Parker
“You and Mr. Holmes must find my daughter. Bring her back to me.”
“Do you believe your daughter is alive?”
“I know she is.” I raised an eyebrow that Mr. Parker noticed. “My wife died when Elizabeth was two giving birth to another daughter that passed as well. Lizzie is all I have left in this world. When Emma died, my wife, I had this empty burning in my chest. The touch of Lizzie’s small hand in mine made that burning go away and from that point on I devoted my life to my daughter. My heart is sad and heavy because I have no idea where she might be but my chest does not burn with emptiness.”
“Are there any other details gentlemen that you would like to cover, even the smallest fragment?”
There was a moment of silence in the room, Mr. Merryweather added, “there is one thing, this may not be of any consequence, my wife got a little black book as a wedding present. All these long years, I am unable to find that book. I assume she took it with her.”
“Why would a book stand out in your memory?” I asked.
Mr. Parker sighed, “her maternal grandmother made it for her. It was the last thing she made before the monster of age took her.”
“If we have any more questions, where may we reach you?”
“I live at the bank. I have made it my life.” Answered Mr. Merryweather.
Mr. Parker reached inside his jacket and produced a card. “I will be here.”
The gentlemen got up to leave and bed me good day.
“Gentlemen I do have one more question, if I may.” I asked. I got a nod from both men. “How was one able to get the physician ordinary to the Queen to make a house call?”
Mr. Parker just smiled. “That is a story for another time, Dr. Watson.” He then stopped in the door. “Where is that beautiful lady that admitted us to this establishment?”
“Mrs. Hudson,” I asked.
“Perhaps.”
She came when I called for her. “Cooper, I know you are incredibly busy. You have Grayson take you to the bank then come back to fetch me. I would like to spend some time with Dr. Watson.”
“Of course sir.” Mr. Merryweather smiled as he left.
“This beautiful young lady can help me to the carriage.” Mr. Parker winked at Mrs. Hudson. She giggled. He ushered us back into the room. He shut the door only after he heard the front door shut followed by the heavy trot of his carriage. “Tell me doctor, you’re Sherlock Holmes; does he have a brother named Mycroft?”
At that moment, Holmes came out of his hiding place and stood by the couch.
“How is your brother,” the old man hissed, “Mycroft?”
“My brother has nothing to do with this matter.”
“Yes he does. He is at the heart of this matter.”
Mr. Parker stared at Holmes for a long time. Only because I knew him so well, I could deduce Holmes was trying with all of his might to control his emotions. Emotions that I had seem more of in the past months than I had seen in years. He walked into his room and in a moment came back with a small satin covered box. Mr. Parker took the box with shaking hands. He wept when he opened it. Over his shoulder I could see that it was a ring; a most handsome ring. The old man cried, “It was you!” He closed the box. I thought for a brief moment that he should throw it in the fire instead he gave it back to Holmes. Mr. Parker shuffled over to the table and sat down.
“Tell me true, where is my daughter?”
Holmes’ voice cracked, “I know not.”
The old man raised his fist in anger. “Lie to an old man will you? Lie to me because you hate me? Lie to me because you want to see me suffer!”
“No,” came Holmes’ one word reply.
“Will you find my daughter?” Tears ran down the old man’s face.
“I will find her. I prefer alive but regardless, I will find her. I do despise you. All this mess of life, I lay at your doorstep. What you called devoting your life to your daughter, I call controlling and a manipulation of her will to yours. You never had her best interest at heart only yours.”
I could see the old man shake. I could only presume it was out of anger. Mrs. Hudson and I stared at each other waiting to see and hear what would happen next. “I wanted her to have the best.” The old man said with despair. “Not the affections of some artist reprobate.”
“The best of what?” Holmes was holding on to the back of the couch now. “The best school for females in America that she never wanted to attend. The best arranged marriage to England’s biggest nincompoop. The best empty house in Wales. You sir, you gave her the best life had to offer indeed. Do you know what happens when you cage a Tiger?” Holmes paused, “you break its spirit.”
The old man shook his fist at Holmes again, “it was you after all?” He raised his fist even higher in the air. “I never knew who it was until now. It was you! I have accused the wrong brother.” Mr. Parker began to speak through tears. “When she was little, I knew why she always wanted to play with the Vernet boys. There were no other children around. It bothered me that the old man filled her head with stories of art. No one lives from art. It is a poor man’s trade. I knew my daughter was strong, iron willed.” Mr. Parker looked at his hands for a moment. “On the day of her wedding she cried so hard that I thought she would break. I have never in my life seen anyone cry so hard. I always thought it was tears of joy. But I see it now,” he sighed. “She paced and she fretted like a caged bird. After seven and twenty years I see it. Oh God, how she cried.”
“Get out. Just leave.” Holmes whispered with his eyes closed.
Mr. Parker took Mrs. Hudson’s arm and obliged. After the two of them had left, Holmes collapsed to his knees. I knew not how to help my friend. It pained me so to see him this way.
