Hedges

by Maer, aka 'merely a whim'

2.

It was closer to teatime than dinner (but not by much) when Sherlock Holmes returned to the cottage. I was on my knees yet again amongst the early flowers when I spied him coming over the rise on the landward side of the property.

I saw with some surprise that he had someone with him. An adolescent by the size and a young man by the attire... yet there was something odd about the visitor's gait that caught my eye, an odd balance that didn't sit right. The poor child's left knee is bothering him... wait a minute. That's a girl under that ill-fitting suit! I knew then who it must be. The Village gossip had much to say about the new arrivals at the Klein Farm which sat some five or six miles from here, on the other side of Tom Warner's property. Today, I would get to see if any of it was true.

I got to my feet as hastily as my years would allow and got myself inside. I knew from bringing up my own Jamie just how hungry an adolescent could be. That the adolescent in question was a blonde-plaited girl would make no difference at all.

I tossed my work gloves into the scullery sink and brushed the dirt off my skirt. By tying my apron on as I went, I was able to beat them to the door and greet them properly on the threshold.

Oh my stars, but the state she was in gave me a turn -- never mind her soggy boots and muddied trousers -- the bones in her face and wrist as I shook her proffered hand cried out for their proper padding. This girl needed some meat on her bones, and I could tell, though her manners were faultlessly polite, that I was right: she was desperately hungry.

I wasted not a minute in getting her settled at the sunny windowside table with as much food as I could readily pull together in front of her. Miss Mary Russell (so she was introduced to me, confirming my guess) hesitated at first, but a gentle prod from me was all she needed and she set about putting that food to good use.

As I made trips to and fro to replenish the tea and the cakes, the scones and the preserves, the bread and the butter, I saw her appetite was quite the equal of my Jamie's and, to my surprise, even Holmes himself consumed considerably more than was his wont. I daresay the company must have had something to do with it.

A little kernel of hope glimmered inside me then. I lay on with the impromptu feast, hoping to draw out the visit as long as I could. By the repast's end, I could see I would have to do some serious baking to replace what was eaten, and I began clearing the remains, heartened by it.

"I thank you very much, Madam." (Said she as she sat back with her third cup of tea.)

I felt warmed by her sincere praise and tried not to smile as I said:

"I like to see my cooking appreciated, I do." I decided to twit Holmes about his desultory attentions towards my culinary efforts, today's performance notwithstanding.

"I rarely have the chance to fuss, unless Dr. Watson comes. This one," and I indicated my employer who sat with lips twitching as he saw what I was about, "he doesn't eat enough to keep a cat from starving. Doesn't appreciate me at all, he doesn't." God as my Witness, our resident orange tom consumes more on a given day than Holmes.

It was an old and friendly argument, and I was pleased to see that Holmes was comfortable enough with our guest to play his part, replying easily:

"Now, Mrs. Hudson. I eat as I always have; it is you who must cook as if there were a household of ten."

And a good thing, too, I thought, else we would never have been prepared for Miss Russell's visit!

"A cat would starve," I continued. "But you have eaten something today, I'm glad to see. If you've finished, Will wants a word with you before he goes, something about the far hedge." Will was waiting to go off to the Village to confirm his nurserymen's order, and wanted Holmes' approval. I just rolled my eyes at Holmes' irritated outburst and took off for the kitchen with the last of the dishes.

I kept an eye on the girl as she perused the bookshelves and studied the main room in Holmes' absence. I could see she was bright and inquisitive, quite sharp really, fiercely independent and endowed with no small amount of pride -- I caught her embarrassment over her appetite and the tacit admission it made concerning those of her needs she lacked at home. Well, I thought, while I might not be able to do anything about her odd clothing, her diet was something I could remedy, as lavishly as our own resources would permit.

