The Pumamouse Website: Stories And Sagas: My Sherlockian Saga Volume One Chapter Seven

As he sat alone in the darkness, Holmes again tried to force himself to concentrate. With several hours remaining before dawn, there was still the possibility that he could solve the case, if he reviewed all of the data he had compiled in that storehouse which he called his brain. Unfortunately, to do so, he had to remember everything she had told him, and he found it quite impossible to think of her words without thinking of her.

He pulled his dressing gown collar a bit tighter around his neck, and tried to drive away the chill which he felt. It was to no avail, for the cause was not the night air. The chill came from deep within him. He walked to his desk and unlocked the top drawer. Looking at its contents, he ran his finger over the wooden box which contained his last resort. Then, hearing footsteps in the hallway, he re-locked the drawer and withdrew to the shadows.

Miss Trioni entered, walking on her toes, and carrying her bag of crochet. Setting the bag down near the chair opposite Holmes', she moved to his desk to light a lamp. She nearly missed colliding with him in the process. She struck a match and lit the lamp, then, seeing him for the first time, she nearly jumped out of her skin. "Dear Lord, Mr. Holmes," she breathed heavily, holding her hand to her heart. "You nearly scared me to death!"

"Forgive me, Miss Trioni. I did not mean to startle you. I was just...," Holmes began to offer.

"Yes?," Miss Trioni encouraged.

"I could not sleep, and thought to smoke a pipe," Holmes prevaricated. "But, why are you up at this hour?"

"I could not sleep, either, and...," she started. She paused briefly, then, with a slight sigh, she asked, "Mr. Holmes, may I be candid?"

"Please," he encouraged, motioning for her to be seated.

"No, thank you. I prefer to stand," she declined. Gathering her nerve, she offered, "Mr. Holmes, I am afraid I owe you an apology."

"Miss Trioni, I...," Holmes tried to protest.

"Please, allow me to finish," she continued. "If you interrupt, I may not have the courage. I am sorry for becoming so upset earlier, during your questioning. It was completely immature of me, and most unbecoming. I deeply regret it, but, you see, you hit upon a nerve."

"Miss Trioni, I...," Holmes tried again.

"Please, sir...," she urged as she raised her finger to his lips. "You must allow me to finish."

He felt her finger tremble, then she lowered her hand to continue, "When you questioned me about my relationships, I thought it peculiar, at first, but I did not mind. I am well-aware of the fact that you have been trying to understand me better, in an attempt to solve my mystery, and I reasoned that your line of questioning was to be geared to help you do so. It seemed logical enough. However, when your plan of action turned towards pursuing the possibility that I was, in some way, misleading you...or, perhaps, myself a criminal...I am afraid I took offense. You see, your opinion of me is important. I respect you for the man whom I believe you to be, and I would have hoped to have earned your respect, by now, in return. I was hurt to learn that I have not, and I am afraid I lost control of my emotions. Please, sir, accept my apologies. It will not happen again."

She shivered slightly. Seeing this, Holmes left her briefly to close the window, then returned. He pulled a woolen throw from the back of his chair and wrapped it around her shoulders. Still holding it closed, he looked down into her deep brown eyes and quietly offered, "I never meant to hurt you, or offend you, Miss Trioni. It is I who owe you the apology. Please, forgive me. I..." Holmes paused. She was so close, he could feel her breath. "Miss Trioni...," he began again, very uncertain of how to proceed.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes?," she encouraged.

"I never thought you to be anything less than a lady, in addition to a most formidable opponent," Holmes offered in earnest. Then, in a deeper tone, he continued, "I assure you, you do have my respect, and...and..."

"Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she interrupted. "Perhaps, someday, I may earn your trust, as well." She smiled warmly at him. Holmes stared into the depths of her eyes until he felt himself become weak, then he quickly moved away to the fireplace, to collect and fill his pipe.

"Mr. Holmes," she encouraged. "I have been extremely honest with you. I beg you to do me the same honour. I know that you are troubled by my case. Please, if you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask them."

"But, the rules prohibit me from doing so until tomorrow morning," Holmes noted. He stared into the unlit fireplace as he lit his pipe, unwilling to permit her any observation of his genuine turmoil, or the mild confusion which her kind offer had evoked.

Miss Trioni moved to again stand beside him, then, with a wistful smile, stated, "Then, to hell with the rules."

"Miss Trioni! I am shocked!," Holmes offered as he turned to face her with visible surprise.

"By my proposal, or by my language?," she smiled more fully.

He could not help but smile in return.

"Come, now, Mr. Holmes. Whose game is this, if not our own?," she encouraged.

Holmes turned again to the fireplace, and puffed fervently upon his pipe.

"Surely, there is at least one question which has been haunting you that you have not yet asked," she coaxed. "You have my permission to ask it now."

"One question?," Holmes pondered aloud.

"Only one. What could be the harm?," she tempted.

Suddenly, a thought took root in his mind. Slowly, he turned to face her, and replied, "Very well. One question. How was the fish transported from the restaurant to the home of Mr. Henry Dobish?"

Her eyes seemed to dance. Taking the woolen throw from her own shoulders and wrapping it around his, she answered, "By cart, Mr. Holmes." She walked to the door, then paused just before leaving. She turned to smile at him, and added, "Within its original tank, of course. Good night, Mr. Holmes." Then she departed, gently closing the door.

Holmes stood there for a moment, motionless. Slowly, he began to see the entire plot play out in his mind as if it were truly happening before him. "I have been as blind as a beetle," he mused out loud. Sitting in his chair, he proceeded to replay the scene, over and over, in his head. Finally, content with his conclusions, he drifted off to sleep with a smile.

When we turned onto Baker Street, Miss Trioni stirred and then opened her eyes. Seeing our location, she offered, "Oh, forgive me, gentlemen."

