“Yes, the study. This way.”
The room had a wall of bookcases and a large walnut table with matching chairs, and a fireplace at the far end. I shut the door, and then, of one accord, we both approached the fire. The heat coming from the glowing coal was most welcome. Marguerite stretched out her hands, and I did the same. She had big hands like me, but her fingers were slender and graceful-looking alongside my more workaday digits. My hands were permanently reddened and rough from using carbolic acid as a disinfectant, while her skin was still smooth and unblemished, typical of a fine lady who never dirtied her hands in any actual work.
“I shall want to listen to your chest with my stethoscope. Let me undo your dress.” I undid the hooks one by one; they were the type of tiny tedious fasteners I most abhorred. I pulled down her sleeves off her shoulders and stared at her tightly laced corset. I shook my head. “This will not do. You are not a woman of twenty seeking a husband. There is no reason to cinch yourself so tightly.” I undid the laces and proceeded to loosen them.
“That does feel better,” she said.
I laughed. “It is nice to be able to breathe.”
I set my medical bag on the table and withdrew a stethoscope from its depths. I rubbed the bell with my hand, then blew on it twice to warm it. Goosebumps prickled the rounded skin of her shoulders, and I directed her back nearer to the fire. The outline of the top ribs of the sternum showed below her clavicle. Her dark eyes stared intently at me, the pupils great black pools beckoning you to their depths.
I frowned slightly, then set the bell against the thin cotton. As might be expected given the recent shock, her heartbeat was rapid. I noticed a skipped beat, then another. Ectopic beats were common enough after forty, but they could be disconcerting to the patient.
“Breathe deeply for me. Again. And once more. Your lungs sound excellent.”
She gave a nod, and then came a sudden deep yawn. “Pardon me.” Her eyes blinked dully.
I felt her throat and breasts for any abnormalities, then had her remove her corset entirely so I could check her belly. When we were finished, I helped get the corset back on, laced it up, then refastened the tiny hooks to her dress, a more difficult endeavor than undoing them.
I gestured at one of the sturdy wooden chairs by the table. “Sit down for a moment.” She did so, then fought back another yawn. As she relaxed, she appeared more and more exhausted. “How is your sleep?”
Her mouth twisted into a smile. “What sleep?”
“As bad as that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have trouble falling asleep or staying asleep?”
“Both.”
“Did you have problems even before you received the note?”
She blinked dully, her forehead creasing. “I have always had difficulties, but not nearly so bad.”
“Have you anything to amuse you or distract you? Do you like to read or go to the museums?”
She shrugged. “I do like books, but I cannot seem to concentrate, and as for the museums… I used to enjoy wandering in the Louvre. One can never see it all. But now…”
“What is it?”
“I do not like to go out. I am afraid…” She seemed to lose her thought midway.
I shook my head. “Have you thought of sending for your husband?”
She jerked upward, her eyes widening in alarm. “No. I cannot!”
“Why? If you are afraid… you needn’t face this alone.”
She shook her head back and forth. “No—no.”
“But if he loves you…”
“He does love me—and I love him.”
“Then why don’t you send for him?—or go to him?”
“I cannot drag him into this business—especially now. It is too dangerous. If anything were to happen to him… I don’t care about myself—my life is coming to an end—but he must live.”
“Coming to an end? What are you talking about? Such thoughts are not helpful.”
“And if he were to find out… I could not bear the shame! He is a good man, a decent man, the best of men, but even he… Some sins cannot be forgiven.”
I stared at her. “Aren’t you a Catholic, madame? Well, then you must believe in forgiveness. That is a matter of doctrine, after all. God can forgive any sin.”
She stared at me. “And do you believe that yourself?”
“I do.”
Her mouth twitched into a brief smile. “You believe it because you are good, because you have never done anything truly wicked.”
I stared back at her. “And you have?”
“Oh yes. And now… the Devil is after me.”