As I made a package of more hardy fare -- nothing that wouldn't keep sitting out -- for her to take home in that capacious jacket of hers, I reflected on the changes her presence had wrought on my employer. His color had improved in the mere space of hours, his mind seemed more comfortably occupied than I'd seen in weeks, and the lethargy that had plagued his days was gone. Holmes had groused vehemently about having to leave his guest: that was the source of his irritation, never mind his bluster about the inconveniences of the country life. Nor was it any craving for the drugs upstairs. The little kernel inside me grew, sending out tentative roots of hope. Could this young woman prove to be what Holmes needed to pull himself out of his decline? If merely having Miss Russell about produced such a drastic improvement in Holmes, then I was quite prepared to bribe her shamelessly with food if that was what it took to get her to visit.

The package was quite hefty when I was finished. The meat pies from lunch provided most of the weight. I hoped that they, in turn, would provide Miss Russell with a little extra weight herself. She was too slight for someone with her build. As a one-time mother, I knew this almost immediately. It was puzzling her family did not.

I heard Holmes talking in the main room and peeked out the kitchen doorway. Two heads, one graying and one blonde, were bent over that outrageous hive Holmes had installed. He was showing her the bees and I could see the quick flash of intelligence in her blue eyes, could see her mind working. I left them to it and ran water in the sink for the washing up.

Wafts of ocean breeze made the window curtains over the sink flutter and sent snatches of conversation from the terrace to my ears. I straightaway began eavesdropping, washing the dishes as carefully and as quietly as the task would allow.

It came to me then exactly what it was that I was seeing and I quite literally had to sit down to consider it, the dishes from tea unwashed, with my thoughts all a-flutter in an agony of excited revelation: here were two lonely souls who had been searching -- all unacknowledged -- for their kindred spirits, their matching halves, and who had, by chance or Providential Design, stumbled across each other on the Downs.

Holmes' personal stalemate had been broken, that much was plain. I wondered if Holmes could see what I saw in that instant: That both of them would come to realize what had happened and would quite naturally cement a friendship that on the surface seemed highly unlikely yet given the nature of the two involved was also highly inevitable, that this chance-met neighbor of ours was the saving of him, and he, hers.

Years later, I would look back on this momentous day with a certain smug certainty of things to come but at the time, I could only marvel and hope it would not all come to naught; that Holmes would not let slip this opportunity, this clarion call to life that the Almighty had given him, that he would resist a downward slide even further in his decline, toward an oblivion hastened by apathy and drugs. But I am getting ahead of myself...

I closed the window and drew the curtains, to keep from forfeiting my soul completely, and finished the dishes. I was in the middle of making the main course for dinner when Holmes came in.

"Two glasses, please, Mrs. Hudson, and quickly." His voice was muffled as he ducked into the pantry.

"What is it?" I fetched the glasses and stood in the pantry doorway, taking in the sight of Holmes on all fours and up to his shoulders rummaging about where we kept the homemade wines and cordials cool on the stone floor.

"I am afraid I've let my enthusiasm get the better of me... or rather, of her. She's suffered a nasty shock -- lost her family catastrophically -- and blast me if I didn't just now remind her of it. Ah! This should do nicely. Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, and would you be so kind as to tell our neighbor with the car to come round in about an hour and half? The least I can do to make amends with Miss Russell is to see her home in safety and comfort."

"Yes, I noticed those shoes of hers. She's at the Klein farm, isn't she? A goodly distance for those things she's got on. Who is she with now?" I handed Holmes the glasses and followed him as far as the table where the interrupted makings of dinner awaited me.

"A parsimonious relative, one desirous of hastening Miss Russell's demise for her inheritance, no doubt." Holmes paused to pull the cork and gestured toward the terrace. "She looks underfed."

"Go on out to her then. I'll take care of everything." I caught the cork Holmes tossed to me and shooed the man out of the kitchen.

It took only a moment for the Village exchange to make the connection and our neighbor's voice was surprisingly clear -- such quality of sound was not always an assured thing in those days -- as I asked if he would be free to come round at the specified time. He had no difficulty with Holmes' request, nor did he have any difficulty in filling me in on the latest concerning the new inhabitants of the Klein farm.

