Sherlock Holmes and the Mummy's Curse (15 page)

“I see,” Leighton said, in a sad, soft tone, and Holmes wondered if she really did see. “All right, my dear, dear Sherry, I’ll leave be. But, but, before we let it all go, you need to know…”

“Know what?” He caught something in her tone and glanced at her over his shoulder, to find her standing in a huddle, her arms wrapped about herself, head bowed, her face inexpressibly mournful.

“You… when I was little, I…” She huffed at herself, then met his eyes for a moment, throwing him a wistful smile, before blurting it out. “You were my first love, Sherry. It was puppy love, without doubt. I wasn’t nearly old enough for it to be serious. But I’d hoped perhaps… when I heard Da had invited you… ah, well.” She turned toward the downward path, as the sleuth fairly gaped in shock and distress, then reached for her hand to offer comfort.

“Leigh… I had no idea, my dear, I swear. I never meant to wound you.”

Another disconsolate smile was tossed to him as she gently withdrew her hand from his grasp.

“I know. I was a child, and it was silly. Do you remember the crowns of clover blossoms I used to weave for you? From our rear field?”

“Yes.” He chuckled at the remembrance. “I forgot to remove one before returning to my dormitory one evening, and I thought my roommate should never let me hear the end of it.”

“Watson?”

“No, Summersby. Watson was some years ahead of me, and at another school, at that. We did not meet, Watson and I, until we both found ourselves in search of rooms last year. But I did wonder what precipitated all the odd stares as I walked through the quad that evening.”

“Oh. Well, I used to pretend that, that we were getting married, and the garlands were our bridal flowers, and…” She huffed and turned away. “Oh, it all seems so foolish when I say it! I suppose it is better left forgotten, after all. Come, let’s go back to the camp.”

“Leigh…”

“Are you coming, or not?”

Holmes drew a deep, unsettled breath, both disappointed in how he had handled the matter and concerned for Leighton’s pain, and followed her back down to the camp.

* * *

Once they reached the base of the mountain, Holmes escorted Leighton straight to her tent, next her father’s, then headed thoughtfully for the tent he shared with Watson, across the camp. Neither Holmes nor Leighton had said a word to each other since leaving the ledge high above.

Before he could reach his tent, however, a glaring Landers Phillips intercepted him, blocking his way forward.

“Ah. Good evening, Phillips,” Holmes offered, blasé. “Lovely evening for a stroll.”

“How dare you?!” Phillips responded in a low, incensed tone. Holmes raised an eyebrow.

“I dare many things. It is the nature of my work. To what, in particular, do you refer?”

“So you ADMIT to it! You filthy, disgusting CAD! Even I could hear Leigh crying when you left her, and my tent is on the other side of the Professor’s! You, sir, are no gentleman! You are a rogue, a bounder, and a scoundrel!”

“I am no such thing,” Holmes replied, calm, maintaining an even voice. “I cannot help it if she is disappointed in my lack of response.”

“Vile, depraved DOG!” Phillips shouted, and shoved the sleuth with considerable force. Had Holmes not anticipated the move and countered it, he would have been knocked to the ground. “YOU TOOK HER UP THE MOUNTAIN! Just the two of you, without escort! KNOWING her father trusted you! You cannot pretend you made no untoward advances against the lady! You have had your eye upon her since your arrival! You should be horse-whipped!”

“I need not pretend, for I did not,” Holmes replied, a bit more heatedly than before. He set aside the dark lantern, removed his pith helmet and extinguished the carbide lamp, setting it aside, and eased himself into a slight crouch. Only an expert would have recognised in it the horse stance of Oriental martial arts, and Phillips was no expert. “Had you bothered to ask the Professor, let alone paid attention when you made the journey yourself this afternoon, you would have known, firstly, that the path upward was exposed to ready view from the camp over its entire length, and both he and Leigh knew this, as he showed it to her this afternoon at the same time as you, which is the only reason he permitted the walk to begin with; and secondly, that the Professor watched us with his field glasses, for I could see the glint of the moonlight off the lenses. This was as much for our safety as for propriety, as a stumble off the path in some places could easily have been fatal, especially if rescue was not immediately forthcoming. He simply allowed us the privacy to say what needed to be said in the circumstances. Nor have I ‘had my eye upon her,’ as you put it, any more than befits two old friends reunited.”

