第 32 页

“What’s wrong sis? What have I done this time?”

“Don’t you dare be flippant with me!” I replied, angrily snatching up a pile of creased papers. I heaved my bulk from the rather small and inadequate chair.

I waved the papers angrily in the air.

“How do you possibly expect me to do the accounts when you present me with rubbish like this? It’s bad enough that I requested these details three weeks ago and they have only just found their way into my possession, but look, look at them! Your writing is illegible, the receipts are covered in drink stains and the invoices look like they have been stuffed in your pockets for months. I can’t even read the information, let alone account for it. For God’s sake Ronald, do your own bloody paperwork from now on because I’ve had enough!”

I threw the papers at Ronnie and they floated gently to the floor, rather taking the impact out of the gesture. I picked up the heavy ledger book from my desk and threw that at him too.

Now I was feeling hot, fat, agitated and angry. My vision started to blur and my eyes filled with tears. I leaned against the desk to steady myself.

“I’m sorry Red, I know I’ve done wrong but you need to calm down,” said Ronnie as he walked over to me and placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Just think of the baby.”

I took a few slow, deep breaths and the room started to come into focus again.

“Please open the window for me and get me some water, then I’ll be fine.”

I managed a weak smile. “I wouldn’t get so worked up if you weren’t so bloody disorganised.”

Ronnie went downstairs to fetch some water and I sat alone enjoying the cool breeze from the open window. I gently rubbed my distended belly and a pleasant, calm feeling spread throughout my body once more. My miracle child, the biggest surprise of my whole life, was clearly eager to meet me. It was squirming around inside preparing to face the world, an event due in the next week.

I remembered the day I found out about the pregnancy. It seemed like such a long time ago. I went to see a doctor I knew professionally and was not expecting the news he gave me, presuming instead that my recent sickness would be explained by something mundane. He was all smiles as he told me what an excellent father Doctor Watson would be. I just sat in shocked silence.

I was two months gone and at that moment did not wish to be pregnant. As he prattled on I just gazed blankly out of the window. It wasn’t that I didn’t want a child, I wanted one desperately, but I had lost two and simply couldn’t stand to lose a third. It was better to not be pregnant than to lose a life again.

I had been married for the happiest three months of my life when I found out. We had settled into a beautiful new home, big enough to accommodate our ever-growing circle of friends, professional acquaintances and the daily comings and goings of a busy life. We owned two growing, very successful businesses, always with someone or another appearing on our doorstep, but we still found plenty of time for each other.

Our marital home was called Wisteria Gables and was situated in Kensington, not far from our first home, but very different.

It was a large property with a small garden at the front and a lovely long walled garden at the back. Two cherry trees stood in the front with a bush-lined path up to the door. The house stood alone on its plot and was covered with the beautiful wisteria which gave it its name. Inside, an elegant staircase rose from a spacious hallway. All the rooms were full of light. From the moment we first entered, it felt like home.

When I returned from my visit to the doctor, the bright, airy sitting room was a comfort and I dared to hope that perhaps this time pregnancy could be different. Tilly sensed that something was troubling me and brought me a jug of home-made lemonade.

“I’ve finished Wuthering Heights ma’am, thank you for the lend of it.”

“And what did you think?”

Tilly set down the lemonade on a table beside me and thought for a moment.

“Well, I didn’t know whether to feel sorry for that Heathcliff or hate him. If he was standing in front of me I suppose I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from liking him just a little bit too much.”

I smiled and suddenly felt much better about everything.

“It wasn’t a lend Tilly, it’s a gift.”

John came home early that afternoon and gathered me into his arms. He kissed me warmly and Sandy flopped lazily at his feet. I told him the news and we embraced tightly, beginning on the road to parenthood full of joy, but tinged with anxiety that history could repeat itself, the same anxiety which still gripped me as I sat amidst Ronnie’s accounts, heavily pregnant and most flustered.

Ronnie returned with the glass of water and I sipped it gladly. He pulled up a chair.

“At the risk of having something else thrown at me, I must say that you haven’t been yourself these last few days.”

“I’m about to give birth Ronnie, what do you expect?”

“No, it’s something else. Can’t explain really, it’s just that... sounds silly but it’s as if you are afraid of something, on edge all the time. It’s not like you.”

