Harry: Chapter Eight

The First Return

by Liederlady

Notes

May 15, 1878

When I left for Netley Hospital in early May, Harry had still not returned. Although I felt it would have been unwise for him to return to Oxford—fearing Edwards would wreak retribution if he discovered the boy—I was, nonetheless, sorely disappointed. I harboured hopes of seeing the young man one last time before leaving England.

I should have realized an individual with such a formidable personality would not make idle promises.

I was in Netley’s cadaver room, practicing limb removal as usual, when an orderly approached, informing me of an order to report to the Chief Surgeon’s office. I made my way through the bowels of the hospital’s dingy, windowless half.

It was a bright, sunny and unusually steamy day and the Chief Surgeon’s ground-floor office was situated on the seaward side of the vast hospital complex. Drawn shades and a lowered window awning subdued the natural light in the office. Upon entering, my eyes took a moment to adjust.

A tall, salt-and-pepper-haired officer rose from behind a substantial, mahogany desk. Seated before it, back to me, was a dark-haired man who kept his place as the officer beckoned me farther into the room.

“Ah, Doctor Watson, come in. I am Captain Alistair Moore, Chief Surgeon’s aide and the OD,” Captain Moore said, extending his hand. “Of course, you know my guest,” he continued. Then he gestured to the seated man.

I turned toward the gentleman, who fluidly rose from his chair and grasped my right arm in a single movement.

“Uncle John, I am so relieved to have reached you,” the man said in a slightly breathless voice I did not recognize.

I had barely time to lay eyes on the man’s face—surprised by its youthfulness, not to mention his claim to be a relation—when he swiftly embraced me with unyielding gusto.

I scented a definite blend of sandalwood, citrus and ginger as his face neared mine. I felt his warm breath on my cheek as his mouth grazed my ear for a whispered, “I promised I would return to you.”

A mad flutter rippled through my abdomen. It could not be...

I pulled back from the embrace to look at his face.

What I saw first was a most arresting pair of eyes ... flashing pale grey with glints of the deepest green. A dark corona of black circled the remarkable irises, warring for supremacy with the depthless pupils.

Then I saw the dazzling smile.

Harry!

“My boy,” was all I could say. His smile broadened and those eyes gleamed with pleasure and devilish amusement.

“Oh, Uncle John, it has been such a long time...too long, dear man,” he said, as his eyes darted surreptitiously toward Captain Moore who had come around the desk and stood off to the side while my “nephew” and I celebrated our reunion.

“Yyyess, too long indeed, my boy,” I said, clapping him on the shoulder, for the moment playing along with whatever tale Harry had spun to gain an audience with me. I did shake my head at him in an effort to relay my intent to later rebuke him. Still, I could not help but drink in the sight of him.

The physician in me perused his face, recalling the inventory of its former injuries. I smiled in satisfaction as I noted the only visible remnants of Harry’s battering—a slight crook from the break in his nose, a tiny, fading scar at the right corner of his mouth and a slightly more noticeable one in his left brow. But once my clinical assessment of him ran its course, awe overtook me and my jaw went slack.

I should have known he would be beautiful.

“Uncle, please sit down. I fear I have given you a serious shock by coming here,” Harry said to me, then turned a blinding flash smile toward Captain Moore. He arched his pristine eyebrow at the officer, saying, “Ahh, Captain, you are so very kind to briefly lend us the privacy of your office while we discuss family matters.”

I glanced over and saw the officer visibly discomfited by the young man’s presumptuous—and unmistakably dismissive—demeanor.

“Ahh, uhh, yes, of course, gentlemen, if...if you will excuse me a few moments,” Captain Moore nonetheless sputtered. Then he swept out of the office into the bright sunshine.

I turned back to Harry and realized he had never released my arm. I could not help poring over his unspoiled features, cast in skin resembling fine porcelain and framed in a perfectly oval face. Graced with a high, well-defined forehead, those arresting eyes capped by down-like brows, the aquiline nose, sculpted cheekbones, patrician jaw and prominent, determined chin—Harry was stunningly handsome.