“You contemptible, villainous muck-snipe!”
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Phillips hissed. “What liberties did you take with that poor girl?!”

“None, I assure you.”

“LIAR!” Phillips roared. “I’ll avenge her honour, for it is obvious you won’t do the decent thing! You have had this coming for some time!” And he swung a fist at Holmes, hard, aimed for his face.

It never connected; Holmes threw up a forearm to block the blow, then drove the palm heel of the other hand at Phillips’ chest with a punctuated shout of, “HAI,” knocking him back several paces, and nearly off his feet. With a loud growl, Phillips stepped back in, aiming a one-two punch at Holmes’ belly, followed by a forceful kick directed at his near shin.

“Aha! I never knew a proper English gentleman boxer to add kicks to his bouts! A street fighter, however, is another matter!” Holmes, by way of response, dropped deeper into his horse stance, deflecting both punches with his forearms and simply withdrawing his leading foot out of reach of the kick. The kick’s lack of connexion nearly threw Phillips over from its sheer momentum.

Then Holmes followed up with a combination of his own, carefully calculated in its intensity: a chambered right punch to Phillips’ solar plexus, hard enough to knock the air out of him, succeeded by a left backfist to the face as he stepped past Phillips, throwing the latter badly off balance, leaning backward. This was then closely followed by a rounding calf kick from behind, effectively taking Phillips’ legs from under him. Phillips landed hard on his back in the sand with a frustrated cry.

Drawn by the sound of the shouts and fighting, others came rushing up: Watson, who moved quickly to Holmes’ side, supportive, and prepared to do battle himself; Professor Whitesell and his daughter, which latter let out a soft scream when she saw Holmes and Phillips fighting; Nichols-Woodall; Lord Trenthume, and several of the Egyptian workers, including the faithful Udail, most of the latter with flaming torches. As Phillips hit the ground, Whitesell bellowed out, “WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON HERE?!”

“It seems, Professor,” Holmes began, as Nichols-Woodall offered a hand to help a bloody-nosed Phillips to his feet, “that your assistant completely misconstrued the nature of the stroll I took earlier with your daughter. He waylaid me here, and attempted to assail me.”

“Lying mountebank!
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Libertine! Why don’t you stop pretending to be a gentleman?!” Phillips snarled, dragging his sleeve across his face, leaving it rather disgustingly besmeared with blood and mucus. He lunged for Holmes again, but Nichols-Woodall and Udail grabbed him, one by each arm, and restrained him. “Leigh, don’t you worry, my dear! I’ll publically reveal this damnable blackguard for what he is, and what he did to you!”

“Why, you bloody little bas—!” an incensed Watson began, stepping forward.

“Hush, Watson,” Holmes cut him off, but gently. “I appreciate the vote of confidence, but it is not necessary. Professor, it would appear that Mr. Phillips, here, is completely convinced that I took unconscionable liberties with your daughter to-night. I hope you know that I would never do such a thing.”

“I know, Holmes,” Whitesell averred, alternating between meeting Holmes’ grey gaze forthrightly and glowering at Phillips. “Leighton came straightaway to me and told me all about it. I do hope we haven’t breached your confidence in so doing, but I claim a father’s privilege and such like, if we might so term it. Given your choice of career, I can’t say as I blame you for choosing perennial bachelorhood, though I would have loved to have you for a son-in-law. However, I would have expected Landers to come to us about something of this nature, rather than taking it upon himself to, as he thought, rectify such a situation. Have you anything to say in your behalf, Phillips?”

“I cannot give credence to the notion that you still believe him!” an indignant Phillips exclaimed. “What he—”

* * *

“ENOUGH!” A furious, and suddenly very stern, Whitesell cut him off; Phillips gaped in shock. “We shall discuss this further in the morning, Mr. Phillips. Know this for now, young man, that you have seriously, seriously erred. You have thrown massive discord into this team, and severely embarrassed my daughter AND my former student, as well as heaping vile, unfounded accusations upon said former student.”

“But, but—”

“Udail?” Whitesell interrupted Phillips’ stammerings.

“Yes, Professor?” the chief digger responded immediately, releasing Phillips’ arm and stepping forward. “What may I do for you?”

“You are usually up at sunrise, are you not?”

