by Phil Growick
Suddenly, there was an alarming shift in her personality. She had now become quite perfunctory. The laughter had turned to robotic courtesy.
“Would either of you gentlemen like some tea?”
Reilly and Holmes looked at each other. She was one moment flowing water, the next, solid ice.
“Why yes, if you would be so kind,” said Holmes in a most measured and reassuring tone.
“Just do as she says,” Holmes said.“She seems to be suffering from a psychosis. I hadn’t prepared for this and all is quite delicate at the moment. I think it best we do as she asks and handle her most gingerly.”
“We have to get her back to London. If she’s gone bonkers there’s no telling what she’ll say about her family,” Reilly whispered.
“I concur. We must bring her to Watson. As a physician, he will have the legal ability to arrange the care she will need.”
Reilly nodded in agreement as Anastasia served the tea in a most delicate manner, then sat opposite them.
“Please don’t think I’m still not pleased to see you, but one should not be too effusive with one’s emotions, should one?”
“I couldn’t concur more...effusively” Holmes joked, stressing the word ‘effusively’ in trying to make her laugh again. It didn’t work.
“Sirs,” Anastasia said, turning her head from one to the other then back again, “have you come to rescue me?”
“I’m sure you don’t need rescuing, Anastasia,” Holmes said.
“Yes, I am Anastasia. I am the youngest daughter of Tsar Nicholas II. I am a Grand Duchess.”
“Why do you think we’ve come to rescue you?” Reilly asked.
“Well, you’ve already done it once. Why not again?”
“Do you feel as though you need to be rescued?” Holmes asked.
“No. Do you?” Anastasia replied.
“Anastasia, we’ve come from your sisters. We’re going to take you to see Marie and Tatiana and Olga,” Reilly said.
Suddenly she was joyful again, clapping her hands as she twirled about the studio.
“Oh wonderful, wonderful. What should I wear?” She ran to a bureau and began rummaging through the drawers, tossing garments this way and that.
Holmes intervened to stop this hurricane of clothing.
“Anastasia, we will take care of that. Do you have a valise?” Holmes asked.
“There,” Anastasia pointed to a corner cluttered with bric-a-brac and other unimportant objects.
As Anastasia continued her sartorial search, digging like an archaeologist about to uncover an undiscovered Egyptian tomb, Holmes and Reilly agreed that they would take only what would be necessary for the journey back to London.
They managed to have her select that which she wanted to take on her journey to see her sisters and while Holmes helped her put her choices into her valise, Reilly left to fetch a taxi.
In the midst of these simultaneous exertions, Anastasia was singing what sounded like lullabies in Russian, and skipping in excitement around her studio.
Done with the packing, more like pushing and prodding articles into her valise, Holmes gently escorted Anastasia down to the street where Reilly awaited with the taxi.
“Oh, sir, what a beautiful coach. And magical, too, because there are no horses.”
“Yes, Anastasia, your footman is holding the coach door open for you.”
Reilly gave him Holmes an irritated look but took Anastasia’s hand, helping her in, then Holmes and he got in, and he directed the driver to get them to the train station.
It was now a little past five. With luck, they might be able to make the next train back to Calais, then the return ferry to Dover, and finally a late connection back to London. Anastasia still had her British passport as Anna Anders, and so she became Anna Anders once again.
Their luck did, indeed hold, but the journey was fraught with Anastasia’s frequent change of demeanor.
On the train from Paris to Calais, she wondered at the scenery and was gratified at all the people bowing to her as she passed. In reality, she was viewing trees swaying in the wind.
On the ferry to Dover, she became a bit seasick and Holmes had to hold her head in his lap and hum to her to calm her jittery stomach. Reilly made a face at Holmes indicating what a lovely picture that made. Holmes, like Queen Victoria, was not amused.
On the train back to London, she would sleep for a moment, awake, yawn, stretch marvel that the moon was out instead of the sun, thinking this midday. She would then nap again and the process would repeat.
It was also on the last part of the journey that Holmes became Mr. Stash once more. All he needed to do was replace the eye patch.
At last, back at Victoria Station, Holmes, holding onto Anastasia’s valise, hailed a cab. Reilly was carrying Anastasia in his arms as she slept, and though he received some inquisitive stares at this late hour, his response was, “Drank too much,” which seemed to suffice quite nicely.
Holmes helped them in to the cab then closed the door.
“You know I can accompany you no further. You must go to Watson and tend to your charge.”
“I know,” Reilly said, “I’ll report to you as soon as arrangements are made.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Holmes said, “I will know. He then tapped the roof of the cab and at just past midnight, once more Elizabeth and I were awakened by a knocking on my front door.
“Who could that possibly be, at this hour?” Elizabeth asked, quite rightly.
“I’ll soon find out,” I said as I slipped on my robe and slippers and made my way to the front door.
“Who is there?” I demanded.
