Consuetude Transformed
by Gean' Fuqua
Authors' Note: Three generations of Russell/Holmes fans decided that life usually works out and wrote the following pastiche to celebrate living! Thanks to LRK for all the good reading.
Mr. Holmes and I were working outside when I looked up from my gardening to see Mary-who was not expected for several days-had arrived home. Mr. Holmes would see her inside while I would see to food and tea. I hurried to make tea, set up a tray of food, and had it to them by the time their coats were hung. Mr. Holmes' eyes met mine as I placed the tray on a table.
When Mary hugged me, I felt weariness and tension in that strong, young body. Telling her that a good hot bath would be ready shortly, I took myself upstairs.
I had known Mary for more than ten years and it was unlike her to appear so unsettled. Something was disturbing her. I filled the tub with hot water, adding bath salts that foamed and bubbled.
Mary had entered the quiet atmosphere of retirement that Mr. Holmes had created when we left London, I as his housekeeper and he to regain some sense of purpose. Until that day when he tramped into our cottage with this child, I had begun to suspect that routine and sameness of his life would drive him to madness or an early grave.
What a change had occurred! He talked, he ate; his curiosity, his drive, his new found student gave him a desire to live. This child-and she was a child at 15-stirred a passion in him that all who knew him thought long lost. The tub full of hot water, I went downstairs and to the kitchen. I had long been a witness to the affection of these two people, and even if it had been many years since my own married state, I understood that a beloved spouse best met some needs. I found things to do in the kitchen.I heard the car before I saw it, recognized its sound, and was moving toward the graveled pad by the time it made the last turn into the driveway. I saw its driver-my wife-square her shoulders and made a move that indicated an exhausted state. At the same time I realized that she had arrived several days before she was expected.
"Mrs. Hudson, Russell is home!" I made this comment in the direction of the woman in the small garden. Her response was a hand thrown in the air as she moved toward the kitchen. She would have tea and food ready in a few minutes.
By the time the car slowed and stopped, I had reached to open the door. "You have returned earlier than expected, wife." Our hands touched as her eyes met mine. I saw at once that along with obvious signs of exhaustion and fatigue, something else had brought this Oxford scholar, this young woman, this life partner, and my wife back to our Sussex cottage after only a few days absence.She unfolded her long trouser covered legs out of the car and stood in front of me, smiling and pushing her specs up to the bridge of her nose. "Holmes," was all she said before her lips touched mine. Just as quickly she reached for a small bag, shut the car door with her hip and slipped her left arm around my waist as my arm circled her shoulders. "I'm home." There was inflection in her words that I found hard to place. As I pulled her closer, I felt her relax against my shoulder.
Inside the cottage, Mrs. Hudson was arranging tea and food by the time our coats were removed and hung. Expressing delight that my wife had arrived home, the older woman left us while she went upstairs. Mrs. Hudson loved this young woman as she would a daughter and, like I, had recognized fatigue and exhaustion. She knew that a hot bath would do much to revive body and spirit.
"Eat, Russell, drink," I handed a cup of tea to her hand. She sat down in one chair and I pulled a low stool near her knees. "Ahh-Mrs. Hudson has your favorite cheese and apple tart." Her head leaned back against the chair; she placed the untouched tea on the table.
"I'm so tired, Holmes. I did not think I would make it here after I left Oxford." Her hands moved to her eyes and her fingertips moved in circles over her lids, pushing her spectacles into her hair.
I moved to behind her chair and began massaging her shoulders. As late evening light faded from the room, some tightness and tension left her. My fingers moved to her face, that face I loved more than life its self. My fingers moved slowly over her smooth forehead, along her jaw, and to her neck and hairline. Gradually, her face eased and her eyes opened.
"Holmes, I missed you." She took my hand and brought it to her lips. Just then Mrs. Hudson appeared to tell us that a bath was ready and waiting.
Mary Russell and I had literally stumbled over each other more than a decade ago a few miles from this cottage. She was barely 15, lonely, isolated by a selfish guardian-aunt, and slowly recovering from a devastating accident that left her an orphan. At the time, I had retired from London as a consulting detective, content to be and live alone except for my housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson. Little did I know that day and the girl-child would change my life so drastically. Long after I had thought it possible I had found a partner in mind, spirit, and intellect; I had also found a wife.
And this night, my wife, had a need, unvoiced yet recognized not only by me, but also Mrs. Hudson.
I pulled her from her chair and she made her way up the stairs. Tea and food untouched. I carried the tray to the kitchen where Mrs. Hudson was waiting.
"Mr. Holmes, something is causing distress for Mary. And just look at this-she hasn't eaten anything."
