The Christmas Pudding Lie

by P. B. Phillips

  Anna is too busy scrutinizing his companion to hear his inquires. First impressions are everything in her book. She thinks to herself,

  ‘Who is this guy? He can’t be the illusive brother, Mr. Sherlock Holmes! He doesn’t look anything like Mycroft. This guy is only but a step taller than I. In contrast to Mycroft’s outdoor look, this guy is strictly drawing room. And he is probably nearer my age.’

  Her gaze turns into impolite staring. She deems that the circle of white fuzz that halos his otherwise fine baldhead is enchanting. She silently begets that first impression.

  ‘He looks like one of those holy monks, in a medieval painting, except for that glint of mischief in his perfectly blue green eyes. Who is this guy?’

  All three gentlemen silently wait on Anna’s reply. But she is spell bound. She notes that the stranger before her sports a tailored dress shirt the color of sweet butter complimented by a raw silk tie the color of umber accented with tiny purple polka dots. Unlike the denim twins, Mycroft and Dodd, this gent is wearing neatly pressed black linen dress slacks.’

  Her mind wrestles, ‘There is something about those dots! I really like his blue oyster belt bucket. I wonder where he got it. I would like one such.’

  And finally she dares to stare directly into those blue green eyes framed by small gold rimmed spectacles garnished with bits of mother of pearl. The gent eyes her eying him. The man of magnetic mystery offers his small fine bone hand,

  “Crofts, please, allow the lady to sit down. Questions can wait till after she’s had her brew. Allow me, I am Sherlock Holmes, Mycroft’s brother.”

  “Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I’mmm …umm…!” she stutters, obviously surprised to finally meet the man.

  Sherlock teases, “You were expecting someone else, perhaps Basil Rathbone or Jeremy Brett?”

  Anna blushes.

  Sherlock smiles, “Most all of our hotel guests have similar preconceptions. Sadly I never grew into the silver screen image. But I can assure you that I am indeed the ‘real’ Sherlock Holmes. I stand before you, the diminutive wizened Holmes.”

  Anna giggles nervously. She tries to get back into his good graces, “Oh yes I can see where there might be a moment of consternation. Oh I don’t mean to imply… Shall I start over? I am…”

  Sherlock gestures her to take his seat, “I know who you are, Doc B. Enchante.”

  Anna sits but never takes her eyes off the man who calls himself Sherlock Holmes.

  It is the sound of Dodd’s baritone voice that breaks the momentary spell,

  “Gentlemen, the lady wishes to be called Anna.”

  She takes a seat but has to ask, “Have we met before? There is something very familiar about you.”

  Before Holmes can answer the landlord, also in period dress, interrupts, “One bitters and one mini water...” He sets the drinks down on the low center-serving table. He gestures towards the dinning room,

  “Folks around here are not shy when it comes to eating. If you hope to get in on the lobster sir, I suggest that you make haste.”

  Dodd takes the lead. “Gents and lady, the buffet awaits. On y va!”

  Basil, the gracious landlord adds, “I’ll just take your drinks over to your favorite table in the painter’s corner.”

  Dodd delights in pointing out the best of the table. “A feast for your senses; we have curry, ginger, paprika, pimento, mango, chutney, sensual blood orange hibiscus and paw paws. Anna, do try the carrot and coriander soup.”

  “Yummy, I will.” Anna welcomes the simple fare. Her stomach is a bit tight what with the surprise setting and now a nagging sense of mystery about the man named Sherlock Holmes.

  With their trays filled, they make their way to the reserved corner. All three men passed on soup and salad. Mountains of succulent langoustine cover their plates. Enjoyable moments of quiet pass as they all sample their choices. Even the roar of the crowd dims as everyone turns to the business of the evening, eating.

  The soup warms Anna, thereby subsiding her internal shaking. She feels more secure even comfortable. She dares to take in the surroundings. She focuses on the music in the background. The faint voice of Bob Marley, on acoustic guitar, echoes softly ‘Redemption Song.’

  Dodd takes a break from his spicy island treat to point out the artwork around them.

