“That doesn’t justify breaking your oath to me and the Baker Street Irregulars,” said Wiggins severely. “If I let you join again, do you promise not to do such a thing ever again so long as you’re a member? You’ll be on probation. And you won’t be reinstated a second time, you know.”
“Yes, sir,” said Jimmy, sniffing and wiping his nose with his sleeve. “But will the boys accept me back? They wouldn’t look at me as I came upstairs. Buster won’t look at me even now.”
Buster looked up and stared at him, eyes narrowed. Jimmy shook a little in front of that glare.
“They’d better, or they’ll feel the prick of my little knife,” said Diana, drawing that knife out of wherever she kept it—she must have some sort of sheath in her waistband. She glared back at Buster. “And the bite of Catherine’s teeth!”
Not likely! Catherine had no intention of biting any Baker Street boys. For one thing, she was not sure how often they washed. Dennys looked clean enough, but Buster had dirt around his collar.
“Well, Buster, Dennys?” asked Wiggins. “Shall we give Mr. Bucket another chance?”
“No,” said Buster decisively, in his deep voice.
“Are you pulling our leg?” said Dennys. “We don’t want traitors here.”
“Oh, so it’s no from the two of you, is it?” Wiggins turned his head as though to look at them, although he could only have seen Buster at that angle. “I’m inclined to let him back in, myself. So that’s two against one. And whose vote counts around here?”
“Yours, Bill,” said Dennys, immediately. “If you say he’s in, he’s in, and the boys won’t gainsay it. They won’t be happy, but they’ll accept it if you say so.”
Wiggins nodded. “Well, I do say so. Buster, make sure all the boys know that Jimmy’s under my personal protection. And Diana’s, of course.” Diana had been about to protest, hadn’t she? Now, Catherine noticed that she was looking at Wiggins with smug satisfaction. “All right, Jimmy,” Wiggins continued. “You’ll get one more chance, on account of your age and family circumstances. But it’s your last one!”
“Thank you, sir,” said Jimmy, looking down again and shuffling his feet. Catherine hoped he was properly grateful for what they had done that morning. She could think of many things she would rather have been doing than pleading Jimmy’s case in front of the Baker Street Irregulars. But at least Beatrice and Justine would be pleased.
She was startled when Wiggins turned to her and said, “Miss Moreau, are you really a puma? Charlie says you showed him your teeth.”
Oh, for goodness’ sake, as Mary often said! “Yes, I’m a puma,” she replied impatiently. In a moment he would ask to see her teeth as well, and then she would have to be the Puma Woman, just like in the circus, for an audience of Baker Street Irregulars! Ah well, perhaps it was good for Mr. Holmes’s boys to learn about the abilities of the Athena Club. They would no doubt have to work together again in the future.
MARY: They were very helpful when we had to recover the naval treaty Colonel Protheroe so stupidly left on the table in his study while he went out on the balcony for a smoke. Although I think Wiggins and Charlie are going to have to decide which of them is Diana’s admirer. They almost came to blows about who was going to rescue her from the Russian Embassy.
DIANA: As though I needed rescuing! And if they’re going to be such idiots, I don’t want anything to do with either of them. I don’t need an admirer, thank you very much.
LUCINDA: I admire you, Diana, for your courage and cleverness. If it were not for you, I would probably have died in that madhouse in Vienna.
DIANA: Well, that’s different. You can admire me without being stupid about it.
Mary looked down at the face of Sherlock Holmes. It was softer in sleep than when he was awake. The alert, inquisitive look that always characterized it was gone. It was still lean, angular, with a certain elegance to it that lay deep in the bone. But it seemed younger, less lined with cares. She pulled up the blanket to cover his bare shoulder, with the white linen bandage wrapped around it and down his side. He shifted and turned. For a moment, she though he might wake up, but his eyes did not open.
“How is he? Dr. Watson asked me to check on him and send word as soon as he wakes.” Bill Wiggins was standing in the door of the infirmary. Behind him were Catherine and Diana.
While she was glad to see them, she was grateful to have had the infirmary to herself that morning. Buster was ambulatory, Charlie was hopping about despite doctor’s order, and Dr. Watson, who was still recovering, had been moved to 221B Baker Street so he could be nursed by Mrs. Hudson. Watson had not wanted to leave Holmes, but Dr. Radko had insisted. “His wounds are much worse than yours,” Dr. Radko had said. “He needs absolute quiet, while you are ready for company and amusement. He will recover better if you are not here. However, you may visit as soon as you are well enough.”
In the meantime, Mary had been the one at his side. She had barely left it for the last few days. “Sleeping well,” she said. “He does not have a fever. But he has not woken yet.”
“Right, then,” said Wiggins. “I’ll come back later to check on him, and Dr. Radko is coming this afternoon. He says it’s a miracle Mr. Holmes survived.”
“Mary, you should get out yourself,” said Catherine. “You’ve been here three days now. Have you slept at all? You don’t want to make yourself sick, either. Mrs. Poole says unless you come home for a bath and change of clothes, she’s going to come fetch you herself.”
“I lay down on one of the other beds for a while,” she said. “Dennys showed me a place to wash, and Alice brought new underclothes this morning. I’m all right, Cat. I just want to be here when he wakes up. I was the one who shot him, you know.”
“That was an accident,” said Wiggins. “You can’t blame yourself for that, Miss Jekyll. You didn’t mean to shoot him.”
“Thank you. I’ll try not to.” But she did blame herself, didn’t she? It was completely her fault. Whether or not she had meant to shoot Sherlock, she had pulled the trigger that had sent the bullet into his shoulder. He had almost died from loss of blood because of her.
“Remember we have a meeting with Ayesha this afternoon,” said Catherine. “You’ll be there, right? We need to discuss Athena Club business before she leaves for Budapest.”
“Yes, I’ll be there,” said Mary, scarcely listening. If only he would wake up! She felt something around her shoulders and looked up, startled. Had Diana actually hugged her?
“We’ll see you back home, Sis,” said Diana. “Remember, if he dies, you’ve still got us!”
“He’s not going to die!” said Catherine. “Dr. Radko said so, and so did Ayesha. Mary, he’s not going to die. Mr. Wiggins, could you show us out? I think I’d better take Diana home before she tries to say anything else helpful.”
“What?” said Diana. “What did I say this time?”
When they were gone, Mary looked back down at the sleeping face of Sherlock Holmes. She remembered how she had knelt by him in the field beneath the keep, pressing her hands to the place where the blood was bubbling up, bright red. Ayesha had come up beside her and said, “Move aside, Mary.” Then, as Mary stood watching, the President of the Alchemical Society had put her hands on the wound. A bright light had spread from them, a light that glimmered like opals. She had stayed like that for five minutes, ten, fifteen. The other girls had been doing things—carrying the body of Mrs. Raymond inside, for she had died almost instantly of Margaret Trelawny’s pistol shot, and locking Margaret herself in the dungeon. She had heard about all that later. At the time, she had noticed only the ghastly face of Sherlock Holmes as Ayesha fought for his life.