"Think nothing of it," I comforted. "It was a pleasure to see you so at ease." We pulled to a stop at our flat, and I exited the carriage first, so as to help her to do the same. She was still a bit disoriented, and so, handing the blanket to her, I said, "You go on in, Miss Trioni. Holmes and I can manage the rest."

"Thank you, Doctor," she agreed, then she sleepily made her way.

We did as I had suggested. I gave the pouch of fish to Mrs. Hudson with the instructions to keep them on ice until they could be used for the next day's dinner. Soon after, I entered the drawing room to find Holmes already seated in his chair, pipe in hand. On the table was a crockery containing fresh vegetable soup, and a tray of hot roasted beef sandwiches. "Well done, Mrs. Hudson," I commended as she entered with our dishes and utensils.

"Mr. Holmes said you would be back at seven. It is he who deserves the credit for the timing," she explained with a smile.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," Holmes called to her as she scurried out of the room. Immediately following, Miss Trioni entered.

"Dear Mrs. Hudson," she sighed, looking at the table set before us. Turning to Holmes, she encouraged, "Do come and eat, Mr. Holmes, before it gets cold."

"You will forgive me if I do not join you. However, I find that I am not very hungry. Please, do help yourselves," Holmes replied.

"How you could not be hungry after the day we just spent is beyond me," Miss Trioni chuckled softly as I pushed in her chair. "The fresh air always increases my appetite." She filled my bowl, and then her own, with soup. Tasting it, she sighed, "Ah, Mr. Holmes...you do not know what you are missing."

"I believe I do," he said as he lit his pipe and tossed the match onto the fire.

"Excuse me?," she encouraged.

"My reward, Miss Trioni. The winnings of our wager," Holmes answered.

"Holmes...," I grumbled. "At least, allow her to eat first."

"By all means," he recanted. "Do enjoy your meal. I have waited this long. What is another half an hour?"

Miss Trioni lowered her spoon from her lips and swallowed, then offered, "I do not mind beginning now, if you have no objection to my answering your questions between bites."

"Fair enough!," Holmes pounced. He turned to sit on the edge of his seat, so as to observe her. "First, tell me more about your family. You said you have three sisters?"

"Yes. What would you like to know?," she allowed.

"Are they all like you? I mean, do they all share your affinity towards the unconventional?," Holmes asked.

"Oh, no!," she chuckled. "No, I should say not. They are, all three, very content with their roles as wives and mothers. In fact, they often warn me that I am doomed to a lonely old age as a spinster, if I do not find a husband and begin a family soon, as they have."

"And...you do not agree with their assessment of the situation?," Holmes wondered.

"Hardly, Mr. Holmes," she laughed. "Besides, I have told you, I have yet to find an appropriate suitor."

"If you did, would you marry?," Holmes probed.

"Why?," she laughed freely. "Do you know of a good candidate?"

"Please, answer the question," Holmes urged. His voice was devoid of all emotion.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. I would marry, if I found such a man, and if I truly loved him," Miss Trioni answered in earnest.

"How would you know?," Holmes encouraged.

"Know?," she returned.

"If you truly loved him?," Holmes encouraged.

"Love is not something you know, Mr. Holmes," she smiled warmly. "It is something you feel. Something you trust in and believe in, yes...but never something you really know."

"You have been in love, then?," Holmes offered, stating an observation more than asking a question.

"Yes, Mr. Holmes. Many times," she allowed.

"Who were they? What were these men like?," he urged.

"They were intelligent and strong, yet kind and gentle," Miss Trioni answered with a warm smile of fond remembrance. Then, with a slight chuckle, she added, "Sadly, they did not exist."

"What do you mean?," he asked, visibly perplexed.

Miss Trioni smiled softly again, and met his gaze to explain, "It is easy to fool oneself into believing that a person, to whom you are attracted, is perfect for you. Unfortunately, the illusion is usually short-lived. However, I suppose it is better to know the truth than to remain so deluded for years on end. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Holmes?"

He did not bother to offer an answer, though I believe he was truly considering one. Instead, unwilling to meet her gaze any longer, he sat back in his chair and turned to stare into the fire. He appeared to be very deep in thought. Finally, he asked, "Miss Trioni, have you ever committed a crime?"

"Holmes! You go too far!," I scolded angrily.

"It is all right, Doctor," Miss Trioni soothed. Then, calmly, she answered, "No, Mr. Holmes. I have not."

"Have you ever told a lie?," he continued.

"Never," she firmly returned.

"Never?," he asked again.

Noting his doubtful tone, she explained, "Mr. Holmes, I believe that, when a person lies, they lose a piece of their character...a piece which they can never regain."

"You do not consider masquerading as a boy to be a deception?," he reminded.

"There is a difference, Mr. Holmes," she retorted. "I may have concealed the truth, but I never altered it. I was then, as I am now, still a woman."

I had to smile at her remark. Holmes took a moment to think, then continued, "Have you ever betrayed a friend?"

"Not to my knowledge," she replied.

He paused again to rethink his line of questioning, then offered, "You have said that you are capable of defending yourself. By what means?"

Miss Trioni hesitated in her answers for the first time. Cautiously, she returned, "Several."

Sensing her discomfort with the topic, Holmes pressed her further by asking, "Do you carry a weapon, Miss Trioni?"

"Not under normal circumstances," she explained.

"But you have, on occasion?," he urged.

"Yes, sir," she softly admitted.

"A gun?," he probed deeper.

"I do not care for guns," she answered. She moved her chair away from the table then, seemingly unable to continue eating her meal.

"A knife, then," Holmes proceeded, not noting the tone of her voice for the fact that his mind

As we rode back to Baker Street, the gentle rocking motion of the cab, aided, no doubt, by the effects of the ale, caused Miss Trioni to doze off. Seeing her so at peace, I felt myself compelled to make a plea on her behalf. "Holmes," I whispered. "Can your inquisition not wait until morning?"

"I must strike while the iron is hot," he replied.

"But, why?," I persisted.