“Yes, Professor. I prefer the morning for prayers and for… thinking. Planning. It is a good way to start the day, I find.”

“Excellent. If you would be so kind, in the morning about an hour before the breakfast gong, give or take as is most convenient for you, come by and wake me if I am not already up, then fetch Mr. Phillips and bring him to my tent. He and I shall have a little… chat.”

“Yes, Professor Whitesell, as you wish.” Udail sketched a slight bow.

“Good. Now.” Whitesell turned to his daughter. “Leigh, have you anything to say?”

“Only that Sherry was, is, and remains, a perfect gentleman,” Leighton sighed, drawing a weary hand across her eyes.

“But Leigh!” Phillips protested, reaching for her. “I heard you crying, my dearest. He hurt you!”

“Landers Phillips, you insufferable, idiotic boor!” a furious Leighton exclaimed, pulling back and drawing herself up into the very picture of indignant Victorian womanhood. “If you are too impossibly stupid to recognise when a woman has been disappointed in
affaires du coeur
,
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let alone when she does not want the matter bruited about, then you are absolutely hopeless! Come, Father, let us go back to our tents, put a lid tight upon this miserable day, and retire!”

Without another word, Professor Whitesell took his daughter’s hand in his, placing it in the crook of his elbow; they turned in a stately fashion, and with all due dignity, left in the direction they had come. Phillips stood staring after them in astonishment.

“But… but…” he continued stuttering in confusion. “She was CRYING.”

“Women do that from time to time,” a bland Nichols-Woodall offered dryly.

“Yes,” Watson agreed, bleakly amused at the direction events had taken. “Even the best and wisest of them, sometimes; I often think it is part and parcel of the nurturing nature. It does not do to take action until one has ascertained, from their own lips, that action is warranted.”

“Which is one reason why,” Holmes interjected, “I have taken the standpoint I have with regard to such matters.” He turned, catching up the almost-forgotten dark lantern and closing it, before donning his pith helmet once more. “Come, Watson. It has been a very long day.”

“It has, indeed,” Watson murmured, dropping into step with Holmes as they retreated to their own tent. “Damnation, what a scene,” faintly floated back to the others. “I’m sure you could have done without that, old boy.”

“Undeniably,” came the fainter response, succinct, and the pair vanished into the darkness.

“I… don’t understand,” Phillips murmured blankly, as the various diggers departed for their beds, and Nichols-Woodall followed. “I was defending her honour. Couldn’t they see that? How could she be angry with ME?” He wandered off in disconsolate confusion, leaving Michael Cortland, the Earl of Trenthume, standing alone in the dark.

“I have no idea what the hell just happened here,” Cortland complained to the air.

Then he turned and stalked back to his own tent.

CHAPTER 6

Shuffling the Deck

—::—

The next morning, some hour or more before breakfast, Watson was awakened by the voices of a male and female raised in argument somewhere across the camp; though precisely what was being said was indecipherable, it sounded more or less like English. He decided, after listening to the tones of the exchange for several minutes, that the woman was winning.

At breakfast proper, he discovered that Leighton had changed her seat, no longer sitting between her father and Phillips, but at the opposite end of the long table, displacing Lord Trenthume, and forcing a slight rearrangement of overall seating. Moreover, she refused to even acknowledge the existence of Phillips, who appeared more than a little downcast, a state emphasised by his two black eyes and very swollen nose.
I suppose I should check to ensure it is not broken, and set it if it is,
Watson thought absently, watching.
Not that he did not deserve it, but Hippocratic oath and such, after all…

This new seating pattern also had the effect of placing her some little distance away from Holmes as well, and when he wished her a casual, “Good morning,” as he passed by on his way to his seat, she flushed, dropped her gaze into her lap, and barely murmured a response. Holmes gave no outward sign of reaction, but Watson thought his eyes narrowed slightly, and suspected it was in pain.

The physician concluded that the early-morning argument had been an angry Leighton Whitesell—as the only Englishwoman in camp, it had to have been her—dressing down Landers Phillips for his presumption of the night previous. Further, he decided that what was evidently Holmes’ refusal to involve himself with the girl beyond their prior relationship, and so publically revealed, had embarrassed her rather decidedly, and this rendered her entirely too flustered to know how to interact with him.