I finished the water and stared into the empty glass pondering my brother-in-law’s depth of perception. He was right. I couldn’t really explain it myself either. I felt as if I was being watched. When I walked out in the street I would turn around feeling that someone was following me, but no-one was ever there, no-one suspicious at least. My senses were heightened, I was on permanent alert. It was irrational but I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something in my world had changed, something was different, like a disturbance in the atmosphere and it was making me fearful.

I sighed deeply and managed a smile.

“I’m sorry Ron, I know I’ve been rather unbearable.”

“I’m just worried about you sis.”

I wondered what I had done in my life to deserve the love of my family. Perhaps that was the problem. I felt too lucky. I didn’t deserve to be so happy, certainly did not deserve the privilege of bringing life into the world after destroying and taking lives in the past. I was afraid of losing another child, consumed and perturbed by it every day like an ever-present shadow. The crucial test was drawing near, could I actually deliver a child into the world or was I destined to lose a third little life? I concluded this was why I had been feeling so uneasy.

“It’s just part of the pregnancy, that’s all. I’m feeling a sort of primitive instinct to protect my unborn child. Pregnancy makes you more aware of danger. It’s all perfectly normal, honestly.”

I said this so breezily that I almost convinced myself. “Come on,” I smiled, “you can make up to me for your terrible paperwork by coming to Critchley’s bookshop. You can help me carry some medical volumes John has requested. Those things can be heavy and I’m not as strong as I once was.”

“Well, I still wouldn’t pick a fight with you,” Ronnie replied, looking at the dent in the plasterwork left by the flying ledger book.

Once out in the fresh air I felt much better, calmer, able to briefly dismiss my anxiety as a product of my own imagination.

We walked through the busy streets, Ronnie chatting cheerfully about life in general. All was fine until suddenly, there it was again, that feeling of being watched. I looked around at all the faces hurrying past, each one absorbed by their own thoughts. I took hold of Ronnie’s arm, shook my head and resolved to stop being so ridiculous.

I loved Critchley’s. Many of the books were antiquarian, specialist works covering everything from Greek mythology, agriculture and art. For someone who had been denied an education, the freedom now to explore whatever subject I wished was an exhilarating privilege.

The shop was busy. An old man shuffled in behind us and looked rather like a book seller himself with various volumes tucked under both arms.

Old Critchley looked up from his cash register and gave us a cheery wave. “With you in a moment Mr and Mrs Watson,” he cried in a friendly manner.

My gaze started to wander along the shelves when suddenly, everything changed. It all happened so quickly that I hardly remember the details. But I will always recall my attacker’s sharp piercing eyes digging into my very soul.

The old man who had entered the shop behind us dropped his books and lunged towards me. His long bony fingers felt around my neck, grabbing at my neck chain. I was too shocked to react and Ronnie was distracted elsewhere.

The old man looked me in the eye, a searching, unnerving look which made me feel cold. His eyes were at odds with his bent, haggard frame. They were bright and fiercely alive, penetrating.

After the initial shock subsided, my innate survival instinct kicked in. I raised my elbow and slammed it into his face sending him scuttling into the door. Someone behind me screamed and Ronnie rushed after my attacker but he became surprisingly sprightly for his age and ran from the shop with Ronnie tailing behind.

Though quite shocked by my aggression, the customers were clearly outraged that someone would try to steal from a pregnant woman.

It had appeared that the old man was trying to take my neck chain. Mr Critchley came over to offer his assistance. I told him and everyone fussing around me that I was fine and tried to calm my shaking hands.

Ronnie returned, panting. “I’m sorry Red, I lost him. He took off at quite a pace. When I got to the end of the road he was gone, vanished from sight.”

I convinced Ronnie not to tell John as I didn’t want him to worry. He very reluctantly agreed.

“That was quite a move,” said Ronnie as we were walking back to the surgery. “He really did choose the wrong pregnant woman to rob. Perhaps one day you’ll trust me enough to tell me where you learnt to do that.”

“Perhaps,” I smiled, even though we both knew that would never happen.

Back in my office I tried to make sense of it all. Why would I have been singled out when there were other women in the shop wearing jewellery far more expensive than my own? I could still feel his thin fingers at my neck, pushing into my skin.

