I try to keep my voice from going all wobbly, and I say, “You need anything, sir?”
And he sort of chuckles, like, that laugh grown-ups do when you’ve said something silly but they’re not going to tell you why it’s silly. He takes out a handkerchief and he dabs at his shiny forehead, but he doesn’t give me an answer.
“Right, well, if you don’t need anything, I’ll be on my way.”
I start to walk past him, and he puts a big hand on my shoulder. Not clamping down or anything, just sort of there, like the fact that he’s done it should be enough to stop me. Granted, I’m so confused by how he’s acting that it does.
“I see, you have to play dumb in public,” he says, and he’s trying to look all jovial, but he just looks like a sweaty, ginger St Nick. “I know how it is. Very wise of you. Don’t want anyone catching on you’ve spotted me, do we?”
“If I knew who you were, sir –”
“Very good, very good!” He claps me on the shoulder. “You’ve no idea how much I appreciate your discretion, young lad. Most people would have called the authorities as soon as they laid eyes on me.”
Would they? I could see someone slipping away nervously, but not much more than that. I still regret what I said next, but off I go and say, “And why would that be, sir?”
He squints at me. The smile’s gone now. When he’s not smiling, his face goes all threatening, like a great gorilla thinking whether it might like to squash you. “You’re taking this game a little too far, boy. I might almost think you actually don’t know who I am.” He tugs on his collar a bit like it’s choking him. “And considering who you are, and considering who I am, that’s highly unlikely.”
“Right. Well, either way, I do have somewhere to be.”
“Yes.” Oh, there’s that grin again. Like a little boy grin. That’s a grin too young to be on that old face. It’s unnerving is what it is. “Yes, I know. I know, I do. You’d better run along and, er, get your message delivered.”
Now at this I nearly just chuck the letter on the ground and start stomping up and down on it. How does everyone know? Why does everyone know? But I just give him a tight smile and start trying to get past him again. Except he’s still got that big, flabby hand on my shoulder.
“Just… out of curiosity,” he says, “what does he say about me?”
“What does who say about what?”
The hand on my shoulder squeezes. “Charles Hart, boy. Charles Hart.”
“I don’t know what Charles Hart says about you.”
His hand is like a vice, and it nearly makes me drop. “I’m Charles Hart, you little –” His grip loosens and he laughs that odd strained laugh again. “Very clever, very clever. Nearly had me there. No matter, I’m sure it’s about the, er, tobacconist incident.”
All I want is to be away from him and his reedy laugh and his strange smile as soon as possible. So I go, “Right, right. Well, what else would it be about? Who doesn’t know about the tobacconist incident?” And I pat my jacket and give him a wink and just hope I’m not shaking as much as I feel like I am. “Better be on my way, then.”
“Yes, guess you better had.” Finally his hand’s off my shoulder and he gives a chuckle and shuffles off. I rub my shoulder where he gripped it, and I’m thinking maybe I should be a bit more worried about this than I am. But considering he seems happy thinking I’m off to report him to Scotland Yard or the Archbishop of Canterbury or whoever, I’m not going to think too hard about it.
Meanwhile, nobody else has come after me, and I’m finally starting to get closer to Dr Watson’s. Can’t be much longer now, surely. I know what Mr Holmes said, but I’m about finished dealing with these people, so I decide to take as straight a path possible. No stealth, no cover, no nothing. Beeline. Main streets, a hop over a fence here and there…
I’m parched.
There’s a teashop just in front of me. And in front of it is a lady in a fancy black dress and gloves. She’s short and skinny and sort of dark, with her black hair all piled up on her head. I’m standing there wondering about how long it took to get it to stay up like that, but then she squats down so we’re eye to eye.
“You look thirsty.”
I start running.
The lady starts laughing. And it’s not a weird, tinkly villain laugh like the other lady, and it’s not a nervous laugh like the man before. It’s sort of sweet and charming, like we’re old friends teasing each other. That’s confused me, so I stop running and look back. And she’s just smiling at me.
Now, you’ve heard the sort of day I’ve had up ’til now. Any time someone runs into me, it turns sour quickly. At this point I’m pretty sure I’ll never talk to anyone ever again, save for my parents and maybe Mr Holmes. Maybe.
But there’s this lady, and she’s smiling and waving to me all friendly. Not examining my uniform or looking impatient. She looks really proper nice.
And I am thirsty.
“Come on in,” she says. She’s a grown-up, but her voice sounds young, sort of childish without being weird or immature. “Rest your feet. You look as though you’ve been running for ages.”
“I have, miss.”
She smiles, and it’s so nice and calm and it makes me feel like maybe the whole world isn’t horrible after all. So I follow her into the teashop. And barely as soon as I’ve sat down, there’s a cup steaming in front of me and a pair of sugary biscuits shaped like flowers on a fancy plate.
“Is this your shop, miss?”
“Mm.” She shrugs. “I’m here a lot, let’s say.”
I can see someone moving about behind the counter, but they’re staying sort of out of sight. So it’s as good as just being me and the lady in the show for now. She goes and picks up a teacup from another table and sits down with me.
“So, where are you off to in such a hurry?”
I tense. Is it happening again? It’s happening again. “You… mind if I don’t say, miss?”
The lady makes these big eyes at me, sort of pinching her mouth up, like she’s confused, but then she smiles. “Of course. It’s completely your own affair. I do apologise for prying.” And she sounds like she means it. No, doesn’t sound like – she does mean it, no doubt in my mind.
It’s nice, this. I’m sitting, and it’s comfortable, and there’s hot, strong tea that’s milky and sugary just the way I like it, and the biscuits taste like cherries and flowers and shortbread. I’ve eaten both pretty quickly, and the shopkeeper – a small, pale girl in a black dress and white apron – comes right out with two more.
“You like those? The shopkeeper makes them herself every day.”
“They’re the best thing I’ve ever tasted, miss.”
“Please, call me Maria. Surely we’re friends now, right?”
“Right, then, Miss Maria.”
She waves her hand, and the shopkeeper brings her over some biscuits too. So there we are, the pair of us, sitting there like old chums, eating our biscuits and drinking our tea, not talking at all. Best part is, I’m not scared for my life anymore. My heart’s feeling a bit less like a hummingbird rattling about in my chest.
“Ah.” It’s Miss Maria, and she sounds a bit surprised. “Could you light the lamps? It’s getting a bit dark out.” At first I think she’s talking to me, but then I see the shopkeeper start moving through the shop lighting all the lamps. I look out the big front windows and…