Young Sherlock Holmes_ Fire Storm - Andrew Lane [34]
Sherlock glanced from his aunt to his uncle. He found himself thinking about them in a different way. They weren’t fusty old relics of a bygone age to him now; they were living people, with feelings and cares and concerns. He tried to visualize Sherrinford and his father playing together as boys. He tried to visualize his aunt as a younger woman, in her finest dress, perhaps attending the wedding of Siger Holmes and Sherlock’s mother. For a moment he found that he could.
‘Thank you,’ he said simply. ‘On behalf of my mother and my father, neither of whom can say this themselves for different reasons, thank you.’
‘It was the least we could do,’ said Sherrinford.
‘It wasn’t,’ Sherlock replied. ‘That’s why it was such a noble and self-sacrificing gesture.’
‘Now,’ Aunt Anna said, ‘I must go and see to hiring another housekeeper. This place won’t run itself, and the maids are so flighty that they need someone looking over their shoulder all the time, otherwise who knows what will happen.’
‘And I have a library to tidy,’ Uncle Sherrinford said. ‘That could take some time.’
They both stood. With a final smile from Sherlock’s aunt, and an absent wave of the hand from his uncle, they left the room.
‘Nice people,’ Matty observed.
‘Nice doesn’t anywhere near cover it,’ Sherlock replied.
‘So, what do you want to do now?’
Sherlock thought for a moment. ‘I was thinking of going over to Amyus Crowe’s cottage. I think he ought to hear what’s happened. We should also probably let him know about those American men who were looking for him in the market earlier. They did mention his name.’
Matty shrugged. ‘He might have some advice on what to do if Josh Harkness decides to hang around and take his lost money out of your hide,’ he said. ‘And I suppose it would be nice to see Virginia again.’
Sherlock stared at him, but Matty just gazed back innocently.
‘You don’t have to come,’ Sherlock said evenly. ‘I thought maybe Albert might need feeding.’
‘He’s a horse,’ Matty said, shrugging. ‘Where I left him, he’s surrounded by food. It’s like leaving me in a pie shop. He’ll eat grass until he’s full, and then he’ll sleep.’
‘Do you think horses get bored?’ Sherlock asked him. ‘I mean, just standing around in fields all the time.’
Matty raised an eyebrow. ‘Never really thought about it. I don’t suppose they mind. P’raps they spend their time thinking deep thoughts about the world and the things in it, or p’raps they can’t think much beyond what’s at the end of their nose.’ He frowned at Sherlock. ‘You think too much. Anybody ever told you that?’
They headed out into the late-afternoon sunshine. Sherlock managed to borrow another horse from the stables, and together they rode across the fields towards where Amyus Crowe and his daughter lived.
As they rode, Sherlock found his thoughts flipping between two extremes – a nervousness at the thought of seeing Virginia again and a confusion over what he felt about his father: a man who had always previously seemed like a force of nature to Sherlock, with his loud laugh and his love of the outdoors, but who he saw now as someone much more complicated.
He couldn’t help but wonder if the folie à double forme that his father suffered from was hereditary, like a birthmark, or just a disease that could be caught, like influenza.
As they rode up to the small cottage, Sherlock noticed that Virginia’s horse wasn’t in its field. ‘Sandia’s missing,’ he pointed out. ‘Virginia’s not here.’
‘You want to go looking for her?’ Matty called.
Sherlock glared at him. ‘Let’s go inside,’ he said darkly. ‘It’s been half an hour since you ate – you’re probably hungry again by now.’
‘I probably am,’ Matty agreed.
They dismounted and tied their horses to the fence outside the cottage. Something was bothering Sherlock as they approached, and it took him a moment to work out what it was. The usual clutter of objects outside the cottage – axes, muddy boots