Young Sherlock Holmes_ Red Leech - Andrew Lane [23]
He must have drifted into a doze after a while, because the light in the room seemed to suddenly change, and he had pins and needles in his arm from where it was awkwardly crossing his face. He got up and slowly went downstairs; more to find food than for any other reason. He was suddenly ravenous.
The maids were setting the table for dinner. Mycroft was just emerging from the library. There was no sign of Amyus Crowe.
Mycroft nodded at Sherlock. ‘Feeling better?’ he asked.
‘Not really. I did something stupid.’
‘Not for the first time, and probably not for the last time. Just make sure you learn a lesson from this. Making a mistake is excusable, the first time. After that it becomes tedious.’
One of the maids emerged from the dining room with a small gong in a frame. Without looking at Mycroft or Sherlock she banged the gong once, loudly, and then retreated back into the dining room again.
‘Shall we?’ Mycroft asked.
Within a few moments they had been joined by Sherrinford and Anna Holmes. Mycroft spent most of dinner discussing the accuracy of the Latin translation of the Greek translation of the Hebrew and Aramaic books of the Old Testament. Aunt Anna spent most of the time talking to Sherrinford and Mycroft, ignorant of the fact that they were already talking to each other, although from some sense of gallantry Mycroft would turn around every so often and answer one of the questions that passed by in her continuous monologue. Sherlock spent his time eating, and avoiding the stare of Mrs Eglantine, who glared at him from a position by the windows.
After dinner, Sherrinford and Anna escorted Mycroft to the front steps to say goodbye.
‘Your Greek is fluent, and your Latin is particularly well constructed,’ Sherrinford said, apparently the highest praise he could think of. ‘And I have enjoyed our discourse. Your knowledge of the Old Testament is lacking, but you have made some surprising deductions already, based on what I have told you. I will need to think long and hard about what you have suggested concerning the early days of the Church. Please visit us again soon.’
Aunt Anna surprised everyone by stepping forward and placing a hand on Mycroft’s arm. ‘You are always welcome here,’ she said. ‘I . . . regret . . . the animosity that has split the family. I wish it could be otherwise.’
‘Your kindness is a force that could overcome all adversities,’ Mycroft replied gently. And the charity you have shown by looking after young Sherlock is a humbling example to us all. Consider the rift more than repaired, but eradicated.’ He cast a glance into the shadows of the hall, where Sherlock thought he could just make out a figure, dressed in black, watching them. Mycroft lowered his voice. ‘But while a particular person still has influence within this house, I suspect I will never feel quite as accepted as you would wish me to feel.’
Anna looked away. Sherlock thought he could see the gleam of tears in her eyes. ‘We are where we are,’ she said cryptically. And we do what we do.’
Mycroft stepped back. ‘I will take my leave of you,’ he said, ‘with many thanks. Might I presume upon your good natures one last time, and ask that Sherlock accompanies me to the station. The carriage can bring him back afterwards.’
‘Of course,’ Sherrinford said, waving a hand airily.
As the carriage took them out of the grounds of the Manor and on to the road, Sherlock looked back. There were three figures on the steps now – his aunt, his uncle and Mrs Eglantine. And either by accident or design, Mrs Eglantine was standing on the highest step, towering over her employers.
‘You still want to talk about what happened today,’ Sherlock guessed as the carriage bounced over potholes and stones.
‘Of course. We will be stopping at Mr Crowe’s cottage. There is still much to discuss.’
The carriage rattled through the landscape.
Sherlock could still feel an ache in his scalp where the scarred lunatic had grabbed him by the hair and dragged him into the house. He reached up and surreptitiously tugged