Son of Holmes

7

After dinner-a simple coq au vin and a bottle of beaujolais-Tania and I sat in the kitchen with brandy. The living room still made us nervous, and Fritz said he didn’t mind the intrusion. So we sat on wooden chairs across the table from one another. It was a quiet night. The large stone fireplace crackled from time to time, and Fritz, cleaning up, moved easily about. When he’d finished, he turned down the lamps and left us alone. The room was a montage of pale yellow light and black shadows. Something, probably a mouse, scampered across the floor.

Tania was wearing a light blouse with a tan wraparound skirt that came to a few inches above her ankles. She was beautiful enough to get away with that kind of dress, though it would properly be considered fairly risqué. Her long hair fell across her face, and looking across at her I found it very hard to believe that she was beginning her fifth decade. I got up, came around the table, and kissed her.

“Are you feeling better?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“I went to see your friend Ponty today.”

Her shoulders stiffened a little. “What were you doing at the arms factory?”

“Georges had to deliver there, and I decided it would be a nice break to put off my appointment today and see this place you’ve talked about so much. It is a very impressive sight, though I wish they could do something about the smoke.”

“I know,” she said. “Isn’t the smell terrible?”

“Horrible. But I suppose when one works with sulfur, that’s impossible to avoid.”

We heard Fritz moving about behind us in his room. He usually did exercises and then read a bit before going to bed.

“How did you find Maurice?” she asked.

I described our tour, including the little episode at the door to the explosives room. Tania smiled and said that sounded just like Maurice. We sipped at our brandy, and the silence came back to surround us. There would never be a better time.

“Tania,” I began, then stopped, terrified. To me she was the most attractive woman in the world, and if I pressed on now I ran the risk of losing her. But I really had no choice-if I couldn’t ask, I had already lost her. “Why didn’t you tell me about Ponty’s proposal?”

Her shoulders sagged slightly as she put her snifter down. “Oh,” she said, “he told you about that?”

“It quite hurt me,” I said truthfully.

“Oh, Jules, I’m sorry.” She reached out across the table and covered my hand. “Maurice and I are only friends.”

“Obviously Maurice doesn’t feel the same way.”

“I know. I was very surprised.”

“I don’t understand why you wouldn’t have told me.”

She shrugged, squeezing my hand. “It didn’t matter. It had no effect on us. Why did you need to know?”

“Are we operating on a ‘need to know’ basis now?”

“What does that mean? Of course not. I just didn’t think it was so important, or appropriate. And really, Jules, it isn’t.”

“A marriage proposal isn’t important?”

“Not unless I’d have said yes, which I did not.”

I covered her hand with my own and stared into her guileless and beautiful face. “I’m afraid I’m uncomfortable with these secrets between us.”

She lowered her gaze and her voice. Her words seemed to have been wrung from her against her will, as though the necessity of having to admit it belied its own truth. “There are no secrets between us.”

Before I could respond, there was a crashing sound against the front door. I bolted up and ran to see what it had been. Outside, the night was inky black, and I could barely make out even the shadows of trees. Faintly, though, I heard what I took to be several pairs of retreating feet and some high-pitched giggling.

Tania had brought up a lantern and stood behind me. On the ground I could make out a large rock, which I bent over to pick up. There was a paper tied to it, and on the paper a crude drawing of a skull. I turned around and found Tania crying.

“Now, now,” I said, “it was simply a group of kids. You know they do this kind of thing often enough. And especially after word spread about Marcel’s murder in this house. If you listen you can still hear them giggling. Listen.”

And over the quiet fields did come the sound of young voices, muffled and diminishing but still audible.

We moved back inside and stood in the foyer. In spite of my words to Tania, I was shaken. This sort of thing did happen, I suppose, on occasion, but with suspicions already so high, it did my nerves no good. I walked back to the kitchen for another brandy, which I drank much too quickly. Coming back through the dark sitting room, I turned into the stairway and stood transfixed by what I saw.

Tania stood silhouetted against the top of the stairs, holding the lantern in her left hand. Her recent tears still glistened on her face, her hair hung to her shoulders, and she had undone her blouse, which now hung open before her. Very quietly she spoke: “Jules, come to bed. I’m afraid.”

Later, I could not sleep. Overcome by the events of the day, ashamed that I had doubted Tania, unnerved by the children’s prank, I got up and looked out the window. The only sound was the gurgle of the brook as it flowed through the arbor. A crescent moon had just risen, and it was somehow reassuring. In my mind I went over the details of the St. Etienne arsenal so that I could report the next morning to Lupa. At my desk, I lit the lamp and sketched from memory the general floor plan. That took my mind off my worries, and by the time I finished, I felt sleepy. I remembered, though, to write Fritz a note to have him wake me early; then I came back to the bed, where Tania lay, and crawled in beside her.

But just before I dozed off, I thought I heard the sound of a car engine starting, accompanied by indistinguishable voices drifting over the fields, finally fading into the noise of the engine as it roared toward St. Etienne.