He sighed heavily, then explained, "Watson, I would not admit this to another living soul, but...she has proven to be a more formidable opponent than I had anticipated."

I began to see his predicament, and I was shocked by my realization. "Holmes, do you mean to say...," I began in awe.

"I am at my wits end," he said, solemnly. "I have searched every corner of my mind, and have come up empty. I have no more clue as to why Mr. Henry Dobish was murdered than I suppose you do." I could not keep the surprise from showing upon my face. Noting it, he continued, "It is her, Watson. She is a mystery to me. Until I solve the latter, I can not hope to solve the former."

"Will you resort to trickery, then?," I asked, hoping to hear him refuse.

"Only in that she will not know the true reason for my curiosity," he answered.

"But, how will you hide your motives?," I pondered.

"I will not have to," he offered cryptically.

"Holmes, I am afraid I do not understand," I urged.

He turned from my gaze then, seemingly unwilling for me to see his expression as he explained, "Truth be told, Watson, aside from the benefit which I will gain towards the case, I would like to know more about her...for personal reasons."

It was as close to an admission of caring as I would get from him at that point. I consoled myself by thinking, perhaps, some good would come of the thing, after all.

At approximately half past four, I woke to find that Miss Trioni had moved to the blanket. She had apparently given up, for she was once again wearing her stockings and shoes, and her ball of twine and hooks were packed away. As I watched her, I became aware that, from my position, I could do so without her knowledge. Modesty told me to cease. However, curiosity conquered.

For several minutes, she sat motionless upon the blanket, a few feet away from Holmes. She was studying him as he slept...an observation I felt compelled never to make mention of to him. Finally, I heard her call his name in an effort to rouse him. He showed no sign of waking. She leant a bit closer, and...ever so gently...she placed her hand over his, which was resting upon his chest. "Mr. Holmes...," she whispered.

He stirred slightly, then turned his head and opened his eyes to find her leaning over him. Smiling softly, she offered, "Forgive me, Mr. Holmes. I hated to wake you. But, it is nearly a quarter of five, and, if we are to change at the Inn before returning to Baker Street, we should be on our way." Her hand was still resting upon his. Realizing this, she quickly removed it.

She got to her feet and began looking around, presumably, for me. "I have not seen Dr. Watson since he returned from the hostel," she informed. "I wonder where he is off to."

Holmes sat up abruptly and looked around. Cupping his hands to his mouth, he shouted, "Watson!"

"Coming, Holmes!," I returned. I gathered my gear and my catch, and hurried to join them.

By the time I got there, Holmes, too, was standing and replacing his jacket. "Well, Watson? How did you do?," he asked.

I raised my hand to show both of them my winnings. "Well done, man!," he beamed.

"Yes, indeed, Doctor," Miss Trioni added with a smile as she viewed the largest of the trout more closely. I was relieved to see she did not bear me any malice for having won.

"Well, Miss Trioni? Will you acknowledge that Watson has bagged the larger trout?," Holmes urged. I deeply regretted his gloating tone.

She bit her lower lip, then admitted, "Yes, Mr. Holmes. In all fairness, I must agree."

"Ha!," Holmes spat in an un-sportsmanlike fashion, then he turned his attention to his watch. "Nearly five o'clock. We must make haste," he noted.

"You had best let me clean them, Doctor. I would not want them to spoil," Miss Trioni explained, reaching for the fish.

"Miss Trioni, that really is not necessary," I said mildly.

"Of course it is," she chuckled. "A bet is a bet, and I'll not shrink from my end of a deal." Taking the fish in one hand and the ice-filled pouch in the other, she moved them to the water's edge.

"Do let me help you with that," I called, following her.

"No, Doctor, please, I would feel badly if you did," she advised.

"But, Miss Trioni...," I tried to protest, but she would have none of it.

"If you would just lend me your knife, I shall be finished here before you know it," she interrupted. Reluctantly, I reached inside my tackle and did as she had requested. She knelt down on the ground and began skillfully removing the entrails of the fish. Holmes stood, viewing the scene, as did I, with much amusement.

"I see you are not at all squeamish, Miss Trioni," he offered.

"I would have thought that was apparent to you earlier," she replied.

"Earlier?," he asked, quite perplexed.

"When I was gathering worms," she lightly answered, not bothering to look up from her task.

Holmes swallowed hard in an attempt to loosen the knot that was forming in his throat, then quietly asked, "You knew I was awake...the whole time?"

She ignored his question and, instead, replied, "If you gentlemen will gather the rest of our things, I will be done here in a moment." I pulled Holmes away, and together we did as she had requested. Fastening the sealskin pouch closed, she lifted it onto her shoulder, and rested it there, like a sack of potatoes. "Are we ready, gentlemen?," she asked with a smile.

"Miss Trioni!," I scolded. "You have held up your end of our bargain by cleaning them, but do not, for one moment, think I will allow you to carry them!"

"But, Doctor...," she began.

Before she could stop me, I lifted the burden from her shoulder and loaded it onto my own. As I did so, I was surprised by the weight of it, but I attributed it to the soreness I was feeling from a full day of casting a line. Still, she was, indeed, stronger than I would have imagined. I sensed she knew I had underestimated her abilities by her smile. "You may carry these," I informed, handing the empty picnic basket and blanket to her.

"Thank you, Doctor," she accepted.

I took up the gear which I had rented in my other hand, and Holmes gathered the other parcels which contained our belongings.

We arrived at the Inn at half past five, with just enough time to freshen up and be ready for our driver's return. The landlord, himself a fishing enthusiast, asked to see the spoils of our labours while we made use of the facilities. I happily agreed, and I was very pleased by his reaction when I returned.

Holmes was standing at the bar, and he motioned for me to join him. "Here is the man with whom you wish to speak," he said.

"Do tell me, Doctor, where, exactly, did you snare such a fish?," the landlord questioned.

"Ah, that is my little secret," I countered.