"Yes, it would seem so. Whatever it is, we can deal with it. I'll take a fresh cup of tea to her."
With that I left the kitchen, closed the house for the night and went upstairs. Darkness had come early with clouds moving in and a cold rain blowing over the downs.
I tapped twice on the door to the bath. "May I come in, Russell?" Hearing an answer, I entered, moved a small table near the tub, and placed the hot tea within her reach. Her clothes lay in a heap on the floor. The room was steamy, smelling of feminine bath scents; her long hair was pinned around her head.
This cherished woman smiled up from the foam and water. "You are too good to me, Holmes. I arrived in a foul mood and you refused to be a part of it." Her hand came to touch my face. "Will you shave?"
It was my turn to smile. While she soaked, I shaved, changed to a dressing gown, and warmed her towels. By the time the towels were ready, I had stirred the fire in our bedroom, turned down the bed, and found her a nightgown. However, once in the bedroom, the towels dropped to the floor, her hair fell in a sweet smelling cloud around her shoulders, and an intimate passion warmed our bed, pushing whatever caused her distress out of her mind. Entwined in each other's arms, her long legs wrapped around mine, she slept while I combed my fingers in her hair. I did not move for fear of waking my young wife, but before sleeping, I thought I had determined the reason for her troubling mood.
I woke in a narrow, cold bed in my Oxford rooms. Somewhere food was being prepared, greasy, foul smelling food that stopped whatever appetite I might have had. I pulled on clothes, found an orange, gathered my bag and made my way to my desk at the Bodleian Library. However, work did not come. I scattered then gathered papers and books. I walked in the library, then walked outside, yet nothing could initiate my concentration. Cold outside and hot inside, at mid-day, I gave up. The orange long gone, I purchased a meat pie from a street vender. I felt worse after eating it and headed to my rooms. Once there, restlessness began again. I felt ill. Holding my head in my hands, I knew what I wanted, what I needed. I started home. Home to my husband, my mentor, the person I love more than life itself, Sherlock Holmes. Since I was 15 this man I loved had guided my life, changed his life, and molded me into what I was today. But this day I was confused, tired, exhausted for no specific reason and knowing he would provide what I needed, I left Oxford.
I had driven this road many times but on this occasion, exhaustion almost caught me before I reached home. The days of March were shortened by arriving clouds signaling a coming rain. I saw my husband coming from the terrace to greet me. His stride belying his age and his carriage indicated his disposition did not match the weather. His hand had me out of the car and those deep-set eyes on mine were all I needed to know that whatever ailed me would be resolved in the security of this man's love.
Our housekeeper, Mrs. Hudson, whom I loved as a mother, knew my immediate needs and set to work as soon as I arrived.
My husband knew my other needs as well. I fell asleep in his arms, his gentle hands stroking my hair.
I woke suddenly knowing I was alone in our bed. My eyes found my wife standing by the window, wearing my dressing gown.
"Come back to bed, wife. It's cold out there."
She turned, a faint smile appeared on her lips. "Do you miss me when I'm away?" She asked.
"Come back into our bed. I will tell you how I miss you." I moved so she could lie in the warm area of the bed. I wrapped one arm around her body using my right arm to raise my own head. "There will never be a time in my life when I lie in a bed without you and do not miss your companionship. You have become a part of me that is sorely missed in your absence."
My fingers moved over her smooth face, down her neck, and then I leaned to kiss her brow, her eyes, and her lips. Her eyes remained closed. "There is something that concerns my young wife, that wakes her in the middle of a cold night. It keeps her from eating. It brings her home in mid-week and yet she remains quiet. There is apprehension in her eyes." In the dark room I could almost feel the tears in her eyes before my lips touched her lashes. "What is wrong, dear wife?"
She turned her body, the dressing gown falling open, and our skin touched. As in other similar times, I almost gasped at this touch-a body so well known to mine that she fit into my angles and I into her curves as two pieces of a puzzle. Her hand touched my face. I took her right hand in mine, both resting on her breast. Her tears flowed freely from her eyes yet there was no sound. Holding her hand, I wiped her tears away.
Finally her tear filled eyes opened. "Holmes, I truly do not know what is wrong. I cannot study. I feel as if I am in a windstorm while the world continues to be normal. I cannot comprehend normal occurrences in a day, much less concentrate." A sob broke from her throat. "While I tell myself one thing, my body feels like I am losing my mind."
I took her into my arms wrapping us in the bedclothes as her crying continued. This was unusual behavior from the woman whose normal behavior could be as remote and calculating as my own-chased, attacked, kidnapped-she managed to remain almost tear free on those occasions.
