The Further Adventures of Sherlock Holmes--The Devil and the Four by Sam Siciliano

Author:Sam Siciliano
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Titan

Chapter Eight

The following morning, I rose from the sofa to meet Monsieur l’Abbé Docre. He was three or four inches shorter than me, very slight and slender, and I felt like a robust giantess alongside him. To be fair, Henry was one of the few men who didn’t make me feel that way. The priest’s black eyebrows had come together in a sort of inquisitive frown. His eyes shifted from my face downward, quickly appraising me, then rose again. The pallor of his face contrasted strikingly with his curly black hair and the satiny black fabric of his soutane. His narrow mouth rose into a smile, and he gave a short bow from the waist. “Enchanté, madame la docteur.”

“C’est aussi un grand plaisir pour moi,” I replied, reflecting that I had never had a priest greet me with enchanté before.

“So you live in England, although you are French. I suppose…” The creases deepened. “Do you still follow the Catholic faith?”

“Yes.” Although I was not a regular churchgoer, that was still more true than false.

His face lit up, his relief obvious, and again his eyes seemed to wander over me in a disconcerting manner. “Excellent! You are a true daughter of la France, after all.”

Marguerite watched him impassively. We had been chatting amiably in her sitting room before his arrival, curses and the Devil forgotten, but now the small muscles about her mouth and eyes had tensed, a worn care showing in her eyes.

“And you actually are a medical doctor?”

My mouth tightened. “Yes.”

“As such, then we have much in common.”

“How so?”

“We both act as confessors. People tell us things they hide from others. And we often see the sordid side of life.”

I shrugged, thinking of my work at the clinic for the poor. “That is true enough.”

“Yes, it is a somewhat trite observation, but our occupations are indeed much alike.”

“How so?”

“The care of others is our vocation. You labor to heal the body, while I treat the infirm soul.”

An ironic thought made the flicker of a smile pull at my lips.

“What is it?” he asked.

“I was remembering that central precept for physicians: primum non nocere. First do no harm.”

He seemed to rise up slightly, raising his chin. “That goes without saying. Unfortunately, sometimes, as with medicine, the cure for a cankered soul can be painful.”

“They also say that sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.”

“Not with the soul, madame la docteur—never with the soul. And you, back in England, do you have a spiritual advisor and confessor to guide you?”

“No.”

“No? That is a grave situation. We all require such a person. How long do you plan to remain in Paris?”

“I… I am not certain.”

“Should you decide to remain any length of time, I would be happy to meet with you for an examination of conscience, absolution, and penance.”

My smile felt stiff and forced. “How kind of you.”

His eyes lingered a moment. They had a certain feverish energy. He turned to Marguerite. “The study, as usual, madame?”

She nodded, then glanced at me.

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