"I can't say as I blame you, sir, not at all," he graciously allowed. "Please, allow me to offer you an ale, on the house."

"Why, thank you, Landlord," I accepted, my chest swelling with pride. Raising my glass, I added, "To your good health." I took a hearty drink. After a long day in the warm sun, the ale was quite refreshing. I lowered my glass, which was nearly half empty, to see her. The transformation was remarkable. Only minutes before, she had looked somewhat worn and rumpled. However, she then looked as fresh as the spring air. The spray of wildflowers in her hair paled considerably to the newly bloomed roses in her cheeks, left by the sun. Slowly, she made her way towards us.

"Holmes...," I said, unable to take my eyes off of her. He turned on his heels to view her for himself, and nearly choked on his ale in the process.

"Miss Trioni...," he breathed, more to himself than to me.

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting, gentlemen," she smiled.

"Not at all," I offered, still amazed by her chameleon-like ability.

"The landlord, here, was just congratulating Watson on his catch," Holmes explained, still staring.

"Was he?," she asked, a bit uneasily.

"Yes, Miss. I was just about to say how envious I am of the Doctor, here. Though, I don't blame him for keeping his lucky spot a secret," the landlord offered. "I would certainly do the same, if I had his good fortune. I..."

"Excuse me, Landlord, but might I bother you for a drink?," Miss Trioni timidly interrupted.

"Oh, pardon me, Miss. Of course. What'll you have?," he asked.

"Whatever the gentlemen are having will do," she smiled.

"I'd best warn you, Miss, seeing as you are an American," he cautioned. "The ale in this part of the world is served at room temperature, not kept on ice like it is in the States. It has a bit of a kick to it. Perhaps you would prefer a glass of lemonade?"

"I will take the ale, thank you," she replied.

He drew a tall glass and placed it on the bar in front of her. "That will be two shillings," he said.

She reached for her handbag. However, Holmes stopped her hand. "Put it on my tab, Landlord," he advised.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Holmes," she offered. Raising her glass, she added, "Gentlemen, to your good health." Holmes and I followed her example, each of us peering over the rim of our glass to better see her reaction. She took a small sip of the darkened brew, then, to our surprise, she proceeded to drink the entire glass, down to the dregs. Placing it on the bar, she stated, "Now, gentlemen, I believe our carriage is waiting. Landlord, may we settle our account?"

"Our account?," he asked, lifting her empty glass in his hand and looking at it as if it were unique.

"The fee for the use of your facilities," Miss Trioni coaxed, again reaching for her purse.

"Oh, that's already been taken care of, Miss," he informed.

She looked from me to Holmes, then asked, "By whom?"

"Come, Miss Trioni. We do not want to keep the driver waiting," I said, trying to hurry her to the door.

"But...," she began.

"Thank you, Landlord," Holmes said as he threw down a gold sovereign on the bar and moved to follow us.

"You're welcome, sir, and do come again!," he called.

"Mr. Holmes, I must protest," Miss Trioni offered. Holmes walked past us without slowing, ignoring her efforts.

"Miss Trioni, please, allow us to do this small deed? After all, you are our guest," I implored.

"Thank you, Doctor," she said reluctantly. She took my arm, and we walked to meet Holmes, who was standing at the carriage. "Thank you, Mr. Holmes," she offered.

"You are quite welcome, Miss Trioni," he nodded respectfully as he opened the door for her.

As she stepped into the cab, I paused before following and said to Holmes, "What an enjoyable day this has been."

In a whisper, he replied, "Yes, it has, Watson. However, this evening may prove to be even more interesting."

His words caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end. His intention was clear. He planned to make her keep her promise that very evening.

As we rode in our cab to Tobson's Grove, Holmes and I sat opposite Miss Trioni with our backs towards our destination, allowing her the full pleasure of the view. On the seat beside her were the picnic basket which Mrs. Hudson had prepared and the blanket which Holmes had instructed me to bring. In addition to these, each of us had brought a small parcel of personal belongings.

Tobson's Grove was well-known for its apple orchards. For a nominal fee per bushel, the public was invited to pick their own fruit. However, there was also a less renown stream, which contained some of the best trout and bass fishing for miles, located on the property. Poles were available for rent at the Inn there, and bait could easily be found.

Although it was much too early in the season to gather any fruit, we planned to try our luck at the fishing. Knowing how messy a day of the sport could become, (and how upset Mrs. Hudson would become, as a result, if we returned, covered in mud), we all took the precaution of packing a change of clothing. We planned to make use of the Inn's facilities before beginning our journey home. Holmes had arranged for us to be taken to Tobson's Grove, and for the driver to return at six o'clock, to bring us back to Baker Street in time for a late supper.

Miss Trioni was especially keen on the idea of spending the day fishing. "I have never tried freshwater," she offered. "However, I have heard tell it is quite different from the open sea. Tell me, how large are the fish in this stream?"

"Two or three pounds, at most, this time of the year," I explained. "However, they do put up an amiable fight." Her face glowed with the anticipation of a child's on Christmas morning, and she leaned a bit further towards the window.

Holmes had remained silent during our journey, save when he had given the driver his instructions. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him, and he freely asked, "Tell me, Miss Trioni, how is it that a woman, such as yourself, has never married?"

The question obviously took her by surprise. I was shocked, but, in a way, relieved that he had asked it, for I had been sorely tempted to do so, myself.

"And, just what is "a woman such as myself", Mr. Holmes?," she asked a bit cautiously, taken aback by his direct approach.

"You obviously enjoy life," Holmes noted. "From what I have seen, your interests are widely varied. I have no doubt that you have made the acquaintance of many diversified types of men. I would have thought, with so broad a spectrum to choose from, you would have found a suitable match by now."