Gradually, her crying ended and I felt her lips on my neck. I moved to turn on a lamp. "Don't leave me, not yet," she whispered. I was not leaving but turned back to her. Her hands moved over my body in smooth caressing strokes. I responded, as she knew I would and we moved with the gentle passion of two lovers who knew the desires of the other. Afterwards, I managed to remain in bed with one arm wrapped around her, turn on a lamp, and cover us both with bedclothes.
I settled back in bed and pulled her against my shoulder. She had gathered her hair into a long twist over her own shoulder. Her eyes were bright but there were no tears.
"We will talk better with light. Russell, it is not your character to be like this. However, I may have insight on your current state that is very personal for both of us-may I speak?" My comments were greeted with a hesitant move of her head.
"Your tearfulness tonight, as well as on your drive home-that sodden hankie in your car-tell me your emotions are out-of-order, so to speak. This goes along with other changes that occur with most women at certain times." I stopped and a minute passed. "While you have never been regular in the 25 to 30 day cycle, there have been only a few times when trauma or stress has delayed your time more than six weeks." She continued to lie very still so I continued, "Last week, before you left for Oxford, when we were together, like this, and again tonight, I had reasons-I observed a-a certain," I hesitated. "This is difficult to put into words."
"Continue, Holmes" were the only words I heard, spoken softly next to my ear.
I continued, "I know your body better than my own. Last week and tonight I noticed, sensed, even, felt a tenderness, a fullness during intimacy that provide further evidence." I kissed her hair. Then, neither of us moving, spoke softly, "We may have need of one of Patrick's caged rabbits to prove this hypothesis-or time." By the time the last words were out of my mouth, they were only whispers.
I slept from release of passion, spent from days of restless sleep, and relieved to be at home with this dear, sweet husband of mine. Some hours later, I woke with the return of restlessness that drove me from our warm bed. Wrapped in Holmes gown, I watched rain wash down the windows, unaware of the cold until I heard his voice. I carried my body back to bed where Holmes moved to give me his warm place. Of course, he knew I was not my usual self. When I cried and sobbed, as I had not in years, he made a move to leave our bed; I held him with a few words.
His smooth long fingers brought a rush of desire and longing to my entire body. Our earlier togetherness had been one of eagerness making up an absence while this union was a slower, intense emotion. Those sensitive hands moved over my body with a touch that made me feel fire and ice at once. At times his gentle touch of fingers and lips were almost more intense than certain areas of my body could stand. Some time passed before I knew I was calm, content, and soothed more than I had been in hours, if not days.
Afterwards, he managed to keep us wrapped in a warm cocoon of bed clothes, set a low light, and settle us so that I was sheltered between his arm and shoulder. When he began talking, I almost stopped breathing. His fingers moved lightly over my breasts as I began to realize the reason for my heightened sensitivity to his touch. I, like he, knew without a doubt that I was pregnant. His desire for detail has always amazed me. His attentions to our married life tended to be as scrupulous and attentive as with any area of his long life. Tonight, in revealing those attentions, I was astonished at his words. I should have known that a man who could track an animal in dry grass, identify hundreds of soils, and determine height of a man by a footprint, would be able to diagnosis a condition as common as pregnancy!
Family planning had become a lost issue between us. Because of my husband's age, my medical history, and my studies away from home, we, or I, had not thought pregnancy likely. As year after year passed, we had settled in a loving, enjoyable, and, yes, passionate and amative relationship in our private life.
I realized with a start that my husband was quiet. I turned so our faces were a few inches apart. His gray eyes met mine, for a few seconds there was no readable expression, then his lean face changed as his arms came around me with such strength that my ribs hurt and my breath shot from my lungs.
"Are my deductions accurate, Russell?"
It was my turn to raise my head to look at my husband. His eyes glittered and his mouth almost smiled. My long hair formed a secret, shining tiny room for just our faces. I whispered, "In this case, I believe your deductions are correct.
Morning came bright and sunny with a prospect of spring in the air. Little did I know that today would be a day we would remember for years to come.
It was late morning before I heard any stirrings upstairs. This was not unusual when Mr. Holmes and Mary were together. My own breakfast long put away, Mr. Holmes slipped into my kitchen on soft feet, saying , "only tea and toast, Mrs. Hudson." Which was not completely true by the time jam, fruit preserves, butter, cream and sugar were added to a tray. He stood quietly in the kitchen leaning on hands spread on the table.
After years of being part of his household, I knew I would be the one to break our silence. "Is our Mary feeling better this morning?" My back was turned to him.
Quite suddenly his hands clapped together once causing me to jump as I turned. In all the years of being in his company, I had never before witnessed the look on his face. My hand flew to my mouth, the other to the back of the nearest chair. I eased into the chair.
