Sussex Conversation

by "Oxford Punter"

"I simply cannot believe it." Dr. John H. Watson turned from the windows overlooking the sunlit Sussex downs. "He is a changed man. You told me that I would find him so, of course, but I thought--"

"Yes, I know." Mrs. Hudson, seated at the dining table, smiled as she poured him a cup of coffee. "I have been a witness to it these many weeks and I hardly believe it myself."

"And you are absolutely convinced that his recovery is due to the presence of this Russell he mentions so frequently?" Watson left the windows and came to sit with his former landlady, taking care to keep his voice low lest their conversation disturb the sleeper upstairs.

"There isn't a doubt in my mind, doctor. She's been the saving of him, nothing less. You didn't see him earlier this spring before she arrived, so you don't know--"

A faint sound from the floor above interrupted her and they sat, listening intently. But silence settled around the cottage again and after a moment she resumed. "Too thin, too quiet, always brooding about whatever it was that was bothering him--"

"Did you know he had gone back to the cocaine?" Watson asked carefully.

"Did he say so? I thought perhaps he had, but I wasn't sure. And of course I could hardly come out and ask, now could I?" She shook her head, her forehead furrowed with concern. "Poor man. When he told me he was going out onto the downs that day to try to find bees for his hives, I almost sent Old Will with him to be sure he returned to the cottage safely, I was that worried about him. And then to see him return with a complete stranger? Well, I didn't know what to think. It was so unlike him; he's been that solitary lately, keeping to himself, not seeing or being seen by anyone except if it meant a case." She sipped her own coffee and smiled reminiscently. "I'll never forget the sight of the pair of them, coming up over the hill, talking together as if they'd known each other forever. I took her to be some young farm lad at first, for she was dressed in trousers and a bulky coat and she had her hair pushed up under a cap. 'Mrs. Hudson, Miss Mary Russell' he says by way of introduction. Miss Mary Russell! Imagine that. You could have knocked me over with a feather. But the poor child was hungry, that was plain enough, and it didn't take long to see that he actually seemed to enjoy her company, so I decided not to say anything about the advisability of her being here. They had tea and afterwards took themselves off to the chairs beneath the beech tree and spent the evening talking, and by the time she was ready to go home they'd worked it all out between them so she would feel free to come and go as she liked." Mrs. Hudson nodded. "That was the beginning of it, doctor, as surely as I sit before you now and if you are pleased by what you see where he is concerned you have her to thank, for she is the cause and no mistake."

Dr. Watson shook his head. "I can hardly credit it."

Mrs. Hudson passed him milk and sugar for his coffee. "Has he told you nothing about her, then?"

"No, hardly anything. It was just 'Russell this' and 'Russell that' until I finally asked him who this Russell was. 'Oh, a neighbor of mine with a taste for observation and deduction' he said. It took me nearly an hour to discover that the person we were discussing was Miss Russell rather than Mister Russell. 'Very well', I said, 'then what is this Miss Russell like?' What do you suppose he answered?" Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "The most extraordinary expression came across his face, as if he'd only just realized it himself. 'Lovely', he said at last. 'She's...lovely.' Lovely! I nearly spilled my tea." Watson shook his head. "At any rate, he wouldn't tell me a thing more after that. Said I must wait and meet her and draw my own conclusions. You know how he is."

"Well, well." Mrs. Hudson nodded, as if the information confirmed a privately held conviction. "High time he noticed. He's right, of course. She is lovely, and very intelligent, bright and quick and clever. She amuses him, I think, and they seem to understand each other well enough. Her parents are dead and she lives with her aunt, a horrid woman who mistreats her shamefully. So whenever she can, she comes across the downs to visit us. She likes to help me with the gardening or the cooking or the cleaning, to be sure, and I've come to enjoy her company nearly as much as he does. But mostly she comes to see him. He's teaching her, you see."

"Teaching her?" Watson frowned over the rim of his coffee cup. "What on earth could he possibly be teaching her?"

"Why, to be a detective of course. Fingerprints and poisons and the like. Lately he's taken to showing her experiments in the laboratory. Or they go walking and he demonstrates how to tell what people do to earn their living just by the things he notices about them. They're the talk of the countryside."