His observations in no way offended her, and I was grateful for the fact. She smiled softly and, with equal candor, offered her reply, stating, "Ah, Mr. Holmes. It is true, due to my unconventional interests, I have made the acquaintance of several different "types of men", as you put it. Unfortunately, I have found that, when closely examined, most fall into one of two categories, neither of which is acceptable to me."

"And, what, exactly, might those categories be?," Holmes asked with open curiosity.

"Those who would change me, and those who would not have me at all," she smiled.

"I find it hard to believe many would fall into the latter," I said in honesty.

She smiled at me a bit more fully for my efforts and noted, "You would be surprised, Doctor. Not all men are as open-minded to a woman having a will of her own. I am afraid most would prefer one who would submit to theirs."

"I see you do not hold a very high opinion of men, Miss Trioni," Holmes prodded.

"It is no lower than yours of women, Mr. Holmes," she said, smiling knowingly at him, then she turned again to the window. She had, indeed, made her point.

Holmes retreated back into his silence and, no doubt, I should have done the same. However, the temptation was too great. "Perhaps, both of you have judged too harshly," I cautioned. My efforts earned me a look of disdain from Holmes and a slight smirk from Miss Trioni, yet I continued, "I mean, it is possible that there are exceptions to any rule, is it not?" For once, Holmes did not have the chance to offer his usual rebuttal to my observation.

"Dr. Watson, nothing would please me more than to be proven too hasty in my conclusions," Miss Trioni readily admitted with a smile. "But, in truth, aside from yourselves and Mycroft, I have seldom had the pleasure of being treated as though my independence or capabilities were something to be proud of by men. My own father looks upon them, at times, as more of a hindrance to me than a help."

"And, what of your mother?," Holmes again broke his silence to ask.

"It is my mother's belief that one should strive to be all that they can, no matter their gender," she replied.

"I would have to agree with her," I submitted.

"You can afford to, Doctor," she chuckled. "As a friend, my independence poses you no threat. But, what if I were more than a friend? Would you really want your wife to be so inclined as to seek more than the traditional role which she inherits in society? Indeed, would you be comfortable with such a scenario?"

"I believe I would," I answered, wholeheartedly. She looked to Holmes, who nodded his agreement.

"And, what of your friends, gentlemen? Would their opinions not sway you?," she cautioned.

As I pondered her question with care, to my amazement, Holmes readily offered his response. "Not if I were in love," he stated. His words, though but a whisper, spoke volumes.

"Ah...but, Mr. Holmes, how could you ever love that which you hold in contempt?," Miss Trioni smiled.

"Perhaps, Watson is right...there are exceptions to every rule," he offered, musing out loud. I could barely believe my ears.

At that precise moment, as if by fate, the carriage pulled to a stop with a jolt, causing Miss Trioni to lose her seat. By reflex, Holmes caught her in his arms, then, by choice, he held her there.

"It would appear we have arrived," Miss Trioni breathed, her lips nearly touching his.

Holmes swallowed hard and gently returned her to her seat, then leapt to his feet. Hanging halfway out the window, be began chastising the driver. I turned my attention to gathering up the blanket and picnic basket which had tumbled to the floor. Miss Trioni smoothed her rumpled clothing, then joined me in my efforts. Finally, Holmes turned back from the window.

"It seems we were nearly missed by a falling branch," he hurried to explain. "The early frost last autumn has apparently wreaked havoc on the weaker trees in the orchard. I believe we would do better to proceed on foot. The stream is no more than two hundred meters away, and the hostel is just over that ridge. The driver assures me, he will send help to remove the fallen timber, and return to retrieve us at the Inn, as we had planned. Miss Trioni, are you up to the walk?"

"Of course, Mr. Holmes," she assured. She began to rise, but then quickly resumed her seat.

Holmes took her arm, thinking she might well faint. "Watson!," he urged, his concern clearly written on his face.

"Miss Trioni, you are not well. Do not attempt to stand," I advised, joining him in his efforts.

"I am fine, gentlemen," she laughed. Then, lifting her skirt to reveal a broken heel, she added, "However, I can not say as much for my shoe."

Holmes and I both breathed a heavy sigh of relief. "This will prove a hindrance to our plans, Holmes," I observed.

"Not at all, Doctor," she offered as she finished pulling the loosened heel completely off of her shoe. She then removed the other shoe from her foot, and handed it to Holmes with the request, "If you would be so kind, Mr. Holmes, I would prefer a matched set."

Holmes opened the carriage door, then struck her shoe upon the edge of the metal footstep. He removed the heel, then returned the shoe to her hand.

"Thank you, sir," she offered as she replaced it on her foot. She allowed her skirt to fall to the floor. Then, taking both his arm and my own, she again attempted to rise, this time, successfully. "There!," she declared, quite satisfied with the result of her ingenuity.

"Are you certain you will be able to walk that way?," I asked with some concern.

"If it becomes too difficult, I will remove them, altogether," she chuckled. "Truth be told, I am more comfortable without shoes."

Holmes stepped out of the carriage and helped her to do the same. I followed, handing the blanket and basket to Holmes, and carrying the other three parcels, myself.

"Right this way, then," Holmes advised, beginning to walk towards the stream. He was stopped after only three steps.

"Hold on, gentlemen," Miss Trioni requested...or, rather, ordered. Then, taking the blanket from Holmes' arm and her parcel from mine, she smiled warmly and advised, "All right. You may proceed now."

I looked at Holmes, and he at me, and, without a word, we each knew the other's thoughts. She was, indeed, unlike any woman either of us had ever known.

We made our way to the bank of the stream. Miss Trioni spread the blanket on the ground, a few feet from the water's edge. "It is beautiful!," she cried as she turned in a circle and took in the full view. Indeed, it was.

Setting down our other belongings, I realized that we had forgotten one thing. "The fishing poles," I thought out loud.

"Not to worry, Doctor," Miss Trioni assured. "I took the precaution of bringing these." From her parcel, she pulled a ball of twine and several hooks.

"You do not honestly think you can catch anything with those, do you, Miss Trioni?," I chuckled, despite my efforts.

