Young Sherlock Holmes_ Red Leech - Andrew Lane [6]
Mouth full of food, he heard the door to the library open. Moments later, the tall, stooping figure of Sherrinford Holmes entered the dining room.
‘Ah, brma then,’ he proclaimed in Greek, gazing at the sideboards.
Glancing in Sherlock’s direction, he said: ‘You may use my library, my psykhs iatreion, for your reunion with your brother.’ Turning to Crowe, he added: ‘And he specifically requested that you join the two of them.’
Sherlock put down his plate and moved quickly towards the library. Crowe followed; his long legs covering the ground quickly despite his apparent slowness of gait.
Mycroft was standing in the same position over by the French windows. He smiled at Sherlock, then walked over and ruffled the boy’s hair. The smile slipped from his face as he glanced at Crowe, but he shook hands with the American.
‘First things first,’ he said. After quite an exhaustive investigation by the police, we have found no trace of Baron Maupertuis. We believe he has fled the country for France. The good news is that we have not found any deaths of British soldiers, or anybody else, due to bee stings.’
‘It’s debatable whether Maupertuis’s plan would have worked or not,’ Crowe said soberly. ‘I suspect he was mentally unstable. But it was best we didn’t take the chance.’
And the Government is suitably grateful,’ Mycroft replied.
‘Mycroft – what about Father?’ Sherlock blurted.
Mycroft nodded. ‘His ship will be approaching India by now. I would expect him to disembark with his regiment within the week, but we will probably not get any word from him, or from anybody else, for a month or two – the speed of communication with that far continent being what it is. If I hear anything, I will tell you straight away’
‘And . . . Mother?’
‘Her health is weak, as you know. She is stable for the moment, but she needs rest. I understand from her doctor that she sleeps for sixteen or seventeen hours a day’ He sighed. ‘She needs time, Sherlock. Time and a lack of any mental or physical exertion.’
‘I understand.’ Sherlock paused, fighting a catch in his throat. ‘Then I am to stay here at Holmes Manor for the rest of the school holidays?’
‘I am not sure,’ Mycroft said, ‘that Deepdene School for Boys is doing you much good.’
‘My Latin has improved,’ Sherlock responded quickly, then mentally cursed himself. He should be agreeing with his brother, not disagreeing.
‘No doubt,’ Mycroft said drily, ‘but there are things a boy should be learning other than Latin.’
‘Greek?’ Sherlock couldn’t help asking.
Mycroft smiled, despite himself. ‘I see that your rather pawky sense of humour has survived your time here. No, despite the obvious importance of Latin and Greek to the increasingly complicated world we live in, I rather think that you would respond better to a more personal and individual style of teaching. I am considering withdrawing you from Deepdene and arranging for you to be tutored here, at Holmes Manor.’
‘Not go back to the school?’ Sherlock searched himself for some sign that he cared, but there was nothing. He had no friends there, and even his best memories were those of being bored, rather than being happy. There was nothing for him at Deepdene.
‘We need to look ahead to your matriculation,’ Mycroft continued. ‘Cambridge, of course. Or Oxford. I think you will have a better chance if we focus your learning a little more than Deepdene can manage.’ He smiled again. ‘You are a very individual boy, and you need to be treated that way. No promises, but I will let you know before the end of the holidays what arrangements have been put in place.’
‘Do I presume too much when I ask if I will have some small part to play in the youngster’s teachin’?’ Amyus Crowe rumbled.
‘Yes,’ Mycroft said, lips twisting slightly, ‘you’ve obviously kept him on the straight