“It’s me, Reilly. Open the door.” He was speaking in loud whispers and until I opened the door I couldn’t understand why.
“Good lord, Reilly, what has happened?”
“Who is that, John. Are you all right?” Elizabeth called down from above.
“Yes, Elizabeth, nothing is wrong. Just a slight emergency which I will attend to in my study.”
As Elizabeth and I were speaking, Reilly carried Anastasia into my study and set her down on the divan. I closed the door and then I saw Anastasia. True, she was four years older now and not as groomed as before, but I recognised her immediately. I also believe that Reilly had to hold me up, for my knees buckled at the surprise.
“Anastasia! Here? What has happened?”
“John, it is very late and since I saw you last I have been to Paris and back to fetch her. May I please have a drink. A rather large drink.”
“Of course, of course,” I said. “But you must explain.”
His large scotch in hand, he proceeded to tell me what, at the time, he was able.
“From what you’ve said, I must concur that she’s mad. But I’m a medical doctor, not a psychiatrist.” I said.
“She claims to be exactly who she is,” Reilly said, “but since she’s supposed to be dead, some people think she’s balmy and others think she’s genuine. And that’s where the danger lies, as you so well know.”
“Is that all?” I asked.
“There’s more. She drifts from being regal in bearing to acting like the playful Anastasia we knew in Russia and in Eleuthera. But since the death of Alexei, she had been retreating into another world; much like the Tsarina had.”
“Not to mean this in jest, but it could quite easily run in the family.
“Reilly, I’m going to need your help. Stay here while I dress. We’re going to take her to Maudsley, it’s a brand new psychiatric facility in South London. I’m affiliated there, I can admit her, secure a room and then see how she responds in the morning.”
“Yes, please, whatever you think best. I’ll just sip your scotch, wait and if you could bring me a bite to eat, it would be a
ppreciated. I haven’t had the chance to eat much of anything today.”
Elizabeth demanded to know why I was going to Maudsley, or anywhere, for that matter, at so advanced an hour. All I could do was tell her the truth, this time. That a very dear friend had brought his “niece” to me for immediate attention and that I felt I had to bring her to Maudsley for proper care. Being a physician’s wife, she understood, kissed me on the cheek and reminded me not to awaken her upon my return.
I bought some buttered bread with jam to Reilly, which he consumed eagerly, entirely, and quickly. And then we both carried Anastasia, still asleep, to a cab I flagged.
We arrived at Maudsley at a bit after one a.m., Anastasia still asleep, and I had her admitted immediately as a medical case, not psychiatric.
Seeing that she would be cared for in the best possible manner, Reilly and I stepped outside her room.
“Reilly, let me speak with the attending nurses one more time to be assured all is correct, and then we can leave.”
All was most certainly correct and we climbed into a cab which took me to my home.
“John, I’m staying at the Cumberland,” Reilly said. “I’ll be there until you reach me and let me know about Anastasia. And thank you.”
“For what? For helping a young woman in distress and a not-so-young man, as well?”I said this in jest, of course.
“I’ll remember that.” He patted me on the shoulder and I got out. The cab drove away. It was now almost four in the morning.
Upon waking at about ten, Reilly sent a coded message to Tatiana that he had found Anastasia, that they were back in London, that she was well, and being cared for; that he had seen Marie, that she was well, too, and that he would send more information when he could.
At about noon, Reilly rang Marie and asked her to meet him at that same bench in about an hour, if possible. It was and she did and she appeared most anxious to learn of her sister.
“Marie, Anastasia is here. She’s safe.”
“Oh, thank heaven. And thank you, Reilly.” She gave him a hug.
“Stop that, Marie, people will report this to William.” She laughed then saw he had something else to say.
“Yes, there is more. Marie, that odd state that you’d described to me, about Anastasia, well it may be that she has a sort of psychosis.”
“What’s that?”
“She may be mentally unbalanced.”
“My god, where is she?”
“I can’t tell you, as yet. I, myself am waiting to hear how she’s doing. But I can assure you that she’s in the best of medical hands. There’s no one outside of our family who could care for her more.”
“Dr. Watson. She’s with Dr. Watson.”
“Yes. He has her at a facility where they’ll be able to study her for a few days and determine what she may be suffering from. But once again, Dr. Watson is at her side and she’s safe.”
“All right. At least I have that. I’ll wait to hear from you again. Oh, I should’ve asked before, is it all right for me to call you Reilly or do you have another name now?”
He told her.
“Windsor? Roland Windsor?”
“Don’t ask.”
Reilly And I Meet For The Last Time?
In three days, I was able to leave word for Reilly and we met in the bar at the Cumberland.
“It’s rather interesting news, Reilly. She’s been examined by a group of excellent psychiatrists and their diagnoses concur.
“On the positive side, she’s suffering under a benign delusion and can function rather normally. However, on the negative side, she’s reverted to a semi-childlike condition and as one of the psychiatrists put it rather colloquially, she might be “an easy mark”.