"Are you saying that I cannot?," she asked indignantly.

"Forgive me, Miss Trioni," I offered as I tried to stay my amusement, "but, I have fished these waters before. Without the proper gear, it will prove to be more of a chore than a pleasure. I will go to the Inn to rent what we will need, and return. It should not take me more than half an hour."

"You really do not think I can do it, do you?," she asked. The sight of her standing there, with a ball of twine in one hand and the hooks in her other, was more than I could bear. I began to laugh out loud, as did Holmes.

"You, too, Mr. Holmes?," she asked with some annoyance.

Catching his breath, Holmes tried to appease her by offering, "Forgive us, Miss Trioni...but...you must admit...the idea, although a noble one, is a bit...far-fetched...hmmmm," then he continued to smile.

"Are you both willing to wager, then?," she calmly asked as she tied the twine to one of the hooks.

"Surely, you are not serious," I teased.

"Oh, but I am," she advised. "I will bet that I can catch a bigger fish with my means than you will with yours." Her confidence bordered on insanity.

"Very well, but for what stakes?," I agreed.

She thought for a moment, then answered, "The loser will gut and clean the winner's catch...and their own, of course."

"Done!," I readily accepted.

"Mr. Holmes?," she encouraged.

"I am sorry, Miss Trioni. However, I did not intend to fish," Holmes informed.

"Then, you will retract your statement?," she asked.

"Would you be willing to raise the stakes?," he returned, a bit impetuously.

"Just what did you have in mind?," she cautiously asked.

"I have complete faith in Watson's ability," Holmes replied. "If he wins, you will agree to answer several questions which I have, completely and honestly."

"What sort of questions?," she pondered. Then, answering her own inquiry, she asked, "Oh, do you mean questions about my story?"

"I mean, questions about you...personally," Holmes smiled.

Miss Trioni paused to consider his proposal, then continued, "And, if I win?"

"Name your price," Holmes offered, and my fears began.

"Holmes...," I whispered.

"Anything?," she asked.

"Yes," he allowed.

"Holmes...," I tried to caution.

"I have your word?," she urged.

"Watson, you are her witness," he informed.

"Holmes, don't!," I said.

"Done!," Miss Trioni declared. As she did so, my shoulders felt the weight of the world upon them.

"Oh, Holmes, I hope you know what you are doing," I said beneath my breath.

He turned towards me and quietly answered, "Relax, Watson. We have nothing to lose, and everything to gain." Turning back towards Miss Trioni, he asked, "Tell me, Miss Trioni, what is to be your pleasure?"

"I will tell you...when I wish to collect," she answered with a mischievous smile. Although Holmes showed no sign of regret, her words and her demeanor caused me to wonder what fate would befall my friend, should I fail to meet her challenge. I pushed the thought from my mind and consoled myself with the fact that the odds were greatly in my favour.

"As you wish," Holmes allowed. "Come, let us partake of the excellent meal Mrs. Hudson has provided for us. And afterwards, Watson, you can go rent what you shall need."

We did as Holmes had suggested, and soon, I was about to begin my short journey to the Inn. "Is there anything which you would like me to bring back for you, Miss Trioni?," I asked.

"No, thank you, Doctor. I have all I need, right here," she answered as she walked to the water's edge.

"How about you, Holmes?," I offered.

"Nothing for me, but it might be advisable to bring back something in which to carry the fish home, and some ice, so they do not spoil," he reminded.

"Very well, I shan't be long," I promised.

"Take care of falling branches, Watson," Holmes called after me. He removed his jacket and stretched out upon the blanket to take a nap.

I later learned that, although he appeared to be sleeping, he was, in fact, watching Miss Trioni�s every move. Moments after I had departed, she began examining the geography of the stream. Once she had found a spot that was to her liking, not far from our picnic site, she began turning over stones, presumably, looking for bait. Without the least bit of revulsion, she screwed a worm onto the hook, and then placed several more in a small burlap pouch which she attached, by a cord, to her waist. Then, turning first to make sure that Holmes was still asleep, she lifted her skirt to remove her shoes and stockings.

Out of respect, Holmes had forced himself to completely close his eyes while she did so. When he opened them slightly again, he found that she had pulled her skirt, from back to front, through her legs, and tucked the hem into her waistband, forming a sort of makeshift trouser. She then waded out into the ice-cold water, to a place where several large rocks formed a small island in the stream, on the other side of which the water's depth was at least a full meter. There, perched upon her stony throne, she proceeded to lower her line, and wait. I returned to find her in that position.

"How goes it?," I called to her.

She waved me away and pressed her finger to her lips, requesting my silence.

I had brought back with me a sealskin pouch, containing ice. After setting it down in the shade, I made ready to begin my task. I opted for a spot which I had found on a previous trip, some fifty meters or so further upstream. In a way, I felt a bit dishonest by doing so, for I knew the place had always brought me some luck. However, my loyalty to Holmes outweighed my chivalry.

The next few hours were spent in joyful bliss. The sun danced on the water, the smell of apple blossoms filled the air, wildflowers were blooming, and life was returning after what seemed an intolerably long winter. I had caught several small bass, which I threw back, and four trout, one of which was a good three pounds if it was an ounce. I felt confident that all would go in my and Holmes' favour, and so, I relaxed and allowed myself to drift off to sleep for a while. Holmes had also finally given in to the same temptation. Only Miss Trioni remained diligent at her task.

After breakfast, at precisely ten o'clock, Mycroft arrived, and we began our second session. "Now, Miss Trioni, I do have several questions which I wish to ask of you," Holmes began his inquisition. However, he did so with a much more amiable tone than he had used on the previous day. "What was determined to be the true cause of the ill-effects which were suffered by the customers who had eaten the pork-fried rice?"

"Mushrooms, Mr. Holmes. One of the cooks mistakenly used some mushrooms that were poisonous."

