THE PRODIGAL WIFE AND HER RETURN

A Disturbance in the Tranquility of the Sussex Cottage

Part II: To Say Nothing of the Cat

by Brains and Spirit

It was my assistant's half day, and I had just settled down for a nap in my basket chair, when the growl of a motorcar outside announced a visitor. I raised my head, hopeful for the arrival of my beloved Miss Russell. I had not seen her or heard her voice since that blazing row she had had with Mr. Holmes, and I missed her greatly. To my disappointment, there was a murmur of male voices outside and the putative master of my home let himself in the front door and put down his suitcase in the sitting room as the taxi drove away--no Miss Russell, then. In fact, there had been no Miss Russell for an alarmingly long time. Surely if some harm had befallen her, I, Marmalade, the Chief Domestic Manager, would have been informed?

I do not think Mr. Holmes saw me initially, as he traversed the now chilly sitting room and did a commendable job of building up a fire without acknowledging my presence. He thereupon crossed to the sideboard, poured himself what I considered a rather large measure of whisky, and arrived at my chair.

I was somewhat surprised when, instead of displacing me altogether, Mr. Holmes picked me up, sat down in my chair, and deposited me on his lap. Mr. Holmes' lap is not as comfortable as my assistant's or Miss Russell's, however; even I must admit that a thinly padded lap is superior to no lap at all. Regrettably, since Miss Russell's precipitate departure, laps had been in short supply, and I was not about to refuse one if it was available. As he scratched obligingly behind my ears, I made an astonishing deduction. Mr. Holmes, that most self-contained and virtually feline of humans, was lonely. And in that state, he was turning to another living creature, myself, for companionship. Perhaps a small measure of comfort was needed as well. I thereupon produced my loudest and most engaging purr, settled myself on Mr. Holmes' outstretched legs and allowed him to continue petting me. He took a large swallow of his drink and then spoke.

"She was magnificent, old man."

I essayed a tentative meow and rubbed my head on his shirtfront in enquiry.

"Why, Russell, of course. I was in Oxford to see the lecture that concluded her seminar. Since you seem to be the only one home, shall I tell you about it? Watson asked me to telephone him, but he's long abed by now, and we can discuss it in the morning."

Oddly enough, Mrs. Hudson and I had thought he was in London for the opera.

"All other considerations aside, it is a joy to see that diamond bright mind reach for the top of its form. To think she has a good twenty years before she reaches its apogee! I may not be there to see it but I should not be surprised, old man, if any modest reputation I have is enhanced by the fact that I helped give the world Mary Russell.

"Russell simply glowed at that lectern. Passion and conviction but controlled. She scarcely referred to her notes, she had her arguments at her fingertips and she marshaled them like Wellington at Waterloo. Then when she was done she took questions from the floor. She was marvelous--neither cocky nor deferential, yet she refused to be baited or sidetracked into irrelevancies. I am not intimately familiar with the subject matter, but it was obvious enough that she had the respect of her colleagues, although perhaps not their agreement.

"She did not see me. She went straight to a reception of some sort in the common room afterwards. Her friends rushed up to congratulate her and then swept her along to receive her laurels. It was a relatively simple matter to fade into the crowd of gowns and thence to the street." I mewed at this.

"No, why should I have gone to her?" he answered. "This evening was hers and if she wished me to share it she would have asked me to come."

Mr. Holmes took another swallow of his drink and spoke softly. "Perhaps she has not ceased to love me, but she no longer wants me, and she needs me no more. I am an insufferable prig, an old man whose time is long past and to whom she regrets having irrevocably tied herself." He produced an echo of his familiar snort.

"Though the tie does not seem nearly so irrevocable these days, does it, my dear fellow?" I dug my claws into Mr. Holmes' leg in protest. Surely, such outrageous assertions could not have come from my Miss Russell!

"Well, Russell did not, in all fairness say those exact words," Mr. Holmes admitted. "But that was her general gist. And we have not heard from her since, now have we?"

I could not deny that. When the household was left to my stewardship Miss Russell and Mr. Holmes were usually away together. If Mr. Holmes should be in residence, Miss Russell's comings and goings followed a predictable semi-weekly pattern. The slamming of a door had broken that rhythm of our days and Miss Russell had neither consulted me before her abrupt departure nor advised me when to expect her return. Mr. Holmes, it appeared, had not spoken to her either. Perhaps she really was never coming back!