"Yes, I can well imagine." Watson thought about it for a moment. "I don't suppose it is possible that he is merely indulging a passing interest in this neighbor of his out of simple boredom? Could she perhaps have learned of his residence here and, upon meeting him, expressed an interest in his cases or requested a demonstration of his abilities? We have seen such requests before, after all."

Mrs. Hudson shook her head. "No, doctor, it's more than that. He doesn't just show her things. He explains them to her. He wants her to understand." She paused significantly. "It's important to him that she do so."

"What on earth do you mean?" The import of her words finally reached him and he put his coffee cup down, suddenly alert. "Are you trying to tell me he--"

She held up a hand. "I don't know, doctor; I can't be sure what his feelings for her are, not entirely." A knowing expression came across her face. "But he did kiss her hand that first afternoon."

"He what?"

"You heard me. Before she left he kissed her hand." Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "Startled all of us, I fancy."

"Oh come now, Mrs. Hudson, are you quite certain he wasn't merely examining her hand for ink stains or calluses or--"

"Doctor, I may be past the age where I can expect things of that sort," his former landlady remarked tartly, "but I'm not so old that I don't know a kiss on the hand when I see one. There wasn't any examining about it, either; he did it because he wanted to, and he wanted to for his own reasons."

"Indeed." A grin appeared beneath the doctor's mustache. "Well, well. I still can hardly believe it, but if all these years in his company have taught me nothing, they have taught me that, with him, one must always expect the unexpected. I for one could be not happier if what you surmise is true. But what of Miss Russell? Do you believe she feels the same?"

"She depends on him," Mrs. Hudson answered after a moment, choosing her words carefully. "She needs him, I think, in ways that I don't completely understand. There's something about the loss of her parents, something which still disturbs her so she cannot bear to talk about it, even to him." She considered the question. "Mary seems to be content with him; for her, right now, that is saying a good deal."

"Hardly a promising beginning, though, if his interest is as you say." Watson frowned over the possibility that his friend might be hurt.

"Why bless me, doctor, Mary's not ready for more than that just now." Mrs. Hudson busied herself with coffee cup and spoon. "You see, there's a wee problem I haven't mentioned."

"Oh? What is it?" Dr. Watson sat up. "Good lord, she isn't married already is she?"

"No, she--"

"A widow, then? Lost her husband in the war and is still grieving for him?"

"No, nothing like that." Mrs. Hudson hesitated. "It's only that she's, well, a bit young."

"How--"

"Fifteen."

"Fifteen!" Dr. Watson half-rose from his chair, aghast.

"Hush, doctor, or he'll hear you!" Taking his sleeve, Mrs. Hudson pulled him back down. "Yes, she's fifteen, though I suspect where Mary is concerned the number of years she has lived has very little to do with how old she is."

"But fifteen..." Dr. Watson stared at her. "Good lord. And he knows this?"

"Of course he knows, not that it matters to him at all. Mary's age is rather like her femininity as far as he is concerned; he only notices it when it somehow inconveniences him. As you say, you know how he is. It is her mind he values most, and her ability to see what others miss. To him, her age and her sex are unimportant to his purpose and therefore not deserving of his attention."

"And yet he kisses her hand." Dr. Watson got up to pace the length of the room, and this time she let him go. "I should have come to see him sooner, that much is obvious. I could have spoken to him--"

"It would have been too late, even then. He had his mind made up about her even before they returned to the cottage that first day, or he would never have brought her with him." Mrs. Hudson watched him grapple with the complexities of the situation. "Oh I know, doctor. It all takes a bit of getting used to. After that first visit of hers, when I saw the ease with which he accepted her presence here, I wondered if I shouldn't say something to him myself. But in the beginning I was simply grateful that she seemed to be helping him so much, and later..." She shrugged. "Well, later I didn't want to."

Dr. Watson studied her through narrowed eyes. "By George, you favor this girl!"

"Yes, I suppose I do at that," she admitted, unruffled.

"And you see nothing wrong with this?"