“Again, if you are a Catholic, you must believe that God is stronger than the Devil. All this nonsense about curses and poisons and Satan… That is not the true church, but only superstition. This is not the Middle Ages, after all!”
“It is all the same to the Devil—evil never changes. Damnation never changes.”
I opened my mouth but could not think what to say. I could see from her eyes and her face that she was becoming anxious again. I put my hand over hers. “Please. Calm yourself. We needn’t talk about unpleasant things.” She stared at me, her lips somehow pinched-looking. “I wish you would send for your husband.”
“I cannot.”
“Very well, then. There doesn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with you. I suspect you notice your heartbeat, especially at night.”
“I do. Sometimes it beats very fast, and sometimes… it seems to jump about.”
“If these problems with sleep continue, I can give you something to take.” She only shrugged. I reflected that if someone could ever truly create an effective non-problematic sleeping draft, they would become wealthier than old King Croesus. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
She stared at me, her mouth tightening, pain written in her face. I touched her hand. “Another time perhaps, when you are ready. Let us rejoin Violet.”
“Why do you call her Violet? I thought her name was Rose.”
I hesitated. “So it is. It is an old sort of play-name between us, another flower instead.”
“I see.” We both stood up. She managed a smile. “Thank you, Doctor.”
“You’re welcome. We must find something to occupy you. By the way, do you like music?”
“Oh yes, very much. John and I often go to the opera.”
“There was… some talk of going to the opera.” I realized I shouldn’t mention anything about Sherlock to her. “They are doing Verdi’s Macbeth, a rarity. I have never seen it before.”
“I have not heard of it. Macbeth. What is this Macbeth?”
I recalled that only a few well-educated French knew Shakespeare, and even those few, mostly from French translations in rhyming couplets. “Macbeth was a Scottish king, a very wicked man.”
“I like the operas of Verdi, especially La traviata. It is so sad, but beautiful.”
We were in the hallway and stepped back into the sitting room. Violet set down a magazine and stood up. “There you are, at last.”
“I’m sorry I kept you so long,” I said.
“What is the verdict?” Violet had a characteristic mocking smile. “Will she live?”
“I believe so. I must leave soon. I need to get back to the hotel to—”
Marguerite gave me a startled look. “Hotel? You are staying in a hotel?”
“Yes. The Meurice. It’s very nice.”
“I thought you were staying with Madame Grace.”
Violet watched her carefully. “Alas, I have not the room. My house is full.”
“Ah, but, Doctor, why didn’t you tell me? You could stay here with me while you are in Paris. You would be most welcome. Be the tourist during the day, but return here in the evening. We have a very nice guest bedroom.”
She was staring at me, her back to Violet. I was about to say something about Henry, but Violet raised her hand and shook her head forcefully. I frowned. “That would be very kin
d of you, but I don’t wish to impose.”
“It is not good to stay all alone in a hotel, and I have a very good cook.”
I chewed thoughtfully at my lower lip, my eyes fixed on Violet, who quickly jerked her chin down and then up. “I… I shall have to think about it.”
“What is there to think about? Please, I would be happy to have you as my guest, and as you said, we could go to the opera. When is this Verdi Mac-whatever?”
“Macbeth,” Violet said. “I would like to go too. There is a performance the day after tomorrow on Tuesday evening.”
“There is a box that John and I often use. I shall send someone to see if they can reserve it for us.”
“Wonderful!” Violet exclaimed. “We can have a ladies’ night out.” Again, the mocking smile.
Marguerite smiled. “Yes, it is something to look forward to.” Her face had some color at last, and I realized what a beautiful woman she must be when she was not weighed down by care. “And you will come to stay with me, yes?”
Again, Violet gave a furtive nod in my direction. “I… I shall have to think it over. Let me sleep on it, as they say. I shall tell you tomorrow.” I knew exactly what Henry’s reaction was likely to be. “Either way, we shall stop by in the morning.”
