A Russellian Fugue

by "What this old thing? It's scarcely decent"

Part III

Jerusalem - January 1919

Good God! Who knew that a uniform could chafe this much?! And to think he'd thought that the abayya was bad! Holmes slipped a finger into his collar and tried to let in a little fresh air, but the commodity is not easily found in the dusty environs of Jerusalem. He glanced over at General Allenby and wondered if Russell had managed to get her fingernails clean. He chuckled slightly as he remembered that stunned look on her face when she thought she had intruded on some high and mighty military figure instead of her comrade-in-arms.

He straightened himself up to the proper posture as the car pulled into the embassy and amicably greeted his host and hostess. What an irritation to have to live like this every day, Holmes thought to himself. All the ludicrous pomp and circumstance would drive him out of his wits in no time. After less than a day, he was more than ready to return to the goat hair tents and Mahmoud's pungent coffee.

Her ringing laugh met his ears, as he made his entrance with General Allenby. Russ only laughed like that when she was inordinately pleased with life. This could not be a good sign. A muscle along Holmes' jaw twitched as he saw the crowd of admirers thronging around her. And the frock... perhaps that hadn't been such a wonderful idea. On the hanger, it had looked modest and retiring, but on her... well, it wasn't quite the look he had planned on. At least, not for a group of drooling soldiers! One of the said soldiers was fingering Russell's earring, complimenting her on such elegant taste. Holmes clenched his fist and burned a hole in the young man's back with his eyes. The very earrings that he had picked out! And specifically with Russ in mind! The contrast of the rubies against her fair hair was indeed a wondrous thing to behold.

He dragged his mind back to the introductions that were being made and dutifully shook the hands that appeared in front of him. Russell's presence was constantly pulling at his thoughts, though. Holmes could feel her across the room, emanating that young passion that had so drawn him to her that first day on the Downs. It was the kind of raw emotion that he, as a young man, had always kept so well hidden from the world. Very few people could sense it under his austere countenance and Russ was one of those choice few.

Holmes hid his amusement as Russell was introduced to General Allenby and he was prepared to pat the General on the back, when "The Bull" finally recognized her. The last time he had been faced with Miss Mary Russell, she had been swathed from head to toe in a young man's abayya with a turban to cover her hair. She had also been covered in enough Palestinian filth as to make her skin shades darker. It was certainly nothing akin to the lovely woman who stood before him now.

"This is Lieutenant-Colonel William Gillette," their hostess rejuvenated herself enough to make introductions. "He is new here himself. Miss Mary Russell."

Holmes glared at Russell's admirers and bent over to kiss her lacy hand. "Delighted, I'm sure." (So, she didn't manage to get the nails clean, he thought, and smirked at the thought of her grumbling around their hotel trying to find enough Arabic to ask for a pair of gloves.) His thoughts were arrested as he caught the faintest scent of Russ' perfume. An exotic fragrance that Holmes had believed would make her seem like an English rose yearning for adventure in the Arabian Nights. But now, as it filled his nostrils, it merely accentuated the allure of the gown and made him rather light-headed.

"Colonel," she nodded.

Not amused, Holmes said, "Pray don't let me interrupt your conversation."

A vague smile crossed her face. "Oh, no, please join us."

He had to get out of here. "Perhaps later. I am told you have an interest in archaeology."

Russell took the hint, as Holmes had known she would. "I do. An absolute passion for the subject."

He frowned. "Perhaps we may discuss it after dinner?"

"I shall look forward to the pleasure."

"Thank you. Charming frock," he smiled, as his eyes played over her figure. He grinned inwardly at the envious faces surrounding the two of them. A small consolation.

"What, this old thing?" She ran her hand down her torso to her hip and the deep, red cloth clung around her legs. "It's scarcely decent." She smiled.

Stopped dead in his tracks at that, and with her scent still playing around the edges of his mind, Holmes turned quickly away, trying to conceal his near-undoing. She always did know how to disarm me, he thought. He knew that Russell was mad at him for leaving her alone so long, amid suspicious strangers, but there was really no need to string along these unsuspecting young fools. Holmes almost felt sorry for them. Almost.

Russell toned down her flirting during the dinner hour, which was probably to spare their hostess' proper sensibilities. Holmes wasn't the only one at the table who was glad of it.

"Colonel Gillette?"

Holmes turned graciously to the woman next to him.

"Yes, madam?"

The detective's eyes automatically observed all they could from what was before them. She was more than sixty, with the stereotypical greying hair and the dress that fit beautifully a few years ago, but now doesn't quite cover what it used to. A harmless enough creature, Holmes thought, although the dress might look better in red. Perhaps a darker shade like the one Russell... He stopped himself abruptly and threw a glance in Russ' direction. She was engaged in deep conversation with the gentleman across from her, hopefully discussing the recent archaeology in the surrounding area, as he had suggested. It was rather amusing to think that, after all these years, he and Russell could communicate so well, with so few words.

