The Study of Falling

by Lesley C. Johnson

a.k.a. 'the politician, the lighthouse and the trained cormorant'

Chapter 3

Force and Momentum

The next morning Holmes and I breakfasted in the dining room. Over our eggs, toast, croissants, preserves, fruit and coffee he told me a little about our destination.

We were to disembark at Palermo (not via a small rowboat this time, as in our mission in Palestine) and we would be met by one of Mycroft's people who had arranged accommodation for us (not a rude hut or a tent, but a private villa!). This person would act as our host and also apprise us of further details related to the situation that had attracted Mycroft's notice.

Holmes explained that there were cooperative friends placed within the Italian political bureaucracy, as well as agents observing remotely from Malta. However, Mycroft was concerned about one of his own agents whose recent behaviour had raised some questions, and we were to move into his circle and try to discover with whom he was associating.

After finishing our coffee we strolled out to the promenade to enjoy the warm spring sun and we watched the northbound passing of another ship. Holmes got his pipe going.

"What do you anticipate as being the most challenging part of this investigation, Holmes?"

"A good question, Russell." He said shaking out the match and tossing it over the rail. "This case certainly will have few similarities to our last job for Mycroft.

"If we eliminate those previous characteristics of physical hardship, harsh climate, difficult terrain and travel, complex social and cultural structures, what do we have to work with?"

I thought for a moment, and smiled brightly,

"First class hotels, excellent food and wine, a superb climate and darkly handsome Italian assassins!"

Holmes frowned at me appraisingly. I dropped the smile, cleared my throat and tried again.

"Er, politics: -- power struggles, shifting alliances, hidden motivations, secret prejudices, blood and money."

"What is the currency of politics, Russell?"

"The currency --? Information."

"Good, Russell. Yes. Information. And as with all currency the society that uses it determines its value."

He rested his forearms on the railing, laced his long fingers together and stared out over the water. I moved close to him (upwind of the smoke) with my back to the rail, the better to hear his words. After some ruminative puffs on his pipe he took it from his mouth and began to explain.

"Our task will be to integrate into this particular 'society' and begin trading the currency. However, it is not so simple as that. We must assume a position within the economy, as it were, so that information passes through our hands as a matter of course.

"The key, Russell, is to be seen as unimportant cogs in the machinery, without personal motive or --."

Holmes paused in mid-sentence, straightened and turned to look past me down the promenade. I followed his gaze and saw a strolling group approaching us some distance away. The Oxford women. Some of them were waving at me amidst subtle whispering in each other's ears.

"Oh blast, shall I put them off?"

"No, not at all. We are on holiday, Russell, to all appearances. You are at leisure to enjoy the company of whomever you wish." Then more quietly as they came up to our position he said, "It might seem odd if you did not join them.

"Good morning ladies, and a very fine morning it is!" This last in a tone of hearty joviality, accompanied by a chivalrous doffing of his hat.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes, how are you enjoying the voyage?" asked Mavis.

"Exceedingly well, Miss, I thank you. There is nothing like the sea air for improving one's sleep, don't you find? Why, I have slept better on this ship than anywhere else in a year!"

(God, he made it difficult to keep a straight face. It was like watching a consummate actor switch from Hamlet to Falstaff in one breath.)

"Mary, if your gracious husband can spare you, would you care to join us in a stroll around the promenade?"

"By Jove, go with them, Mary, the exercise will do you a world of good!" And beaming at them all in an avuncular way, added,

"I am afraid, ladies, that we are a sedentary pair generally, and it is entirely my fault, owing to my tendency to rheumatism. You would all be doing a great service to me to amuse my wife for a time." I caught Caroline's triumphant smirk, and I was sure Holmes had as well.

He almost patted me on the hand, but noticing the warning in my eyes he refrained and instead brought his hand up to his mouth to cough noisily.

"Are you sure... dear?" (Almost wincing -- I had never called him that before and it felt absurd.) "Will you be all right on your own for a little while?"

"Oh quite, quite. Run along with your friends and enjoy yourself. But Mary, did you see where I put my pipe?" I stared (nearly gawping myself) at his performance of patting his pockets foolishly.

"Ah, here it is! Never mind, then. Run along."