  “The inn serves also as an art gallery. To your right is the work of Juliet Thorburn and the masters yonder, Ken Alexander Spencer and Herbie Rose.”

  Anna comments, “A gifted people with extraordinary cosmic vision...”

  Dodd asks, “Do you ever think about going back?”

  “Are you kidding? It required much.”

  Anna reels slightly from this jolt from her past. She worries that Dodd has a hidden agenda. But her conspiratorial mind is interrupted by the sudden appearance of Ivy and her trolley of sinful sweets.

  “Tonight, we have parsnip cake served with clotted cream, a treacle tart and a cheese and fruit plate. I’ll leave the cart here while you help yourselves.”

  “Parsnip cake?” Anna’s sweet tooth asks.

  “It’s like your carrot cake, miss. Our version is made with crushed pineapple, sultanas and parsnips. You must taste it.”

  “Port with your coffee, gentlemen?” Ivy offers.

  Dodd answers for all. “We’ll have port all around and a pot of Blue mountain coffee.”

  “Very good my lord.” She leaves them to debate the question, to have or have not dessert.

  The good food and cultured company fills Anna with a rare contentment. She folds her napkin back into its original folds and announces,

  “Gentle souls, as they say, all good things must come to an end. Why I‘ll never know. But I must say good night. Please finish your port and continue your good conversation.” Anna gets up to exit.

  All three gents rise. She gestures them to sit. Sherlock quickly preempts his companions and says,

  “A walk in the moon light is the perfect end to so joyous an evening. Gentlemen.”

  Mycroft and Dodd know that they are not invited.

  “Sleep well,” Dodd calls out as the two new friends leave the pub.

  They weave softly between the shadows of the Beaver Moon. Silvery moonbeams sparkle in her white mane. Sherlock struck by the moment speaks, “I say, in the shadows of the Beaver Moon you look like an apparition.”

  Silently he muses, “Where have you been all my life?”

  Anna quips back quickly, “Thanks, I know that I’m old and gray with one foot in the grave but a ghost not as yet.”

  A rare moment of fascination slips. Sherlock catches himself post haste and changes the subject, “Sorry, old girl. Blame it on the Piskies. There is damn too much mystery about this place.”

  “Mystery? Pixies?” she asks filled with curiosity about the man.

  “Indeed! Cornwall is the land of legends. It is the most haunted place in the British Isle. Long ago, some 4000 years ago, they claim that giants roamed these lands. Cornwall is home to Piskies, Fraeries, Knackers and small people.”

  “Really? But I thought that wee people were the stuff of Irish lore.” Anna retorts playfully.

  “Aye, but local lore has it that the Irish started out from this place. Driven out, they sought refuge in Ireland. Hence the shared folklore… I’d love for you to take a tour of this enchanted place with me tomorrow. And if you are so inclined, we can continue to unravel the mystery of Lady Banks.”

  For a breath of second, she thinks she recognizes the lilt in his voice. But she can’t where or when that might be. She replies,

  “Thanks you I am curious. I would love to explore the area. And I welcome all you have to add to the mystery of Lady Banks. I still have this ghostly feeling that we’ve met before. ” she adds.

  Sherlock ignores her inquiry to past lives, he exclaims,

  “Good that’s settled. I am glad that we don’t have to stand on ceremony.”

  The pair enters the stone courtyard now flooded with moonlight. The sc
ent of jasmine lays heavy on the still night air. Anna thinks to qualify her enthusiasm, “But you do know Mr. Holmes that this whole Lady Banks business is just a bud of an idea. It is not real. What I mean is… Why am I always tripping on my words with you?” she fumbles to find the right words.

  “Fret not, I understand perfectly. While we awaited your arrival, Mycroft brought us up to speed as they say. You two are thrashing out the topic of recruitment. That is a good start as it is the beginning of any Lady Banks story.

  But now you must think only of rest. We offer the best in moonlight sonatas. Crickets, barn owls and nightingales sing in perfect harmony while fireflies waltz away the hours until the sun deems to dawn once again.” Sherlock Holmes tries to sooth Anna’s worried mind.

  “Are you a poet, Mr. Holmes?” she asks.