“What the devil are you up to?” I said, well aware I was grinning like an idiot.

“Uncle John, we indeed have serious family matters to discuss. Aunt Alice is quite ill and has asked to see you before you are shipped off to India,” Harry said sombrely, without a trace of guile. His hand tightened slightly on my arm.

“Aunt Alice?” I asked.

“Yes, she stepped through a looking glass and had a serious fall. She has been chronically delirious ever since and keeps asking after you,” he explained, still maintaining a solemn expression.

His unbroken lips resembled a perfect Cupid’s bow.

“I see ... she has been hallucinating? Conversing with imaginary beings?”

“Yes ... cats, rabbits, caterpillars ... it is quite disconcerting,” he replied, finally permitting a smirk to play across those lips. I chuckled at the trills he selectively applied to his Rs.

“Are you well, my boy?” I asked him. “You look ... splendid.”

The smirk smoothly transformed into a genuinely flattered smile.

“Yes, John, I am well. And you?” he asked, scrutinizing my face in that penetrating way of his. “You look weary.”

His unimpaired voice possessed a velvet quality.

“I feel rejuvenated now,” I replied, unable to stop smiling. “I should have known you would keep your promise, Harry.”

Harry blinked then an odd expression spread across his pale countenance.

“Is something wrong?” I asked with concern.

“No, all is well. I-- I am just so pleased to see you again,” he said.

Then his eyelids dropped like veils over the piercing eyes, dark lashes fanning against his pale skin, reminding me again of their startling length.

“As am I, my boy,” I assured him.

“Then...you will cheerfully join me on holiday,” he said, not as a question. His eyes lifted in excitement and his hand, still gracing my arm, tightened yet again.

“Holiday? Ah, Harry, you know I cannot. I am training for ...”

“The Army is granting you a three-day leave, John. So you may visit dying Aunt Alice,” he interrupted, his smirk reappearing.

“What?” I exclaimed. “Harry, for heaven’s sake, what did you tell them?”

“That you were needed at home in London,” he said smoothly.

“London! Are you mad? I cannot leave my duties here, I cannot simply ...”

“John, you would have been granted a leave at the end of your training to bid farewell to loved ones, would you not?” Harry asked.

“Yes, but--”

“Elementary. You shall reduce that leave by three days, then. I fail to discern any dilemma,” Harry said, cocking his head inquisitively and favoring me with a confused, yet still-beguiling smile.

He truly did not understand.

“Elementary? You did not consult me! You simply acted without considering my feelings on the matter or how it would affect me. And it was an unworthy deception, Harry,” I complained with a frown.

The smile faded from his lips and I saw anger flare briefly in his eyes.

“I thought you would be pleased to spend time--,” he began then his eyes narrowed as he gazed at me.

“I see ... I have mistaken you, Doctor,” he said. His hand jerked from my arm and he stood abruptly, his entire body tensing. The glinting, grey eyes darted about the room nervously as though seeking an escape route.

“Harry,” I said in a more placating tone, “you do not understand, I simply--”

“I quite understand and certainly regret my obvious error, sir. I should have merely returned your things and paid the debt I owe,” Harry said, now all formality.

With this he thrust his hand in the breast pocket of his meticulously tailored ivory linen coat, withdrawing a billfold from which he drew some notes. “Here is your ...”

I put my hand out to his in an effort to assuage his obviously hurt feelings, but he jerked it away.

“Harry, my dear fellow, please do not be angry,” I began.

“It is apparent you, Doctor, are the angry party,” he said with a disdainful sniff.

“Not angry, Harry, but surprised, I do confess. What possessed you to spin such a fanciful yarn?” I said, smiling up at him. “And upon what sort of holiday are you embarking?”

“There shall be no holiday now that you are uninterested,” he said crossly.

Although I had previously experienced his youthful impulsiveness, arrogance, even rudeness, I had never imagined Harry could turn petulant. Save for the striking flame of color tinting his cheekbones and the fiery flash of his eyes, he wore that emotion quite unattractively.