"Was this the same cook who previously came close to losing a finger?"

"It was."

"And, was he also responsible for the missing tea?"

"Yes. He had accepted the shipment and then misplaced it. It was found in the basement, two weeks later."

Holmes smiled with satisfaction. He had made the first step in uncovering the facts. "And, the waiter who was found dead," he continued. "What conclusions were drawn by the police?"

"After further examination, it was established that he did die from a blow to the head, by a sharp object."

"Was there any such object found in the basement?"

"No."

The second veil was removed.

"From where, exactly, did Mr. Chin acquire the fish?"

"China."

"Did it come over on the same ship as the tea?"

"Yes."

"One more question, Miss Trioni," Holmes smiled. "Was it pure opium, or morphine?"

"Heroin, Mr. Holmes, in powdered form," she returned with an equal smile.

"Ah-ha!," Holmes said triumphantly as he lit a fresh pipe.

"Holmes, do tell us what you know," I encouraged, still trying to put the pieces together.

"There is more to this case than first meets the eye, Watson," he offered happily. "The ship which carried the tea and the fish also brought with it a cargo of heroin...a derivative of morphine. Even for the States, this was not a small operation, since the manufacture of the drug is prohibited there. Heroin points to organized crime. The cook, no doubt, himself an addict, was directly involved. The waiter, I fear, was unfortunate enough to stumble upon the truth, probably while in the basement, searching for the mislaid tea. The cook eliminated the threat of exposure by eliminating the waiter. Presumably, he then played upon the old man, Mr. Chin's, superstitions, and made reference to the fish. It was a lion fish, Miss Trioni?"

She nodded her agreement.

"In some cultures, they are considered to be sacred. The cook probably made mention of that fact to Mr. Chin, to set the wheels in motion."

"Is this an accurate account, Miss Trioni?," I asked in awe.

"Yes, Doctor, it is," she smiled. Turning to Holmes, she offered, "Mr. Holmes, I must congratulate you. You have given an exact report of the facts surrounding the cook and the waiter."

"Thank you, Miss Trioni," Holmes accepted with pride.

"But, what of Mr. Henry Dobish?," Miss Trioni lightly inquired. Her words hung in the air like a gas vapour.

"Yes, Sherlock. What of Mr. Henry Dobish?," Mycroft echoed.

"There are several possibilities. However, before I choose one, I will need more data," Holmes admitted.

"Very well, Mr. Holmes," Miss Trioni allowed.

"Was the smuggling of heroin the act of an individual, or, as I suspect, that of an organized gang?," he began.

"As you have said, it was a large scale operation," she replied.

"Was Mr. Dobish a member of this organization?"

"No, he was not."

"Was he murdered by members of this organization?"

"Yes, he was."

"And, was drowning the true cause of his death?"

Miss Trioni hesitated for the first time, searching for the right way in which to phrase her answer. She replied, "Drowning was the official cause of his death."

"But, not the initial one?," Holmes urged. His eyes seemed to burn as he stared into hers.

"No, Mr. Holmes, not the initial one," she admitted.

"Something else was found in the autopsy?," he searched.

"Yes," she sighed lightly.

"His blood contained traces of heroin?," Holmes encouraged.

"It was at a toxic level," Miss Trioni offered with a slight smile, despite her dilemma.

"I thought as much!," Holmes declared. He quickly moved in for the kill, urging, "True or false, Miss Trioni. The cook arranged that Mr. Dobish should, somehow, ingest a capsule, containing a massive dose of heroin. The capsule dissolved, and the drug took full effect, while Mr. Dobish was engaged in his routine swim. Unable to control his muscles, he drowned in his own pool. Other nameless members of the gang then removed his body, dressed it, and transported it rather haphazardly to the park, causing the bruises which you mentioned. They left him face down in the fountain, so it would appear he had drowned in that fashion, after being beaten near death by a mugger."

"All true, Mr. Holmes," Miss Trioni smiled. "You have deduced by whom, and how, Mr. Henry Dobish was murdered."

Holmes glowed with satisfaction.

"Bravo, Holmes," I offered. I was truly amazed and very proud of my dear friend...so amazed, at first, I nearly did not hear Miss Trioni's words.

She continued to smile warmly as she offered, "Now, Mr. Holmes, if you would be so kind as to tell us, why?"

Holmes' smile instantly vanished.

"That's time," Mycroft announced. He replaced his watch in his pocket, then asked, "Well, Mariana, where are you off to today?"

Miss Trioni's smile had also disappeared at the sound of Mycroft's declaration. For a moment, she did not answer his question. Then, shaking herself from her thoughts, she replied, "Oh...Dr. Watson and Mr. Holmes have arranged for Mrs. Hudson to pack us a picnic lunch, and we plan to ride to...what was the name of it, Doctor?" She seemed quite distracted by Holmes.

"Tobson's Grove," I answered, still watching the expression upon his face, myself. At first, I noted that his colour had drained. However, with Mycroft's interruption, it had quickly returned.

"Yes, Tobson's Grove. From what I have heard, it sounds like a charming little place, just outside the city, but with all the appeal of the country," she offered as she continued to stare.

"Well, I do hope you all enjoy yourselves. I will see you all tomorrow, at ten o'clock, then. Good day, my dear...Doctor...Sherlock," Mycroft stated.

"Good day, Mycroft," I answered.

Miss Trioni walked Mycroft to the door and then returned. Holmes was still visibly disturbed.

She moved to stand before him, then, with a soft smile, she offered, "Mr. Holmes...I am sorry we ran out of time. I have no doubt, you were on the verge of a full disclosure of the facts. And, I do understand that the prospect of waiting another day to do so must be annoying, at best. However, please, do not allow it to spoil the lovely day which we have planned? After all, today is only the second day..." Her soothing manner and gentle smile could have brought tranquility to the most chaotic of spirits.