  Holmes just offers a sly smile. His Mediterranean Sea eyes rival the mystery of the man in the moon.

  “Here we are,” is all he offers.

  “Are you staying in the cottages?”

  “Yes, I am down two doors. Mycroft is next door. So if you need anything we are only a call away. I hope that will dismiss any fears and hesitations you might harbor.”

  Now Sherlock dips into the lyrical “The land of legends next light…” He pushes off directly.

  “And a good night to you, sir...” She closes the door to her cottage.

  Anna readies for a long night’s rest in her plush feather bed. As she brushes her teeth she takes a moment to pinch herself.

  “I still can’t get over the fact that I am here on the British dales. And what is even more shocking is that I am comfortable in my skin. I wonder if I am catching something. I do feel a tad feverish. More than likely, it is the port that colors my world a cozy rosy.

  Gee I wish Ada were here. I could use some help. Who are these guys? Are they for real? They can’t be Rastas? Oh geez, I pray that they are not your common garden variety of secret agents. Don’t go there, girl!”

  Chapter Eight

  A band of sheep baa, baa, baaing outside the cottage wakes Anna. “What in the world is that stink?” she groans. Bleary eyed, she peers out the small casement window overlooking a lush green meadow. She takes in a deep breath and remarks,

  “Phew, don’t sheep ever wash? They stink to high heaven. They must itch like hell. When I get my farm, I am going to bathe my sheep. What time is it anyway? ”

  Fully awake now and with no hope of returning for an extra forty winks, she gets ready for a romp through the land of legends. In the back of her mind, she will keep a close eye on Sherlock. She dons her silk olive tee and the matching broomstick skirt of crushed silk. It travels well. She adjusts the straps on her Teva sandals. She makes one last adjustment. Into her coif of white locks, she neatly conceals her pearl hairpin, inherited from her godmother.

  The crush of stones beneath her feet alerts the dog. The beast barks madly.

  “Archibald, no. Bad dog. Come here,” Dodd calls the rotund corgi.

  Anna stops in her tracks. She feels off balance. ‘Damn! Doddie’s corgi has the same name as my old corgi! Drat, why can’t I be in the moment? Why does everything have to bring up the past?”

  She taps her feet, left foot right foot and moves with caution. Dodd assures her to come on ahead.

  “It’s okay Anna. My Archibald is a proper English corgi with impeccable manners. Something your Archibald lacked, as I recall.”

  The two greet the new day and embrace their renewed friendship with a burst of laughter.

  The ‘unmistakable’ robust aroma of Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee fills the room.

  Mycroft offers, “Coffee, cream and sugar are on the sideboard.”

  Anna bows to Mycroft and says, “Top of the morning to you sir.”

  Taking a seat at the table she notes, “I expected to see fog.”

  Dodd explains, as he hands her a warm plate atop with a berry muffin, “Fog is the general morning faire here. But the Beaver Moon last night promised a sunny morning. I hope that you slept well.”

  And on that inquiry a bump in the great room causes all three to jump a bit.

  “Hey Abbott is that you?” rings forth.

  Anna freezes. Mycroft and Dodd try in vain to suppress laughter. Recovering quickly, she realizes that something is amiss. She asks, “What’s the joke?”

  She knows right well that this can’t be a coincidence. The door from the great room rushes open. In stumbles Sherlock, who announces as he finds his place at the table, “I’m famished. I could eat my spare tire and rim.”

  Anna comes face to face with the lunatic fringe or so she fears and all before her feeble mind can benefit from the surge of caffeine and sugar. Her conspiratorial mind works fast. It wants to know who these guys who deal in deceit are. Anna tries to rationalize a way out. Her first thought is that this is a JOKE. JB and ADA no doubt…

  She is visibly confounded. She bolts from her chair knocking it to the floor. The crash causes the dog to dash in through the kitchen door. He goes straight for Anna, knocking her down. He proceeds to lavish her with wet kisses. She has to laugh. The three clowns rush to her rescue.

  She dismisses their help. She exclaims, “So it’s to be Mad Dog and Englishmen! You are a band of rooks!” With the corgi in her face she says, “Toto this is not Kansas!”