She touched my shoulder lightly. “The answer must be yes.”
“And we must have a serious chat soon,” Violet said. Marguerite seemed to wither under her gaze. “I do not wish to upset you further, not today. One shock is enough. All the same, we must talk about how to proceed next. I want to help you, but you must confide in me. You must trust me. And I have… friends, who could be helpful as well.”
Her dark eyebrows came together. “The abbé says that only a priest can help in cases such as this, that I must put my trust in him.”
Violet shook her head. “Well, he would say that, would he not? There is an English expression, ‘God helps those who help themselves.’”
Marguerite look faintly puzzled. “It is like the moral of the fable of La Fontaine,” I said, “the one where the cart is stuck in the mud. ‘Aide-toi, le Ciel t’aidera.’ Help yourself, and Heaven will help you.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps. I hope so.” She smiled. “À demain.”
“À demain,” Violet and I said: until tomorrow.
Marguerite rang the bell, and the tiny maid appeared and led us to the front door where our coats were hung. “You are a doctor, madam?” she asked me in heavily accented English.
“Yes, I am a doctor,” I replied in French.
She stared at me in disbelief and switched to French. “And, madame, the mistress, she is not too sick, I hope? How I worry about her! She is the kindest of mistresses, and to see her always so sad. Ever since that terrible letter!”
“There is nothing much wrong with her physically. But her… her mind, her spirits, that is another matter entirely.”
“But, madame la docteur, you have no accent whatsoever. How is this possible?”
“My father is French, and I lived in France most of my youth.”
“Unbelievable.” She helped me into my coat, which was certainly large enough to have swallowed her up entirely. “How wonderful that you may stay with us—and if I can do anything to help the mistress, you need but ask it of me. I would do anything to assist her.” Her pale blue eyes had filled with tears. “I pray alongside her and the good abbé. I am sure he can keep the Devil at bay.”
Violet’s forehead had creased. “You are sure?—you do think he can help her?”
“I am certain of it. He is kind and good.”
“How reassuring to know that.”
I don’t think the girl truly caught the sarcastic edge, but her enthusiasm seemed to falter. “Bonne journée, mesdames.”
We stepped out onto the sidewalk. The street was quiet, although the distant muted rumble of the Champs-Élysées could be heard. “That was a little snide,” I said. “The poor girl doesn’t know any better.”
Violet stood very straight, her head held high. “You think not? I do not trust her. Those tears came a little too easily.”
“They were heartfelt.”
Her smile showed a certain contempt. “I have more experience with those in service than you do, Michelle. I have… an ear for them. I know when things are amiss—when they are slightly out of tune.”
“Well, I think you might give her the benefit of the doubt.”
Her smile softened. “That is the difference between us, Michelle. You are always ready to give someone the benefit of the doubt, while I…” She shrugged. “My consolation is that when you expect the worst of people, you are rarely disappointed.”
“That sounds like something Sherlock might say on a bad day.”
“And he is a very perceptive man.” She slipped her hand about my arm. “Come, let us have some lunch. I am starving, and then we will see what activities the men have planned. By the way, you simply must stay with Mrs. Hardy, at least for a while. It will help Mr. Holmes and me immensely.”
“Perhaps you would like to explain that to Henry.”
She laughed. “That I shall leave to you, Michelle.”
* * *
That afternoon Henry, Violet, Sherlock and I visited Napoleon’s tomb at the Dôme des Invalides, and then, since the rain had ceased, we walked to the Champs de Mars and, at the northern end, Eiffel’s recently constructed tower. Later we met again for dinner at the hotel. The day had gone well, and we were all in good spirits until during dessert when I mentioned Marguerite’s offer for me to stay with her. Holmes thought that was a splendid idea, but Henry’s face went red, his mouth stiffening. His gaze at me was icy, his restraint somehow more telling than an outburst. I suggested the two of us take an after-dinner stroll, and we left Violet and Sherlock watching us warily as they sipped their port.