The incident left Ronald late for an important appointment. He arrived at the designated meeting place half an hour late and was both delighted and surprised to see that Tilly had waited for him. Indeed, it was a surprise she had turned up at all.

She didn’t want anyone to see them, so they walked into a quiet alleyway to talk. He was so very handsome, his boyish fresh face and abundant hair making him look far younger than his years.

Tilly accepted his apologies for arriving so late and was genuinely touched by how excited he was to see her. She found his interest very flattering. However, she had often heard me talk of Ronnie’s fondness for woman and had been warned of his rather promiscuous past.

They talked a little and she was very polite but declined his invitation to meet again. He pleaded with her, took her hand in his own and told her that she had captured his heart. His large blue eyes seemed full of emotion and sincerity but Tilly was a sensible young woman with a family who depended on her wage. She did not want to risk her position with an excellent employer, a mistress of whom she was fond, or risk her heart. She pulled away her hand, bid him farewell and left him standing alone in the alleyway feeling much rejected and genuinely disappointed.

He reached into his jacket pocket for a much-needed Woodbine and noticed an old man walking hurriedly towards him. It was the same man who had singled me out in the bookshop but was much more upright and youthful in his movements. Before Ronnie had chance to speak or react, the man’s fist made impact with his face, a blow which split his lip and sent him to the ground.

I was with John in his consulting room going over a list of supplies when Ronnie burst in. His right cheek was very swollen while blood ran from his nose and split lip.

“John, thank God you’re here. Look what the bastard’s done to me!” he cried, staggering towards his elder sibling.

“Oh my God!” I exclaimed as John rushed forward to assist his brother. He took Ronnie’s arm and led him over to a chair.

“How did this happen?” John asked, once the patient was settled. He was gently examining the split lip and causing it to bleed once more. I hunted around in John’s bag for a few cotton pads which I handed over.

“It was all so quick. I just don’t understand it. This man, he came up to me and punched me right in the face. Took me off my feet it did.”

“People don’t do that without reason Ronald.”

“Oh well, I might have known this would happen. I came here for a little sympathy, bit of help from my big brother, but instead I get the blame!”

“Try to stay quiet. I think your lip will need stitching. Darling, please pour him a drink,” John asked.

Ronnie winced as the alcohol stung his wound, but it calmed him.

“Now,” said John, threading a suture, “you need to tell us who this man was. Did he steal from you?”

“No, not at all. Just hit me and disappeared.”

“What did he look like?” I asked. Ronnie squeezed my hand slightly and gave me a knowing look.

“An old man, wrinkles, messy grey hair, grey beard. Didn’t move like an old man though. He was quick and tall, straight back, great right hook.”

I watched as John’s steady hand pushed the needle expertly into the wound and noticed his wedding ring as the light from the window bounced off it. I instinctively reached for my neck chain, the place where the ring had resided for so long and then it hit me, the waves of realisation drowning me in the most inconceivable but obvious truth. I gripped Ronnie’s hand tightly to steady myself.

“This is really important Ron, how did Critchley greet us when we walked into the shop?”

John looked up from his handiwork. “I hardly think this is the time, I need him to be still and quiet.”

I was panicking now and my palms were sweating, my head was full of fire and tension.

“You were with a girl weren’t you, when he hit you? Tell me, please.”

“Red, I insist...” John interjected but I had to know, the evidence was stacking up in my mind and as far as I could see it only led to one conclusion.

“Were you with a girl? You were, weren’t you?”

“Yes, yes I was!” he admitted, trying not to move his lips too much. “But all this has nothing to do with her, I promise. She’s not married, not betrothed.”

I remembered Critchley’s greeting. He referred to us as Mr and Mrs Watson, as if we were married to each other. The man hadn’t been trying to steal from me; he was searching for the ring which used to hang on my neck chain and attacked Ronnie because he thought he was betraying me with another woman. I hadn’t been imagining things after all. It wasn’t paranoia or pregnancy hormones which had caused my recent anxiety. The truth was that I had been followed and I had been watched, stalked by a ghost.

I ran from the surgery and went straight to the Diogenes hoping to find Mycroft but was told he had left London rather hurriedly a week ago. No-one had seen him since. I asked someone at the club to hail me a hansom.