"Oh, don't mistake me, doctor; I see plenty of problems ahead for the both of them if what I suspect is true. But wrong? No, I can't say that I do see anything wrong with it. How is it wrong for him to see to it that she has plenty to eat, decent shoes to wear and books to read? Who is hurt by the time she spends here? Him? Quite the opposite, as you've seen. Her? Nonsense! I doubt she could be coaxed back here so readily if that were the case. Not you or I, who care for each of them. Beyond these walls, no one--and no one's opinion--matters." Her lifted chin dared him to disagree. "Show me who has come to harm by this friendship and I may reconsider. But until then I for one refuse to interfere."

"Certainly, from what you say, no one has come to harm. Yet." Watson studied her from under frowning brows for a moment, then came back to the table and sat himself once more across from her. "Mrs. Hudson," he said, laying a hand comfortingly over hers, "to say that I am pleased by his returning health would be a pale thing, a shadow of what I truly feel and if, as you say, this young lady is responsible for it, you and I owe her a debt we cannot possibly repay. For that she has, and will have when I meet her, my profound thanks. But I must speak plainly when I say that this situation concerns me greatly. It can hardly be good for him in the long run, or her either for that matter. By your own admission, she does not feel for him what he evidently feels for her. She couldn't possibly; she's far too young! Is he then to wait for her on the chance that she will someday return his regard? And what if in the meantime she finds she does not? Would she not feel some obligation towards him? Would not the obligation give way perhaps to resentment and anger? What if her interest in observation and deduction which has drawn him to her alters or wanes? Does his attention then also wane? What if, when she is grown, she chooses to go elsewhere, or do something else with her life--" Mrs. Hudson's guilty glance alerted him. "Or has she already?"

"Mary plans to go to University as soon as they will have her," his former landlady admitted unwillingly. "She has told me she plans to study theology."

"There! You see?" Watson slapped the table top with a palm. "You have only confirmed my worst fear. Where is the benefit to him if he should wait patiently for her only to have her abandon him for something--or worse yet, for someone--else? If he should come to rely on her presence now as he has relied on the drug--"

"And what of it, doctor?" Mrs. Hudson's indignation blazed up unexpectedly. "She relies on him nearly as much! Her family is gone, dead in an accident that nearly claimed her life as well. Now she's alone, forced to live with an unkind woman who can hardly be bothered to feed her, let alone love her. Without him there's no one who cares enough to talk to her, to spend time with her, to advise her, to give her the answers to her questions, and I don't just mean the ones she gets from books. You say she may find others better suited to do those things for her. For myself, I say there is none better!"

"No one knows more than I how admirable he can be," Watson answered quietly. "I have seen him do so many truly miraculous things, things which have dazzled those around him--myself included--as if they were witnesses to the greatest illusion of a master magician, an artist with no peers. But all of his powers, all of his abilities, will not help him in this. He could lose her; through no fault of his own he could lose her, lose everything they have achieved thus far. He could end up worse off than before, if that is possible. You know it as well as I; she is far too young to choose the path her life will take with any conviction. With him here, now, she sees no other way but his. But when she gets older, she may very well come to resent his hold on her and seek to break away from it. And if the break should be a harsh or violent one, she could hurt him beyond anything we can do to repair it. Worst of all, she could make him look like a fool! How do you think he would feel, knowing others were laughing at him behind his back because of his infatuation with a younger woman who won't have him? To see his abilities, his reputation dismissed because others are amused by his relationship with her? Who would be hurt then?" He met her eyes, his own troubled. "You cannot deny this, no matter how fond you are of the girl. With only the best of intentions, and not wanting to, she could nonetheless undo all the good which she has done for him."

Mrs. Hudson's silence was admission enough that he was right. She sighed and her gaze, searching for comfort where there was none, came to rest on the vase of small white flowers blooming in pristine perfection between them. After a moment, she smiled.

"Have you ever seen this flower before, doctor?" She touched the little petals gently. "They grow here on the downs. When I first came to the cottage and saw them I was enchanted by them and tried everything I could think of to get them to grow in the garden where I wanted them. But no matter how I tried, no matter how careful or attentive or well-meaning I was, they would wither and die. It took me several years to learn that handling these wee wild things too much--even with the best of intentions--was not what they needed at all. They needed just to be left alone, to let the downs make them strong enough to bear the wind and weather."