A truly appalling thought occurred to me at this juncture. If Miss Russell were not coming back to Mr. Holmes, did that mean she had left ME behind as well? Would she be acquiring another cat for companionship in her other life? How on earth would she manage without ME? Although a fine orange and white gentleman cat is, of course, a different matter from a mere husband, I found myself in considerable sympathy with Mr. Holmes. The notion that one can be easily replaced is discomfiting indeed.

The two of us remained in the basket chair for most of the evening. For form's sake, Mr. Holmes picked up a book, but I do not think he read much, as I failed to hear the rustle of pages turning. He got up at intervals to replenish the fire, and once brought out a sandwich from the kitchen. I recognized my assistant's handwork, and diligently applied myself to his leftovers. After all I did not wish to see her feelings hurt at finding her creation scarcely touched. I am pleased to report that Mr. Holmes replenished his whisky only once. On his second trip to the sideboard, he raised his glass to my disapproving glare in an ironic toast.

"You need not give me too much credit," he remarked. "I'd drink myself insensible if I thought it would do any good. But you see, it's hardly worth the trouble. Were I to consume the entire decanter, she would still be gone in the morning.' We resumed our seats by the fire then, two pensive gentlemen of leisure gazing into the flames. I wondered what Mr. Holmes saw in them that made his face so sad.

At length the mantel clock, faithfully wound by my assistant, announced the small hours of the morning. Mr. Holmes, having long abandoned any pretence of reading lifted me up and rose from the chair.

"Well, I expect it's time to retire, old man," he said. "Shall I put you out, then?" I had grave misgivings about abandoning my post, but a visit to the out of doors was definitely in order.

Mr. Holmes put me out through the front door and stood for a moment in the jamb, breathing the sweet night air of Sussex and looking at the stars. I took advantage of his reverie to attend to my needs and streak back inside before he could intercept me. I padded softly after him as he walked up the stairs. For the first time I can recall since I arrived to take charge of the cottage, he moved stiffly and slowly like an old man.

Once at the door of the main bedroom, he stopped for a moment. It is unlike me to wax poetic, but I must confess that Mr. Holmes looked like he would rather be shot than step across that threshold alone. Nevertheless, he did so, and emerged shortly to walk down the hall to the lavatory and attend to his nighttime preparations. Meanwhile, I hastened to station myself at the foot of the bed. Let it never be said that I failed to succor a member of my household in his hour of need.

Mr. Holmes's dressing gown swished past my head as he reentered the room in his pyjamas. He passed by the chest of drawers and stood looking at it thoughtfully. Surely, he had not forgotten anything? He acknowledged my presence with a wry quirk of his mouth.

"I expect she will send for her things if she wants them," he said. Then he opened a drawer from whence emerged a trace of the scent Miss Russell used. Electrified by that beloved perfume, I leapt off the bed and hastened to his side. I put my paws on the drawer edge to steady myself as I stretched full length to peer within. I saw a set of silver hair combs, and the faint billow of diaphanous fabric. Mr. Holmes extended a finger to touch one of the lovely nightdresses, as I had seen him touch Miss Russell's hair so many times. Then he shut the drawer, turned out the light, and climbed into bed, alone save for me. I lay at his feet and purred diligently but I do not believe he slept much. It is seldom that the best efforts of a cat are found wanting, but I was beginning to have serious doubts about the efficacy of my intervention in the present case.

The household continued in this manner for several days. Although Mr. Holmes maintained his usual routine, his general lack of joie de vivre was causing my assistant and me great consternation.

We were not alone in our concern. From my vantage point under the kitchen table, I heard my assistant discussing the matter with Dr. Watson.

"No, we haven't heard from her, Doctor," she said. "She's not been down for several weeks and she has not written or called. He says that this is something she must decide alone and he will not contact her. He's just fading away, Doctor," my assistant continued in worried tones. "It's as though his mainspring is winding down. He goes on as usual but anyone can see his heart's not in it. But you know the little puss scarcely leaves his side. Oh yes, Doctor, trots at his heels like a dog and sits with him. Animals know when something is troubling us, I think. It's really rather touching."

