Judith Russell Holmes

by 'Vestige of Femininity'

"Father?"

"Yes, Judith."

"Is Mummy allowed in the kitchen?"

"Not as a general rule, no, Judith. But Mrs Hudson has given special dispensation to your mother for this occasion only. So we must be patient with her."

This little conversation was taking place behind me in whispers. Actually, my daughter's whisper, as is the case with most 3 year olds, was louder than her regular voice and Holmes' whisper was made louder because he wished me to hear every word. They were standing in the doorway of the kitchen regarding me. Judith was in her favourite place - her father's arms, her own chubby arms around his neck. I was banging around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinet doors and generally making a racket which I realized too late was what brought forth my family from their cozy reading chair to stand watch.

The 'whispers' continued. "What's dipsentayshon?"

"'Dis-pen-sa-tion'," he corrected carefully. "And in this case it means 'special permission.' You see, Mrs. Hudson had to get some things at the market for your birthday dinner, so she is kindly permitting your mother to bake your cake while she is gone."

"There's no need to deliberately mislead the child, Holmes," I said loudly, as I finally found the cake pans. "Do not listen to your father, Judith. Just because I don't spend very much time in this room doesn't mean that I can't find my way around. Ah, hah," I exclaimed as I found the mixing bowls and the measuring cups. Now, if I could just find the flour.

"I think Mummy heard us, didn't she?" she giggled into her father's lapels.

"I believe you are right, Judith. She's just too sharp for us." He pointed to me. "Go give your mother a kiss and we will finish our reading before your nap."

She jumped down from her perch and ran into my arms where she planted a big wet kiss on my cheek. "Father's been reading to me from his monograph!" she announced proudly.

"Really?" I regarded my husband who was looking rather pleased with himself. "And which one might that be?"

"'Upon the Distinction of the Ashes of the Various Tobaccos.' I'm sure you're quite familiar with it, Russell," he smiled complacently.

"Do you really think that's appropriate for a three year old?" I asked, amused at this early attempt at tutoring. "I read it at 15 and I had some difficulty with it then."

"Nonsense. It's never too early. She is an extremely intelligent child. Aren't you Judith?"

"Yes - I - am," she declared, nodding her head with every word.

"Off you go then, like a good girl, and I'll be right along." She needed no further encouragement as she dashed round her father's long legs and headed up the stairs.

I laughed. "You two are quite the pair, you know. Enjoy this time while you can, Holmes. Little girls love their father to bits at this age. But it doesn't last." I went back to my searching for the flour and the other ingredients. "You're not really reading that monograph to her, are you?"

"I am. We had just started to read it by the fire before we were rudely interrupted by a great deal of thumping about out here." He added quietly, "And if it wasn't for you, she'd have been asleep ten minutes ago. "

"Ah, I see. There is method to your madness." I found the cabinet with the flour, salt and sugar and started measuring. "Sorry to interfere with your plans. But you might try something a little more age appropriate like Mother Goose or even The Brothers Grimm."

Ruefully he replied, "Believe me, Russell, I've tried them all and nothing compares to my monographs for their soporific properties with this age group."

My snort of laughter made clouds of flour rise up from the measuring cup. I waved a hand to dissipate it. "Isn't it gratifying to know that your work is appreciated by a whole new generation?"

He picked up 2 eggs from the basket on the table and came over to where I was standing. "Indeed," he drawled sardonically, "It inspires me to publish a whole new series for the under fives. Here, you'll be needing these."

"I knew that," I lied, as I took them from him. Well, it wasn't a complete lie. I would have eventually read it in Mrs. Hudson's recipe that I had secreted into my pocket. "Have you mentioned yet to Judith about this upcoming trip for Mycroft?"

"Good Lord, no!" He folded his arms and leaned against the counter to watch my culinary attempts. "I am afraid there will be much weeping and knashing of teeth when she learns I shall be away for several weeks."

"Coward."

He held up one hand. "Guilty as charged." He shook his head in amusement, "I have faced down many a foe in my long and varied career, Russell, but I fully admit that I am laid low by the tears of our blue eyed, pigtailed cherub."

"Fa-ther!" came the two syllable lament from the cherub on the upstairs landing.