"We are not talking of flowers, Mrs. Hudson," Watson reminded her sadly, "and I am afraid a simple story will not solve this."

"No, we are not discussing flowers, that is true." She faced him resolutely. "We are discussing the feelings and future of two people who have not asked for our help and do not want it." She leaned forward. "If you believe what you say, by all means speak to him. Tell him your concerns. Better still, speak to her aunt. Keep them apart. Shatter their friendship forever. What then? What will become of her? Of him? You will stay a few days to be sure he is all right, and then you will leave him and return to London, and what will he do then? As for Mary, she will be at the mercy of her aunt, without a refuge of any kind. Will she be forced to run away, or stay and fight her battles alone until she is old enough to take her life into her own hands? Who is hurt then, doctor, I'd like to know." Mrs. Hudson took a deep breath. "Either way, we must choose wisely, for once the choice is made--whether good or ill--we will all be living with the consequences of that choice, perhaps for years to come. For me, my mind is at rest. You must ask which choice your conscience allows you to live with." She relaxed into a smile. "But I forget that you have not met Mary yet. That will make all the difference." She patted his hand comfortingly. "Wait until then before you decide. The storms of the last few days have kept her away, no doubt, and taken down the telephone lines too, or we should have heard from her by now. But we've sun this morning, so we may yet see her. There's still time."

Dr. Watson studied the flowers in the vase. "Pretty little things," he remarked at last, touching them himself, and returned her smile unwillingly. "So we are to leave our tender plants alone, then, to bloom or not as they choose?"

"And enjoy them from a distance. If we--"

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson," called a voice softly from the back of the cottage.

"Oh my goodness, there she is!" Mrs. Hudson pushed him to his feet. "Go along and meet her, and thank her if you must. He'll not give you another opportunity once he knows she's here."

"Yes, I will do that at least." He got up from the table and made his way to where the voice had come from, full of doubts and fears and worries for his friend. Mrs. Hudson seemed confident enough that all would be well, and as she said, he had not met this Mary Russell and so could not accurately judge the possible threat she represented. But still he fretted. His premiere concern was for the man asleep upstairs; any potential threat to his friend's recovery must be turned aside, no matter how miraculous or well-meaning it might at first appear. They had come far too close to losing him as it was. How fortunate could either of them expect to be a second time?

Drawn by the sound of splashing water to the scullery, he found his way there and stood in the doorway, transfixed in spite of himself by the vision he found cleansing herself at the simple sink.

Sunlight, shining in through the windows in rays full of swirling dust motes, spilled across her, bathing her in late summer fire. Her blonde hair, coming free of its gilded coil in bright wisps, glowed like an aura about her head, and water sparkled on her fine-drawn, elegant features. She might have stepped from the pages of the Arthurian legends and tales of knights and ladies fair which he had read as a boy, this slender, graceful Guinivere with her cheeks still delicately flushed from her walk across the downs. She had obviously just splashed her face with water and, eyes still closed, put out a hand hesitantly, feeling for the towel which should have been there but wasn't. He glanced around quickly and, seeing it nearby, put it into her questing hand. She patted her face dry with it and opened her eyes.

Blue. Her eyes were the high, clear blue of an April sky, not at all the eyes of the fifteen-year-old child he had expected to find. Intelligence far beyond her years turned in those eyes, shining and clear and utterly riveting. He had seen such a phenomenon in only one other pair of eyes in his life.

A smile poured itself across his face, a smile of undiluted happiness, and he vowed silently to buy the largest box of chocolates he could find to send to Mrs. Hudson when he returned to London.

"Dr. Watson, I perceive?" Mary Russell dried her hand on the towel and put it out to him, and with her movement the magic of the moment faded to a warm afterglow and then disappeared. Still he smiled, unable to free himself of its lingering influence.

"He was right. You are lovely."

And with their handshake he passed, like a sacred trust, the care of his dearest friend into her safekeeping.