Patrick Mason was still there as manager, quite loyal to the place if not to the current putative mistress. It was the mistress-guardian of Miss Russell that had the locals ruffled: the woman was (or so our neighbour opined) a most unwelcome addition to our community. She was arrogant, pretentious and, though obviously well educated, completely ignorant of The Way Things Were Done. Her manner with the Village merchants, sad to say, left much to be desired. She bargained meanly for each tiny purchase and found fault with every single one. It seemed rather hard to credit her as a member of the Klein family. The Kleins were well liked by the community and, though they were not the wealthiest in the District, they were not the poorest, either. Such tight-fisted behaviour left everyone scratching his or her head. Surely what with the goods and provisions the woman regularly bought, the young Miss Russell would have had something other than her father's old clothes on her back and...

At which point I thanked our neighbor profusely and rang off. I had plenty to think on as I finished putting the next meal together.

The following hour and a half went by quickly. The cab's tires were grinding in the gravel drive before I knew it and I made haste to see our guest out to the car. Holmes and Miss Russell came abreast of the passenger side as I paid our neighbor his fee.

"Mrs. Hudson, if you would be so kind as to make note of this and any future expenditures we make on Miss Russell's behalf, her conscience will rest easier for it. I will expect a full and accurate accounting come the day of her majority."

"Of course, sir. I'll start it today." Clever man, I thought privately. Now I could shop for Miss Russell with a clear conscience myself. I am afraid I wasn't quite able to hide my pleasure at this arrangement, as I had already devised a list of things that needed immediate attention.

I also took this as a very encouraging sign on Holmes' part. He truly was taking active interest in the world again. For that, I would have spent the entire vast wealth of the British Empire down to the last measly tuppence, and not counted the cost. I watched the man bid our guest farewell and received yet another shock (in a day already overfull with them).

Sherlock Holmes, a confirmed and curmudgeonly bachelor, chronicled the world over as being impervious to the blandishments of the fairer sex and disdainful of the softer sentiments, a man whose sardonic demeanor was legendary -- Sherlock Holmes took Miss Russell's proffered hand... and kissed it.

I tell you, I don't know who was more surprised at that instant: the unsuspecting Miss Russell or myself. She covered it well. I'll give her that. I, on the other hand, had to hide a tear in my eye by looking down at my shoes. As to our neighbor and part-time cabman, I have no doubt the news would make its rounds through the Village by dinnertime, all thanks to his garrulous nature and the fact that the Monk's Tun was conveniently placed on his route home.

I tried not to fret over the gossip that would inevitably ensue, resigning myself to this unavoidable facet of the country life, and so missed a little of the conversation that followed. I came back to the current scene when I heard Holmes' voice raised in the tone of one taking his leave.

"I deduce, Miss Russell," so the man was saying. "Watson transforms. Good day."

And just like that he spun smartly about for the cottage door, his expression inscrutable. Only I could see what it cost him to leave... never comfortable saying his good-byes at the best of times, this occasion actually had him going at a smart pace on the gravel, not quite running but enough to scatter a few stones as he went. To spare the man any further embarrassment, I stepped up to Miss Russell and handed her the package of provisions I'd made.

"Here you are, love. Just a little something for the trip back." I had to put the package into her hands, as she seemed unsure of taking it, and firmly close her fingers on it with my own. She stammered a little as she thanked me, taken aback at this unexpected largesse. Patting her cheek gently, I looked into her lovely blue eyes (which were puzzled by Holmes' abrupt departure and the gift she held) and said from the bottom of my heart:

"Thank you for coming here, dear child. There's more life in him than I've seen for a good many months. Please come again, and soon?"

"Yes, I will, thank you. If you'll have me."

"Always, dear girl. And that's a promise."

"A promise it is, then. Good-bye, Mrs. Hudson. Give my regards to Mr. Holmes."

"I will."

I handed her into the car and saw her settled. The car drove off and I watched Miss Russell through its rear window as far as the gate. Then the car turned and the hedge cut her off from view.

I turned for the cottage, its windows aglow in the gathering dark, mirroring the glow in my heart.

You're getting tediously mawkish in your old age, Martha Amelia Hudson.

I laughed as I crossed the threshold, and shut the door.