“What do you think, Watson?” Holmes asked me after he had escorted our guest out.
The rain had stopped, however the sky was still as dismal as ever. Holmes had handed her an umbrella just in case there was a sudden downpour. She had graciously accepted the offer with a charming smile before thanking us for our time before hurriedly rushing out the door and back onto the empty streets. I watched from the window as she opened the umbrella and began walking hurriedly around the corner of the street.
“I think the lady knows naught of her ex-fiancé,” I answered him.
“Yes, it seems our client was indeed naïve; that and the fact that she had been blinded by the wiles of love are sure facts to understand why she has never yet questioned any of her fiancé’s actions.”
“That must also be the reason why a woman of nobility would wish to be wedded to a man of no worth.”
“And what do you say of her father, the Earl of Langford, Watson?”
“He must be a treacherous man. And the engagement? Well, I hardly doubt he ever heard a word of it.” I replied.
A light twinkled in Holmes eyes, “Treacherous? That is quite an enormous conclusion you have drawn from her story, Watson. Pray tell how you came to that assumption.”
“It was the look in her eyes. The frightened and tortured look in her eyes and pale face when she spoke of her father told me so. What reason could she have to fear him? The Earl, no doubt, has been mistreating her.”
“Ah, Watson,” Holmes said with a lazy smile, “It is good to see that you can read the emotions written within human eyes, however you are very wrong.”
I grimaced, slightly stung by his put down. My pride had soared at Holmes’ praise, but it immediately plunged at his set down. “How so?” I demanded.
He smiled at my bemused expression, “Oh, Watson,” he said, “Don’t look so forlorn. Our client’s eyes displayed of her fear of discovery and pain.”
“So I was right!” I exclaimed.
“No, no,” Holmes reprimanded, “your deductions were all wrong, my friend. You were only correct in reading her emotions.”
I sunk into the cushion of my chair as I fixed my gaze upon Holmes, who seemed to be waving his brilliance in my face.
“She did not want her father to find her missing from the house because she has a fever; not because she feared she would be punished. Lady Whitney Lawrence had sneaked out of the second story of her father’s townhouse when she should have been in bed recovering from her case of the flu. She did not wish to worry her father with her sudden disappearance and so therefore she was in a rush to meet us.”
“I can see the look of disbelief in your eyes, Watson,” Holmes said, “What is it that you want to know?”
“I don’t remember hearing the lady say that she was feeling unwell,” I said questionably.
Holmes guffawed, “That’s good to know, Watson. That means you are not hearing things. The lady said no such thing, but I could easily see the heart of the matter.”
“How could you tell?” I inquired.
“There was a tiny rip in the hem of her skirt, did you not see it? It showed me that she had hauled herself out of her bedroom window and had gotten her skirts caught onto a thorn while scaling the mansion, she struggled to untangle herself from the plant and the result of it was the tear. And the leaf in her hair belonged to that of a vine; the vines that crawled over old townhouses.”
“But there wasn’t any sign of a leaf, Holmes,” I persisted.
“She had combed a hand through her hair at the door, Watson, loosening it.”
At Holmes explanation, I realized he was, of course, correct. I did see her run a hand through her hair; however I thought it was more of an unconscious action on her part.
“How did you know she was ill?” I queried, my curiosity rising.
“Don’t you think she was just a bit pale?” Holmes asked me.
“Of course,” I said, I couldn’t imagine how that had to do with anything, “she was running about in the rain and cold as you’ve said.”
“Ah, yes, but she remained that color of alabaster white throughout her visit; even long after she had found shelter inside our office.” Holmes paused as though he were waiting for me to grasp the point he was trying to make, “Good God man!” He shouted with exasperation as my blank stared answered him, “I did touch her head, Watson,” he reminded me, “And her temperature was well above the norm, I assure you.”
“Alright then,” I said convinced, “Are you saying then, that her fiancé is a swindler?”
“He could be,” Holmes replied, standing from his chair. His movements were swift and purposeful as he walked to stand before the office window, “Or he could have just been an amiable and kind man who was mistakenly shot for no apparent reason, as the lady believes him to be, and this I highly doubt.”
“Have you any suspicion on who the murderer may be?”
“I have an idea.” He replied.
“Who do you believe it to be?” I asked him.
“I don’t wish to speak the name as of yet, Watson,” He quickly answered, “For I could be very wrong upon the matter; I just need a bit more evidence before I can truly say.”
“Well then?” I questioned, “What is it that you plan to do?”
Holmes passed me a wary look, but turned to focus his attention upon the London street before him once more, “I?” Said Holmes with mock confusion, “I think you’d rather know what you are going to do.”
Part Five