A CASE OF DOUBLE VISION--Chapter Eight
“Idon’t know why breakfast always has to be so elaborate in these kinds of places, not complaining, mind, but it’s an odd tradition when we were lucky to get coffee and toast in America, let alone a full meal. They have a strange obsession with dried cereals. It didn’t matter where we stayed, rich or poor. They obsess over eggs and you’ll never find sausages on a plate, just toast, some kind of watery jam and a scrambled egg or mostly boiled and some kind of poached chicken. They serve the lot with catsup. And coffee. Always with the coffee, unless you are in Utah, where tea is thought to be sinful and you get some kind of hot barley thing that’s overly sweet.”
“I rather liked the johnny cakes,” Harriette said, lathering her scone with butter. Mary nodded as she took another bite, her plate littered with crumbs.
Mrs. Healey, having been given both the treat and challenge of a house suddenly full of guests, had pulled no stops in her breakfast array and had the harried Betsy put the smaller breakfast tables together to make for one large central buffet around which the guests were seated. There were her infamous scones (very dry and crumbly), and slices of ham and cold roast beef and chicken and poached eggs and chewy muffins, ornate, exotic looking fruits such as oranges and figs and apples and a central pineapple that made Mycroft wonder if Mrs. Healey had blown the entire kitchen budget for the summer in this meal alone.
Lestrade’s newspaper was folded beside his cup of coffee, freshly pressed and still warm, and Jack ambled in late, his hair in disarray, his Oxford sweater hanging sloppy on his shoulders. He appeared confused by the morning repast. He rubbed his eyes as though not used to the early hour, (perhaps he was used to late nights of study), and he sat at the long table with a thud. “Tea? Marvellous!” He yawned and reached for the teapot only for Mycroft to tutt him as Betsy, smiling faintly at him, reached for the pot instead and poured him a cup.
Ingrid was seated at the far too close to Jack for Mycroft’s liking, and she took nothing for breakfast save for a glass of orange juice. Lestrade tucked in as though he hadn’t been fed in weeks and in truth was the only glutton at the table. He was always fond of his breakfasts. Sherlock hadn’t awoken yet, and wouldn’t seek their company until early afternoon.
“Jack, perhaps you could help me today,” Mycroft offered and Jack blearily glanced at him. “I could use a pair of eyes on a case I am working on that is coming up next month and I want to make sure I have all of my details in order. I could use some cataloguing on the law references required and the witness statements need to be outlined in its accordance as well. It’s a rather dull case, I’m afraid, a straight forward infanticide brought about by poverty, the usual problem encountered during the winter months, when this happened, and while there are calls for clemency on the basis of the wretched state of the murderer, I do fear the father of the infant has no qualms against his crime and is possibly at risk of committing further ones against his progeny.”
“Are you looking to hang him?” Mary boldly asked.
“Most definitely. A man like that can’t be tolerated in civil society.”
Jack paled at this, and Mycroft was suddenly alarmed, wondering if the young man was, in fact, ill, and not overly tired at all. “I’m not really interested in that I’m afraid,” Jack said, and he hid further conversation on the matter with long sips of tea and stuffing his face with bland toast.
Lestrade, however, believed he’d claimed a victory. “Well, then, you can come with me in town later and we can re-examine those witnesses again! One of them has to crack!”
“As I said last night, I am going on an excursion with Mr. Healey and will be spending a good amount of time going over the pharmaceutical angle of the herbs he’s introducing me to. There’s been a lot of talk about the benefits of garlic, for example, and I’ve been reading some interesting studies on its effects on thickened blood. There’s talk that the acetylide acid in willow bark has the same effect, the drug aspirin is derived from it, and it seems to have an anticoagulant effect, though most doctors don’t agree with that analysis. It’s still in the very early stages of study.”
Thus animated, Jack suddenly discovered the table was laden with food and with this new passion ignited he began to load up his plate with cutlets and fruit and a couple of poached eggs. Both Mycroft and Lestrade were left speechless, the unbidden discussion lurking between them like a hangman’s noose, calling them both losers in their small war on Jack’s future endeavours.
“Ingrid, please eat something, your dawdling will make you late for school.”
Sighing, she reluctantly picked up a triangle of the expensive pineapple and nibbled on it.
“We understand she’s had some issues as of late at the boarding school,” Harriette said to Mycroft, who was slightly taken aback by the frankness of her speech since she was usually such a quiet woman. “I know this may be overstepping, and you have every right to forbid it, but as I have experience as a governess and as Mary and I are both women and likely to observe and understand the concerns of the headmistress better than men, I propose that Mary and I have the discussion in regards to Ingrid’s attendance at the school.”
“You’ll have no argument from me, I haven’t been able to effect any influence on the matter,” Lestrade said, taking a messy gulp of his tea. He shook his newspaper open, and that was the end of his remarks on the matter, for the headlines in London were already taking his full attention, as were the smaller crimes of the day pocketed away in side articles and half finished paragraphs full of sensation rather than facts.
“I’m not sure we shouldn’t have any input,” Mycroft added, wary. “We are, in actuality, her guardians while her mother is away and you have only known Ingrid for less than twenty-four hours.”
“Knowing Ingrid is not the issue,” Harriette continued. “It is my understanding as a person who was an educator that is at play here. Obviously, you can both follow up on her progress later, if it comes to that, and considering how intelligent and headstrong Ingrid is, I’m sure you will be receiving more than one summons in her schooling career.” Harriette nodded at Ingrid, who was ignoring the entire discussion of her problem self. “What do you think, Ingrid? Would you prefer if Mary and I discussed your problems at your school with Headmistress Yearwood?”
Ingrid shrugged. “A cat or dog going to talk to her would get the same result. She likes hearing her own voice more than listening, and if you fake attention long enough she rewards you by leaving you alone.”
“I believe that’s Ingrid’s version of a yes,” Mycroft said over his cup of steaming tea.
Lestrade shook his paper out and peered at a tiny article in the far right corner, but didn’t remark on it. “They want to talk to the Russian.”
Mycroft raised a brow. “Whatever do you mean?”
“The strange Russian math teacher, the one that seems haunted by herself. Ingrid can’t stop going on about it. It’s an odd business, I’ll give her that, but I’m positive it is nothing more than a simple matter of mass hysteria and our dear ladies are set to be disappointed.” Lestrade continued to read as he spoke, and Mycroft knew he was committing to memory every word on the page, every nuance and unspoken jibe and inference made against political opponents, every unspoken libellous throw away sentence in even the most mundane stories on the society pages. “She’s the talk of the village, other than the bakery owner, whom all the women seem to admire. Some of them want her fired. Can’t see why. Singular or doubled, she’s clearly very good at teaching mathematics. I imagine fractions are her specialty.”