The Mary Russell Series Books 1-4: The Beekeeper's Apprentice; a Monstrous Regiment of Women; a Letter of Mary; The Moor by King Laurie R

Author:King, Laurie R. [King, Laurie R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mystery, Age Range 2 Older Audience
ISBN: 9781466866034
Goodreads: 20891705
Publisher: Minotaur Books
Published: 2014-03-17T07:00:00+00:00

IT WAS A long day’s work that brought us to London, two cold and hungry travellers who kept moving largely through force of habit. We went north and west out of Oxford to reach London to the southeast, and covered a weary number of miles in circling widely across the countryside in order to enter the city from the south, for the Oxford road was the natural target of watchers. From Banbury to Broughton Poggs, Hungerford to Guildford, touching Kent and Greenwich we came; on foot, farm wagons, horse buses, and motorcars we bought, begged, and—once—stole rides to bring ourselves to the great city of London, to which all roads lead, eventually. I could tell by Holmes’ silence that his back was paining him, but there was nothing to do but buy him a bottle of brandy and press on. With Mycroft we would find the assistance we needed.

The snow started up again late in the afternoon, but not severely enough to stop the flow of vehicles. It was half past seven when we numbly stepped from a public omnibus onto Pall Mall, a hundred yards from the doors of the Diogenes Club, of which Mycroft Holmes was a founder and prime member.

Holmes fished out a pencil stub and a grubby, twice-used envelope from a pocket. By the light of the lamp overhead the ends of his fingers looked blue where they stuck out from his fingerless gloves, and he wrote slowly and awkwardly. His thin lips appeared purple in his pale face, despite the shawl pulled up tight to hide his day’s stubble.

“Take this to the front of the Club. They won’t let you in, I shouldn’t think, but they will take this to Mycroft if you tell them it’s from his cousin. Have you a half crown if they’re hesitant? Good. I will stay here. And, Russell, perhaps you should put your glasses on.”

I pushed myself into a heavy trot, the boots which had kept me so dry during the day now seeming to weigh approximately two stone each. The man at the entrance to the Club was indeed reticent about taking my disreputable-looking message to a member, but I persisted and within a minute found myself being escorted into the warm air inside. My glasses promptly fogged up, and when a voice rumbled from before me, “I am Mycroft Holmes. Where is my brother?” I could only thrust out a hand in the general direction of the speaker. It was seized and shaken firmly by what felt like a pillow of warm, raw bread dough. I peered over my glasses at his enormous figure.

“He waits outside, sir. If it is convenient, he needs—we need—a roof for the night and a hot meal. Also,” I added in a low voice, “a doctor might be of some use.”

“Yes, I knew he was injured. Mrs. Hudson telephoned me with a very graphic account, and would have turned me out to bring Dr. Watson to Sussex had I not convinced her that our presence would not be a kindness, and that the doctors in Sussex were quite adequate.

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