"Your reading public awaits, Holmes," I reminded him as I stirred the lumpy mixture I had produced.

"Coming, Judith," he called. He looked down again at the mixing bowl with distaste and waved a long finger in a circular motion. "Add a bit more oil to that, Russell. It will smooth things out somewhat."

"I suppose you are going to tell me that you were once a pasrty chef for the Ritz in Paris." I commented sarcastically to his retreating back.

"Don't be ridiculous, Russell," he said without pausing on his way upstairs. Then, ever so faintly I heard, "It was in Zurich."

After I was sure Holmes was indeed upstairs, I slipped the recipe from my pocket and confirmed that I had included everything listed and in its proper proportions. I took his advice and added a touch more oil (which did seem to improve the texture, although I would never admit that to him), whipped it up a little more, poured it equally into the prepared pans and shoved them into the oven. I was cleaning up the mess that I had made (spilled flour tends to spread rather widely, I noted) when Holmes came into the kitchen again.

"So when do you plan to tell her?" I continued the conversation as I put soiled utensils and bowls under hot water.

He handed me a measuring cup that I had missed and said, "I think tomorrow will be time enough."

"Do you have a plan of attack in mind?"

"For heaven's sake, Russell," he replied indignantly. "This is not a 'case' where we must devise some scheme to outwit our daughter's nefarious purposes." He picked up a towel and absently started to dry what I had washed.

"Of course it is, Holmes," I chuckled. "Judith is probably one of our biggest cases - most certainly the longest. Don't underestimate her devious tendencies. She is her father's daughter after all." I noticed a smile flicker across his lips at this accusation. "So how do you propose to handle things?"

He looked sideways at me and raised an eyebrow. "Well, Russell, I shall do what all cowardly fathers do. I shall bribe her."

"Holmes," I shook a wet finger at him, "You really have to learn not to be manipulated by your own daughter."

"Hah!" a scornful blast. "This from the woman who brought back the largest stuffed canine I have ever seen on her last trip to Oxford!"

"Yes, well, it caught my eye," was my somewhat feeble reply.

His long nose did a slight twitch and he frowned. I thought I knew what this meant. Irritated at the implied assumption as to my kitchen capabilites, I said, "It has not been in the oven long enough to burn yet, Holmes."

"I quite realize that Russell. However, it has been in there long enough to be spreading tantalizing aromas by now." He arched an eyebrow at me. "You did remember to turn on the oven, didn't you?"

Damn! This was Mrs. Hudson's gleaming new electric stove. She had borrowed a cataogue of the newest available appliances for the modern home from a friend, and for weeks she alternated between clucking over the expense and drooling over convenience (Not unexpectantly, fetching wood and lighting a stove in the early morning hours was starting to pall in her advanced years.). I had simply ordered it. However, I neglected to realize that it needed to be turned on. And here I thought I was doing so well.

"Don't you have an experiment to complete?" I asked repressively.

With an amused look on his face that he couldn't supress, he absently wiped flour off my nose with the towel. "Being the magnanimous gentleman that I am, I shall allow you to save face on this one if you do the before-bed read tonight. I plan to go up to London with Mycroft and Watson after the celebrations this evening to make a few preparations for the trip. I should be back late tomorrow afternoon."

Warning alarms blared in my brain. "A few preparations?" I asked suspiciously. "Alright, Holmes, what are you up to? What does this bribe consist of?"

"Well, if you feel you must know -"

"Yes, I feel I must know," I echoed with alacrity.

"Watson knows a reputable breeder - "

"What? Good God, Holmes, you can't be serious!"

"- who has a litter that is presently being weaned - "

"Oh, no. No, no, no. No puppies, no kittens, no -"

"- and I am to have the pick of the lot tomorrow morning."

"Holmes, you're not listening to me. This will be like having another child around. We don't have the time -"

"Nonsense, Russell," he replied imperiously. "Mrs. Hudson will take care of its needs and when it is full grown it will be a comfort to the child when neither of us are in residence for one reason or another. And tomorrow, Judith will be so distracted by the floppy-eared-thing that she will not whine to you in my absence."

He handed me the towel and grinned at me. "I believe I will go finish that experiment now."