‘Now that,’ Macfarlane said, breaking the silence, ‘is something men would pay to see. Can I perhaps offer you a job, Mr Crowe? Fights twice weekly, payment to be agreed?’
Crowe glanced at Sherlock. He saw the crossbow, still held in Sherlock’s hand, and nodded. ‘Ah gave up bear-wrestlin’ some years ago,’ he said. ‘Ah much prefer bein’ a teacher. More of a challenge, ah find.’
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
They returned home from Scotland the next day. Sherlock slept for most of the journey. He was exhausted, both mentally and physically. None of the others seemed inclined to talk. In those occasional moments when Sherlock’s mind rose from the depths of sleep he found them either asleep, reading newspapers or just moodily staring out of the window. Matty dashed off the train at Newcastle and came back just as it was leaving with a paper bag full of bread rolls. That was the extent of anything momentous happening.
At Farnham they said their goodbyes as passengers disembarked around them and porters unloaded crates and boxes from the train.
‘You’ll be staying around?’ Rufus said to Crowe, phrasing the question that Sherlock had been wanting to ask but didn’t dare.
‘No reason to go anywhere else now,’ Crowe replied. He had his left arm protectively around Virginia’s shoulders. She looked pale. ‘We don’t need to run any more, and we got nothin’ pullin’ us home.’ He gazed down at Virginia and then across at Sherlock. ‘In fact, we’ve got a shovelful of reasons to stay. As long as the cottage is still standin’, an’ nobody’s moved into it, ah think you’ll be seein’ a deal more of us in the future.’
‘I think I speak for all of us,’ Stone said, ‘when I say that I’m glad. Life would be a lot less interesting without you around, although to be fair it would also be a lot safer.’
Crowe extended his right hand towards Stone. ‘You were there for us when we needed you. That’s the only definition of friendship that counts, in my book. Thank you.’
Stone, taken by surprise, shook Crowe’s hand. He winced at the pressure of Crowe’s grip on his still tender fingers. ‘I’d say it’s been a distinct pleasure, Mr Crowe, but it hasn’t; and I’d say don’t hesitate to call on us again if you need any help, but I’m seriously hoping that you will forgo that opportunity.’ He smiled, to show that he wasn’t serious. ‘Regardless of all that, however – you’re more than welcome.’
Crowe shook Matty’s hand next. ‘Son, you’re brave an’ you’re street-smart. With your instincts an’ Sherlock’s brainpower, you make an unbeatable combination. Thanks.’
‘You’re welcome, I s’pose,’ Matty said, shifting uncomfortably. He wasn’t used to praise, or to being the centre of attention.
Crowe turned to Sherlock. He gazed at him for a long moment, then shook his head. ‘Sherlock, whenever ah think ah’ve gotten you figured out, you manage to surprise me. Ah’m not sure which one of us is the student and which one is the teacher any more. Ah suspect that it’s more a partnership of equals now, but ah’m not uncomfortable about that. Ah’m not too old to learn.’ He paused and swallowed. ‘Fact is, Virginia an’ I would be dead or on the run now, if it weren’t for you. Ah owe you more than ah can say.’
Sherlock glanced away, out at the bustling scene of the station forecourt. ‘I don’t like change,’ he muttered eventually. ‘I like to have everything in my life familiar, and I need to know where I can find it. That counts for people as well as things.’
‘Well, son, you know where we are. Don’t be a stranger now.’
Crowe dropped his arm away from Virginia’s shoulders, ready for the two of them to head off towards their cottage, but Virginia stepped closer to Sherlock.
‘Thank you,’ she said simply, and kissed him on the lips.
Before he could do anything apart from blush, she had turned away and was walking off with her arm through her father’s.
In the station, the train’s steam whistle sounded. It was ready to leave.
‘I think,’ Rufus Stone said, breaking the heavy silence, ‘that I need a stiff tot of rum and a liniment-soaked bandage for my fingers. Or a stiff tot of liniment and a rum-soaked bandage for my fingers. Either one will do. The rum in the Farnham taverns tastes like liniment anyway.’ He cocked his head as he looked at Sherlock. ‘Let’s delay restarting the violin lessons, eh? I suspect that your fingers will be a lot more agile than mine for a while, and I hate to be embarrassed.’
Glancing at Matty, Rufus raised a finger to his forehead and saluted. ‘Until next time, Mr Arnatt.’
Stone walked off jauntily. Sherlock watched him go. He knew he should have been feeling something over all the goodbyes, but his lips were still tingling with the memory of Virginia’s kiss.
‘See you tomorrow?’ Matty said.
‘I suppose so,’ Sherlock replied. ‘The only thing I can think of now is sleep, and lots of it.’
Matty glanced at the crates that had been unloaded from the train. ‘Looks like there’s some good scoff there,’ he said. ‘I think I’ll follow them crates for a while, just in case an accident happens and one smashes.’
Sherlock smiled. Matty was irrepressible. He would always survive, no matter what happened. In fact, Sherlock wouldn’t be surprised if, in fifteen or twenty years’ time, someone named Matthew Arnatt was a highly successful businessman with interests all over the country. But he would still be stealing pies off market stalls, just to keep his hand in; of that much Sherlock was certain.
‘People think there’s an obvious dividing line between things that are legal and illegal,’ he said quietly. ‘I think if I’ve learned anything since moving to Farnham, it’s that there is no line. There’s a whole lot of grey in between the white at one end of the scale and the black at the other end. We just need to be careful where we stand.’
‘As long as I’m closer to the white end than the black end, I’m prob’ly all right,’ Matty said. He grinned suddenly, then turned and ran off.
Sherlock held on for a moment, waiting for something to happen. He wasn’t sure what that thing might be, but he had a sense that the storm had paused for a moment rather than passing on. Eventually, when nobody else came up to talk to him and nothing at all noteworthy happened anywhere around him, he left, feeling somehow deflated.
He caught a ride on a farmer’s passing carriage back to Holmes Manor. He jumped off at the gates and walked up the curving drive to the front door, carrying his bag of clothes and toiletries.
The door was unlocked, and he pushed it open. Sunlight streamed across the hall. The space that for so many months had seemed dark and threatening now was filled with warmth and light. It was like an entirely different house. Had he finally got used to it, or was this something to do with Mrs Eglantine’s departure? Had she taken the shadows and the darkness with her?
As he stepped into the hall, a figure appeared from the dining room.
‘Ah, you must be Master Sherlock,’ a voice said.
Sherlock’s tired gaze took in the form of a middle-aged woman with straw-coloured hair pulled back into a bun that was secured at the back of her head with a net. Her face was kind, and her eyes were brown and lively. Although she wore black there was something about her clothes that gave the impression of parties and dances rather than funerals and wakes.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I’ve been away for a few days.’
‘So the master said. He mentioned that he was expecting you back soon.’ She smiled. ‘My name is Mrs Mulhill, and I am the new housekeeper. I started yesterday.’