  She rises up slowly and asks, “So what gives?”

  Dodd, seeing that his two mates look to him, pleads, “Let me explain, it is all quite innocent that I can assure you.”

  Dodd’s gaze inadvertently turns to Sherlock who nervously grooms his moustache in a vain effort to keep from laughing. Anna gets it now. Sherlock is the culprit behind this practical joke.

  Only now does she recognize the jester. She quickly takes two steps back thinking this a better position to challenge the man who calls himself, Sherlock.

  “I knew that you looked familiar. It’s Sid right? No it’s Marlowe? Wait! Oh no, it cannot be. How is it possible? How could I have missed that damn mustachio? You have a hell of a lot of explaining, Mr. Holmes, if that is your real name?”

  Sherlock bows his head low and offers, “A thousand apologies, I can explain this Three Penny Opera.”

  Dodd cuts him off. “No I must. Talking to JB…”

  Anna cuts him off. “I should have known! JB! Of course!”

  The three rooks are taken aback. Anna ignores them. She goes on,

  “He is the forever practical joker. I’m going to kill him.”

  Dodd thinks why not blame it on JB and forget the whole bloody mess. But he can’t. He did not bring Anna over six thousand miles to tell her another lie.

  “Sorry cara mia, JB is innocent. His only sin was his wish for you to get back into the main stream. He thought that writing would help you out of your solitude. I was his first call. And I am so very grateful to him.

  For when you called I thought that… well I thought that I heard deep sadness in your voice. I couldn’t wait about. I feared that if I waited a moment longer I would never be able to cross the chasm of time that has kept us from each other. ”

  Sherlock, fully himself now cuts his mate off. “Dodd knew that I was in San Francisco at a B&B conference. He called and told me about his reservations. I said that I would check into it, as I was nearby. As to my various personae, I didn’t want to arouse any suspicions or fears.

  When I saw you so alone I thought that a little company would do you well. If I had told you straight away that I was there on Dodd’s behalf… well… you tell me, how would that have played out?” A long dramatic pause ensues.

  Sherlock searches her burning eyes for that deep well of understanding and compassion that he knows dwells within her. Seeing how she is forgiving, he decides to take the offence.

  “And if I may from the brief hours that we passed together, I believe, dear lady that it is your own unresolved and secret issues that led you to us.”

  Anna ignores Sherlock’s uncanny insight. Instead, she turns to Dodd, “Is this tru
e?” ”

  She doesn’t allow Dodd a breath to answer. She turns to Sherlock and Mycroft,

  “So who are you guys, really? Are you even brothers?”

  Mycroft replies, “I am indeed Mycroft Holmes and this is my brother, Sherlock.”

  Anna examines each face carefully. Her sad eyes ask silently for some confirmation of who’s who. All three rooks nod their heads yes.

  She knows that she is out of her depths here. Nothing is as it appears. With deception so deep, she wrestles with the idea of running out. She thanks god for the mini minor. But she knows if she runs away again that she would wonder forever was her life a lie. She opts for the one thing that is clear and set in her mind. They know something that she thinks she needs to know. She throws up her hands and admits she’s been skunked.

  “What can I say? I’ve been outfoxed. For the sake of our friendship Dodd, I will refrain from dismissing the lot of you as sniggering, interfering old bitches.

  But be forewarned, when the shock wears off, I might change my mind all together. And I would be very careful of what you eat or drink while I am still this side of the Atlantic.

  I knew that there was something familiar about you Mr. Sherlock Holmes. Those polka dots last night started off a wild search of my memory bank. I came up with more questions than answers. I expect that from now on, you all will be absolutely above board, forthright, upfront, and honest in all things?”

  In unison all three answered on cue, “Absolutely Impeccable!” The three gents embrace her as a sign of their deep respect and by way of asking for her grace.

  “So it’s off to the Land of Legends. On y va?” Sherlock extends his arm to Anna.

  She answers, “I’m ready. Are you coming Mycroft, Dodd?” She prefers to have the three rooks under her watchful eye.

  Mycroft takes that as his invitation, “I’m ready as well. It’s been awhile, since we traveled to the land of the piskies and small people.”