I moved close as if to kiss his cheek in a dutiful way, but instead murmured a curse at him and nipped his ear with my teeth. His little jump of surprise was somewhat gratifying. As I was swept away with the group of women I took one backward glance and saw him wipe the tears of laughter from his eyes with a handkerchief.

"Mary, dear, you must let us take you in hand for at least part of the day. There is so much to do on board, " said Mavis solicitously.

"Oh, yes, Mary, you poor thing. You must be rather stultified." This from Caroline.

"It's not as bad as all that, you know. He is really very good company." Even if I was playing along with his lead, I still felt a need to show a loyal defence.

Mavis actually did pat my hand.

"Of course, dear. Now, what shall we do girls? What about that game in the Palm Court?"

There was a general agreement to this plan and I was carried along with it. The game was a mechanical contraption that imitated a horse race, and guests wagered tokens that could be redeemed for small favours or prizes.

As we watched the action, Caroline moved next to me and smiled.

"Mary, it seems marriage does agree with you... in any case. Some of us absolutely covet that frock. And you look positively radiant. How long since the happy day?"

"Not yet two months. And yes, marriage does agree with me, thank-you, Caroline."

"Do you think you will give up your place at Oxford, then, and devote yourself to your domestic duties?"

I frowned at the form of the question, which seemed to imply a negative judgement no matter how I answered.

"Well, Caroline, I have been working on some important research, important in my field of study that is... and Holmes is actually quite self-sufficient..."

"Of course, no need to banish yourself permanently to some draughty farmhouse in... where is it? Sheffield?"

"Sussex. I am managing to balance my time successfully, I believe. But what about you, Caroline? How is your work coming?"

"Swimmingly. And do you plan to do your part for England and ...try to have children, Mary?" I was beginning to find her line of questioning rather offensive.

Just then Mavis joined us and I greeted her like a bosom friend.

"Mavis, you must tell me all about your wedding plans! What have you got Johnny to agree to so far?" And I escaped by leading her away to the far side of the room for a cosy chat.

Mavis stuck with me until near luncheon time, when I found Holmes in one of the lounges. We parted just outside the door and she went off in search of Kempling. Holmes (I noted that even here he had adopted his usual practice of occupying the seat with a full view of the doorway) was engaged in earnest conversation with three other gentlemen, and as I approached their circle of chairs, he smiled and stood to greet me.

"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce my wife, Mary Russell. Russell, this is Mr. Thomson, Mr. Southam and Mr. Coyne."

The three men half-rose from their seats and each briefly took my hand, but their arched eyebrows and knowing side-glances at one another rather dispelled any sense of received deference I might have felt from their polite bows. I perched bravely on the arm of Holmes' chair, and he lightly held my hand on his knee.

"What are you all discussing with such serious intent, gentlemen?" I said, trying for brightness.

Mr. Coyne, a rather red complexioned person, smiled condescendingly at me.

"Nothing you need trouble yourself about, Miss Russell. Lovely young things like you are meant to take our minds off the world's business."

I felt my face colour, no doubt almost to the same shade as his, though for a different reason. For a moment I debated with myself the idea of simply walking away, but a firm pressure on my hand from Holmes held me still. I pulled my hand irritably from his hold and opened my mouth to speak but he cut me off, and in the blandest of tones continued,

"Russell! I believe you and Mr. Coyne have some point of connection that you may not be aware of. Mr. Coyne, what was the name of that enterprise your eldest son manages?"

"The National Globe and Post in Toronto. Why?"

(How on earth had he found that out? Heaven bless you, Holmes!)

"Miss Russell owns the newspaper. Isn't that right, Russell?"

I collected myself and answered with a studied pleasantness,

"Yes. Then your son is Robert Coyne? A very competent managing editor, sir. A great asset to the firm."

Mr. Coyne's face rapidly lost most of its colour.

"You are that Russell?" His mouth opened and closed several times. "Oh, I say. That is... I beg your pardon, I'm most awfully sorry to have presumed..."

The guffaws of the two other gentlemen were sufficient recompense for the insult.

We got along much better after Holmes' little intervention, and when the gentlemen's wives joined us we made up a pleasant party for luncheon. As we all strolled into the Verandah Café, Holmes said conversationally to me, as though remarking on the weather,

"'Immersed in water,
you stretch out
your hands for a drink.'"