"...and I was saying to him just the other day how wonderful Palestine is, although this military situation has become rather tedious. Do you not think so, Colonel? My Edward has been out here for so long, I hardly remember what London is like anymore! I suppose it has changed quite a bit in the last few years, with the war and all. I dare say that I shan't even recognize it when I return. That is if I ever do. But, even without the joys of Covent Garden I still adore Jerusalem. I was talking to Edward about it just the other day and saying how wonderful all of Palestine is and..."

Dear God. Holmes had said hardly a word to this woman and she was chattering away as if they had known each other for years. She also had this annoying habit of repeating everything she said, so her conversation simply made a great loop and started all over again. It was one of Holmes' favorite talents, that he could tune someone out completely and still seem as if he was paying them entire attention. Although, Watson would say it was the opposite. The good doctor always said that he seemed to be asleep, when he was actually listening closely to every word said. Holmes was firmly aware of this, also, but it cleared his mind and let him think out the problem with no distractions. It always seemed to disconcert his clients, though. He shrugged to himself at the chances of fate and made some remark to his neighbor to urge her on in her monologue.

Once she was distracted again, Holmes returned his attention to Russell's end of the table, and so it was that he witnessed her sudden reaction and heard her exclamation.

"What did you call it?!"

Every head turned in her direction and Holmes grimaced at the focus on her. They were trying to be discreet, for God's sake! Obviously she had discovered something extremely useful to them, to catch her so unaware. Now, if only he could corner her and find out what it was...

And later, when he asked what she had discovered, she wouldn't give an inch. Although, Russell was probably right in believing that if she told him anything, he'd simply vanish for days on end. Damn it, she knows me far too well!

The car door slammed behind him and Holmes let out a sigh of relief. He'd had as much of that dinner party as his steel constitution could take. And prying Russell away from her suitors had been a difficult barrier to cross and had left him in a foul mood.

A deep breath did nothing to calm him down and he realized that Russell would not tolerate the silence for long. It would be better for all concerned if he spoke first.

"I had not intended that you make quite such a spectacle of yourself, Russell." Holmes fought to maintain his control and not let his ridiculous jealousy break the surface. After all, such innocent, naive young men really were not worth his jealousy. "This was a simple exercise in gathering information, not an eight-weeks ball." He felt Russell brace herself for her defense on the seat next to him.

"That dress was your choice, Holmes, and in case you hadn't noticed, there are probably three other English women under the age of forty in the entire city, and these are safely affianced. How could I help being a spectacle? As it is, they will certainly remember me, but not because I asked a lot of questions about tunnels under the city. Which sort of impression would you have preferred I make?"

Holmes knew she was right, although he never would admit it out loud. He would also never admit his real reason for uneasiness about the dress. He had taken such great pains to find a dress that would appeal to her, that Holmes had never considered how it might appeal to a male of the species, let alone himself. The fact that really bothered him was that he couldn't give Russ the same attention so richly bestowed by her adoring friends. She was still so young...

Still filled with guilt over her family's death, although she hadn't confessed it in so many words. Just beginning her very promising career at Oxford. And barely nineteen. Two more years until her majority. What right did he have, a fifty-eight year old man, to interfere in her life by declaring his affections for her? He had no reason to believe that she had any feelings for him, other than those of a pupil for her mentor. Would she welcome them, or would they drive her even further into her theological studies? He couldn't bear to lose her friendship and companionship. If his declarations created a rift between them (an actual estrangement, instead of the facsimile they were planning for their return to London), what would be left to him? A slow, depressed journey back to the cocaine and, eventually, the grave. Not a very happy thought.

Here was hoping he could wait that long and that she didn't become attached to someone else in the interim...

"Very well, I see your point. Next time, I shall choose the frock with greater care; I should hate to be responsible for your having to spend another evening parading yourself in front of young men in that manner. I admit I had failed to visualize quite what the frock would look like with you inside it."

Russell's head turned sharply toward him and Holmes wondered desperately what was passing through her mind. Perhaps if he kept making subtle hints like this, she might realize just how much he had come to care for her... and vice versa.

She sighed and it came to Holmes how confused she must be. Constantly tossed between London and Oxford, his cases and her research. He also saw how much easier it would be if she could simply fall in love with a military officer. Easier, but definitely dull... and that would never do.

He smiled lightly in the darkness. "Cinderella home from the ball, eh, Russell?"

This was going to be a very long two years...

Back in Sussex, Holmes smiled to himself. Little did she know how that entire evening had nearly done him in, in more than one way. She had looked so... And then there was the day in Sussex...