We walked slowly through the Tuileries along a broad gravel path in the direction of the river. In a black opening in the clouds overhead a few stars twinkled feebly. I held his left arm loosely with my hand but said nothing, biding my time. We came to a park entrance, a gap in the long stone wall with its balustrade along the top. Carriages passed by before us, and we had to wait to cross the busy road. Before us was the Passerelle Solférino, a cast-iron bridge built midway through Napoleon III’s roughly twenty-year reign. Gas lamps lit up the bridge, and also the banks of the Seine. We turned left and walked for a while along the river.
At last Henry turned, then leaned on the stone wall. Below us the black waters of the Seine touched another walkway, yellow highlights dancing along its surface. A paddlewheel boat went by, agitating the water, making it lap at the concrete. The trees planted along the river were bare of leaves now. Across from us we could see the long expanse of the brightly lit train station, the Gare d’Orsay, with its arching windows and its two pointed roofs and gigantic clocks. They each showed 9:50.
I still held Henry’s arm loosely. “Don’t be angry,” I said at last.
He was silent for a few seconds. “I’m not exactly angry, not now, but… my feelings are hurt.”
I squeezed his arm tightly. “I shall make it up to you, I promise.”
“But more than my feelings… It could be dangerous. You are putting your life in peril.” His voice shook slightly.
“No, no, it’s not as bad as all that.”
“You cannot know that—you cannot. You have not really thought this through.”
“It is as I said. Mrs. Hardy is miserable and afraid, and she needs my help.”
“Why can’t Violet stay with her?”
“She did not invite Violet. She invited me.”
“And you did not even tell her that you were married.”
“I told you—she did not ask.” I did not want to let him know that Violet had encouraged my silence.
“What has that to do with it! You could have volunteered the fact.”
“Oh please, don’t upset yourself again—I promise you I’ll be careful. And it won’t be for long, I prom
ise, if for no other reason that I need to get back to London soon.”
He was quiet for a moment, then let his breath out in a long sigh. “I was so looking forward to a few nights alone with you.”
The tone of his voice made me feel terrible. “I promise you, Henry—I shall make it up to you. I promise.”
“Something will come up. You will always be too busy.”
“Don’t say that. You must know how much I love you. I shall be free much of the day—she’s only expecting me in the evening— and I’ve already seen Paris, but not your hotel room. And… and I swear that in July we will go somewhere together alone for at least a week! My practice will be abandoned. Sherlock and all his dreadful cases will be forgotten. It will be just you and me. Perhaps… Yes! Let’s go to Brittany again, Saint-Malo and Dinard. We can eat crepes and drink cider and spend our nights locked in each other’s arms.”
He laughed softly. “You are clever, Michelle.”
“Cleverness has nothing to do with it. I promise we will go.”
He was quiet again. “I shall hold you to that promise.”
“Henry…”
He turned away at last from the wall. I touched his cheek with my gloved hand. His black top hat gleamed with a glistening stripe of yellow light, and the shadow of the brim hid his eyes. I tilted my head to kiss him and closed my eyes. At some point I felt his hat be knocked off by my own.
At last he drew back. With the hat gone, I could see his eyes more clearly and his flattened hair. He raised his hand and touched my face. “Promise me you will be careful, that you will take no foolish risks.”
“I promise you.”
He shook his head. “You must mean it. You must not just say it to placate me.”
“Oh, Henry, I do mean it. Because I know what it would mean to me to lose you, I could not bear for such a thing to happen to you. I will be careful, I swear it.”
He ran his forefinger along my cheekbone down to my jaw. “Now I believe you.” He drew back, then bent over to pick up his hat.
I took his arm again. “Let’s get back to the hotel. We have at least tonight alone together. Let’s not waste it walking along the river!”
He laughed softly. “As you wish, madam.”
The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes--The Devil and the Four Page 15