“There’s also a prognosis that as she ages, she’ll do as Merlin did and “you then”; that is she’ll become intellectually younger and younger.”
“So what do they say can be done?”
“Nothing right now. She’s an English citizen, physically quite healthy, as I attested, and she should be permitted to live her life as she chooses.”
“So she’s to be set free?”
“Yes, in two days, in fact. Yesterday I was able to lease a very nice flat for her. I’ll see that she’s moved in and settled. Don’t worry about that.
“I just wish I had a way of looking after her on a daily basis.”
“Don’t worry. I may have an answer for that,” Reilly said.
“I know better than to ask what; but I also know it will be done.”
“Now, how many times in these last few years have I said that we’ll probably never see each other again; and each time been proved so terribly wrong?” Reilly asked.
“Too many.” We both gave a knowing chuckle and he extended his hand.
“I won’t say it this time,” Reilly said.
We stood, shook hands, and I returned home.
A little while later, in a quite different part of London, Reilly had another reunion.
“Again? You’re here again?” Holmes asked as Reilly came through his office door, guided up the steps by one of the usual.
“I promised I’d let you know about Anastasia and that’s what I’m here for.”
Holmes listened carefully and then said, “Yes. As before, I can have someone watch her. It will be done.”
“Holmes, will you ever become yourself again?”
“I’m exploring new and unconquered worlds here. And Watson must always be safe.”
“But Holmes, the danger is passed. The men will never trouble Watson or his family.”
“But we cannot be sure, can we?”
After a moment’s pause, “No, we cannot.” But he knew that Holmes was using this as an excuse.
“So come and join me. Become me. Holmes became Clay. Reilly can become Clay.”
“No, Holmes, no.”
Holmes said no more. He simply shrugged in his chair then stood and shook hands with Reilly; who then went back down those stairs.
And as I write this, I never saw Reilly again. He was correct this time.
The U.S. Marines Sent In
However, I did hear from someone, or rather, two, who had heard from Reilly. Two American Marine majors, Lou and Martin Curtis.
In January of 1942, right after Pearl Harbor, they showed up at my home and were very happy to meet “the celebrated Dr. John Watson;” of course, a very good way of beginning a conversation with me.
It seemed their father, Hank, had given them a package from a close friend of his, to deliver to me and to one else but me. In their American military G-2 parlance, it was an “eyes only” package. And quite a thick one, at that.
I asked who this friend was, and they said they didn’t know. “Remember,” Martin said, “it’s eyes only; your eyes.”
“Yeah,” Lou said, “we’re just the feet.”
They then explained they needed to leave since there was a meeting to attend at the Admiralty. I thanked them both for their trouble; not knowing who they were until I read what was inside. They gave me a proper U.S. Marine salute and were on their way.
I prayed for their safety as I did daily for my son, John, the newest Dr. Watson, serving in North Africa; and for all the boys and men from all the countries fighting with us against the Nazis.
What I found when I looked inside quite gave me a start. It was a note from Reilly and a packet of papers detailing the very brief summary in the note. I had not heard one word from him since that day in November of 1924.
This is what his note said:
January 14, 1942
Dear Dr. Watson, John,
It’s been a very long time. About twenty years. And now we’re in another war with the same enemy. Isn’t this where we came in?
I’m writing now because you should know more about what happened with Holmes.
The pages included in this package, will explain all, and I trust that our government have more to worry about than something that happened during the last war.
I’m sorry I couldn’t have been more forthcoming when we were together in London, but after reading, I think you’ll understand.
At this time in our nation’s history, the truth should be told; which I know you’ll do because you’re incapable of doing otherwise.
All is well here, and all send their love.
R
Then after reading the pages he had sent, and which you’ve just read woven into his verbal narrative with me, what was I to believe; what Reilly was telling me now, or what he had told me before?
My greatest sorrow, however, was never to truly know if Holmes was dead or alive; no matter what Reilly had told me.
I suspected that if Holmes were alive, he would have devised some secure way in which to inform me. But had I known the truth, would I have let the truth out in error? Had Holmes been alive, might that have endangered him further?
But as I said at the very beginning of this, “this is a retelling of a tale previously told by someone to someone else expert in tailoring tales to his taste. Which, in itself, is a sentence needing elucidation by Holmes.”
I shall leave it to him.
John H. Watson, M.D.
February 2, 1942
Final Secrets Revealed And New Surprises
Having finished, I glanced at my watch, but then remembered Sidney had taken it. I had no idea what time it was or how long I’d been reading.
I sat for a few moments, once more looking at my grandfather’s words and running my fingers over his handwriting so I could feel as if I were actually touching him. How I missed him.
But as always, other questions arose and once again, I knew that only Sidney could answer them.
I slowly pushed the chair away from the desk, stood and stretched. I then went looking for Sidney, and found him in the room next door, sitting and sipping a brandy.