must admit. I am intrigued.”
“I am cold. So, what are we going to do now?”
“We shall listen to the voices of angels and of men, my child, set to the music of Verdi and Puccini.”
“And after that?”
“After that we shall dine.”
“And then?”
“I fear we shall skulk back to my brother’s rooms and hide behind his drapes.”
“Oh. How is your back?”
“Damn my back, I do wish you would stop harping on the accursed thing. If you must know, I had it serviced again this afternoon by a re-tired surgeon who does a good line in illegal operations and patching up gunshot wounds. He found very little to do on it, told me to go away, and I find the topic tiresome.”
I was pleased to hear his mood so improved.
The evening that followed was a lovely, sparkling interval, set off in my mind by what went before and what came after as a jewel set into mud. I fell asleep twice and woke with my hat in