The Lady in the Window II

“Mr. Holmes,” said Mrs. Hudson. “There’s a Miss Abigail Jones here to see you.”

When I heard those words my heart just about stopped. I met Miss Abigail Jones at a book shop a week ago this very day. And we had the most fascinating chat over coffee at a nearby cafe. My days are now spent thinking of nothing but Abigail Jones. She is the most spirited woman I have ever had the good fortune to run into. And I‘m to have dinner with her tomorrow evening.

“Send her up, dear lady,” said Holmes.

“Do you know of this lady, Holmes?”

“Not a bit, Watson,” he said. “Goodness, Watson, you’re as red as a beet. Why so flustered, old man?”

“Well, I do know the lady, Holmes,” I said. “And pray don’t embarrass me in front of her.”

“Why, you devil!” he said. “Watson, you’re in love with this woman!”

Before I had my chance at a proper reply, Miss Abigail Jones was there at the door.

“Why, if it isn’t John Watson!” she said. “You never mentioned that you were in the detecting business. How delightful!”

“I’m not, Miss Jones,” I said. “I’m just a very good friend of Mr. Holmes. So I will leave you two to the business at hand. And I so look forward to our dinner tomorrow evening.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” she said. “You will sit and hear my story. That’s if Mr. Holmes doesn’t mind?”

“I don’t mind at all,” said Holmes. “I welcome it.”

“Good,” she said. “It’s not everyday I get to share secrets with two handsome and intelligent men.”

“How can I help you, Miss Jones?” said Holmes.

As Miss Jones related her tale to Mr. Holmes, my mind wondered back the the cafe where we drank coffee and shared a mutual infatuation.

Discussing everything from school days to my days in the war. And I was deeply affected by the genuine affection she showed as I shared my tales.

“Afghanistan sounds like a dreadful place,” she said.

“Any place is dreadful when there’s a war on,” I said. “But Afghanistan, particularly so. And so bloody hot.”

“Then let’s not go back there right now,” she said. “Let’s discuss something all together different.”

“Why don’t you start by telling me something about yourself,” I suggested.

“Well,” she started, “Mother says I have a bit of tiger blood in me. All because I pounce, dig my claws in and make a meal of things that fascinate me. No matter what the occasion. But not to worry, kind sir, I’m not out for blood. I’m just terribly focused on anything that catches my fancy.”

“Oh,” I said.

“You, for instance,” she said. “The first time I laid eyes upon you, I knew I’d have to pounce. But for some reason I couldn’t quit get my legs to move. Strange that. But when I saw you the second time I knew it was now or forever hold my peace. And if you were to ask my father, he’d have told you that would have been impossible. And besides, you were too irresistible.”

“I . . .”

"Yes?” she said.

“I uh . . .”

I was making a mess of it.

“You’re not going to fall to pieces are you?” she said. “We were getting along so splendidly. And here you are fumbling like a schoolboy at his first dance.”

“Pardon,” I said. “Give me a moment.”

“Now,” she continued, “I want you to take a deep breath and repeat after me. I, John Watson.”

It was all I could do to swallow. But I managed and somehow got the words out.

“I, John Watson.”

“Do hereby solemnly swear,”

“Do hereby solemnly swear.”

“To uphold my end of the courting ritual.”

At that I may have lost control of my legs. I‘m only grateful I wasn‘t standing.

“To uphold my end of the courting ritual.”

“By being ever attentive and amusing.”

“By being ever attentive and amusing.”

“And will articulate my wants and desires.”

“And will articulate my wants and desires.”

“Without fear of you dashing off like a spooked race horse.”

“Without fear of you dashing off like a spooked race horse.”

I somehow managed not to stutter, much to my great relief.

“There,” she said. “Now that wasn’t so bad. Was it?”

If I’d been in love before, it was all a sham. Because it never felt as warm and delicious as it felt at that moment. My God, how I adore her!

I was stirred from my reverie by the great detectives hearty laugh.

“Why, where on earth is Miss Jones?“ I said.

”You’re back among us,” said Holmes. “Miss Jones had to rush off and insisted you not be disturbed. We feared we had lost you to the stars, dear boy.”

“You had, Holmes,” I said. “You most certainly had.”

“I’ll tell you all about it on the way,” said Holmes.

“On the way?” I said.

“To Newgate prison,” he said. “To hear Mr. Jones’s side of the story.”

”Mr. Jones?” I said.

“The dear girl’s father,” said Holmes. “I’ll explain it all on the way.”