"I am sorry, Mrs. Hudson. I did not mean to startle you." He pulled up another chair, sat down, his knees almost touching mine and took both my hands in his.
I did not speak.
"Truly, this day-I never thought I would say this"-his voice was lost for a few seconds. His hands squeezed mine. "She's going to have our child."
I looked into his face to see that most unusual expression. Now realizing that what I had not recognized before was the look of unpresuming pride-not boastful, sinful pride, but honest fulfillment of unspoken hopes and dreams.
I tried not to cry. Like the man before me, I had also hoped, wished, even prayed for this. "How is Mary? Is she like you? Does she know your feelings as well?"
For years I had participated in their daily lives as well as a few life-threatening episodes. It had taken both of these aloof, independent souls years to realize they were put on this earth to find each other. There were a few times when I considered locking them together until they figured it out.
Letting go of my hands, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his hands together and softly said, "I believe she feels as I do."
I lay in bed with my wife long after daybreak. She slept like a cat stretched before a warm fire. Color had returned to her face. My mind knew the future held new, unknown changes; yet my heart, that neglected, abused, and often forgotten center of my affection and love for this woman, was beyond rational thought. I could never have asked her for a child, but fate had intervened. Her unexpected return had made me think she had her own suspicions yet later I realized she did not. She stirred awake, moved even closer to me, and opened her eyes. She smiled. There must be a God, I thought. How else would I be sharing this bed and life with this woman?
The rain was gone and the sun high in the morning sky before we managed to move from our bed. I delivered tea, toast, and jam to the bedroom.
"Holmes, how did you know? After all this time-no, don't tell me. My weariness is gone." I reached to assist her with her shirt and she turned into my arms. " I want to walk, breathe fresh air, feel like I am home again. I never imagined I would feel this way!" I could not speak but continued to hold her for some time.
We spent the rest of the day outside, walking, talking, frequently stopping as one topic led to another. Before we returned, we stopped overlooking our house and garden.
"I am not sure I am ready for this, Holmes," she stated as she reached for my hand.
I held her hand up to my lips before answering her, then turned her face to mine. "Mary Russell Holmes, I know without doubt that, just as with every other aspect of our lives together, you will be the mother our child needs. I can only hope to follow your example." I smiled as I pulled her face to touch the tip of my nose. "We will be ready."
I kept my handkerchief near my eyes most of the morning. Later in the day, Mary came to me in the kitchen. Seeing my face, she gathered me in her arms.
"Oh, Mrs. Hudson, this will be a new experience for us!" She exclaimed.
We both laughed. I said, "You have what it takes and we will have a joyful time. Just remember, motherhood does not come to any of us over night."
Several months later we returned to Oxford, packed my books, closed my rooms, and said good-bye to this sacred place I had called my spiritual home. I would return one day, but for now my place was in Sussex.
In early summer while we rested along the cliffs, I was shaken from my drowsy state by a quick fluttering movement. I reached for Holmes' hand and placed it against my abdomen. We lay in quiet silence for many minutes, then the quickening movement occurred again. I watched him as a smile broke across that face I loved. From that moment and continuing for many days that followed, I was never to rest without feeling his hand on my swelling abdomen, always with a smile on his face.
In early fall, an easy and uncomplicated pregnancy ended in the birth of our daughter, named Judith for my mother. When he held his daughter for the first time, there were tears in my husband's eyes.
Eighteen months later, a son was born, named after my long-dead brother. The day the world's most famous consulting detective held his newborn son in the crook of his arm and his little daughter curled in his other arm as they scrutinized this tiny new person became a memory I would keep the rest of my life.
We began adding rooms to our cottage for our children. Scarcely a year after our son was born, I delivered a third child, a second boy, to our family. What little pain and discomfort experienced during childbirth quickly faded while watching those most precious to me examine and compare toes, fingers, faces, and hair with this newest baby.
I knew contentment, peace, love, and passion in what I was seeing as my life. It was not a conventional household. Holmes and I continued to accept cases that interested us, occasionally traveling and working in ways similar to the earlier days of our partnership. Detective work was no longer our grand passion yet we were never bored.
Mary discovered that she was a good mother and she was good at having babies. Only a few months after the arrival of their second child, Mr. Holmes announced that a third baby was expected. Mary made some comment about "Irish twins" which brought a smile to his face. He then pulled Mary from her chair, held her close and actually danced around the room. Then he kissed her for so long that I turned my blushing face away and covered little Judith's eyes with my hand!
Mr. Holmes had always been generous with the children around our Baker Street lodgings. His own children benefited from a greater generosity of his time and patience acquired with living a long life. The once quiet cottage grew with the sounds of laughter, giggles, and play. And in the midst of all this, we were happy.