Affronted by the unfortunate comparison to a canine, I stalked out of the kitchen at this point, so I am unaware of what else was said. I was, of course, gratified to have my efforts remarked upon.

However, I was becoming disheartened. Our situation could not be resolved without Miss Russell. The next move was clearly hers. Why would she not make it, I wondered. Better by far to learn that we had lost her than to continue in this impasse forever.

Finally, the stalemate was broken. One afternoon as I sat on a laboratory stool observing Mr. Holmes's efforts (rather desultory, I fear) my assistant knocked on the door bearing a tray of coffee and sandwiches.

"It's after twelve, Mr. Holmes," she said. "I hope you do not mind being disturbed. I've brought you a bite to eat and today's post."

"Ah, thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Mr. Holmes waved a hand toward the corner of the far table. "Just set them over there if you would be so good."

My assistant drew a deep breath. "There's a letter from Oxford, sir," she said hesitantly.

"Oh, is there indeed?" he answered. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, that will be all."

My assistant's face was carefully impassive, but I who knew her so well, could see the effort it cost her to retain the appearance of calm. "Very good, sir. I'll be downstairs should you require anything."

After she left, Mr. Holmes turned his attention to the letter. "Well, what have we here?" he asked, half to himself and half to me. "Oxford, postmarked yesterday. I expect Russell is writing to let me know where to send her things. At least it is coming from her and not a solicitor."

Mr. Holmes examined the envelope with his usual meticulous attention to such details. Then he firmed his mouth and opened it carefully. I watched as his eyes skimmed rapidly over the clear hand, so unlike Miss Russell's usual scrawl, and saw his face soften as he read it again. Then he put his elbows on the laboratory table and rested his face in his hands. In a moment, he raised his head to look at the letter once more. He shook his head to clear it and spoke softly, as though its author were there.

"Good God, Russell, my dear, you need not ask to come to your own home, or your own husband." He then reached over and scratched under my chin, "to say nothing of the cat." As he straightened to put the letter in his breast pocket, my keen feline ears detected a faint whisper, like a wisp of smoke, "darling girl." Then he headed toward the kitchen.

I followed him, more than pleased with these developments. For this was a Mr. Holmes rejuvenated, a Mr. Holmes transformed, elastic of step and sparkling of eye. He addressed my assistant with a note in his voice that I had not heard for many a worrisome day.

"Mrs. Hudson," he began with a smile of real warmth spreading across his face, "I wonder if I might prevail upon you to prepare a lemon tart for tea tomorrow or the next day? I believe Russell will be joining us, and you know that's a firm favourite of hers."

My assistant beamed. She positively beamed. "Oh sir," she answered. "Does this mean Mary is coming home?"

"That remains to be seen, Mrs. Hudson, but be of good cheer. Now, would you be good enough to ring for the taxi? I find that I must go to the village to send a wire."

I'm sorry, sir," she replied. "He's not here today, he's taking Miss Tillie to her sisters in Eastbourne."

"Well, no matter, Mrs. Hudson," said Mr. Holmes. "I shall go on foot. It is a fine day." He swung out the door and thudded up the stairs for his jacket and boots. From the peculiar rhythm of his step, I could have sworn he took some of them two at a time.

My assistant looked after him for a moment, then picked me up and held me tightly, "Oh yes, Marmalade," she whispered. "It is a fine day indeed." I meowed my agreement.

In due course, the postboy arrived with a telegram informing us of Miss Russell's impending return. My assistant and I were plunged into a frenzy of activity. I supervised the daygirl as she changed the bed linens and freshened the bath. My assistant straightened the sitting room, as futile as that could be when Mr. Holmes was in residence. We all applied ourselves to the production of a veritable teatime banquet, featuring a glistening lemon tart, that I flatter myself would have done credit to any household in Sussex. Mr. Holmes betook himself to the laboratory while these domestic efforts were underway, but he slept better that night than he had in some time. He took especial pains with his toilette the following morning, shaving with great care, applying a pleasing modicum of sandalwood cologne, and selecting a shirt that Miss Russell had been known to favour.