"She is right, Holmes. Let us put the whole business behind us, until tomorrow," I encouraged. "You can finish your account and win the contest then."

"Very well," Holmes agreed, swallowing the lump which had formed in his throat. More to himself, he added, "I would not wish to disappoint you again." He paused, reflecting on his thoughts, then forced himself to abandon them. In a more lighthearted tone, he continued, "I will gather my things and meet you both downstairs. Watson, please, instruct Mrs. Hudson to hail a cab, and be sure to bring that blanket, there, for our picnic."

He rose from his chair, thinking to make haste for his room. However, he was detained by Miss Trioni. She placed her hand upon his forearm, and said, "Mr. Holmes..." He looked down at her hand with some surprise, then looked into her eyes as she smiled and knowingly offered, "Thank you, Mr. Holmes." He stood, transfixed in her gaze, until she turned from him and left the room. Holmes immediately resumed his objective, deliberately trying to act as if nothing had happened.

I decided not to provoke him by making any mention of it. However, I do believe he had seen then the first hint of something I had known all the time. Deep down, beneath his cold exterior, lurked the heart of a man, not a machine. A heart that could love, if it were ever allowed to. I hoped, for his sake, that he would not fight what I perceived to be the inevitable.

CHAPTER SEVEN

The following morning, upon entering the drawing room, I was greeted by Miss Trioni. She was seated by the unlit fireplace, opposite the chair which Holmes usually favoured. At her feet lay a canvas bag containing several skeins of yarn. Upon closer inspection, I observed that she was busily working the yarn with some sort of hook. "Good morning, Doctor," she said without looking up from her task, then she added, �...seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty." She lowered her hands to her lap and turned to face me as she offered, "Forgive me, but the accuracy of the foundation row is most important."

"What are you doing, Miss Trioni?," I asked with wonder.

"Crocheting," she answered happily. "It is a hobby of mine. Sort of like knitting, but with one hook instead of two needles. I have observed Mrs. Hudson's inclination towards shawls since I arrived, and I have decided to make one for her, in appreciation for all that she has been doing for me. But, please, do not tell her. I would like it to be a surprise." Her eyes seemed to dance with the thought of it as she spoke.

"What a thoughtful idea," I returned with an equal smile. "Your secret is safe with me."

Just then, Holmes entered the room. I could tell by his expression, he had overheard my last comment, but he was trying not to let on that he had. "Good morning, Miss Trioni...Watson," he offered.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes," she returned, resuming her task.

"Good morning, Holmes," I said, quite amused by his dilemma. I knew him well enough to know, he would not rest until he knew the secret to which I had referred. Yet, his pride would prevent him from any straightforward inquiry. I decided to have a bit of fun at his expense.

I made a conscious effort to act as if he had caught us in some clandestine discussion. My intentionally nervous manner added credence to his suspicions, as was obvious from his own actions. He did not sit, but, rather, lit a pipe and remained standing by the fireplace, gazing down upon Miss Trioni.

"For Heaven's sake, Doctor, do tell him, before he makes me lose count," she offered after several moments.

"Tell me what?," Holmes casually asked.

I could contain my laughter no longer. "Forgive me, Holmes," I offered between attempts to subdue my amusement. In truth, I could hardly catch my breath.

"My secret, Mr. Holmes, is this shawl which I am crocheting for Mrs. Hudson," she explained. "Dr. Watson has been acting like the cat who swallowed the canary for your benefit." There was a hint of reprimand in her tone which forced me to collect myself.

"Oh, I am sorry, Holmes, but the temptation was irresistible," I offered in earnest.

"Indeed," he said. His voice was full of indignation mixed with resignation. Then, in a lighter tone, he asked, "Tell me, Miss Trioni...how were you aware that I had overheard you? And, why did you not play along with Watson?"

"Actions speak louder than words, Mr. Holmes," she smiled as she continued her craft. "You usually do not smoke your pipe until after breakfast. You were obviously troubled by something. Dr. Watson's behaviour was my final clue...thirty-nine, forty, forty-one..."

"And yet, you put a stop to it," Holmes noted. Then, quietly, he encouraged, "Why?"

"You already are uneasy around me. I saw no reason to intensify your feelings of mistrust...forty-nine, fifty," she replied. Luckily for Holmes, she continued working while she spoke. Therefore, she did not see the effect which her honesty had upon him. He was quite taken aback, and he looked to be ready to speak rather candidly, but he caught himself just in time.

"Oh, dear," she said, looking up to him. "I believe I hear Mrs. Hudson on the stairs." She quickly secured away her handiwork and moved to stand at the window nearest my desk. Mrs. Hudson entered the room with our breakfast tray nearly as soon as she had.

"Good morning, Miss Trioni...gentlemen," she offered.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson," I said as I helped her with her tray.

Miss Trioni soon did the same, stating, "Good morning, Mrs. Hudson. And, what culinary delights have you prepared for us this morning?" She peered beneath the tray cover to find freshly-baked blueberry muffins. With a full smile, she honestly offered, "Oh, Mrs. Hudson, you shouldn't have...but I am so very glad you did!"

"You enjoy them, my dear," Mrs. Hudson beamed, then she left the room.

"Please, do join us, Mr. Holmes," Miss Trioni encouraged as she took her seat at the table. Holmes emptied his pipe into the fireplace, and did just that.

I wondered just how aware our guest was of the power she appeared to have over him. In all the time I had known him, I had never seen Holmes so vulnerable. As she poured our tea, I said a silent prayer that my impression of her character was accurate, for, if she was not really what she seemed, she could quite easily destroy him. No. I pushed the thought from my mind. All of my instincts told me that she meant no harm. It was a reflex of mine to scrutinize any situation where Holmes' welfare was concerned, but this woman was really all that she appeared to be. I relaxed and enjoyed a muffin.

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The Personal Journal Of John H. Watson, M.D.
Volume One
A Record Of The Events Which Occurred
March-May 1897

Copyright 1998