“You are putting words in my mouth, my boy. I did not say I was uninterested, now did I?” I said reprovingly.

He glanced down at me apprehensively, head cocked to the side, appraising. I saw the old distrust surface in his compelling eyes.

I could not help but sigh at his peevish and suspicious nature.

“And there is no question that I would enjoy spending time with you,” I assured him.

His lips parted in surprise. Then the flattered smile returned and reached his eyes. He was the most attractive young man I had ever known ... and the most temperamental.

“My dear fellow, must you always be in charge?” I asked in an openly teasing tone.

“Oh yes,” he said, broadening the smile and fixing those piercing eyes upon me.

I sighed again.

“And just where shall your holiday take place?”

“Southampton Water ... to view the new guns at Hurst Castle and take in the keep of Calshot, my boy,” Harry said, as though it was the most natural explanation in the world.

“Southampton ... I thought you said I was needed in London?” I asked.

“A mere ruse, dear man ... surely you would prefer leisurely coastal strolls rather than the hectic race of the great city?” he said, glancing sidelong at me.

“Coastal strolls indeed. And I suppose I’m to sleep on the spit?” I asked sharply. I was reluctant to actually inform him of my financial dearth, but there was no getting around it. I had no funds to join him on holiday ... local or otherwise.

 “I would think an inn to be more amenable, Watson,” he said sarcastically.

“As would I, Harry. Nevertheless, I fear I shall have to disappoint you.”

His eyes narrowed again and the excitement drained from his face.

“Why?”

“I simply haven’t the purse for such a caprice, my friend. I regret the fact, but there’s no help for it.”

He brightened considerably.

“Pshaw, my dear boy, it is my party and you are my guest,” he said.

“Harry, I cannot allow you--”

“I allowed you, John,” he quickly interrupted. “You must permit the redress.”

“Harry, that was entirely diff--” I began to protest.

“Do you not wish to join me? Truly?” he said, with brows furrowed and hurt plainly evident in his voice.

“Hardly that ... I simply ... I need no ... you should not...”

And I realized he had rendered me speechless yet again. His left eyebrow arched and his lips pursed in that old way ... and I was suddenly struck with the realization of how much I had missed him. And worried about him.

While treating him at Radcliffe’s Infirmary, I had vowed to do all I could to help him and strive to know him. I would not have conspired to finagle an undeserved three-day leave for myself, but he had done it because he too wanted to know me. I could not help but smile at that realization.

And suddenly a gleam of triumph fired his incredible eyes.

“I knew you would not let me down!” he exclaimed, grasping my arm again.

I shook my head in confused defeat as he chattered orders to me.

I was to pack for three days...I should bring bathing attire...I should be quick about it as he had a gig waiting...and that I should remember to assume a downcast visage in honor of ‘dying Aunt Alice’ when we emerged from the office.

Notes

dingy, windowless half: Netley Hospital’s design was flawed ... one side of the hospital was bright and airy, with sufficient windows to permit natural lighting and ventilation, while the other was nearly windowless, dark, dingy and, lacking ample ventilation, smelly. During the complex’s construction, Florence Nightingale, the British nurse who gained fame during the Crimean War, advised that the design be changed, but too much of the vast building had already been completed.

OD: Officer of the day (I have no idea if the British Army had such things in the day. Can anyone enlighten me?)

Hurst Castle and take in the keep of Calshot: Neighboring castles built by Henry VIII as southern coastal fortresses. Hurst Castle, completed in 1544, was later the site of Charles I’s imprisonment to being taken to London for trial and execution. During the 1860s, the castle was modernized and enormous armored wings were built. In the 1870s, two huge 38-ton guns were installed, no doubt drawing many British subjects as sightseers, like our dear Holmes and Watson. Calshot Castle, a smaller fort with a three-story keep and outer curtain wall, was constructed close to the deep water channel at the mouth of Southampton Water. Both castles were strategically placed to offer protection of the Solent, a stretch of water providing access to England’s vital ports of Southampton and Portsmouth.

spit: beach

Chapter Nine: To Know Him