This reminded me that, due to the need to attend Mr. Holmes, my own appearance had suffered during the days of Miss Russell's absence. It is sometimes unwise for a gentleman, be he human or feline, to make it that a lady's conduct has caused him distress. Following Mr. Holmes's example, I devoted a considerable portion of the morning to restoring my handsome coat to its accustomed condition.

The household vibrated with suppressed excitement as teatime drew near. Mrs. Hudson sent the daygirl home early, after the luncheon dishes were washed, and proceeded to bustle about, embellishing the already groaning teacart. At last, she settled by the kitchen fireplace with her knitting. I initially had my doubts as to the soothing value of this activity, as she took out the same row three times, muttering under her breath all the while. Eventually the familiar click of the needles and the creak of the rocking chair soothed us both. Heartened by the return of normality to my household, I ventured to swipe a paw at the nicely growing sleeve before me.

Once ejected from the kitchen, I slipped into the sitting room to check on Mr. Holmes. I found him in my basket chair with his usual newspaper to hand. He appeared to be reading the same page repeatedly and he cast occasional sidelong glances at the clock. Satisfied, I ensconced myself in my favourite observation post; a cushion on the window seat that offered a fine view of the front garden and drive. So it was that I became the first member of the household to detect Miss Russell's return.

She pulled her motorcar into the gravel drive, well away from the house. I watched through the window, and saw her adjust her hair with the aid of a small hand mirror before she emerged. Miss Russell had taken some pains with her appearance as well, I observed. Instead of her customary trousers, she wore a charming tea frock of pale blue crepe with a white lawn collar that framed her face to, if I may say so, perfection. The long legs Mr. Holmes so admired were encased in sheer silk stockings, and she wore a curious antique brooch set with pearls that I believe Mr. Holmes had given her before my time. I was relieved to see the glint of a wedding ring still on her hand. Promising sign, that, I thought.

Miss Russell opened the gate quietly and stole softly down the path to our cottage. She paused irresolutely outside the door. Was she perhaps uncertain of her welcome? I was amused to see her leave her crepe-soled brogans on the mat and take a pair of dress shoes from her bag to complete her ensemble. Then she turned the doorknob and walked in the door.

I sprang to my feet, whiskers tingling, and now alert for the first hint of her scent. I was simply agog with curiosity. How would Mr. Holmes receive his prodigal deserter upon her belated return?

Mr. Holmes had heard that light footfall, as well, I perceived. He rose from his chair, the unread newspaper still in his hands and watched as she stepped in the door. Whatever he saw on her face caused him to drop the paper, take a step forward, and hold out his arms. Miss Russell walked into them without saying a word and clung to him tightly. Now this was a promising development! I promptly began to twine myself about their legs, purring my approval and encouragement.

My efforts were rewarded when Mr. Holmes said, "Come and sit with me, Russ. One of us is sure to trip on the damned cat if you do not." He proceeded to guide Miss Russell toward the chair and settle her in very close to him indeed. I sat at their feet, hinting strongly that the cat should be included in this reunion.

After a few minutes Mr. Holmes cleared his throat and said, "Will you tell me about your seminar? I thought your final presentation went rather well, but I lack your familiarity with the subject matter and so cannot judge its reception."

Miss Russell sat upright and for a ghastly moment, I feared she would get up and leave. "Holmes, you went to my lecture? Even after I'd said all those beastly things to you? I ..."

"Of course," he answered quietly. "One gowned man more or less at Oxford is hardly apt to attract notice. I would not have missed your solo debut, as it were. Or the opportunity to see you."

I have never seen a human being’s face light up, as Miss Russell's did in that moment. She did not speak, but blinked and swallowed, and then put her arms around Mr. Holmes. He returned her embrace. Alas, they became so absorbed that they once again overlooked the opportunity to make room for me. In fact, I realised as I cocked an experienced ear to the tender murmurs emanating from the basket chair, neither my presence nor my assistant's splendid tea would be noticed for some time.

Well, I could find it in my feline heart to be gracious, I supposed. If Miss Russell were indeed staying, she would surely pet me later. Moreover, I thought, my faithful assistant should not be kept waiting in suspense any longer. I thereupon repaired to the kitchen, both to reassure the good lady and to enjoy the generous dollop of clotted cream that she served me in honour of Miss Russell's return.